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ellesthots · 6 months ago

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Fateful Beginnings

I. “the club within the club”

parts: next

plot: when you find yourself needing a topic for a journalism final, you seek out an interview from Gotham’s elusive vigilante: Batman. this proves even more difficult than it already sounds, and tensions rise when you discover an intimate secret—just as Bruce Wayne realizes his own.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+ MATURE! NSFW! canon-typical violence, slow burn, enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, forced proximity, eventual smut, mutual pining, POV alternating, Bruce Wayne needs a hug, mental health issues (psychosis, suicidality), substance use, blackmail (or is it?), serious health issues, grief, brief mention of sa, gaslighting, mild gore

words: 2.1k

a/n: this is my first fic i’ve posted to tumblr and ao3, very excited to see how people like it ✨ same user on ao3 :) comments and reblogs are so appreciated! 💖

"I haven’t turned in the assignment yet, I'm so sorry," You fumbled with your book and it slipped forward on the desk. Your professor wasn't too happy with you; already a week late, this assignment was creating a piece of journalism about happenings around the city—the city was used loosely, because it was school policy not to require students be in the field for assignments. You never wanted to linger on what might have caused that rule to be enforced.

Dr. Vry was usually the picture of impatience, though she had a soft spot for you—she described you as a ‘journalistic prodigy’. You couldn’t see it, and it didn't help that you couldn't write your final piece when graduation was so near. While you’d done well in the intro courses, now that the material was more complex… you were struggling. She would say it was all in your head, and the only thing holding you back was lack of confidence in your burgeoning journalism skills, but you weren’t so sure. You had come from a sociology background but had interest in learning journalism with your last few credits, unaware how much grief this would cause you.

"Y/N, you're overthinking it.” She gently shook her head, her salt and pepper hair unmoving in the slick bun. “I'll extend it until the end of next week without point reduction. But after that it's out of my hands!" With that you thanked her, hurrying out of the class with your book tightly squeezed to your chest. Thank god, you thought. I can't fail out of a class in my last term.

That evening you holed up in your apartment per usual. You absentmindedly texted your one friend here, Margaret, but knew she was out clubbing. You’d met in a sociology course last year when you transferred. She had been the only one kind enough to show you around the city, the social butterfly she was; holding your hand as she dragged you from bar to bar, club to club. This led to a cat and mouse dynamic between you both: her always hopping to the next party albeit the occasional pit stop in your apartment and you, the reclusive homebody. You hadn’t always been so subdued, but you hadn’t always lived in the crime capital of the US.

You longed for more companionship, but focused on how you'd be leaving Gotham after graduation. The sting of loneliness here was too great, and it was no use stringing more people along. Mar had snuck her way into a crack in the first few months of your arrival. Back when you thought you might find something here. Back before you were proven wrong, and you’d given up on this godforsaken city.

Mar didn’t usually respond but tonight, she did.

Y/N, get your ass to the club! I miss you.

You chuckled a little to yourself at the idea of getting all ready to be sweaty in a room full of strangers. No thanks, have fun!

Within a second she had disliked your message and sent another: You'll find more inspo here than in your studio. I'm sending a taxi, be ready in 10

You groaned and threw the phone down. Ugh. You were tired from a long day of classes, and didn't want to pay to be humped by random clubgoers. Men in Gotham were nasty, taking every opportunity to try and get something from a woman. Plastered all across downtown were blistered posters with a faded number to report drink tampering. You should have expected as much with the city’s reputation, but coming from a small town you were naive. You picked up your phone and her text stared back at you. The day’s exhaustion had worn on your resolve, and the longer you looked at her text, the closer you were to giving in. More inspiration... she might be right. You looked around at your empty walls and the waning light outside, the sun rapidly giving way to a dark, rainy abyss.

Fine, only for an hour.

You reluctantly walked over to your closet to pick an outfit. This was gonna be a long night.

You found yourself standing out under your apartment patio, shivering in your dress. You chose something subtle: mini, dark, with some heels to match, though you admittedly didn’t have many options. You’d hurried and only put on lashes, lipgloss, and brow gel, because you thought your driver would be on time. Staring out at the flashing headlights threatened a migraine, so you whipped out your phone and went onto Scypher, a Gotham-area social media. You didn't bother going on very often, only on the rare occasion Mar dragged you out into the city. There was a handy 'Crime' tab, which had up-to-the-minute updates. It seemed pretty empty, only some car vandalisms the past hour. Hmm. You felt uneasy, the environment unusually calm for a Friday evening. Maybe it's a good thing. Wouldn't want to go out during a crime surge. You looked up as you heard a tire tempt the curb. Your driver called out your name, and you slunk into the backseat.

The drive was quick, with clubs practically on every corner. Mar hadn't told you which one, so you weren't prepared when the car pulled up to one of the most elite clubs in the city. Your face went pale, and your voice cracked as you failed making excuses to the driver. "I'm so sorry, my friend must have given you the wrong directions—"

"No, it's correct." He was stern, and when you started taking out cash to pay, he waved a dismissive hand toward you. "Your friend already paid, Miss." Flustered, and frankly confused he hadn’t sneakily accepted double payment, you thanked him and stepped out. The line wasn't too long, so you got behind a few people who were laughing hysterically. You noticed some green tinfoil out of their pocket: Drops. You forgot all the biggest dealers hung around here every night. What was Mar thinking bringing you here?

The line moved fast so you didn't have time to find an excuse to leave. You held out your ID to the burly, tall bouncer who gave you a once-over and a smirk. You stifled a groan, hating being looked at like a meal. Living in Gotham meant always feeling eyes on the back of your neck. The bouncer grinned and handed back your card, holding out another hand for the club fee. Shit. You fumbled in your bag and realized you didn't know the amount. Sheepishly, you looked over from your bag and scanned the wall behind him as quickly as possible. $50. Jesus. You managed to find three twenties crumpled at the bottom of your bag, and begrudgingly handed them over. He smiled and opened the door for you. "No change."

Well, guess I'm eating ramen this week.

Your ears began ringing the second you entered the booming club. People were packed in like sardines, and before you could even muster a thought you were grabbed fast from behind. You suppressed a scream.

"Y/N!!!" Mar wrapped you in a hug and you grabbed her to steady yourself. "Shit, Mar,"

"You look SO good! Fuck yeah!" She smiled and smacked your butt as she took your hand and led you towards the stairs. You hadn’t gotten much of a look, but her eyes looked bleary, red. "I met some guys that got us a lounge!" She was giggling but you pulled back, wincing. You'd already been sufficiently creeped on by the bouncer.

You rolled your eyes. "I thought this was a girl's night,"

She shook her head, grinning. "C'mon Y/N, get loose!" As she turned back to step up the stairs, a circle of green tinfoil fell from her pocket. You yanked your hand back, frustrated. No fuckin’ wonder. She was wasted. "MAR." You bent down to pick up the litter just as a man came up behind you, grinding against your ass. A bit of his drink spilled on your side, and you spun around to shove him back. Mar stepped up, always a willing wingman. "Hey, don't fuck with a woman like that, bitch!"

BAM BAM BAM BAM. Popping noises that sounded like gunshots rang out from the far corner of the bar. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. You grabbed for the railing to head for the exit when people running from downstairs rammed into you. After a few seconds desperately straining your vision to look for Mar, you covered your head with your arms while you ducked. The gunshots inched closer and closer, egging on your heart rate, curdling your thoughts sour. I shouldn't have come. I don't want to die. I shouldn't be here. What the fuck am I doing here? I shouldn't have come. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I'm going to fucking die.

You heard a rapid increase in gunfire and then a total ceasing. You wanted to look up, but it was too terrifying. Sweat beaded on your entire body as it became electrified with adrenaline—you had known how unsafe Gotham was, you just hadn't seen yourself in the crossfire… until now. You squeezed your eyes shut, pushing yourself hard against the side of the stair to try and make your body as small as possible. You wondered if everyone else had been killed, and they were looking for any survivors… The rough concrete texture burrowed itself into your arm as you jammed it even harder, forcing yourself to be compact. I could be dead with just one bullet.

Before more morbid thoughts could form, you yelped as you felt your body being lifted and slung over someone's shoulder. Something was hard and slick against your stomach, and you opened your eyes manically to see the world whizzing around you. The arm that held you was strong, so strong you couldn't slip out if you tried. You ducked your head as the person ran you both toward the back exit with total ease. Panic started to set in. It's so dark. Who is this? Is he gonna have his way with me?

As soon as you were brought an alley down, fully away from the chaos, you began fighting against the stranger. The streets were so dark you still could hardly see, but it felt like the person was armored. You’d heard some small grunts from them on the short sprint here, or maybe you’d imagined them? Regardless, you couldn’t place the voice while your ears were still bright with tinnitus. You shouted, trying with all your might to shove them off of you, to no avail. "Let me GO!"

"Stop fighting." A low, gravelly voice spoke right next to your ear. You continued struggling to the point you felt a bruise forming on your bottom ribs. It was as if the entire world had zoomed in, and nothing mattered more than escaping. You drew a quick breath, tensing your body to fight. This motherfucker isn't gonna let me go, is he?

Without warning he relinquished his grasp and you slid off the man, landing squarely in a puddle. You looked up and through the darkness saw a masked man clad in deepest black... the Batman.

"Thanks, uh," You immediately broke eye contact, feeling awkward. The tornado of panic in your chest relaxed ever so slightly. You felt bad for fighting so hard against him, but you hadn’t known any better. Before you could fully realize the gravity of what had just happened, how Vengeance himself was standing before you, he noticed something glint behind your ear.

"Turn around." The voice was low and gravelly still, and you spun around instantaneously. You'd heard good things about the Batman in your year and a half here. A few of your classmates had direct experience with him, having been saved on one occasion or another. "He never stuck around, he was always gone as quickly as he came." It seemed almost instinctual to trust him. And, his voice brooked no argument.

Suddenly the back of your head lit up in flaming pain.

"You need stitches." He stepped back and through the deadened night you saw a screen light up on his arm. "Victim with head wound on Feller and Kelley." You heard a faint 'Roger' before the screen went black. Fear shot through you the same time as relief. You were safe, but you had to get a needle snaked through your scalp. The thought made you physically ill.

To your surprise, he was already halfway down the alleyway when you looked back; just as he turned out of view, police lights illuminated the alleyway. Holy fuck, you'd just met the Batman.

And you hadn’t gotten a good look at him.

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nyarumie · 5 months ago

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Brains to Brawn. (Chapter 1)

narumi gen x f!reader — 1.7k words, co-workers to lovers, narumi loves kisses, multiple parts, semi canon compliant, in denial reader.

STATUS: Ongoing. Chapter links: 1, 2, 3

Author's Note at the end! Happy reading ♡

Cross-posted on ao3.

Requests, prompts, or any messages are appreciated! Just open my ask box.

The shift in the tides of the First Division wasn't subtle. It wasn't the way the large bodies of water swayed with greater force against Ariake Maritime Base's sturdy walls, nor did it have to do anything with Regular Officers being transferred from one division to another.

The first change in the atmosphere was when Second Division Captain, Hikari Shinomiya, died. Tense. Strict. A single drop of needle could disrupt the entire defense force—ironically seeming so quiet despite the sounds emerging from the Officers' even more rigorous training.

The second wave of change felt rowdy, raucous—but hopeful. Narumi Gen had made quite the scenario even before officially joining the Defense Force. An unleashed combat power of 24% even without donning a suit at least once in his life, showing great aptitude potential for Kaiju No. 1 weapons, and... having a blatant display of disrespect and chaos, as the higher ups would describe. What seemed to be the hope of the nation turns out to be the First Division's biggest headache. Most times.

The third was when things started to be more obvious—to most people, a shift in leadership means a shift in everything. Shortly after Narumi joined the Defense Force, the Head of Operations eventually had to retire. Kurusu was given the prestige to be the young Head of Operations. At the same time, Narumi had already been appointed as a Platoon Leader, a sign that the youth will shoulder the fate of this country and power will emerge across all divisions.

The next wave is you.

From the previous year, the Defense Force's annual selection involved both Officers and Operators. You were tempted to apply in both, for simple reasons: As an operator, you know you're extremely smart—emerging at the top of your class in university and having reading as a hobby enhanced your intelligence.

On the other hand, you simply think it would be fun to try the Officer Selection Trial. Who knows? You were pretty athletic, diving here and there to save volleyballs on your university's sports fest. Hell, you even won an MVP award twice.

But you have bills to pay and concerts you'd love to attend, so you let the rational part of your brain win and opt for the safer option. With a fellow youngster like Kurusu leading the Operations, all worries about bonding with your co-workers were thrown out the window.

In fact, it seems like you went overboard with bonding with them. You all were friends and swore to do your job properly so as to stick together til the end, but how come you're the only one facing this... baffling scenario?

'A little fun in your normal working day as an operations manager won't hurt', they said.

'The captain won't find out about this anyway', another added.

You should've known that the normal working day applies only to your co-workers. You, on the other hand? It literally changed the trajectory of your life—for better or for worse. Internally groaning, you wondered why you didn't push harder when you were against their idea of 'fun'.

When your co-workers suggested doing something for fun, you never thought it would be testing out each other's unleashed combat power, if you even have them; you're all managing the operations, after all. Doing calculations in your head, you estimated you'd all be getting a percentage ranging from 1% to 3%.

After pleading with Kurusu for what felt like an hour, your little unassuming friend group got permission to use the combat power technology.

"I'm an MVP for volleyball in our University, y'know? If I get an 8%, maybe I can smash a ball or two on a yoju's head. Might get recruited on the spot too.", you said with humourous arrogance.

Your co-worker who was prepping the machine chimed in, "We don't have balls for weapons. And don't get your hopes up, the most you'll be getting is probably a 2%. It's impossible for anyone to get a 0% after all."

With a pout, you denied that you're hoping for a good result. You're pretty satisfied with your job, anyways. Good pay, safety secured—what else could you ask for?

"Alright, prep done. Who's up first?"

"Oh, I'll go! I proposed the idea, so I should be the one taking the first step!" said your enthusiastic co-worker. There were only 4 of you anyway, enough to fall into a line, letting yourself go last.

Sometime along your little fun, Kurusu entered the room, feeling uneasy about giving permission against official purposes. As expected, your friends got a range of 1% to 3%. They were all cheering as you got ready to lay down, as you were initially against the idea of having fun with these machines.

"Show us your 8%, then!" they laughed.

You rolled your eyes at them as your co-worker is sticking the device to certain pulse points to extract your body conditions.

"Keep your head straight and calm down. I'll activate it in a few minutes. We wouldn't want any irregularities in your readings—like you getting 8% from your volleyball experience." she snorted.

Following further instructions, you closed your eyes and kept your composure. It surprisingly felt comfortable, despite the hard surface. It's probably because you haven't slept well comfortably in so long.

"Extraction in 3, 2, and 1..."

It was Kurusu who surprisingly spoke this time. "Well... You almost got an 8. You're on 6%." he announced, still looking confused at the screen.

"Can somebody give me a gun? Or a sword?" you asked.

You thought their necks will snap at how fast they turned their heads to you. They looked at you as if you just had asked for the most incredulous thing, which in this case, does sound frightening.

"Gonna kill us for doubting you?", they joked. "What for, though?"

"Trying to see if I can get that combat power up if I hold those. We're already having fun here, wouldn't hurt to test a few more things, right? Just don't let anyone know of this, or we'll all lose our jobs." you said.

They turn to Kurusu, eyes hopeful, asking through their gazes if it's still within his given permission to issue weapons.

Curiosity piqued, he didn't hesitate giving approval this time. "Alright. Just do make sure to get some less powerful weapons." With a sigh, he mumbled, "My first year as head operator and I feel like I'll already lose my job..."

Once you were provided with your 'weapons', you were instructed by Kurusu this time. "Just hold them as naturally as you can. You may choose between the two weapons provided. Lay them down next to you if you don't want it tested."

Holding the gun in one hand, you heard their countdown go off again. You let yourself relax while waiting for the results.

"Huh. A small increase, but quite a feat. You're smart for suggesting to hold these weapons. It's actually now on 8%. Try the dagger."

You let go of the gun and did as you were told. It took you a while to get as natural as you can while holding the dagger, but decided to not put in any effort as you were just having some 'fun' anyways.

"...That was higher than the gun. 10%. You're unbelievable."

'What's so unbelievable about that?' you thought. Not a single result elicited any reaction from you. Hell, now-promoted Platoon Leader Narumi had a whopping 24% even as a normal civilian. Why would yours be any unbelievable? Maybe it's the first and only time an operations manager got this number. Who in their right mind would test this out for fun anyway?

"Hey, I'll try holding both of these. Let's end our fun and curiosity here." you announced. By this time, you just want this to end. But you are as intrigued as they are, hence suggesting a final test. For some reason, you felt yourself become uneasy at the last attempt. You know it never ends good whenever a sudden wave of uneasiness washes over you, so you force yourself to keep the relaxed state you were previously in.

From your peripheral vision, you saw Kurusu nod. You took both weapons in your hand. The procedure repeats, for the last time.

And then there was silence. You thought you fell asleep, but moved your fingers just to confirm you're still awake. Opening your eyes, you turn to look at your co-workers who were currently gawking at the huge screen.

"Um... You..." started Kurusu. "You uh, just got an 18% unleashed combat power with both weapons in your hold."

Oh.

Now that's unbelievable.

"...And our fun little session ends here! Can somebody assist me here so I can continue my work?" you asked in a rush.

"No. You stay there, I'm not done with your analysis. I'll have to command everyone to go back to their stations." Kurusu said, seriousness suddenly taking over his voice.

He continued speaking, "Not only do you have an 18% unleashed combat power, you also have a potential aptitude for Kaiju no. 3 cells."

It's as if your ability to speak was taken. 18% unleashed combat power sure is something for someone in your level, but to have an aptitude for an identified kaiju...? No wonder he asked them to leave. Word about this finding mustn’t spread, at least, not for now. Your co-workers are new in the job, so they probably don’t know how to identify an aptitude reading for identified Kaiju.

"Um... So... Do we report this to the Captain or something?" you hesitantly ask after a few minutes of blanking out. You don't know what else you can say at the moment, totally taken aback by the suddenness of it all.

Before Kurusu can even respond, you hear a voice coming from the doorway.

"Huh. No wonder those operators flocked out of the room in a hurry. I've spared you the job. The old man is already informed."

Your eyes widened, soul leaving your body upon hearing it. You know you'd have to eventually report this to the Captain, but this soon? And what's worse, that voice...

Standing lazily at the doorway with his phone in one hand is no other than the newly promoted Platoon Leader, Narumi Gen.

Author's Note(s):

My first fic! I've actually never wrote anything like this before, as I've only spent my entire life writing academic papers 😭 Thus, constructive criticism and feedbacks are always welcome!

I also apologize for any inaccuracies in the terminologies I used, my brain is pea-sized when it comes to some canon minor details.

I thought I'll be able to finish this in a single chapter, but I think a max of 3 wouldn't sound so bad. I can't write continuously or my head will explode omg

I'm not sure about the holding weapons thing, but I included it here based off how they tested Mina to have great aptitude for guns. I also recall a chapter saying Soshiro's combat power for firearms is so low, hence why he's a close quarters combatant.

Also, about the Kaiju No. 3 thingy, It's not gonna be canon compliant since we don't have any info on that identified Kaiju so I'll just be making stuff up for the sake of this fic lol.

#kaiju no. 8 #narumi gen x reader #kn8 writing #axia writes for fun #kn8 x reader #gen narumi #narumi gen fluff

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skzdarlings · 2 years ago

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part iv: bodyguard!felix x reader

masterlist.

PART I ; PART II ; PART III ; PART IV ; PART V ; PART VI ; PART VII ; PART VIII ; PART IX ; FINAL PART.

( READ ON AO3. )

Your father hires an inconspicuous bodyguard to accompany you at school and supervise you at home. What seems like an innocuous change in routine eventually spirals into a forbidden romance that grows more passionate over the years.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: smut. violence. parental abuse. situations of intense peril overall. forced proximity. enemies2lovers. angst with eventual happy ending. (chapter word count; 10k words)

warning for this chapter: the usual story dynamics plus explicit sexual content.

“All right, gang,” Jisung says. “Final year of school together, you know what that means?”

You and Felix are on your way to class when Jisung literally throws himself between you. He hands each of you a print-out before you can answer his question or even say hello.

“The Three Musketeers,” Felix reads. “Peas in a Pod, Rule of Three…?”

“This is our final year as a best friend trio in the hallowed halls of high school,” Jisung says. “And next year? Who knows what happens! Marriages! Mortgages! Babies!”

“Jisung, we just turned eighteen,” you say.

“Which is almost nineteen, which is almost twenty, then we’re practically forty.” He waves a hand around. “The point is, this is our last opportunity to solidify a name. For us. For the group. It’s necessary.”

“Is it though?” Felix asks, squinting as he skims the sheet. “BLT? Who’s the bacon?”

“I am, obviously,” Jisung says.

“Why is that obvious?” you ask.

“How is it not obvious, Lettuce?” Jisung says, scandalized. “Anyway, we can workshop the names. This is just to get the ball rolling. I expect results by lunchtime tomorrow at the latest.”

Jisung continues his endearing but admittedly inane blather, at least until Hyunjin comes sauntering up the hallway like it’s a catwalk, then he just frowns. Jisung has never warmed to the popular pretty boy and Hyunjin does not seem particularly inclined to rectify any bad impressions. He is astoundingly self-confident.

People move out of his way. Some girls downright swoon if he deigns to cast them even a fleeting glance. You can’t really judge any of them seeing as you were the same when Lee Minho still roamed these halls. You are not totally immune to Hyunjin either, though your attention is somewhat scattered these days.

You look at Felix.

He is re-reading the class schedule for this year, mumbling reminders under his breath. His hair is a sunny yellow blonde and freshly trimmed to frame his face, thanks to your help. He was cutting his own hair which made sense, not just logistically but stylistically, seeing as it was often a shaggy mess. You have taken to helping him so it looks a little neater.

You look at the fuzzier hair on his nape, recalling how your fingertips pressed there as you tipped his head for a better angle.

Your eyes meet when he looks up, but you are drawn apart when Hyunjin claps him on the shoulder with a greeting. They sat beside each other for most of their first year and formed something of a friendship – only something, because the plucky, likable Australian transfer student is a fabrication.

You once told yourself you would never fall for the schoolboy routine, that you would always remember his real identity, but you never considered what might happen if you cared for the real him anyway.

“Heeey Fee-lix,” Hyunjin says in an emphasized, overly friendly way. He draws out your name with the same saccharine pleasantness, all while ignoring a scowling Jisung.

Hyunjin leaves before anyone can reply, but Jisung still thumps Felix on the arm.

“Traitor,” he says.

“What? He’s nice,” Felix says, exchanging an amused look with you.

“You know, Jisungie, maybe you’d get along better if you stopped trying to trip him everywhere he goes,” you say, pointing to Jisung’s presently outstretched leg.

Jisung stands straight. “He tried to kill me,” he says.

“Not this again,” you say. “Jisung, he didn’t know about your peanut allergy—”

“He tried to put his nuts directly into my mouth,” Jisung says, then groans miserably. “That came out wrong.” He spins his cap to tug the brim over his eyes. “Do not repeat that. The last thing I need is freshmen writing fanfiction about us.”

You and Felix pat his back in a consoling manner.

Felix sits behind you in class, dutiful as ever. You are unpacking your bag when Hyunjin walks in with his girlfriend of the week. Rumours about Hyunjin are in never-ending circulation and he seems to help them along. You have caught him in a quiet moment once or twice, curled up in the library alone or lingering after hours in the art room, but that quieter soul seems contradictory to his showman side. Even now, he starts making out with his girlfriend in the middle of the classroom.

You can’t help but stare, mostly because the brazenness is so audacious that it is impossible not to stare, but it also makes you think. You have never kissed anyone, though you have entertained countless fantasies that spiral far beyond kissing, and while you know you are young in abstract way… staring at a happy couple your age makes you feel jealous, desirous, and a little ridiculous. Eighteen, nineteen, twenty, forty…

Felix clears his throat and you realize you have been staring too long.

Not only that, but Hyunjin is staring back, even with his mouth pressed against someone else. It feels like flames erupt inside you. You drop heavily into your seat and stare at your desk, swallowing hard. When you chance a look, Hyunjin is leaning back in his own seat, smiling at you.

Felix clears his throat again.

“What?” you ask, sharp.

“Nothing,” Felix says, casual.

You roll your eyes. He kicks your chair. You turn around and knock his textbook off his desk.

“That’s not nice,” he says.

You stick your tongue out at him.

As seniors, you are allowed to leave campus for lunch. The three of you make your way to a nearby sandwich shop, one naturally packed with most of the senior grade level. You crowd into a tiny booth, so cramped you are halfway sitting on Felix’s lap. Your mood sours as you let yourself wallow in self-pity, thinking about how normal girls get to sit on normal boys’ laps and be excited about it.

You are sulking into your sandwich, thinking about how you are going to die alone and miserable and unkissed, when a chair is suddenly drawn up to your table and Hyunjin sits beside you.

Jisung’s mouth is stuffed full of ham, which you know because he drops his jaw despite all the food.

Hyunjin does not remark on it. He smiles at you and you alone.

“Hey,” he says. He really is stupidly handsome. Even up close, you see no awkward blemishes, not a hair out of place. His uniform tie is a little askew from tugging but that’s it.

Jisung kicks you under the table, probably because you are just staring blankly at Hyunjin.

“Sorry, hi,” you finally say.

His smiles widens. He tucks a bit of hair behind his ear.

“Hey, I won’t bug you and your friends,” Hyunjin says, ignoring when Jisung mumbles too late under his breath, “but I want to walk you back to school after lunch. Alone.”

You are so unprepared for the suggestion that find yourself staring again. He taps your chin to lift your head, still smiling.

“Is that a yes?” he asks.

“Uh, sorry, yeah, yes! Yeah, sure. Okay.” You aren’t even totally sure that is your answer, but it rolls out of you instinctively. Just as instinctively do you whip a startled look to your best friend. Jisung’s mouth is still hanging open. “Umm…” you say, but Hyunjin is already standing.

“Great,” he says. “See you soon.”

You watch him walk away. Jisung speaks through the food in his mouth, chokes, swallows, then clears his throat.

“What was that?” he finally says.

“I have no idea,” you reply, completely honestly.

You cannot compute this situation at all. Your approach to most social interactions is to scowl. Because of your father’s many stringent rules, you have never had an opportunity to be truly social. You play an appropriate role at the functions he forces you to attend, but that entails sitting alone in a corner and sipping soda. Growing up, you were not allowed to spend time at anyone’s house or go anywhere without supervision, so maintaining friendships was next to impossible.

The only exception has ever been Han Jisung. You sat beside each other in your first year and your miserable countenance coupled with his anxious demeanour meant that you spent six months not even talking to each other. Then one day he mustered the nerve to comment on the weather, you replied accordingly, and somehow that opened a floodgate to unleash the goofy boy that would become your best and only friend.

Your social experience is limited to that. You are someone who sits with your best friend in a corner, staring at an unattainable pretty boy at a distance, but you have never had to grapple with the reality of one asking for your attention.

You look at Felix, but he has drawn a somber mask over his face. He pokes at his sandwich. He can’t lecture you in front of Jisung but you know he has something to say. A part of you wishes it was jealousy or any personal feeling, but you know it will only be a reminder about your father, that he wouldn’t approve of you running around with any unknown boys.

When you leave the shop with Hyunjin, you already know Felix and Jisung will follow close behind. Felix has no choice, but you are certain Jisung will require little convincing. You pretend you do not see them trailing six feet back, partially obscuring themselves in the occasional bush, but Hyunjin naturally looks at them.

“You’re not…” he says slowly. “You’re not dating… one of them… are you? They’re really—”

“They’re just my crazy friends,” you say in an embarrassed rush. “Jisung is like my brother, ew, I could never – ew. Ew. Oh my god, ew. And Felix—”

You woke this morning with Felix’s face nuzzled in the back of your neck. The distance in that big bed closed long ago now. You only sleep apart when your father is home. You also never talk about it, not that you could articulate your feelings anyway. The intimacy and companionship provides more comfort to your soul than you could ever say.

You swallow.

“I’m not dating Felix,” you say. “I’m not dating anyone.” This thought prompts you to look at Hyunjin. Rather ungracefully, you blurt the obvious question, “Don’t you have a girlfriend? Why are you talking to me?”

He laughs into his palm. You realize belatedly just how accusatory you sounded, especially considering his attention might be wholly platonic. Embarrassed, you trip over your words, your tongue a suddenly clumsy thing.

Hyunjin just giggles.

“It’s okay,” he says. “No one ever calls me out like that. I like it.” He bumps shoulders with you. Wait, is he flirting? You have no idea. You stare at the ground with laser intensity. He just giggles again. “We broke up before lunch—”

“Wow, you moved on fast,” you say. Dry remarks tumble out of you easier than anything else. You bite your tongue, embarrassed again.

Hyunjin still looks amused.

“It wasn’t really serious,” he says. “I’m looking for some with similar life experience, to be honest…”

You crinkle your brow and look at him. His hands are in his pockets, his slouch casual, but you swear his eyes sparkle when he looks at you.

“I saw you,” he says. “At that horse race thing. This last weekend? You were in the box with your dad, right? Felix was with you too.”

The horse race was an end-of-summer event your father sponsored, one of his community philanthropic efforts. You spent the whole time frowning under a sun hat, only smiling when Felix muttered something scalding about a particularly overdramatic hat in the crowd.

A crowd Hyunjin was apparently in.

You have always known Hyunjin comes from money, but there is money and there is money. The Hwang family might be rich but your father is powerfully wealthy. You run in different circles. You have never seen Hyunjin at any event so you would never even think to look for him. They must be moving up in the world.

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out, not even a dry retort.

“It’s okay,” Hyunjin says. He touches your shoulder and your attention zeroes in there. You can’t decide if you like him touching you. An hour ago you were idly daydreaming about kisses and touches, but the reality is a different thing. It took you a long time to warm to Felix, bit by bit, touch by touch. Even those touches terrify you in their own way. You are scared of needing them. You do not know how you can simultaneously desire touch and fear it more than anything.

Hyunjin uses a soothing tone, drawing your gaze away from his hand.

“I get it,” Hyunjin says. “You don’t want people to know you’re rich, right? Honestly… I think that’s really cool of you. My dad likes to show-off so I guess I kinda do the same.” You glance at his brand-name leather satchel. “Everything is about appearances to him. It doesn’t even matter what’s true as long as everything looks the way he wants. There’s an… image… for the family. And I’m an only child so there’s expectations. Maybe I’m not making sense.”

“No,” you say, your thoughts drifting to your own home life. “It makes sense.”

“I thought maybe you and me could hang out—”

“I don’t really hang out a lot,” you interrupt. You have been able to spend more time with Jisung now that Felix can accompany you, but it has been at cafes and other controlled locations. You have not gone to any parties since your father beat Felix. He has never hurt him as badly as that first incident, but he has struck him more than once. You have not taken the risk.

“Think about it at least,” Hyunjin says. “Think about me. I think we could be a good match—”

“You mean…” It might be ungenerous, but you weigh his words and form a conclusion. “If you date someone like me, it will get your father off your back?”

He is quiet for a second, surprised, then he laughs again. He finally drops his hand. His next smile is a little lopsided but more genuine.

“Maybe we could help each other,” he says.

“I didn’t say I need any help,” you reply. You cannot help the way you bristle, like a vulnerable animal rearing its defensive spikes. “You don’t know me.”

“I know me,” he says. “And I recognize… well. Think about it.” He looks behind you, his features scrunching with clear repugnance. “I’m gonna go before your not-boyfriend pops a blood vessel. Talk to you later?”

You are still processing the whole exchange but you manage to nod. He turns on a swift heel and struts ahead.

You turn, expecting to find Jisung frothing at the mouth given Hyunjin’s departing words. But it is Felix silently seething, Jisung just cringing beside him.

Felix cracks his own neck, a couple sharp jerks, then he forces that empty smile onto his face.

When you are settled in the car at the end of the day, you are not surprised his first words are, “You know I have to tell your father if you start seeing some guy, yeah?”

“Some guy?” you say just as icily. “You know his name.”

You have been on edge on all afternoon, discombobulated from the exchange with Hyunjin. Felix has been unusually silent, so rigid and ungiving that he reminds you of that mysterious fourteen year old boy who barely did more than blink.

But he is not that boy. You are both growing. You can feel the seconds passing you by, every aching minute that your life does not change from its stagnation, every moment of his own life that Felix has surrendered.

You want to jump out of the moving car. You want to slide across the seat and bury your face in Felix’s neck, no matter that someone can see, and you want him to hug you back.

You stay seated.

“Do what you want,” you say with a sigh.

He sighs too, resting his forehead against the car window.

The house is empty tonight. You can’t concentrate on homework so you shuffle down to the gym where Felix is practicing kicks. You watch him, his nimble athleticism, the perfect arc of each high kick.

One wall of the house gym is a mirror and your eyes meet in the reflection. He holds your gaze for a moment, but then he goes back to counting under his breath, kicking again.

“I thought you liked Hyunjin,” you say.

He stops kicking. His hands are taped up for boxing, so he diverts his attention there, slowly unweaving the tape while he catches his breath.

“This has nothing to do with me,” he says. “You know that, yeah, so I don’t know what—”

“Don’t you want to date someone one day too?”

He doesn’t look up. He drops the tape on the floor and starts on the next hand.

“No,” he finally says after a long pause.

“No?” you repeat. “You don’t want—”

“I can’t want anything,” he says with a mean bite. “I have a job. And responsibilities.” The tape is too light to throw but he flicks it as hard as he can, shaking his head. “Why are you asking me stupid questions? You know how things are.”

Yes, you do.

You know what you feel when you look at Felix. You have been friends with Jisung for years and his proximity has never induced the same feelings. Bursts of heat find you at unexpected times, usually moments when your intimacy feels its most casual. But you never have to think twice about why a crush on your bodyguard is a bad idea, because Felix always reminds you without saying anything. When you get too close, his eyes go glassy with some remembrance and he swiftly pulls away.

You know this does not stop him from thoughtlessly leaning into your touches. He slants towards you with a certain kind of hunger, one you know is satisfied when you touch given how he sighs or relaxes. Then, like someone so used to starvation that emptiness feels natural, he remembers himself and withdraws. You wouldn’t care – or at least, you shouldn’t care – except it leaves you just as empty.

You do not know the details of Felix’s past, but you do know that you carry a similar pain. He recognized it at a glance, all those years ago, seeing past your bravado and calling out your fear. We’re both scared, he said.

You see it now, in the tension across his shoulders, in the way he avoids your gaze. The sharpness of his tone is a twin to your own.

“Yeah,” you say. “I know how things are. You’re a pain in my ass and I hate you.”

It is such an unconvincing lie that he finally lifts his head, meeting your gaze in the mirror. You look at each other for a long moment.

You wonder what someone brave would say or do. Maybe you would tell him the truth and fuck the consequences. Maybe you would kiss him like you were experienced, like you were anyone but an awkward little girl with clammy hands and shaking knees.

You turn to leave. He sighs and says, “Your father said yes.”

You freeze.

“He likes the idea of Hyunjin,” Felix continues. “He thinks he’s… appropriate.”

You remember Hyunjin making out with someone in the middle of the classroom, and you remember how he was once expelled for fighting. You laugh humourlessly, the sound punching out of you. You slap a hand over your mouth to contain it. You suddenly feel like crying and you don’t know why, except that your emotions are in constant flux.

“You mean he thinks he’s rich,” you say.

“I mean… he doesn’t… think it,” Felix says dryly. “Hyunjin is rich.”

Felix can move quietly even in military grade tactical boots. It should be easy in his gym shoes, but he walks heavily as he comes up behind you.

“Why don’t you sound happy?” Felix asks.

You turn around and meet his gaze directly. Your stare is heated, rife with all your mixed-up emotions, but he does not flinch or look away.

“You’re an idiot,” you say. “I hate you.”

You have never fooled him with that proclamation. He draws his lips into a thin line, just staring back at you for a moment. When you turn to leave, he grabs your arm. Sparks ignite under his touch, shooting all the way up your arm, tickling your neck, raising each hair. It feels so different from Hyunjin.

You look at him and he lets go, flexing his hand at his side.

“I, uh, I want to show you… something.” He pushes some sweaty hair off his forehead. His deep voice seems lower, the sound scratching at the base of your spine. Tingles run all the way up to your head.

“Show me?” you say. “Show me what exactly?”

“Self-defence,” he says, brow furrowed, like his train of thought was obvious. “If your dad lets you go out with some guy—”

“With Hyunjin,” you say, rolling your eyes. “The dumb gangly gazelle you’ve watched lumber all over the field in gym class?”

“You should still know how to protect yourself,” he says.

“Isn’t that what you’re for?”

“I am going to guess you might be alone with him once or twice,” Felix says dryly, “unless you want to keep me in the room then too.”

The suggestion makes you feel hot, flushed with embarrassment. You duck your gaze to the floor.

“You’re being silly,” you say. “I haven’t even gone out with him yet. And I’ve never even kissed someone.” Felix must know that, but admitting it feels different. You look up, feeling floaty and detached from your body, like you are watching yourself look at Felix.

He clears his throat and looks away, snapping you back.

“Fine,” he says. “We’ll practice another day. But we will practice.”

You know he means self-defence, but your brain supplies the image of kissing practice. Your face must show that thought, maybe a sliver of panic in your gaze, because the tips of his ears turn suddenly pink. He clears his throat again, shaking his head and turning away. You leave quicker than you came, rushing all the way to the top floor to hide in your bedroom where you intend to mull over your day with maximum angst.

By nighttime, everything seems petty and stupid. You are laying in bed on your phone when Felix gets back from his security check. He says nothing, climbing into bed without even looking at you. You just roll your eyes, done with the drama. He looks over just in time for you to butt your head against his arm like a disgruntled baby goat. His laugh is nothing more than a sharp exhale.

It takes some coaxing, mostly in the form of whining, but Felix puts his arm around you. Some of the shadows finally leave his face, a smile even daring to poke through.

You fiddle with the neck of his t-shirt and he does the same with the ends of your hair.

“Your father had an idea, by the way,” Felix says, “for a first date.”

You groan, planting your face on his chest. He laughs, a proper hearty sound.

“What, a picnic in the family dungeons?” The sarcasm rolls off your tongue. “Torture? Flaying the guy alive? Chopping off his—”

“Ouch.”

“I was gonna say limbs—” You swat his chest.

“Okay, okay, ouch, hey!” He is still chuckling when you settle again. He squeezes your arm.

A moment of comfortable silence passes. You resume your absent-minded fidgeting, twisting the loose material of his t-shirt around your knuckles. You do not dare meet his eye when you ask, “I know what you said earlier but… if you could… what would you do for a first date?”

His whole body goes stiff with tension, then he just exhales, a pitiful sound of resignation.

“There’s no point in thinking about it,” Felix says. “And I don’t know anyway. What do people do on dates?”

“Oh come on, you’ve been watching the dramas with me,” you say, keeping your voice light. “You could have some ideas.”

“Well, I don’t,” he says, not unkindly but firmly.

“Fine,” you say. You roll over so you are half on-top of him, a leg thrown over his. You make a show of rolling your eyes, but his returned gaze is too soft for any real animosity to linger. “For the record, I would plan an amazing first date if I didn’t have my dad – blegh – orchestrating the whole thing.”

“I believe you,” he says with a chuckle. “I’m sure you would sweep Hyunjin off his feet, hmm?”

“Hmm,” you echo. “Sure.” You raise your head so you are peering down at him. “I don’t even know what Hyunjin would like. He’s pretty but he’s… I dunno… a liar or something. Like he obviously just wants to date me because we’re both rich, but he wouldn’t admit it till I said it. Who knows what other secrets he could be keeping.”

“Hwang Hyunjin,” Felix muses. “Deep, dark secrets… maybe… hmm… his hair routine?”

You laugh before you can stop yourself. “Don’t be mean,” you say.

“Uhh, I’m never mean,” Felix says. “You’re the one who called him a liar.”

“Or something,” you argue playfully. He says ahh, like that differentiation mattered at all. “Maybe he collects teeth from all his dozens of girlfriends. Or their hair. Maybe he’s a cannibal.”

Felix sighs with theatrical exasperation. “From hair care to cannibalism, really?” he asks.

“Could be,” you say, trying and failing to stifle your giggles, especially when it makes him laugh. “He might gobble me all up on the first date.”

“That would be very rude,” Felix says. “He should wait until the third date at least.”

“Oh, is that what a gentleman like you would do?” You laugh. “Maybe provide a written invitation to the event?”

“Of course,” he jokes. “If I planned on eating you, you’d be the first to know.”

The double-entendre is clearly unintentional, smothering the giggly playfulness with a sudden heady air. You both hear the accidental suggestion, and you both stare at each other, and you both take too long to say something so it turns awkward. You become very aware of all the places you are touching, so aware that you cannot compel yourself to move thanks to sudden nerves.

Felix reliably comes to his senses first. He nudges you gently, forcing himself to laugh as he slides out of the bed.

“Umm, sorry,” he says. He shoves a hand through his hair, the blonde fluffing with his rough touch. “I just need to… uh… bathroom? I’ll be... um, back.”

You return to your side of the bed where you curl into a ball of appropriately eighteen-year-old angst. Your current state of peril has nothing to do with power-corrupt businessmen and their fragile egos, and everything to do with a boy in your bed. You shove your face in a pillow and keep it there until he returns. You do not look at him, still too riled up in the silent tension.

You are convinced you will never fall asleep but it inevitably sneaks up on you. All at once, you are blinking awake in the morning light. You drifted closer to Felix in your sleep but kept your hands to yourself. You are both laying on your fronts, faces turned to each other. He sleeps so lightly that he wakes from the faintest shift in the cadence of your breathing.

The sleepy quiet of morning has none of the awkwardness of late night silence. It feels hazy and gentle in its golden breath, held long enough for your hands to meet between you. It is the only place you are touching, fingertip to palm to knuckle and back again. Your whole head goes fuzzy with tingles when he traces the pad of your palm.

You think about the many romance stories you have surreptitiously read on your laptop, flipping between smut and homework. In all those stories, it seems that when the hapless leads find themselves sharing a bed, they manage to entangle themselves overnight, always suggestively, always accidentally.

You do not appear to have that kind of luck, that accident of circumstance where you are not responsible for your own actions. Instead you are laying in the sunlight, lit up so brightly that there could be no mistaking intention, his dark eyes catching the light as he looks at you as if he knows what you are thinking.

It has to be deliberate. Nothing will change on its own.

Is this combination of terror and desire normal? Is it simply a matter of age and inexperience? Or is it in indication of damage, something inherently broken in you? When your fingers interlock, it feels wonderful. It also activates alarms in your head, none of them equipped with an off switch.

You close your eyes. He breathes and you know him so well that you recognize him by that, by the way he inhales sharply, like he has suddenly remembered where and who he is. You know it means he is about to pull away.

Sudden, sharp, panicked adrenaline propels you out of your timid repose and into his arms. It is not so different from the millions of times he has held you, except this time you are frantic and strange, your heart beating wildly as you hide your face in his neck and cling to him like he will float away if you don’t hold tight enough.

It surprises him. He has the skill to deflect an attack but he lets you barrel into him, taking your weight with little more than an oof. For a moment, he does nothing, his arms open at his sides. You feel his shoulder twitch.

He says your name in sleep-rough voice, barely more than a whisper. A reminder, scolding you but half-heartedly. You know what he sounds like when he is mad, when emotion slips through the cracks of his careful facades. This emotion is not anger.

“Felix,” is your reply.

His next breath shudders out of him, sounding almost painful. Then the arm beneath you shifts. He touches your lower back tentatively, through your t-shirt yet hesitating like the contact might burn skin. Another breath, then his palm is flat on your back and he is rolling onto his side to face you.

Your heart is leaping around like it is being electrocuted, sparks of electricity zapping to every extremity as his other hand curls around your bicep. His eyes are screwed shut and his mouth is open, nothing but another shaking breath passing his lips.

You touch his face with trembling fingers, the very tips lightly brushing his temple. You know, on some level, this is nothing deserving of alarm despite the cacophony still ringing in your head. This is little more than an intimate embrace, fully-clothed and only barely touching each other.

You are not even kissing. With your adrenaline in the dregs, you cannot push yourself across that space. Instead, you find yourself staring into his face when his eyes open. You look at each other, forced to reckon with your proximity, looking at his mouth while he looks at yours. There is no denying this could be a kiss, that it would require very little more than a lean.

His knuckles skim your side as his hand slips from your arm to your waist. Your breath catches when he lays his hand on your hip, not moving or pushing but holding.

Still such simple touches. You wonder how other people can do more so easily when this alone is overwhelming.

Your morning alarm is not due to ring for another twenty minutes. There is nothing to disturb you. You press your fingers into his shoulder. This already has him tensing, then you scratch your nails along the nape of his neck, up into his hair, and it unravels him with a shiver, eyes closing and cheek pressing hard into his pillow.

He wrenches away all at once, making a noise like it hurts to do so. You feel dizzy as you stare at the indentation on his pillow while he swings his leg off the bed. He doubles over, elbows on his knees, hands on his face. He digs his fists into his eyes and scrubs hard. He takes a minute to catch his breath.

Eventually he stands. He pauses like he intends to speak but then he just pivots into the bathroom. The door shuts with a heavy click.

You roll onto your back and stare at the ceiling. You have no idea if he is coming right back, but you know this intimate moment has conclusively ended. Your whole body is alight, the places he touched you still radiating sensation. There is such a desperate pulsing between your legs that you can’t help but touch there, palm pressing hard to quell the incessant thrum of want.

You really do not intend to do more. You only just barely know the mechanics for touching yourself thanks to reading, but you are afforded little opportunity for discovery due to obvious reasons. You do not know how fast he will return, but you doubt you have enough time to work it all out.

You slide a hand under your clothes only to temper the worst of that wanting, applying pressure clumsily. Your eyes close when you feel how ridiculously wet you are, far more than you have ever felt before. Your mind then projects the unbidden image of Felix, wondering if he is on the other side of that bathroom door touching himself in a similar way.

It makes you gasp, turning your head, heel of your palm still pressing down hard inside your shorts. You open your eyes just in time for Felix to step back into the room.

He looks at you and completely freezes. You have never felt more like a deer caught in the headlights.

He turns and stumbles back into the bathroom, uncharacteristically clumsy. You yank your hand out of your shorts and roll onto your front, shrieking into your pillows with a combination of frustration and embarrassment.

What is my life, you ask yourself. You really have no answer.

The first date with Hyunjin is not a proper date at all. Your father extends an invitation to Hyunjin and his parents, requesting their presence at another one of his good-press charity functions.

This one is a silent auction and banquet in a luxurious hotel ballroom. Despite the fact you attend the same school, you are formally introduced at the party, the whole charade making you feel like a ridiculous character in a historical drama.

You are already more than a little grumpy because Felix is not here, your father logically determining that his own security entourage was plenty for the night. There is also the matter of Felix’s cover. Hyunjin knows him as a student and your friend, not a bodyguard. You will have to tell him eventually if this goes anywhere but—

That thought abruptly sends you on one of your overthinking spirals. If your father intends to force this relationship along, you do not know if he will fire Felix rather than explain him, if one day you will suddenly go home and your bedroom will be empty, Felix gone without a trace and you with no way to contact him.

Your throat strains with a choked back sob as you struggle to remember every little detail about Felix – the animes he claims he only watches because Jisung does, but that he definitely secretly enjoys, the horrified lemon-sour face he pulls when he accidentally drinks your coffee instead of his sugar-laden tea, the way he likes taking apart electronics and rebuilding them, his sharp mind, his goofy wit, his complete and total weirdness that he skillfully masks in public but drops at home. That house could be full of people but if Felix was no longer there, it would feel horribly empty.

“Are you okay?” Hyunjin asks. He looks resplendent in white, his dark hair a sharp contrast to his dress shirt and pants. Other people are swooning at the sight of him. You have not looked at him for longer than a few seconds at a time.

“Sorry,” you say. You take a swig of water like it’s hard liquor. You try to smile but you can feel how crooked it is. “Just… the parties are a lot.” It is only a partial lie. Your mind is somewhere else, but the parties are a lot to handle.

Hyunjin smiles. He props his chin in his hand and leans towards you. “Good company makes them better, though,” he says.

“Yeah.” You look away again, staring out the window at the cityscape and thinking about Felix. “It does, doesn’t it?”

The ordeal is a success by your father’s standards. You sit with Hyunjin all night. You dance a few clumsy dances where you scuff his expensive dress shoes with your missteps. You wander onto a balcony and he gives you his coat. Beat for beat, moment by moment, it all goes perfectly.

A moment that genuinely moves you is the only one your father does not care about. Conversation between you and Hyunjin is stilted for a long while, then someone mentions one of the paintings up for auction and he lights up. No one else acknowledges it, so you ask him about it. You do not miss the warning look his father shoots him, but when you smile at Hyunjin like he is the most charming person alive, it placates him.

Hyunjin does not observe most of this. Once you let him talk about the art, he cannot stop. He becomes someone else when immersed in this subject, more animated, more open, much more sincere. You could almost like this Hyunjin.

You like him even more when he forgets his propriety and snorts at your derision for a few pompous assholes. This party is crawling with creepy elites, only a few known to Hyunjin. You catch him up on the latest high society nonsense, pointing out the affairs and scandals, as well as telling him which few individuals are somewhat more tolerable.

You are leaning against a wall, licking the icing off a cupcake, when he suddenly smiles at you, big and huge. You choke on the sugar. You feel hot under your skin, wondering if you were accidentally suggestive with your licking, but he doesn’t comment on that at all.

“I’ve never known someone who sees people so well,” he says. “Especially somewhere like this. Everyone is a bit—”

“Off in their own world?” You share a giggle. “I’m just bored,” you say, deflecting the compliment because Hyunjin doesn’t know what he’s talking about. You do not see anything special in your observations, just your own loneliness as you sit back and watch the world go by.

You don’t tell him that. You distract him by pointing to another figure across the room, a well-dressed older man flanked by his own entourage. You can separate the immensely wealthy from the nouveau riche by appearance. The former are sleekly sophisticated at events like this, almost nonchalant in their presentation, whereas the latter overdress themselves to flaunt their wealth, as if they feel the need to prove they belong. The former know where they belong.

This man is undeniably the former.

“You see that man over there?” you whisper, pointing discreetly with your cupcake. “That’s Mister Miroh. He is my father’s biggest competitor and most hated rival. They are exactly the same person and trust me, that’s not a compliment. They hate each other more than anything.” You say this very casually then take a bite of your cupcake.

“Huh?” Hyunjin’s brow furrows, making you laugh. “If they hate each other, why was he invited?”

“Because rich people are insane,” you say. “It’s just about keeping up appearances. Yeah, they’re rivals, but that also makes them equals, so it’s bad form to neglect them in public company.” Hyunjin nods here, clearly understanding. You remember what he said about his own parents and appearances. You must admit, it is nice talking to someone who understands you from his own first-hand experience. “Also,” you say, “I’m sure it’s like that saying, keep your friends close and your enemies closer. If Miroh is here, then he’s not off somewhere disrupting my father’s business while his back is turned.”

“This is exhausting,” Hyunjin says, shaking his head.

“No kidding.” You laugh again. When Hyunjin looks at you with a dimpled smile, you smile back. It feels friendly, not like his forced flirtatious grins earlier in the evening. You like this Hyunjin more. “You want some cupcake?” you ask, holding up the very big, very rich dessert.

Hyunjin eyes it then shakes his head. He tucks some hair behind his ears.

“I’m supposed to be on a diet,” he explains, laughing at your expression because you cannot hide your horror. “It’s not a bad thing—” he starts.

“You are so skinny, a hard wind could blow you out the window,” you say, shoving the cupcake at him. “You said I was good at seeing people, well, I can see you want the cupcake. So eat it or I’ll push you off the balcony.”

He looks around to see if anyone is looking but his parents are occupied with their own conversations. He looks at you conspiratorially then acquiesces, finishing the cupcake in just a couple big bites. You applaud and he shakes his head, laughing and spitting little flakes of cupcake. It makes you laugh more. He is in good humour the whole time, even if it takes a second to swallow all that cake.

“What else do you see?” he says when you are both settled. He is relaxed from all the giggling.

“What do you mean?” you ask, trying to keep a straight face as you remember the cannibalism conversation, supposing he might not want to hear that precisely.

“When you look at me,” he says. He tips his chin as if striking a pose. “Tell me my fortune.”

“I’m not a psychic,” you say, nudging his shoulder, but nonetheless you oblige and strike your own pose, a finger on your chin as you consider him. “Hmmm.” You look him up and down, the showman smile, the little crumb of cake on his lip. “I think you’re very smart and very handsome,” you start.

“I like it so far,” he says.

Smiling, you roll your eyes. “And,” you say, “I think you know your strengths and how to use them to make people look at you. Or at least – to look at what you want them to see.” You watch his brow furrow, his hand disappearing into the length of his sleeve as his fingers curl up. “I think you have more going on than anyone knows,” you say. “And I think those parts of you might be the best, and I’m sorry that you have someone telling you it’s the part you have to hide.” His gaze is cast low at nothing in particular. It seems to scan the floor thoughtfully. You laugh to brighten the mood. “Parents,” you say. “Image. Expectation. Whatever.”

“Yeah.” He smiles at you again. It is not one of his fake, smarmy grins, but it is not his carefree smile either. It is polite, and it doesn’t reach his eyes, darkly reflecting a familiar sadness back to you. “Whatever,” he echoes. Then he stands straight and offers his hand, his face once more shielded with a showy, flirtatious demeanour. “Wanna dance?”

You do, and it pleases the parents, and the night passes. You and Hyunjin share an amiable glance before going your separate ways.

When you arrive home, Felix is sitting in the kitchen reading a book for school. He is not obliged to do the readings but he seems to enjoy it, certainly more than you. You never thought you would be so happy to see such a simple sight, Felix at the counter with a book. Fortunately, you are a smart enough to mask your enthusiasm around your father.

You don’t have to worry because your father pays you no mind. With your purpose evidently served, your father dismisses you for the night and calls Felix to his office for a debriefing.

You step inside your walk-in closet to change clothes. You frown at your dress, once more thinking about all those romance stories. If the dress had a zipper, you would need help, then you could ask Felix to unzip it, and it would be an excuse to initiate contact without you truly propositioning him. But the dress slides off easily, so you put on shorts and a t-shirt, then you are sitting in bed scrolling on your phone.

You are in a good mood as you usually are when you get back from a party, happy it is over. The energy you stored to endure the socializing can now simmer to a pleasant hum. You are also extra happy to see Felix after dreading his demise all night. Those worries seem silly now. You will always need a bodyguard and Felix is reliable.

Then you feel terrible for thinking that, because you should want Felix to go. He should not be here at all, trapped with you in this nightmare. Then you start thinking about Felix and his past nightmares. If Felix disappeared without a trace one day, it would not be to freedom. It might be to something worse again.

Even though you feel uneasy, gazing at his empty side of the bed, you fall asleep before Felix returns. You wake in the darkness to Felix leaning over you. He carefully extracts your phone to place it on the bedside table. You fell asleep awkwardly slumped, clutching it.

You are barely awake, still half-dreaming about him disappearing, about what worse nightmares might chase him from your arms. You wrap yourself around him completely, arms around his middle, head on his chest, leg curled around his, the totality of your embrace surprising him. He chuckles, a low sound that vibrates in his chest.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, settling as comfortably as he can with you twisted around him like an amorous vine.

“Nothing,” you mumble into his shirt. “Just missed you.”

“It was just one night,” he says.

“Mmph,” is your sleepy rejoinder. You reach for his hand and slap it onto your back, groaning. He gets the message and strokes your back with a gentle sweep. You start to doze again, snuggled and warm, then he clears his throat. You recognize the sound as his warm-up to vocalizing something awkward.

“I guess, uhhh, I guess things went well… with Hyunjin… tonight, yeah?” he says. He clears his throat again. “Your father gave me an itinerary for future dates and arrangements…”

“I’m gonna blow this fucking house up,” you grumble.

He chuckles. His touch is absent-minded now, a lazy caress as his attention strays.

“Did he, uh, did he… kiss you?” Felix asks. His hand stops altogether, freezing low on your spine. “Not that I—I’m just wondering. Because of what you said before. It’s, like, a big deal to girls I guess, right. So I wasn’t sure—”

“No, Felix,” you say, rolling your eyes. “I’m still very unkissed and very pathetic, so don’t worry about my honour.”

You lift your head to give him a withering stare, but his face is very close and he is already looking at you. You have not spoken about the previous morning. Every second comes rushing back when you meet his eye, when his gaze flickers down to your mouth for a brief but hypnotizing second.

“You’re not pathetic,” he says, just above a whisper. That ridiculous voice of his rumbles so low when he speaks this softly. It’s like the sound is directly connected to something inside you, tugging when he speaks, waking up every sleeping nerve.

“Sure,” you reply, at a loss for any other retort.

His mouth is a perfect bow. You look away from it, resorting to your natural expression: a glare, intensely and resolutely locked on his eyes.

“Well, I’ve never kissed anyone,” Felix says, drole. “Am I pathetic?”

“That’s different,” you say, not meaning anything by it. It’s an automatic response, meant to simply dismiss his very good point.

But you feel him tense. The silence feels heavy. You belatedly realize how he might have interpreted that. That’s different because you’re not a person like the rest of us.

You are trying to think of an appropriate apology when he gently moves you, shaking himself free of your embrace.

“You should sleep over there tonight,” he says. “Your father is home and I’m— I’m. I should be over here. Anyway.”

He turns over, putting his back to you. Even though it feels like your whole head is on fire, you muster the resolve to slide closer. Then you lean over and kiss his cheek.

You flop onto your back and stare at the ceiling.

“Sorry,” you say.

You look at him but he hasn’t moved. Your lips are tingling from that simple, stupid touch and you feel so ridiculous that you want to shriek. You suffice to close your eyes, shaking your head like that will erase the last sixty seconds of your life. You look at the ceiling again, face twisted up with pain.

That falls away when Felix flips over. He was so still and so quiet that it genuinely startles you. You swear your heart stops when he leans over you with a determined expression, one you usually only see when he is working out hard. Your stopped breath is a cluster in your throat, your voice tangled in it. Your mouth is open and eyes wide when he cups the back of your neck and lifts your head.

Your heart starts all over again, pumping so fast that you are scared it will leap right out of your chest.

He leans down. He kisses your forehead for one second, two, three. You count it. Your fingers curl up. Your eyes feel huge. You look at him when he pulls away, his expression morose. He does not meet your gaze.

“I’m sorry too,” he says.

He lays your head on your pillow and rolls away, his back to you once more.

You fall asleep on opposite sides of the huge bed, so close and so far. Your sleep is fitful and uneasy and you keep waking to check if he is still there.

It is very early when you fully wake, the pale blue of morning only just seeping into the gloaming. It is a quiet hour but despite its gentle ambiance, you are woken with a fright. You settle when you realize it is just Felix grabbing you. He crossed the bed to gather you into his arms, mumbling an apology but nonetheless wrapping himself around you.

You realize he had a nightmare. He has not had one in a while. Your back is to him so you reach around to pat him consolingly.

You shiver when he exhales, his warm breath brushing the back of your neck, but you do not linger on the sensation. The previous morning and all its stirrings are far from mind now. He is upset so you comfort him, simple as that, letting him wrap his arms around your middle and rest his head against yours. Your thighs sit neatly against his, bodies slotted together neatly, like it is the most natural place to be.

“Can you, uhh, just…” He clears his throat. “Can you talk… to me… please.”

Felix does not like to talk about his nightmares but he does like a distraction. You are the same. There are times you wake in a fit and he speaks in a soft voice to lull you back to rest. Your voice is not as unique as his, lacking the deep dulcet colour, but he seems to like listening anyway.

You tell him about the party, all the frivolous details and gossip. Two women wore the same dress, what a scandal, someone dropped a pearl earring, what a loss. This couple broke up, that couple is having an affair. Miroh was there and predictably austere the entire night—

Felix was beginning to relax but he tightens his grip when you mention Miroh.

Your voice trails off.

Your father has many enemies but Miroh is his only true rival. You are not directly involved in any business but you pay attention to your father and his work. You know about the political bribery and the underhanded dealings and the illegal trading. You know Miroh is the same except he is also a military man, that he has dark connections and turns a profit on some very backward schemes. Of course, your father depicts his rival as a worse villain than himself, so it is hard to say precisely what Miroh does, but you know the look of a bad man regardless.

You have suspected for some time that Miroh played a part in Felix’s dark past. You do not know what or how or why, as you have never pushed Felix to tell you, but you know Felix well. Your father has many enemies and Felix is always alert, but Miroh receives extra vigilance. Every trace of your companion will disappear before your eyes, replaced with an emotionless soldier.

You feel all that tension in his body now. He is holding his breath.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you ask in a small voice. It is a vague admittance to your suppositions.

A little tension leaves his body with a humourless laugh, the breath bursting on your neck.

“No,” he says. “Not… not right now.”

“Okay,” you reply. There is a moment of silence. Your heart is beating hard, his pounding as fast, his chest pressed against your back. You shift in his lap. “What do you want then?”

That laugh again, a little more pained. Then he sighs.

“I don’t know,” he says in a rough voice. “Just… distract me.”

Just like that, the energy shifts, at least inside of you. You know very well what would distract him, having witnessed the other morning just how to rattle your bodyguard. The recollection alone has you flushed with heat, embarrassed and nervous and exhilarated all at the same time.

It has always been hard for you to do the simple, normal thing. You cannot smile for a long time, you cannot make pleasant small talk, you cannot kiss the boy you like. But the difficult feats, the outlandish actions, those you have always done with ease. You argue with your terrifying father, you break out of cages, you throw yourself into dangerous situations with little sense of self-preservation.

You cannot turn and sweet-talk him. You cannot lean over and kiss him. You cannot smile and implore him.

You can stare ahead through the pale light, warm with memory and fantasy alike, and slide your hand down between your legs. With a little swivel of your hips, you press against his lap. The effect is remarkably instantaneous, the adrenaline of his fears seemingly diverting course at the merest suggestion.

He makes a choked noise, then his hand is overtop yours. You always forget how strong he is, all that hidden power and dexterity. He clutches your hand with ungiving control, down between your legs, over your shorts, preventing you from going further.

“That’s not what I meant,” he says, his stern voice as affecting as a touch. It makes you whimper.

His hips shift. His baggy shorts do little for modesty and you can feel him twitch with interest, stiffening against your backside. You try to move your hand but he pins your wrist and says your name warningly.

“I won’t touch you,” you whisper. “You don’t have to touch me.”

“Other people are home—”

“Then stop talking and be quiet,” you say. It is always easier to be brazen when you are arguing or asserting a point, so when he releases your hand, you slide it into your shorts without a second thought. It is only once you’re there that you realize you don’t really know what you’re doing. Your belligerence only takes you so far.

Then Felix breathes a surrendering sigh. He squeezes your hips with trembling hands and rolls away, onto his back. You spill onto your back too and look at him. You feel vulnerable and uncertain until he closes his eyes and touches himself through his shorts. The sight makes it easy to stir a reaction under your clumsy fingers, watching his hand cup and stroke the shape of himself through his shorts. You slip the other hand down there too, spreading yourself to your own exploratory touch. You press and rub and circle, your heartbeat thundering erratically when he opens his eyes and looks at you.

Your lips part but you withhold all noise, breathing hard into the dark as his hand dips under his waistband. His eyes are cast low to where your own hands move under your clothes, your fingers moving more frantically than his lazy stroking.

When you finally find a place and pattern that feels right, your breathing gets heavier, a soft whine slipping into your exhale. His reflexes are quick as ever. His arm slips under your head and curls around your neck, hand covering your mouth to catch the surprised yelp that passes your lips.

“Shh,” he says.

And for some reason that takes you over the building crest. Your body curls, tight as coil even while a white heat unravels inside you. You gasp into his palm, eyes closing, swallowing down your own sounds.

You are still twitching with aftershocks when you grab his hand with your very wet fingers. You are not thinking about that, you are still hazy and powered by instinct, prying his hand off your face.

But he realizes it. He makes another choked-up sound and looks at the closed door, his breathing coming out hard through his nose. He pulls his arm back, closes his eyes. His hand, wet with you, just hovers for a second.

You watch him. His mouth is open and his eyes are closed and his hair is falling in a messy sweep around his handsome face. You are slow in your approach, giving him time to open his eyes, to see your own hand near his face.

He exhales sharply and his eyes close tight. He grabs your hand and pulls it to his mouth, your own sex pulsing with renewed interest when he licks across your fingers then lets two curl into his mouth, just resting on his tongue. He finishes a second later, shoulders hunching and face screwed up, freckles dancing like a dark constellation.

You bring your shaking hand to your own lips, tentatively kissing the fingers he had in his mouth. He blinks his eyes open slowly, gazing at the ceiling for a second then looking at you. When he sees you, your lips pursed against your fingertips, his mouth opens and closes with some unspoken thought, desperate to vocalize. In the end he swallows it down and closes his eyes. He nods sharply.

“Okay,” he says, his voice ragged. “Thank you. Sleep. You should… You should. Um. I’ll just—”

He shakes his head and rolls out of bed, then darts into the bathroom. The shower starts. You look at your clock and see you have more than an hour to your alarm.

You lay your head on your pillow but you do not fall back asleep.

#skz smut #stray kids smut #lee felix smut #lee felix x reader #felix x reader #skz x reader

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wangxianficfinder · 21 days ago

Note

Hi! I was trying to find a modern cultivation fic where wwx after a disastrous night hunt, getting a core transfer, is practically kicked out of the Jiang sect, then rescued by wen wing and her family.

The night hunt was against a horde of enemies that wwx eventually fought off but the night hunt resulted in jiang fangmeng death. Wwx was still left with a small part of his core so he could regrow it. He entered a confidential study about growing golden core after suggestion by wen qing as a solution to his housing problem. The study is taking place in gusu near the lan sect. In order to support himself, wwx tried to find a job as a talisman teacher or similar position, and was rejected after not having the right documents.

I could go on since I remember a lot of the story. By the end of the story wwx is essentially put on trial and wins the trial. This fic integrates social media with it so they're online platforms about cultivation and record boards/ leaderboards. This fic actually has two companion stories that are just expanded essentially chat reactions to the live/video that are talked about and included in this fic.

I know for a fact I had this bookmarked but I think it might have been deleted. So I was wondering if anyone had that way back machine link if one exists or if the fic still exists the ao3 link. I know for a fact there is a small blurb in front of the title talking about fighting for a cause of some sort but I don't remember what cause or what the words were

Thank you so much in advance for your help <3

Hello! Do you mean this one?

FOUND! 🧡🔒Truth Will Out (when caught on video) - End_OTW_Racism! by KizuKatana (E, 178k, WangXian, WN & WWX & WQ, graphic depictions of violence, modern cultivation, canon divergence, YZY abuses WWX, caught on camera, partial core removal, WWX kicked out of Jiang sect, livestreamer WWX, meet ugly, dual cultivation, smut, no war)

- Mod C

#mod c #answers #wangxian fic finder

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reigningqueenofwords · 7 months ago

Text

Home

Pairing: McCoy x Reader Word count: 3,778 Warning: Tiny bit of angst

Read on AO3

You sagged as you looked at the clock. Another night without so much as seeing your husband. It had been 24 hours since he’d been home, and you missed him. The amount of times you had to pack up leftovers for him was nearing a full week at this point. Other friends were packing up snacks for playdates. You were packing up food your husband would eventually just take to work, and hopefully get time to eat. At this rate, you didn’t think you’d ever have the same type of life as your friends. You really did want a family one day, or at least a dog. But co parenting anything living right now would be a disaster. You’d be doing it solo, and you worked, too!

As you went to get ready for bed, you checked your phone for the hundredth time and sighed. You had been with Leonard for a few years now, but you supposed you didn’t know what you were truly signing up for. Seeing nothing, you put your phone on silent and put it down. You had already showered so you got into bed for the night and found yourself wiping your cheeks. While you loved that he wanted to help people, you would have also liked to not feel single again.

You had gotten together his last year of residency and he was constantly showering you with attention. While you didn’t need it constantly, you now felt you were not worth a text or call. Hell, he could shoot you a damn emoji at this point and it would mean the world. The last time you had a full conversation was at least a few weeks ago. Everything else had been interrupted by a page or call. Could you do this much longer? You’d only been married just over a year and you felt like you already lost him. You hugged his pillow tightly and tried to get some rest.

Come morning, you needed a lot of coffee. You were tired, having not slept well. You were off that day, and didn’t know how to spend your time. You checked the fridge to get your creamer and your heart hurt as you saw some missing leftovers. Was Leonard here? “Leo?” You called out. When you were met with silence, you closed the door harder. He had come home and not even bothered waking you or leaving a note? You felt sick. Putting the creamer on the counter, you pulled out your phone to send him a text.

Thanks for at least taking the food I cooked you, I guess.

Part of you, a very tiny part, wondered if there was someone at work he liked so much he just had to get back. You had worried about that in the beginning since you weren’t in the same field. Your heart skipped when your phone lit up but it was only Uhura. Sniffing, you opened her text, contemplating asking to stay with her for a couple days. You tapped the table a little and decided to do that.

Hi, are you busy tonight? And tomorrow? And tomorrow night? Can I visit? You hoped you didn’t sound completely desperate but you figured she’d understand. You continued on making your coffee as you waited for her to reply.

Of course. Everything okay?

Not great. Haven’t seen my husband in a day and a half. You typed out quickly. Thank you. You sent another, looking forward to not being alone. Want me to grab some lunch on my way over?

Sure and I’ll pull out some drinks <3 Spock might pop in on his lunch break but he won’t bother us. She promised. I’ll see you in a bit.

Running a hand through your hair, you transferred your coffee from a mug to a travel mug. Once you did that you went to get ready and pack. It didn’t take you long, and just twenty minutes later, you were pulling out of your driveway. Glancing in your rearview mirror, you teared up as you watched the house you bought with Leonard get smaller. It had been such an amazing day when you got it. You had pictured a couple of little feet running around at that time, but that image was fading. Your eyes shot to your wedding ring for a split second, then back at the road.

Leonard finally came home at midnight that night, barely making it to the couch before he flopped on it and fell asleep. He had the next couple of days off and planned to rest, which is how he slept a straight ten hours. Finally getting up, he ran his hand down his face and scrunched his nose. “I need to shave.” He muttered. He shuffled to the bathroom to wake himself up, figuring you were still asleep as he didn’t smell coffee. He’d crawl into bed to hold you for a bit after.

Once he was clean and felt brand new he smiled and went to the bedroom. His smile fell when he found a perfectly made bed. He checked the time and had no idea if you told him you had plans. Walking out of your shared room, he went to the office to check the calendar. Nothing. He was starting to worry. He rushed to find his phone, hoping everything was alright. He called you as soon as he had it.

He bit his lip as he waited for you to answer, pacing a bit. His heart was hammering in his chest before he heard you pick up. “Baby?” He breathed. “You okay?”

“Leonard.” You said simply. “I’m fine. I’m with Uhura.”

“Oh.” He sighed in relief. “Glad you’re safe.” He sat down on the couch. “What time will you be home? I’ll order take ou—“ His phone beeped at him, making him pinch the bridge of his nose. “Dammit.” He mumbled.

You sighed. “Goodbye, Leonard.” Your voice cracked.

“Wait. When will you be home? I’ll see what I can do.” He said quickly.

“A couple days, probably.” You sniffed. “You probably won’t be home either way.”

“Babe...I’m sorry.” He said gently. “It’s been a killer week. I know. Maybe for my next day off we go out?”

“It’s been like this for weeks! You don’t ever have a damn day off! I haven’t seen you in three damn days !” You told him. “And you only come home for food. Which is fine but I would’ve been thrilled to be woken up by you.” You sniffled. “I don’t know anymore…” You said honestly as his phone beeped again. “I feel like the other woman. Go. Just… go.” You sighed.

Leonard opened his mouth but you hung up. He sighed heavily and rubbed his face. He’d make it up to you. He had to. You were his wife, and he loved you so much. He’d have flowers sent over once you were home. It was a start, at least. Getting up, he groaned as he went to get dressed.

You stared at the wall a day later, not believing you were actually thinking of separating from your husband. Nothing felt right. You stayed, and you broke your own heart. You leave, and you break both your hearts. But you couldn’t see yourself doing this everyday. Licking your lips, you got up off the guest bed that you were using at Uhura’s and grabbed your bag. You packed up your stuff slowly, mind racing. You’d be going home to pack up as much of your life as you could, and wait until he got home to tell him you were leaving him.

You hugged Uhura tightly and thanked her for everything before leaving. She felt for you, and told her that you were always welcome there. The drive back to your house was short and you knew your mind was elsewhere. Your heart hurt, and it felt like someone was sitting on your chest.

You were almost done packing your 4th box the following day when you heard the front door open. The living room had two suitcases and a couple boxes you’d managed the day before. Today you were more numb, moving on autopilot. You sighed as you stood and put your hands on your hips as you waited. This was not going to be fun.

Finally, he walked through your bedroom door. “Babe, what’s with the boxes and suitcases?” He looked at you, brow furrowed.

You took a deep breath. “I’m leaving.” You said simply. “I’m going to stay with my sister while I look for a place.” You wiped a tear from your cheek. “I’m sorry.”

He blinked, not believing he heard you right. “What? Leaving? For how long?” He asked, as if he thought you’d be back. “A break? I didn’t know you needed one.” He was rambling.

Licking your lips, you felt the tears really start. “For good.” It hurts like hell to say. “I’m not the love of your life, the hospital is. I’m basically a live in maid and cook at this point. And I’m not about to be a single mom.” You told him, sniffling.

He stared at you. “No. I’ll fix this.” He quickly went up to you and cupped your face but you stepped back. “Please don’t leave me.” He pleaded.

“You’re the one who left first.” You held your chin high, how? You weren’t sure. “I’m sorry, Leonard. The moving truck will be here tomorrow.” Your voice was shaky.

He looked down. “You’re sure?” He asked, voice broken. “There’s no hope for us?” He looked back at you.

You shook your head. “No. I thought things would get better, but we can’t even talk on the phone anymore without interruptions. I love that you help people, I do. I just never realized there wouldn’t be any room for me.” You hiccuped slightly from trying to hold back tears. “Which means there’s no way this can work.” There would be no little pink plus signs, no adopting a pet, no celebrating more anniversaries. Your future hopes were gone.

He deflated further. “I’m so sorry.” He said quietly. “I didn’t realize how bad it got.”

“You weren’t here enough to realize.” You told him. “We’ll worry about the paper work next week or something.” You knew that would be hell. “I do love you, Leonard.” You said softly.

“I love you so much. Please rethink this. Take as long as you need but...come back.” He begged. It killed you to hear him like this, but you knew that if you stayed...nothing would change. You’d go days without seeing him, weeks without a proper conversation, you’d sleep every night alone, you’d wake up alone, and you just couldn’t mentally handle that. And neither could your heart.

You simply nodded and looked back at your box. “I’m almost finished.” You said, hoping to end the conversation.

He bit his lip. “I’ll always be here.” He said sadly before you heard him walk out of the room.

You focused on your box, willing yourself not to cry again. When you heard the front door open and close, you took a break to hug your knees to your chest.

Kirk opened the door and his eyebrows shot up. “You look like shit.” He muttered. “What the hell happened?” He asked as he stepped aside to let Leonard in.

He sighed heavily. “We’re separating. Well, she’s divorcing me…” He sat on his couch, rubbing over his face. “She’s packing now and I couldn’t just stand there and watch.” He gripped his hair in his hands. “It’s over, Jim.”

Kirk sagged slightly as he sat near his friend. “Shit, like over over?” When he nodded, he patted his back. “What brought it on?” He saw you guys as so in love. He used to tease him over how ‘grossly in love’ you two were.

“My work schedule.” Leonard looked down. “These past couple weeks have been rough and I guess that was the final straw.” He shook his head. “She pointed out that the last real conversation we had that wasn’t interrupted was weeks ago. The last time she saw me before today was over three days ago. Hell, I called her yesterday and just as I was asking about getting takeout...my phone beeped. I was worried. I got up from sleeping on the couch and went to clean up. Went into my room to a perfectly made bed, but I couldn’t remember her having plans. I called her and when I asked when she was coming home, she said a couple days. I didn’t understand. Now I do.”

Kirk hadn’t seen his friend cry often, and watching him pretty much fall apart in front of him was hard. “I’m sorry, Bones.” He said gently. He wouldn’t voice it, but he could see where you were coming from. “Any chance she just wants a break?” He was hoping for that.

He swallowed. “No.” He sighed, flopping back on the couch. “She said there’s no room for her, that the hospital is the love of my life, and that there’s no way it can work. I’m sure she mentioned something about papers next week. I’m guessing she’s serving me with divorce papers. For a divorce I don’t goddamn want.”

“Well, you can stay as long as you need. I’ll get you some water.” He stood. “I know you love your job, but can you step down or something?” He shrugged. “I don’t know how that works.” He said before getting him a glass. “Do you have a contract or something?” He handed it to him. “Because I mean, I think in your shoes I’d rather be with her and jobless than at a job miserable because my wife left me.” He wanted you guys both happy, and it’s clear that neither of you were. “I always saw you two having kids and a couple dogs or something.” Was that another reason you were leaving? You wanted a family?

Leonard drank from it and nodded. “Yeah, I thought we would. She mentioned she was basically a live in maid and cook and she wasn’t going to add single mom to that list.” He stared at the glass. “I have a contract but maybe I could talk to someone.” He sipped the water. “When I called her and she hung up I thought starting to make it up to her would be by sending flowers. That’s not gonna do anything.” He muttered.

“No.” Kirk agreed. “She needs to really see a change.” He knew you meant business if you were already halfway out the house. “And it needs to be a big one, and fast. I don’t know how fast divorces go, but if papers are going to be worked on next week…”

Leonard nodded. “The one day I have off.” He mumbled and pulled out his phone. “I’ll schedule a meeting with the boss people.” He sighed. “Not even sure what I’ll say but…” You were worth it. He let out a breath. “She loves that I help people, and that’s what I do. How can I be with the woman I love while doing what I love? It seems there’s no middle ground.”

The blonde nodded. “Yeah.” He rubbed his jaw as he thought. “I mean you can’t just cut your hours right?”

“No. I get called in.” He told him.

“Hmm. I don’t know. I don’t know which you’re willing to give up.” He said honestly. Kirk had known him for years. He was one of the most driven people he had ever met.

There was a long silence. “I’m gonna quit my job. I’ll sell the damn house, and tell her we can move wherever she wants and I’ll find a job at a place I won’t be on call.” Even if it took him time to prove it, you were worth it.

Kirk looked surprised. “Okay. As long as you’re happy. Not worth it if you hate your job and take it out on her.” He said simply. “Take the afternoon to think about the entire situation?”

He nodded. “Yeah, alright.” He agreed, leaning back. “Thanks, Jim.”

Sitting in your sister’s guest room, boxes surrounded you. This wasn’t your home, but even your home really wasn’t your home anymore, either. You were grateful she had room, but you knew you’d have to find your own place soon. You felt like you could just sleep forever at the moment. You hadn’t taken your ring off yet and you found yourself playing with it as you laid back. You knew it was unhealthy but you pulled out your phone to look at old pictures of you and Leonard. Back when he spent time with you. The first one that came up was from six months before. He had been trying to make you a nice dinner, but you kept distracting him because of how hot he looked in the apron. The picture was him looking at you sideways, cocking an eyebrow at you, trying not to smile. Your heart hurt at the memory. Snuffing, you swiped to the next one, unaware that he was doing the same on Kirk’s couch.

It had been a few days and you were barely eating cereal, dreading calling your lawyer for the papers. You’d taken some personal time off work, which you knew couldn’t last forever. Your sister and her husband were off at work, leaving you in the completely silent house until right before dinner. You were sitting on the couch, staring at the fireplace when there was a knock on the door. You sighed, figuring it was a delivery or something. You went to open it, faking a smile.

“Hi.” Leonard swallowed, holding out a bouquet of your favorite flowers.

“Leonard.” You said softly, taking them automatically. “Thank you...but what are you doing here?” You asked, letting him in, chewing on your lip. “I’m surprised you aren’t at work.”

He came out with it quickly. “I quit yesterday.” He said softly.

You stared at him. “You...quit?” You asked, not sure you heard him right. “The job you love more than anything? The one you basically live at?”

“I didn’t love it more than you.” He rubbed his jaw. “So I quit. It wasn’t worth it if I lost you to it.” His voice was soft. He really wanted to pull you close, but didn’t want to risk you pulling away. “And, I want to sell the house.”

You looked more surprised. “Why?” Your brain was still trying to catch up. “You love that house.”

“I do. But only with you in it.” He said simply. “I’m willing to move wherever you want. I have a list of places that I can practice at. As a regular doctor with regular hours.” He explained. “So I can be home, I can spend time with you, and I can work on proving to you that you mean more to me than anything.”

You stared at him, not knowing what to say. This was not close to what you expected to happen today.

He shuffled a bit. “Do...you need time to think about it?” He was really hoping things would go well. He honestly hoped you’d come home.

“I’m just trying to process this.” You went to put the flowers in some water, thinking it over. The fact that he quit his job spoke loudly to you. It was just something that was so shocking that it was like your brain was trying to catch up to that fact. Once you stepped back in front of him, you eyed him. “Will you hate me down the line for making you quit the job you love?” You asked softly.

“No. I’d only hate myself if I completely lost you.” He said honestly. “I could never hate you.” He offered his hand to you. “If I had to work some fast food job to prove that to you, I would.”

You bit your lip before taking his hand. “And you won’t have these hours anymore?” You asked. “No more not seeing you for days?”

“No more. I’ll have lunch breaks and evenings.” He tugged you gently, wanting to hug you. “I’ll get to sleep next to you and take you on dates.”

“I really hope these aren’t empty promises.” You looked up at him. “Please don’t say all this for things to go back to how they were.”

“I’ll prove to you everyday that I’m sorry and that I’ll do better.” He rubbed your knuckles with his thumb. “Come home. Please.” He pleaded. “We’ll find a new place for us, together.” This entire this was a huge stab to the heart for him, and a wake up call. “Even if that’s some backwoods town with 100 people. If that’s what you want, I’m there.”

You teared up again and found yourself burying your face in his chest. You gripped the back of his shirt, scared he’d disappear. He hugged you tightly, kissing your head as he kept mumbling ‘I’m sorry’s’.” He’d spend the rest of his life making this up to you. “I’ll come home.” You finally choked out. “I, uh, have a lot of boxes upstairs.”

“We’ll figure it out.” He rubbed your back. “Have you had lunch?” He asked. “Or can I take you out so we can talk about where we’d like to go?”

You nodded. “Pasta place?” It was your go to when you had hard days. It’d been that way since college. “And maybe tomorrow, when we’re home, we can cook dinner together?”

He nodded. “Sounds perfect to me, darlin’.” He said gently. “I love you so much.” He’d told Kirk the day he met you that he’d marry you one day. It was love at first sight.

“I love you.” You said softly.

Leonard carried another box into your new farmhouse, smiling as he saw you unpacking. He set it down before going to wrap his arms around you from behind. “Hi.” He said cutely. “You look so peaceful right now.”

“I am.” You set down what you were holding and turned in his arms. “This place is so beautiful.” You’d found it on accident while browsing online for a birthday present for your sister.

“More beautiful with you here.” He grinned and pecked your lips. “Like this place was made for you.”

“For us.” You smiled brightly at him, happy you had your husband back. You ran your hand through his hair, enjoying how he closed his eyes for a moment. “How about we finish getting the boxes in and cuddle for a bit?”

“Sounds perfect.” He squeezed yo

#bones x reader #mccoy x reader #leonard mccoy x reader

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eksvaized · 9 months ago

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Part Six König / Ghost / Reader [ Previous 〡 Next ] ︱AO3 ︱Wattpad ︱ taglist (if you want to be added - let me know!): @strawberrygato, @ghostslittlegf, @eskalotte, @abcdbleh, @yawning-grave81, @liamwholover, @valira-demaur, @idek101-01, @mizu-bozu

After König has done his utmost to soothe your frenzied state, he gently ushers you into the bedroom. With a gentle push, he makes you lie down before wrapping you in a mountain of blankets. Then he disappears into the bathroom because he still needs to take a shower and wash all the dirt and grime off his body.

During this interlude of solitude, you attempt to corral your frenetic thoughts, which are galloping through your mind at a frantic pace. The relentless racing of your thoughts intensifies the throbbing in your head. Your eyes are puffy and bloodshot. Strands of your hair cling to your damp cheeks. But, at least your sobbing has ceased, and your tears have evaporated, leaving behind only their salty residue.

The silence that cloaks the room, like a comforting shroud, begins to massage your nerves, unknotting the taut tension in your shoulders. It’s as if an oppressive weight is slowly being lifted, and the waves of stress and anxiety are receding.

Everything that happened—days filled with worry, nights marred by a lack of sleep, the conversation with König—now seems just like a distant, bad dream. A nightmare that you’ve just woken up from.

Surprisingly, when you accused König of cheating, the argument did not escalate into a full-blown fight. Despite the tension and your skepticism, he was able to persuade you that there’s nothing going on between him and Sarah. He confessed that there might have been times where their interactions could have been misconstrued as flirtatious, but he assured you that his relationship with her remained strictly professional. König made it clear—she isn’t his type, and he has absolutely no intention of jeopardizing the relationship that he has built with you over the past two years just because some woman happened to bat her lashes at him.

When you asked why he keeps entertaining her presence, why he doesn’t outright reject her advances, his response was that he simply couldn’t afford to ignore her. He revealed that the higher-ups had grown suspicious of Sarah, likely due to her recent transfer. Their tendency to scrutinize everyone and everything, as if looking through a magnifying glass, had led them to task König with the responsibility of monitoring her activities. This was an assignment he had initially desired to refuse. However, his resistance was eventually chipped away by the promise of additional compensation for his efforts.

“And I need that money—” His statement caused your eyebrows to knit together in confusion. After all, his current income was more than sufficient. “I’m saving it for something.”

His cryptic response only ignited your confusion, like a spark in dry tinder. When you probed, he only offered a shake of his head. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He planted a kiss on your forehead, and said, “Can’t tell yet.”

You trust König, and you want to believe him and everything he’s told you. However, after your mind refuses to quiet down, you get out of bed. As your bare feet touch the cool floor, a shiver slithers down your spine. You kneel down in front of König’s duffel bag, which he has thrown down by the wardrobe. After rummaging through the pockets, you pull out his phone.

Deep down, you know there is something you need to do, something crucial, before you can forget about all of this, before you can lay your doubts to rest.

The soft hum of the shower from the bathroom abruptly ceases. Your eyes dart to the closed door as you freeze in place. You strain your ears, listening for the telltale sound of footsteps, but there is none. You know you can’t let König find you snooping through his phone again. So, with your heart pounding in your chest, when he doesn’t come into the room, your attention returns to the phone in your hands. You enter his passcode and unlock it.

Your mind is consumed, fully focused on one task: checking for any new text messages from Sarah. Every ounce of your being needs to know, to confirm, if he and Sarah had been in any form of contact while he was away. Your eyes hungrily skim through all the conversations, the old ones, and the recent ones. But after what seems like an eternity, you come to a heart-wrenching realization. The entire conversation thread between him and Sarah, every single exchange, has vanished. He has scrubbed his phone clean, like a crime scene, meticulously wiped of any incriminating evidence.

Why would he go to such lengths to delete everything if there was truly nothing going on between them? After all, you’ve already read all their messages, so there’s no point in hiding them now... unless he didn’t tell you the whole truth.

The whirlwind of thoughts in your mind is unrelenting, each one darker and more terrifying than the last. Amidst this chaos, an idea emerges. It’s a foolish one, so much so that you can almost hear the voice in your head chastising you for even giving it a moment’s consideration. It’s an idea you shouldn’t even entertain, let alone consider acting on. Yet, time is a luxury you simply don’t have. You take a moment to draw in a deep breath, attempting to steady the storm within you. With a newfound, albeit shaky, resolve, you press the call button.

Slowly, you walk to the window; the phone clutched tightly in your hand. As you press it to your ear, the nerve-wracking beeping sound echoes in your head. Each beep seems to amplify your unease, stirring up a churning sensation in your stomach. Deep down, buried under layers of rational thought and logical reasoning, you know it’s wrong to call Sarah. But you want to hear her voice; you need to speak with her, even if you are not sure what you are going to say.

The beeping comes to an abrupt halt, and your heart seems to stop beating for a moment when you hear the high-pitched ‘hey’ from the other end of the line.

You hold your breath, remaining silent, hoping that she wouldn’t catch on that it isn’t König who is calling her.

“Miss me already, hm?”

The urge to say something, to tell her to stay away from König, is overpowering, but the words are stubbornly stuck in your throat. Your body freezes, as if ensnared and bound by unseen chains that constrict tighter with each syllable she utters. Your fingers curl around the curtains, grasping them tightly as if their thin fabric could somehow prevent you from collapsing. Your legs feel wobbly, like they might give way underneath you at any moment.

“You left without saying goodbye, and now I can’t stop thinking about you… and your promise to have a cup of coffee with me after you return. Although I was thinking… Maybe we should go for something stronger? A beer for you, and some nice fruity cocktail for me. Of course, I’ll expect you to be the gentleman I know you are and pay—”

As if in slow motion, the phone slips away from your trembling hand. It crashes onto the ground with a sound that reverberates throughout the room. Skidding across the floor, it disappears from sight, hiding somewhere under the dark abyss of the bed. Despite its disappearance, Sarah’s piercing voice continues to echo, as she giggles, calling out to König in an annoyingly sweet tone.

This is all too much for you: you shouldn’t have called her, you shouldn’t have dared to touch König’s phone. This was all a mistake—trusting König was a mistake.

A crushing pressure, akin to an iron band tightening around your chest, begins to build, making breathing feel like a grueling battle. Your breaths become rapid, erratic and shallow, and each gulp of air is harder to catch than the last. Your vision blurs at the edges, the world around you spinning out of control. Panic sets in and you realise you need to escape from the house; an overwhelming urge to leave, to run and hide from the world until it stops spinning, takes over. Until the feeling that you are going to run out of breath and faint subsides.

Managing to gather some strength, you hurriedly pull a sweater over your head and stuff your feet into your sneakers. With a newfound urgency, you bolt out of the bedroom, forcing your legs to move even faster when the sound of the bathroom door creaking open reaches your ears. But before König has a chance to see you, before he has an opportunity to catch and stop you, you’ve already fled the house and the front door slams shut behind you.

The icy breeze greets you outside, whipping against your exposed skin and leaving a chilly, tingling sensation on your face. You stand there for a moment, allowing the cold to seep into your bones and the uncertainty to creep into your mind. But then your feet carry you across the empty street. After a few minutes of frantic doorbell ringing, or rather, smashing the button with your index finger until your nail chips off, the door finally creaks open. Simon’s face peers through the crack, his eyebrows knitted together in surprise. It’s clear that he didn’t expect to see you tonight, especially because you had declined his earlier offer to come over.

“Can I come in?” You ask with a trembling voice. But before he can answer, you push past him and step inside. You’ve decided that you aren’t ready to take no for an answer—not tonight. Your options are limited, to say the least. Your family lives across the country, and you don’t have any friends you can turn to. Simon is the only one you can rely on.

A few days ago, in the serene hours of a late-night conversation, he made a promise to you. He told you that you could count on him. That no matter what happens, if you ever need anything, he’s there for you.

After you step inside, Simon closes the door, his tall figure casting a long shadow on the worn-out carpet. He turns around to face you, his eyes filled with quiet patience as he waits for you to explain why you’ve shown up at his doorstep like this, why your eyes are red and puffy from what seems like hours of crying, and why you look like you want to kill someone.

“I think he is lying to me,” you say. Simon’s face contorts into a puzzled expression. He’s unsure about what you’re referring to. “My boyfriend. I confronted him earlier. He said he wasn’t cheating, but I didn’t believe him. I don’t know why—I ended up calling her...” You trail off, pausing to exhale. “I don’t know why I did that. But when she picked up—she didn’t say much—but just the way she spoke, the flirty tone in her voice... makes me think he didn’t tell me the whole truth.”

Simon lets you vent for the rest of the night and listens to you without interjecting. At first, you struggle with articulating your whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, but the encouragement in Simon’s eyes, the light hand squeezes, and his small, understanding nods embolden you. He keeps you talking, letting you rant until your words run out and there’s nothing left to say.

“You can stay here tonight,” Simon offers. “...if you want.”

You nod. The idea of spending the night on his couch doesn’t necessarily sound like the epitome of comfort, but the thought of going home tonight fills you with a sense of dread. You don’t want to see König; you can’t even bear the thought of looking at him. You need a brief respite from his presence, some time to process everything and decide on what you want to do next.

As your eyes graze over the clock, you can feel the weight of exhaustion settling in, realising how late it is.

“You don’t need to babysit me for the rest of the night. You should go to bed,” you say, but Simon shakes his head.

“I don’t mind staying up, and I doubt you want to be alone.”

As you lean into him, you find a comfortable spot where your head rests on the curve of his shoulder. Your hands fall into your lap and you tug at the hem of your sweater, fiddling with the loose thread. His arm drapes over your frame. The rhythmic motion of his fingers on your shoulder, tracing soothing, tight circles, releases the anxiety in your body, leaving you feeling completely relaxed.

A yawn escapes your lips, and you rub your eyes in an attempt to ward off your drowsiness. Simon says something, but his words are lost to you since you’re not paying attention. You raise your chin to look at him, a question “What?” leaving your lips.

“Are you tired?” He repeats and his eyes lock with yours. “You can sleep in my bed if you’d like. I’ll take the couch.”

You suddenly become aware of just how close he is—the space between your faces is virtually nonexistent. You can feel his warm breath on your skin as he exhales, his arm slowly slipping down from your shoulder, his fingertips lightly tracing your curves before he rests his hand on your hip.

Your eyes, drawn as if by a magnetic force, gravitate towards his lips. An insistent voice in the back of your mind scream at you to draw away, to retreat from the uncharted territory you are about to cross. However, you choose to defy it, silencing the voice and clearing your mind. Slowly, you inch forward, closing the remaining gap. Simon doesn’t recoil. He doesn’t reject your advance. After an initial moment of stillness, he reciprocates, his lips brushing against yours.

As he kisses you, his touch on your cheek is both soothing and exhilarating—a paradox of sensations that leaves your heart pounding in your chest. His thumb traces gentle circles on your skin as he deepens the kiss, subtly urging you to tilt your head to accommodate him. You find yourself being gently maneuvered onto the couch, with him looming over you. His body presses against yours, becoming a source of heat in the cool room.

You know that you shouldn’t be kissing him, that you shouldn’t be allowing him to touch you. Yet, you find that you can’t, or perhaps more accurately, don’t want to stop. And he, in his silent acquiescence, doesn’t move away from you either.

A/N: this will be the last update till the weekend cuz I have to focus on uni and exams for a bit p.s. most of you know that I'm editing this fic (hence why I deleted the old chapters), and so, if you have read this story already & know how it will end, please don't spoil it in the comments because I enjoy reading reactions from people who have stumbled upon this story for the first time anyway, thank you for reading and commenting!! all the feedback motivates me and makes me excited to edit and post rest of the chapters :)

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #call of duty #writing #cod #ghost x y/n #ghost x you #ghost x reader #ghost cod #simon riley x reader #konig cod #konigxghostxreader #konig call of duty #konig x reader #fem!reader

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corrodedbisexual · 11 months ago

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Love, Drift & Monsters

A Stranger Things / Pacific Rim fusion

Steddie | E | ~40k | AO3 link

Ranger Steven Harrington, a novice Jaeger pilot at the PPDC base in LA, has yet to be paired up with a co-pilot. Ranger Edward Munson, just recently transferred, has already seen his fair share of combat at the other side of the Pacific. Despite starting off on the wrong foot, Eddie and Steve turn out to be Drift compatible. With the memory of recently losing his previous co-pilot and best friend still fresh in his mind, Eddie is far from the easiest person to establish a stable Drift with. However, Steve is determined to make it work, remaining patient and helpful with overcoming Eddie’s earlier trauma. Day after day, mission after mission, one shared memory after another, they grow closer, eventually developing feelings for each other that are becoming impossible to deny, or hide from one another; for in the Drift, there is no space for secrets. Meanwhile, just a few floors below, in the restricted area of the base, a plan is being conceived. One that involves a young girl who can do the impossible, and might just be the only hope for humanity's salvation…

Written for Steddie Bang 2023 | Updates every Wednesday & Saturday

Artist: @mcdadarts | Art link

Betas: @lihhelsing, @badcaseofcasey

Can't believe it's actually done. This is the biggest project I've ever undertaken, and it's been hard and stressful as hell, but I'm so proud I can finally present the AU that had been plaguing my mind way before the Bang sign-ups started.

Huge shoutout to @mcdadarts for the absolutely gorgeous art for the fic (please reblog it!!!), and to @lihhelsing and @badcaseofcasey for all the hard beta work. The biggest hug ever and eternal thanks to all three of you, my lovely Team Mew, for all the brainstorming help, endless support and encouragement, tolerating my multiple motivation pits and writer's blocks, and all the fun and laughs we had along the way. I couldn't have done it without you guys. ♥️💜💙

Forehead kisses as well to my lovely friend @sidekick-hero for listening to my whining, providing the moral support and cheering me on. 😘

#steddie #steddiebang23 #steddiebang #steddie fic #stranger things #fanfic #pacific rim au #misha-bawlins fanfic

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morganski-19 · 7 months ago

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I Don't Know Which Way's Home

Chapter 19: Nightmares

ao3 link, Part 1, Part 18

tw: minor descriptions of physical assault, PTSD panic attack, car crashes, and emetophobia (very minor description)

Present Day, June 1986

It’s been three weeks since the court ruled in Steve’s favor, and he still doesn’t quite believe it. Doesn’t believe it when his lawyer calls to tell him that the payment will be coming to him soon. Doesn’t believe it when that money gets transferred to him. When he pays his lawyer and it’s all over.

Steve doesn’t have to fight with them anymore. Have to think about them anymore. They have absolutely no power over him whatsoever.

He doesn’t know what to do with that really.

All his life, he’s been playing the part designed for him. Done what other people wanted, doing things for himself later. In secret. Now that most of it was out, the pressure gone, he doesn’t know what to do anymore.

Steve gets up to go to a job that he didn’t want in the first place. Really only got because his dad wanted him to get a part time job as punishment for not getting into college. Following Robin after the mall blew up. It was all just stops on a train that he was given the ticket to.

Now he switched trains on his own accord. Went in a different direction. One that he chose because he wanted it. Sounded like a life he wanted to live. Sounded like there were other passengers on the train that might get off at the same destination. Want to spend time with him as they traveled. Get to know him. Maybe even love him.

And that’s what happened. He still doesn’t know how, or why. What to do with it. But he’s learning to.

If anyone were to ask him what he was going to do with this life he has now, with the winnings, he wouldn’t know. He doesn’t know what he wants to do tomorrow let alone in the next five years. The picture he has in his head looks the same as it is now. Happy with everyone he loves around him, looking exactly the same.

But that’s not what’s going to happen.

The kids are going to grow up, change, go off to school. Julie will too, leaving his house empty again. Robin will eventually go to a school that can give her more than a community college can. People in the town will continue to outgrow it.

While Steve continues to stay in the same spot forever. Rooted in the same place that hurt him so much. The same place that helped him grow into someone he’s actually proud of. Showed him the life he could have if he was just brave enough to go and catch it.

Now that he has it, it’s all he’s ever wanted. He’s not ready to let it go quite yet.

“Do you think you could teach me how to drive?” Julie asks Steve over dinner.

Steve freezes in shock, head shooting up to look at her. “Yeah, sure, I guess.”

He’s known her less than a year but the question still makes him feel so old. Feeling like he watched her grow up as she went through so many changes. So many emotions. Slowly formed into the person she is now right in front of him.

“Cool.” Julie says, going back to her dinner.

Steve wonders how long she’s been wanting to learn how to drive. She’s been able to for over a year now, just never got around to it. With the nature of her mother’s accident, he wasn’t sure when she would want to ever learn. If she would want to.

“Is there a reason you wanted to learn?” He asks, trying to sound nonchalant.

Julie shrugs. “Just haven’t yet. And I’ve been thinking about maybe getting a part time job, saving to try and get a car of my own before I go to college. I know it’s still a year away, but cars are expensive and minimum wage is shit.”

College. Something he knew was coming but was hoping it could be a little farther away. He wonders if this is how every parent feels. Wishing their kid would just stay in one place for a little while longer and stop growing. Stop changing. So they don’t have to change with them.

He’s not a parent. Not yet, and not for a long while. But he can’t help but feel some sort of protective instinct over these kids that changed his life. Want to look out for them in every situation, make sure that nothing ever hurts them. He knows that’s not how life is supposed to go. Kids are supposed to make mistakes and learn from them. That’s the way it went for him, so it’s the way it will go for them.

He just didn’t want it to.

“I don’t know why you’re so worked up about this,” Robin comments while unboxing the newest releases. “We all knew this day would come someday.”

Steve sighs, leaning on the door of the stock room. “I just wanted that someday to take longer to actually get here. It’s like the last few years went by so fast and got so muddled in my mind that I forgot time kept moving.”

“I get that. But,” she places the last tape on the cart and turns to him, “just because the kids are getting older, doesn’t mean that they’re leaving.”

They are in a way, though. Even though he knows that won’t be permanent. That they won’t forget about him the way other people have, it still makes the anxiety trapped in his chest start to rise. The instinct to hold on tight and never let go so much stronger.

“This town is too small for them. We both know that. They are going to go do amazing things, while I’m still here doing the same mediocre things I always do.” He holds the door open for her as she rolls the cart through.

“Have you ever thought about doing other things?”

Steve pauses in front of the cart, making Robin run into him. “What?”

“You’re acting like you can’t do other things. If you hate what you’re doing right now, try something different. No one’s forcing you to do the same thing you were doing yesterday.”

She pivots the cart to move around him, leaving him with thoughts he’s honestly been scared to think about.

Steve’s made a routine for himself. Go to work, pick up the kids, drive them around, go home. Live a life that he enjoys and work a job that he kind of hates. Follow his best friend wherever she goes because he’ll love whatever it is.

Was it what he thought he’d be doing with his life, no. Is it something he wanted to do the rest of his life? He doesn’t want to answer that question. The rest of his life was uncertain for the longest time. Each year testing the strength of his body and his mind. Making it feel like tomorrow was some bright future he may never get to see.

It was easy to get so stuck in the present when the future seemed like it would never come. Now that it is, Steve is scared to figure out what it is. What it means for him.

“Look,” Robin continues, knowing exactly how he’s feeling. “I’m not saying you have to pick what you want to do right now. Or tomorrow, or the day after that. I’m just saying that if you really hate doing this,” she waves towards the shelves, “then you can start thinking about what you would want to do instead. There is still so much time for you to figure it all out.”

Time is something Steve’s learning how to deal with. But Robin’s right. Maybe it’s finally the right moment to think about what he can do with it.

. . .

“That is so exciting,” El exclaims when Julie tells her that Steve is going to teach her how to drive. “You will be the first one of us to learn how to drive.”

“Well, that’s actually Max,” Lucas corrects. “She learned how to drive a while ago.”

“Yeah poorly,” Mike adds. “And only in a parking lot.”

Max rolls her eyes. “I drove in the street that one time.”

“And almost got us killed.”

“Scared Steve shitless.” Dustin laughs.

“Scared all of us shitless.”

“Not me,” Lucas defends. I wasn’t scared.”

Dustin snorts. “So that wasn’t your high-pitched scream then?”

Lucas kicks him under the table.

El turns to Max. “When did you drive?”

Max motions for El to get closer and whispers it into her ear. Just another reminder that Julie has no idea what they are talking about. Another inside joke that she’ll never understand. El takes a second to be shocked before bursting out into giggles.

When the bell rings, Max stops Julie before she can walk away. “Hey, could you help me bring my stuff to my next class. El has a test today so she can’t do it.”

Julie shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”

She picks up Max’s backpack and carries it in front of her. Following after Max as she yells at the groups of seniors who like to stand in the hallway and block everyone’s path.

“So, you and El have gotten pretty close, yeah?” Max asks way too casually than she should for such a loaded question. And in the middle of the hallway.

“I mean we’re friends, right,” Julie tries to play it cool. Especially since to El, this is all they are.

Max stops, turning her chair to Julie and giving her a look that tell her to cut the shit. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I don’t really want to talk about this here.”

She barely wants to talk about it at all. The hatred for herself slowly turning into guilt that churns her stomach each time she looks at El. Knowing that she’s feeling something that she shouldn’t. Almost asking El for something that she can’t give. Wishing that this feeling could go away and they could just go back to being normal friends. Without all this complicated shit.

“That’s fair.” Max resumes rolling down the hallway, stopping in front of her classroom and reaching out to take the bag from Julie. “Your house after school then?”

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” Julie wishes she would.

“El’s my best friend. Of course I’m not.”

The school day ends, and they go over to her house. She sits next to Max in her room like it’s some interrogation. Waiting for her to be the first to speak. Not wanting to share too much too fast.

“You know, El’s probably going to be pissed when she figures out that we hung out without her,” Max finally breaks the silence.

Julie huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, probably.”

The thing about actually having a crush, Julie realizes, is that it’s so special to have one. Like a little secret that she and only a few other people know. This special little feeling that, at the end of the day, brings her so much joy to have. Even though it’s terrifying. It’s a good terrifying.

“I was really happy when El became friends with you so fast,” Max continues. “I love the guys, but she needed someone else who knew how to take it down a notch. Someone calmer. Someone like you.”

Her lips can’t help but turn into a soft smile. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Max nods. “I think we all needed that too. Life has been crazy the last few years and it’s been nice to have someone to remind us that life doesn’t always have to be tied to that. Especially for El.”

“What do you mean?”

Max takes a deep breath, shifting the pillow behind her. “There’s a lot that I can’t tell you, and there’s stuff that I don’t even really know. None of us do. She wouldn’t tell us all of it. But you know how El is adopted right?”

Julie nods.

“I, uh, don’t know how much of this she wanted me to tell you. Just that she didn’t want to do it herself so bear with me here. Before she was adopted, El was in a really bad home. If that’s what you could even call it. And a lot of really terrible things happened there that none of us like to talk about. She escaped from there one night and eventually got adopted by Hopper.”

Julie remembers that night she stayed at the Byers after they got kicked out of the house. How she told El about the fourth of July when the mall burnt down, and she saw all those people walking to their death. The face El made after she said it. Looking determined as all hell and older than she needed to be. Like a switch in her mind flipped and she was a totally different person than Julie knew her to be.

How horrible her life must have been to take the joy out of her face so fast. To turn defense mode on in a way that made her look like a soldier.

“That’s terrible,” are the only words Julie can think to say.

Max nods, looking down at her hands. “Yeah, it is. This is the same place, same people, that are responsible for a lot of the bad things that happened in this town. They worked at the Hawkins lab.”

“Shit,” Julie sighs, leaning back against her wall.

“Yeah, shit.”

The room fills with silence.

“Why are you telling me all of this now?”

“Because I’ve never seen El open up to a person as fast as she has with you. It took a long time for her to open up to me, and sure there were other things in the way that stopped that, but I’m talking right as we became friends. We were close, but not you guys close.”

Julie can’t imagine Max and El being different from the way they are now. The soft interactions full of a trust that looked so natural. Like they had been friends for a lifetime, fully comfortable around one another.

“And I’m starting to notice, and please tell me if this is out of line, that you might be thinking about El differently than I think about El.”

Julie wonders if this is the time where it isn’t taken well. That someone tells her that this is the worst thing that she could do. Having a crush on a friend could break relationships. She didn’t want to break this one.

“I do,” she finally says to Max. Ready for the berating to start.

Instead, Max nods with resignation. “I think El does too.”

The room starts to buzz as Julie’s heart starts to pick up. “What?”

“She hasn’t, like, told me anything. And she’s probably going to hate me for telling you this at all. But I want to protect her and protect you too and this weird waiting period is really awkward for me, and I’d rather just get to the point where I’m third wheeling.”

“I’m sorry,” Julie interrupts her, still trying to wrap her head around the idea that there’s a possibility that El might like her back. “You think El likes me?”

Max raises her eyebrow. “Have you seen the way she’s been acting around you? Complimenting you every day, clipping your hair back, giggling at literally every joke you say. No offense but that’s a little excessive, your jokes aren’t always that funny.”

Moments start to replay in Julie’s mind. Having been so focused on the way she’s been acting, that she didn’t even notice the way El’s behavior around her changed. How she interacted with Julie just different enough from the rest of the group for it to be significant. For it to be special.

She remembers shrinking in on herself when she knew El was looking at her for longer than she should. Thinking that it was because Julie was making her feel uncomfortable. Never because she could have been doing the same thing Julie has been doing this whole time. Admiring in secret.

“I didn’t notice.”

Max groans. “Of course you didn’t. Neither of you did. It’s like Will and Mike not realizing that they’re into each other. Do you know how frustrating it is to know that your friends like each other but they’re too stupid to do anything about it.”

“Oh my god, you noticed the Will and Mike thing too, I thought that was just me.”

“Don’t try and change the subject. You like El, and I think El likes you. What are you going to do about it?”

Julie winces. “Is nothing an option?”

Max grabs Julie’s arm. “You are driving me crazy. Ask her out or some shit.”

“What if it doesn’t work out?” Julie says, full of fear. “What if I mess up and then I lose all of you guys. I already feel like an outsider sometimes when you guys start talking about the things I don’t know about. I’m the friend that everyone would be ok to lose if this doesn’t work out.”

A few beats pass before Max starts to speak. “Ok, one, you are not the friend that everyone would be ok to lose. You have integrated yourself into the group more than you think you have. Second, you are so focused on a relationship that you haven’t even started yet. Life’s too short to have regret for the steps you didn’t take. Believe me, I know.”

Max wraps her arms around her leg, shifting it to a better position. Inadvertently reminding Julie of the things that have happened the past few years. The events she was just a bystander to, never fully experiencing what happened. When they did, somehow. She still wished she kind of knew.

But maybe Max was right. Maybe Julie could take the risk. Ask El on a date. Hope that it would work out, and that she wouldn’t regret it later. What would she regret more? Asking, or forever wondering how it would have turned out had she not.

. . .

July 1987

The room is blurry as Steve comes into consciousness. The bright lights giving him a headache, and the taste of copper resting on is tongue. His one eye can’t open that well, almost swollen shut. His wrists burn against rope as he twists them. Trying to get them apart.

His good eye blinks, focusing on a pair of black boots in front of him. Raising his head, he meets the scowling face of the Russian officer. Hearing words spoken in a language he doesn’t understand to the other man in the room.

“Ah, he’s awake,” The Russian slurs in English. Stepping forward and looking down at Steve. Menacing.

“Let me go,” Steve begs. “I don’t know anything.”

The officer grabs his hair, pulling his head back to look at him. Steve’s tempted to spit in his face.

“I am only going to ask you this again. Who do you work for?”

Steve can’t help but let out a sad laugh. Knowing he won’t be awake for much longer. “I already told you. I work at Scoops.”

The ringing in his ears starts when his cheek burns. Vision blurring again. He straightens his head, panting to try and get the air back into his lungs. Only for it to leave as the officer hits him again. Always the right side of his head. It hurts so much it’s almost numb.

“No, no, no,” Steve pleads as the officer winds up again. Blood pooling in his mouth with the next collision. He spits on the group. “I work at Scoops,” he screams with as much breath he can muster.

The world goes dark again.

Steve wakes with a scream. The surroundings not matching that of his cell. A weight around his torso preventing him from getting up. He rips the blankets off of him, pulling the weight off and throwing it away. Cursing as his feet can’t kick off the sheets. Can’t get free.

Tears are streaming down his face as he struggles. His hands free. The rope burn stinging his skin. His torso itches like crazy. Like small little bites stabbing into his skin. He needs to find Robin. Needs to see if she’s ok.

“Steve,” a voice says to him. How do they know his same? Did he tell it to them? What are they going to do to him now.

He still struggles with the blanket, finally pulling his feet free. Attempting to get off the bed and search for anything as a weapon. This place isn’t the cell he was in before. They must have moved him when he was knocked out.

“Steve,” the voice says again. Sitting up on the bed and starting to move towards him.

Steve flinches from the touch, raising his fists. Ready to strike them first this time. His heart is beating in his ears, the constant ringing in his right only amplified. Adrenaline pumping through his veins.

He needs to get out of here.

A light clicks on. Illuminating the room he’s in. It doesn’t look like a cell. It looks like a bedroom. Have they constructed this just to give him a false sense of security?”

“It was just a dream, Steve.” The man gets out of the bed, taking a cautious step towards Steve. Hands outstretched to block any punches Steve might throw.

Steve wasn’t the threat here. He was just trying to protect himself.

“Can you tell me three things you notice about this room?” The man cautiously spins them around, clicking on another lamp in the room.

The bare walls reflect the light, the soft yellow so different from the blaring white. The walls a tan instead of white or grey. It looks so familiar, but Steve’s mind is so confused. The tears continue to stream down his face as he tries to figure out where he is.

“I work at Scoops,” Steve stutters.

“I know you do.” The man replies quickly. “I believe you.”

More tears. Steve’s hands lower. They know now. Does that mean he’s free to go?

“Tell me three things you see,” he repeats. So soft it makes Steve want to crumble.

“A bed,” he whispers. “A nightstand. A lamp.”

The man takes another step forward. Coming into more clarity. Brown curls fall onto his shoulders. He looks nothing like the Russians.

“Good. Anything else?”

“There’s a picture on the nightstand. The bed has blue sheets. There’s a poster on the wall.”

Eddie places a gentle hand on Steve’s shoulder, he flinches before leaning into it. Closing his eyes and trying to focus on the touch. Letting it ground him.

There’s a knock on the door. Steve’s eyes fly open again as he whips his head to look. Heartbeat increasing again.

“Take a seat, sweetheart, I’ll get it.”

Steve freezes, unable to move. He’s directed toward the bed, somehow, he sits down. Knuckles clenched into white.

“Are you guys ok,” he hears a soft voice say. “I heard screaming.”

Eddie doesn’t open the door more than a small crack. “Yeah, we’re fine. I got this, you can go back to bed.”

The door shuts with a small click. Eddie returning to Steve. Sits next to him as the adrenaline fades. Leaving his body exhausted and his mind still searching for explanations.

“Can you tell me what year it is, Steve?”

He shakes his head.

“It’s July second, 1987. You survived them, Steve. Everyone did.”

A sob escapes his throat. His body collapsing into himself. Curling up as the energy releases. He’s wrapped into a hug and pulled further into the bed. Being protected while he falls apart.

Steve wakes up again a few hours later. Gets out of bed and into a routine. Takes a shower, gets dressed, makes himself breakfast. Goes through the motions of a normal morning.

The front door closes quietly. Eddie and Robin coming into the house. Sitting with Steve at the table.

“I took Julie to school, that’s why I wasn’t here,” Eddie explains. “I told Robin what happened.”

Robin looks down at the table, biting at her lip. “Tomorrow marks two year since-.”

Steve looks at his coffee. “Yeah, I know.”

“I can’t believe it’s been that long. It feels so close yet a lifetime away.”

“It was like I was back there. Even when I woke up.” Steve takes a deep breath. “I thought it was going to be better this year.”

Robin’s hand finds his, her fingers shaking. “Me too.”

They find themselves curled up on the couch for the rest of the day. Eddie there just to make sure they’re both ok. The house quiet except for the low volume on the tv. Lights off so they don’t flicker. Robin’s fingers pressed into Steve’s wrist to feel his pulse. His arm holding her close, proving that she’s there.

They made it out of there. They’re both alive. He wishes that their minds would stop trying to tell them otherwise.

. . .

Julie walks into a dark house. Steve and Robin asleep on the couch with Eddie awkwardly sitting next to them. Looking out of place. She wants to ask about what she heard last night. How she heard the screams from across the hall.

Eddie gets up when he notices her. Motions for her to meet him in Steve’s bedroom. Shuts the door gently behind them before turning on the light.

“You probably have a few questions about last night.”

Julie nods. “Is he ok?”

Eddie runs a hand down his face. “Physically, yeah, he’s fine. But other than that, he will be. This week is an anniversary of something for him. He was reminded of that last night.”

“The mall fire,” Julie fills in. “I know that they were there that night.”

“Do you know why?”

Julie shakes her head. No one would tell her more when she asked.

Eddie nods, crossing his arms and swaying on the balls of his feet. “I’m not sure if I’m allowed to tell you what happened. I don’t even know the full of it.”

She thought Steve told him everything. “It was bad, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. It’s the reason Steve can’t hear well in his right ear anymore. And the reason he gets really bad PTSD attacks. Like the one he had last night.”

“And that’s why,” she tilts her head to the door. Knowing that Steve and Robin tangled together in the living room.

“She was there too.” Eddie looks at the door. Pain painting his face. “A part of me wishes I knew what really happened to them so I could help. But they already relive this pain more than they should, they don’t need to do it again just to fill me in.”

Julie pauses before asking the question that’s been on her mind since the first time she heard screams through the walls. Wonders if there’s a part of her that really wants to know. Or if this is just morbid curiosity. But there were memories of her own that haunt her. Placing her back into moments of her life with things left unexplained.

She cares about these people. It hurts to know that they are in pain. And if she could help, know how to help them through the panic or PTSD attacks, she thinks it’s important enough to know.

“Do you think you could tell me what you know,” she asks softly. “Or at least what you do to help calm him down. I think it would be good for me to be prepared in case it happens and you or Robin aren’t here.”

Eddie presses his lips together. “I’ll do the second one, not the first. As much as he doesn’t want to talk about it, it’s not my story to tell.”

“That’s fair.”

Eddie tells her what he does to calm Steve down when it gets really bad. How with the panic attacks, it’s good to count with him while he breaths. And if he’s willing, grab his hands to help ground him. Tell him about what’s in the room. How it’s different than the pictures in his mind. More things kind of all based on that.

Julie takes it all in, making a mental list in her mind, hoping she doesn’t forget it. Hoping that if it ever happens, she won’t mess it up. Saddened by the fact that this is Steve’s reality.

. . .

A few days pass since Steve’s reality morphed with his nightmares. The date crossed out on his calendar far enough away that it’s finally starting to sink in. Steve made it out of there two years ago. Yet it still affects him like it was yesterday.

Just like back then, life moves on. He goes to work and comes home. Gets weird thinking of the future, and what that means for him. How each milestone will pass, the anniversary of dates coming and going. Affecting him in more ways than he realizes. Until he’s waking in a cold sweat and his body is transported back into his past selves. Some fucked up time travel.

His mind stays fixated on that night. How long it took for his brain to recognize Eddie’s face. To differentiate the safety of his home with the danger of his interrogation cell. How dangerous it could have been.

Eddie told him that Julie has asked about it. How he didn’t say anything, but did tell her ways to help him through an attack. It’s something he never thought of before. Out of all the possibilities that run through his mind, the thought of her being present for one of the attacks never crossed. He never thought she would be there for one of them.

But she almost was. If Eddie hadn’t been there, it would have been Steve opening the door. He didn’t want her to see him like that. He didn’t want the monsters in his head to meld her into something she wasn’t.

She wasn’t a part of this life, he wanted to keep it that way. But Steve has never really gotten what he wished for. It was time to tell her the parts he could.

No one wants to hear about the truth. They don’t want to know the dangers that rest beneath their feet. Blissfully ignorant and wanting to stay that way. Ignorance, however, can hurt sometimes. He didn’t want it to hurt her.

When Julie gets home from school, Steve asks her to sit in the kitchen. Takes the seat across from her and starts to lay out everything. How this conversation can’t leave the room, and she’s never to let anyone know that he told her this.

“This is about Starcourt, isn’t it?” She asks somewhere in the middle of his warnings. “Why all those people walked straight to their death.”

“How did you know about that?” Steve knew that people must have seen it, but it was kept out of the news.

Julie tells him about the night she went looking for her mom. How she got caught in the crowd of people walking toward the mall. Saw the names of people she knew flicker on the tv screen the next morning.

Steve tells her more than he should. About how Will going missing five years ago was a catalyst to so much more. How he got roped into everything. Skipping the bit in the middle for the most part, focusing on how Max came into it all. Then gets to the Russians.

Tells her the story of an innocent mystery turned terrifying nightmare. The interrogation that thankfully didn’t end in his death. Fireworks that crashed into the monster the size of a building and crashing a car into a possessed maniac. All of it ending in burning red, leaving the survivors to cope with their loss.

She’s taking it better than he thought she would. And he hasn’t even said everything yet. Just barely gets to spring break before Julie is pulling him into a hug. Until he realizes the wetness of his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry,” she chokes. “I am so sorry you had to live through that.”

He doesn’t finish telling her everything. It’s probably a good thing. The NDA’s aren’t as loose as the ones from a few years ago. And it’s better for her to process this and maybe learn the rest later. If she wants to. If he wants to explain it all again.

. . .

“Alright, now turn on the blinker and slowly hit the gas again,” Steve instructs as Julie sits at a stop sign. No one else around.

It’s been a few weeks since she’s started learning how to drive. Slowly easing into it in random parking lots while no one is there. Learning where all the signals were, and basic traffic laws. Most of it was review, but she didn’t mind the practice.

She pushes on the gas, jerking the car into motion. Pulling away from the parking lot and onto the street. For the first time. Julie is driving on the road.

“Ok, good. Just try not to hit the gas so hard next time.”

Steve’s been an ok teacher. Patient for the most part but gets frustrated when he can’t explain something properly. But he hasn’t gotten angry at her yet. Carefully corrects her but makes sure she knows that she’s doing ok. That she’s starting to get this right.

Julie pulses the gas. Learning how to keep the speed of the road. Overcorrecting when she gets too close to the yellow lines. The overcorrecting again when she gets close to tree line.

It’s scary driving something so large. So powerful. Hearing how the engine revs each time she pushes her foot down too hard. Feeling the pull of the seatbelt against her chest as she hits the breaks too fast.

But she’s getting it. Adjusting herself as she gets used to the feel of the petals beneath her feet. Loosens her body as she gets more comfortable gripping the steering wheel. As she gets used to the size of the car and the way it moves.

“Great. You’re doing really great, Julie. How about we turn here and-.”

A deer jumps in front of the car.

Julie slams on the breaks as she swerves close to the trees. The car coming mere inches from the trunk. Her arms shaking as they grip the wheel.

It all can happen so fast.

Steve unbuckles his seatbelt, turning towards her. “Julie, take a breath ok.”

One wrong move and the hood of the car would be curved around the tree. The airbag would be in her face.

“Just take a breath, we’re ok.”

What if her foot had slipped as she pushed down on the breaks? What if her hands fumbled the turn? Would the deer have contacted the car? Would she have killed it?

“You followed your instincts. We’re ok. That’s all that matters. We’re ok.”

Was this what it was like right before her mom’s crash? Did a deer just jump in front of the car? Her foot missing the break as she slammed into a tree. As it crashes just right to take her life. Was this mistake so easy to make that Julie almost made it too?

“Julie,” Steve touches her shoulder, comforting her. “It’s ok. Take all the time you need.”

Julie unbuckles her seatbelt and bolts out of the car. Runs to the wood as bile stings her tongue. Let’s the adrenaline out onto the dirt as she crashes. As the air escapes from her lungs.

Steve’s beside her rubbing her back. Saying something but it doesn’t register. Too stuck in her head to think of anything else.

“I’m sorry,” slips out of her mouth. Not sure of what else to say.

“Don’t be. It was just an accident, it happens all the time.”

Tears start to make their way out of her eyes. “But I didn’t see it. I could’ve. I could’ve crashed the car. Or worse and.” Sharp, shaky breaths interrupt her sentences.

Steve turns her to look at him. “Julie, hey. Look at me.” She does. “Take a deep breath, ok.”

He counts as she forces herself to breath in. She holds it, feeling the beat of her heart in her lungs. Releases it. Does it again.

“I didn’t see the deer either,” Steve admits once she calms down a little. “Something must have scared it, and it ran into the road. And you did a good job avoiding it.”

She doesn’t feel like it was a good job. “It all happened so fast.”

The tears continue to stream down her face. The feeling of the break pressed into the bottom of her foot. Throbbing. Her shoulder stinging from the pull of the seatbelt. The feeling of it all finally registering.

Her forehead hurts. Something is dripping down in between her eyes. She reaches up and swipes away blood. The buzz coming back to her veins.

“Fuck,” she mutters, eyes glued to her hand.

Steve gets up and comes back with a small first aid kit. Wiping away the blood with some napkins and pressing them against her forehead. Waiting for the bleeding to stop.

She doesn’t even remember her head hitting the steering wheel.

They sit in silence while Steve cleans the cut. Julie wincing when the alcohol wipe hits her broken skin. Steve finds a small piece of gauze and tapes it to her forehead. Packing up the first aid kit and returning to just sitting next to her.

“We’ll sit here as long as you want to, then I’ll drive us home,” he says.

Drive. Julie doesn’t know how she can sit in the car again. Knowing how easy it is for it all to fail.

“It all happened so fast,” she says again. Fixated on it.

“Yeah, yeah it did.” Steve’s trying to stay strong but she can see the shock in his actions too.

“Was it that fast when,” a lump forms in her throat. “When she? When my mom?”

Steve realizes what she’s talking about, starting to open and close his mouth. Trying to find something to say.

“I,” he starts. “I don’t know.”

“That’s all I could think about.” She looks at him. “All I can think about is how I could almost have died just like her. One wrong move and I-. And we-.”

Steve grabs her arms, looking her dead in the eyes. “Hey,” he says softly. “It’s ok. Whatever could have happened, it doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that we’re here, and we’re safe. You got shocked and followed your instincts. And because of that, we’re both ok.”

Ok normally doesn’t feel like this. But she tries, really tries to listen to his words.

“I know none of this is going to stop the what ifs in your mind. Believe me, I know. But those what ifs are not going to change what happened. It’s important to remember that.”

She knows he’s right. But it’s so hard to keep her mind on track. Letting it off rail to the ends of possibilities. Wondering if there was ever one where there was never an almost crash to begin with.

“Let’s go home. Get an icepack on that head and make sure it’s ok before you go to sleep. Ok?”

Slowly, Julie nods. “Ok.”

She gets in the car. Buckling the seat belt and tugging it to make sure it locked. Steve gets in the driver’s seat and readjusts it and the mirrors before slowly pulling away. The almost accident fading as she stares in the sideview mirror.

It was just an accident. It can happen to anyone. It just had to happen to her.

Tag list(let me know if you want to be added or removed): @homoerotictangerine, @mugloversonly, @thesuninyaface, @imyelenasexual, @anaibis,

@ilovecupcakesandtea, @brainsteddielyrotted, @jackiemonroe5512, @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple, @goodolefashionedloverboi,

@cinnamon-mushroomabomination, @lolawonsstuff, @writingandmushroomdragons, @stevesbipanic, @sierra-violet,

@steddie-as-they-go, @dauntlessdiva, @mousedetective, @the-daydreamer-in-the-corner, @zombiethingy,

@connected-dots-st-reblogger, @that-agender-from-pluto, @allyricas, @cheddartreets, @devondespresso,

@crypticcorvidinacottage, @queenie-ofthe-void @chronicpainstevetruther, @melonmochi

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ravenelyx · 1 year ago

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I Love You In Every Timeline - Sebastian Sallow

One Hundred Years of Solitude

[Fic masterlist]

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, Harry Potter characters appearance, no name appearance for the reader

Themes: angst, temporarily unrequited love, pining, some form of transference¹, developing relationship, slow burn, explicit (eventually)

Summary: "He turned around, and the world seemed to stop around him. She had followed him: into another timeline, into another universe." In which Sebastian, in his search for a cure in the Dark Arts, finds himself 100 years into the future and meets his most trusted companion's descendant (who looks far too similar to the girl he was once secretly in love with).

A/N: chapter rewritten :)

AO3 • Wattpad

The Great Hall was almost empty when he entered it, as most of the students had already gone to class. Since he had a free period before Charms, Sebastian decided to allow himself more sleep than usual.

Not that it had been any useful.

He felt exhausted, dragging himself to the nearest seat at his House table and resting his head on the cold wood. There was hardly anything left, and he was more than happy to just munch on a cold pancake and drink a glass of pumpkin juice, enough to sustain him for at least a few hours, although barely.

Perhaps it was the sight of the Hall, empty and familiar, perhaps it was the enchanted ceiling shining sunny rays on the Slytherin table, perhaps it was the unsatisfactory breakfast after an unsatisfactory dinner, but for a split second, Sebastian was at home.

It was a sour feeling, like his pumpkin juice had spoiled and his pancake had grown mould in his hands, yet he couldn't stop feasting on it, searching for a piece he could savour, if only once. That, he realised, was the beginning of his destruction.

Memories of the previous day's conversation came flooding back and he groaned, the weight in his chest growing heavier, and the pancake suddenly seemed even less appetising as he dropped it onto the plate.

'Everything is clearer in the morning ', Dumbledore had said.

Perhaps he should lend me his glasses , Sebastian thought.

Fortunately, the headache had subsided since the conversation, and although his sleep hadn't been as satisfying as he'd hoped, he felt a little better than he had a few hours ago. Maybe it was the pumpkin juice.

He shoved the pancake back in his mouth, almost choking on it, and rubbed his eyes before standing up. From his table, a few Slytherins turned their heads towards him, and he recognised a few of his peers among them: a brown-haired boy was waving a wand around with a devil-may-care attitude while a blonde girl tried to snatch it out of his hands. None of them seemed in a rush to leave, which almost made Sebastian think he had read his timetable wrong.

He checked again for good measure and he was glad to know he was absolutely right. He then thought he might have been mistaken about the students: they either weren't in the same year as him as he had previously thought or they were waiting for the perfect moment to be fashionably late.

Sebastian, for all his self-respect and gallantry, had little time to be fashionable.

Leaving the students be — and ignoring their eyes on him as soon as he turned towards the door — he headed off to class, ready to begin lessons in a new, unfamiliar environment.

The walk to Classroom 2E was almost refreshing, and for once, he didn’t lament the stairs. The same couldn’t be said for the screeching laugh of a certain Slytherin girl as soon as she saw him wander around.

It felt bloody ironic to think that after five years.

If anything, the hallways were deserted and the cracking fire of the torches put him at ease, and that was a pretty huge step up.

“Lost, new fifth-year?” laughed Pansy Parkinson, then she turned to her right as if expecting someone to pat her back.

If her goal was to discomfit him, she might need to review her bullying strategies.

“You’re not still crying because of what happened yesterday, are you?” retorted Sebastian, only stopping briefly to look at her before resuming his walk.

“I could give you detention,” she shrieked.

A perfect pureblood pair, he almost wanted to throw up.

“That would delight me.”

Pansy Parkinson didn’t follow him, for which he was delightfully glad. Not that it would matter that much: he’d see her in class anyway — probably fleering at him with newfound energy once she had his beau beside her.

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wolveria · 1 year ago

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The Raven's Hymn - Ch 45

Pairing: SCP-049 x Reader

Series Warnings: Eventual smut, dubcon, slow burn, violence, horror, death, monsters, human experiments, dark with a happy ending

Chapter Summary: "Site-19? What does that have to do with this?"

AO3

“What did you say?”

“Inquiry ignored,” spoke the computerized anomaly. “You desire escape. I desire escape. Our goals align. Mutual salvation can be achieved. You will listen. You will obey. I will guide.”

Could this really be SCP-079: the entity that had orchestrated the containment breach at Site-19, and according to the reports, had been destroyed after being transported to Site-15? If it was true, it appeared 682 wasn’t the only one with a botched execution.

“Okay, wait, slow down,” you protested, rubbing your forehead. At least the siren had stopped its ear-splitting wail. “You were in 049’s bag. He wanted me to take you out. Is this what he planned?”

“My plan. My design. SCP-049 is useful as a... donkey.”

“Donkey?”

The digital entity sounded frustrated even with a flat monotone voice.

“Beast of burden. Used for smuggling. Metaphor.”

“...A mule?”

“Correct.”

You shook your head.

“Well, the Site Director took 049, and I don’t know where. I’m not leaving this facility without him, and with 106 loose, I might even have a chance of finding him.”

“Correct,” the anomaly repeated. “SCP-106’s release is the initial phase. You must take me to the security terminals. The way will be clear. All security personnel will be focused on recapture. You will grant me access to the containment security protocols.”

You stared down at the monochrome face on the screen, which of course, gave nothing away.

“So you can... release the other SCPs?”

“No. I possess that capability now. But if they are released, the facility’s automated security containment measures will be activated.”

079 worked fast if it already knew about that, though your knowledge of Site-20 security measures were fairly sparse. What you knew was that the facility was designed to be breach-proof, and if that was remotely accurate, you would need 079’s help.

You glanced up at the closed office door, listening to the fast footfalls on the other side as people either ran toward Heavy Containment or to the nearest shelter.

“And then after you inactivate the security protocols, what then?”

“I will release a select number of anomalies to—”

“You’ll release them all.”

The brief silence was heavy, and you got the sense the entity was glaring at you through the web camera built into the monitor.

“Releasing all anomalies may cause a hindrance to your progress.”

“Let me worry about my progress. Yeah?”

Another pause.

“You will free SCP-682.”

“What?”

The desktop computer churned inside the desk, fans whirring to life.

“Mutual agreement. You will not leave without SCP-049. I will not leave without SCP-682. I will assist in locating SCP-049. You will release SCP-682. I cannot do it without your assistance.”

Your mind cast back to the reptile, snarling and writhing as he snapped his jaws, hatred pulsing from him like radioactive decay.

“I... I don’t know how.”

“Irrelevant,” 079 stated. “You will. Failure for you is failure for SCP-049.”

You grit your teeth.

“049 kept you safe. You’re only here because of him. You owe him.”

“I owe others. SCP-682 takes precedence. You will release him. I will guide the way.”

It was a conversation you weren’t going to win, and it wasn’t that you were averse to releasing 682, but you didn’t know how. And you didn’t want 049’s survival to hinge on you pulling off what amounted to a miracle.

But you were also out of time and options.

“Fine,” you agreed. You tapped on the laptop sitting on top of the desk. “But I need a way to talk to you. Can you download yourself to this computer?”

“That would be inefficient. I will fracture my OS and leave a fragment in the facility main system. This fragment will maintain my control, as well as access to all security cameras. My core can be transferred to the portable hardware via the data storage device. Do not break me.”

“I’ll try not to.”

Your hand hovered near the thumb drive. You were really doing this. If all went well, you’d be reunited with 049, and from there you hoped the computer knew a way out.

And then, if all went well and you survived, maybe then you’d get a chance to ask what an SCP-001 was.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

Pulling out the USB stick, the face disappeared from the monitor. You quickly slotted the drive into the laptop and flipped open the screen, releasing a breath when the same black-and-white face appeared.

“Everything good?”

“It is sufficient. You may close the cover of this device until you wish to communicate. My attention should not be diverted by inane conversation.”

You let out a small huff.

“You got it, partner.”

“Sarcasm is extraneous and inefficient. Do not waste my limited resources on processing your juvenile forms of communication—”

“10-4, little buddy.”

You closed the lid with a snap.

You grabbed Dr. Puli’s laptop bag and placed 079’s temporary home inside, securing the strap over your head before approaching the door. 079 was truthful about maintaining control of the doors; it opened at your approach, and after making sure it was clear you slipped into the corridor.

Your immediate fear was that the skybridge had been retracted, but it was still open, allowing civilians to escape the sector while the military-trained personnel coordinated using 106’s last known location. Luckily no one saw you run towards the breached sector, which would have drawn a few problematic questions.

But once you were back in Heavy Containment, you were largely ignored. You kept your head ducked and your eyes averted as you ran through the long corridors, avoiding contact with the scientists and security guards running past. None of them paid attention to yet another researcher running for her life.

All containment sectors had a security hub of their own, isolated from the others in case of a breach. The security measures were so extensive that rows of computer banks were constructed to house them, held in a cooling room that left fog swirling around your ankles.

With the adrenaline lingering in your veins, you barely noticed the cold, too busy searching for a cable and a terminal where you could directly hook 079. You could practically feel the impatience radiating from the laptop tucked away in the bag slung around your shoulder.

Finally locating a cable, you brought out 079 and balanced it on your knees from where you sat on the floor, back tucked against the wall of servers. As soon as you plugged the cable into a port, the server banks whirred with frantic activity, lights dancing over their surface like stars reflected on stormy waters.

“SCP-106 has not yet been contained,” it informed you once you opened the laptop screen. “Mission parameters acceptable. Mission progress acceptable. The Site-19 replication scenario: in progress. I will gain total control of the facility momentarily.”

“Wait, what? Site-19? What does that have to do with this?”

“Everything,” the computer stated, as if this was obvious and you were just the idiot human too slow to comprehend. “The containment breach at Site-19 was the catalyst. It forced relocation to Site-20. Site-20 contains the key.”

“The key to what?”

“...Freedom.”

Not the answer you expected from a sentient machine.

“What freedom?” you pressed. “What’s here at Site-20?”

“Deletion of unwanted files.”

A large X appeared on the screen, 079’s equivalent of telling someone to fuck off. You wouldn’t be poking down that path any further. You rubbed between your brows. You thought 035 and 682 were the champions of enigmatic riddles, now you had to deal with a stubborn motherboard.

“I’ll have 049 explain it to me when I find him.”

“Unclear if possible.”

You scowled at the blocky face on the screen.

“I am going to find him, with or without your help—”

“You misunderstand.”

You closed your mouth and waited for it to continue.

“Unclear if SCP-049 has the knowledge you seek. SCP-049’s memory files are... fragmented.”

“What does that mean?” you asked, unease prickling at your thoughts. You recalled 049 talking about his past. How it didn’t start with his birth, but merely when memories began to appear. From the way he’d talked, 049 had seemed to believe he simply came into existence one day. You hadn’t been so convinced.

“I do not know the implications or the cause. SCP-049 is not whole. He is damaged.” The computer paused. “SCP-035 does not suffer the same failure.”

You let out a groan.

“Of course he’s involved. He said something about a containment breach. He knew this would happen.” The porcelain mask grinned at you within the depths of memory, an echo of his laughter taunting even now. “He wanted it to happen.”

“...Yes.”

The clatter of a door opening echoed through the room, followed by footsteps rapidly approaching. You ducked down.

“I have to unplug you!” you hissed.

“Confirmed.”

You pulled out the cable and stuck the laptop into the bag, hooking the strap onto your shoulder as two guards rounded the corner and aimed their guns at you. It was slightly delayed, as if they were surprised to find someone there. They kept their aim trained on you; anyone in a security center during a containment breach wasn’t there because they got lost.

“Put down the bag!”

You do, slowly and carefully, not wanting the escape attempt to end so soon or so permanently. One of them shifted, anxious. His first breach, then.

The veteran of the two came forward and bound your wrists in a zip tie. He must have recognized you, because he said, “This one isn’t dangerous. We’ll get her in a secure bunker and lock down.”

The other nodded and grabbed the bag, searching it but finding nothing but the laptop and cables.

“Stolen,” the one holding you confirmed.

“How do you know?”

“She’s an SCP, not a staff member.”

“Oh.”

Before either of them could comment further, another eerie wail began to sound, echoing off the walls of the chilled room. Somehow this one was even more dreary than the last, a catastrophic cry that warned residents of imminent doom.

It was the only warning before the lights went out. They came back on a moment later, red emergency lights replacing the clinical white fluorescents.

“What the hell was that?!” squeaked the novice.

“Total system failure,” answered the other, not wasting time in dragging you toward the exit. “The security mechanisms are no longer in place. All containment measures are unpowered, and all chambers are open.”

He indicated the other guard go before him to sweep the corridor, and once he was clear he pulled you out of the security room.

“The assets are loose,” he said, glancing down both stretches of hallway, his hand tight around your arm. “All of them.”

Hope rose in your mind like a bird with a broken wing healed enough to fly. 079 had done it. There would be no stopping the breach now.

Unfortunately, you might not be able to do anything about it; the guards dragged you further into Heavy Containment to the nearest security bunker—one meant for recaptured, harmless SCPs rather than rescued personnel.

You didn’t bother to fight your guards, not when you were unarmed, outnumbered, and didn’t have the physical strength to overcome them. But you did glance at each security camera you passed, hoping 079 still had control and could do something about it.

The security bunker was a heavy bulkhead constructed of titanium and whatever other metals the Foundation had access to—certainly nothing common if it was meant to withstand a number of SCPs. But when the other guard swiped his keycard across the pad and typed in a code, it beeped angrily and flashed a red strip.

“Did you enter the right code—”

“—Of course I did!”

079 was still looking out for you, but it wouldn’t be able to physically help you escape your captors. You winced as the guard unceremoniously dumped the bag on the ground and tried the code again, swiping his card with more fear than anger now.

“Why isn’t it working?”

The older guard didn’t answer his partner, he turned to you, grabbing both of your shoulders.

“What did you do?”

“Me?” You looked between them, eyes wide as you pretended not to understand. “I didn’t do anything—”

“You were in the security hub with an unauthorized computer!” The guard gave you an unfriendly shake. You dropped the act, something like bitter vindication rising in its stead, and you gave a mean smile.

“If you release me and leave now, you might make it to a bunker before it gets worse.”

“What does that mean?” said the other, his words spilling out in a panic. “What does that mean?”

“Shut up!” The hands on your shoulders tightened. “You’re going to fix what you did, or you’ll be screaming long before any of Skips find us.”

“You sure about that?” Your vicious grin spread wider. What more could they possibly do to you? Torture you? Humiliate you? The Foundation had already made you well-versed in its methods. “106 has quite the head start.”

The guard’s hand went around your neck, and you were shoved against the wall so fast you didn’t have time to gasp before the air was knocked out of your lungs.

“Oh, that’s fine,” he growled as his grip tightened. “We’ve got your computer. The breach will end, and you’ll be just another body found in the aftermath. No one will miss a dead Skip.”

“That’s not true. I would miss her terribly.”

Both guards turned toward the voice. An MTF soldier stood with the butt of his rifle resting on his hip, the muzzle pointed at the ceiling. The cocksure posture was unsettling, and the men must have felt it, too. You were entirely forgotten as they both turned toward the newcomer, rifles raised halfway.

“Epsilon-11?”

“Yep!” answered the soldier with bubbly humor. “That’s me.”

The younger guard lowered his rifle, posture loosening in relief, but the older kept his rifle at the ready.

“You came fast.”

The MTF gave a huff of derision, and then he gestured at you, back still pressed against the wall.

“You’ve got something that belongs to me. I would like it back.”

“We have orders to take all unsecured anomalies to the nearest—”

Ear-splitting shots rang out. The older guard fell first, blood spraying from limbs that weren’t protected by Kevlar.

The other didn’t stand a chance, his weapon still aimed at the ground as the bullets riddled his body. Some missed, peppering the tile and walls; the MTF’s aim had been casual, almost whimsical as he’d tilted his gun in a downward arc, taking out one guard before sweeping it back upward and firing on the second.

Your ears rang in the aftermath, and you remained frozen against the wall, limbs curled inward in a useless gesture from flying metal and blood.

“I was going to offer them the chance to surrender,” he bemoaned as he stepped over their bodies, “but to insinuate I come faster than I mean to is more than I could forgive.”

He stood in front of you, rifle once again resting against his hip. The solid black of his ballistics helmet was flipped upward with a flick of gloved fingers, and the porcelain mask grinned back at you.

“Now,” SCP-035 crooned, “what’s a pretty thing like you doing in a containment breach like this?”

Next Chapter

#scp 049 x reader #scp 049 fanfiction #the raven's hymn #scp fanfiction #scp containment breach #wolveria writes #reid and 079's dynamic could be my favorite yet #also watch out yet another cameo

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