#like i was told since childhood that every bad thing that was happening to me was “god's plan” | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wttcsms · 8 months ago

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angels like you can't fly down here with me (i'm everything they say i would be), megumi fushiguro ;

pairing megumi fushiguro x f!reader word count 11k synopsis people like him don't get happy endings but megumi fushiguro (foolishly) considers himself to be the exception — after all, he has you. content contains yakuza au, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, breeding kink, slight daddy kink, attempted sa, minor violence & depictions of blood author's note if ur on my ao3, you know this is from 2021!!! my writing has changed up since then, but i'm going to be releasing a revised version of this which will be rewritten and feature more scenes, more worldbuilding, more plot, relationship and character development, etc!! i figured releasing this on tumblr would help me gauge how worthwhile revision of this fic will be, so lmk if u like this au & want to see it become even better <3

Don’t do it.

He repeats the command inside his head again, and then one more time for good measure. (And then another time, just to drive the point across.)

He won’t — can’t; isn’t really allowed to — get into (another!) fight.

(Well, there’s a part of Megumi that knows that despite Gojo’s sing-songy warning of “now, now, Megumi, I don’t need a frequent visitor’s card for the principal’s office”, he doesn’t actually care. All he’s really concerned about — if the mild interest the reckless teenager turned legal guardian shows can even be called that — is whether or not Megumi wins.

And he does.

Every. Single. Time.)

For the most part, Megumi Fushiguro is fairly stoic in general, but to a concerning degree when one accounts for the fact that he’s only ten years old. For the odd three or so years he’s been under Gojo’s wing, Megumi’s mask of disinterest stopped becoming a mask and started becoming a part of him.

(Try as he might, Gojo’s not nearly as funny as he thinks he is. Maybe the connection between them might have been stronger if Gojo was a bit more responsible and if he was actually present, but he’s got his own shit to deal with. Besides, Gojo’s under the impression that what he’s doing isn’t cruel, but rather a means to an end. Megumi’s never going to be able to get stronger if he doesn’t learn how to survive on his own.

After all, being alone and having to fight to survive is the life people like them live.)

The older preteens in the area have a bad habit of picking on the younger students. Because the elementary and middle schools are so close together, the younger students who have the misfortune of walking alone tend to be targets for bullies in need of pocket change or a good laugh. Most of the time, they get both.

As of late, everyone’s favorite target happens to be Megumi Fushiguro, the boy with the messy black hair and indifferent attitude, even when confronted by boys two years his senior and almost a whole entire head taller than him.

Last week, Megumi gave the three older boys dumb enough to harass him for money bloody noses, bruised egos, and a thirst for revenge. That was the first (and supposed to be the last) time he got into a fight (for this school year, at least — something Gojo had told him, while winking). So, even when the trio is back together again, taunting him and trying to get him to take the first swing, Megumi keeps walking forward with his perpetual look of disinterest, those cold blue eyes of his staring straight at the path ahead of him, never paying any mind to the gangly bodies of the middle school boys who keep trying to block him from moving.

Don’t do it.

He tells himself this once more. You don’t want to have to inconvenience Gojo. Then, you’ll be stuck listening to him pretend to lecture you. You don’t like spending too much time with Gojo. He’ll make weird jokes.

The thought of having to deal with Gojo’s presence is enough to get Megumi to unclench his fists.

“Move.”

It’s the first thing he says to the group since they started following him after school. He tells the boy with the brown hair this. The brunet seems to be their ringleader of sorts, and even as nothing more than a ten year old child, Megumi knows that being twelve/thirteen and harassing little kids for sport is a sign of patheticness that will only grow and fester into something darker unless someone beats some sense into them. Obviously, they didn’t learn their lesson from last week.

“Huh? What the hell did ya just say, ya little brat?” The brown haired boy sneers, looking down at Megumi.

School has just let out, so there are dozens of kids of all ages walking down the sidewalk. They’re all aware of the situation happening, but everyone chooses to turn a blind eye to it. Partly because this is such a common occurrence that it just starts to become something that blends into the scenery, but also because there are some rumors surrounding the Fushiguro kid that’s enough to make anyone with a heart of gold reluctant to come to his rescue.

The main rumor circulating around the school is that Megumi Fushiguro has ties to the yakuza. Granted, most kids his age have no idea what the yakuza is, and even those who somewhat know only know through exaggerated definitions from their older siblings. Generally, everyone just accepts the fact that the yakuza is bad, and by default, Megumi Fushiguro must be bad too. Older siblings tell their younger siblings to avoid “that boy” at all costs, unless they want to end up with a finger cut off. Megumi’s classmates huddle together and conveniently choose to look everywhere else but at him when on the playground.

For anyone else, this might have been enough to cause some hurt feelings. Everyone thinks the boy must be some type of stupid to be so oblivious to the rumors centered around him, but the truth is this: Megumi is well aware of what people whisper about behind his back; he just doesn’t care enough to prove them wrong.

And they’re not wrong, anyway.

(For some parts of the rumors, at least.)

Because it’s true — Megumi does have ties to the yakuza. His father, who he can’t seem to attach neither a name nor a face to, must have done something bad. Something bad enough to have him cross paths with Satoru Gojo, the young head of the Gojo Clan, one of Tokyo’s most prominent crime families. It’s the same Gojo who decided to adopt both Megumi and his stepsister, Tsumiki, despite having nothing (so far) to gain from it. After all, why would a teenager willingly assign himself the responsibilities of caring for small children — one who resembles the man that tried to kill him and the other being an ill little girl confined to a hospital bed for who knows how long. All Gojo gets from this deal is a headache, bills, and more problems than necessary.

Megumi’s not really sure how the rumors started in the first place. He thinks it’s because kids his age are easily influenced and have a tendency to run wild with their imaginations. With the rising popularity of gangs from the high school students, this interest seems to have trickled all the way down to the elementary levels. Megumi certainly fits the description of their idea of someone from the yakuza: silent, secretive, scary.

(If they were a little bit older, maybe they would have just seen him as an introvert.)

No matter how ridiculous the rumors get, though, it doesn’t change the fact that the root of them is true: he is connected to the yakuza. After all, he’s being primed and prepped to be someone of value in the clan. Once you’re tied with the likes of them, you might as well just resign to the knot fate’s trapped you with. He’s learned quickly that the only thing harder than getting into the yakuza is getting out.

And because his sister’s and his life both depend on him doing as he’s told, getting out is a funny pipe dream at best and the Fushiguro siblings’ cause of death at worst.

“I told you to move. You’re blocking my way.” Megumi’s tone of voice betrays nothing. Annoyance, maybe, but he speaks flatly regardless of how he’s truly feeling. Gojo says it’s kinda creepy. Gojo also says that being a little creepy isn’t bad.

(Gojo should know; he’s a certified creep in Megumi’s eyes.)

“Oh — so the little boy can speak up.” The boy with blond hair laughs. It’s a nasally sound that grates Megumi’s ears.

He’s not an idiot. Megumi is well aware of the fact that no matter how much he feels like it isn’t true, he’s still just a little ten year old boy. He should be playing with the toy cars Gojo bought him, not worrying about the gritty future that lies ahead. But still, the phrase rubs him the wrong way.

Little boy.

He wasn’t so little when he kicked them down to his height before properly bashing their faces, now was he? Even now, he can feel the anger coming up. He clenches his fists, wondering if he’ll get suspended for fighting right next to school property.

“Leave him alone.”

Another voice appears, but not from any of the boys. No — this time, it’s coming from a little girl on the sidewalk across from theirs. Everyone involved turns to stare at the source of such a command and are greeted with the sight of you with a Hello Kitty backpack. You’ve got a frown on your face that doesn’t match the brightness of your pink outfit.

Megumi recognizes you instantly. You’re in the same class as him. You were in the same class as him last year, too. He tilts his head, trying to figure out what exactly it is you’re trying to accomplish here — and why.

He knows his social standing in the school. If he’s at the bottom, you’re right at the top. A beaming pillar of light, everyone flocks to you like moths after a flame. But you’re alone today, not surrounded by the usual crowd of boys and girls who are often vying for your attention. Seeing you alone enables him to see you more clearly, without all the distractions getting in his way.

You’re small. Shorter than him, and way shorter than the middle school boys. You’ve got a bow in your hair and brand new shoes on your feet. If anybody should be socially aware, it has to be you. Those at the top, Megumi knows, like to remind everyone of their placement. You shouldn’t be here. You should be ignoring him like he’s got the plague, just like everyone else.

All three of the boys start to laugh after sizing you up. The laughter only serves to make you even more irritated, but you can’t speak because one of them is already talking through his laughs.

“Don’t tell me. Is this your girlfriend?”

The group erupts into more laughter, and while Megumi’s expression remains the same as it’s been for the past few minutes, yours only shows your growing contempt.

“She’s no one.” Megumi throws you an odd look, one of neither annoyance nor gratitude for trying to help him out. He uses your presence as a distraction, and he manages to take a few more steps before one of the boys is yanking him back by his bookbag.

“Grab her.” One of the boys says, and the third boy, the one with the messy red hair, starts to cross the street.

Megumi watches as you stay right where you are. Are you stupid? Why won’t you run? The boy still has a solid grip on his bookbag, keeping him in place. He wonders if it’ll be a waste of his breath if he tells you to start running — you probably wouldn’t listen to him anyway.

But then Megumi figures out why you don’t look too frightened, because not even a second before the older boy manages to cross the street to your side of the sidewalk, a man in a suit is running towards you, a scowl on his face.

“You said you were going to the restroom, young lady!” The man scolds you while panting for breath. He surveys the scene, looking at you, and then the middle school boy by your side before turning his head and seeing Megumi in between the other two boys. “What’s going on? Is everything alright? Did they do anything to you?”

“No, Mr. Higashi. B-but—“ Your bottom lip starts to tremble, and even though Higashi is certain that the tears about to fall are fake, the situation itself looks serious enough to the point where he doesn’t call you out on it. “Th-these boys are being really mean.” You let out a high pitched wail that makes the boy let go of Megumi’s bookbag. “They just threatened to attack me and my friend out of nowhere.”

“Your father will be informed.” Higashi frowns, eyeing the guilty boys who look confused and a little shocked at this turn of events. “Mr. [Surname] certainly won’t be pleased to hear about this.”

The middle school boys pale when they hear the man name drop your family’s surname.

After all, it’s the same last name that’s engraved on plaques all over the school, thanking your family for the many donations they’ve received.

You enter into Megumi’s life that way: unexpectedly. He never thanked you for intervening, but it’s not like you did it for the thanks anyway. You did it, you tell him, because you figured he needed some help.

“I had it handled.” He tells you flatly. “Why are you even sitting here? Your friends keep staring at us.”

It’s true. Stories of what happened are already circulating around both schools, and while all your friends spent the whole entire day pestering you for the full story, you chose to keep quiet about the situation. And now, here you are, choosing to sit and eat lunch with Megumi, someone who also knows the true story of what went down but the only one people aren't brave enough to ask.

Your whole entire table of friends keep their heads huddled together as they go back and forth with each other, every one of them sparing glances at Megumi’s table. It makes the rice in his mouth taste stale. He should have just stayed in the classroom to eat, especially if he knew you would be bothering him.

“Gee, is that any way to treat a friend?” You huff, not at all actually annoyed with him.

“We’re not friends.”

“Too late. I told my dad we were.”

There has been one question on his mind ever since that incident. Just who exactly is your father? He’s not stupid; he knows that you must come from a wealthy family. If the buildings and auditorium named after your family isn’t enough proof, the fact that you always have the latest toys, the nicest shoes, the cutest stationery sets — that’s material proof of a spoiled princess.

You continue speaking, and as if you can read his mind, you’re already answering his question. “My daddy’s called a CEO. But the man you saw is Mr. Higashi. He takes care of me when dad’s away at work, and everything I do gets typed up in a report that dad sees every day. He wasn’t happy about what happened, so he says the boys will get in trouble. He told us not to worry, though.” You have a pleased smile on your face, waiting for Megumi to say something in reply.

“Okay.” He says, after a while. He only spoke because it seemed like you were waiting for him to. “It doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

“What’s so wrong about being friends with me?” You tilt your head. Everyone wants to be friends with you. And that’s before they even figure out that you live in a real life mansion with actual servants, and that sometimes you’re allowed to eat dessert for dinner. Even without the wealth, you still draw people in, whether it be with your bright smile or cheery attitude.

“Don’t you already have enough friends?” He can’t figure out what you could possibly want with him. Even though Gojo’s got the backing of the clan and enough funds to run the Tokyo underground with cash to spare, it’s not like Megumi is in a position to take advantage of it. Gojo hands him a thick wad of cash every week with a tip to “spend wisely, hehehehe”, and Megumi takes the tip to heart. A majority of the money sits saved in his bedroom, underneath a floorboard he spent a week trying to figure out how to loosen without anyone catching on. (Which was actually easy whenever he realized that nobody seems to really watch him to begin with.) So, he doesn’t look like he has money, and isn’t that what all rich kids want? To surround themselves with equally rich kids?

“I guess.” Your bubbly mood seems to dampen a bit at the mention of the other kids. They like you, sure. But they like each other a lot more. The gap between you and the other kids isn’t noticeable at first, but the novelty of having an endless supply of company has lost its luster. Meanwhile, the glamor of your life only keeps the hoards of “friends” to grow as the days go by. It’s always “let’s have a sleepover at [Names]’s!” or “[Name], we have to go to your house because you have the best toys!”. You wonder if they like you, or the shiny things that they get when they’re with you. “But, it’s not like youhave any friends.”

“I don’t need any.” The response is quick — instinctual. Gojo, even if not the greatest guardian by any parental standards, still presses Megumi to have a proper (or, as proper as it can be) childhood.

(“You know, I don’t care if you bring any friends over. Just make sure no one ends up accidentally getting shot, okay, Megumi?”

Yeah, because that’s definitely gonna push him towards throwing as many parties as he wants.)

People in his position don’t have many friends. It’s hard to, he assumes, because of all the killings and betrayals and power plays.

(And, he’ll soon learn that it hurts a lot less to lose an enemy than it does a friend.)

“Hmm. Okay.”

But you don’t get up from your seat, and he doesn’t tell you to move.

The next day, you’re carrying two bento boxes. The lunches are prepared for you by world class chefs and everything is done in a rather cutesy manner to entice you into not wasting your food. The fruit is cut into pretty shapes, the food has picks with animals on them, and everything is colorful and to your own personal tastes.

You take a seat next to him once again. He looks up for a second, sees that it’s you, and returns back to his meal that looks pitiful in comparison. Leftover rice and some cold meat. You think it’s the same thing he had last time.

“For you.” You slide the second bento you had requested towards him before opening up your own.

“What’s this for?”

“For you to eat, silly.”

“...How much?”

“Huh? All of it, I guess? If you don’t like something, tell me, and I’ll request something different tomorrow.” You don’t quite understand what he’s asking you.

“No. How much does it cost? I'll bring you the money tomorrow.”

“Why would it cost you?” Now you’re really confused.

Didn’t anyone ever teach you that everything comes attached with a price? If it’s not money you want, it must be something else. At least, if Megumi’s judgments are right. (And they usually are.)

“Fushiguro, I brought you this because I want you to eat well and grow strong.”

He wonders what rice shaped like Hello Kitty has to do with his strength.

“Also, so the next time people give you or me trouble, you can fight them, okay?”

Oh. So it’s protection you want. He contemplates what he thinks your request is before popping a piece of food into his mouth. A meal made with care — he can taste the thought that’s been put into it. Shoving his old lunch to the side, he quickly starts eating at the one you brought him.

Okay. So maybe he does accept your offer.

“Meguuuumi.” You whine out his name, messing up the navy sheets of his bed while he sits at his desk, trying to finish his application for university. “I’m bored.”

“Good. Go to your own house then, and leave me alone.”

“You’re so mean to me.” You sigh, turning your head so that half of your face is pressed against his pillow. The scent of his shampoo still sticks to the fabric, and you subconsciously inhale the scent some more. It’s familiar and reminds you of him, your favorite person in the world.

No one believes you when you tell them that Megumi is your best friend. No one wants to believe that it’s true. After all, the two of you look more like a shoujo manga trope than an actual pair of best friends. The cold, inexpressive dark haired male lead with a secretive past he doesn’t want anyone to know about and the bright, bubbly, ball of energy that is constantly clinging to his side. It’s like looking at night and day with you two.

“And yet, you’re still always here.”

You’re still by his side, even when the two of you reached middle school and high school together, and he spent a majority of his time starting (and finishing) fights.

(“Get off of him!” You screamed, yanking on the collar of one of the boys who happened to be trying to grab Megumi from behind. You don’t have the same amount of strength as them, but everyone at this point knows who you are and who exactly your father is. No matter what the origin of the fight is won’t matter; all that matters is that the precious daughter of one of Tokyo’s richest CEOs got caught in it, and that’s enough to get everyone involved into some deep shit.

Immediately, the boy scampers off, and the other boy Megumi was punching into the squeaky clean floors of the hallway begins to thrash around wildly, eyes wide at the sudden sight of you. Seeing you coming from behind Megumi is like watching the sun peek through a dozen storm clouds.

Megumi gives him one last punch, not nearly as satisfied as he thought he would be. Honestly, getting into fights with low level delinquents is beneath him. It’s not just his knuckles and clothes that are getting dirty; by feeding into the school’s image that he’s this young, violent yakuza heir, he’s dirtying the prestige Gojo claims is oh so important.

“Megumi.” He straightens up at the sound of your voice, which usually sounds so sweet, especially when it’s directed towards him. Instead, you have an uncharacteristic frown on your face and you sound… mad. “Let’s go.”

You’ve got a hand wrapped around his wrist, and people part when they spot the two of you making a hasty exit. The teachers aren’t bold enough to cause a scene with you, and the students know both you and Megumi are practically untouchable — one being the spoiled brat daughter of a rich and powerful businessman, the other, a ticking time bomb with ties to the yakuza.

You don’t stop walking until the two of you are in a secluded courtyard at the school. No one goes here, mainly because it’s in such an inconvenient location and there’s nothing but trees and weeds over growing it. The two of you found it within your first week of being here, and ever since then, it’s become your designated spot to avoid prying eyes.

“I thought you were over stupid fights. You told me yourself that they weren’t the type of people worth beating up.” You scold him, forcing him to take a seat on the bench that creaks under his weight. You make a noise as you inspect the drying blood on his knuckles.

If an outsider were to look at the scene before them, they would gape at the unbecoming sight of you on your knees, in between his legs, too close for a duo who claims to be “just good friends”. But there’s nothing inherently dirty in your thoughts. Instead, you’re staring thoughtfully at his hands, inspecting the minor damage done to them.

Megumi swallows hard as he looks down on you. He shouldn’t be feeling like this — you’re his best friend, his only friend. The only person who’s by his side. If you could read in his mind, there’s no doubt that you would be recoiling away from him in disgust…)

You’re still by his side, even when he told you the truth about himself after waiting years to see if you were truly his friend or not.

(“The rumors—” He starts to say, but you shush him, rolling over on your side to face him. The two of you are lying on the grass in your massive backyard, trying to spot a shooting star that’s supposed to be passing by at any second now.

“I don’t care about that.” You tell him. Middle school was a bitch to deal with, mainly because as everyone was in the process of growing up and “maturing”, so did the rumors they spread. Now, the two of you are halfway through your first week of high school. A new school, a couple of new classmates, and new rumors surrounding the odd pair.

“If I told you the rumors about me being someone you should avoid were true, would you be mad?” He’s lying on his back, still staring up at the night sky. He’s not turning to face you, almost as if he’s scared to look at you.

“Yes.” You answer without any hesitation. “At the person who’s spreading that around.” You clarify, poking him on his side to lighten the somber mood he’s setting. “You’re the only real friend I’ve had in forever, Megumi. I don’t think what anyone says about you would change that.”

“What if I did something bad?” Like kill a person. What then? What would you think of him if he told you the full truth: that Gojo told him that he can’t shield Megumi from the dirtier aspects of this type of life. That he’s spent hours after school, hours after hanging out with you and pretending to be a normal teenager, learning how to assemble, disassemble, and then reassemble a gun. That his target practice isn’t glass bottles lined up in a row or sheets printed out with human bodies. What happens if he told you that his target practice was low level scum from rival yakuza clans that Gojo couldn’t be bothered to kill himself?

“Mmm. How bad are we talking? Like, lied to me when you said my Christmas outfit looked good but half my ass was practically exposed bad or committing a felony bad?”

“What if I told you… that I really was a yakuza heir.”

The silence is palpable and especially soul crushing to Megumi as he waits for your reply.

“It wouldn’t matter to me, Megumi.” You say. You know that this isn’t just some type of hypothetical question he’s asking for fun. From his odd living situation to the intense nature of him in general to the fact that he knows practically everything about you, but you barely know the full extent of his childhood traumas despite growing up alongside him, you know deep in your heart that there has to be something going on with him. Something dark enough to harbor stories about him.

“Are you sure about that?”

You reach for his hand in the dark, finding it without really needing to look. He’s not one that’s prone to initiating physical contact, but you found out that he doesn’t really mind when you reach for him first.

“You can’t get rid of me, no matter how crazy or fucked up you think your life is.” You squeeze his hand, still staring at him.

You don’t notice the shooting star flying past the night sky, but Megumi is looking right at it. He knows what he’s wishing for.

For your words to be true.)

You’re still by his side, even when he brought you to his sister’s bedside. She’s sick, afflicted with something no one knows, not even the private doctors that Gojo’s spent millions on. She was still conscious, albeit confined to her bed when the two of you first met, but she’s been in a coma ever since the last year of middle school. You were by his side as he broke down about the news. It was the first time you’ve ever seen him cry.

So, no matter how much it may seem like he’s pushing you away, you don’t budge. For someone smaller than him and definitely weaker, you’re awfully resilient. And while people make the occasional joke, telling you to “blink twice if you need help”, you don’t pay any attention to them. If only they knew the truth: that you’ve got Megumi Fushiguro, heir to a massive yakuza clan, wrapped around your dainty finger.

He’s so whipped that he found himself asking Gojo for a rare favor.

(“College?” Gojo rubs the back of his neck, staring at Megumi. “I mean, I guess it’ll be good for you. Meet a wild party girl, take her to your dorm room, tame her—”

“An education is the whole point of attending, you know.” Megumi interrupts him before Gojo can jump into a story highlighting all of his sexual endeavors with college girls back in the day.

“Eh. I guess.” But then a grin lights up the feature of the man who [kind of/by definition] raised him. “But y’know what I know for a fact.” He wiggles his eyebrows, his glasses slipping down his nose as he tilts his head downwards. “You wanna follow [Name].”)

It doesn’t really matter if he’s not good enough to get into the university you’ve already received an early acceptance for. Because Gojo tries to make up for being an absent father figure, he fills in those empty spaces with cold, hard cash. All it takes is one nice donation, and Megumi’s wherever he wants to be.

Where he wants to be, he realizes, is to be by your side. Wherever you go, he’ll gladly follow. Funnily enough, despite the two vastly different backgrounds the both of you come from, you both have similar means of getting what you want.

Your father had already looked over the list of universities you had in mind, and all you could do was excitedly squeal and start rambling the moment the acceptance letters came in the mail. Despite the fact that your father’s physically absent from your life most of the time, he still tries to show he cares in the things he does for you. If paying off over half a dozen major universities in order to make you happy is something he has to do, he’ll do it without batting an eye.

It’s the same thing on Megumi’s end. Granted, Gojo’s means are more along the lines of using money as a lubricant and then death as an inevitable. Money talks, a gunshot to the head silences. Nobody can accuse anyone of taking bribes if said accused person is in a grave six feet under.

Sometimes, Megumi wonders how you’re just so oblivious to the fortunate circumstances in your life. You chalk up a lot of your father’s wishes as just “good luck”. In school, you’re placed on a pedestal, revered as some goddess-like, otherworldly being. People are practically tripping over themselves, running towards you for a crumb of your attention. Anyone sane would gladly wield this power and use it for all its worth. Not you, though. Not you, who’s kind and considerate and completely clean from the corruptness that plagues everyone else.

Megumi knows good and well that he’s not a hero — couldn’t be farther from it, if he’s being honest. He doesn’t feel a moral obligation to go out and rid the world of all evil. (It’d be hypocritical, he thinks, considering the fact that he’s most likely belonging under the evil category himself.) From a young age, he’s already known and come to terms with his fate. He’s going to train and learn from the best, and eventually, he will succeed as head of the clan. That is his purpose. That right there is the reason why he’s still alive today. That is why he can find himself sitting at his desk, submitting an application that’s already guaranteed to be followed up with an acceptance letter, ready to pretend for four more years that he’s normal.

“D’you think college will be fun?” You ask him, making yourself comfortable in his bed.

“No.”

You laugh at that. You like Megumi for a lot of reasons, and his honesty is one of them. Despite the fact that he likes to keep most of the darker details of his life to himself, you know that he would never lie to you. In a world full of people who are constantly lying, it gets tiring trying to figure out who’s real and who’s fake. It doesn’t help that you want to believe in everyone either. If you didn’t have Megumi loyally staying by your side all this time, you doubt you would have made it this far in your life without anyone taking advantage of you and your kindness.

“My dad said I can finally get a boyfriend when I go to college.” You say this fact so casually that Megumi almost — almost — gets fooled into believing that this is not a cause for concern. Almost.

“Oh.” He’s at a loss for words. He knows that it’s inevitable; that one day, you’ll find a guy you like and want to get closer to him. He knows that you’re not always going to be by his side, and he knows that it’s going to happen because he’ll have to push you away eventually. The older he gets, the deeper he’s burying himself into his grave. He doesn’t want you to get caught in the crossfire.

It’s not like boys have never tried approaching you before. People have spent years thinking that you and Megumi were a couple, and then after finding out from you that the two of you are nothing more than “best friends”, boys were still hesitant to talk to you. The glare Megumi would give them from behind your shoulder acted as a strong enough deterrent.

“I know. Now the only problem is finding a guy who’ll actually wanna date me.”

“They all will.” The words leave his mouth faster than he can even think about them. He’s not wrong, though. Every time the two of you are out in public together, he sees people shooting quick glances at you, at your ass, at your bright smile. The looks they give are predatory, dangerous, even. If it’s not your looks, it’s your shining personality that draws them all in. And if that’s not good enough, there’s always the enormous wealth attached to your last name. That’s the key to getting them to stay.

“You can be so sweet sometimes, you know that?” You giggle, glad that he’s still typing away on his laptop. If he were to look at you right now, he would see that you’re reacting way too positively to such a lackluster compliment. It’s not like he listed reasons on why anyone would ever want to date you, so he probably could just be complimenting you to make you happy.

(That’s just the excuse you’re going with. You know your best friend — that means you know that he would never say something he doesn’t truly think or believe.)

There’s a secret you’ve been keeping from him. A secret so big that you think you might’ve been keeping it from yourself, too. Something so big that your body simply can’t contain it any longer.

You like Megumi.

Of course you do. You keep telling the whole world what great friends the two of you are. You talk to him about your dad all the time (which must mean he’s important, because you rarely get to speak to your dad, so you have to choose your topics of conversation wiseley). You trust him more than you trust yourself. Ever since middle school, you’ve been telling yourself that you liking Megumi isn’t anything to be ashamed or confused about. You like him because he’s your friend, and you’re supposed to like your friends.

And then you came to terms with the fact that you like Megumi beyond the borders of friendship.

It starts with you seeing him the way other girls must see him. You’re not blind, you know. It’s obvious that Megumi is far from ugly. If he wasn’t so intimidating, you’re sure he would have had his fair share of confessions, too. Megumi’s pretty, although calling him a pretty boy wouldn’t do his character justice. He’s got lashes people pay extensions for theirs to look like, and the prettiest dark blue eyes you’ve ever seen, and his hair, which he doesn’t put forth any type of effort in, always looks good whereas the same hairstyle would look messy on anyone else.

It’s not just his looks, though. Even if you look like the type of person who would judge others based on such shallow standards, you didn’t approach Megumi simply because he’s attractive. He’s… interesting. He’s got this reputation for being a delinquent, and maybe all the fights on his school record prove it, but he’s surprisingly respectful. He’s the type of guy who gets up from his seat to let an eldery woman have it. He loves animals. He’s honest and sweet despite his seemingly stoic nature, and he’s so oblivious to just how good he is.

Maybe it’s because he’s so blinded by the light that is you. You, with your cutesy bento boxes that used to be made by your team of personal chefs but are now made with your own manicured hands. You, with that bright smile of yours that he wants to always see because god — he thinks he would be willing to destroy the whole world if something were to ever make you so upset. You’re kind and beautiful and everything people write love songs about. You’re so good, and he’s nothing like you.

He’s nothing like you, because he highly doubts that you spend your time fantasizing about him like he does with you. It’s wrong, he thinks. And dirty, and disgusting, and vile. You’d hate him, he’s sure of it, if you knew what he thinks about late at night. That he sits on his bed with his cock pulled out from his shorts, leaking with precum as he strokes himself to the thought of you. Do you not see him as any other guy? Despite your lack of experience, surely you know just how dirty boys’ minds can be? You’ve got to be conscious of the fact that he’s any other guy, right? So, why — why — do you always roll around in his sheets, letting your sweet perfume stick to his sheets. Your tiny tops and skirts are always clinging tight to your body, and you never feel the need to readjust your clothing when it rides up. Do you not see him trying his hardest to look you in the eyes when the two of you are talking, despite the tantalizing sight of your skirt bunching up, exposing the smooth skin of your thighs?

Little does Megumi know (and if you have your way, he’ll never find out), you spend nights in your room, whining and trying to stuff your cunt with the same fingers that painstakingly made him his lunch. He’s your best friend since childhood. He looks at you like you’re an angel, and you don’t want to destroy that image by revealing just how dirty you really are. How every time he gets so close to you, you subconsciously bring your thighs together, trying to rub them together in a poor attempt to relieve some tension. He’d be disgusted with you, you’re sure of it. Maybe even betrayed.

Besides, it would never work out. Megumi doesn’t see you the way you see him. He might look at you with a soft look you’ve never seen him give anyone else, but that’s because you’re his only friend. It’s not like he’s harboring any hidden feelings for you, and just because you’re so convinced that there’s no one better than Megumi around, it doesn’t exactly mean that you won’t feel this way about anyone else.

Megumi’s got a rather monotone cadence with his voice, so you’re not too surprised by his seemingly unethusiatic response to you saying you’re now allowed to date. Still — there’s a slight pang of disappointment when you realize that he doesn’t sound jealous at the prospect of you dating someone else.

You decide right then and there that the healthiest thing to do now is to just bury your feelings for him deep inside your heart, to tightly pack in all those pesky feelings and store them away so you can make room to allow others to fill in his space.

gumi <3: where are you? gumi <3: i’m feeling tired and i have an assignment due tomorrow. i’m going home. gumi <3: you know i wouldn’t leave without you. cmon [name]. let’s leave now

Megumi frowns at his phone. He can clearly see that all his messages are being delivered, not to mention that he’s already called you twice and has been sent to voicemail twice. He can be patient when he wants to be, but right now, he’s getting a little pissed.

You know that he doesn’t like parties, and you know that he doesn’t hang out with the same people you do. He also knows that you don’t even really like most of the people you surround yourself with, so whyyou suddenly decided to do a 180 and reestablish your throne as the head of the social pyramid, he doesn’t know.

Lately, things between the two of you have been a little… weird. Sometimes he catches you staring at him with a sad smile on your face; one that you immediately replace with your usual one when you realize he’s looking right at you. Despite him asking you if everything’s okay, you vehemently deny that there’s anything wrong, and you’re quick to change the subject.

He thinks he’s losing his best friend, his only friend. And maybe it only hurts because he’s grown used to your presence in his life. Maybe it hurts because you’re his friend. But he knows the truth. It hurts because he’s losing you.

Did he do something wrong? Did he accidentally somehow reveal the extent of his feelings for you? Did you suddenly decide that maybe associating with someone like him isn’t something you’re meant for? Do you…

Do you hate him now?

It doesn’t matter. Maybe it does, but not right now. Right now, he’s more focused on getting the hell out of this stuffy ass living room, filled to the brim with drunken young adults and people he couldn’t care less about. The only person that matters right now is you, and he’s on a mission to find your location.

He’s got this ominous feeling in his gut, like something bad is about to happen. He’s Megumi Fushiguro, for fuck’s sake, so bad things have a habit of following him wherever he goes. But still, he’s made a personal promise to himself that no matter how bad things get, you’ll never get caught in the crossfire. He’s willing to die to keep that vow.

If you don’t reply to him, you most likely have a good reason. He doesn’t want to be clingy, is pretty damn certain he doesn’t even have a right to be, but he’s still worried about you. He’s pushing past the wall of sweaty bodies, trying to catch a glimpse of your hair color, the waft of your perfume, the familiarity of your laugh, but he can’t catch a single crumb of you anywhere.

You’re nowhere in sight, and he’s immediately filled with dread.

He yanks a guy who’s coming from upstairs.

“Ow, man, what the fuc—”

“Is anyone else up there?” Most of the time, the parties are restricted to just the first floor, with the unspoken rule being that only the upstairs should be used for people trying to fuck or to use the bathroom (or, people trying to use the bathroom to fuck). You’re not anywhere downstairs, and if you were simply using the restroom, you would have been back down here by now.

“Shit, I don’t fucking know.” The guy squints at Megumi, as if trying to see if he knows him or not. With the way his expression pales, Megumi comes to the conclusion that the guy might not really know him, but he knows ofhim. Gojo says that with the right reputation, the two concepts are practically synonymous. “But I heard a guy ‘n a girl, I think, walk past the bathroom. I don’t know who, though!”

Megumi lets go of the boy’s shirt, and he’s quick to run off before Megumi can give him any more wrinkles in his shirt — or do something much worse.

He’s thinking. Odds are, it’s probably not even you. With so many people roaming around this house, it’s likely that he just missed your presence. Your phone could have died, so that explains why he can’t reach you.

He finds himself heading up the stairs anyway.

It’s fine. He tells himself. You’re fine. You’re okay. Nobody would dare to touch a single hair on your head unless they want to suffer directly at the hands of Megumi. People around campus call him your guard dog, and it’s not necessarily a nickname he hates.

The atmosphere upstairs is vastly different from the one downstairs. There are no lights turned on, and all the doors to the rooms are closed. He hears a flush coming from one end, and out walks a tipsy girl who’s staggering a bit. There are only so many doors to choose from, and he doesn’t really want to accidentally walk in on two people trying to have sex, but the need to confirm your safety outweighs any possible embarrassment he may suffer from, so he continues on his mission.

The first two rooms are revealed to be empty, leaving just one more. Megumi takes a deep breath before trying to turn the handle.

It’s locked.

His gut is telling him something isn’t right, but he’s forcing himself to chalk it all up to paranoia. He curses under his breath, wondering why he even let you out of his sights for a single second.

Because he didn’t want to seem clingy. Because he didn’t want you to have any more reasons to keep on pushing him away.

He decides to call you one more time, and as he’s listening to the dial tone, he hears a faint sound coming from the other side of the locked door.

It’s a phone ringing.

He presses his ear against the door, trying to make out any more sounds he possibly can. Is it still a coincidence when the phone stops ringing right as Megumi is greeted with your voicemail message of “sorry, I can’t come to the phone right now, but you probably should’ve just texted me!”

Without the annoying dial tone distracting him, Megumi can listen a little more clearly to what’s going on. There’s… there’s someone crying.

The voices are muffled, but he can make out bits and pieces of what’s being said.

“—fuck up… crying like a damn bitch… want this.”

He’s heard enough before he’s banging his shoulder against the door.

“OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!” He’s screaming, hitting it again. There’s a chance, the voice of reason inside of him is saying, that it’s not you that’s crying behind that door. Even if it wasn’t, Megumi still wouldn’t have stood by idly. But instinct is telling him that it is you, and that’s enough cause for him to bang his shoulder against the door once again. He hears a scream, and a male voice cursing.

The force of his body banding against it is enough to have the door really test the strength of its lock. Megumi’s never been the bulkiest person in the world, but he’s still got some defined muscle to him. The door is creaking, almost bending to his will, but he fumbles in the dark for the gun safely tucked away by his side.

It’s a gift from Gojo. To speed up the process when something needs to be done quick is what Gojo said it was for. He’s never used it in such close proximity to you, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

No silencer. He forgot the fucking silencer. With the deep bass rumbling from the speakers, he doubts anyone would be able to hear the gun go off anyway. He aims for the handle, pulling back the safety, and fires once, then twice. With a foot aimed at the door, he kicks at it, pleased to see the way the abused door finally bends to his will.

The open door reveals a scene that makes Megumi see red: you, with tear stained cheeks and your clothes bunched up and strewn across the floor with a guy Megumi vaguely recognizes as someone sharing the same Econ class as the two of you — Mahito.

“You fucking bastard.” Megumi practically lunges forward, tossing his gun to the side. He doesn’t see reason, is numb to common sense at this moment. All he feels is the need to hurt this fucker. To make him bleed, to have him on the brink of death, to see the light of life leave his dark eyes.

Mahito is fast, but even he couldn’t imagine the speed that Megumi would possess when pushed to the edge. This is different from the fights you’ve witnessed during school. This is something entirelydifferent.

The first punch has Mahito wincing in pain. The second, third, and fourth ones are thrown back to back, and there’s no time given to recover, no chance to gain the upper hand. He’s falling down, and Megumi’s on top of him, drawing back his fist only to slam it against him again and againand again.

Megumi knows he’s got something fucked up inside of his head — what other explanation is there to reason with why he finds this bloody violence so satisfying? His knuckles are bloody, and he can’t tell where Mahito’s blood starts and where his own ends. There’s a wild grin on his face, one that you’ve never seen before. You’re not sure if it’s a trick of the shadows, but the feral expression on Megumi’s face transforms him from your loyal best friend to something monstrous.

“‘Gumi, st-stop.” The words stumble out of your mouth as hiccups, but you don’t miss the way Megumi’s raised arm freezes in its higher position before he slowly brings it back down to his side. He’s breathing deeply, and all is silent in the room.

As if the sound of your cries is enough to snap him out of his daze, it’s almost scary how fast his mood shifts. Just a second ago, he was hellbent on beating Mahito to a bloody pulp, and now the darkness drowning those blue eyes of his is practically gone. He makes his way to the bed, each step hurried but still hesitant. Do you even want to be near him right now?

You answer his question with some more small sobs. “‘Gumi, I—”

“Shh, it’s okay, [Name].” He’s picking up your clothes from the floor, ready to help you get dressed. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

“Megumi.” His name seems to be the only thing you’re capable of saying right now. After he helps you get dressed, he’s thrown off guard when you cling to him, with your arms wrapped around his neck and your wet cheeks pressed against his shoulder.

The moment the two of you are exiting the room, both of you far too wrapped up with the other to pay him any mind, Mahito lets out a laugh before groaning at the pain Megumi inflicted.

The two of you don’t know what you just started, but no worries — Mahito has the means of ending it.

It’s only a matter of time.

You’re too good to be true.

You won’t listen to him when he tells you this (you never do), but he swears you’re a fucking angel or something otherwordly. There’s no other possible explanation for just how breathtakingly beautiful you are, or how you’re the only thing consuming his every thought. Despite the fact that all the blood on his hands has reached an amount that he’s sure he’ll never truly be able to wash it all off, you don’t shy away from his touch. As a matter of fact, it seems like you’re keening for it.

“‘Gumi.” You mewl out, sticking out your tongue to lap at the precum on Megumi’s thumb.

You’re well aware of just how dangerous your boyfriend (the title makes you giddy every time you refer to him as that) is, but you know him. You know that the hands of a killer are the hands of your lover, and most of the time, you have a hard time believing the awful things he’s had to do with them. Because right now, those hands that are meant to be weapons are handling you with care, touching you so gently, you would have thought you were made of glass and ready to shatter.

“Look at you, all spread out for me. What happened to my precious, shy little girl, huh?” He removes the hand that was cradling your face back to his cock, stroking his length, the saliva from your tongue acting as a minor lubricant. The first time he fucked you was the first time you’ve ever had sex with anyone ever, and it had been the start of an addiction. You love Megumi. You love everything about him, from his character to his tenacity, all the way down to his cock, with its red tip that’s sticky with pre and leaking out more as he stares down at the obscene position you’re in.

Your face feels warm as he stares down at you, his eyes darkened with a mix of love and lust that you don’t think you’ll ever get used to being on the receiving end of.

“Need you, need you so bad, please, ‘Gumi—” You’re staring up at him, giving him your best doe eyes.

“Fuck.” Just the sight of you beneath him, completely bending to his will, whining out for him to pretty please fuck you has him ready to cum right on the fucking spot. He’s pressing the tip in, his breathing faltering just the slightest as the warmth you provide envelopes the most sensitive part of him, nearly causing him to lose all self control right then and there.

You let out a cry as he pushes himself deeper in you, making himself at home in your gummy walls, one hand gripping your hip and the other holding onto the headboard.

“You feel so good for me, baby, shit.” He hisses, waiting for you to adjust, impatient but willing to bear it if it means it’ll feel better for you in the long run. After all, there’s nothing he wouldn’t do, nothing he wouldn’t endure, just to ensure your happiness.

“Mm — ah — please.” There are still tears welling up in your eyes — precious girl, he hasn’t even began to properly fuck you, and you’re already tearing up? The sight of you completely and willingly at his mercy is enough to get him to start rutting his hips against yours, the satisfying sound of skin slapping against skin resounding and bouncing against the walls of his bedroom that is starting to feel more like the both of yours.

“Y’feel so fuckin’ good for me, baby.” He groans, his pace quickening, the thrusts getting sharper and rougher with every roll of his hips. You’re powerless against his strength, and this type of easy submission feels so natural, feels so good, when it’s him that’s taking advantage of it. “You’ve got the sweetest pussy, y’know that? I could fuck you forever.”

His praise goes through one ear and out the other with you, but your heart swells up to twice its size. Even if you can’t focus on the words all too clearly, you’re still aware that Megumi’s probably praising you. You can come to this conclusion because he’s always praising you. He’s always so sweet, so gentle, so loving — when it comes to you, that is.

“Hng — daddy!” You can’t help but let out a high pitched moan as he hits that sweet spot inside of you that makes you buck your hips up.

There’s no way you don’t know what you’re doing. Clenching around his cock like that, making those cute little noises that he can’t help but want to hear all the time, and then calling him that.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy.”

Forget igniting something within him; you whining for him, calling him something that’s the root cause of all his childhood traumas… That’s like dousing him with gasoline and tossing a lighter at him. He’s going to burn through all his energy, channel all this dark, feral energy, and use you as the one unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end.

He fucks into you so deeply that if your eyes weren’t shut tight, there’s no doubt that you wouldn’t see the unmistakable shape of his cock outlined against your tummy. The headboard is banging against the wall, and the squelching sounds of him roughly thrusting in and out of your sopping cunt is so lewd and so dirty that if you had any room to harbor a single ounce of shame, you would be downright embarrassed.

“How about you make me a daddy, huh? How about I fuck a baby in you?” He won’t lie and say it’s not something that’s never crossed his mind. The thought of your stomach round with a life the two of you created is enough to get him to continue with this near-brutal pace he’s set forth. “Doesn’t it sound nice, baby? My baby giving me a baby, what—” He grits his teeth as you tighten up. “—a fucking dream.”

“Baby. Wanna have your babies.” You cry out, tears spilling out and wetting your cheeks as your arms find their way to his neck and broad shoulders, trying to pull him in closer. The heat building up from within you feels like you’re about to fucking explode. “‘Gumi, I love you, Iloveyoupleasegimmeababy—'' Your words are practically unintelligible as you slur them out, the words sticking together as you cum all over his cock, all that pleasure that has been building up now physically tangible, if the white ring encasing his cock every time he pulls out is evidence.

“Fuck! You feel so fucking good. Always so fuckin’ tight.” He’s reaching his own end, and you’re just lying there, trying to recover from such an intense orgasm but unable to as your too sensitive walls clench around the constant intrusion of his cock. Spurred by your little love confession and his mind imagining his daydreams coming true — you, as his cute little housewife, taking care of the kids the two of you made together — he finally shoves himself as deep as he physically can, making sure that as he cums, nothing will spill out.

“‘Gumi.” You whisper, your head resting against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart. “Did you mean it when you said you wanted to start a family?”

He’s silent for a minute.

“I wouldn’t mind starting a family with you.” And he means it. He knows this life isn’t one meant for children — look at how he turned out, for god’s sake — but he thinks that for you, he can do anything. Even make a family work out. As long as it’s what you want, he doesn’t mind how hard it may be.

You snuggle closer to him, burying your face in the warmth of his chest. “Good.” You mumble. “I wanna start a family with you, too.”

Megumi feels… at peace. Like he’s got the whole entire world in the palm of his hands. He wraps his arms around you, and realizes that no — right now, he’s got his world right in his arms.

Mahito likes to play with his food before he devours them whole.

Humans are just so… vulnerable. Even the coldest people have a heart; it’s only a matter of whether or not they find someone warm enough to defrost it. Megumi Fushiguro, for example, likes to walk around this world, acting indifferent and claiming to follow his own moral conduct, only to give himself the biggest weakness he could possibly harbor: you.

He still remembers that party. He still remembers the way you were dressed like a little slut, completely oblivious (or maybe you were just acting coy) to the wolfish stares all the guys were giving you. He had the same class as you. Seen the way you clung to Gojo’s charity case, as if the ground would swallow Megumi whole if you let go of him. You’re cute, and you scream naive virgin, and that’s precisely why Mahito wanted to take you to that bedroom and have his way with you.

And then, your infamous little guard dog bared his teeth and pummeled him into the hardwood of a stranger’s bedroom floor.

Grudges are cancerous. If you don’t deal with it right away, it develops into something worse. It takes over all your internal organs, ruining you ‘til the only thing you can focus on is getting revenge. And the longer you wait, the more vengeful you get. It doesn’t become a matter of ruined pride or reestablishing honor — it becomes about inflicting the most pain one possibly can. It becomes about suffering — about transferring your pain, your anguish, onto someone else.

Mahito isn’t the type to hold grudges, but for Megumi, he’ll make a special exception. He wants to see just how well trained the boy is; after all, he’s been taken under the wing and supervision of Satoru Gojo, the myth himself. Surely, his student must be nearly as skilled, right?

It’s been a long game of watching and waiting on Mahito’s end. A lot of lurking in the shadows and gathering intel. It’s a lot more boring than he anticipated, but today’s the day where all his hard work finally comes to fruition. Megumi Fushiguro is going to regret ever interfering with him that one fateful night. The burning humiliation he’s felt has long since fizzled out, but since he’s already been set on the path of orchestrating Megumi’s destruction, he figures it only makes sense to see it through. You only can let go of a grudge after you get your proper revenge.

He’s been leaving Megumi all sort of taunting, teasing threats any chance he gets. Mahito’s got nothing but disgraced yakuza members on his side; those who have committed acts vile enough to get them kicked out of what is essentially a group of criminals. He knows how to be twisted — hell, twisted might be the only thing he knows how to be.

Killing girls that resemble you and sending him the photos. Taking videos of you when you’re out in public alone. Leaving voicemails for Megumi, ones that leave him pale faced and unable to breathe as he listens to how Mahito wants to tortue you.

Megumi’s been on edge for the past few months, unable to explain to you why. It’s why you don’t understand why Megumi won’t let you go back to your car, even though you left your phone in there.

“I’ll go. Or, we can go together.”

“You have to wait for our coffee! And besides, I don’t even know where I left my phone. It might not even be in the car, but you’ll just waste your time searching for it if it’s not there.”

“So then why do you have to go look for it?”

“Because it’s my phone? Also, I reeeeeallly don’t wanna have to wait for our coffee, so I figured looking for my phone in the car would kill some time.” You give him that sweet smile of yours that he loves so much before waving him goodbye. “I’ll be back by the time our order is ready, pinky promise!”

At the end of the day, it’s all luck. Mahito realizes this as you happily skip out of the crowded cafe, headed towards your car to search for your phone. He doesn’t know why you’re returning back to your car, doesn’t even really care. All he knows and all he cares about is that you’re headed there alone. And while you’ve been alone plenty of times, he’s never had an opportunity quite like this one. A chance to finally detonate the bomb that’s been lying dormant underneath your car, ready to be activated at the press of a button. He could’ve killed you plenty of times already, but it’s not enough to merely murder you. He wants to make it a spectacle, sure, but he also only cares about one audience member watching: Megumi.

From where he’s hiding, blending in with the rest of the customers from the bakery across the street, he’s got a decent enough view of Megumi, who’s sitting by the glass windows, watching you with furrowed brows as you unlock the car door.

Mahito can’t help the cruel smile that spreads across his face as pushes the remote connected to the bomb.

Nobody expects to hear the loud, resounding boom of something exploding. The surrounding cars parked next to yours have their alarms going off like crazy; it’s nothing but high pitched, blaring noises blending together to create a disruptive harmony. People are screaming, someone is on the line with emergency services, and—

—your precious car is set aflame, reduced to a burning pile of scrap metal no salvage yard will take.

In this moment, Megumi Fushiguro’s world crumbles to ashes.

#megumi fushiguro x you #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro x y/n #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #megumi x reader #angst #fluff #one shot #drabble #smut #megumi smut #jjk smut #jjk imagines #yakuza au #THIS IS SO OLD IM CRYING #like rereading it... omg what was i ON???

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sanaexus · 6 months ago

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pass pass- oh smash.

the inarazaki volleyball team was nothing short of chaos. be it the twins bickering, suna recording every fight, aran cheering them on, omimi's loud sighs of disappointment, kita's scolding and the manager's threat was something that happened on a daily basis, it was normal.

but despite all that nothing changed the fact that they were all extremely close, specially with the manager. in the past all most all the managers quit because of how patient you needed to be dealing with the havoc they created. but you were different. dealing with their bullshit every day, helping them with whatever they needed and just being a friend they really needed.

while to anyone outside it may have seemed like you have romantic feelings for one of them and that's why you chose to become the manager, so you could be closer to them. but that really wasn't the case. the last thing you'd like was one of those hooligans.

it was supposed to be a normal practice match with aoba johsai, but this was inarizaki they were talking about, of course it wasn't.

no one knew you were dating oikawa. no, everyone just automatically assumed you were with atsumu. they weren't exactly to blame, you were close to him but that's what happens when you know someone since your childhood.

to say you were tensed about the match was an understatement. not only about how this was going to end on the court but about how the teams would react if they somehow got to know you were with oikawa.

but it was as if luck decided to make a complete fool of me their entire team came barging in, the loud entrance made everyone flinch for a second as they stared at the door.

now you were panicking and omi being the actual saint he was asked you, "are you alright?"

"no, fuck shit no, do i look alright?" i was pacing back and forth trying to hide my face thinking about ways to hide myself from oikawa or at least let him no that he shouldn't approach me.

"are you alright you look like you just saw a ghost"

"that's because i saw someone worse than a ghost! oh my godd can i call in sick please?" you pleaded with him, trying to find any excuse that would get you out of here.

"no. why would you want that, what happened?"

"i'm kinda maybe sorta might be dating someone from seijoh"

"what's the problem, he's in seijoh this is volley- wait you have boyf- WHAT?"

the yelling had caught the team's attention as they look at the both of you confused.

"WE'RE FINE, NOTHING HAPPENED" as you glare at omi "shhh are you trying to get me killed here? the problem is he is the volleyball team and is kinda the captain of the team. i'm just gonna pray he isn't stupid enough to approach me here with these creatures all around me"

"praying isn't going to be enough for what the twins might do to him if they find out."

cue the bad luck as kindaichi and kunimi wave at you, surprised you're standing at the other side of the court. your hands frantically making the cross sign across your chest mouthing "stay away, you don't know me"

"oh wait how about you text him or something to like not come up to you and you'll explain later"

"ohhh my god you're a genius i love you omi"

as you whip your phone out going to text iwaizumi with your hands shaking.

-IWAIZUMI HELP

why do you look like you're about to pass out? are you fine?

-it's because i might pass out any second. my team doesn't know i'm dating oikawa

-yeah tell him to not approach me please if they find out i'll be dead

i'll do it. good luck w this mess

-thank you i owe you big time

you look up from your phone to talk to omi- "i told his bestfriend to tell him to not approach me that should work right?"

"why didn't you tell him directly? what if he thinks he's just saying it so he stays focused"

"ohhh you're like SUPPER smart, i dont know what i'd do without you"

"probably have your little affair get caught"

you just mutter a little "rude" before going to text oikawa. but before you can, he comes in yelling.

"Y/NNN CHANN I MISSED YOUUU" his whiney voice can be heard to everyone as he jogs his over to you.

you sigh, knowing what's about to go down. "hi oikawa, i missed you too.." you whisper so only you can hear it. and before you can process the entire inarizaki volleyball team (and seijoh) is surrounding the two of you.

suna could careless about who you dated, if you were happy he didn't mind it. but this was something that was both surprising and funny, so of course he had to record it.

it was confusing to the team because up until now they were under the impression you were dating atsumu.

"wait wait wait what does he mean by he missed you? are you two friends?" osamu was curious, he knew you weren't dating his brother but he thought you liked him.

oikawa dramatically turned towards you "you haven't told them?"

"ladies, ladies there's enough of me to go around" which only brought you deadpan looks from both the volleyball teams "ok sorry, my bad for being funny"

"wait what does he mean you haven't told us??"

"we've been dating for a year, the last thing we could be is friends-"

"you're dating him? I thought you were with atsumu?"

"atsumu? i thought you were dating suna?"

"why me? i didn't even do anything keep me out of this?"

"NO WHY WOULD I BE DATING EITHER OF THEM?"

"what's wrong with us?" suna and atsumu asked offended.

"shut up i've seen you eating sand and you ask me what's wrong with the two of you?"

"y/n chan, what's going on?" kunimi asks curiously. the seijoh's team just stood there watching you, oikawa and the inarizaki members going back and forth.

"all of you shut up, we didn't even let y/n explain properly"

"oh my god thank you kita-"

"you don't like the twins?"

"KITA?! no oh lord i don't, i've been dating toruu for the past year, i never did and never will like any of these hooligans, no offense"

"HEY! that's rude-" before atsumu could whiney any further osamu smacked him in the back of his head, which shut him up immediately.

"what about the rumors of a girl making out with atsumu? that wasn't you?" suna finally asked, genuinely wanting to know more.

"Y/N-CHAN YOU MADE OUT WITH PISS HAIR? WHAT?"

"no oh my god toruu I didn't-"

"oh, that wasn't her that was just a junior i dated."

"yeah that wasn't me wait ew juniors? really atsumu?"

"she was cute! don't shift this on me"

"but guys seriously i never had have or will like anyone from the volleyball team. i'm sorry i hid it from you guys, but i was just scared of what you guys would think"

"are you happy? does he keep you happy?" aran asked borderline choking atsumu.

the question caught you off guard but instantly a small smile replaced the shock on your face "yes, he does, he's stupid but he really does make me happy"

"then that's all that matters"

"aww thank you-"

"nuh uh, i don't approve, what if he's a playboy?" atsumu disapprovingly shook his head praying aran's hands off him.

"oh god no one wants to hear that from you" suna shut atsumu up.

atsumu quietly huffed a "rude"

"well now that that's sorted, we should probably get back to warming up"

"yes thank you kindaichi, finally a normal person"

"y/n?" aran called out to you.

"yes?"

"just because your boyfriend's in that team doesn't mean we'll go easy on them, we'll just be rougher with them"

"if it makes you win, be my guest."

this was a bit awkward to write and I'm not proudest of this either but we'll js roll with it

@daisy-room here you go mam hope I did your idea justice

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 4 months ago

Text

Chapter 21: Try to Understand

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV, Soldier Boy POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy. This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter twenty one of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 7.5K

Warnings: I'm gonna go 18+, I'm not sure that it needs it, but I'm still gonna do it. Angst, Talks of pregnancy, Talks of possible abortion, Cursing, Fluff, Sexual References, Graphic Nightmare?, FLUFF, Family Problems, Self-deprecating thoughts, Awkward Situations, Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, completely a little OOC. Soldier Boy is really all you need as a warning.

Note: This is told from the Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Soldier Boy POV

After his shower, you still haven't come back from talking to Rosemary, and Ben decides that instead of eavesdropping on your conversation, he's going to go to the kitchen and get a drink. He knows exactly where Legend hides the good shit, mostly because Legend hid it to keep it away from Ben in the first place. And despite it happening forty years ago, nothing in Legend's house had changed. Ben had many memories of this house, at least two Herogasms had been hosted here, hell, Ben had memories in the room you two were sharing, but he kept them to himself.

The last thing he wanted was for you to think about any of the things that happened in the past, not when you had told him that he had made it up to you, not when you had held him close after all these years and whispered things to him that he always wanted you to say, and not when he was more happy than he'd ever been.

You said that you forgave him, Ben understood that, but that didn't mean he was going to stop making it up to you every day and it didn't mean that he was going to stop making you happy, because after all these years you were still the only thing he wanted, and he refused to lose you ever again.

He glances at the empty bottle on the nightstand, the one that you brought with you last night and the same bottle the two of you finished together.

He was surprised when you said you stopped drinking, but not completely. You'd only drunk socially as a supe, and Ben hadn't seen you drunk since the two of you were kids. He knew it was because you didn't want to lose control like he did.

Ben stutters on the memory of what happened in Mid-town, and what happened forty years ago when he threw a car through a house and killed an innocent bystander. Ben didn't believe he was a bad guy, he was a hero or- the memories of all the moments he lost control began to seep though the cracks- at least he thought he was.

His mind drifts back to you. You were always in control. The one time he'd ever seen you lose control was when you lost it at the premiere all those years ago. It was justified. Ben would have lost it too if he walked in on anyone fucking you. His jaw clenches at the thought, but then he remembers what you said last night, that there hadn't been anyone else, that you never wanted anyone else but him ever. It was surprising to him, that you hadn't moved on, even after all this time you still loved him the same way you always had and that there would never be anyone else.

Fuck. Ben took in a deep breath to avoid getting too excited remembering what you said, feeling warmth begin to build in his abdomen. It had been difficult to contain himself when you admitted that to him. If you had let him, he would have made love to you right then, made you feel things that no other man ever did, but you said you wanted to wait.

And Ben wanted to respect that, wanted to respect you.

He examines the empty bottle once more.

When you were younger he'd watch you get drunk on cheap beer that he bought you more than once, usually when you proclaimed that you could drink him under the table and then Ben had to practically corral you to get you home. Then again he liked those nights, when you'd try to sing, swing from light poles that lined the street, and you'd grab his hand and say crazy things like "let's run away" or "let's go egg Missy Callahan's house." Both of which Ben didn't need much more convincing to say yes, but the two of you never did.

He would have run away with you if you'd ever seriously asked him to, he would have dropped everything to leave, would have chosen you just as you chose him the night he showed up and asked you to go with him to get the serum. The promise he made to protect you and be strong for you the night you went with him was not new. He had repeated it to himself every day since the minute he realized how much you meant to him.

And he would continue to do it for the rest of his life.

Ben ascends the stairs, buttoning the Giants jersey that Butcher bought for him. He wasn't the biggest fan of them forty years ago, but it was one of the only shirts he had. And the last thing he wanted to do was walk around without a shirt on. Ben smiles to himself remembering your reaction when you walked in on him changing into his supe suit yesterday morning. He loved that you reacted to him that way, it was the same way that he reacted to seeing you yesterday when you were standing in your bathroom in only your bra, looking just as beautiful as you had forty years ago when he took you to bed and-

Fuck. Ben took in another deep breath finishing the last button to avoid thinking about you naked. It had been forty years for him and he knew that he was going to have to take it slow when it came to sex.

He stumbled into the kitchen and froze.

Lou was sitting at the square kitchen table that sat under a floor length window and looked out onto the sprawling backyard of Legend's property. Ben could see Rosemary and you talking at the very edge of where the grass met the thick woods beyond.

"Hi Ben!" Lou smiles wide at him. A giant box of crayons sits on the table just beyond her filled with every color known to man, while she scribbles in a sketchbook that looks suspiciously like the same ones that Ben had seen you buy for yourself in the past. "Do you know how to draw trees? Aunty y/n always does them for me, but she's talking to mommy."

"Um-" Ben clears his throat, fastening the last button of his shirt. Lou was smiling at him the same way you did, like she was genuinely happy that he was there, and he wasn't used to that. It was the same way you used to smile at him when he climbed through your bedroom window. He looks out the window to where you're still talking to Rosemary trying to find a way out, until finally he sighs. "No. I'm sorry."

"That's okay, mommy can't draw either." Lou looks back at her drawing while reaching for a brown crayon. She was wearing pink polka dot pajamas, pants and a shirt that matched. Ben had never seen pajamas like that before, but he supposed that pink was her favorite color, given that she was also wearing a pair of bright pink fuzzy slippers.

He couldn’t help but smile. He wondered if you hated how much Lou liked pink, if it reminded of those dresses your mother used to make you wear that always made you look like a giant iced birthday cake.

Personally, Ben didn’t think you looked that ridiculous, he thought that you looked cute, ruffly, but cute. You never believed him when he told you that.

Ben wandered over to the cabinet where he thought the whiskey was, but as soon as he opened it, he found the cabinet empty.

Did he fucking move it?

"It's under the sink." Lou said from behind him.

"What?" Ben turns around surprised.

Lou was still scribbling with her crayon in her sketchpad. "Uncle Legend came in and moved it this morning."

"Thanks." Ben awkwardly makes his way over to the sink, and sure enough behind the mop bucket is a full bottle of whiskey. He busies himself with pouring a glass before he eyes the chair next to Lou wondering if he should sit there.

Ben was nervous, he'd never admit it, but he was. This was his granddaughter, someone that you loved very much. He'd never been around a kid before, didn't have any siblings growing up, and certainly didn't have any relatives with children the way you had.

He liked to think that if he had been there when you were pregnant and when you gave birth to Rosemary he would have gotten used to it gradually. He wasn't sure if he could even be a dad, not after everything that happened with his own.

He was sure that he was going to be a disappointment to Rosemary and even to Lou and-

"Sit with me." Lou says, interrupting his train of thought as she gets off of her chair to pull out the one next to her for Ben tugging with all her strength to pull it out from under the table.

Ben hesitates, but finally smiles at her efforts to get him to sit with her and sits down.

An awkward silence falls over him, he's again unsure what to say, so he takes a sip from his glass and hopes that you'll come in and save him from saying the wrong thing, but given how upset you look standing outside with Rosemary, he's sure that it won't be anytime soon. The urge to go outside and get between Rosemary and you is strong, but just as he begins to move to get out of the chair, Lou interrupts him.

"You make her smile more." Lou says, while grabbing a red crayon with her chubby hand and begins to draw the petals of a flower in her sketchbook, meticulously trying to make them more circular, tongue between her teeth as she concentrates.

"Who?"

"Aunty y/n. She didn't smile as much before." She says it matter of factly.

"Really?"

Lou nods reaching into the box of crayons for a new color. "She tried to act like she wasn't sad, but I think she was. Sometimes when she thought I was asleep I would find her on the couch just sitting there. I think she was lonely. And I tried to give her bigger hugs but they never seem to work. Hugs always make me feel better." Lou sighs.

"I'm sure that your hugs made her feel better." Ben's says tightly. He's not sure how to talk to Lou, isn't sure if he should talk to her like an adult or not.

"I love aunty y/n. I want to be just like her when I grow up. I want to be an artist!"

Ben looks down at the sketchpad on the table beneath Lou’s hands. It was of a giant tree that had different colored flowers all squished together in its branches. Each flower was different than the last, crudely drawn, but under it all Ben could see her potential. It reminded him of the sketchbook pages you first showed him when you were eight and swore him to secrecy, threatening bodily harm if you told anyone else about them.

“You’re very good.” Ben says and Lou beams with pride at her drawing, before flipping to a new page. She holds out a brilliant yellow crayon towards Ben. “Please draw a sun right here.” She taps her finger against the top left of the page before placing the crayon in his hand.

“Oh I don’t think I-“

“You can do it Ben! Aunty y/n says that art doesn’t have to be perfect, that it gets messy sometimes but that makes it fun!” Rosie reaches for a purple crayon and begins to draw stick figures to the right of the page.

Ben had heard you say that before, usually after your mother would sneer or make a comment about your paint stained hands when he’d bring you home from a day at the park. But sitting here listening to Lou say it was different.

Lou reminded him of you as a kid. She wasn't afraid to speak up, to say what she thought, and she was filled with creativity and love.

Ben always admired that about you, that you were able to create things so perfectly and that you always made space in your heart for him, even when he was a complete dick for so long. He wondered if Rosemary was like you too. He could see a bit of it when she told him off, saw how headstrong she was and how ready she was to protect who she loved from him.

Ben hated that Rosemary believed that he would hurt you again, when it all but tore his own heart out to do so the last time.

But he was trying, hoped that she could see that he was trying and hoped that one day she’d let him in. The problem was he wasn’t the most patient person in the world.

He looks down at the crayon in his hand frowning slightly. He wasn’t an artist like you. The only thing that he’d really ever drawn was the naughty doodle that got him kicked out of boarding school, the one that made you laugh so hard you pushed him off the bed when he drew it for you in your sketchbook. You’d tried to show him other ways of drawing and painting but he’d never been interested.

Not to mention he didn’t think it was manly. He didn’t think that a man should have a hobby like this. It should be fishing or hunting or something like that but he looks down at Lou.

Her eyes are shining bright with excitement, smile wide, dimples showing and he doesn’t want to disappoint her, not when she’s been nothing but nice to him since he showed up.

If Hughie or fucking Butcher come in here and see me drawing this fucking sun I’ll-

“You don’t look like your pictures.” Lou hums drawing a smile on the face of the stick figure.

“Huh?” Ben looks up confused.

“The pictures that mommy keeps in the drawer.” Lou says reaching for a black crayon to draw long flowing hair on the stick figure.

“What pictures?”

“Of you and aunty y/n. Mommy has some in her drawer.” Lou acts as if she hadn’t said anything, grabbing a different crayon to draw another stick figure.

“She has pictures of us?”

“Yeah. You don’t have the beard though. And you and aunty y/n are really young.” She pokes his cheek with a chubby finger, making Ben freeze. Lou squints her eyes at him. “You don’t look like the picture that aunty y/n drew either.”

Ben hesitates, eyes slightly widening. “She drew a picture of me?”

“Few days ago.” Lou scribbles. “You didn’t have a beard then either.”

In the new drawings and paintings that Ben had seen back at your apartment, he hadn’t seen any drawings of him, he assumed it was because of everything that happened, but to learn that you did still draw him made him smile.

“You don't like it?” Ben asks, amused.

She shrugs. “It’s okay.”

“Aunt y/n likes it.” He said it more to himself than to Lou. Like hell he was going to shave it off when he saw how much you liked it when he came back. Ben smiles to himself remembering how your heart beat jolted out of your chest whenever he touched you, how your cheeks flushed, how your smooth skin felt beneath his hands-

There were so many little things that Ben missed about you, so many things that he had forgotten, and now he got to learn each one all over again and fall in love with every part of you for the second time in his life.

The sun he drew in the top left of the page was lopsided, but Lou didn't complain, in fact she added a pair of sunglasses to it, and a bright smile that Ben laughed at.

"What are you two doing?" Ben hears your voice say as your hand gently rubs his back. Ben looks up embarrassed. He hadn't wanted to get caught with a crayon in his hand, but at least it had been you and not Butcher.

"We were just-" Ben begins to say, his eyes flicking to where Rosemary stands behind Lou eyes narrowed.

"Mommy look. Ben is helping me color!" Lou crows, picking up her drawing so Rosemary can see.

Ben realizes what Lou was drawing on the other side of the page. Lou has drawn Rosemary and you standing with Lou in between the two of you holding on to her hands. Ben's eyes slide to the last figure in the drawing, his chest suddenly very tight, it's him, standing beside you, frowning, but holding on to your hand.

Rosemary smiles tightly at the page with a sigh. "That's nice sweetie. Come on, let's get you dressed."

"But I like my pajamas."

"Do what your mother says Lou." You smile down at her, stroking her dark hair back from her face.

"Okay." She sighs dramatically and begins to walk out of the room, but Rosemary is still glaring at Ben.

"Rose-" You begin to say, but she interrupts you.

"She might be able to forgive you, but I'm not going to." Her eyes narrow. "I don't think you're good for her."

Ben is still sitting in his chair at the kitchen table, your hand solidly on his back as if you were making the statement that you weren't going to push him away. It solidified something, showed him how much you were willing to sacrifice to keep him in your life, and again enforced just how much you loved him. If Rosemary hadn't been standing there, he would have sat you on the marble countertop and sucked another mark into your neck. The one he left yesterday was already starting to fade and he wanted to replace it as soon as possible.

But he was still angry, angry that Rosemary wouldn't give him a chance. "Your mother means everything to me." Ben says honestly. "I'm not asking you to forgive me. All I'm asking is that you get to know me first before you-"

"I don't want to get to know you." Rosemary says. "And if you hurt my mother again, I’ll make you wish that you stayed in that fucking lab."

She's gone in an instant, making Ben feel a pain in his chest that he hadn't felt since he spoke to his own father decades ago, on those nights when his dad got so drunk that he couldn't stand up straight and the nights that his father's words rang heavy in Ben's ears. Those nights Ben would get drunk, climb up the tree outside your window, and stumble into your bed, curling into you because you were the only thing in his life that he couldn't stand to lose, couldn't stand to disappoint, and the only thing in his shitty life that made him happy.

"Ben-" He hears you say.

"Mhmm?"

"Look at me."

Ben looks up. He doesn't like the worry in your gaze, doesn't like how your own eyes are just a little rimmed red like you were crying.

"I love you." You whisper. "And she's not going to change that."

"Are you sure?" He barely breathes the words, afraid in his soul to admit them to you, to speak them into the universe.

You drop into his lap, putting your forearms on his shoulders.

"Ben." You drag your fingers through his hair, your touch soothing his anxiety. "You know me enough to know that I don't pull punches. If I didn't want you here, I would make sure you weren't." You press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. "I want you here with me. I don't want you to go ever again. "

They were the words that he wanted you to tell him on the nights he crawled through your bedroom window, the question that he was always afraid to ask. Because he never believed that you could want him even a fraction as much as he wanted you, could love him and want to be with him as much as he wanted to be with you. And yet here you were after all these years after all the shitty things he did accepting him and letting him into your heart.

“Okay.” He leans his forehead against yours for a minute. “What did you talk about?”

“Homelander. And what happened yesterday.” You sigh. “She’s about as thrilled as I thought she’d be with us going after our old team. She was pissed when I told her about Countess the other day but this was worse.” You mutter holding on tight to him. “She’ll get over it. At least… I hope she will.”

“Mhmm.”

“I will say that I’m kind of jealous.”

“About?” Ben is suddenly worried.

What did I do? Did I-

“Every time I tried to get you to draw with me you said no.” Ben watches you frown dramatically. “And here you are with another woman-“

Ben rolls his eyes and shuts you up by closing the distance between your faces. You laugh into his mouth, his tongue finding the rigid edge of your front teeth as you do before you fit your mouth against his and kiss him, your soft lips molding against his in a way that makes a deep seated groan vibrate up through his chest.

“You try saying no to her.” Ben mutters.

“It’s impossible.” You open your eyes to stare at him again, your gaze filled with more love than Ben had ever seen. He’d never seen anyone look at him like that before, none of the other women he’d had in his life had ever looked at him the way you did. And he never wanted you to stop. You looked at him like he was special, treasured, like he was something that you never wanted to stop looking at, like you saw every part of him and refused to turn away.

He'd only seen that once before. He had taken a woman out for drinks, you had been doing an interview that ran late and Ben was trying to pass the time, but at the bar he had seen an older couple sitting in a booth in the corner. Ben couldn't look away from them. They were sitting on the same side of the booth, the man's arm draped over the woman who leaned into him with a wide smile, her gray hair pushed back in an elegant twist, but she looked up at him with such reverence that Ben couldn't help but think of you. When he saw that he left the woman he came with there and went to your apartment, to wait until you got back. And when you had fallen asleep Ben had folded you into his arms and allowed himself to dream that one day you would look at him the same way.

And now years later here you were looking at him as if he was the most precious thing he'd ever seen, the same way you looked at him the morning after your birthday when you told him you loved him.

"But I did tell you that once Lou drew you into the family portrait, you were in." You reach back to pick up the drawing holding it between the two of you so he can see Lou's hard work. "She really captured your frown." You snort, leaning your head against his shoulder while you look at the drawing.

"Shut up." Ben squeezes you, but he can't help but smile at the paper.

And deep down Ben started to believe you when you said that this was his family too, because sitting there with Lou he had felt just as at home as he had with you.

All he had to do was convince Rosemary.

[30 MINUTES AGO] READER POV

I can't believe that she walked in on us IN BED. She's already pissed about me having him here, but why did her finding us together feel like the equivalent of my mother walking in on Ben and me?

You follow behind Rosemary silently, trying not to think of how sad Ben looked when you left him. You would have wanted nothing more than to stay in bed, curled up beside him and make him understand that no matter how much Rosemary wanted you to push him away, you weren't going to leave him.

You could see the fear flashing in his eyes, had seen it last night when he yelled at you. As much as he didn't want to admit it, you knew that Ben was still afraid that you would leave him. And knowing how much you meant to him made you love him even more.

It was a beautiful day. Legend's home was the only one within ten miles, his money well spent to keep himself secluded from the rest of the world. The large trees at the back of his home were tall and strong, their branches curling upward to the sun as if they wished to worship it.

The sunlight was warm on your shoulders, soaking through your t-shirt and sweat pants as you follow behind your daughter, who was obviously trying to get out of earshot of Ben's supe hearing. You didn't want to break it to her that you'd probably have to drive at least a mile away for Ben's hearing to get a little bit fuzzy.

Finally, just as you reach the crest of trees at the back of the lot she stops and turns back to face you.

She's frowning and waits a minute to begin. "I want you to tell me what happened."

"I did-"

"No. You didn't tell me everything and I want to know exactly what happened and why you had to fight Homelander."

You bite the inside of your cheek.

There really wasn't an easy way to sugar coat it or really explain it in a way that Rosemary would understand without getting angry.

She almost went ballistic the other day when I told her that I killed Countess and that was a complete accident. Us going after the Twins was not. Us going after the twins was calculated.

"Okay. Before we talk about that, I want you to understand why-"

"Oh you mean why you and Ben-" She seethes his name. "Were going after your old team? The exact thing that you told me you weren't going to do when you came to tell me about Countess?"

"Yes."

"Fine." She leans back against one of the trees, still frowning. "Go on."

"Ben told me what happened in Nicaragua. What Countess said was true, she seduced him to make me angry." You hold up a hand. "And before you say that Ben said those things to me and did those things of his own free will. I know."

Rosemary still doesn't look pleased.

"They betrayed him in Nicaragua. They attacked him and gave him to the Russian military."

"But why?"

"Honestly I'm not sure. I think it's because Ben used to be wild and impulsive and-"

"Used to be?"

"Just listen." You sigh. "He spent forty years in Russia being tortured and experimented on. They put something in his chest-"

"What did they put in his chest?"

"It's like an energy beam." You were giving her the short version about what the beam really did, because you didn't think that now was the best time to say that it might turn supes human. "But that's why we went to see the Twins, because they betrayed him and when Homelander showed up I had to step in."

Rosemary pinches the bridge of her nose and you can tell that she's trying very hard to not get angry. "So let me get this straight, you went to see the Twins, AS SOME KIND OF FUCKED UP REVENGE FANTASY?"

"Well-"

"No. My turn to talk." She holds up a finger like she's admonishing a toddler. "I can't believe that you can't see what's happening."

"See what?"

"You told me that things were different, that he'd changed but he hasn't! He's still the same angry dick! The only person that's changed is you!"

"What?"

"And you don't fucking see it!" Rosemary shouts. "You facing Homelander, you killing Countess, you going after your old team- it's all him! As soon as you got a whiff of Soldier Boy you started to slip back into the person that you were forty fucking years ago."

"That is ridiculous-"

"No it's not. And it's all him. He is the one making you throw the life away that you have made for yourself. He is the one making you use your powers again! He is the one making you go along with his ridiculous revenge plot-"

"Ben is not making me do anything!"

"He is-"

"You have no idea what that's like for people who say that they're your friends betray you. To have people who you thought trusted you give you up like that. They stabbed him in the back Rosie, and they sent him away to another country to be tortured. Do you have any idea what they did to him there? Our old team deserves everything that is coming to them."

"I don't know who you are anymore."

"I am still the same person I was. I am still me."

"No I don't think you are-"

Your jaw tightens. "Look, I understand that you're upset with this whole situation. With having to be here and with me letting Ben back into my life, but he is my family too."

She bristles when you say the word 'family.'

She has to understand that, to know that Ben is my family, is her family.

"Rosemary, do you have any idea what I would do for you if someone tried to hurt you or Lou the way they hurt Ben? What I would do to them for even trying?" You whisper it, but you can see her expression soften as she considers what you were saying. "You were angry with me because I was going to go to Russia alone. You wanted to protect me. And even all this stuff with Ben, you have been trying to protect me from him because you believe that he's going to hurt me again. How is this any different?"

“It is.”

“Why? Because he’s hurt me?” Your eyes lock with hers. “I’ve hurt you by letting him back in my life. Are you saying that now you wouldn’t protect me? That if I asked you to go with me to Russia right now you wouldn't do it.”

She stands there looking at you for a minute, letting what you've asked hang in the air between the two of you. And you know that deep down she understands the need to protect her family the same way you did.

"No. That's not what I'm saying. You depend so much on him and it's only been three days." She sighs. "Mom you were happy before-“

"No I wasn't." You mutter.

The memories of the last three days with Ben proved that. You hadn't realized just how in the hole you were until he walked back into your life. Until you felt how much you loved him and now understood how much he loved you. Waking up with him, falling asleep with him, spending time with him, seeing his smile, hearing him speak, and feeling him beside you all felt different. She was right, you did feel different. You felt lighter and warmer, like you'd mainlined sunshine, like everything else had been colorless until Ben walked back in.

You understood that now you may have tried to be happy, and you were with Rosemary and Lou, but not anywhere else. Being with Ben felt right.

Rosemary eyes you for a minute and then finally sighs. "I know."

"What?" You weren't expecting her to say that.

"He's been here only three days and you're-" She searches for the word reluctantly. "You're glowing."

"Huh?"

"My entire life I've watched you. I know you. You're my best friend. And I'm not saying that you haven't been happy, but with him you're a different person."

"You've already said that and it's not true. I'm still me-"

"Not about the supe shit." She shakes her head. "The way you look at him, the way you smile, the way whenever he shifts in another direction you do too like somehow you sensed it. And it scares me."

"Why does that scare you?"

"Because if he decides this is all too much and he leaves, I don't want to see the person you become when he does." She frowns and crosses her arms over her chest. "I kinda feel like I've seen that person the last thirty nine years."

"That's ridiculous-"

"You told me about before, told me how you were when he left, I didn't see it, I couldn't imagine it, but now seeing you with him, understanding just how much of a hold he has on your life, understanding how much you love and care for him- mom… I see that the life you made for us, you still weren't you. I'm not sure if you were really completely happy and now seeing you with him, I-"

You place your hands on her cheeks. "Rosie. What happened forty years ago is not your fault. I would not change a single second that I spent with you and Lou. I do not regret the life that I've made with you. I do not regret you. I want you to understand that. The things that happened between me and Ben, even though they were fucked up, does not mean that I don't love you."

"I know that." She whispers, but you're suddenly unsure.

You thought that you'd expressed that to Rosemary enough over the years, that you did not regret having her, that you wouldn't change that decision.

"Rosie please." You hug her, tears burning just behind your eyes. "You are not a mistake. I love you." You pull back to look at her green eyes, the same as Ben's. "And I wouldn't change a single thing about my life. Because maybe I wasn't happy with me, but I was when I was with you and Lou."

"Okay." She pulls back with a sigh.

"I just wish that you'd try to talk to work things out with Ben." You search her face. You told yourself that you weren't going to get involved, but you wanted her to like him. He was her father and he was going to be spending time with you.

"Look I don't want to hate him, and maybe I don't, but it's not your fault." Her expression hardens. "He shouldn't have shouted at you yesterday for that. You didn't make me hate him or make him the villain. It's not your fault." She repeats.

"Maybe it is. I told you all those things about him, I made you focus only on the bad, only on the things that happened towards the end-"

Rosemary takes your hand. "Mom you told me everything. I remember the good things. I remember what your friendship was like. I remember the stories you told me when I was a kid about Ben and you running around Philadelphia."

"Which ones?"

"When he was strong for you when you couldn't be. When he took care of you, when he took you places, when he supported your art. When he made sure that you were happy. I-" She pauses. "I haven't forgotten those."

"Then why-"

"Because they happened before. When Ben was still Ben and not Soldier Boy. I've seen every single film. Watched every interview, commercial, and even those stupid music videos." Rosemary shakes her head as if trying to rid herself of the image.

"You have?"

"Yes. And I saw the person he became."

You knew what that looked like. Ben really did go all out for the cameras when they were rolling, but when it was the two of you he was just him. And the past two days he had shown that person to you all over again, and you knew deep in your heart that you were trusting him again.

"I know that you don't believe me when I say this, but he really is different."

"Sure."

You sigh. You knew that she wouldn't believe you, that she was just so hell-bent on pushing him away that she wouldn't listen to you. But you knew deep down that he was different, and that he was trying. It was enough for you.

Ben was enough. And the fact that he was willing to throw away all the macho bullshit he had spouted in the past, that he was willing to try to change to be the boy you fell in love with, meant everything to you.

You knew that you had probably forgiven him too early, but you wanted to believe him, and you wanted him to be back in your life.

Rosemary echoes your sigh and looks back up towards the house, stamping her foot in frustration. "Did you at least kick his ass?"

"Who? Ben? I told you that I threw him-" You begin to say suddenly confused.

"No." The ends of her lips twitch into a smile. "Homelander."

You laugh. "Yeah. They don't really make heroes the same way these days."

"Good. He probably fucking liked it."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that." You snort remembering the look he gave you when you threw him against the ground. "But it was kind of cathartic to throw him around. I feel a lot better. Maybe you should give it a try." You narrow your eyes at your daughter. "I mean Homelander not Ben."

Rosemary's lips pull into a mischievous smirk, looking more like Ben than she ever has. "I'll keep that in mind."

READER POV

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, heart racing to catch up as you tug your arms to get them free, but leather restraints hold them in place at your sides. A cold chill seeps up through the metal table you lay on though the thin paper gown that covers your body. Brilliant light from fluorescent square lights above blinds you. And even when you shut them tight the flash of red that stays behind burns through your iris.

Shadows move just on the edge of your vision and you strain your ears to hear them speak, to understand why you're here, why you're strapped to this table, but the only thing that remains is a garbled sound broken only by the rapid ding of a heart monitor.

Where am I? How did I-

A sharp pain deep inside of you makes your breath catch, an uncomfortable sensation between your legs. You try to kick out, but your legs are strapped down, pried apart and bent at the knee. Your pleas for release are slurred as if you've forgotten how to speak.

Someone brings their hand down over your mouth and you bite down, blood and flesh sticking between your teeth and the person strikes your face savagely.

The shadows that pass over where you lay on your back are impossible to bring faces to and their muffled conversations are just out of reach.

And when you open your mouth to scream everything goes black.

"Y/n!" You hear Ben shout as you come to, his hands on your shoulders shaking you from sleep, but you can't move, can't speak still stuck in whatever hell-scape that your mind designed. "Please Sweetheart." He's leaning down over you, eyes wide with fear and anxiety, eyebrows pulled together. "Wake up."

"Ben-" You croak, breath coming in gasps, eyes blinking to focus on him above you.

Ben breathes out a sigh of relief, pulling you up into his arms and tucking your head beneath his chin.

"Ben." You say again, tears falling from your eyes sobs shaking your shoulders, breath coming in gasps as you cling to him, holding on to him so tight you think you hear his back crack.

“Shhh. It’s alright Sweetheart, I’m here. I’m right here.” Ben murmurs into the top of your head, rubbing his hand down your spine.

It wasn’t the first time you’d had the nightmare, but it was the first time you’d had it in forty years. It had started a few years before Ben had been taken. You don’t know why, but you always assumed that it was stress of being a hero or your heartache over Ben refusing to see you as more than a friend, that finally you cracked. But you didn't know why that particular scenario. The only time that you'd seen something remotely similar was the day that you received your injection of Compound V and you figured maybe your mind created the dream to haunt you.

And now it’s back because I’m stressed about all this shit with Homelander.

You inhale the familiar scent of Ben’s cologne, tears soaking into the front of his black shirt, but it does little to calm your heartbeat. You sob again, arms wrapped around his neck holding him tighter to you as you shudder.

“It’s alright. I’m right here.” Ben says again. His hand trails gently down your spine up and down in a soothing motion to calm you down.

He’d comforted you before after the same nightmare, he knew exactly what you saw each time, but he also was confused as to why you saw it. In his arms you felt safe, as if no one else could touch you or pull you away. You wondered if Ben felt the same way when you held him.

“Shh.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head, pushing back the strands of hair that clung to your sweaty forehead.

You shudder again, sweat sticking your shirt to your back, but your heartbeat begins to slow as you take in another breath.

“Same dream?” Ben whispers.

“Yeah.” You breathe. “I haven’t had it since you were-“ You choke on the words again as the images from what you saw come back. The mumbled voices of the figures fading in and out of your ears.

“Did you ever figure out what it was?”

“No. I-“ You inhale. “I don’t know. I-“

Your body shakes again as you cling to Ben, trying to forget the dream that never seemed to go away. “I don’t know.”

READER POV

In the days that followed Butcher and Hughie looked for Mindstorm's last known location, and Rosemary tried to stay as far away from Ben as she could, which wasn't too far because she refused to leave Lou alone with him. And Lou kept wanting to do more and more with Ben.

But you didn't mind that, because it meant that Rosemary got to sit front row to Ben trying to get more comfortable around Lou.

And try he was. He sat with her each day while she drew after breakfast, watched you and her paint side by side on Legend's back porch, waited patiently while you braided Lou's hair back from her face, and even indulged her in the occasional game of Go Fish that Ben always seemed to lose. But he didn't mind or at least not that you could tell.

"I understand that you all have this kind of fucked up fantasy when you go after Mindstorm," Rosemary sighed leaning back on Legend's dark brown leather couch with a beer in her hand. "But I still don't see how this is going to help us with Homelander."

Butcher shrugs taking a sip from his own beer bottle, brooding in the chair across from her. Hughie mirrors the shrug and reaches for the last slice of pizza in the ornate glass coffee table in front of the couch.

You were sitting on the couch beside her, your legs folded up underneath you with a mug full of scotch clutched between your hands, while Ben stretched out beside you nursing his own glass of whiskey.

In all the years that you had known Legend, there never seemed to be a shortage of booze. Ben respected that.

Lou was sleeping soundly upstairs, you kept checking on her every few minutes with your supe hearing, but so far she hadn't woken up.

"Because those two wanted us to go after their old team first." Butcher gestures to Ben and you with his bottle.

"At least we don't have a hard-on for Homelander." Ben frowns. "Can't tell if you want me to kill him or if you want to fuck him."

"Ben-" You sigh.

You had tried not to think about Homelander over the past few days, but it was unavoidable. You bite the inside of your cheek remembering what it was like to fight him, what it was like to hold him by the throat and stare into his nearly black eyes.

He had been pissed. You knew that, but you hadn't expected to feel so weird when you looked at him. You remember his blonde hair, the sharp smell of hair dye, the strong cut of his jaw-

Your thumb rubs the side of the mug you're holding. There was something else about him though, something that you couldn't place, something that when you looked at him you felt that you had forgotten something. Something important that nagged and tugged at the back of your mind.

But what? I've seen him before, at least not in person, and definitely not that close. Only in those pathetic interviews on T.V, on those stupid energy drinks…

You think again about the grip you had on his throat, remember the angular planes of his face.

"That doesn't fucking help." Rosemary rolls her eyes and you look up at your daughter.

She really does act like Ben even if he wasn't around through her childhood.

You think to yourself, your eyes tracing her face, looking at the soft dusting of cinnamon colored freckles over her cheeks that she usually hid under makeup and the nose that always reminded you of your father.

You think about Homelander again. But what did I forget? What about him made me-

Your entire body freezes as you stare at Rosemary's face, the face that you'd looked at for the past forty years.

No. That's impossible-

You can't breathe, can't think. Something cold clamps over your heart the chill soaking into your bones like you've sunk into deep water. All other sounds in the room fade into a muddled haze as you sit there and stare at her, eyes widening, heartbeat beginning to thud loudly in your ears.

Oh. My. Fucking. G-

The mug shatters in your hand, glass and alcohol going everywhere, but you don't feel anything. Only the sense of dread, and the chill that spreads with the coming storm and the understanding of what it is you've forgotten.

And you hoped to God that you were wrong.

A/N: I'M BACK BABY! Honestly after a week off I am doing alot better. Thank you everyone for the love and support. I hope y'all liked this chapter. It's moving the story right on along and the next chapter is going to be BIG and BLOODY. But we'll make it through.

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violetrainbow412-blog · 1 year ago

Text

Birthday wishes [S. R.]

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Word count: 6.4k

Summary: everyone seems to forget Spencer's 30th birthday, but he only cares that you remember it.

second part here!

contents: childhood best friends, idiots who-don't-know-they're-in-love, surprise parties, pure fluff honestly

If you like my work leave a comment or reblog, that would make me very happy!

The first thing Spencer did when he got home was get rid of his converse and even though it had been a relatively calm day he was exhausted, so he went straight to the bedroom to throw himself on the bed. He lay back for a while, just enjoying the calm, and then he fumbled for the cell phone in his briefcase. He hit the call button on the contact he'd wanted to talk to all day and then he waited patiently.

“L/N family residence, who do you want me to contact you with?”

"Hello, is Miss Y/N by any chance?"

"Who's looking for her?" you continued and a smile escaped from his lips. It was usual for you to respond in a silly way when he called you, so he was used to it by now.

"Her best friend, Dr. Spencer Reid"

“Spencer Reid? Spencer Reid, I don't think that sounds familiar…” you teased, hearing him snort from the other end of the line “Ah! Wait, I remember you."

“After knowing each other for like 20 years, I hope so” he laughed, and then you too.

Sure enough, the man and you were friends from a very early age. You were his neighbor when he lived in Las Vegas and your parents had always been quite nice to the family, knowing the delicate situation they faced, so it wasn’t difficult for you to become friends. You were the first friend he ever had, a real one, so there was a special fondness between you, even when he had gone off to college at such a young age and distance had subsequently separated the two of you.

You always called each other and every time he visited his mother it was a law that you also received a visit, even if the time was only enough for you to greet each other with a hug. You also traveled to DC a few times because of your work and you even had your own key to his apartment, so if he was busy with a case, you could stay there instead of paying for a hotel. Your relationship was like that of a brother and sister, although as this familiarity grew, it was slightly intervened by loving feelings that you didn’t want to face yet but were definitely there.

You knew a lot about his life from those long-distance calls that happened at least once a week, and right now he was excited about something in particular. He was exactly one week away from his thirty-year birthday, and he hoped that, like every year, you would fly from Las Vegas to see him. It was a tradition, whether it was thunder or lightning, you two hadn't missed a single birthday from the other since he had to move out of state. So Spencer was hoping that this call was for you guys to plan what you were going to do; regularly your birthdays were in restaurants or nice places and his were at home, with food delivery and classic movies, or when you felt very adventurous you could go to a museum or just walk through the streets.

"How are you, Reid? How is everything?"

"Not so good, but not so bad either" he laughed "And you?"

"Everything has been terrible, it's like a curse is on my head, I swear" you complained. Spencer got up from his comfortable position to sit on the bed and although he knew that most of the time you said things like that you were just exaggerating, this time he had a bad feeling.

"Why?”

You started to tell him about the financial problems you were going through and he, with his mind still focused on your visit, thought about offering to pay for your flight to DC, but his spirits fell completely when you told him that you were being put under too much pressure at work.

“We're going to have a meeting next Friday with HR to discuss responsibilities and so on, but honestly I don't think things will get better. Right now I'm working from home because there are pending issues that have to be resolved as soon as possible and I barely have time to think during the day, you seriously can't imagine how busy I've been.”

When you finished the story, he remained silent, feeling his chest squeezed by the direction that things were now taking. With that scenario, your visit was too complicated and he was debating internally about whether he should tell you something about it or not. As he had thought before, the money to have you with him wasn’t a problem, but dealing with the issue of your shortened times was totally different. He didn't want to make you feel guilty for not being able to go, let alone disrupt activities that he knew were important to you, like that meeting you just mentioned. So what should he do? He wanted you to be there, but he wasn't going to make you.

“Crash? You still there?" you asked. Only you and his mother called him that, since his nickname had arisen when he was just a child due to his clumsiness, a trait that, in your opinion, he still retained. It wasn't offensive coming from you, even he was glad to know that this was something that belonged to the two women he loved the most.

"Yes, I'm here. I just was thinking"

"You always do, I don't think there's a single second when that mind of yours rests," you said amused "Anyway, what's new?"

Spencer hoped that you would at least apologize to him for your future absence or ask him what he intended to do today. But you seemed not even aware of it.

“Nothing, really. Today we're done with a case and if I'm lucky I'll be able to rest this weekend” he murmured. Sometimes he would tell you things about the cases, omitting bloody and dangerous details, so he leaned back and started recounting all the events into the speaker of his phone.

You two continued to talk for almost an hour, but the topic of the birthday didn't come up once and Spencer didn't try to bring it up. After all, there were still a few days to go and in the worst case, you could at least call him that day to congratulate him, right?

But as the days went by, the anxiety ate him more and he even called you a few days after that, but he only received a response from your mailbox and after a few minutes a short text message where you explained that you were a little busy with work, but that you would call him as soon as you could. The fact that during those days he found out that the entire team already had something to do on Friday didn’t help his mood too much.

Hotch and JJ discussed a sleepover for Henry and Jack after work, he overheard Garcia and Morgan agreeing to visit a new bar for the night, Rossi said he was going to visit one of his ex-wives and when he thought he could still invite Emily to hang out, she went over to talk to him about the therapist appointment that she clearly didn't want to go to, but had to. There was no remedy, everyone had plans for his birthday and he didn’t want to interfere with them. Resignation was the only thing the doctor had left during the remaining days, and when he least expected it, the entire week had already passed.

He used to wake up to your off-key version of the birthday song and a cupcake with a candle stuck in it, then you'd make breakfast and you'd eat it together; so not having any of that when he got out of bed, he felt his heart break a little. This year he thought he would get your call first thing in the morning, but when he checked his phone he didn't even find a message announcing that there was a case. He didn't want to go to the office to do paperwork on his birthday, but the thought of at least getting a hug from his coworkers cheered him up slightly.

He put on his favorite shirt, a new pair of pants, and the converse that you had given him and he only wore on special occasions, before leaving the apartment. For some reason Spencer enjoyed taking the subway, perhaps more than anyone he knew, and this time he stopped at a coffee shop that was just before arriving to buy something to drink, since he didn't feel like eating anything.

He undertook the entire trip lost in his thoughts and when he least expected it, he was already at the headquarters. He checked his phone, again, but he still didn't get any notifications or missed calls. Many times you had insisted that he get a more modern model and he had refused, but now he was wondering if the advances in technology would have allowed him to communicate with you through a video call. It would be embarrassing to ask Garcia for a favor, so he concluded that he would just wait, after all if he hadn't communicated it must have been for something important.

Upon entering, he greeted everyone with a huge smile and he felt somewhat disconcerted when the others greeted him normally, without hugs or cake on the table. He sat down at his desk to start going through the documents he already had and the others continued on their own business. It was common for Emily or Morgan to come up to him for a chat, but on this particular day it was as if they were avoiding him. Even Penelope, who he swore would congratulate him, seemed to have completely forgotten when he came to her place with the excuse of needing a piece of information from the previous case. When Hotch called him to his office, the man's eyes lit up, believing that his boss had remembered the celebration of the date.

"Can you do me a favor?" he had asked, without taking his eyes off whatever he was writing "Donovan needs to sort some files and honestly he has no idea how to do it and I'm too busy to explain, could you do it?"

Donovan was in charge of the physical file inside the building and it was not usual for him to request this kind of support, but Reid still said yes, and the rest of the day passed with him locked in a cellar full of filing cabinets. He had made sure to take his phone with him and every time he turned it on to check it and he realized that there was no sign of you his disappointment increased. He came to wonder if his mind hadn't been playing tricks on him and, for some incredible reason, he had gotten the day wrong and it wasn't really October 12; but when he saw the calendar, he verified that this wasn’t possible.

“Are you out of punishment yet?” Emily taunted, when after many hours she saw him again by the bullpen. At another time Spencer would have laughed, but right now his mood wasn't quite right for it and he just looked at her, more hostile than he intended. “Hotch left you some documents on your desk, he asked if you could review them before you go. It's urgent,” she informed him.

It was obvious that this would take time and he felt like crying at the thought of having to stay longer than the regular time. It was almost an hour after everyone else had gone home that he finished, feeling somewhat annoyed to find out that even Aaron had already left.

He doubted whether to go home or go to dinner somewhere, because he knew that if he returned to the apartment he would sink into sadness. His birthdays didn't mean anything special on their own, what he liked was to feel loved, to enjoy the company, but above all to see you.

While he was leaving the building, and as if you were reading his mind, a call vibrated on his cell phone. Seeing that it was you, Spencer didn't take more than two seconds to answer, thinking that maybe after the whole day he could improve.

"You won't believe what happened to me!" you said, without even greeting him. It wasn't the kind of sentence he was expecting, but he still decided to listen.

"What happened?"

“There is a boy, at my work, his name is Brandon. Well, Brandon and I have talked a few times now and he seems like a nice person, plus he's pretty handsome and he finally asked me out on a date with him, can you believe it?" you murmured excitedly, and a lump formed in Spencer's throat "We're going out today, the meeting was canceled and we decided to take advantage of the time, but I can't decide whether to wear the red dress or the black and gold outfit that my mom gave me and I need the help of an expert. You have seen both, which one do you think suits me better?

Spencer was quiet for a moment, processing the situation she was going through, and it wasn't until you said his name that he reacted.

"I like your red dress," he murmured, with a sad smile that you clearly couldn't see. He couldn't believe you were going out with a man you'd never mentioned and it affected him more than he expected you to be asking for advice because a pang of jealousy shot through his chest.

You were telling him that you were going to have a date on his birthday.

“I thought the same! I guess that will be the best option."

"I guess…"

"Where are you now? At home?" you kindly asked. Your tone almost made him angry.

“I just got off work. I'm on my way to take the subway"

"Oh, excellent. Today there were no cases?"

"Not fortunately. I'm glad to know that the criminals at least respected my birthday."

With that said, there was a deathly silence between you, to the point where he wondered if you were still on the other end of the line or if you understood what he was implying.

“Spencer, my God, I…”

"It's okay if you forgot," he said, trying to play the matter down, but the tears that were beginning to accumulate in his eyes indicated otherwise. The guilty tone with which you had spoken was more than enough to know that, probably, if he hadn’t mentioned it, you wouldn’t have done it either "Nobody remembered it"

"I'm so sorry" you practically sobbed "Between all the work and stuff I... I don't even know why I forgot, forgive me”

"It’s okay" he replied. But it wasn't okay.

“Can I do something to fix it? Whatever, you just… ask me what you want and I'll do it. I swear," you mumbled, sounding desperate.

He tried to convince you that there was no problem with it and you continued to pour out apologies, which Spencer knew were worthless now but he wasn't selfish enough to ignore them. He wanted to scream, cry, or do anything to get that weight off his chest and even though he loved the sound of your voice right now it was the last thing he needed.

“Anyway, I'm about to enter the subway and uh, I have almost no signal there. I'll call you later, okay?" the question didn’t wait for an answer, because he immediately added: "Good luck on your date, bye"

If he had considered going out to celebrate, he knew that now what he urgently needed was to go home or he would break down in tears in the middle of the street. The ride on the subway lasted longer than he would have liked, as he longed to go to sleep and find out if it would allow him to forget a bit about the shitty day he had just had. When he was finally in front of the door with the number 23 in gold letters, he struggled enormously to put the key into the lock, because the tears in his eyes were already clouding his vision, and he believed that the heaviness on his shoulders wouldn’t allow him to advance.

The key turned one turn, then another, and then Spencer was allowed inside the house.

One week before…

The team was meeting in the conference room at the request of Penelope, who had asked everyone to stay after the scheduled time, waiting to receive the news of what they thought would surely be a new case.

"And Reid?" Morgan asked, noticing the empty chair next to him, because they had seen him leave and that was reason enough to have questions about his absence.

"I'm glad you asked because this meeting is related to him," Garcia replied. With the push of a button, a face appeared on the main screen and almost everyone present was surprised to see who it was "She is Y/N Y/L/N, do you remember her?"

"You were at Prentiss's funeral, right?"

"That's right" you replied with a smile, looking directly at the aforementioned "I still have a little trouble understanding, uh... that whole thing, to be honest" you joked.

"Y/N asked us for this space to discuss something related to Spencer's birthday, which will be next Friday" explained Hotch, who was the other member who was already aware of the matter "The microphone is all yours"

"Okay, so where do I start? It's great to see all of you and I hope you're doing well. Every year I visit Spencer on his birthday and we spend the day together, but since this year is his 30th birthday I wanted to do something special and I want to know if you would be willing to help me”

"Tell us your plan, precious"

“I don't intend to take up a lot of your time, it's simple. I will call him today to insinuate that this year I can’t go and all I want you to do is pretend that day that you don’t remember that it’s his birthday”

"Wait, why do you want us to ignore it?" JJ muttered with a frown.

"I want to throw him a surprise party in his apartment" you explained with a smile and then the request you were making to them didn't sound so farfetched "You can tell him you have plans that day and if he mentions something you just say you can't go. I bought my flight for that day and I will be in the city starting in the morning, so I can prepare everything”

"And how will we do if he invites us somewhere?"

Morgan suggested using a decoy for him and pretending they were taking him somewhere else, but you balked at the idea.

“I have all my hopes that he doesn’t mention anything. If so, we'll manage somehow. And I know that asking for that is difficult because we are all his friends, but if necessary, avoid him completely that day. We need him to know under no circumstances that we have a surprise for him."

“He is very smart and he will figure it out. If we make him believe that we forgot he will concentrate on that” you argued. Although the others didn't want to admit it, they knew that you had a point there "I just hope you don't have some unforeseen case or something like that, because I would hate for that lie to be for nothing"

You discussed some more until you concluded that your plan was the most viable. The girls would help you with ideas for decorations and David even offered to buy all the drinks. Although the others weren’t surprised by his generosity, you were slightly upset, but this didn’t prevent you from accepting the offer and thanking him in advance.

“It really means a lot to me that you guys help me, thanks” you murmured happily, once everything was settled, and then your phone started ringing in the background “It's Spencer! I have to answer him. If something happens, you guys will tell me, right?"

"Take it for granted" smiled Garcia, who was the one who had lived with you the most, but everyone supported her from the bottom.

"Fine, thanks everyone, thanks Agent Hotch, I'll see you later!" you said goodbye, hanging up the video call and simultaneously answering the phone.

Everyone got up from the conference room and Rossi was the first to speak, a smile on his face.

"Call me crazy..." he started to say "but something tells me that girl and Spencer are going to end up together"

"The pretty boy loves her, but he still doesn't notice it," Morgan laughed, as they all walked out. "Whenever we go to Vegas, his eyes shine when he sees her."

“And she's setting this up for him! It's so sweet" Penelope sighed, who had already taken Derek's arm "But the part about being mean to Spencer doesn't convince me much… he's going to be so sad"

"Look at it this way, babygirl: if he's sad he'll be happier than usual with the surprise."

"Nobody's going to screw it up," Emily threatened them, pointing her index finger at them, and the rest of the team promised they wouldn't.

Meanwhile, your first part of the plan was in the works, with the late-night call he had made to you. You had to admit that lying to your best friend was something you hated, but with any luck it would all be worth it when you could hug him and give him that gift that you had carefully kept on one of the shelves, that you hoped could be enough for such an important event like the first thirty years of life.

What happened during the week is history, which was consolidated at the moment he turned the handle without even imagining what awaited him.

When Spencer walked through the door the first thing he did was turn on the light and he felt like he was going to have a heart attack when he heard the screams coming from inside. There were purple balloons scattered all over the floor, a congratulations banner, a table full of presents, and everyone was there.

The shock was such that he couldn't even manage to say a word and some of the tears that he had been holding back were finally able to come out, but this time for different reasons.

They hadn’t forgotten.

"How…? What are you doing here?"

“We came to celebrate your birthday, genius,” Morgan laughed, as he reached over to hug his friend and ruffled his hair brotherly.

A wave of hugs preceded that and even he received a couple of kisses on each cheek from Rossi, which finally made him laugh. He seemed like a child, completely fascinated with everything around him and still processing the situation.

In the midst of it all, he couldn't help wondering how his friends had been able to enter the apartment, since none of them had a copy of the key and the landlady was too suspicious to have let them in just like that, but he felt happy for the direction the day had taken.

“First of all, we have another surprise for you,” said JJ, obviously excited. The rest shared complicit glances and García began to record with his cell phone, which made him a little nervous "But you have to close your eyes."

Spencer looked at everyone else as if waiting for a confirmation of that, and seeing a couple of nods he did what his friend was asking. Just to make sure Jennifer covered his eyelids with her hands and in this way she turned him around, while he wondered what this surprise could be about.

"Are you ready?" she asked and the man answered yes with a hum. There was silence for a second, as if they were checking something, and then she withdrew her hand. "Open them."

Many possibilities went through the man's mind for whatever he would see at that moment, but when he did, he felt his heart stop for a moment. There you were, looking at him with a sweet smile and wearing that red dress.

The rest of those present were waiting for who would make the first move, because the two of you had froze looking at each other, and García was only pointing the camera carefully as you had requested.

"Surprise?" you said shyly, noticing that Spencer hadn't said anything.

You were afraid that after the call you had he was upset with you in some way, but a second after he recovered from the shock he was already on top of you, holding you by the waist to spin you through the air while you laughed heartily.

"You came," he said, his voice cracking, but completely brimming with happiness.

"Of course I would, Spencer, do you think I'd miss your birthday?"

"But you... your work"

"All a vile lie"

"And that boy?"

“There was never such a thing,” you laughed, freeing yourself from the weight of guilt “You're my only boy,” you added affectionately, palms planted squarely on your friend's cheeks. He still had you in his arms and was grinning from ear to ear at your answers "I'm so sorry I told you all that, I just didn't want you to suspect anything, can you forgive me?"

"No!" he practically squealed and you widened your eyes in amazement “Today was the most terrible day because I thought you didn't care about me anymore, you made me suffer! All of you!" your friend complained, looking away from you briefly to look at those present.

"In our defense, she asked us to," Emily laughed, holding up both hands in surrender.

"You're so mean," he murmured, turning his attention back to you. "But I love you so much.”

A group sigh filled the room as he engulfed you in a hug and from your position you could see the teasing or tender smiles they all had. It wasn't very common to see the youngest of the team in that position, much less saying those things, plus we had to add the collective opinion that you were madly in love.

"Seriously, forgive me"

"It’s okay…" he whispered close to your ear "You're here, that's what matters"

His body felt so soft and safe that you didn't want to stop hugging him, but you knew that if you took too long it would create an uncomfortable environment for the rest, so you had no choice but to gently pull him away from you. The woman asked your friend, just to annoy him, if he liked his surprise and although he didn't say anything, the giant smile and flushed cheeks were enough of an answer.

"Come, you won't escape my melodious voice" you murmured after a few seconds, when the commotion calmed down a bit.

Taking him by the hand, you led him to the table where you had the chocolate cake with a couple of candles that formed the number 30. Everyone sang the song while the wick burned down and the boy looked anywhere, with that certain shyness characteristic of him. When he blew out the candle to make his wish, you all applauded and that started the celebration.

There were some appetizers on the table and Rossi had stocked all the drinks quite well, as he had promised. As the minutes passed you hovered here and there to check that things were in order, arranging everything as if it were your own apartment, and Spencer could only smile at how well you seemed to get along with everyone. The last time you'd seen the team was, sure enough, during Emily's funeral, but that didn't mean there wasn't some history between you.

He still remembered the feeling of shame when in the early years he had asked Gideon for permission to summon someone to the hotel during a case in Las Vegas. It wasn't that he was ashamed of you, but that he was ashamed of having to reveal something so important in his life to his FBI colleagues. The agent didn't object at all, but that didn't spare the man from being grilled by Derek and Elle about which mysterious lady their younger coworker was talking to. Over the years, people left the unit, and others joined, but the constant was always you. Even now, if a replacement happened, Spencer knew that the rest of the team would take it upon themselves to introduce you to said person.

At some point he felt a tremendous nostalgia for that time and in a chain of thoughts he came to ask himself if working where he did was the right thing to do. Turning thirty was cause for celebration, but for him it was also tantamount to thinking how well he had lived up to the expectations of what he expected to have achieved at this age: How much progress should he have made in the world by now? Was it any use having that brilliant mind that everyone raved about if he was working in a government office? And what about his personal life? He wanted to get married at some point and wondered if he should be looking for love instead of criminals. Even while he was through all this, he wished he could focus on how happy his friends had made him instead of worrying about other things.

"Up to here I can see the gears of your brain" laughed someone next to him. It was Emily "What's wrong?"

"Nothing" he murmured, shaking his head softly "I was thinking about some things, it's just that"

"You should drink some more, that wine that Dave brought tastes delicious" she smiled, inviting him to come closer to the others to chat.

It was a bit ironic, but completely understandable, that even at his own birthday party he would remain a bit oblivious to the situation. Following Emily's advice, he poured himself another drink and joined the other attendees to enjoy the moment. For hours you laughed and chatted, until the drinks were running out and your drunkenness rising.

The parents of the group were the first to leave and the last was a drunk Penelope who threatened to stay there to sleep, but Derek took it upon himself to guide her to his car to take her home. It was late at night when only you and Spencer were left, amidst all the decorations in the room.

"Peace and tranquility"

"It was too much?" you laughed, knowing that your friend could become overwhelmed by the hustle and bustle.

"No, no. Just kidding"

“And was it okay for you? You had fun?" you asked, referring to the party, as the two of you sat down on the leather couch. The dress you were wearing rose to the top of your thighs and his attention strayed there for a second, so he looked up guiltily; He didn't help the blush on his cheeks that there was your cleavage.

"Everything was wonderful"

"Are you seriously not mad at me?" you insisted

"No, honey, I'm not," he laughed. You tried to ignore the fact that he had said that to you, since it wasn't something he was used to, and just smiled sheepishly, "I mean, at first I was a little, but now that I understand why you did it, I'm not anymore."

“You are already thirty… you are so old!”

"You are older than me!" he squealed, completely offended, and you responded with a laugh. Although that was true, you looked more jovial than the man, something that a variety of people had taken it upon themselves to verify.

"Now that I remember, do you want to see your gift?"

"Isn't this supposed to be my gift?" The confusion was evident in his voice and you refrained from answering, as you bolted into the room. You came back from there with a box in your hands, which you later placed on your lap with evident emotion.

“I wrapped it myself” you confessed, rather proud of yourself. You had found a piece of paper to cover with drawings of equations and small microscopes that you thought captured the essence of your friend and, of course, now that he had seen it, he had liked it a lot.

The man's fingers drummed the surface under your expectant gaze, and then he winced slightly.

"What's up?"

"I don't know, I think maybe I should open it later…"

"Spencer Reid!" you yelled. It was obvious that he was only joking with you and you knew that by the laugh that escaped his lips.

Your friend opened the box almost ceremonially and then removed the tissue paper that covered the contents: above all there were two hardcover books, one about the world of fungi and the other about poetry, next to it an hourglass, then three boxes with jigsaw puzzles, a pocket chess game, packets of Reid's favorite sweets, and last but not least, a picture of the two of you in a pretty chocolate-colored frame and a little paper envelope to go with it. One by one he was taking out the gifts and his smile only grew with each object, while he felt his heart grow with love.

"I remember this day" he murmured, referring to the photograph you had chosen. The sky was blue behind you and you were kissing Spencer's cheek, who was smiling at how spontaneous it had been “We were in a park after going to an art exhibition."

“And we bought the most delicious ice cream in the world”

"I differ, I've had better," he murmured, shrugging. The truth is that you thought that the ice cream had been delicious because of the whole panorama of that day, not so much because of the taste itself.

Spencer knew that photo would have to go on his desk in the bullpen, although the taunts he was sure the others would throw at him. Perhaps having you there would serve as a reminder that there was good in the world, despite everything he could see on the job every day.

“Oh, and I read somewhere that hourglasses help people with anxiety because it's relaxing to watch the sand fall so they can focus on it. I thought you might like it, I bought it at an antique store."

"It's very nice" he agreed, turning the object over and checking that it actually worked "I'll open the note, okay?"

Spencer always preferred that you read his letters in private because if he saw your face and knew you were reading those words he would just cringe, but you didn't seem to share that trait so you agreed to his request. As with the box, he carefully opened the envelope and then pulled out a handwritten note.

I hope you like these little gifts that try to express a huge love.

Never doubt that you are making a change in the world and that you are surrounded by people who love you, including your old neighbor who now ironically lives too far from you.

Happy 30th birthday to my favorite person in the entire world. I am confident that many more years will come for both of us.

Always yours, Y/N.

"Don't cry, Reid" you asked gently, feeling your own tears at the edge of your eyes. Spencer smiled and leaned in your direction to wrap you in a hug so hopefully you wouldn't notice if he got emotional.

"Thank you" was the only thing he managed to say.

He wanted to thank you not only for that day but for years of friendship, years of feeling like he wasn't so alone in the world if he had you by his side and even thank you for treating him like a normal kid when no one else did. And as always, you perfectly understood what he was referring to.

You stayed like that for a few minutes; Spencer tucked into the crook of your neck and cooing at the throbbing on your pulse line, and you basking in the warmth of the contact.

“Did you like the puzzles?”

"Yeah! They are great” he replied, as he moved away from you so that he could observe you “Do you want us to put one together?”

“Sure” you smiled “Just let me put on my pajamas and I'll be right back, okay?”

"Good. You look very beautiful in that dress, by the way. I don't know if I forgot to tell you” he flattered you, making you smile sincerely.

"You chose it, remember?"

Before getting up you kindly squeezed his cheek and after changing your clothes you returned to where you were. He had chosen the puzzle with the design of a Monet painting and spread it out on the floor, where the two of you settled comfortably.

Your friend took a bunch of pieces and you took another and you guys worked in silence until little by little things started to come together. He was very good at the task and very soon he already had a considerable part assembled; although you were going a little slower you followed a constant rhythm.

"Hey, Spencer"

"Yeah?" he asked, too intent on finding a place for the piece in his fingers to watch you.

“What was your birthday wish? When blowing out the candles”

"Oh, I didn't wish for anything"

"Why?" you asked confused.

Spencer looked up from the puzzle and smiled at you.

"Because my birthday wish was already right here"

It seemed obvious to him, but it took you a second to understand exactly what he meant and when you finally did, your eyes gave him the sweetest look of all.

You and your friend stayed up all night until the play was over and after that you both stumbled to bed, where you fell fast asleep in each other's arms.

At some point Spencer half-opened his eyes, prisoner of a bad dream, and when he was aware of the situation he felt the peace he needed. After that it didn't take him long to get back to sleep, with a smile on his face and his whole world held in his arms.

taglist: @navs-bhat @reidwritings @tricia-shifting14 @spencerslove

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #dr spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #jason gideon #JJ #penelope garcía #david rossi #emily prentiss #spencer reid x you

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jakesduskwood · 6 months ago

Text

even statues crumble if they're made to wait

Pairing: Jake x Fem!MC

Genre: Post-Episode 10 Duskwood, Post-Episode 1 Moonvale

Words: 8,916

Summary: It's been three months since the explosion in the mine. Three months since Hannah was found. And MC's accepted that Jake is never coming back. When she gets roped into another missing person's case, it makes for the perfect distraction. Jake is dead. It's fine. That is, until she finds herself on the phone with Alan Bloomgate who says he has something to show her. But it's fine. Jake is dead.

Until he's not.

EPISODE-1 MOONVALE SPOILERS AHEAD (MAYBE)!

[ A/N: Hello! :)

I know it's been a while since I've done this, but I finished Moonvale Episode 1 and if you've seen the ending (and used its Duskwood code), you know what happened and how excited I was to receive that bit of Duskwood. So, I took it and ran with it, and out came this extremely long fic. I did not proofread this as it took me literally almost 12 hours to write so it is completely and 100% me and my love for Jake and I hope you love it.

Side note: I suck with anything related to timelines, so I made one up on my own. I know Episode 1 of Moonvale takes place over the course of a day or two, but for the purpose of this fic, it made sense to make it longer, so it's not a typo, or me losing my mind, it's just the way my brain processed this.

Enjoy! :) ]

It’s been three months since the explosion in the mine.

Three months since Richy had been killed. Three months since Hannah was rescued. Three months since I had last spoken to Thomas or Cleo or Lilly or…or Jessy. I didn’t blame her then and I don’t blame her now. Any of them, really. I didn’t share the bond they had with each other. I wasn’t from Duskwood. It didn’t matter that we’d experienced a tragedy together—and yes, perhaps them more than me, but I loved Richy too. I had lost Richy too. And Jake—

But mostly, I think they just wanted to forget. To move on. They didn’t want to remember that their friend had been capable of…of that. And I was a constant reminder of that to them. So I understood why we didn’t necessarily talk anymore.

The one person I did keep in contact with from Duskwood, oddly enough, other than the occasional update from Alan Bloomgate, was Dan. We weren’t best friends or anything, but he allowed me to check in on our friends in a way that I didn’t know how to do with anyone else. Maybe because I thought he was the least affected among them. I knew he cared about Hannah, but he wasn’t to her what Thomas or Cleo or Lilly were. And he wasn’t to Richy what Jessy had been.

I’d learned from him that Thomas and Hannah had broken up. There was no bad blood, but Thomas hadn’t quite figured out how to accept the things he’d learned about his girlfriend when she’d been gone, and Hannah hadn’t quite figured out how to re-trust someone after Richy. Even if that person was Thomas. But I’d hoped they would find their way back to each other in the end.

I thought about reaching out to Jessy every once in a while—even just as an apology for everything that had happened. I’m sorry that Hannah was found at the expense of Richy. I’m sorry that he did this to you. I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner. We should have. We should have. We should have. I miss you. But I never send it. I’m not all that sure she’d respond anyway.

Cleo and I were never all that close. She has her best friend back, so I think she’s probably as okay as she can be. Helping Hannah find a new kind of normal in a time where her childhood friend had kidnapped her in order to prove a point. I don’t know how you come back from that—I don’t know how you come back from knowing that you killed somebody at all.

I hadn’t found the courage to ask if somebody had told Hannah about Jake.

Not that I think it would matter anyway. I hadn’t heard from him since before the explosion in the mine, which was, like I said—three months ago. I waited the appropriate amount of time—twenty-five days—before I broke down and concluded that maybe he hadn’t survived. Which just piled a shit-ton of guilt onto my shoulders because it was supposed to be me in that mine. He had gone in place of me and now he was dead.

It was the only explanation that made sense. I was used to Jake disappearing for days at a time, but never as long as he had been now. And he didn’t seem like the type to tell me he loved me and then leave without a single explanation. Not unless he had to. But it had been three months and as much as I missed him, as much as my chest ached with the thought that we would never eat Chinese food out of shitty motels and have that on-the-run ending we talked about, I had accepted that he wasn’t coming back.

I wonder if he had known about Richy or if he had died still thinking Michael Hanson was the one who had kidnapped Hannah. I wonder if his last thoughts were of me. Maybe it’s selfish, but I kind of hope they were, because I’m pretty sure I’ll think about him for the rest of my life.

I wonder what it would have felt like to run my hands through his hair. To kiss him. To spend every waking moment with him and know it was because I loved him. Because I would have. Talking to Jake became about more than just finding Hannah. It became a part of my day I looked forward to more than anything else. He confided in me in a way that told me he never had with anyone, maybe not even Hannah, and I needed that from somebody. I needed somebody to trust in me the way that Jake did. I needed somebody to love me the way that Jake did.

It was strange—and maybe a little ironic—the thought that something so beautiful could come out of something so tragic.

Anyway, my point is: it’s been a long couple of months. Of thinking about my friends. Of thinking about Jake. Of wondering if I should have done things differently. I should have gone to Duskwood to help. Not even with the mine, but sooner. I could have. I could’ve gone when Jessy was attacked on the way home. I could’ve gone when the group made plans to cut out of town and hide away in the house Richy had found. Selfishly, I should have. In that moment, when they were settled around the fire and Lilly called me, I had never remembered wanting anything more. I should have grabbed Jake—metaphorically, maybe even literally—and rode it out with them to the end.

I don’t stop missing them after three months. Of wishing things could have been different. Wishing I could have done more. But exactly ninety-five days after the explosion in the mine, seventy days since I had accepted that Jake was never coming back, twenty-two days since I had last heard from anybody from Duskwood (Dan included), my phone dings with a new message.

And the cycle starts all over again.

It’s somebody named Eric, who claims he needs my help to find his friend Adam, who disappeared while he was waiting for a ride in someplace called Redlog Pines. And much like with Duskwood, I have never heard of Redlog, and the case reminds me way too much of Thomas’ first message to me, so much that it makes my chest ache, but I can’t say no because there’s somebody missing, and if I’d say no the first time, God knows where Hannah would be.

So, I say yes, and I help out where I can, and Eric decides he needs to bring about four more friends in on his little plan and I try my best to stay emotionally unattached because I remember everything that happened the last time and I can’t go through that again. I offer up information when I can and keep my words short and careful because I’m not ready to get attached to somebody else I know I might never meet.

I know how this ends.

Two days in, Ash, one of Eric’s friends, brings up my Duskwood past and the unhealed wound I’ve been trying to mend breaks open again. She asks about Richy, and about the mine, and then because I’m me and I can’t help myself, I tell her about Jake. She tells me the news never mentioned another body and I shove that thought to the back of my head because hoping for something that will never come true will kill me.

Four days into Adam’s disappearance, and the police not giving a shit—as Charlie, somebody who reminds me far too much of Richy for comfort, points out—my phone beeps with an incoming call from somebody I haven’t spoken to in a while.

“Go for [MC].” I answer my phone.

Ever since Hannah had been found in the mine and Jake had…you know, my phone had been more silent than I’d gotten used to. Until this new case. But even that—it was only a few days old and I didn’t want to go down the same path with them that I did with my friends in Duskwood. We didn’t really know each other that long, sure—even though sometimes it’d felt like it—but it felt like I’d finally been a part of something. Like, I had found these people who had chosen me for me.

And originally, maybe they had. Maybe they’d had every intention of keeping me around, but then Richy was the Man Without A Face and Alan Bloomgate had rescued Hannah and nothing was the same as it had been when we’d met each other. We knew too many secrets about each other by the time the town settled. Secrets we would have to take to the grave.

Or maybe I’m losing my mind a bit and I had really only been a means to an end.

Either way.

“Alan?” I raise my voice when there’s nothing but breathing on the other end of the line. “Did you mean to call me?”

His tone is clipped. “I found something.”

“You found something.” I repeat.

My heart clenches. For all I know, it might fall into my stomach. As far I know, from watching the news, from what Ash told me, Jake’s body was never found. Richy’s was. Or what was left of him to find, anyway. I had assumed that there just hadn’t been enough of Jake left. The thought left me nauseous, but it was better than hoping for something I knew I could never have.

“I’m sending it to your phone now.” He responds. “Let me know what you think of this.”

And then he hangs up.

That was a riveting conversation, I think as my phone dings with a message. I do my best to ignore my other messages—contacts from Duskwood I’m still not ready to acknowledge—and click Alan Bloomgate. He sent me a video that looks like—oh God.

Immediately, I’m overcome with emotion as an all-too-familiar forest pops up on my phone. It’s a video of Alan’s bodycam footage. He’s searching the Duskwood forest. A forest I’ve seen too many times in the background of other video calls.

I watch as he stumbles upon an object that’s too dark to make out at first. When he gets closer, it’s clear that it’s a backpack. It’s simple. Black. Nothing about it that screams this is mine and I left it here about anybody in particular. You stupid, stupid idiot, I tell my heart when it rattles against my chest in hope. He’s dead.

Alan stands and treks away from the backpack—I want to scream at him to go back, to open it and look through it and tell me if it’s what my heart aches to believe, but I can’t, because this is a video and I’m simply watching with wide eyes, waiting for…for something. But then. But then, he moves further into the forest and I watch as he stumbles upon an object that makes my knees tremble and tears rush to my eyes and my hands shake. A black hoodie. It looks like it’s been through hell, with holes scattered up the sleeves and dirt cakes into the hood, but it’s unmistakably his.

And then—Alan lifts the hood and picks up something that makes me sink to my knees with a sob that wracks my entire frame. Because I’m staring at Jake’s mask. The mask he doesn’t go anywhere without. The mask that protects him. And so my relief is short-lived, because I realize that even if he’s alive—which seems like a very big possibility at this point—he’s alive without the things that he needs to survive.

And then the anger kicks in. Because if he’s been alive, on his own, for three months—why has he not contacted me? Unless he survived the mine but he didn’t survive the after. But that didn’t make any sense. So, okay, he wasn’t dead. But that didn’t make any sense either. He told me he wouldn’t let them catch him. Because catching that meant he would be apart from me. Did something happen that prevented him from being able to reach out and tell me he was at least okay? A quick text that said didn’t die in the explosion in the mine, you don’t need to mourn me, by the way, going off radar for another year. Did he think I would have given up on him?

I wipe my eyes and shoot a message to Alan.

ME: Recently?? Did nobody search the forests before?

ALAN: Searched the forests for what, [MC]? The logical assumption seemed to be that if anybody was inside the mine when Richy set the fire, they would have perished alongside him. Officers were stationed outside every known entrance and exit. Besides, after the story you and your friends spun around this town, do you think anybody would have gone back into its forests?

ME: But it’s possible?

ALAN: I would say these items had been there for some time. But I would say it is likely he ditched them when he fled the mine, yes.

Another sob tears through my throat. Jake is alive. I don’t know quite what that means for us as of now, but I know it’s the best news I’ve heard since Hannah was found. Jake is alive. He’s out there somewhere. And even if it’s been three months, and even if I’m a little bit mad at him right now, I know that if he was here, I would throw my arms around his neck and hold on to him until someone dragged me off, and even then—I would fight kicking and screaming.

I close out of my messages with Alan and pull up a conversation I haven’t had the heart to look at in quite some time.

ME: Jake’s alive.

LILLY: …

LILLY: Have you spoken to him?

ME: Alan called. He found some of Jake’s things in Duskwood. I don’t know a lot of details. But I know he made it out of the mine.

Lilly types for a long while, but she doesn’t respond. I don’t take it personally. I think it’s probably hard for her to be happy that her brother’s okay while also trying to accept that her sister may never be okay again. Her sister, who had once-upon-a-time been kind-of-sort-of in love with their brother she didn’t know she had. I think that would probably mess with any family’s heads. And on top of all that, you throw in manslaughter and a kidnapping. I wouldn’t wish anybody, not even my worst enemy, to have had to go through what the Donforts had.

When it becomes adamant that Lilly isn’t going to respond, I start scrolling through messages with the rest of the group in Duskwood. I click on Jessy. I’m here if you need me. That had been the last thing I sent to her, a couple of days after Richy’s death. She hadn’t responded. I click out of Jessy’s contact and click on Thomas’ instead. Thank you for everything. That had been his last message to me after we found Hannah. I’d liked it. I hadn’t expected at the time it would be the last thing we’d ever say to each other. I click out of Thomas’ and click on Richy. So, you want to turn yourself in? I’d asked. That was before he called me. Before he lit a match and burned himself and the mine to the ground. Some people would call that heroic. I mostly call him a coward.

I click on Jake’s name. It’s been a while since I read messages between the two of us. Maybe before I had accepted—thought—he was dead. In that twenty-five-day period when I’d hoped with all I’d had that he would come back. I love you. That was the last message he sent me. I’d responded with I love you too, Jake. Then, four days later: Are you okay? A week later: Jake, please, you’re starting to scare me. I know you said you would contact when you could, but it’s been a week. After twenty-five days, when I had finally accepted our fate, I’d sent one final message: I hope you know that I love you, and I will always care about you, but I think it’s time for me to move on. I’m so sorry that I sent you into the mine. It should have been me. And I will probably feel the guilt from that for the rest of my life. Thank you for everything. Take care of yourself, wherever you are.

After that, I had closed out of our messages and hadn’t looked back. Partly because I couldn’t bear the pain of it. It felt like I had given up on him. I hadn’t—if I had thought for a second that he was alive, if I knew then what I know now, I would have never sent that message. But holding out hope for somebody who I thought was a ghost at the time? That was slowly killing me.

It’s only then that I notice the screen flickering. Much like the way it used to whenever Jake would hack into my phone. I don’t think he’s much in the mood to be hacking right now, but somehow, I know it’s him. When had he done this? Recently? If I had opened our messages, would I have seen this ten—twenty—even fifty days ago? It hadn’t looked like this the last time I texted him. Did he see my last message about needing to move on? Was that why he hadn’t reached out to tell me that he was okay? Because he thought I was moving on happily without him?

No, my brain supplies. He wouldn’t. He would reach out anyway, because he knows how much the thought of him not being okay would have destroyed you.

The screen flickers once more and then a message pops up, bright and blue-tinted and clear as day on my phone.

[MC]

I WILL FIND YOU

And the world around me shifts.

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

Maybe it sounds crazy, considering I’ve never seen his face before, but I always thought that if I’d ran into Jake one day, maybe on the street or at one of those motels he stayed at or maybe even in Duskwood, surrounded by all our friends, I would know it was him. I would, because it’s him, and it’s me, and we’re the only two people who understand each other quite the way we do.

I still believe that.

I believe it when I book my flight to Duskwood (or rather, twenty miles outside of town, which is the closest airport). I believe it when I board the airplane and find a seat next to a mother with her screaming child and when I shoot off a quick text to Eric to let him know I’ll be MIA for the next few hours, but to message me if he needs anything—and I think about how much easier this case would probably be to solve if we had Jake.

Maybe it would have been harder to find Hannah without me, but I know damn well they would’ve never found her without Jake.

Dan picks me up from the airport. I haven’t told the others yet. Something about it felt off—like I shouldn’t message them and say hey, I know we haven’t spoken in a while, but I’m booking a flight to look into why my maybe-slash-not-really boyfriend left his belongings in a forest we really wish we could forget about, and by the way, can I crash at your place?

It’s quiet on the car ride back into town. I’m looking through my messages from Eric and the group from Redlog Pines and thinking about how I’m Duskwood with this group and I want so badly to laugh because it’s ironic, but Dan wouldn’t understand. He might just call me crazy. Better yet, he would ask how I manage to get myself into these situations, and really, I don’t have an answer for him.

“How have you been?” I ask, just to break the tension, as Charlie, in my messages, tries to persuade his friends to head back into that creepy cave in the middle of the forest. He’s going to get someone killed, I think.

Dan looks over at me. “Are you still with Hackerman?”

My chest squeezes. “His name is Jake, Dan. And we were never really together.”

“Hm.” He nods like he doesn’t quite believe me. “You already know mostly everything that’s been happening here. Thomas and Hannah called it quits. They say it was some mutual decision, but it’s hard to find them in the same room together. Jessy hasn’t been out with us since. I think we remind her too much of Richy. The group’s all changed.”

“And you?” I ask.

He gives me a cheshire-like grin that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “I’m always the same.”

We make it to Duskwood just as the sun’s going down. Much too late for me to try and trek through the forest and retrace the steps Jake might have taken that night. Not that I think it would help give me any clues as to where he might have gone, but mostly because I wonder if it will make me feel closer to him. We’ve never been in the same place before, and even if he’s not there now—he once was.

“Can you drop me at the police station?”

Dan blinks. “The police station.”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“We answered their questions for weeks, [MC]. I don’t think anything you have to tell them at this point is going to help. The investigation’s closed. Everybody knows Richy did it. He died with the fire in the mine. Everybody’s trying to move on from that.” He works his jaw. “Did you come here to open old wounds after all this time?”

I try not to show the hurt look on my face. “This isn’t about Richy. Look, Alan called me. He asked if I could look at some things. I figured it was better for me to do it in person. That’s it. Nothing to do with Richy. Nothing to do with Jessy. Nothing to do with you.”

He sighs, and I’m not entirely sure he’s going to abide by my wishes until we pull in front of a tiny building—tinier than most—that says Duskwood Police on the sign. Duskwood must not have that much crime. Well, not until this, I suppose.

“Thank you.” I tell him as I reach over to undo my seatbelt and climb out of the car. “This is a nice ride, by the way.”

He raises a hand in some mock-salute. “Need me to pick you up?”

“Nah.” I shake my head. “Think I’ll explore the town for a little bit.”

“Suit yourself.” He shrugs and then he’s off.

I square my shoulders and take a deep breath before opening the door to the police station. It wasn’t like Alan asked me to come down here. He hadn’t. Even during the investigation into Richy’s death and Hannah’s kidnapping, when he questioned us, he never asked me to come to Duskwood. We’d done way too many video calls and phone calls and at one point, I had asked if he thought it would be easier for me to come to Duskwood, to which he responded back, are you ready for that?

No, I hadn’t been. I’m not even so sure I was now. But knowing that Jake was alive, that here was the last place was, I had to try.

“Can I help you?” The woman at the front desk asks.

I clear my throat. “I was wondering if I could speak to Alan Bloomgate. I’m one of—I was involved in the Hannah Donfort case. My name is [MC].”

Her eyes widen. “Give me a moment.” She stands and heads to some back office—which looks to me more like a closet—and then returns with a clipped smile. “He’ll be right out.”

Apparently, she isn’t lying, because not two minutes later, Alan is stepping out from the same door and staring me down. I hold his gaze and hope it says that I’m not here to argue. I will tell him my truth, but only my truth, not Hannah’s, not Jake’s, not anybody else’s.

“I was wondering when I would see you.” He says.

I shrug one shoulder. “Isn’t a few months later better than never?”

“Let’s go into my office.” He says, and leads me around the desk and back into the closet space he had come out of. He sits behind the desk and motions for me to take a seat opposite him. “I’m just going to guess you’re not here to talk about Miss Donfort.”

“I want to see them.” I tell him. “His things. I want to see them for myself. And whatever you want from me in return, I’ll give to you.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game here, [MC].”

“He isn’t a game to me.” I snap back and then sit back and try to relax. “I appreciate that you called me. It’s—I helped you find Hannah. I would do it again. Even with knowing the things that we do now, I would do it all again. That’s how much that group means to me. That’s how much he means to me. I’m not asking you to break any rules or to lie for him or to—to let him hide in your basement for the next five years. I’m just asking you to show me what you found.”

He stares me down for a moment. Then, he sighs, says “wait here for a minute” and disappears to another room. When he comes back, it’s with an evidence bag in his hand filled with the objects I saw on his bodycam footage. My breath hitches in my throat.

“I can’t let you touch them.” He says as he lays them in front of me.

I stare into the eyes of the mask. “Did you tell anybody that he’s alive?”

“I don’t know that he’s alive,” is all the answer he gives, which is an answer to my question. I slide my gaze down to the black hoodie, to the dirtied sleeves and muddy hood, and think about the fact that Jake wore this. I’m so close to him.

And yet I’ve never been further away from him.

“Thank you.” I tell him. “For—for this. And for listening to me about Hannah. If you hadn’t, I—I don’t know what would have happened. How much longer he would have gone on for. If he would have ever stopped.”

Alan’s silent for a minute. Then, he clears his throat. “You know, it was strange to me. Both Hannah and yourself swore to me that neither of you knew the other.”

“I don’t.” I swear.

It was one of the (albeit many) things that didn’t make sense to me. How Hannah got a hold of my number. How she sent it to Thomas. She’d told Alan she hadn’t really remembered texting him my number at all.

“I believe you.” He reassures. “I just think it’s strange. One mistake, if you can call it that, and you throw yourself into a missing persons case to help a stranger.”

“They’re not strangers.” Even though Hannah is kind of still a stranger.

“But they were.” Alan reasons. “You had no reason to say yes to helping Thomas. I doubt anybody would have held it against you if you turned the other way. But you decided to follow this until the end. To make sure they found Hannah. And you care about them. Maybe that’s why I find that I’m more lenient with you than maybe I should be. Why you’re sitting across from me right now calling the shots. Why I’m not asking you about the hacker.”

“I wouldn’t tell you if you did.” I look him in the eye so he knows I’m telling the truth.

He returns my gaze. “Maybe that’s the other reason.”

“Hm.” I acknowledge before I turn my gaze away—from him, from the objects that I know belong to Jake and it takes everything in me not to snatch them up and run. “Well. Thank you for allowing me to steal some of your time. For letting me—” I cut myself off before I say something that makes me break down in a fit of tears in front of him. “—just thank you.”

Leaving the station is easier than coming in. I’m still not any closer to knowing where Jake is than I was when I arrived here, but there’s a comfort in knowing he walked these streets. I wonder what he would think if he knew I was here. He hadn’t wanted me to come to Duskwood when everything was happening…but now that it was over, would he be happy that I was here? That I had come to Duskwood to piece together where he might have gone? Would he track my location and come to find me and…or was I grasping at straws?

It felt like I had just gotten him back. Not really, not entirely…but knowing that he was alive, that he was out there somewhere, maybe thinking of me and looking for ways to come back, to live the life we talked about when he asked me if I was sure…that was worth it. The thought that we could maybe someday have that—even if it was a twenty percent chance.

I check my phone again to see a new message from Ash. She’s asking me if I’ve heard from Charlie in the last few hours. Apparently, he’s AWOL, and I want to help, really, but…it doesn’t really feel like that’s where I am at the moment. Not just physically—obviously—but mentally. We got lucky with Hannah. And that was really only because we had Jake. Adam didn’t have a Jake. Or…maybe he did and I just hadn’t met him yet. But I already had a Jake and I didn’t want another one.

Maybe—if I found him, I could convince him to help. That was a big maybe. Not because I thought Jake would say no. He would say yes to anything I asked of him. The maybe was whether or not I could find him. More likely, the maybe was whether or not he would find me.

Three months ago, I would have been able to come to Duskwood and have no shortage of things I wanted to do and people I wanted to see. Now, as I stand outside Duskwood’s police station, I feel nothing but loneliness. Nobody knows I’m here. I could pass Thomas on the street and he wouldn’t even know it. I could run into Jessy at the library and she would walk by me without even a second thought. Why would they? I hadn’t told them I was here.

So, with nothing left to do, I walked. Toward the town center. Toward the library that Jessy showed me on our walk through Duskwood. Toward the Rainbow Café where I knew that Cleo and Hannah had spent a lot of their time. Toward the Black Swan. Toward—

Ah, what the hell.

I had nothing better to do and The Aurora seemed like a great place to drown my sorrows. To think about my next steps. To figure out—now that I was in Duskwood—what I planned to do. The thing about Jake being so secretive (and on the run) was that I couldn’t retrace his steps. I wasn’t able to ask if anyone had seen him. One, because he would make sure nobody had. And two, because three months was a long time to forget somebody’s face if you didn’t know who you were looking for.

I pull open the door to the bar and step inside. Immediately, I’m hit with the stench of whiskey and a handful of chatter. Duskwood’s a small town. And The Aurora definitely proves it. The bartenders move melodically around each other, serving patrons on the other side of the bar. If you walk down further, there’s a handful of tables.

And dead in the center is a table with my friends. Or, some of them. Dan and Cleo and Lilly. Could I still call them my friends? Ex-friends, maybe? Acquaintances? I didn’t know what they were. Or how to address them. It wasn’t like we had gotten into a fight. We didn’t stop talking for any reason other than that we did. We stopped talking.

I make a beeline for the bar to avoid a confrontation and plant myself on one of the stools. One of the bartenders—a girl cute with bleach blonde hair and brown Bambi eyes—asks what I want and I channel my inner Dan to order a whiskey—neat.

Looking over my shoulder, I focus on the table of them. On Lilly, who’s smiling at something Cleo said. On Dan, who’s the only one of them who actually knows I’m here. But even he’s focused on the conversation they’re having. It’s strange—to see Dan a part of something I’m not sure he would have been before. It’s nice.

“[MC]?”

I turn my head away from the table of my friends and focus my attention across the bar on someone I should’ve expected to see. “Phil.”

“I thought I recognized your voice from when we talked.” He smiles. “I wasn’t sure, but I saw you staring longingly at them—” He nods towards Dan and Cleo and Lilly. “—and I knew. What brings you around here? I expected you to show up maybe a few months ago, but by now, I thought you’d moved on without us.”

I was tired of the words move on. Like I’d had a choice. Like the people from this town might open their arms and welcome me back into their lives. So I’d been part of the group who’d saved Hannah Donfort. So had a lot of people. It didn’t make me special and everyone here knew it.

I offer him a smile in return. “I’m looking for somebody.”

“Anybody I know?” He asks.

I shake my head. “Nah. At least nobody you would recognize.” I pause. “How’s Jessy?”

“She’s—Jessy.” He answers, like that is an answer. “I don’t know if she’ll ever really be okay with the way things happened with Richy. I wouldn’t expect her to. Obviously. But I don’t know. I think I just thought she would have gone back to her normal life by now. And then I remember that most of her life revolved around him. He was her best friend. She worked for him. And I’m trying to be patient about that. But—” He shakes his head. “Maybe you should talk to her.”

“She doesn’t know I’m in town.”

“Okay.” He hums. “So, you’re not in town for my sister. And you’re not in town for your group of friends because they’re over there and you look like you’d rather be anywhere else. There’s always Hannah, but I don’t think you knew her that well. Or at all. Would I be right to assume this is about a certain hacker who helped to find Hannah?”

“He didn’t help find Hannah.” I defend. “He was the entire reason we found Hannah. I would have never been able to do it on my own. Even with the others’ help. He’s the only reason we found out about—” I pause before I say something I maybe shouldn’t. “It doesn’t matter. He’s the only reason we found her. Everything I did was just dumb luck.”

“That wasn’t what the news said.” A voice cuts in and I turn my attention from Phil to focus on the stranger that slides into the seat beside me. Not too close—a couple inches away. I don’t recognize him. I don’t know him. But I don’t know every person in Duskwood. Maybe a total of like nine or ten. “I’m sorry to interrupt. But I heard you had a lot to do with finding Hannah Donfort. The news said you were some kind of hero.”

I offer him a tight smile. “That’s nice of them. But…if they knew my—friend—knew what he did to find her, I don’t think I would be as much of a hero as everybody says.”

“That’s noble.” He says, eyes meeting mine, and it strikes me at once how handsome he is. He has dark hair. Bright green eyes. Focus, [MC]. I scold. You have a…a someone.

My phone buzzes.

ERIC SENT A PHOTO.

ERIC: What do you make of this?

I sigh and click on the photo. It’s of—some object. Much like the one that was addressed to me on the envelope in Adam’s glove compartment. The image is a bit different—but I don’t know enough about what it means to have an answer as to why.

ME: Was this one addressed to me?

ERIC: Nope. Ash.

“Are you okay?” Phil asks.

I clear my throat. “I’m a popular person—apparently.” A thought strikes. “Have you ever heard of a place called Redlog Pines?”

Phil frowns. “No.”

I turn to look at the stranger. “You?”

“Redlog Pines is a small town about two hundred miles north of Duskwood.” He answers. “Known for their wooded forests, much like Duskwood.”

“Why are you looking into a place with forests as creepy as ours?” Phil asks, incredulously. “Didn’t you get enough of that with Hannah’s case?”

“Yeah.” I sigh. “You would think.”

“Hey, [MC]!”

I wince at the sound of Dan’s voice. Shooting Phil a look that screams please help me to which he shakes his head amusedly, I turn and plaster on a fake smile as I take in the shocked looks on Cleo and Lilly’s faces. I should have known better than to come to The Aurora and talk to Phil when the three of them were having a conversation across the room. I should have known they would sooner or later see me. I just hoped it was later.

“Hey.” I hop off my stool and make my way across the bar to them. “It’s, uh, fancy seeing the three of you here.”

“What are you doing here?” Cleo asks.

“I haven’t really figured that out.” My eyes meet Lilly’s. “It sounds crazy to say it out loud. But I was hoping that—I’m not sure if Lilly told you—”

“That Jake’s alive.” Cleo nods. “None of us ever really thought he wasn’t.”

I don’t think she means it as a dig—but it still feels like one. Like she’s saying you gave up on him you gave up on him you gave up on him even though she’s not and she didn’t really know him and the only person I can talk to at this table who even might understand is Lilly and even—Jake didn’t confide in her the way he did me.

“Right.” I acknowledge. “So I thought that maybe if I came here, I could trace his steps from when he was here and—I haven’t really thought that far ahead. It’s not like I thought he left me any clues in the forest or anything like that. I don’t think he expected me to be here. He hadn’t wanted me to be the last time we talked. But that was before everything happened.”

Lilly’s eyes track behind me. “Does Jake still have Nymos on your phone?”

“Uh.” I furrow my brows. “I think so. I hadn’t heard from him in a while, but I went back and read through our messages after I talked to Alan and…my phone glitched, like it used to when Jake had hacked it. And then this message appeared on my screen.”

“And by chance, can Nymos track your location?”

“What—” I shake my head. “Maybe. I don’t think I ever really asked him. It didn’t seem necessary at the time.”

“Uh huh.” She focuses on me once more. “Let’s say, for one minute, that Jake has access to Nymos who has access to your location.”

Cleo must catch onto something I’m not sure of. “Jake didn’t want you here.”

“Uh, thank you?”

“You know that’s not what I mean.” She waves me off. “He didn’t want you in Duskwood. He had been adamant about that when we were talking about the mine. That’s why he went. If you showed up in Duskwood—”

“Nymos would have alerted him.” Dan finishes.

“Okay…” I’m not entirely sure I’m on the same page as them. “So—you think that Jake found out when I came to Duskwood.”

“Correct.” Lilly beams like she just solved life’s greatest mystery.

“And you think he would—come find me?”

She smiles sympathetically at me—like I’m the world’s biggest idiot for not realizing what she has been trying to say sooner. “I think he already has.”

“You think Jake’s in Duskwood.” I deadpan.

“[MC].” Cleo grabs my shoulders and turns me around. “We think he’s in this bar.”

Stranger, as I had nicknamed him—AKA the guy sitting beside me at the bar, with Phil and Redlog Pines (which he probably only knew about because of me) and the whole Hannah being kidnapped and not taking any of the credit thing—was looking back at me. So was Phil. Like they thought I was the crazy one. Like it would’ve been so hard for him to look and me and say it’s me or anything that might have clued me into the fact that—

“Jake?” I whisper, because I’ve lost quite a bit of sleep over the past couple of months and I’m not one hundred percent sure what—or who—I’m seeing is real. “Are you here?”

He tilts his head and smiles at me. Actually smiles. A bit shyly, like it’s something he’s not used to doing, but maybe like it’s something he could get used to. And I think about how terrible I probably look right now because I’m not wearing makeup and my hair is tousled from constantly pulling at it and my clothes are wrinkled from the plane and the police station and I look like a mess. But our relationship has never been about looks. Clearly. I didn’t even know the person I’d been talking to until Lilly and Cleo and even Dan pointed out the obvious.

“If I—” I close my eyes and open them again. Nope. Still there. “I need you to still be there by the time I reach you because it’s been a—” I sniffle. “—it’s been a rough few months and I don’t think I could handle you disappearing again.”

He stands from the stool he was sitting on and shuffles his feet. Like he’s not quite sure where he’s supposed to stand. If he thinks about moving, I’ll tackle him onto the floor of The Aurora and then apologize to Phil later. It feels like everything I wanted is right here in front of me. And I’m scared to death that it’s not real.

“What’s one thing you would take with you if you were stranded on an island?”

His smile stretches. “My computer.”

And that—that’s what breaks me. I think I might start blubbering like an idiot but I don’t remember the time it takes for me to cross the measly twenty feet between us. All I remember is grabbing his black hoodie—because of course—and dragging him to me. I don’t kiss him, despite how much I want to, because I don’t want our first kiss to be tainted with my snot and tears. Instead, I bury my face in his collarbone and wrap my arms around his neck and hold on for dear life.

Because I can. Because he isn’t dead.

“Y—You’re here.” I pull back and cup his face with my hands. “How are you here?”

“You came to Duskwood.” He responds, and then—hesitantly—he presses his lips to my forehead in a kiss. “Alan called you.”

“He found your things in the forest.” I whisper back. “He said they’d been there a while. The police hadn’t searched the forest because they assume you died in the mine.”

“They aren’t looking for me here.” He confirms. “I didn’t expect it to take so long for them to find my belongings, but I anticipated that you would find out. At the time, it wasn’t safe for me to reach out and contact you. They kept on my trail for a while before they assumed I died in the mine with Richy.”

“Why didn’t you contact me then?” I ask. “Is it because of what I last messaged you? I didn’t mean it—I swear, I thought you were dead. If I had known you were alive, I would have waited, however long it took. I wasn’t trying to give up on you.”

“Hey.” He places both hands on either side of my face. “I know. I know that, [MC]. That was never why I didn’t reach out to you. I know you said you wanted this life with me. But I didn’t want that for you. But I was selfish. I couldn’t let you go. So I was trying to find a way to make both of those things true. But I was always coming back to you.”

“And did you?”

“Come back to you?” He asks.

I sniffle. “Find a way to make both of those things true.”

“Not entirely.” He admits. “Nymos alerted me you had boarded a plane headed in the direction of Duskwood and I—” He shook his head. “I knew I would find you here.”

“You could have found me sooner.”

He lets go of my face and he feels like he takes my skin with him. “It wasn’t that easy.”

“It could have been.” I demand.

I’m angry again. Now that I know he’s alive and okay and that he could have found me, I’m angry that he didn’t. I told him I would choose that life with him. Over and over and over. He didn’t need to make the decision for me. He didn’t need to try and protect me. And yes, maybe the fact that he did makes my heart flutter a tiny little bit, but that’s besides the point.

“I told you before you left me.” I tell him and I’m aware it sounds like we’ve been in a relationship for five years and I’m aware that everybody in here is watching and listening in on our conversation and they probably all know we’re who we are, two people involved in helping to find the kidnapped Hannah Donfort, and maybe that’s all we’ll ever be in this town. But I would rather be the girl who found Hannah Donfort in Duskwood with him than be me anywhere else. “You told me you would let me go with you.”

“That was before I told you I loved you.”

My heart skips a beat. It screams I love you I love you I love you back, but I say— “What does that have to do with anything?”

He looks somewhat amused. Like he knows I would never hold it against him. It’s clear to both of us that I wouldn’t because even though I’m glaring up at him with my furrowed eyebrows and my lips pouted, I’m still pressed tightly against him. His hands—even though they’ve moved from my face—are now resting on my hips. Pulling my tighter to him. There’s no space in between us. If it was up to me, I’m pretty sure there never would be again.

“[MC].” He says, and oh god I wish he would say my name every day for the rest of his life. “Have I—in the short time we have known each other—ever struck you as the type of person who says I love you? But with you…” His words are a whisper against my lips. “It’s easy to fall back into old emotions with you.”

“I want to be angry with you.” I tell him.

He shakes his head. “No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t.” I agree. “But I might be if you don’t kiss me.”

He brought one finger underneath my chin and tilted it up until our lips were separated by a fraction of an inch. My eyelids fluttered. I didn’t care that everyone in here was about to see just how much Jake meant to be. I didn’t care because I had waited too long for this. And then—just as I’m leaning toward him to press our lips together, he whispers— “[MC]?”

“Hm.” I acknowledge.

“Who’s Eric?”

My eyelids crack open and I shove at his chest. “That’s what you’re worried about right now? Here I am, in front of you, covered in snot and tears and who-knows-what-else because you’re here right now, and you’re worried about some guy I don’t even know?”

“Who’s Eric?” He repeats.

“Ugh.” I run my hands through my hair and take a step back. “I don’t know. He’s the other side of Thomas or whatever you want to call him. If we lived in a different town.” I glare back at him and try not to admit that I think his jealous side is a little cute. “He messaged me. Thought I picked up his friend from some parking lot and I didn’t, but his friend sent him my number, and it was Hannah all over again. I’m trying to help them.”

“This Adam has been sending you a lot of videos.”

“You know I hate when you hack my phone.” I complain, even though I really don’t. Even though I had prayed for him to help me with this case. “I really don’t know Adam. Like—even less than I know Eric.

“But you know Eric.”

“For like a week.” I reassure. “He added me to this group chat with him and like three other friends of his. They’re desperate to find Adam who has apparently dropped off the face of the earth and I don’t know what to do. I had you with Hannah’s case. And you knew her. And they—” I look over my shoulder at Cleo and Dan and Lilly, who are pretending like they’re not listening in even though I know and Jake knows they are. “—they knew her. And obviously Adam’s friends must know him but I don’t and you don’t and there is no Jake in Redlog Pines.”

“I don’t trust him.” He shakes his head. “Any of them.”

I laugh. “Jake, you didn’t trust half the people in this bar when we first started talking.” I look over at Phil and then Dan. “It doesn’t mean they committed a crime. If I had backed off when you asked me to help you find Hannah, we may never have.”

“I thought that was all thanks to me.” He sounds smug, like that little smiley face he loved to annoy me with (AKA make me fall in love with him). “Did he flirt with you?”

“No.” I deadpan. “I think he was focused on his missing friend.”

“I was focused on my missing sister.” He shoots back.

I close my mouth. Alright. He has a point. But I wasn’t flirting with Eric. He was focused on finding Adam and I was focused on mourning—and then finding—Jake. Maybe it felt like Eric and I were two sides of the same coin. Maybe that’s why I agreed to help him. Because I didn’t want to happen to him what I thought had happened to Jake—to me.

“You’re being ridiculous.” I say instead. “How do you think I could ever entertain the idea of being with somebody else when for the past three months—more than that if you count the time we have actually had together—I’ve been focused on you? On discussing Hannah with you and then talking to you about anything and everything and then worrying about you and then hating you a little for convincing me you should me the one to go into the mine and then mourning you when it was hard to even think about you and then finding you?”

His eyes are wide. I think I’ve rendered him speechless. Which—serves him right. I know he’s not somebody who serves their feelings up on a silver platter. I know that. Obviously, I knew that from the first time I spoke to him. Back when he was nothing more than ??? and I was almost convinced that Dan was right and he was the Man Without A Face—a thought that I now hate with everything in me. But I need him to trust me. Jealousy streak and FBI and the missing persons cases aside, he needs to trust me.

“Trust me.” I cup the sides of his face again. “He’s nothing like you.”

He swallows. “Some people might consider that to be a perk.”

“I don’t.” I say.

And then I’m kissing him and it feels like coming home.

#duskwood #duskwood everbyte #duskwood game #duskwood jake #duskwood jake x mc #moonvale everbyte #moonvale #duskwood fanfic #duskwood mc #everbyte game #everbyte studios

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97linelover · 2 months ago

Text

It’s always been you - Kim Mingyu

They had always been little rivals, secretly liking each other much more than they would ever admit – they just didn’t realize it yet.

From this, love would bloom.

content: non Idol Mingyu x non Idol reader, fight,angst, happy end,fluff,smut, drama, romcom, enemies to lovers, childhood rivals

wc: 1.5 k

a/n: I love the concept from enemies to lovers.

You had always loved the summer – when the weather was perfect, and you could visit the beach, hang out at the ice cream parlour, or lose yourself in a new book by the pool. Summer in Busan was incredible, and growing up there was the best.

But there was one part of your childhood that you didn’t miss.

Kim Mingyu.

Kim Mingyu was the neighbor’s son, and since our moms were best friends, we practically grew up together. Whenever our moms had their coffee dates, we’d be dragged along to play, which usually meant Mingyu teasing and annoying me endlessly.

At first, we got along well enough. But everything changed when we started school, and Mingyu met Jungkook.

Jungkook had been your first crush, and Mingyu knew it because he overheard a conversation between you and your best friend. From that moment on, Mingyu made it his mission to embarrass you. He told Jungkook that you still wet the bed sometimes, and after that, Jungkook wanted nothing to do with you.

Every day, you’d greet Jungkook sweetly, but over time, you gave up.

The three of you grew apart, and whenever your mom asked if you wanted to join their get-togethers, you found an excuse to avoid them.

When you moved to Seoul, you rarely heard about Jungkook or Mingyu anymore. You still followed each other on social media, but that was about it.

Now, as you sat on the train heading back to Busan, you realized you’d be seeing them again. Your mom was turning 50, and you couldn’t miss the party. Mingyu’s mom, Minjae, was hosting the event.

It was a surprise for your mom – she had no idea you’d be there.

When you knocked on the door, shifting nervously from one foot to the other under the scorching sun, Minjae opened it with a gasp. “Y/N! You look like you’re about to pass out. Come in, come in!” She hurriedly took your suitcase. “Where’s my son? Did you walk all the way here?”

You nodded while taking a sip of the water she handed you. “I waited for Mingyu, but he didn’t show up.”

Before you could explain further, the door swung open, and Mingyu walked in, clearly annoyed. “Mom, I waited for an hour. Y/N didn’t show up.”

“I didn’t show up?” You glared at him. “You idiot, you left me waiting in the heat!”

Mingyu scoffed. “My mom told me to pick you up from the South station.”

“South? I was waiting at the West station!” You shot back, incredulous.

Minjae gasped. “Oh dear, I’m so sorry! I must’ve mixed up the stations. That’s completely my fault.”

You sighed, laughing it off. “It happens. I’ll just get changed and head to the pool.”

As you picked up your suitcase, Minjae added, “By the way, you’ll have to share a room with Mingyu. His sister’s room had a pipe leak, so it’s unusable.”

You groaned internally but forced a smile. “That’s fine, we’ve shared a room before.”

In reality, it was far from fine. You’d rather sleep outside than share a room with him. But what choice did you have?

As you unpacked your things, Mingyu casually strolled in, acting as if nothing had changed between you two. “So, still mad about the station mix-up?” he asked with a grin.

You shot him a look. “Let’s just say you owe me a lot of ice cream.”

Mingyu chuckled, leaning against the doorframe. “Deal. But don’t think I’ll let you off easy. You still owe me for all those times you ditched us back in high school.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. Maybe this weekend wouldn’t be so bad after all.

At your mom’s birthday party, the tension only grew.

You wore a beautiful dress, one that hugged you in all the right places and shimmered softly under the evening lights. You felt confident, graceful even, as you moved through the crowd of guests. It was a special night, after all – your mother’s 50th.

Mingyu was there too, looking unexpectedly sharp in a fitted suit. He was talking with some family friends, laughing along with the group, but every now and then, his gaze drifted toward you. He tried to act like he didn’t notice, but the way his eyes lingered whenever you passed by made it clear – he thought you looked beautiful.

And you had noticed him too, though you’d never admit it. He’d grown into someone strikingly handsome, his presence more confident than before, but there was still something about him that annoyed you.

The party went on, with laughter and music filling the night air. Every now and then, Mingyu would find a reason to talk to you. He’d make small talk, ask if you needed anything, or simply stand next to you when there was no one else around. It was subtle, but enough for you to realize that avoiding him wasn’t working as well as you’d hoped.

Later in the evening, as the celebrations began to wind down, you found yourself sitting outside on the terrace, taking a break from the noise inside. Mingyu joined you a few moments later, holding two glasses of wine.

“Here,” he said, handing you one. “Thought you might need this after the long day.”

You accepted it with a small nod, unsure of what to say. The silence between you was thick, and for a moment, it seemed like neither of you would break it. Then, his voice cut through the quiet.

“You look… really nice tonight,” Mingyu admitted, his voice softer than usual, eyes focused on the stars above.

You glanced at him, caught off guard by his honesty. “Thanks,” you replied, your heart unexpectedly skipping a beat.

Before you could say more, your mom’s laughter echoed from the doorway, followed by Mingyu’s mom, Minjae. They were standing together, arms linked, watching the two of you from afar.

“Oh, look at them,” your mom said playfully, nudging Minjae. “I swear, those two are secretly in love with each other.”

Minjae giggled in agreement. “I’ve always thought so too. They just need to realize it themselves.”

You felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment, and you noticed Mingyu shift awkwardly beside you, pretending not to hear their teasing. You both exchanged an uncomfortable glance, but neither of you said a word.

Maybe your moms were right. Or maybe they were just caught up in their own hopes and memories of your childhood. Either way, the idea lingered in the air between you, impossible to ignore.

The evening was in full swing, with soft music playing in the background and the sound of laughter filling the room. You tried to keep your attention elsewhere, but it was impossible to ignore Mingyu – especially when you saw him flirting with a stunning blonde across the room.

She laughed at something he said, leaning in a little closer, and you felt a sharp pang of jealousy rise in your chest. You hated the feeling. Why did it bother you so much?

As if sensing your gaze, Mingyu glanced in your direction, catching your eye for a split second. Panic surged through you, and before he could see the frustration written all over your face, you quickly made your way upstairs, needing a moment to breathe.

Once in your room, you leaned against the door, your heart racing. You hated how easily he could get under your skin. Just when you thought you had your emotions in check, there he was, messing it all up again.

A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door, followed by the sound of it creaking open. “Y/N?” Mingyu’s voice cut through the silence, his steps soft as he entered the room.

You didn’t turn to face him, not trusting yourself to stay calm. “What do you want, Mingyu?”

He sighed, walking closer until he was standing just a few feet away. “What’s going on with you? You’ve been acting strange all night.”

“I’m fine,” you muttered, crossing your arms in an attempt to shut him out.

“Doesn’t seem like it,” he persisted, his tone stubborn. “You ran off the moment I looked at you.”

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “I just needed some air. That’s all.”

Mingyu wasn’t buying it. He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You sure it doesn’t have something to do with the blonde downstairs?”

You froze, your heart thudding in your chest. “I don’t care who you flirt with, Mingyu.”

He smirked, clearly not believing you. “You’re jealous.”

“I am not jealous,” you snapped, but your voice betrayed you, a hint of frustration slipping through.

Mingyu’s smirk only grew wider as he took another step forward. The air between you felt charged, heavy with tension neither of you could ignore. Before you could process what was happening, he leaned in, his face inches from yours.

“You are,” he whispered softly, his breath warm against your skin. “And I think you’ve had a little too much to drink.”

Your heart raced as the scent of him filled your senses, the tension pulling you closer despite your better judgment. “So have you,” you replied, barely above a whisper, your body betraying you as you found yourself leaning in.

Suddenly, his lips were on yours, and any hesitation you’d felt evaporated in an instant. The kiss was electric, years of unspoken emotions pouring out all at once. Mingyu’s hands found your waist, pulling you against him as your fingers tangled in his hair.

Before you knew it, he lifted you effortlessly, carrying you over to the bed as your lips never left his. The room spun slightly, a combination of the alcohol and the heat between you, but none of it mattered. Nothing mattered except him in that moment.

He laid you down gently, his body hovering over yours as he kissed you deeper, his touch igniting every nerve in your body. You knew this was reckless, fueled by too many drinks and years of suppressed feelings, but you couldn’t stop. Neither could he.

The night blurred around you as you gave in to the moment, to the desire that had been building between you for so long.

The next morning, you woke up with the sunlight streaming in, blinking away sleep as you glanced around the room. Your heart dropped when you spotted Mingyu lying naked beside you, the sheets barely covering him. Panic surged through you, and you quickly bolted from the bed, rushing into the bathroom.

Once inside, you turned on the shower, letting the hot water wash over you. You stood there for what felt like an eternity, trying to forget everything that had happened the night before. The warmth enveloped you, but it couldn’t erase the memory of your impulsive decision.

After what felt like ages, you finally stepped out, wrapping a bathrobe around yourself tightly. Taking a deep breath to steady your racing heart, you opened the bathroom door and stepped back into the room.

Mingyu was awake, scrolling through his phone. He looked up at you, a playful grin spreading across his face as he caught sight of you. The only thing covering his lower body was the blanket, but that didn’t make it any less distracting.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” he said, his voice teasing but warm.

You tried to maintain your composure, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. “Don’t… don’t look at me like that,” you stammered, feeling flustered.

He chuckled, clearly enjoying your embarrassment. “Why not? You’re the one who made things interesting last night.”

You shot him an incredulous look. “Interesting? You mean reckless!”

He leaned back against the headboard, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I’d say it was a lot of fun. But I guess you don’t remember all of it?”

Your stomach flipped at the implication. “I remember enough,” you replied defensively, crossing your arms.

Mingyu’s expression softened slightly. “Hey, it’s okay. We’re both adults here. It doesn’t have to change anything… unless you want it to.”

You hesitated, your mind racing. What did you want? The night had been exhilarating, but it also complicated everything. “I just need some time to think,” you said finally.

“Fair enough,” he replied, his grin fading a bit. “But just know, I’m not going anywhere.”

With that, he turned back to his phone, and you felt the weight of the moment hang in the air. You needed to sort through your feelings and decide what this all meant, but for now, all you could do was breathe and try to regain your composure.

Later that evening, as you sat on the terrace, Mingyu finally found you. He leaned against the railing, his expression serious yet relaxed. “Y/N,” he began, “I’ve been thinking about last night.”

You tensed, your heart pounding. “What about it?”

He took a deep breath. “I thought it was… nice. Maybe we could make it a thing? Like a friends-with-benefits situation.”

Your stomach fluttered at his suggestion. It was reckless, but the thrill of it tempted you. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” you asked, trying to mask your curiosity.

Mingyu smirked. “Why not? We both know there’s chemistry between us. No strings attached, just fun.”

You weighed the options, knowing it could complicate things further. But the excitement of being close to him again was hard to resist. After a moment of hesitation, you nodded. “Okay, let’s do it.”

His grin returned, a mix of relief and mischief. “Great. Let’s keep it casual.”

That night, you found yourselves tangled together once more, the boundaries of friendship blurred in the heat of the moment. The chemistry was undeniable, and as you lost yourselves in each other, you realized this new arrangement might just lead to more than either of you had anticipated.

Thinking about him even when you weren’t together, feeling a connection that went beyond physical attraction.

One fateful night, however, everything changed. You returned to his room unexpectedly and walked in on Mingyu in bed with the blonde from the party. The sight hit you like a punch to the gut, and tears instantly welled in your eyes. You felt as if the ground had vanished beneath you.

Panicking, you turned and bolted downstairs, your heart racing and emotions spiraling. Mingyu called out after you, his voice echoing in the quiet house, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t face him.

When you reached the living room, you spun around, breathless and trembling. Mingyu followed, completely naked, the shock on his face shifting to concern. “Y/N, wait!” he urged, desperation creeping into his voice.

As the tension in the room thickened, your emotions spilled over. “Just go back to her, Mingyu!” you shouted, your voice shaking with hurt.

He stepped closer, confusion mingling with defensiveness. “What are you talking about? It was just a bit of fun!”

“Fun? You think this is all just a game?” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “I thought we had something more!”

He crossed his arms, his expression hardening. “We agreed it was casual, Y/N. You knew that.”

“Casual?” you repeated, disbelief washing over you. “So I was just a fling? Just someone to pass the time?”

“Honestly, yeah,” he said, his words cutting like a knife. “It was nothing special.”

You felt your heart drop at his admission. “So, I mean nothing to you?” Tears stung your eyes as you struggled to comprehend his coldness.

“Don’t make this complicated,” he shot back, frustration evident in his voice. “You knew what this was. I never promised you anything.”

“Clearly,” you replied bitterly. “I thought we could be more than just a hookup. I thought you cared!”

“I didn’t owe you anything,” he said, shaking his head dismissively. “It was just supposed to be fun for both of us.”

The weight of his words pressed down on you. “So I’m just another girl to you? Nothing special at all?”

“Exactly,” he replied, his tone blunt. “That’s how it is.”

In that moment, you felt the reality of your situation crash down around you. You turned away, tears streaming down your face. “I can’t believe this. I deserve more than that.” With that, you grabbed your things and stormed out, the anger and heartbreak coursing through you as you realized you had to leave this behind.

You decided not to tell anyone about what happened with Mingyu. The pain was too fresh, and you weren’t ready to share it. Instead, you focused on avoiding him as much as possible. Whenever your friends planned gatherings, you found excuses to skip out.

But then came the Thanksgiving parade, a local tradition you couldn’t ignore. The streets were filled with laughter, floats, and colorful decorations, but you felt a heaviness in your heart as you walked among the crowds.

As you turned a corner, you unexpectedly ran into Mingyu. The moment your eyes met, a wave of tension washed over you. You quickly looked away, ignoring him completely. He stood there, hands shoved in his pockets, his expression a mix of regret and frustration.

“Y/N,” he called out, taking a step toward you. “Can we talk?”

You didn’t respond, your heart racing as you turned and walked away. You could feel him following, his footsteps echoing behind you.

“Please, just wait!” he urged, desperation creeping into his voice. “I know I messed up. Just give me a chance to explain!”

But you didn’t want to hear it. The memories of that night flooded back, and you quickened your pace, weaving through the crowd. You needed to escape the reminders of everything that had gone wrong between you two.

“Y/N!” he shouted, his voice rising above the noise of the parade. “Don’t just run away from this!”

You felt a mix of anger and hurt, but you didn’t stop. The last thing you wanted was to relive the pain. You pushed through the throngs of people, determined to put as much distance between you and Mingyu as possible.

In that moment, you knew you were doing what you needed to protect yourself, even if it meant facing the day alone.

Mingyu and his sister Minseo arrived with their mom for a visit, and the atmosphere was lively. You greeted them politely, trying to mask your feelings as you engaged in conversation. Minseo was friendly and easy to talk to, and you found yourself chatting with her more than you expected.

As the evening went on, you noticed Mingyu watching you from a distance, a mix of concern and uncertainty in his eyes. Eventually, he approached, attempting to break the tension.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “How have you been?”

You felt your stomach twist. “I’ve been… okay,” you replied, keeping your tone brief.

He frowned slightly, sensing something was off. “Are you sure? You don’t look well.”

You didn’t want to get into it, so you shrugged. “I just haven’t been feeling great lately. I think I need to rest.”

Before he could respond, you excused yourself, feeling the weight of his gaze on your back as you headed upstairs. Once in your room, you closed the door and leaned against it, taking a deep breath. The last thing you wanted was to confront the feelings swirling inside you, especially with Mingyu so close. You needed some time to gather your thoughts.

You took a moment to collect yourself, trying to push aside the emotions that had been bubbling up since Mingyu’s arrival. The walls of your room felt both comforting and suffocating, a stark contrast to the laughter and chatter you had left behind.

After a few minutes of silence, you lay down on your bed, staring at the ceiling. Your mind raced with thoughts of Mingyu, the unresolved tension between you two, and the feelings you had tried to bury. Just as you were beginning to calm down, you heard a light knock on the door.

“Y/N?” It was Mingyu’s voice, gentle and tentative. “Can I come in?”

You hesitated, not wanting to face him just yet, but something in his tone made you nod. “Yeah, sure.”

He opened the door slowly, stepping inside with an uncertain look. “I’m sorry if I made things awkward earlier. I just wanted to check on you.”

“It’s fine,” you replied, sitting up and forcing a smile. “I just needed a moment.”

He studied your face, concern etched across his features. “You really don’t look fine. Is there anything I can do?”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard. You felt a flicker of the connection you once had, but you quickly reminded yourself of everything that had happened. “Honestly, I just need some space.”

Mingyu nodded, looking disappointed but understanding. “Okay. I just… I care about you, you know?”

Those words hit hard, stirring emotions you thought you had under control. You looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “I know. But things are complicated.”

“I get that,” he said softly. “But I want to fix this, Y/N. Can’t we at least talk about it?”

You sighed, feeling torn. Part of you wanted to open up, but another part was terrified of where that conversation might lead. “Maybe another time,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Alright,” he replied, though you could see the disappointment in his eyes. “Just… take care of yourself, okay?”

With that, he turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind him. You lay back on the bed, feeling the weight of everything settle heavily on your chest. You needed to sort through your feelings, but for now, all you could do was think about the choices ahead.

While helping your mom prepare for Thanksgiving dinner, you felt a knot of emotions building inside you. After a moment of hesitation, you finally said, “Mom, I think I might have deeper feelings for Mingyu.”

She looked up from chopping vegetables, her eyes brightening with interest. “Really? I’ve noticed how he looks at you. I think he feels the same way.”

You shook your head, brushing her off. “No, it’s not that simple. He’s with someone else, and I can’t just assume.”

“Just because he’s talking to someone doesn’t mean it’s over between you two,” she suggested. “You should talk to him about how you feel.”

Before you could respond, the doorbell rang, signaling Mingyu and his family’s arrival. You quickly set aside your swirling thoughts, shifting your focus to being a good host.

As everyone gathered around the table, the atmosphere buzzed with warmth and laughter. Mingyu sat directly across from you, and you felt the weight of his gaze more than once. Despite the underlying tension, there was a spark of connection that neither of you could ignore.

During dinner, Mingyu’s mom casually brought up Leona, the blonde from the party. “Mingyu and Leona are getting to know each other more seriously,” she said with a bright smile. The mention of her name sent a pang of jealousy through you, and you could see Mingyu nodding, though his expression was hard to read.

Suddenly, you felt a lump form in your throat, and panic set in. Before you could process it, you started to cough, choking on a piece of food. The room fell silent as everyone turned to look at you.

“Y/N!” your mom exclaimed, rushing to your side. Mingyu was right behind her, his eyes wide with concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice laced with worry. He leaned closer, his presence both comforting and overwhelming.

You managed to cough up the food and take a deep breath, feeling the heat of embarrassment wash over you. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you replied a little too quickly, trying to brush it off.

Everyone continued to look at you, concern etched on their faces. “Just a little too excited about the food, I guess,” you added, forcing a laugh, but the tension remained thick in the air.

Mingyu didn’t take his eyes off you, the worry still apparent. You could sense the underlying questions in his gaze, but you couldn’t bear to let him see how deeply his words about Leona affected you.

As the dinner continued, you tried to focus on the conversations around you, but the weight of the moment lingered in your chest. You felt torn between wanting to confront your feelings for Mingyu and the painful reality of his growing relationship with someone else.

That evening, as everyone mingled after dinner, you did your best to avoid Mingyu. You chatted with his sister and your mom, trying to distract yourself from the tension that hung in the air.

But then, as you retreated to your room for a moment of solitude, Mingyu quietly followed you inside. The door clicked shut behind him, and the moment felt charged.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his eyes searching yours. “I’ve missed you. I’ve really missed this.” He stepped closer, the sincerity in his voice making your heart race.

Before you could respond, he leaned in and kissed you gently. The warmth of his lips sent a shiver through you, and for a fleeting moment, you melted into the kiss, feeling the connection you had tried to deny.

But then, as reality hit, thoughts of Leona flooded your mind. You pulled back, your breath quickening. “Mingyu, wait,” you said, your voice trembling. “What about Leona?”

His expression faltered, confusion clouding his features. “What about her? We’ve talked, but it’s not like that with her.”

“Not like what?” you pressed, trying to hold onto your resolve. “You’re getting to know her seriously. I can’t just pretend that doesn’t matter.”

He stepped back, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I thought we had something special, Y/N. I thought you felt it too.”

“I do,” you admitted, the honesty escaping before you could filter it. “But it’s complicated. I don’t want to be a rebound or a distraction.”

He took a deep breath, his eyes softening. “You’re not a distraction. I care about you. I thought maybe we could figure this out together.”

The conflicting emotions swirled inside you. You wanted to believe him, to step into the moment and embrace what you felt. But the thought of Leona lingered, casting a shadow over your heart.

“I need time,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t just jump back in without knowing where we stand.”

Mingyu nodded, understanding but clearly disappointed. “Okay. I’ll give you space. But know that I’m here, and I want to talk whenever you’re ready.”

With that, he stepped back, leaving you alone with your thoughts, the tension still heavy in the air. You sat on your bed, feeling the weight of the choices ahead.

You sat on your bed, the silence of the room settling around you. Mingyu’s words echoed in your mind, mixing with the confusion and uncertainty that had taken root in your heart.

You took a deep breath, trying to process everything. Part of you longed to run after him, to tell him that you felt the same way, but the reality of Leona’s presence kept you anchored in your doubts.

Later that night, you tossed and turned in bed, sleep eluding you. Thoughts of Mingyu and his kiss played on repeat, but so did the image of him with Leona, laughing and sharing intimate moments. You felt trapped between desire and self-preservation.

Eventually, you got up and made your way to the kitchen, hoping to distract yourself with a late-night snack. As you rummaged through the pantry, you heard footsteps behind you. It was Minseo, looking for a late-night treat as well.

“Can’t sleep?” she asked, her tone light.

You shrugged, forcing a smile. “Just thinking.”

“About Mingyu?” she probed, her eyes twinkling with curiosity.

You hesitated but decided to be honest. “Yeah, it’s just complicated. I’m not sure where we stand.”

Minseo nodded, leaning against the counter. “I know he cares about you. He’s been a bit different since the party. You two have a connection.”

“I thought so too,” you said, feeling the weight of your uncertainty. “But then there’s Leona. I don’t want to get caught in a messy situation.”

She considered this for a moment. “You have to do what feels right for you. But if you want to pursue something with him, don’t let someone else’s presence stop you. Talk to him.”

Her words struck a chord within you. You knew deep down that avoiding the situation wouldn’t help. You needed clarity, and the only way to get it was to confront your feelings head-on.

The next morning, you resolved to find Mingyu and have that conversation. After breakfast, you sought him out, finding him outside, leaning against the porch railing, lost in thought.

“Mingyu,” you called, your heart pounding as he turned to face you.

“Hey,” he said, his expression cautious but hopeful.

“I think we need to talk,” you said, feeling a surge of determination. “Can we sit down?”

He nodded, and you both settled on a nearby bench. The air was thick with anticipation as you searched for the right words.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about us,” you began. “About what happened the other night and what I really want.”

Mingyu listened intently, his eyes focused on you. “I want to hear it all.”

Taking a deep breath, you continued. “I can’t deny that I have feelings for you, but I also need to know what you want. I don’t want to be just a fling.”

He leaned in closer, his expression earnest. “You’re not a fling to me. I want to explore this—whatever ‘this’ is—together. But I need you to be honest with me too.”

“I am,” you replied, your heart racing. “I just need to know if you’re willing to put in the effort, especially with Leona around.”

Mingyu nodded, determination in his voice. “I’ll figure it out. I want to prioritize what we have.”

In that moment, a glimmer of hope sparked within you. It was a small step, but it felt like the beginning of something real. The road ahead was still uncertain, but at least now you were both willing to navigate it together.

You took a deep breath, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. “I want to explore this too, Mingyu. But I need reassurance that you’re committed to making it work.”

He nodded, his expression serious. “I promise you, I’ll figure things out with Leona. I don’t want to lose what we have.”

A wave of emotion surged through you. “It’s just hard seeing you with her, knowing you’re getting to know her better. I want to feel like I matter.”

“You do matter,” he insisted, reaching for your hand. “You’re not just another girl to me. You’re someone I really care about.”

His touch sent a warmth through you, grounding you in the moment. “I guess I just need some time to process everything.”

“Take all the time you need,” he said, squeezing your hand gently. “Just know I’m here when you’re ready.”

After a moment of silence, you both exchanged smiles, the tension easing between you. The conversation had lifted a weight off your shoulders, and you felt a flicker of hope for what could be.

As the days passed, you and Mingyu began to reconnect. You spent more time together, laughing and sharing stories, gradually rebuilding the bond that had felt strained. Each moment together reminded you of why you cared for him in the first place.

One evening, while watching the sunset, Mingyu turned to you, his eyes reflecting the vibrant colors of the sky. “You know, I can’t stop thinking about how lucky I am to have you in my life.”

A shy smile crept onto your face. “Really? It feels nice to hear that.”

“I mean it,” he said, his voice sincere. “You’ve always been special to me. I want to make this work, no matter what.”

You felt your heart flutter. “I want that too, Mingyu. But I still need to know you’re serious about it.”

“I am,” he said, leaning closer. “Let’s take this one step at a time. No rush. Just you and me figuring things out.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow around you, you leaned in and kissed him gently. It felt right, the world around you fading away as you focused on the connection you both shared. In that moment, you knew you were ready to embrace whatever came next, together.

One afternoon, as you were sitting on a park bench, you couldn’t help but voice your concerns. “Mingyu, do you think you’ve really moved on from Leona?”

He paused, looking thoughtful. “I’ve talked to her, and I made it clear that I’m not interested in pursuing anything serious.”

Your heart raced at his honesty. “What did she say?”

“She understood. I think she felt the same way, but it was hard for both of us to admit. It just… wasn’t what I want,” he replied, meeting your gaze.

You nodded, feeling a mixture of relief and lingering apprehension. “I just want to make sure we’re both on the same page. I don’t want to get hurt again.”

“Neither do I,” he said, reaching for your hand. “That’s why I’m here. I want to make this work.”

As you walked hand in hand, a sense of calm washed over you. With every step, it felt as if the past was slowly fading away, making room for something new and hopeful.

Then, one evening, Mingyu surprised you with a picnic under the stars. He laid out a blanket in a quiet spot, complete with your favorite snacks and drinks. The atmosphere was magical, the moonlight dancing on the surface of the lake nearby.

“This is perfect,” you said, smiling as you settled down on the blanket.

Mingyu grinned. “I wanted to do something special for us. I know it hasn’t been easy, and I just want you to know how much you mean to me.”

You felt your heart swell. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

As the night went on, you shared stories and dreams, and the conversation flowed effortlessly. Eventually, the topic shifted to relationships, and you both found yourselves discussing your pasts, your fears, and your hopes for the future.

“I never thought I’d feel this way again,” Mingyu admitted, looking at you with earnest eyes. “You’ve changed everything for me.”

The sincerity in his voice sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “I feel the same way. I didn’t expect to care so much, but here we are.”

He moved a little closer, his gaze locked on yours. “I want to be more than just friends. I want us to be something real.”

Your heart raced as he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, lingering kiss. In that moment, everything felt right. The world around you faded, leaving just the two of you wrapped in the warmth of your connection.

When you finally pulled back, you felt a sense of clarity wash over you. “I want that too, Mingyu.”

“Absolutely,” he replied, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “I’m all in."

As the night deepened, you both sat in comfortable silence, the sounds of the night surrounding you. Suddenly, Mingyu turned to you, his expression serious.

“Y/N, there’s something I need to tell you,” he began, his voice steady but filled with emotion.

Your heart raced, sensing the weight of his words. “What is it?”

He took a deep breath, his gaze unwavering. “I’ve loved you for a long time. Ever since we were kids. I just didn’t realize it until recently.”

You blinked, processing his confession. “You loved me? Even back then?”

He nodded, a soft smile appearing on his face. “Yeah. I remember those summers in Busan, all those moments we spent together. You’ve always meant something special to me, even when I was too young to understand it fully.”

Tears pricked your eyes as you reflected on those memories, the playful rivalry, and the undeniable connection. “I never knew. I thought it was just childish feelings.”

“It was more than that,” he insisted. “You were always the one I felt drawn to, and it’s only grown stronger over the years.”

You felt a mix of emotions—joy, disbelief, and vulnerability. “Mingyu, I never knew you felt that way. I thought I was just another friend.”

He shook his head. “You were never just a friend to me. I’ve tried to push those feelings aside, but seeing you again made me realize how much I want you in my life.”

Moved by his honesty, you reached for his hand. “I’ve developed feelings for you too, but it’s hard to shake off the past.”

“I understand,” he replied softly. “But I want to be with you. I want to explore this, no matter how complicated it gets. I’m willing to fight for us.”

Tears welled in your eyes as his words sank in. The weight of your shared history, combined with this new revelation, felt overwhelming. “I want that too, Mingyu.”

He nodded, squeezing your hand gently. “I’ve always been here for you, and I always will be.”

In that moment, surrounded by the quiet of the night, you felt a shift within yourself. The barriers you’d built began to crumble, making way for the love that had always lingered just beneath the surface. You knew this was just the beginning of something beautiful.

#seventeen #kpop #svt #au #seventeen angst #gyu #mingyu #mingyu imagines #mingyu x reader #mingyu angst

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gurugirl · 11 months ago

Text

A Little Naughty | bfd!harry

best friend's dad!harry x reader

Summary: Your parents invite Harry to come with you for Christmas and you feel a little bit naughty after everyone's in bed.

Word Count: 3360

Warning: smut, fluffy fluff, age gap

Best Friend’s Dad Masterlist

You and Harry were dreamily staring at one another as you sipped your hot chocolate in the cute little café across from the park with the huge twinkly Christmas tree. Everyone was wearing jackets and boots and scarves. It wasn’t that cold but it felt like the right season to bundle up anyway.

It seemed like once you told everyone about you and Harry things only became better between you. You were more attached to him than ever and he was always checking on you.

You quit working at the restaurant and began looking for a better job. Which made Harry really happy. It also made him really happy when you told him you had gotten your implant removed. It was sort of a surprise for him. An early Christmas present. Kind of. You didn’t know how well it would actually go over. You’d talked about it but making that step was huge. But he was overjoyed when you told him. So overjoyed that you wound up on your tummy with your pussy being pounded into before he was coming inside of you (only after you’d already come because he was a gentleman of course). Yeah, it went over pretty well you’d say.

“Can’t wait to get you in bed later. Gonna stuff you so full every day,” he whispered and took a sip.

You laughed and looked around the café, “You’ve been stuffing me full since day one, Mr. Styles,” you teased.

You were both out getting last-minute Christmas gifts for your family. Your mom and dad invited you and Harry over for Christmas. And you’d need to stay the night most likely because the festivities usually included spiked punch and wine so you and Harry would stay in your childhood room. You were surprised when your mom also invited Harry. She said she would have felt bad if she didn’t.

Harry was nervous about the whole thing but you two were doing this together and even if things were awkward, well, that was just the price you had to pay.

. . .

You woke up to Harry’s morning wood digging into your thigh. He rocked his hips against you which made you laugh, “Well good morning to you. Like a horny teenager,” you stretched and rolled to face him.

“More like a horny man who’s full of vitality,” he laughed as he spoke.

“You know it’s recommended that you don’t come too often, right? Like to build up a little sperm. Every other day or something like that. And you came in me twice yesterday.”

Harry scrunched his brow, “Are you seriously asking me to wait two days before I get to come? When you’re right here,” he lowered his hand to your bottom and pressed his mouth against yours before continuing his convincing spiel, “So soft and warm. Always so wet and needy too. You don’t want my cock opening up your wet little hole and thrusting into you over and over again until your orgasming? Feels so good, though.”

You moaned. The man always had a way with words, “I mean, you know I love it. I’m not saying that. Just saying that if you really want to knock me up you gotta conserve a little.”

Harry softly swiped his nose into yours, “How about we just fuck like rabbits and see what happens. Plus we gotta go without it tonight and most of the day tomorrow since we’ll be at your parents. We’ll conserve then. But right now,” Harry pulled you in, lifting your thigh over his hip so you could feel his hard dick against your pussy, “I want to make love to my sweet girl.”

He licked at the crease of your mouth and you opened up right away, kissing him back and slipping your hands into the hair at the back of his head. You both rocked against each other as you kissed lazily until you grew wetter and wetter.

Harry gripped your thigh and angled himself to press into you, the yummy pinch of his thick head poking through your entrance had you groaning.

“See?” He rocked into you and pulled back, “Gotta take good care of you, baby.”

You nodded and let Harry take control. You couldn’t move much in the position you were in on your side, but Harry was able to drive himself inside of you as he rolled his hips over and over again.

“You want me to take care of you?”

“Yes, Harry. You’re so good at taking care of me,” you moaned your words against his mouth.

“Every day baby. Gonna have you on my cock every day like this til I put a baby in you. And when you’re all big and swollen with my baby growing inside you I’m gonna take care of you then too. Fuck you soft and slow and make you feel so good. Show you how much I love you. How much I need you.”

You loved how Harry’s big dick slid through you in long, deep strokes. How tight he held you against him. The strength in the way he handled you and yet with such gentleness that made you trust him so completely.

“Jesus, Harry…” you mewled before scraping your nails along the back of his neck.

His hips began to snap into you, the perfect drag of his cock against your g-spot had you panting and the bed shifting under your bodies.

“You make my cock feel so good baby. So creamy and tight,” he pulled back and you could hear just what he meant by how wet you were.

Harry’s soft whine against your lips before he began to move his lips around yours made you melt. You loved when your big, strong man whined and whimpered. You did that to him and you’d never get tired of it. He always let you know how good everything felt. He had no hang-ups about being vulnerable with you.

“Fuck, it’s so deep,” you moaned and nipped at Harry’s lip, making him inhale sharply. But that only egged him on. He rolled you onto your back and began to pound into you, long and heavy strokes making your tummy boil.

Harry’s hips were striking against you with each plunge inward, wet and achy with the smallest hint of pain that only made you grow wetter around him, your arousal slipping down your ass.

“Oh, ahhh!!” Harry deeply panted as he buried himself into you repeatedly.

You clawed at his back and felt the way his muscles flexed and bulged under your fingers. He was putting his all into fucking you.

The unwinding of your inevitable orgasm crashed over your limbs in a hot burst and the moment Harry felt your wet pussy clamping down on him he drove into you deeply with only a few more thrusts before he began to come inside of you, pressing deep into your guts with a heavy groan.

The throbbing of his orgasming cock had you smiling as you moaned. It was the best feeling knowing he had his release because of you.

Harry’s soft moans slowed and you laughed when he crumbled onto your chest.

You let him lie there for a bit as you both savored the moment of the soft bliss after coming together.

“I guess I should get up.” He spoke against your neck.

You nodded and laughed, “Well I do have to shower after that. And I need coffee.”

. . .

You appreciated how strong Harry was. He was in the middle of an ugly divorce (though it was moving along faster than you anticipated) and you knew he was stressed but he never made you feel bad. He always made you smile and laugh. But you could see him in moments he didn’t think you were watching.

Like after you’d seen him text Merry Christmas to Fae, there was a small smile on his face as he put his phone away. Something that seemed hopeful. But then he kept checking to see if she would respond. When you watched his face fall after he checked his phone again right before you were about to leave to head to your parents your heart dropped.

You didn’t say anything to him about what you’d noticed. Didn’t want to have him feel like he needed to explain himself. It was a delicate situation.

You were just happy your mom invited him to come with you because you didn’t want to leave him alone on Christmas. His first without Fae since she was born.

When he felt your arms wrap around him and felt you press yourself into his back he loosened a bit. It was hard enough to know that his daughter hated him, but now he was about to face your parents, whom he hadn’t seen in a couple of years. And he was the same age as they were (well, a couple of years younger but still).

“You sure this is okay?” He asked you as he placed his hands over your arms so you wouldn’t let go.

“Yes. I didn’t ask them to invite you. They wanted to.”

“Just a little nervous about this,” Harry laughed lightly and turned himself in your arms to scoop you up and squeeze you tight to his chest, making your legs dangle in the air.

When he gently put your feet back onto the floor you kept your hand on his arm to keep his attention, “If things get weird at all we can leave. They won’t, but I just want you to know I’m not going to force you to stay there if anything makes you uncomfortable.”

Harry cupped your face, “Uncomfortable I can deal with. I’ll be fine.”

. . .

“He’s so hot. No wonder,” your cousin whispered to you as you were in the kitchen setting everything for dinner.

You kept your eyes on the table as you set a plate at the center of the placemat, “He’s attractive, yes. But I love him so it’s more than just about that.”

She snorted and took a sip of her wine, “I guess. I mean he chose you over his own dau–“

You whipped yourself around to glare at her, “Don’t do that. You have no idea how hard this has been.”

You knew some of your family would have their opinions but you didn’t expect anyone to say anything out loud. Though your cousin tended to speak before thinking, she dropped it after that.

And luckily that was the worst of it. Your mother and father greeted you and Harry with open arms and big smiles when you arrived. Harry had brought two very nice bottles of wine and a Christmassy bouquet of flowers, which you told him wasn’t necessary but he insisted.

Your aunt and uncle and cousin had never met him before but the age gap was evident and they knew a little about what was going on. But no one made a fuss about anything.

Harry stayed glued to your side for the better part of the evening. At the dinner table, he sat next to you. When his hands weren’t occupied with a glass or a utensil he had his hand on your thigh.

Your mom bought a gift for Harry and wrapped it so that when it was time to open gifts, he was included in the moment. You and Harry sat on the floor and your cousin was on the other side of the Christmas tree as your dad handed everyone a gift.

“For you, Harry,” he smiled as he handed your boyfriend the wrapped present with a little red bow on top.

“Thank you. This is so nice,” he looked from your dad to your mom and then down at you.

You’d gotten a pair of nice wool socks and a new book, and for Harry, they got him a pair of matching wool socks and a beanie cap.

By the time everyone was done eating and opening gifts things felt warmer and looser. You figured it was thanks to your mom’s punch. Which was generously being refilled when she brought the pitcher out to top up everyone’s glasses.

You were leaned against Harry’s side, his arm around your low back as you both sat on the floor chatting with everyone. You could feel how warm Harry was and when his hand sneakily slid up the back of your sweater, just the tiniest bit, you looked at him and smiled softly. He had his own lips pulled into his mouth and in some moment of insanity or maybe it was the punch he plopped a quick kiss on your lips.

“Oh, you two are so cute!” Your aunt trilled and everyone’s eyes were on you.

“They are. I’ve noticed how sweet they’ve been all night. Better get the earplugs out for bedtime,” your cousin laughed as she looked at your dad and mom.

“Oh my god, stop,” you laughed and put your hands over your face and you could feel Harry as he laughed next to you.

Your aunt and uncle slept in the spare guest room, your cousin on the couch, and you and Harry in your old room. Your bed was small but you were looking forward to getting to lay close to him and talk to him away from the prying ears of everyone.

“Cute,” Harry said as he looked at the decorations you had in your room. “I’m guessing your parents haven’t changed anything.”

You shook your head, “No. Mom said it would always be here for whenever I wanted to come and live with them again,” you laughed. “I think she was in denial when I first moved out.”

“Understandable,” he nodded, a solemn look on his face as he sat down on your bed.

You recognized the sudden mood change and sat next to him, taking his hand, “I love you, Harry. I’m so glad we could spend Christmas together. Are you okay?” You reached across to cup his cheek.

He sighed and nodded, “I love you too. I’m happy with you, Y/n. So happy we are together right now. But I do miss Fae. This brings back lots of memories of her room. Even the photo of you two over there. I took that one if I recall correctly.”

You looked toward the framed photo of you and Fae side hugging and wearing matching overalls with goofy grins.

“I think you did, actually.” You leaned your head onto his shoulder and he kissed your forehead.

When you’d both gotten settled in the bed Harry had pulled you onto his chest and slowly dragged his hand up and down your back as he spoke in a quiet whisper, “This was fun. I’m so happy your parents invited me. Feels a little awkward but I guess that’s just part of the deal isn’t it?”

You could hear the smile in his voice as you lifted your head and put your chin over his pec to look at him in the dark, “Guess so.”

You smoothed your hand down his bare chest and to the band of his joggers before he quickly shifted, “What are you doing?”

“Just trying to make things feel better. Make you forget all about sad stuff,” you crept your fingers under the elastic of his pants but Harry stopped you, putting his hand over yours.

“Don’t. We can’t do anything in your parent's house. And besides, what about conserving? Hmm?”

You softly laughed and kissed his nipple, moving yourself to peck across his sternum to the other side of his chest, “We can do whatever we want if we’re quiet. And I have a feeling you don’t need to conserve. I bet you’re super fertile.”

Harry's chest vibrated with a groan, “Bad idea.” He grabbed your face and lifted it so you’d stop kissing his chest.

“Good idea,” you teased back in a whisper. “You don’t want to play around a little? I know we can be so quiet.” Your words were smushed with the way Harry’s hand held your jaw to keep you still.

“I don’t want there to be any possibility of them hearing or thinking anything is going on.”

Harry softly let go of your face and you lowered your hand that was in his sweatpants the slightest, “Please? Mr. Styles, I’ll be so quiet. Let me just lick you a little and pump your cock so you can come. I’ll take all the mess down my throat so we won’t even need to clean up or anything. Please?”

When your hand found his cock he was already plumping up to your delight.

“Fuck, Y/n. I already said this is a bad idea.” He was already giving in.

You palmed over him and adjusted his length so he was pointed upward in his pants, “You’re already getting hard. It’ll be so fast and you’ll sleep like a baby after. Right?”

Harry puffed out a laugh through his nose and gulped down his saliva. He knew he’d come fast if he didn’t have to worry about you getting off too. And it would eliminate any mess if you wrapped your soft lips around his tip as he began to come.

You hesitantly began to stroke him as you lowered your mouth back down to his chest, to lick and kiss again. The deep tremor from his torso let you know that he was a go as you dotted kisses all over his strong chest.

When he began to rock his hips upward in your hand you took that as your cue. You sat up and pulled his pants down to let his big cock out and you licked along his shaft, softly wetting him so you could pump his length properly.

The only sounds Harry made were the smallest grunts and soft pants as you kissed along his hips and continued to stroke him in your hand, down to the base against the thatch of dark hair and upward to his swollen head, already leaking precome. Every now and then you wrapped your lips around his tip and suckled, digging your tongue into his slit and leaving behind a healthy amount of saliva to keep him nice and wet.

Harry felt his balls tighten and he put his hand to the back of your head, “Bout to come, baby…” he whispered in a panic as you were pressed down over the head of his cock.

You kept your hand at his shaft, sliding up and down as you sucked and swiped your tongue all around his tip and the underside of his frenulum when you felt his cock tighten and then throb as he pumped his orgasm down your throat silently.

You swallowed and gulped as you lowered your hand to his balls and gently squeezed, which drew an unintentional moan from his lips but he stopped himself before he got too loud.

With his balls drained and his come in your tummy you licked up from his base to his tip and he laughed quietly, pulling you up to his mouth.

You both smiled into the soft kiss.

Harry moved a hand down to your bottom and pinched you over the fabric of your night pants. Laughing into his mouth he tsk’d at you, “That was naughty. Santa isn’t going to give you your presents this year.”

You sighed and laid your head over his chest, “Don’t need anything from Santa anyway. You’re all I want. And you were practically silent the whole time. No one would ever know what I just did to you.”

Harry breathed out a laugh and draped his arm over your back. You could feel his heart pounding, slowly the cadence got lazy as he caught his breath and calmed.

“I’m so wet,” you smiled as you whispered.

Harry hummed, “Well you’ll just have to deal with it. Because you can’t keep quiet and there’s no way your parents wouldn’t know something was up.”

You didn’t mind in all truth. You only wanted to make Harry come anyway, “Don’t worry, Harry. I got exactly what I wanted anyway.”

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luxaofhesperides · 9 months ago

Note

Ghostlight prompt: Danny and Duke being childhood friends, but Danny tells Duke the moment the accident happens and such cause he trusts him, only for Danny to go radio silent when giw decide to block the town communications in senior year.

So Duke-does he tell Danny he's Signal or not? Up to you-gets worried the longer no contact goes by.

Maybe the away game thing seen in other posts where the sports team still does away games and Danny gets enough good will with star or dash maybe and they send a message to Duke that's some coded phrase and Duke knows shits going down?

(yourlocalcorviddad, it's a side blog so didn't want to send from main sorry)

Danny is not someone who is on his mind a lot, these days. It’s to be expected, considering how distance and their double lives eat up all the time they have to talk. Really, it’s a miracle that they were able to speak enough to learn about their own individual vigilante work, especially with Duke bouncing around foster homes for a good portion of that time.

They haven’t spoke in months but that’s normal for them.

Duke thinks he can be forgiven for not knowing something was wrong. He still won’t forgive himself for it.

“Danny’s gone?” he repeats, feeling numb. There’s static ringing in his ears, his entire world hollowing out.

The guy in front of him looks grim, unable to meet Duke’s eyes. Did he introduce himself? Duke can’t remember, can’t keep his spiraling thoughts straight in his head. “He’s gone. His entire family is gone and we haven’t been able to call for help because… well…”

“It’s those guys, right? The ones in white?”

“You know about them?”

“Danny told me. Danny told me a lot about what he did in Amity Park.”

The guy lets out a slow, relieved breath. “Good, then I don’t have to explain. Sorry, it’s just that it’s not something we talk about, especially out in the open. After the last few months, things got really bad. We know the GIW took the Fentons, but we can’t find out how or why and they’ve got us on a tight lockdown.”

“Then how did you get out?” Duke asks. Another arguably more important question pops into his mind a second later. “Actually, how do you know about Danny and… you know. The other things.”

The grimness on the guy’s expression fades away some beneath the sudden shame and embarrassment. “Oh, that. Well, I dunno how much he told you about his, like, daily life, but, um. I’m Dash. Baxter. I bullied him?”

Dash.

Dash. That’s a name he recognizes.

Danny’s complained about Dash a lot in the past. Since they were in middle school, really. Duke would always get mad on Danny’s behalf about how terribly he’s being treated, how no one would stop such obvious bullying. And every time, Danny would laugh it off and say in that soft voice of his, It’s alright, Duke, really. Having you care is more than enough for me.

It never stopped the bullying, though, but the way Danny talked about Dash changed when they both entered high school. He was still annoyed about everything Dash did, but there were less insults about him, less venting about every little thing that pissed Danny off about him, as if he just didn’t care anymore.

And there is, of course, the most memorable time Danny called Duke about Dash over the summer.

Hey, Danny, Duke had began, only to be cut off by Danny yelling, I kissed Dash?! Or he kissed me?! What am I supposed to do now!

And Duke, despite the jealousy he felt at hearing that Danny and Dash kissed, laughed so hard he cried while Danny yelled at him to be helpful.

There wasn’t any discussion on Dash since, beyond a comment here and there about a funny fanboying thing Dash had said about Phantom. The focus of their conversations shifted towards how hard it was to be heroes or vigilantes, quiet reassurances that they’re both doing the best they can, tips traded about best ways to patch themselves up and get through the night. Sometimes, it felt like Danny was the only person in the world to really know Duke; all his pain and promises, his dreams, everything he was Before and who he became in the After.

He’s missed Danny, but the last message Danny sent him told him that things were getting rough in Amity Park, and to not call or contact him until he reached out first.

So Duke trusted in Danny and focused his attention in Gotham, putting his all into becoming a better hero, someone people can rely on.

He thinks that maybe he should have fallen into the Bats’ bad habits of invading privacy to make sure Danny’s okay.

Too late for that now, though.

“I know you,” Duke says after a long moment. “He talked about you sometimes. Come with me, we have a lot to discuss.”

Dash looks appropriately nervous, but he doesn’t argue.

It’s a tense, quiet walk to the library where Barbara works. She’s stationed at the front desk when he arrives and greets him with a smile, eyes flicking towards Dash in question.

“Hey, Babs, got a private study room open?”

Her gaze sharpens and Duke can’t help the feeling of relief that flows through him, knowing that Oracle is ready to look out for him. “Let me check,” she says, turning towards the computer to click around a few pages. “Study room 8 is open.”

That’s the study room with a working lock and soundproofing. It also has cameras and a mic inside, but all the other study rooms have one too, just for safety purposes. Things could always go terribly wrong when people are locked together in a small room, and having video and audio evidence of what happened has assisted in more than a few cases.

He leads them up to the second floor, past the students studying and the group of young children in the back corner of the library listening intently to a read aloud.

The only occupied study rooms are those up front, closer to the stairs. The back rooms are empty and quiet, the perfect place for a little impromptu interrogation.

“So,” Duke says as he closes the door to study room 8 behind them. Dash sits down as if this is just a casual conversation, but the way his foot taps against the floor betrays his nerves. “Danny’s gone. And somehow, that lead you to me.”

Dash glance around, then leans closer to drop his voice into a harsh whisper. “The Guys In White got some insane upgrades a few months ago and forced every citizen of Amity Park into a surveillance state. The entire Fenton family is gone, but we all know it’s really because they want Danny.”

“Explain the situation in Amity Park some more.”

“Well. It’s like this: we didn’t take them seriously, so they upped their moves and got us trapped. No one goes in or out of Amity Park without good, verifiable reason. We have a curfew and we can be randomly stopped and searched for ectoplasm or exposure to ghosts. Most of the ghosts have left, but a few of the stronger ones hang around to cause trouble to get the GIW off our backs for a bit.”

“So how did you end up in Gotham?”

“I was invited to tour the college. And since outsiders were expecting me, the GIW let me go. But there’s definitely some that tailed me to Gotham, but I can’t find them at all. Even talking to you now is a huge risk for me.”

Which means they don’t have much time to talk before someone comes looking for Dash. His words, paired with everything Duke’s heard from Danny, paint a deeply unpleasant picture in his mind. “Are you going to be in trouble?”

“Nah, I’ll be fine. It’s Danny we’re all worried about. He told me before he got caught that if anything happened to him, I should find you. Tucker helped us narrow down where exactly you are and sent you that text to get you to where we met.”

“What do you think I can do?”

“I don’t know,” Dash admits. “But Danny trusts you, and he needs your help.”

Duke was never going to say no to this request to begin with, but damn if those words don’t make him want to run to Amity Park without waiting for anyone else.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay. I’ll help rescue him and bring down the GIW. You should go now, before they get too suspicious.”

“What are you planning?”

“I got a couple of friends who are good at destroying government property. Trust me, you’ll see what we’re up, we’re pretty noticeable if we’re pissed off enough.”

“Don’t take too long then,” Dash says, standing up, “I expect a good show from you. See you around, man.”

And with that, Dash pats Duke’s shoulder and leaves the study room. Duke doesn’t follow after him. He’s got a rescue to start planning, and the less time he wastes, the better.

In the end, it’s pretty simple. It’s not a hard mission at all when the time comes for them to act, but the amount of data they gather and have to shift through is daunting. But that’s more Tim and Barbara’s forte, so he trusts them to handle it.

Together with Red Robin, Spoiler, and Black Bat, they hit Amity Park hard and fast.

One night was spent learning the lay of the land and every station and lab set up by the GIW. The second night was spent burning it all down and tossing open cages full of green blob ghosts and a few transparent, weakly glowing human ghosts. Stronger ghosts, glowing brightly, joined them in a few places with battle cries and maniacal laughter.

They split up and took down all the bases and patrol stations on their own, sweeping through the city like vengeful shadows.

By dawn, the GIW were in shambles, without any bases or equipment, and rounded up for arrest.

Cass was the one to find Danny and his family; his parents were forced to create weapons for the GIW under threat of Danny and Jazz’s torture. Danny was locked up like an animal and studied. Jazz had restraints on, including a muzzle, and a bloodthirsty rage in her eyes. Apparently, she had put up the most fight and, while being studied for repeated exposure to ectoplasm and radiation, started biting people.

The Fentons are big names in this conflict. Tim makes the executive decision to burn one of his out-of-state safehouses so they can hide and recover in peace, then promptly moves them into it as soon as the EMTs give them the all clear. They’re gone by the time the sun is rising over the horizon, and the curious Amity Parkers that have gathered behind the blockade of police cars have to be reassured that the Fentons have been taken away for their protection, not for further abuses. Even then, tensions are high and the locals are clearly prepared to start rioting now that they have a chance to fight back.

As vigilantes, they’re not meant to interact with cops much. Perhaps it’s simply their experiences in Gotham that keep them at a distance, disappearing into the neighborhood the moment attention shifts off of them. Either way, Duke is hurrying out of Amity Park with the rest of the team on his heels, eager to return to Gotham and follow up on their own leads to make sure the GIW is properly gutted and dismantled.

Duke heads off for the Hatch as soon as they reach Gotham, hoping to shed the suit and finally be able to call Danny. The guilt of not noticing how bad things had gotten rolls through his stomach, and more than that, he’s missed hearing Danny’s voice.

The first few calls go straight to voicemail. Duke leaves a quick message asking Danny to let him know how he’s doing as soon as he can talk.

Then he goes for a shower and to change into civilian clothes, prepared to make his way to Wayne Manor to let Bruce know how everything went. And hopefully distract him from his Disappointed Father/Leader Lecture about taking on missions behind his back, as if Duke can’t handle himself. And also because Bruce has no leg to stand on when it comes to this. He’s fully prepared to throw that entire lecture back into his face at a moment’s notice.

The post-mission exhaustion is hitting him hard and fast. Duke has to brace himself against the wall once he’s out of the shower, resisting the urge to just lie on the floor and sleep there until he starts feeling more human.

Somehow, he gets himself into some sweatpants and a plain shirt, pulls on a pair of mismatched socks, and begins gathering his things so he can get to the Batcave.

He’s in no state to be driving. Maybe someone would be willing to take him there?

Just as he reaches for his phone to thumb through his contacts and see who he can bother, it buzzes in his hand. Duke blames the way he jumps on his exhaustion, then blinks his tired eyes to squint at the name that pops up onto the screen.

Danny.

All at once, his exhaustion fades away. A rush of adrenaline runs through him as he scrambles to accept the call, already pacing around the room so he doesn’t fall asleep.

“Hello?”

There’s a moment of silence, then the exhale of a breath that turns to static over the call. “Duke,” Danny’s tired voice says. “Duke…”

“You doing okay? I couldn’t get to you before you and your family had to leave and go into hiding, but I’ve been worried about you, man.”

“I’m good. We’re all fine, now. Fentons are strong, you know? We’ll bounce back in no time.”

From what he’s heard about Danny’s family, that’s most definitely true. He’s seen the pictures of walls Jack Fenton has burst through with his body. It’ still hard to believe that no one in the family is a meta, outside of Danny.

“You need anything? I can get it to you, just say the word. Anything at all.”

Danny hums, then asks with a playful note in his voice, “Anything?”

“Anything.”

“I need you. How fast can you come meet me? I’ll even pay for express delivery.”

Duke laughs, so relieved at hearing the lightness return to Danny’s voice that he feels weak in the knees. “It’ll be at least two days. I gotta sleep and debrief with Batman before I can see you. It’s gonna take some time to get out of Gotham again.”

“Maybe I can go to you, instead,” Danny suggests. “Fly over and be there is less than an hour.”

“Are you in any shape to be flying right now?”

“I’m fine! Already healing and everything,” Danny insists.

“It might be dangerous if any rogue GIW agents go after you.”

“Well,” Danny says, “That’s why I need to get to my knight in shining armor sooner rather than later, right?”

Duke bites his lip to fight back a smile, blinking his eyes forcefully to keep them from closing under the heavy weight of exhaustion. “Does that make you a damsel in distress?”

“I mean, I did need rescuing, so I guess? I’m not much of a damsel, but I could put on a pretty dress for you. It’ll be like playing pretend when we were kids.”

“Oh, man, I kinda miss those poofy dresses. I think I could still rock on, put it on top of the armor when I go out for patrol.”

Danny snickers. “Signal: the most well dressed vigilante in Gotham.”

“That’s me, baby!”

The last of the agonizing fear that’s choked him since he first talked to Dash finally melts away. Danny’s fine now. Everything’s okay; the GIW are done for and there’s plenty of people willing to look out for the Fentons. This will never happen again.

“Hey,” Danny says, voice suddenly turing more serious. “Send me your location. I wasn’t joking when I said I could fly over to you. And before you say anything! I do need it; Jazz and my parents are smothering me and I just need to get away from everything and pretend all of this never happened.”

The admission softens Duke, makes him shove away everything that tells him this is a bad idea, that Danny needs more rest first, that having Danny fly over alone and without warning any of the Bats fills Duke with anxiety.

He does miss Danny. More than he can put into words.

“Yeah, okay,” he says at last. “Come meet me, Danny.”

He texts Danny the location of the Hatch before common sense tells him to be more careful with his base of operations. Not that it matters, anyways; if there’s anyone in the world he trusts with everything, it’s Danny.

Then he sends the Bats a quick text saying he’s crashing in the Hatch and to not bother him until the sun is fully up two days from now. Oracle gives him a thumbs up emoji, which is a good guarantee that she will personally see to it that no non-emergency messages interrupt his rest and recovery time.

Duke has no idea how long it will take Danny to get to the Hatch, so he putters around, cleaning up the space and straightening it out in an attempt to keep busy enough that he doesn’t crash. Travel really takes it out of him. It’s one of the cons of being born and raised in Gotham: he doesn’t have the stamina to travel outside of it, especially when they were there and back in less than three days.

Thank god for Tim’s many motorcycles and his tendency to see the speed limit as a weak suggestion that can be ignored while on a mission.

Ultimately, the call of sleep is too strong to resist.

One moment, Duke is sorting through files on the Hatch’s computer, and the next moment, he’s face down on a bed with his face shoved into a pillow.

Blearly, he manages to pull his phone out of his pocket and send Danny a typo-ridden text that hopefully gets across the message of might be asleep so just come in, don’t wait for me to answer the door.

He’s out like a light as soon as it sends. The last thing Duke registers is his phone dropping out of his hand and falling against the mattress with a little bounce.

When he begins to wake up, something’s changed. As much as he wants to go back to sleep, awareness comes back to him slowly and Duke forces himself to claw his way out of unconsciousness to figure out what, exactly, is bothering him so much. Until he figures out what’s changed in the room, he won’t be able to sleep because he’ll be worried about someone breaking in.

His mind comes back online long before his body does. It’s only when he tries to move that Duke realizes he’s no longer alone on the bed; there’s someone wrapped up in his arms, body temperature a little too cool to be a normal human.

Blinking open his eyes, Duke looks down at the head of messy black hair and feels Danny’s soft breath ghost across his chest.

“Danny?” he manages to say, voice rough with sleep.

Danny hums and doesn’t move.

“Hey, look up. Let me see if you’re really alright.”

“Mmm, no,” Danny mumbles, burrowing his face into Duke’s chest some more. “‘m sleepy.”

A good argument. Duke is also sleepy.

“Fine,” he says, “Check in the morning, then. G’night, Danny.”

“Night, Duke. Thanks for saving me.”

He tightens his grip on Danny, contentment burning warm in his chest. “Always, Danny. I’ll always save you.”

That’s why he’s a hero, after all. To save others, to reach a hand out to everyone the way he needed when he was younger. To keep the people he loves safe. To make sure Danny always finds a way back to him.

This is what makes all the pain of this lifestyle worth it.

Danny makes everything worth it.

(@yourlocalcorviddad tagging to make sure you see this!)

#ghostlights #dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #prompt fill #my writing #i thought up a whole backstory to the duke/dash kiss (accidental. embarrassing for both parties) but it didnt fit w the rest of the fic so #its not included. i can include it in a rb if u want tho!!#my sleepy boys..... they go thru so much but at the end of the day they always feel at home with each other #childhood friends duke/danny is so important to me #also couldnt think of a coded phrase sorry. now we just have dash walking up to duke like HEY. HELP DANNY. and duke went with it #thanks for the prompt!!

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love-is-patient · 2 years ago

Text

I have religious trauma.

I was raised in a household where my dad wanted to be God, and so characterized Him in a way that left me constantly paranoid.

God was a judge, God was a debt collector, God was a hammer waiting to strike.

My mother was likewise delusional to a point. She used religion as a manner of control, manipulating my egotistical dad and our chaotic little world so she could feel better about herself.

I was abused in the church. I’ve been so many churches since childhood I can’t count them.

I was told I was possessed because I was a child with adhd and couldn’t sit still in a pew. I was told that if I didn’t see visions or speak in tongues, I wasn’t saved. I was told that I must be thinking about God at all times or I wasn’t good enough. That I was lukewarm, unlovable, unworthy.

I was too afraid to take communion. I cried and turned away from the altar multiple times because I was a too dirty to touch the offering.

I was told so many awful things that I grew up with a persistent religious paranoia on top of my already anxiety inducing life.

So… why am I still a Christian, after all of that?

Stockholm syndrome, right?

It would be easy to write it off as that, but I did turn away from religion. In the back of my mind. I stayed cautious in case God was still watching.

It wasn’t until I got rid of the destructive influences in my life that things changed.

My perception of God changed when I left the awful people using His name in vain- or for personal gain.

When I grew up, learned to be discerning about the character of people.

Many people live under the assumption that I did- that God is a tyrant who is waiting for you to mess up so he can smash you and send you to hell. Paradoxically, that almost makes Satan sound preferable.

But that’s not who God is, and he doesn’t want people to go to hell.

Even if you haven’t had good parents, you’ve seen what they’re like. They get excited to share experiences with their children. The first taste of lemon, the first puddles to splash in. First words, first laughs, first steps.

God wanted that for us.

Satan got jealous after his rebellion in heaven. He saw God had something good and wanted it for himself again - even if it was just to spite God.

He offered humanity a choice and we took it.

We can debate why it happened until we’re blue in the face, but what matters most are God’s decisions afterwards.

Everything that has happened since the fall has been God trying to bring his wayward children back without force.

Just like when you see that friend of yours making the same bad decisions day after day, and you know their quality of life would improve if they just stopped. It’s heartbreaking, frustrating. You can give them all the advice in the world but they’ll just keep on doing the thing and complain to you about every headache afterwards.

Now you know a little what God feels like.

Only God is a little more patient than we tend to be.

God doesn’t ask much from us, not as much as people, which is weird to think about.

God doesn’t measure your worth by how good you are at your job, how badly you do in school. He doesn’t equate your value to how rich or poor you are, he doesn’t judge you the same way people do.

The first thing he asks of you is to love him and love each other.

He loves us so much that he opened heaven again if we ask for it.

He came down as flesh and blood in Jesus and took all the punishments we should’ve had. In Jesus death and resurrection, we have a way home.

All he wants for us to do is acknowledge that.

He doesn’t hate you if you can’t pay tithe. He doesn’t talk behind your back if you make a mistake. He doesn’t demean, debase, abuse.

Why am I still a Christian?

Because God was there for me when people weren’t.

God didn’t abuse me as a kid, people did, and used God as a shield.

God didn’t lie to me, call me names, break my things - my parents did.

God didn’t order me to do unbelievable things in order to reach him - my pastors and teachers did.

God didn’t tell me I’m unworthy - people did.

Even if you don’t believe in God, if you’re angry at him, feeling hurt and betrayed.

Maybe take a closer look and see if it’s really the people around you making you miserable, instead of an untouchable, invisible hammer.

#religious trauma #church #Christian #faith

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love-toxin · 2 years ago

Note

Okay but miscommunication trope is only super yummy when there’s a happy ending. Liiiike reader thinking they’re getting kicked out of their relationship in the fruity four, they’re not wanted anymore, maybe even bring replaced (ie with someone like Chrissy), and so every little sarcastic quip or ignoring is seen by them as the others not loving them anymore 🥺. Until one day it all comes crumbling down and I can’t decide with is more angsty, you breaking down telling the others they don’t love you anymore, or you trying to be brave by announcing you’re leaving and the fours hearts just dropping as they try to scramble to convince you to stay and why?! Why are you leaving!?!?! Please! But of course, happy ending when everything’s properly explained and angel is reassured they could never all fall out of love with them ❤️

oh.......miscommunication trope, you say? >:)

(cws: fruity four, gn!angelface, jealousy, post-s4, PTSD, huge miscommunication trope, domestic arguing, you have a tattoo + kinda shitty parents + bad home life, chrissy's a jealousy target, breakups, jopper appearance, you're childhood friends with jonathan, mentions of grief, an almost car crash, very mild head trauma, crying, angst with a happy ending--stick with me angels!)

Sometimes you wish Chrissy would just disappear. Just--poof--and she'd be gone.

It's awful of you to think, but you can't help it. She's just always around, ever since her breakup with Jason she's been by the house much more frequently. You were happy for her at first, because you liked her up until then, and she's always been nice to you. Plus, your partners saved her life back when all that crazy stuff with the Upside Down happened, an event you weren't privy to until after the fact, when you started dating them.

But she's always on Eddie, always chatting him up, always giggling at his attempts to cheer her up, and now she's attracted the attention of your other partners too. They're good friends, and that's good, but....why can you not shake this feeling that there's something more going on? That the arm touches over his jacket and the inside jokes aren't as friendly and harmless as they want you to think?

It's worse than that, though. The honeymoon phase is clearly over--cause all four of them just brush off your concerns, insisting that you're overreacting or just not addressing them at all. So you haven't been piping up when a joke hurts your feelings, and you've bitten your tongue when one of them has to reschedule something you've planned, and it's gotten to the point that they've wondered why you're so quiet all of a sudden. Why would they care? You think with a sour feeling in the back of your throat, rubbing the tattoo on your arm that Eddie gave you and wondering if that was just practice for someone else. You're not oblivious to the way Chrissy is slowly being invited into gatherings and dinners with everyone.....just like you were in the beginning. And after an especially heated fight with both Eddie and Robin, the worst one you've ever gotten into in your entire relationship, he got so pissed off that he just told you not to come to the dinner they had planned, and they'd take someone who actually wanted to go.

That was a couple days ago, and the air in the house has been strained for nobody else but you. You're equally as hurt by Eddie yelling at you as Robin silently going along with it, even though you slammed your bedroom door in her face when she tried to follow you, and waited until Eddie tugged her along to leave before you allowed yourself to cry. You're sick of the feeling that none of them really care for you, that you've been demoted to a piece of furniture in the house, because they've clearly lost interest. And they don't care when your things start disappearing from the house, when the clothes in your closet start dwindling, leaving behind nothing but the ones they've bought for you--no, they'd rather moon over Chrissy fucking Cunningham, and you've just taken all you think your heart can handle.

"I'm going out!" You call into the house from the front door, without any of their four voices responding. When you sigh, turn, and step out to turn the corner of the house, though, you bump right into one of them.

"Oh! Hey, baby." Steve steps back and readjusts the paper bag full of groceries he's got his arm around, keys halfway tucked into his pocket. "Where you off to?"

"Um....just, uh, gonna go visit my parents." You weren't really expecting him to pry, with how in your head you've been lately. But you're not gonna relent just cause one of the people who promised he'd love you forever, yet somehow can't be fucked enough to find the time to even watch a movie with you, asked you a question that remotely shows an ounce of concern.

"Your parents?" He blinks, shifting again to rest the bag on his hip. "You sure?"

That tone is so irritating. You used to love that almost parental sense of duty, the desire of his to know every detail of every problem so he can solve it. But now, you just feel suffocated, even though you're more distant from all of them now than you've ever been. "What, I'm not allowed to see my family?"

"Hey, that's not what I said! hold on," He moves to put the groceries inside, but you wave him off and start walking past him, your tone clearly frustrated as you encourage him to just forget it. But, in a tizzy, Steve hurriedly sets the bag down on the ground and runs to catch up with you, his hand descending on your arm only to be swatted away--but not for long, when he grabs it again and grips it tighter as he turns you to face him. "Jesus, wait! What's the big fuss? Did I do something?"

"Let me go, Steve." You refuse to look him in the eyes, but you can't break his grip. Why can't he just let it go, so it's less painful? "I don't wanna drag this out."

"Drag what out?" Finally, it dawns on him as his eyes dart from the keys clenched in your hand to the windows of your car parked in the driveway, boxes clearly piled up in the trunk and in the backseat that none of them seemed to notice you moving.

".....So that's it? You're breaking up with us?" Steve says it with disbelief, like he's expecting you to say something or anything different. It's almost a little satisfying when you respond in the way he never could have expected, even though he should've by now. Even though it feels bitter on your tongue as soon as it comes up.

"You know what? Yes. That's exactly it." You finally wrench your arm out of his grip, and each of those words sting as they come out, but you won't cry, you refuse to cry in front of Steve today. "I'm leaving tonight, and I'm never coming back to Hawkins again."

"Why?"

"Ask your new girlfriend."

"Who? Wait--Chrissy?" He shakes his head, and what comes out next is more cruel than you wanted to be--but he just won't get it, it won't happen unless you make them realize why they don't want you anymore.

"Wow, the jock has a brain! Well done, Stevie." He grimaces at once, and god, you wish it would all stuff itself back into your throat.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you being such a-"

"I know you're in love with her, Steve! For fuck's sakes, I'm not as stupid as you think I am!" You shout into the broken silence of the front lawn, wishing from the deepest reaches of your heart that this could all just be a horrible nightmare. Not reality. You don't want to be facing those big, soft eyes of Steve staring back at you in shock and pain, so you just turn your head and hope he doesn't see how much you're shaking.

"I get it, okay?! She's prettier than me, and nicer, and she doesn't have my fucking issues--and you guys clearly like her. It's like I don't even exist when she's around." You move aside to gesture towards your car, keys clutched in your hand so they won't fall or get taken from you, because you know Steve is reckless when he's upset. "None of you even noticed I was packing. Nancy fucking helped me put a box in yesterday."

Just then, both your heads turn at the sound of a car approaching--and just in time, you realize it's Eddie, his van's tires crunching the gravel of the long driveway as he pulls up to a stop beside your car. And lo and behold, sitting in the front seat with a smile on her face is her. Chrissy waves to you through the window, and as if your heart isn't in the process of shattering into shards that dig into your lungs, you raise your hand to acknowledge her back. You turn back to look at Steve one last time. Memorizing his face, because you know you won't ever see him again, as you take a few steps backward and hand him your parting words.

"Don't break her heart, Steve. It sucks."

With that, and with nothing but confliction reflecting back at you on his face, you turn on your heels and make your way around your car, bidding Eddie and Chrissy a stiff goodbye as they get out of the van and you get into your car. You reverse, roll back out of the driveway, and shift gears to start puttering down the road. And as soon as the house is out of your rearview mirror, that's when you feel those tears spilling out that won't stop until well after you pass the Leaving Hawkins sign on the side of the road.

A week into your new start in the city, you haven't gotten any more closure than when you left.

Living with your aunt isn't great, but it's something. The apartment is small, and you still haven't found a new job--you did call the Palace to inform them that you were quitting, though, to which you were greeted with nothing but indifference as you left a message on the answering machine. Figures that nobody in that town would miss me, you think, but you can't dwell on it for too long, because then you'll start thinking of them and it'll have you sobbing into your pillow again. Even worse is that you can't even fully express your pain to your family, your aunt, anybody--because they'll all think you're a freak, and it won't be surprising that your "relationship" ended so badly. You don't even really speak to your parents or your family in the first place, so you can't expect them to show you any sympathy. In fact, if they said anything to you, it would probably be that you should be glad it's over so you can live a normal life.

You don't want normal. You want your Robin talking your ear off about something gross for hours, you want Eddie burping into your ear and laughing, you want Nancy falling asleep on top of you and drooling on your chest, and Steve--you want Steve to come over while you're both on your breaks, talking with his mouth full and stealing bits of your lunch while kissing you in between each bite. You want that love back, you want it so badly it hurts, it hurts your heart every time something reminds you of them.

Maybe that's the worst part. That they don't want that anymore, they want someone that can share those memories with of that terrible tragedy, who knows how they feel and relates to those nightmares that wake them up in a cold sweat, who they can compare scars with and laugh with now that it's all over. They want someone scarred but beautiful, someone perfect, and you can never be that way no matter how hard you try. It explains why you haven't gotten a single phone call, or a letter, or anything since you left, and that treatment extends into your second week in Indy and right into the third. But it doesn't get any less painful, even when you get a job at a convenience store around the corner to busy yourself and help with the rent. Nor when you try going on a date or two, just to spend the whole dinner staring off into space as they talk and wondering what the people you loved are doing right now.

While you're behind the counter at work, your thoughts often drift back to that house by Maple Drive. The path around the back that leads into the woods, where Eddie would take you out for a smoke and to watch the stars for awhile--always with a walkie on hand, just in case, as Steve used to say. The pool that often sits empty, and sometimes you'd look out the window to see Nancy lifting up the cover on it to peek underneath, before breathing a visible sigh of relief and briskly walking away. Sometimes even in the middle of the night, creeping out the sliding glass door in her pajamas. And you remember that bed you often shared with Robin, who gets so clingy when she sleeps....and you wonder if she's sharing it with Chrissy now, if the cheerleader you always thought was such a nice girl is occupying the spot you thought would be yours forever.

Your brow furrows as you stock Camels on the shelf behind the counter, sliding each one into the perfect spot but feeling an itch of irritation when they don't line up. Is Eddie holding her right now? Is he coming up behind her every morning, and nuzzling his nose into her cheek as she stirs milk into her coffee? Is Nancy cuddling her and chatting her up about whatever project she has going on right now? Is Steve picking up her bag, and insisting she let her boyfriend hold the heavy stuff while she sits and looks pretty? They probably are. And they're probably much happier doing it with her, than they ever were with you.

Something thuds on the counter behind you, and you sigh without a sound as the gruff voice at your back asks for a pack while you're at it. Your fist squeezes around the box you've got in hand, and when you turn on your heels to toss it on to the tabletop and reach for the scanner, your eyes widen, and so do the ones on the moustached man that's towering in front of you with a petite woman at his side.

"Hop?"

You breathe out the name, trying to regain yourself as quick as you can--you're pretty used to keeping your tears back now, adjusted to having a straight face so nobody will pry or prod for your feelings. The former sheriff of your hometown that you used to duck out of sight from, laughing and hiding your goods with Eddie right behind you, is standing at your counter with a shocked expression, along with Joyce Byers who seems just as surprised to see you here. And with little else you can think of, you clear your throat and try to crack that tense silence.

"Uh...so, you two on vacation, or someth-"

"Are you fucking with me?"

Hopper cuts you off, hands bracing the edge of the counter as he looks you up and down, the two glass bottles of Coke getting shoved aside by him to fall over and roll across the counter as he reaches across the barrier to grab your arm. Without much struggle, because you have no clue what's going on, you allow the older man to yank your wrist up and turn it over, Joyce hurriedly pushing up your sleeve with her gaze pinned to your skin, like she's desperately searching for something that has nothing to do with your confused questions spilling out on top of each other.

When they've finally uncovered that patch of skin they were looking for, the two of them share a look between themselves, before finally looking back up to acknowledge how baffled and worried you are. It isn't until you scan down to see what they found that the pieces start coming together, the black ink of the tattoo Eddie gave you when you first started dating peeking out at you. It's just a thin, mid-sized black circle on your inner forearm, with five points reaching outward like a sun. But the detail of it has always enchanted you, Eddie's diligent stare as he inked it into your skin burned into your mind. You've considered getting it covered since then, but....you can't bring yourself to do it yet.

"I'll call it in," Hopper says cryptically, stepping back and turning away to bring out the walkie from his belt and start mumbling into it. In the meanwhile, you're left with his partner, and the lady you've practically grown up with since she babysat you a long time ago. You often forget that time, when you and Jonathan would run around her backyard with sticks and rocks to try and build your own castle, while his baby brother watched from the stairs and giggled at your antics. You were so young, and so carefree, it seemed....but it was a happy time, one of few before you met those four.

"Honey, you're alright?" Joyce's voice quivers, anxious for the answer, but you nod as soon as her question registers because you hate to see her like this.

"Ye...Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" She circles round the counter, coming right in for a hug that you return without question. The squeeze is tight, like a mother's embrace upon returning home from a long time away, and you instantly feel a pinch of guilt for neglecting to include her in your plan to leave Hawkins. Now that you think about it, you really didn't tell anyone, except....

"-Kid, relax, we're coming there. No, do not get in your car, sit your ass down so you're there when we get back! Jesus," Hop gets more animated as he talks over the channel, and your hug splits as your head swivels towards the sound of a familiar voice through the static. Steve.

"Are they there? Let me talk to them! Please, Hopper, let me hear their voice-"

It's so frantic, desperate. The first time you've heard one of their voices in what feels like your whole life, and you have to struggle not to cave, bringing a shaky hand up over your mouth as you whisper a "What's going on?" to Joyce. And with your ears perked up, you can distinguish the background noise in the transmission--there are three other distinct voices, talking just as fearfully amongst themselves as they also try to get through to Hop. Nancy, Eddie, and Robin, each with as much indignation as Steve, who must be holding the other walkie.

"We're coming down right now, kid. Just try to calm down in the meantime." With that, Hopper shuts the antenna and gestures for you to follow him, the sweet woman at your side holding your arm as you obey him, like she's afraid you'll vanish if she lets go. You're led out of the light of the fluorescent bulbs overhead to Hop's truck parked by the curb--you at least have the sense to fumble with your keys and lock the front door before you leave--you let him open the door and sit yourself in the backseat, and shakily buckle yourself in as they get in front with promises to explain everything. Still struck dumb with shock to the point that it hasn't really registered that you just left work in the middle of your shift.

But you get an idea of what's happening when you turn your head, and catch a glimpse of a scattered stack of papers on the seat beside you out of your peripheral. Tentatively, as Hop starts up the ignition, your fingers brush over one of the nearest pages--and when you lift it up to survey it closer, the two of them notice you and share another sobering look between them. What's staring back at you is undeniably, unmistakably, a missing person's ad. And the picture is one you recognize immediately, because it's yours. Your photo, details of your last sighting, a description of your tattoo, a list of things for people to look out for....

"You really worried everyone back home, kid."

Suddenly, a bitterness rises up inside you, and the paper crumples slightly as you realize what's really happening. "I'm fine. I just...decided to get out of Hawkins."

"Yeah, well, maybe tell your roommates that, first."

"Hop-"

"They didn't care! I told Steve anyways, so what's the big fucking deal?" Even though Joyce flinches at you raising your voice, you can't be quiet right now. Anger is something you've been almost too numb to endure these last few weeks, but now you could just put your fist straight through Hopper's window--they put up such a fuss for what? To drag you back to that shitty inbred town in the sticks, just to make sure they didn't want you in the first place? It's bullshit.

"They sure as shit care!" Hop shouts right back, casting his signature scowl over his shoulder as he drives through semi-empty streets. It's so late, and so dark, it's unlikely there'll even be many pedestrians. "Do you realize how many times Nancy Wheeler has shown up on my doorstep, begging me to go on another search and rescue for you?! They're worried sick!"

"Why?"

There's silence for awhile, very tense silence, before you repeat your question that says much more than just that one word.

"....Because they thought you were gone. They thought you were there."

There. That's what he means--the other world, the Upside Down. The place you've never seen, only heard horror stories about and snatches of descriptions of when you comforted one of them during a night terror. The missing people, the murders, the experiments....they're all so hard to believe, but then again, you can't deny Will's remarkable return from the dead or Barbara Holland's coverup death, both of which you've been close enough to to know that there's no way they're just elaborate lies.

So they were worried you had died. That your disappearance wasn't of your own volition. They're going to be in for an unfortunate surprise, but by the tightly shut locks on Hopper's truck doors, you know there's no getting out of this until he brings you right back to drop you in their laps.

"We came here to look for you. Your mom finally told us you had an aunt in the city." Joyce offers you another piece to the puzzle, but your mind is still stuck on the fact that your ex-partners seemed so desperate over the walkie. They....they wouldn't want you to die, but that doesn't mean they want you. Figures that your parents would make it more difficult for two of the only people that even remotely have any concern for you too, they're probably profiting off all that glorious attention of having a missing child.

"I have a life here, now. I don't want to go back." Lies. You know it's all lies.

"Listen, kid, whatever happened with your friends, I promise it's not worth throwing in the towel. You've gotta see things through." Clearly it's not worth an argument, you'd rather save your energy at this point. You're gonna need plenty to face that hard conversation you know is coming, when you're gonna have to confirm to them directly that you're moving on. No more running away, or hiding from the problem. You have to face it.

"You don't know anything about me, or them."

The already long drive drags on even longer in the silence that follows, and you make a mental note to call your aunt when they get you back to Hawkins, so she doesn't freak out when she comes home to an empty apartment. You can imagine your manager's gonna call and cuss you out before firing you for leaving the store unattended, too, and you groan and let your head hit the seat behind you. Now you're gonna have to find another job, gonna have to explain to your aunt what you did....or maybe she won't even notice your absence, not until someone makes a fuss about it.

Your mind is left racing with so many thoughts and worries that the scenery passes by without note, the moon barely shining any light on the landscape, like it's all one huge plain with little dots for buildings and trees. Like one big hellscape, but it's numb and frozen over with nothing left but a mocking echo of the world that's no longer here. You don't even really recognize your surroundings until a couple hours have passed, and the Welcome To Hawkins sign zips by and has you sitting up in your seat. Just as you pass it, though, you think you see the glimmer of another set of headlights, a rarity on these quiet streets--and then your whole world shifts violently.

"Shit!" Hop curses as he swerves suddenly, and Joyce shrieks as you all nearly careen off the road and into the ditch, your head cracking against the window and bouncing off for you to clutch at it in pain. A groan is all you can get out when he calls back to you, the dizzy feeling making you a little sick, but as you lift your head and the truck rolls to a stop, you spot the culprit of that downright suicidal speed driving that nearly caused a head-on collision.

Your heart is pierced with a deep chill immediately. You'd recognize that van anywhere, and that curly mane of hair as the driver stumbles out his door even moreso. He's not hurt, just dazed--and for the moment, your brain doesn't immediately go to the question of why you should even care. As he stands there in the road, in the dark, Eddie's form is lit up by the headlights still shining without a flicker, but he doesn't flinch even when it must be glaring directly into his eyes, just holds a hand up to block it out. And when they meet yours as you lean over the console to see him, he doesn't wait a second, hurrying around the passenger's side of the truck to fumble for the handle of your door. With a click, and the light above you switching on as a beeping starts to emit from the vehicle, Eddie's suddenly cramming himself into the backseat with you--and there's tears already wetting his cheeks as he grabs you in a hug, gasping in a shaky lungful of breath like he's shocked he's really touching you. Crying and mumbling into your hair, Eddie buckles when you squeeze him back, falling victim to that desire in the deepest part of your soul that just wanted to hold him again.

"I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it baby, I didn't--everything I said, I swear, I was being such a fucking moron-" He starts babbling from nowhere, and his voice itself is a comfort, having not heard it next to your ear for so long that it aches now.

"Eddie-"

"You're mine, okay?! You're my everything!" He cries, burying his face even deeper into your neck and inhaling whatever scent he can get. You're stunned into staying limp, letting his hands grab and squeeze at you wherever they land--his curly hair tickles your cheek and sticks to it, and that sensation alone drags tears up to the surface, only allowing them to spill when you hear him whispering those croaked pleas of "I love you, I love you, I love you" until you're crying right along with him. It's been so long since you heard it, you'd started believing it was never really true.

It takes minutes that feel like hours for you to both calm down enough to look at each other, your face cradled in Eddie's rough hands as he sniffles and murmurs a "You're so beautiful" so innocently sincere, that it instantly makes you wish you had never left. He smiles, and the world that seems so dark grows a little brighter around you. You're not even privy to the looks Joyce and Hopper are giving each other in the front seat, clearly a little surprised at the passion you two share that nobody else has ever seen. But they know. And when Eddie starts pulling you out of your seat with the promise to take you back, Hop only reminds him to drive safely before he allows you two to shut the truck's door and circle round the vehicle with Eddie's arm clinging to your waist. The air hits you, cool and dry, just like it always is in Hawkins. And when he opens your door for you and waits for you to clamber in, before getting in on the other side and fumbling contently with his keys, you're not sure you really know what to expect. He briefly elaborates that he'd gotten worried, and that he's just glad he spotted Hop's truck before he'd sped all the way out of Hawkins and missed you--but it doesn't last, because soon he's grabbing your thigh and sighing out a breath of relief.

"We'll talk about everything when we get home. For now, I just want to hold you." Eddie offers his hand to you, giving it a grateful squeeze when you slip yours into it and interlace your fingers together.

They'll all hate me for real, this time.

That's exactly how the drive goes, Eddie's shoulders relaxed even as he steers with one hand, and navigates while stealing glances over at you with relief written all over his face, and brings your hands up to kiss your knuckles every so often. But he's just one. The other three....your heart sinks as you run over that last conversation you had with Steve, the way you'd ignored Robin completely, and how you pretended everything was absolutely fine with Nancy up until the moment you left. And it somehow dawns on you only then--they thought you were gone, that you had been taken to the Upside Down, and your heart sinks as you watch the trees pass by in clusters while that dread creeps closer down the road that's so familiar.

Not even the comforting warmth of Eddie's hand could drive that thought out of your mind, even less so when he turns and you hit that patch of gravel that leads up the driveway. He'll stop soon, and you'll be facing the music....and when Eddie shifts into park, you sort of float from your seat to the walkway where you threw your feelings back into Steve's face, and up towards the front door that Eddie opens for you before you cross the threshold into the house. It does feel like home, and you don't want to lose it right on the welcome mat, so you blink away any tears that threaten to spill before you quietly follow him into the living room.

Three heads turn to look your way, too inundated in conversation around the coffee table to hear the door opening, but that stops the second their eyes land on you. Steve and Robin are the ones sitting closest to where you stand, but Nancy's the one that makes her way to you first, her lower lip already quivering enough to break into a sob as she crosses the patch of carpet to throw her arms around you. She's strong enough to grip you tight enough to hurt, but too weak to keep herself on her feet, and you end up sinking to the floor with her as your name floods out of her lungs on repeat, getting louder and louder and louder until she's wailing. You could swear the walls rattle with the volume she cries at, completely coming apart in your arms like you've never seen her do before.

"Don't you ever do that to me again!" She shouts, yet her voice is like a child's, wobbling and whiny and so miserably pitiful that it pains you even to listen to it, especially when she's clutching you so close to her body--so afraid that you won't be there when she pulls away, so she refuses to. You don't have any right to cry when she's so distraught, but with your head over her shoulder, the other two watch your lips curve downwards and your eyes screw shut into a flood of tears that won't stop easily.

"I'm sorry, Nancy. I'm okay." You whimper, burying your face into her curls until your lips brush her jawline, and she shudders into each gentle, praiseworthy kiss that you press there. Up until her sobs subside, and she breaths a sigh of relief that you can feel from her chest against yours, each one sinking and rising into each other as you breathe along with her. "I thought you didn't want me anymore."

She shakes her head, and finally pulls herself back to look at you, a fresh wave of tears streaming down her cheeks when she gets a good look at you. Nancy touches your face, thumbs away your own tears--and you know she's not just looking at you, but the girl she lost so long ago, whose smile she sees in yours on those days she misses her the most dearly. "I never wanted you more when I thought you weren't coming back," She whispers back. "How could I not want you? I love you."

The kiss she lays upon your lips is breathtaking, shaking and sweet and just....everything. Everything you missed and craved like air and water and life.

You're already halfway into her embrace when she laughs out that half-hearted joke, walking back with you a couple steps when you throw yourself into it. And she squeezes you so tight, so hard, the kisses a flurry of needy, fluttering touches all over your face until she somehow finds your lips--and when she does, she makes that last one a kiss you won't shake off for days, the feeling tingling your lips even when she pulls away. Still rubbing that spot on your back that she knows is sensitive, Robin grips you in an even harder hug that nearly cracks your spine, and whispers into your ear: "I'm so happy you're here with me." before she kisses you one last time, last one, she swears, fingers crossed behind your back. But then, she takes notice to the man standing just a foot away--and she lets you go to turn you around, her fingertips grazing your arms as you finally face him.

"Yeah, she, uh....she cried, like, every night," Even as Robin says it and breaks the quiet, she herself is rubbing tears from her cheeks, trying to keep that smile going as you stand and Nancy loosens her hold. She moves aside for Eddie to lay his hands on her shoulders from behind, and keep her steady on her feet. "So did Steve. I told you he cries when we watch Princess Bride!"

"I-I....I didn't mean it, Steve. I never...I've never thought you were dumb." Your voice comes out as a whimper, fingers fiddling with each other as you endure that big, brown, wide-eyed stare.

"I know." He breathes, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He wants to move, he's antsy, but he won't take another step. "I know, baby."

"Can I hug you?" Steve just nods, but his lip quivers and his features gain that pathetic, sad puppy look, because he was hoping and praying you would say those very words. Your heart soars as he meets your step forward and flings his strong arms tight around your body, crushing you with his huge stature but never loosening up. He instantly brings his hand up to cradle your head against his chest, kissing the crown of it with so much firmness that you know he's reaffirming you're really standing in front of him again.

"I shouldn't have let you leave. I should've slashed your damn tires." He chuckles along with you at the lighthearted crack at breaking the tension, until he chokes up again into a sob. "Nobody could ever replace you. And I swear, I'll never break your heart again."

Steve holds you for a long time, squeezing you and kissing you and brushing strands of hair from your eyes to just look at you, surveying the face of the love he feared he'd never get to cherish again. It's a long time coming, and when he's done, there are three other warm bodies in the room that need attention from the sweet thing they've been killing themselves over these last few weeks.

From there, they catch you up with what had happened in your absence. Steve had walked off to clear his head after you left, and hadn't returned until late in the day--burst through the front door during an unusually quiet dinner and sent them all into a panic, when he realized you really had left and you weren't coming back. The four of them had jumped into action to split up and look for you, Nancy contacted your parents and other family while Steve and Robin tried to find some hint of your whereabouts in the house, cracking open your drawers and notes and realizing how much of your stuff was missing. Meanwhile, Eddie had driven in circles round Hawkins and the outer city limits, trying to find any trace of your car in the dark with the help of passing streetlights.

When those attempts had failed after stretching out into the next day to mid-afternoon, and with your very unhelpful parents insisting they had no idea where you could've gone, that's when your partners had started printing out missing person's flyers and put in an official report with the sheriff's office. And, seemingly having forgotten that you were really the only one who ever checked the voicemail at work, your message tendering your resignation had been errantly erased by your manager--worrying them even further when they questioned him, because if you were really planning on moving away like you said, how could you not tell your employer? It wasn't like you. Their fears had only gotten stronger from there.

The worst had yet to come, though. Because when your car had been found on the side of the road way out in the middle of nowhere, miles and miles away from Hawkins and completely destroyed, the four of them had reached the point of no return. The plates had been torn off, but it was your exact make and model of car, and what were they supposed to believe? That it was just coincidence? That's what Hopper had tried to reassure them with, tried to insist that plenty of cars get found gutted out in the bush, but they couldn't be convinced that it was just some freak happenstance and delude themselves to think that you were fine and dandy somewhere else. The same thing had happened to Max's stepbrother, and they all knew how that had ended.

So started the search parties, the nights spent staying up and studying maps by lamplight, the microwave meals in place of home cooking and sleeping in shifts by the phone, waiting and hoping for some kind of clue to your whereabouts to appear. Finding you had become more important than eating, proper sleep, showering, or attention paid to anything aside from looking towards the horizon to see if you would magically walk back into their lives.

And all that time, you had believed nothing but that they couldn't care less where you were, or what you were doing. When in reality, they could think of nothing but you. That was what had led Eddie to nearly crash into you as you re-entered Hawkins, having been pacing the living room for those long hours after Hop's call until he just couldn't take it anymore--despite the other three trying to stop him, he had dashed out to his van and peeled out of the driveway like a lunatic, just for the slightest chance that he might be there when you needed help. It was so stupid, so reckless, and you'll remember that moment he came rushing around the side of the truck to get to you forever.

Despite them reassuring you about Chrissy, too, when the tears have dried--promising you she's nothing but a friend, and they would have no problems limiting her interaction with all of you from now on--you wave it away, smiling off your stupidity and letting them know that it's fine. You were just being dumb, acting crazy, but you're fine now. And Eddie's eyes narrow at that.

"You're not crazy." He murmurs absentmindedly, and says nothing more until he can slip away from your reunion, and reach the phone in the kitchen. While you're busy dealing with your other partner's crippling absence of affection, he taps his blunt nails into each button, numbly dialing the number he's memorized until the ringing starts and stops.

"Hey, Chris. Angel's back home."

"Oh, that's great! Oh...Eddie, I'm so happy for you. You must be relieved-"

"Yeah. Yeah, I am. Listen, no hard feelings, but....you're my friend, so I'm just gonna be straight. Don't come by the house anymore."

"I--what? Really? I....Eddie, I'm sorry, if I did something to upset you-"

"No, no, nothing you did. Well, not really. But I know how you feel, Chris, and I can't really ignore it anymore." He swallows deeply, and sucks on his teeth as he tries to think of some better way to say it. "I don't want to hurt your feelings, but I don't feel the same. I never have, and I'm sorry if I made you feel like that might change."

"......So that's it?"

"That's it. We can still be friends, but we need space for awhile first, and I'm not gonna ignore you flirting with me anymore. I'm in love and it's not gonna change. Sorry."

"Can we at least talk about it, Eddie? Please? I'd rather talk this out in person."

"No. Bye, Chrissy."

He thuds the phone back on the receiver just a little too hard, and brings his hand up to rub at his neck and try and get the ache out. That didn't feel good, having to confront one of his very few friends with a truth he just wanted to ignore--but the sick feeling he has now can't even compare to how he felt when you were away, and it's an easy decision to make in that regard. He'd take you over her any day. It's a bit of a guilty feeling, but he knows it's the truth even if it hurts Chrissy's feelings, and he's happy even so.

"....Yeah, I missed you real bad, sweetheart. Don't you ever think I wouldn't....or else you are crazy."

"Eddie?" You call out from the living room, and following that sweet voice to its source, he feels himself light up at the sight of you settled back into the couch. Legs tucked up in Robin's lap, halfway into Steve and Nancy's, looking so comfortable and cute as you look up at him. You're where you belong. He's so distracted by the glee and relief of having you home, he didn't even realize how quiet it had been between you all until he came right back from his task. You say nothing more, just hold your arms out to him--and when he gets close enough, you capture him with those pretty eyes of yours, and melt away any ill feeling as you pull him into your chest.

#fruity four #fruity four x reader #steve harrington #nancy wheeler #eddie munson #robin buckley #steve harrington x reader #nancy wheeler x reader #eddie munson x reader #robin buckley x reader #jim hopper #joyce byers #st 4 #stranger things #eddie's angelface #ellie writes #anons

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