#multi-part fic

[murdockparker]

Roses and Regrets - Part 1

Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: Freshly out of mourning, Lady Barlow, née (Y/L/N), makes her re-debut in society. If only she could simply ignore a certain viscount...

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: none. enemies to lovers!!

A/N: I didn't expect this lil requested fic to turn into such an event, let alone a multi-part story! so, you're welcome or I'm sorry?

next part

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She was perfectly happy. 

Well, supposedly right now she wasn’t. 

Her husband, Lord Barlow, had passed away ten months ago, leaving her with an empty estate, a shiny title and more money than she knew what to do with. Lord Barlow was an old viscount, desperate for an heir and willing to do anything to get one. 

In came Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N).

Young, beautiful and well-bred, she was the perfect choice for any man of the ton. If only her father hadn’t a penchant for gambling. Perhaps she’d be married to a man more suited for her rather than the oaf of a dustbin she was forced to be with. She was no fool in believing in a love match for herself, rare and far between as they were, no, but she did have half a mind to imagine a kinder man as her husband. A man who perhaps cared even a little bit for her wellbeing. 

No matter. 

A dead man cannot care for her wellbeing either. 

“Lady Barlow,” a maid knocked, entering the ornate drawing room.

“Yes?” (Y/N) did not look up from her reading—the newest edition of Whistledown had just been delivered. While she herself was never one to gossip terribly, it was quite fun to keep up with the circus of the season. 

“Do you plan on attending the Danbury ball this eve?”

“I do not see the point,” she scoffed playfully, “after all, Meg, I am but a widow in mourning.”

“Perhaps her ladyship should reconsider?” Meg asked gently, placing a new pot of tea next to her lady. “I rather think it has been a socially acceptable amount of time since your husband’s passing.”

“If I am not to enjoy the perks of being a widow,” (Y/N) sighed, finally looking up at her favorite lady’s maid, “whatever is the point?”

“Perks that Viscount Barlow has graciously allowed you to use during your time of mourning—”

“The current viscount is all but twelve,” (Y/N) reminded. “He has no use for this estate in Mayfair until he himself becomes an adult, in which, I am sure he and his mother will come to make use of it. I believe if my maths are correct, that leaves me all of six years or so to use this home.”

“Forgive me my lady, but should you not be looking for a new husband, then?”

(Y/N) smiled at Meg. She enjoyed their friendship, her maid being only a handful of years older than herself, it made for a likely pair. “No one wishes to marry a widow,” she said simply, “widows are damaged goods. Every sensible man of the ton will be wanting a pretty little virgin instead.”

“My lady!”

“What?” She barked a laugh. “You know it to be true.”

“Regardless,” Meg said, clearing her throat. “Lord Barlow passed nearly a year ago, the period of mourning is rightfully over. You are expected to rejoin society.”

“Dreadful.”

“It is expected,” Meg repeated.

“It does not make it any less dreadful,” (Y/N) said. “Very well. Pull a dress and prepare a bath, it seems the ton gets to see my dreary face once again.”

—

Anthony Bridgerton was a man scorned. 

Particularly by his own mother in this very instance. How foolish he had been to share his intentions of marriage this season with her—for now she spread the news like a wildfire. Every desperate mama and her equally desperate daughter came flocking to him like bees to honey. 

It was only now, in the dark corner of the ballroom, that he found a respite.

“Looking a bit green, Lord Bridgerton,” a voice beside him called out. 

“I am not—” Anthony had huffed a reply before even knowing whom he was speaking to. “Lady Barlow.”

“I am shocked you can recall my name,” (Y/N) laughed over her champagne flute. “Considering how many new ones you’ve had thrown at you this eve.”

“You are out of mourning.”

“Is that a question?”

“It was an observation,” Anthony corrected.

“What gave it away? My bright dress? No tear stains left on my cheeks?”

“You are here, out and about,” Anthony said. “And, forgive me for not playing along with your delusions, but I do not think you cried much at all for Lord Barlow’s passing.”

“How dare you assume such a thing,” (Y/N) faux gasped. She had intended on pressing a hand to her chest. Intended, anyway. Somehow she forgot all about the champagne currently residing it her grasp. “Damn… this was a new dress too.”

“Good God,” he laughed. “First you are spilling all over yourself like a child and now you are cursing—tell me, do all married ladies act like you?”

“I am a widow,” (Y/N) had found a cloth and begun dabbing up the spill. It had only dribbled at most, but still, it was a new dress. “I rather think I can act the way I please.”

“Like a drunkard?”

“Like a free woman,” she said, fighting every childish urge to stick her tongue out at the viscount. “I am only here to show my face, prove I am still alive and I shall go about my merry way.”

“Lady Danbury is a widow,” Anthony noted. “Yet she still mingles with society.”

“I am not Lady Danbury.”

“You are not.”

“Do you not have young misses to go and woo?” (Y/N)’s eyes hardened. “Take your pick from the litter, Lord Bridgerton, any of them would be pleased to spend such valuable time with you.”

“Are you insinuating you are not?”

“I rather thought it was a statement, yes,” (Y/N) said.

Anthony’s eyes went only a fraction wider, nostrils flaring. “Well, if that is what you wish—”

“It is not a mean of wishing,” she laughed, “but really a necessity.”

“Good evening, Lady Barlow,” Anthony sneered, smoke practically coming out of his ears. If (Y/N) had half a mind she’d call for the authorities to put that fire out, instead, she simply finished her drink and smiled wistfully at the dancing ballroom, feeling fulfilled. 

—

Dearest Gentle Reader,

The season is in full swing thanks to the mark of Lady Agatha Danbury’s ball, a notable and traditional first event of the London scene. Eligible young ladies now on the Marriage Mart were enjoying their first taste at what fine society has to offer, however taxing or daunting it may be. 

Our resident Capital ‘R’ Rake, Viscount Anthony Bridgerton is finally deciding on a wife, surely making him the finest catch of the season. Matchmaking mamas and their young ladies alike were seen flocking to him like petulant children asking their parents for pin money, thanks to his own mother, Lady Bridgerton’s declaration of such an idea last night. The viscount seemingly had enough of the attention, taking like a wallflower and hiding away in the back of the ballroom near the end of the evening. 

His company? None other than Lady Barlow, evidently out of mourning as of last night. While the this Author is under good authority that the match between Lady Barlow and the late Lord Barlow was not a love match, given their fourty or fifty year age difference, it has taken the new dowager viscountess longer than most anticipated for her to get back into the season. A woman as young as Lady Barlow would be eager to find another husband to support her, but something tells me that she is quite enjoying her time as a widow and will not easily give that up. 

While this Author has very little idea of the actual nature of the relationship between Lord Bridgerton and Lady Barlow, it is only to be assumed that it is simply not a favorable one. The two were seen making a scene by the refreshment table, a scene that went unnoticed by many prying eyes of the ton, leaving Lord Bridgerton storming away and Lady Barlow with the winning hand. 

Good show, Lady Barlow. 

Lady Whistledown Society Papers

—

“Brother! You are in Whistledown!” Eloise sang to no one in particular. 

“I have no care that I am in that gossip rag,” Anthony ground out, rustling his newspaper. “I can only imagine it is just another advertisement of my search for a wife this season.”

“Er, yes, however—”

“However?” Anthony’s attention immediately shot up to his sister, newspaper be damned. 

“Who is Lady Barlow?” Eloise asked. 

“No one of importance,” Anthony could feel his temperature rising. 

“Lady Barlow?” Benedict laughed. “Is that who you were talking to last night dear Brother? Is she not still in mourning?”

“No.”

“No it is not who you were talking to, or no she is not still in mourning?” Benedict gave his brother an amusing glance.

“Oh, according to Whistledown—”

“Sister—”

“Eloise, you may not recall Lady Barlow, given you only just came out this season,” Benedict began, deciding that this conversation was very much worth his time this morning. “But she used to go by Miss (Y/L/N) before her marriage to the late viscount.”

“(Y/L/N)…” Eloise looked to the ceiling, finding nothing in particular. “Oh! Is she not the woman who—”

“I am taking my leave,” Anthony said abruptly, newspaper all but forgotten. 

“Escaping, Brother?” Benedict asked. 

“I have calls to make,” Anthony sneered, ignoring the pleased face his brother was making. “Excuse me.”

“It seems Lady Barlow is a touchy subject,” Eloise noted as her eldest brother left the drawing room. Benedict snorted. “What?”

“You do not even know the half of it, dear Sister.”

Anthony Bridgerton, did not in fact, have any calls to make. He had no impressionable interactions last night to warrant such a visit to anyone—the Queen was still in need of naming her diamond, after all—but he had no desire to stay and be berated by his family this morning. He truly had no plan, no thought in his head on where he was going, he just simply was. 

Apparently he was going to the park.

It was still early in the day, few people graced the park at such an hour. The few who did, however, were too busy reading the latest Whistledown to even notice him. Anthony saw a handful of post boys running opposite of his direction on his way here, it was only natural they scoped out this location. He knew it was going to be a problem the minute they finished reading—if Lady Whistledown truly wrote about him, which he had no reason to believe his sister was lying about, all eyes would be on him.

“Might as well enjoy the peace and quiet for now,” Anthony exhaled. He took a quick glance at his watch—half past eight. Hardly could he recall a time he took a turn about the park on his own, usually he was in the company of his family or holed away in his study worrying about expenses and the like, never did he take a moment to actually enjoy the grand weather such as the kind today. Determined to enjoy it, he sat down on a favorable bench and watched the birds swim across the pond.

“Unbelievable.”

He turned his head, only to find Lady Barlow dressed in a rather pleasantly pink dress and matching hat, a look of distaste on her face.

“I didn’t take you as the park-going type, Lord Bridgerton,” she nodded, folding her hands. She had been carrying a small red book in one of them. “Especially at such an early hour, too.”

“Lady Barlow,” he nearly sneered. “Can a man not enjoy the park?”

“Oh surely a man can,” (Y/N) agreed. “But you? You are no man.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It seems to me that you’re sitting in my spot,” she ignored his quip, readjusting her stance in annoyance. “This is where I come to read.”

“Can you not read elsewhere?” Anthony asked. “There is an entire park at your disposal.”

“No,” she hummed. “Afraid not.”

“No?” He laughed. “Surely out of the entire park you can find a suitable spot to read your—let me guess—romantically inclined fodder?”

“Poetry,” she corrected, “and no, I cannot simply read elsewhere. The shade is just right under this tree and I rather like overlooking the pond between my chapters.”

“Shame I got here first, then,” Anthony clicked.

“You…!” (Y/N) scoffed, fighting every urge in her body to stomp her foot. “You are an impossible man, surely you know that?”

“I thought you said I was no man?” Anthony’s brow quirked. “Or perhaps I misheard?”

She scowled. “You are not amusing.”

“On the contrary,” Anthony leaned back on the bench, stretching his arms and taking his claim. “I find myself very amusing.”

A duck quacked from the pond, either laughing at the viscount or agreeing with him—it was hard to tell. 

“You leave me no choice,” (Y/N) said sternly, taking a seat on the other end of the bench—feeling worlds apart from the man on the far side. In actuality, it couldn’t have been more than two feet, three at most.

“Truly?” Anthony laughed humorlessly. “You cannot be serious.”

“Hush,” (Y/N) said, opening her book in earnest. “I am trying to read.”

While there had been no guns drawn, this was a duel, in every sense of the word. Both parties sitting still as statues, Anthony’s gaze trained on the pond, (Y/N)’s on her book. Occasionally, she’d flip her page to the next, huffing every time Anthony still did not get up and move on. 

Stubborn. Both of them.

“Will you be quiet?” Anthony said, growing exasperated. “I cannot think when you are breathing so loud—” 

“You wish for me not to breathe?” She shut her book. “I never anticipated you’d wish me dead—”

“Please,” Anthony said. “You know that is not what I mean at all.”

“I never know with you. You, Anthony Bridgerton, are an enigma and I hope I never have the pleasure of truly understanding you,” (Y/N) said, fingers whiting from her grip on her book.

“So you admit it would be pleasurable?”

She wanted to wipe that grin off of his face, how, she was unsure. Idly, she thought about how a good smack to his cheek would feel. Painful in the moment but oh-so wonderful after, cathartic, probably. “I am not getting up.”

“Neither am I.”

“I am willing to die on this bench,” (Y/N) spat.

“Funnily enough,” Anthony’s voice dropped, “so am I.”

“How are you to find your viscountess on this bench?” She asked, angling her body towards the torturous man. “Surely you do not expect her to just walk past?”

“I am sure I can manage,” Anthony said calmly. “Many young ladies will walk this way when they see me sitting here."

“Even with another woman sitting beside you?”

“I rather think they’ll find you easy to ignore, I know I do.”

“Ha! You are truly something else, Lord Bridgerton,” (Y/N) sat straighter. “Insulting a polite woman in public?”

“You are the furthest thing from polite,” Anthony leaned in. “Rude, ostentatious, quite full of herself—”

“Might I offer you a mirror?” The grip on her book tightened, cover bending from the force. “Or are you afraid you’ll see horns?”

“Oh, do they match yours?” He nearly sang. 

“Funny,” she clicked, finally setting her book down, lacing her fingers together in her lap. “You should run a comedy act at the circus, seeing as you are a right clown.”

Anthony stood up, whether by the force of his breath or sheer spite he will never know. “You are the most ridiculous woman I have ever met.”

(Y/N) met his height, now standing as well. “And you are the most irritating man I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing.”

“I am going to walk this way,” Anthony said, forcefully pointing to his right, eyes not leaving hers. She did have the most remarkable eyes.

“And I will walk this way,” she pointed to her left, less force in her action but seething all the same. “Have the day you deserve, Lord Bridgerton.”

“Why you little…!”

She had already turned and stomped away, a fuming smudge of pink against the greenery of the park, growing further away with every step.

“What a wretched woman,” he mumbled, looking down at his watch again—nine on-the-dot. In the corner of his eye, something bright red caught his attention. Her book. She had left it behind.

Perhaps he would burn it.

Perhaps he would just put it in his pocket and carry about his day.

In the pocket it went. For now.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 7

A/N: Right, this might get a little confusing, but you know how we (English speakers) kind of went from Latin, to old English, to Now English? I’m substituting those for the Old Language, ‘Middle Language’ (the transitional phase—completely made up), and whatever the common tongue is for Prythian? Yeah, sorry about that!

Warnings: none…? I don’t think…?

Word Count: 5,587

-Part 6- -🌌🌠- -Part 8-

You stare at the page, heart in your throat.

Stare at the page, and reach for a pen.

Who is this?

Ink stains the white paper, and stupidity heats your features. He probably left it as a taunt. It’s not like he’s going to respond. You groan, setting the pen down, covering your face with your hands. Mother above. Definitely not your smartest moment. Reach to flip the paper over—not wanting to be reminded of your naïveté.

More ink has appeared, just below your scribbled question.

You may hide your intelligence around your family, but that won’t work with me. Smarten up.

The words burn your features. Scowl at the paper.

Forgive me for not anticipating the paper to talk back, Eris.

It vanishes the second you’ve written the sentence, leaving you blinking at the empty space on your desk. Winnowing isn’t possible within the House of Wind—you’ve heard both Rhysand and Feyre say it before. Yet note passing seems completely acceptable, for some reason. You suppose no harm can derive from simple exchanges.

You’ve been surrounded by magic for nearly two years. It’s shameful to still be taken aback by its multi-faceted ways.

A reluctant smile gilds your mouth. That’s Eris alright. Readjust your hold on the pen.

And it’s embarrassing to rely on stupidly long words in attempt to prove your intellect. Just say it’s versatile.

The parchment disappears, then returns. Nothing’s been added.

Amusement brightens your mouth, raising the writing instrument, poising it to attack. The words dance on your tongue, weapons to provocation: You have a bad attitude to being spoken back to. But you shake your head, instead choosing compromise for your next reply.

Did you want something? I doubt you simply dropped in to say hi. Unless this is your way of making sure I got the book?

Perhaps it was my way of seeing where you fall in this alliance.

Brow draws together. He obviously means the alliance between the Night Court and him, but where do you fit into it all? How does this show your placement? What does he even mean, where you fall? Take a deep breath, release it. It will do you no good to fall for his own provocation.

I hope you were satisfying enlightened, then, you write back.

Quite.

Stare at the neatly scripted response. He’s leaving the conversation for you to direct. First thoughts go to where he acquired the book, but somehow you feel that’s not the direction he wants you to take this in. So, sighing, you stumble straight into the trap he’s laid out.

Why haven’t you told anyone?

Paper vanishes again. Takes a minute to reappear.

It’s pretty blackmailing material. Why waste it in common conversation?

Lips purse together as you read his reply. Manipulative indeed.

Whatever you think you’ll be able to extort from me, I can guarantee you’ll end up disappointed.

Not the family favourite?

Blink at the speed of the response. Like quicksilver. Vague amusement warms your chest—how clear the mockery is. Disconcertingly comforting to know he doesn’t change. The same in every form. Precious constancy. Lower the pen to parchment.

I suppose you would know all about that, wouldn’t you?

And I suppose you’ll hide beneath the guise of observation, now?

It certainly isn’t warfare. I’d think you’d be practiced at spotting pretty, bladed words.

Again, the parchment vanishes, leaving you in the silence of your own room. Feet tap anxiously upon the clear wood, leg vibrating as you wait on him. Realisation smacks you upside your jaw—you refuse to sit here wasting precious seconds for whatever nihilistic response he carves out for you. Instead, you turn to the anthology, flicking to the index, peering at titles. Searching for one that will catch your eye.

I’m flattered—you’ve sharpened your tongue since we last sparred.

Roll your eyes. Lips quirking at the inherent Eris-ness of the response.

Wooden swords will only serve me for so long. Why not experiment with steel in a controlled environment?

The parchment vanishes, and takes its time to reappear. Time you spend scanning titles, pondering their contents. Maybe you should ask why he gave it to you in the first place. Certainly not out of the kindness of his heart.

Paper reappears.

You think merely because there are entire courts between us that makes you safe?

Peer at his reply—try studying it. Does he want you to be wary of him? It seems unlikely, somehow. He wouldn’t be able to get anything from you if you’re afraid of him. He should be encouraging you to feel at ease speaking with him if he wants something.

Do you make a habit of being as unpleasant as possible to every person you encounter, or am I just lucky?

A smile warms your mouth as the paper vanishes, fantasising how irritated he might become. From your words! Exhilarating!

Eyes land on a title that piques your interest: Movement of Light. Brow narrows with interest, flipping to the registered page number eagerly. Upon the parchment, beside the tightly knitted words, lays a neat diagram. It appears to be of a rectangle with two small holes punctured through its thin mass. Interesting…

Do you make a habit of keeping secrets from your family?

Lips purse. Cutting to the core, again. Manipulative as he may be, he’s certainly skilled at finding the right bruises to target. You wonder if it’s a skill he’d been taught through books or word of mouth, or if, perhaps, it was a nastier kind of education. Shake your head free of thoughts, pulling away from the book.

Having no secrets at all is stupidly idilic. Are there any other misconceptions you would like me to clear up?

You’re surprisingly cynical for your age.

Strange how having one’s mortality ripped away will do that to a woman.

Even you can hear the bitterness bleeding through. But the words have been written, and the paper has disappeared, so there’s no use trying to take them back. Even if you’re mentally cursing yourself for allowing that kind of opening. Surprised at how easy it is to be caught up in conversation with him. Or sparring, as he so eloquently puts it.

Wonderful immortality not treating you well?

Again, with the taunting. Amusement and something else prickles beneath your fingertips. Irked.

I’ll admit, it’s not quite as spectacular as I might’ve thought once upon a time.

That seems measured enough.

I thought humans were raised to hate us.

Observe the words—how they sit on the parchment. The contrast between your short scribbles and his elegant font.

Might a deer not wish for a wolf’s strength?

Parchment again vanishes. Once you’ve counted to three, you turn your attention back to the book, scanning the passage of writing. Brows narrow at the leap in language—words you’re unfamiliar with. A photon? Maybe it would be better to start from the beginning. Where’s a damn glossary when you need one?

Paper reappears—you take a moment to pull away from the volume.

Have you always been in pursuit of grandeur?

Brow narrows at the question.

I’d say I’ve always been rather passionate about not starving. So I suppose I did once think having three hot meals a day would be utter luxury.

I would have rather rotted away than be forced to live amongst vermin.

A surprised laugh flutters from your chest, amusement sparking within you again.

You’re much too stubborn for such a miserable end, Eris; too bitter to resign yourself to such a fate, either.

Parchment vanishes. One. Two. Three. Return to the volume, start at the beginning. Where your eyes were intended to land. Sighing, you scan the title: The Foundations of our World—Stuff. Brow narrows, lips quirking upward at the vagueness of it. Stuff. Such a lack of precise articulation, yet here it is, in an anthology of noteworthy discoveries. Somehow, this piece had been selected as important; important enough to be the base for the entire book. Strange…

Eye roll across the tightly stacked letters, mind pulsing as words soak into your brain, thumping dully as blood rushes through your ears. Take everything at it’s basest nature, reduce it down to the fundamentals, and what sort of building blocks are you left with? What makes up the world as we see it?

‘Take the prefix a- from the middle language, and combine it with the Old Language verb to cut, creating the name for the indivisible: atom. The smallest bits of matter that can exist independently.’

Intrigue returns with crushing force, making it near impossible to tear your eyes from the volume when the parchment reappears. How long has he been writing? Maybe he was preoccupied.

And yet I understand it was the youngest of you who took up her weapons and headed out into the wild. For how adamantly you protested against my lack of action regarding something I could easily correct, you seem to appear quite the hypocrite. Why didn’t you go out into those woods?

Blink away the memories of frost. Of sweat-stained clothes, and matted, knotted hair.

Getting a little personal with the questions, don’t you think?

Writing to me at all is much more personal than you should ever be getting—I’m sure your friends would agree. Yet there you are, pen in hand, thinking up your next counterattack.

The reply comes with surprising swiftness, allowing you only a brief glimpse of the following passage. Just as you’re beginning to grasp the core of what the essay is talking on.

You write with the confidence sight, you reply, eager to return. Yet he seems to have put his own distractions aside, as the response follows promptly.

Magic is a wonderful thing.

Blood ices in your veins, limbs stiffening, tongue turning leaden.

You’re lying. The House is fortified with wards; practically impregnable.

Yet here we are, corresponding. Does your High Lord know what you get up to behind closed doors?

Heart spikes in your chest, fingers trembling just a little as you lower pen to paper.

You clearly want something; you’re not going to get it if you spook me away, so quit the games.

Very well, but I’ll admit I indulged in the thought of your discomfort.

Release a heavy sigh—he doesn’t somehow have a window into your room, able to watch every move you make. Surely that would be too far, even for his manipulative ways. Skin prickles at how easily he slid beneath it—fingertips brighten.

You share that delightful, sharp-written humour with your youngest brother, you know that?

The parchment vanishes, then reappears in a matter of seconds. You laugh to yourself.

Touchy subject, Eris?

The second you dot the question mark, the door swings open; you yelp, jumping in your chair, shoving the parchment away. Vanishes again a blink later, slightly crumpled from the violent rejection.

“I knocked…” Feyre supplies, features tightening with concern. “Did you not… Oh.” She blinks, peering at the door frame; the threshold. “I suppose it must have been set up to block out exterior noise, too.” Sighs. “I’ll get that fixed at some point. Seems a waste to have a sound barrier up if you’re unable to hear what’s going on outside.”

Swallow heavily, trying to look normal. Like you weren’t knowingly communicating with the heir to the Autumn Court throne. Blue-grey settles upon you, fingers fidgeting in your lap, shifting in your seat to get comfortable. Everything feels unsettled. Her brows arrow, “you’re… What were you doing?���

“Nothing.” You reply, quickly. Far too quickly to be normal.

Lips quirk. “Writing to Bas?” She teases.

Heavy sigh whooshes from your chest, deflating a little. “How do you know about him? I haven’t even mentioned him to ‘Lain,” you say lightly. Something flashes through her eyes, too quickly for you to decipher. “Az mentioned you had someone after you,” she laughs, stepping into the room, door closing behind her. “I had no idea it was so serious,” she smiles, the happiness so inappropriate with the context you have.

Shake your head in denial, “he’s just a friend. There’s nothing else going on.” She gives you a look to say she doesn’t believe you. “I’m serious,” you insist. “There’s nothing romantic going on.” That part’s true, at least.

Feyre laughs again, then shifts on her feet. A strange quest seems to overtake her. “You know things are different here,” she begins softly, “to how we lived as humans.”

Heat flushes your features, making you groan. “Oh my gods, Fey. I am not having this conversation with you.”

“I’m just saying, if you want to get out there…see the world…maybe a few males, too… That’s fine. That’s stuff we can do, now. Well, you can do.” She amends the last part. After all, she’s the youngest, and already has a mate, a husband, and a child. An entire family. The epitome of womanhood.

Shake your head adamantly, “please, stop.” You grimace. Her lips quirk, mischief in here blue-grey eyes. She’s so lively…spirited. Bubbly? But calm, too. When did she become so adult? She seems to have aged in the blink of an eye.

(Why didn’t you go out into those woods?)

She shifts again, peers around the room—it’s a superficial move. She’s buying time, building up to something. “Your floor’s clear,” she notes, nodding to the clear wooden boards. Nod in response, trying not to wring your fingers. You were doing nothing wrong. He had spoken first. Nothing to be guilty about; no one got hurt. It’s fine.

“About our last interaction…” she begins, quietly. Spine stiffens, heart spikes. “I wasn’t trying to find something wrong with you; I’m sorry it came out that way.”

Exhale softly, shoulders lose their tension. Smile easily, waving her off. “Oh, don’t worry about it,” you laugh. “I understand. I’m sorry for lashing out at you, it was unfair on my part to act that way.” Her eyes narrow on you. Keep up the smile. “Is this your way of saying you just don’t want to talk about it?” She asks, softly. Blue-grey shimmers with sincerity.

Lips begin to ache with the stretch. “What are you talking about? We’ve made peace, there’s no need to exacerbate this.”

“Do you not want to talk about it?” She reiterates, keeping calm and quiet.

“What is it?” You laugh, turning to face the desk, eyes flitting to the volume. Scan the page; absorb nothing. “What you said last time. About being a burden.”

Body stiffens, breath catches.

“Fey, I’m getting tired,” you excuse, voice steady.

“You’re tired a lot,” she replies, quietly. Still watching. “Maybe Madja should take a look at you.” Sigh. Lean back in your chair. Tilt your face back, peering at the ceiling. “I’ve had a long life,” you murmur up to the white wallpaper, “I’m allowed to be tired.”

“You’re barely twenty-two.”

“And a lot has happened. I’m allowed to be tired.” You repeat, not looking at her.

Silence stretches between you. Gentle, but taut.

“How about you?” You ask, shifting the conversation over. Turning to peer at her. Your younger sister. Feyre blinks, then nods her head. “Good. Wonderful.” Watch her silently. Mark the lowness of her lids. “Nyx still waking you up?”

Nods again, smiling faintly, traveling somewhere distant. Somewhere foreign to you. “Eight days a week,” she laughs quietly. “Rhys and I are taking turns looking after him during the nights. Despite his work-load.” Sighs, pushes hair from her cheek, tucks it over a pointed ear. “He’s been great. Supportive, attentive, perfect. I keep trying to get him to let me handle Nyx, but he’s insisting it’s a joint effort. Wants to be there in a way his father…” she trails off, eyes misting.

Nod your head slowly. “And I suppose you want to be there in a way our mother…?”

“Yeah,” she replies thickly. “I guess that’s part of it.” The quiet turns viscous, coagulating into something almost translucent.

“I read some things…” you begin gently, “about the turbulence of motherhood.”

Her features lift into a smile, “oh, don’t worry about me. Rhys and I are working through it. It’s difficult, but everyone’s there when the strain starts to set in.” You blink away subtle surprise. “Mor’s always up for taking him off our hands for a day or two. It’s the same with Cass and Nesta,” she laughs fondly. “Amren…well, she’s Amren. And Elain’s great at making little treats here and there. Smiley faces out of his breakfast and things like that—he loves it.”

You nod slowly. Blink. “That’s great.” Again the silence creeps in.

Then she’s shifting on her feet, and. You just know—

“What kind of person is Bas?” She inquiries, not at all subtly. Nosey.

“He’s my friend, and nothing else.” He’s much more than a friend, but there’s no way to explain that without an entire Court’s worth of misunderstandings and uncomfortable questions. Still, she nods, but remains in your room. “And he… His intentions?”

“Feyre,” you scold, incredulously.

Your younger sister doesn’t flinch. Keeps her gaze straight. “Okay. Okay,” she sighs, holding up her hands in defence. “I’m wary of him.”

“Please, you can trust me he’s harmless. To me, at least. I’m sure if someone swung at him he’d be the type to swing back, but that’s besides the point.” You leave out the part that you’re fairly certain he would be the one to also somehow provoke a fight. He can be pretty provocative when he wants to. Not always in a bad way…

(…a hot, male body that’s pressing you into the wall.)

“I just want you to be careful,” she says quietly, eyes misting, going somewhere far away. “Males…people can be unkind. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” Amarantha, Tamlin… You nod your head, “I understand. But Bas…I can trust him. So please don’t doubt him; please don’t doubt me either, in this decision.”

Feyre nods again. Silence stretches, then she straightens. Pats the doorframe. “Well, I’ll have this fixed as soon as possible. It’ll need to be disabled, than I can remake it—so you’ll be able to hear people coming. It’d be awful if you got yourself hurt from being startled by one of us.” She gives you a sweet smile, then disappears out into the hall, door clicking shut behind her.

Unsure if it’s her silent feet or the sound barrier that prevents you from hearing her disappearing footfalls.

————

Skin is itching, fingers burning. Heart spiking.

Burning, burning, burning. Hands on fire.

Vision blurs, floor spinning. She’s on the ceiling.

Crash into a wall, bone crunching. Stumble to the kitchen.

Water. Where’s water. Burning skin. Charring fingertips.

Liquid drips down cheeks, splashing onto knuckles.

Scraped raw, searing pain. Bone splintering, nails peeling.

Cool water fills the sink, drown her hands.

Sweet strangulation, dulcet deprivation.

Lovely oblivion.

————

Breath eases in and out, soothing your lungs. In and out. Slow and steady. In. And out.

Chest deflates, keeping your body straight but relaxed—imagine sinking into the mattress. Cheeks puff up with the exhale, calm and quiet. Sit silently. Allow the world to fade. Tension seeps from your shoulders, muscles relaxing the way you’ve practiced. Now to make sure you don’t drop off instead.

Empty out thoughts, settle into the silence. Float away on a breeze. Imagine hands being set aglow. No. They are aglow.

Eyes remain shut, tight. Picture the radiant green seeping onto your skin, setting it alight.

Fingers twitch, bones itch. Teeth grind. Nails heat.

Eyes open in time to catch the glow as it fades, sinking back into your skin. A flicker of Starfall, then nothing. Sigh heavily, back slumping, shoulders sloping. It’s something; most importantly, it’s progress. Day three of fourteen. Slow movements, slower response. Gently stoking the flames.

Remove the light from your world, lids closing, return to the darkness. Seeking solace. Breath eases in and out, soothing your lungs. In and out. Slow and steady. In. And out. In. And out. Fingertips warm, but eyes remain closed. Don’t acknowledge it. Can’t look or feel for it. Allow it to grow in the back of your mind, allow into latch into your blood; flourish. Swirling and billowing, gaining momentum until it can move on its own, until it can function without nurture.

Keep your back turned to the power, allow it to remain unseen. Pull it upward; hear as it cracks and fizzles in your head. Rapidly dividing…splitting at high-speed…multiplying until it boils and bubbles. One cleaves another in two…into three…nine…

(…Twenty-seven, eighty-one, two-hundred forty-three…)

(…two-thousand one-hundred eighty-seven, six-thousand five-hundred sixty-one, nineteen-thousand six-hundred eighty-three…)

(One-million seven-hundred-seventy-one-thousand one-hundred forty-seven.)

Heat burns your fingertips, flashing pain blaring so rapidly, sparking like lightening across your palms, splintering phalanges…down into the carpal bones, nearing your wrists.

Vision blasts into view, pupils contract to tiny dots, shrinking away from the pale green light that’s blazing from your hands, barreling up your forearms, crackling past elbows, bolting up, up, up… Muscles seize, contracting against the hot itch scrambling your flesh, twisting at sinew. The blinding light dims, eyes peeking open as it dulls to a quiet luminosity, tinting your skin. Feels like poison ivy…the nettles by your old estate.

Swallow, staring at the radiance. Almost mesmerising enough to block out the burn. Throat itches, tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth. Deep breaths. Ease in. And out. Deep and easy. Calm and quiet. Collected.

Slowly, warily, you rise from your bed, door swinging open on the house’s command. Silently pad down the hallway, arms and torso concealed well by your dress, cardigan hiding the faint incandescence of your wrists. Hands—no way to hide them. Ignore it for now, you need a drink. Deep and easy. In. And out. Calm. Quiet and collected.

A glass waits for you on the table, walk steadily forward, fingers tremble as they clutch the cup. Water vibrates inside, tiny ripples fluttering across the surface. Effervescent bubbles shimmer at the base. Grow larger, swelling into compact air, fizzing up. Simmering in your hands. Tension coils your shoulders, brow dampening. Liquid heats up, boiling into a volatile mess. Bubbles pop at the surface, scalding water splashing onto your knuckles.

Scream as glass shatters, burning your bare feet as the liquid sprays.

Heart spikes, glowing brighter, inching up your arms, over your shoulders. Crawling across your collar bones. Muscles knot, tangling over themselves as they seize in terror. Power coils closer, snaking toward your throat, slowly…slowly…

“What—”

Hazel pierces into you, flicking over your hands, marking the shards of glass. He appeared in a flurry of darkness, shadows pulling back once he’s materialised in the doorway. Eyes already scanning for the source of distress. Fix on the slow spread of toxic green as it tip-toes higher. Hits a barrier. It’s a small hesitation—but it’s enough. Magic flickers, recoiling from your clavicle, enough hesitation to be quashed. Like a weight sinking down, an avalanche of rock crushing vermin, bones crunching beneath the pressure. Incandescence shoved away, dripping down your arms, cut back to your fingertips.

Sweet relief washes over you, waves of coolness cresting from your forehead to your toes. Lovely reprieve. Exhale heavily, spine nearly collapsing beneath the strain, leaving a slight glimmer to your fingertips, nails curved and warped from heat. Stagger back as he silently moves toward you. Scarred hands reach out, wanting to touch; wanting to steady.

“Are you—”

“Don’t,” you bark, snapping your arms closer to your body. Feel their unnatural heat as it singes the fabric of your dress. His nostrils flare, scenting the charred material, shadows flicker.

Call breath into your lungs, soothing. Deep and easy. In and out. Calm and quiet. In. And out. Calm and collected. A familiar scent has hairs raising at the back of your neck, eyes flicking up to lock with hazel. Closer than before. Despite the heat.

“What was that?” He asks, the deep roughness of his voice curling across your breastbone, soothing the heated skin like a balm. Swallow heavily, keeping your hands tight to your torso. Turn away; move to the sink. The tap turns on independently, cool water sizzling as it washes over trembling hands. Cold metal mollifies your skin, a comfy weight around your neck. The tiny barrier your magic had hit. Tripped up on.

Azriel doesn’t make a sound, but you can feel him nearby, standing at your side. Watching silently as the water fizzles and hisses, the last of the glow dimming from your fingertips. How close he’d come to touching the blisteringly hot skin. Slowly, the cold begins to souse into your digits, running smoothly over your hands, no longer bubbling or evaporating on impact.

The house has already cleared away the shards of glass; dried the pool of scalding water by the time you’ve dried your hands. Flaky, and ashen. The smooth, creamy texture seemingly been ravished by the heat. Yet all you felt was a slight itch to begin with. You don’t make any attempts to conceal how quickly you want to escape the room, but you’re kept where you are. Waiting…waiting for him to change his mind about keeping your secret. After what he’s just seen…

Feet are pinned to the boards, muscles unwilling to obey your mind as you explore them to turn and leave. Arms feel leaden, stiff and immovable. Wait for the compromise to be retracted. Hands tremble, teeth faintly bite onto your tongue. Wait for the condemnation. For being so foolish; stubborn.

“Are you hurt?” Words thud dully against your ears, keeping your hands as out of sight as possible, hidden beneath the sleeves of your cardigan. Nod dutifully. “I’m okay,” you murmur. Lips are numb, mind buzzing faintly. Floorboards spin ever so slightly, blurring in and out of focus. Deep breaths. In and out. Slow and steady. In. And out. Calm and collected. In. And. Out.

Boots appear at the top of your sight, just a little way from your own. Far enough not to be intimate. He holds out a scarred hand, palm facing upward. Almost expectant.

Blink away the dizziness. Flesh tingling…wriggling beneath your skin. Nails itching.

Wait silently to see what he’ll do.

Continues holding out his hand, waiting patiently to see if you’ll offer up your own. Remain rooted to the spot, numbness crawling beneath your sleeves. Mind buzzing with confusion at the outstretched palm.

Slowly, he begins reaching for your wrist, as if to inspect the results of the experiment. Analyse the consequence. Examine.

It topples you into motion.

Turn on your feet; quietly scamper off down the corridor. Behind the safety on your door.

With the wooden barrier in place, plus the sound block on your room, you can truly feel forgotten for a while. Like time’s stopped.

————

The shower had your blood moving again, temperature cooling to a regular heat. Mind working again, mentally cataloguing every thought you had, every twinge of unusualness that could have been the signposting you should have noticed to prevent that rapid surge of…burning.

Peer down at your hands, almost absently. Aside from the slight roughness to your skin; the chapped dryness to your knuckles, there’s nothing to show for the bone deep itch that had manifested within your flesh. Just the texture becoming sandpapery. Flaky.

A dark blue towel is draped over your shoulders like a shawl, preventing the damp ends of your hair from saturating the changed dress.

(What was that?)

It stopped almost out of nowhere. One moment, steadily spreading throughout your body, the next, it seemed to stumble. Like hitting a bump of some kind. Something that disturbed its momentum. Peer down at the necklace that’s sitting comfortably around your throat, resting just above your collar bones. In the dip of their joining point.

The small, glass pendant hanging from the bronze chain sits innocently on your person. Fingers brush over the map in wonder, curiously feeling. Cool metal contains the accessory, lead encapsulated within a gleaming polish. Even the underside has a pretty finish. Lead, bronze, and glass. Maybe some ink, but that’s all it is. No secrets carved to its base, no hidden compartment. Just a simple ornament, yet something about it disagreed with you. Thank the Mother.

Fingers play with the charm as you take a seat at your desk, reopening the volume. Rusty red leather creaks as you turn to your page, more than willing to submerge yourself in learning. The candles flicker as you ease out a breath, taking in the familiar scent of parchment and something pleasantly spiced. Maybe it’s an Autumn Court scent.

Crumpled paper lands on your desk, settling comfortably between the two large pages of the anthology.

It may surprise you to learn I have better things to do than spend all my hours writing to you.

Stare at the neat, elegant script. Debate the merits of responding willingly. Returning to this strange sparring match would be acknowledging your interest. There’d be no way to talk your way back to innocence. Putting pen to paper will mean…

And yet here you are, Vanserra, writing back to me.

Oh, you hope that irritates him. Hope he sends back something vicious. Something to make you spark awake again. To light up the numbness that’s turning your world monotone.

Would you like to tell me where these wrinkles came from?

Lips tug at the edges, but remain set in a dull line. Lower your pen to the roughed-up parchment. Fingers dry and somewhat cracked in the low light.

Nonsense, Eris. You don’t look a day over thirty.

Picture the way his sharp caramel eyes blaze with ire at the brazenness. Maybe his palms also heat when he’s in a mood. It’s a little comforting to remember power probably didn’t come naturally to him. Maybe. You’re making assumptions, though.

And you don’t dress a day over fifty. Considering Rhys’ wealth is at your fingertips, you have the fashion sense of someone who’s still destitute.

Mouth parts as you read the response. Brows flicking up your forehead. Harsh…

A smile quirks the corners of your lips.

I’ll have you know I dress for comfort. You’re the one who cares so much about prettification. Maybe I could visit your personal beauty parlour sometime, Eris?

Parchment vanishes, allowing you time to peer down at the diagram before you: a small rectangular table. There are various squares left blank, while others are filled in with one or two letters. The boxes that do contain letters attached are numbered, correlating with asterisks further down the page, displaying a full title.

Who would ever accompany you? It’s bad etiquette to visit a tonsorium on one’s own.

The smile fades after a few moments. Who would go with you if you wanted to visit somewhere? Elain? Feyre? …Mor? Shake your head, pushing away the dismal thoughts he’s brought to your attention. Divert elsewhere.

It’s worst to not entertain your guests. What a miserable (and sour) host you would be. I think I’m actually quite glad to not be visiting anytime soon.

Try to return to the anthology; find yourself awaiting his reply. Leg tapping against the floorboards. Minutes pass while you attempt to absorb more of the text, but nothing’s sticking. Like there’s a fog passing through your brain, stopping you from taking in the wonder of the world. More minutes tick by—the sky a solid dark blue the other side of your window. A few other candles gleam alight, and you murmur your thanks to the House. Flame flickers in response. Oddly comforting.

Eyelids start to feel heavy, weighing into your vision.

You don’t realise you nodded off until you wake from your nap. The desk is still void of a reply; you wearily peer around your room, attempting to orient yourself. Knuckles itch to be scratched, still rough to the touch. Gaze settles on your door. Perhaps it’s a little scary that you wouldn’t know if something was lurking directly the other side. Wouldn’t be able to hear any heavy breathing, or the scrape of steel. Deep breath, because there’s nothing there.

Stand to draw the curtains, but hairs stand on end. Remain still for a few seconds, centring on the feeling. Is it fear? Is it loneliness? Brow knits in concentration, absently drawing the curtains, turning back to face the entrance to your room.

(The only exit.)

Sigh in frustration. It’s not good to give into your…however you’re feeling. It will only encourage your mind to exacerbate whatever problem its fabricated. Still, you find yourself opening the door, peering down the well-lit corridor. Nothing there, no strange feeling, no lurking presences. Just your mind finding something to react to, creating a madness to subject you to. Deep breaths. The House of Wind is secure. Safe, and secure. You’re safe here. Nothing bad will happen; you won’t get hurt.

Deep breaths, heart lowering its pace.

Move to bring the door to; notice something on the ground, beside the frame.

Crouch down to pick up the small tin. Bring it inside, door swinging shut as you hold it up to the light.

Peer at the neat label. Pop open the lid; look inside.

It’s a small pot of hand cream.

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022

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[themoonlovemuses]

All For A Good Cause (Professor Layton X Reader) Part 1

Summary: The day of the Charity Gala is finally upon you both. Having agreed to meet up to go together, you make your way to his, wondering where the night will take you both.

☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆

A week later after walking home with the professor and arranging to meet up before the charity gala, you’re on your way to the Layton household. And the weather was not on your side to make this a night to remember for the professor. In true British fashion, the heavens decided to open their doors and rain quite heavily on the city of London. But nothing was going to stop you from making this a night to remember. After all, you had made a promise to your friend to help him relax tonight.

“A little rain never hurt anyone really,” You told yourself as you finally made it to the awning of the Professor’s home, making sure to close your trusty umbrella before knocking on the familiar door. Soon enough, the door creaked open to reveal a familiar head of light brown hair.

“Hello Luke! How are you? May I come in?” 

“Oh! Hi (Y/N)! Of course! Please come in!” Luke offered, stepping aside to let you into the professor’s apartment.

Once inside, you quickly took a look around the hallway. You had been in the apartment only a handful of times in the past. Mostly to wait on the professor and Luke on days when you all went out together. Normally to a museum exhibit you all wanted to see or to spend the day with Luke when the professor had important meetings to attend, so you hadn’t fully taken in what his home looked like. Looking around now, you could see it was easily a full extension of what his office looked like; a coat hanger and umbrella holder by the front door with a mirror to the side, a shelf with miscellaneous trinkets from his travels underneath. Bookshelves stuffed to the brim with archaeology textbooks, loose sheaf paper, and research journals. From your angle at the front door, you could just about peer into the living room too; a plush green sofa you could imagine sinking into with a good book, a roaring fire warming the house, and a coffee table scattered with tests he was scoring. “Untidy and yet feels like home.” you chuckled to yourself as you waited on the front door mat, not wanting to drip water into your friend's home.

“Is that you (Y/N)? I’ll just be a moment, and then we can go. We will just have to make a detour to Luke’s parent's house so they can look after him while we’re out. I hope that is ok?” A voice drifted from upstairs, seeming to have heard you and not wanting to leave you hanging.

“That’s quite alright Hershel, take your time! We’re ahead of schedule anyway!”

“You look nice (Y/N)! The professor said that you are going to a charity gala. What’s that like?” Luke asked, admiring your outfit as she did so. A glitzy affair you had in the back of your closet for special events like this.

“Well Luke, while it’s still at the university, it’ll be a slightly more posh affair. With all the school board attending to raise money for charity.”

“Oh yes, I saw that on the invitation the professor showed me. I hope the people of Haiti are ok! I can’t imagine what they must be going through!”

“I’m sure they will with the help from this event. But anyway, it’s a bit like a big party everyone’s donated to attend, filled with events and dancing.”

“Well, I hope you and the professor have a nice time! I hope one day I’ll be able to go to a charity gala too!” Luke exclaimed, trying to stand on his tip-toes and bow like a proper gentleman, causing you to giggle and check he was ok when he accidentally hit his head on the wall he was facing.

“I’m sure you will one day Luke. Apologies for making you wait dear. Shall we head off?” A familiar voice appeared out of nowhere. Turning around, you saw Hershel in all his glory; A finely tailored black tie suit with his signature hat and a silk tie to match. “Oh wow, he looks good. Really good!”

“Of course! Ready when you are! C’mon Luke!” You replied, turning around and heading out first, holding out your umbrella for the pair to join you under as you walked to the trusted Laytonmobile, hoping to hide your face in case he saw just how affected you were by his change from his usual attire.

With that, the three of you got into the Laytonmobile and drove off to the Trition Household, greeted by Luke as you dropped Flora off to be looked after while at the event. Some small talk was had with the Triton family for a while, Brenda complimenting you on your outfit and Clark teasing Hershel that he should be going to the Ritz instead of a university gala with what fine clothes he’s in this evening. Eventually, Brenda turned the Triton brood inside, allowing you and the professor to finally head off to Gressenheller.

“Hmm, traffic’s a little heavy with the latecomers going home from work, but we should still make it in time,” Hershel muttered, watching the road as we passed over London Bridge, the streetlights blurring with the heavy patter of the rain and the blinds working hard to maintain visual of the street. “But still, this should be an event to remember I believe, from what I’ve heard about the auction.”

“Oh yes, from what I heard the school board went above and beyond in donating items for the auction. I even heard that there’s a first edition of Homer’s Odyssey up for grabs tonight! If I can’t win anything tonight, I sure hope I can bid on that!”

“Hahaha! I thought that particular item might catch your fancy! Mrs Sinclair is a mythology lover too from the small handful of meetings I've had with her, and always up for sharing her love of it.”

“Oh dear, have I become that predictable already? I may have to shake things up and take an interest in something completely out of my usual scope to keep you on your toes… like flower-arranging.”

“Now now, there is nothing wrong with predictability. After all, if you're passionate about something you love, why would you not indulge in that and share your fascinations with the world.” He said, turning his head my way for a split second to show a kind smile before returning his eyes to the road.

“That's true. Besides, I'm not the only one who is predictable about what items on tonight's auction people would be interested in. After all, I can imagine you’re interested in the Azran tablet Dr Schrader has donated to the auction tonight. Must be a blast from the past from your previous adventures right?

“Hmm, it seems I too may have to branch out into different avenues if I have become this predictable to you too.”

“Oh hush Hershel. You and I both know that I wouldn’t have you any other way apart from how you are now.”

“Well, thank you (Y/N). It’s always nice to see

“But all seriousness aside, if you did pick another hobby to take up what would it be?”

“...Football.”

“Seriously!?!” You asked, turning in your seat to look at the man head-on, a hand covering the growing grin at the image of Hershel in a proper footballer’s kit, kicking a football up a pitch with the other team chasing him.

“Well, it does take good coordination and skill to be able to master those strategies the team manager creates. And it’s a great way to keep your cardio up. Why, don’t you think I’d make a great footballer?”

“You know what Hershel, I think you’d be a fantastic footballer. You already have the athleticism to keep up with the other players. Should be a cinch for you to pick up.”

“Well thank you (Y/N). Should I ever decide to switch careers in the future, I’ll make sure you’ll be the first one I send tickets to come see me. Anyway, we’ve arrived now.” He finishes, leaving you chuckling as he slides the Laytonmobile perfectly into a spare parking space.

Having entered the university five out of seven days a week for months now, you’re normally so used to the grounds that you don’t notice the finer details anymore. But looking at the building in the evening light, you can’t help but think of how magical it all looks tonight. String lights dangle across streetlights to entice visitors into the main doors. The windows filled with warm light and silhouettes of attendees, already having a great time mingling inside. The lawns are manicured to perfection and the trees sway in the breeze to produce a melodic sound to the chatter inside, just as the rain lets up from a downpour to a drizzle.

“Well, what luck! We won’t be drenched by the time we make it inside.” Hershel commented, getting out of the car and joining you on your side of the vehicle. “And (Y/N)...”

“Yes, Hershel?”

“You look wonderful tonight. Shall we?” He asked, smiling at you as he offered his hand out to you.

“We shall.” You responded, smiling up at him as you put your hand in his as he helped you out of the car. Holding the umbrella for the pair of you, you both made your way inside the building to see where this auction takes you both.

[gothamite-rambler]

Duke Thomas gets added to the payroll

Bruce Wayne (seeing Duke walk past his office): Duke.

Duke backwards walked to Bruce’s office.

Duke: Sup?

Bruce: Did you check your bank account? The direct deposit should’ve hit.

Duke: The what? Oh you were serious about that?

Bruce: Of course, you’re not only my son, but you do work for me and you deserve an income.

Duke: Thanks dude, but I can’t take your money I work at the library.

Bruce: Duke, trust me. You deserve this. I do it for all my kids… except Tim.

Duke: Why not Tim?

Bruce: Long story… he owns part of my company, plus he- he definitely embezzled a lot of my funds before I noticed so him working at my company is his paycheck.

Duke (alarmed): That was him?!

Bruce: Yeah, but that’s not important currently. You enjoy your first payhcheck and I’m proud of you.

Duke: Thanks man.

Duke left the office, checking his phone as he walked to his room. He nearly dropped his phone seeing the four digits in his bank account that had five dollars in it three days ago.

Duke (shocked, happy): Three- Three thousand dollars?! Woooooooo! I’m eating good tonight! No wait, game stop here I come!

Duke ran out the house passing by Stephanie and Jason.

Duke: I can finally buy a PlayStation!

Jason: Wait until he finds out it’s a monthly payment.

Stephanie: I’ll tell him later. Want to go tell Tim about it first?

Jason: 100% yes.

[missfrustration]

to teach a captain - part 3 (luffy x reader 18+ fanfic)

summary: “You want to kiss, too!” He says. His head juts forward, leaning down as he looks up at you. You could only respond with one thing: "So, what if I do?"

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7

rating: 18+ explicit, minors do not interact!!

tags: pwp, nsfw, smut, sexual content, masturbation, kissing, luffy is a curious guy, reader is a member of the straw hat crew, post-time skip, second-hand embarrassment, no spoilers, no use of y/n

A/n: the ao3 crowd waited half a year for me to post this part, so parts after this will chug along slowly, just wanted to warn you ahead of time! hopefully the length of this helps. posted on ao3 here

words: 8.1k (very long, whoops)

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

The rest of the night went as follows.

Chopper finally catches up to you after the crew settles into the Sunny. His chipperness never faltered when you tell him you feel better than earlier. Still, he insisted on a late-night check-up. Other than an elevated heartbeat, he gave you a clean bill of health and sent you on your way. 

You took a peak in the small bag Robin gave you, largely ignoring Nami’s. You softly grimace, seeing the new bottle of lube lying on top of the other shopping list of things you ask her to get beforehand.

You couldn't go to sleep for the better half of the night. Every time you thought of what transpired only a few hours ago, your breathing started getting heavy, your mind was racing, and you just felt like squealing. 

It was half past four when you finally went to sleep. You don’t particularly enjoy sleeping in, but when you woke up this morning and saw the time read past 11 am, you welcomed it…

…Up until you realized why exactly you slept in so late.

After a fresh change of clothes, you reluctantly get on deck. As you feel the smooth wooden planks of the Sunny under your feet, you’re overcome with an increasing perplexion. 

The Sunny is still at the dock of Tashini. If we had followed Nami’s schedule she set yesterday, we would’ve left in the early morning. Tashini would’ve been a small dot across the horizon at this point. 

You feel an even deeper pit of your stomach spiral when you see no sign of life, which means everybody’s gathered in the kitchen and dining room, currently having lunch. Alongside your crewmates, smack dab in the middle, will be Luffy.

Your heart thumps as you reach the door to the dining room, swinging it open like usual. The Straw Hat crew sits around the table, collectively turning to the archway when they see you. All have a smile on their face and a greeting on their tongue. Sanji, once setting a big platter of shrimp scampi in the middle of the crowded table, frolics over to you and sings your name.

“Ahh angel, you’re awake,” he sings. “Just in time for lunch.”

You greet him like usual, running your eyes over Nakama until your body erupts in butterflies again.

Your eyes meet Luffy’s, feeling your heart crack against your chest at the immediate eye contact. He gives you a toothy grin. 

“Good morning!” Luffy says. Before you can stutter out a response, Ussop pipes up.

“Hey, now.” Nami points at you. “You’re not wearing any of the new stuff I gave you.” She gives you a playful frown.

“Ah, sorry about that, it was a long night last night,” You sigh, purposefully trying to divert Luffy’s eyes. “Chopper, said I’m fine at least. Speaking of which, why are we still at dock?”

“Well, I may have a surprise waiting for everybody, I was just waiting for the last person to join us.”

You nod, going to take a seat. Brook tells you to sit down next to him and Chopper, playfully tapping an empty spot at the table. Chopper smiles at you, glad you look better than last night. 

“Aaand with that, everybody’s here!” Nami says, paper in hand. “Time to announce the next island and lookout parties for tonight…”

While Nami is talking off the paper she has in her hands, you settle down and join in on digging into the beautiful array of dishes. There’s fluffy white rice, shrimp scampi with a fragrant green sauce, lovely cut fruits that Sanji got from Tashini, and more meat to compliment Luffy’s hungry appetite. White rice is the first thing you go for, feeling the squishy texture as soon as you dig into it. 

“That means our next destination will be Dracon. Now,–”

“Dracon?” The word comes out before you have the chance to think about it. You pause, letting your fork drop some rice you just dished out. You try to clean up the mess without anyone noticing.

Nami, including the others, turn to you. “Yes, do you know it?” The navigator asks.

“Oh, ah.” You search your brain, trying to come up with an explanation for your reaction. “I’m not sure, it’s been a while since… working for my home country.”

“From what you’ve told us, you used to be a diplomat before, yes?” Robin asks from across the table. You nod.

“I had to travel a lot, and there are islands I remember going to, but I don’t quite recall visiting Dracon. I’m not sure—at least, I have no memories of the name in terms of my diplomatic work,” You shrug unassuredly.

“I’ll keep note of that,” Nami states, scribbling something down.

Nami moves on to some unrelated housekeeping items, though something feels so familiar that you can’t shrug it off. You feel off about the whole thing, yet not enough to notify the crew.

Now, you feel a pair of eyes on you from across the table. They’re soft in their demeanor, yet concerned in your sudden tenseness. You look over to them, to see Luffy with his head slightly tilted. He’s looking straight back at you while shoving a slab of meat in his mouth. You can’t find it in yourself to look away at his calming face, but all you remember is Luffy panting, pleading with you as his hand found purchase on your shoulder, face so close to yours as he moaned–

“Uhh, excuse me…” Brook nudges your arm, making you snap forward and see Nami leaning over the table, waving her hand in front of your face. 

“Hey, are you listening?” She asks.

“Yeah! Yeah, yeah, uh…” You cringe, “what was that again?”

Nami sighs, slapping your head with the rolled-up paper from across the table.

“You and Luffy will be on watch for the first shift tonight. Make sure to wake up Zoro and Sanji for the shift after, okay?”

“R-right, got it.” You nod, hoping the heat from your face isn’t noticeable.

“You got that, Luffy?” Nami turns to Luffy now, chunks of ham disappearing from his hand into his mouth. Luffy manages to say a jumbled yup between food scarfs.

“I can’t believe you paired me up with brow-for-brains, Nami.” Zoro scoffs, digging into his next bite. You all look to Sanji, or well, where he used to be. He’s now standing over Zoro with a menacing figure.

“Shut it, mosshead. Don’t blame Nami for your incompetence.”

“Huh?!” 

Ussop makes a point to sigh loudly, muttering something about “some weaklings will never learn,” whatever that means in Ussop-speak.

Before a fight breaks out at the dinner table, Nami gives a threatening scowl that separates the two.

“I will reiterate this as I did with a few of you earlier: As you know, we were meant to set sail this morning to the next island. How ever,” Nami says with a smirk, “I thought it would be a nice change of pace for all of us to go to a theater tonight, and then set sail after.”

“A theater? What’s that, a game?” Zoro raises an eyebrow. 

From the other side of the room, Sanji loudly sighs “ Idiot ,” causing the pair to grit their teeth at each other like wild animals. At this point, they are too caught up with each other to pay attention to the conversation.

“I’ve heard of that,” Franky says, “Isn’t that where people perform a story on a stage?” 

Robin nods. “It’s not something you see around the sea often.”

“How inspiring,” Brook gleams next to you. “I can’t wait to see what it’s about.”

“I’m guessing we’ll have immunity there?” Jimbei asks.

Nami nods, “With a bit of persuasion, I was able to get a personal booth at the top of the theater with a promise that we’ll be protected as long as we don’t do anything.

“Her ‘persuasion’ was swooning the staff that we ran into while shopping last night.” Robin chimes in, causing Nami to smirk in triumph. 

“Hey, a cheap meal and show is a steal.” Nami counters. “I spent a quarter of what I spent on our girl’s new wardrobe on this opportunity, and that’s even with the bargaining I had to do.”

You choke on your glass of water hearing Nami’s words.

“How much did you spend on me?!”

“As long as you wear them, you don’t need to know,” Nami assures you with a sly grin. “Giving you a good sense of fashion is payment enough.”

A guttural groan comes out of you as you shake your head.

“I will, I will. Just— please don’t charge me this time.” You say to Nami, who seems to grant you mercy with a nod.

The crew laughs at your exchange. Ussop is yakking it up to Jinbei and Franky about how he used to be a “connoisseur of theater” in his day. At the end of the table, Luffy waves his hand to flag Sanji.

“More please!”

–

Nami instructed everyone to dress accordingly for the play. To be honest, you didn’t know what to wear until after looking in the clothing bag she gave you. Maybe you shouldn’t have, because you find a dress inside that works almost too well for tonight. 

“Perfect, it’s the one I picked,” Nami says when you shimmy it on. She and Robin have already gotten ready, Robin has now gone to join the others on deck.

“You planned this?” You’re surprised as you look at her through the girls’ mirror. You had just finished zipping up the deep rouge silk dress. There was ruching in the bodice that gave your silhouette more form than you’re used to seeing, hem peaking right above your knees. 

She makes her way to the dresser where you’re sitting. “You should appreciate a good dress more than once in a while. We always have plenty of days besides celebrations to wear them, after all.” 

“Yeah, you’re right.” You think about it. Robin and Nami always outdo you in style, probably because they treat every day like a fashion statement.

“You look sexy in a shirt and pants anyway.” Nami makes a dumb kissy face as you giggle and push her off. She beckons you to the door. “C’mon, everybody’s waiting.”

When you leave the girls’ dorm, you can see everybody has cleaned up rather nicely. Sanji his usual suave attire, Robin and Nami are dressed to the nines, and each of the others has a flare of fashion. 

Thump. Thump.

Luffy was no different. He wears a black tie and crisp red dress shirt tucked into belted slacks. The dress shirt was slightly pulled up because of his goofing off with Ussop and Chopper. Chopper is on his head doing birdarms as Luffy runs around the dock. Ussop chimes in with an airy bird call that dies out pretty quickly.

Everybody turns around to you and Nami when she closes the door behind her. You hear an ‘ooooo’ around some of the crew as Ussop wolf-whistles.

“You ladies look so lovely!” Sanji cries.

“Ah, my, you’re a charmer,” Brook says to you, bowing deeply. “It would be such an honor to see your p–” Yup, you’re tuning that out.

“Hah! I think the girls super outdid us again.” Franky laughs as he poses. Jinbei seems to nod in agreement.

You blush at their compliments, seeing Chopper and Luffy now turn to look at you. Luffy is the only one not smiling, mouth agape and it makes you a little sad to see. If you wanted anyone to smile, you would’ve wanted it to be him.

“Our girl finally gets to dress, am I right? Now, I think that’s everyone!” Nami comments to the group, “Let’s head out!”

You arrive at a large building bustling with people under a tall hall archway. The whole inside seems illuminated in a soft yellow glow, with torches decorating the exterior walls. Nami and Robin led the pack to a side door, where a group of staff were waiting for you all. You’re briskly taken to a private entrance. It leads to a modest open room with a wide U-shaped booth that spans to either side of the wall, a large tray full of decadent foods in the middle, and an open window that showcases the lowered, grand stage a hundred feet away.

Everybody seems pleased to sit down and get situated, especially Luffy. He takes the part of the booth closer to the open space, objectively a great view, as the rest of you file in. He digs into the trays of complimentary food before you even think to sit.

You end up sitting next to Zoro and Jinbei on either side of you, pleased to be within arms reach of some fresh fruit on the tray. It doesn’t take long for the stage lights to dim and for the show to start. 

It ends up being a fairly detailed story about a knight and his quest to save the heroine, a fellow knight, after they got separated in a battle between countries. There is plenty of humor that the audience and the crew laugh along to. At one point, the knight has to dress as a stuffy aristocrat to pass into the country that captured her and prepare for her execution. Usopp had cheered especially at this as everybody laughed it up. Just before she was scheduled to be beheaded, the hero stepped in and acted as a country nobleman turned war veteran, using his many past achievements of slaying warlocks and beasts to convince the guardsmen to release her. They end up running away on horseback to the country they fought for. Once unsaddled, the heroine finally confronts him.

“You… you came to save me?” The heroine asks, tears laddled in her eyes, almost in disbelief at the hero, her friend’s, bravery. “Why would you do something so risky?”

“I can’t be on the battlefield without you.” The hero falls to the ground to kneel in front of her, taking her hands into his and looking deeply into her eyes. “Won’t you be mine, my knightess?”

“You stupid man. Is that even a question?” She cries out, running into his arms.

They lovingly embrace after the crowd cheers, many of the Straw Hats whooping in celebration. You’re almost thankful you didn’t sit near Franky, as you could practically hear him sob out into a snotty, rather tear-packed mess. You almost feel bad to see Chopper is in his range of fire.

When they finally pull away from each other, the hero steps towards the heroine once more, taking her head in her hands and kissing her passionately. Her arms wrapped around him after a moment of surprise at the gesture, letting him dip her into a warm, lingering hold. Your heart flits at the sight as you join the audience’s cheers and awes. 

Amidst the loud celebration, you realize the scene before you feel reminiscent. As the pair kiss on stage, you think of how you were in a similar position with Luffy not long ago, tasting his lips. Though, the fashion you two were in was more… sensual. Your face flares up. 

You turn to the other side of the room. Luffy’s shadow is clear in the illumination of theater lights, and you see his figure shift as he raises his arm. He lifts his fingers up to his face in what you could only think of as… a yawn? Maybe boredom?

No. He touches his lips softly, grazing them along the skin before looking down at them with curiosity.

You turn away quickly when you notice his head swivel, spinning around the crew members until he stops at you. A pair of eyes is now settled in your direction as you feel your heart pick up speed. You felt him stare at you between the food platters now littered with bones and stems, before the crew joined the audience in a standing ovation. You tuck yourself away from Luffy’s averting eyes as you stand behind Jinbei, shortly overshadowed by every pair of hands now erupting in applause. You clap extra loud, hooked onto the stage to watch the start of the curtain call. When you finally feel the courage to look amongst the crew, you feel the absence of a few eyes that turn back to the stage.

The crew ends the night as normal with a round of drinks before slowly filing out of the theater and towards the ship. You pace alongside Franky, Robin, and Nami. Franky has his robust arm around Robin, laughing along while Nami and you talk about the wonderful experience. Before your mind filters out the thoughts of earlier, a pair of rubbery arms snaps behind you all before Luffy’s figure catapults to the ship at the dock.

–

Nervous blood bubbles in your veins when you’re on your watch shift. 

From the crow's nest at the top of the mast. The saltiness of the ocean breeze isn’t as apparent on the shoreline, but you still smell the tanginess of ocean algae mixed with the earthy scents of the sandy dock. 

You’ve been glancing every so often towards the rear of the ship, wondering when you’ll be able to spot Luffy’s black, messy hair walking along the deck under the moonlight. Maybe he’s tucked at the rear, but it’s hard to tell from the top of the mast without craning your head. You’re not brave enough to check in detail at this point. 

While you think about your watch shift partner that gets more and more late, you think about what else was said around that dinner table.

Earlier, Nami announced the next stop is Dracon, an island that sounds too familiar to be a coincidence. You’ve been to a lot of places in your life before joining the Strawhats, but it’s been so long since that you're not exactly sure. If your home country had any notable affairs with them, surely you would’ve remembered dealing with it. The question was, was it positive affairs, or would you have trouble soon? You don’t have a good feeling about that name, even if you wish for the former. 

“Sorry, I’m late!”

Turning around, you’re met with your smiley captain, his grin upturned ear-to-ear. You look to the moon, and judging from the position, it seems that…

“An hour late, Luffy. And you didn’t change out of those clothes.”

Luffy smiles in response. His tie is undone, hanging around his neck as one side threatens to slip off. The deep red button-up shirt is now completely untucked, hanging loosely past his hips. Some of the top buttons are now undone and loosely shifting under the chilled breeze. His hat is hanging by the string around his neck, resting quietly on his back.

“Sorry.” He doesn't look that sorry.

“It’s fine,” you waved him off, “nothing suspicious happened out here.” Unsurprisingly, not many people dare to approach the infamous Thousand Sunny. Certainly, no one is strong enough to succeed in plunder, anyway.

You look at him again after a moment, heart thumping when you see he’s not moving to climb out of the crow's nest.

“You can go to your lookout now.” When you try to casually say that, your nervous shift practically blows your cover, though you're not sure if it’s noticed.

Luffy hums a noncommittal sound as he thinks about it.

“Nah, I wanna stay.”

“Why?” 

He shrugs, pouting his lip a little at the question. “Don’t wanna move.”

“Fine,” You conceded. It wouldn't be the first time Luffy would bend the rules during watch. “Let’s at least watch the nest to cover ground.”

Luffy nods, following your step as you start walking around the edge of the nest by each window, looking out for any activity. Your partner, unsurprisingly, doesn’t care to watch, walking with you as you make small circles in the nest. At one point, Luffy jumps on the seats lined against the walls, matching your pace as he whistles quite brashly. You carry on like that for a while, watching all parts of the horizon and shoreline of Tashini. You’re not surprised to see any signs of life at this time of night. 

After a few times of Luffy almost losing his balance, he joins your side, loudly stomping his sandals on the dock as he kicks his feet forward.

“Man, I liked that Theodore a lot!” Luffy says. 

Your face scrunches up in confusion, unsure of what exactly he means until you can only deduce one thing.

“You mean… theater?”

“Teeter?”

“ Theater.”

“Oh, tea-eater!”

“Yeah, that.” You couldn't help but giggle at him. “What did you like about it?”

He chuckles, reaching back to the straw hat and swiftly squashing it on top of his black hair.

“Man, it was great! There was so much yummy food to eat, and it was funny when the knight guy made all those silly faces to sneak around!”

His hands are behind his hand as he throws his head back into it, looking wherever as he talks about all the different aspects he likes. Luffy talks about the color of the clothes he liked and the way he laughed at the things that had the audience roaring. You idly listen, agreeing to his list, not paying attention to your watch shift duties anymore.

“I think the girl knight who got captured was kinda stupid. She didn’t scream or kick when she was locked up!” Luffy says.

“Would you have kicked and screamed instead?” 

“I would’ve never gotten caught!” Luffy laughs out. “But if I did, I would at least fight back. She could’ve easily saved herself from the guards if she did that!”

“I think her being the helpless lady in need of saving was a part of the story, it made it more dramatic. For the knight, it made saving her more high stakes.” You think out loud.

“If she’s a knight, she’s strong enough to fight back and get out by herself.” He turns to you. “Right?” 

That makes sense to you, but what doesn’t is the way Luffy looks at you. He’s looked at you with that cheerful expression thousands of times before, but now you feel a hammer from your heartbeat. His chest muscles barely peek out in the moonlight under that silky button-up, and his tie is so, so close to slipping now.

You reach out before thinking, stepping up to Luffy and catching the end of the tie right before it falls off of his narrow shoulders. You promptly adjust the tie so it's balanced around his neck, no longer threatening to fall off.

“Yeah, you’re right.” You surmise. Honestly, Luffy makes sense. In his scarce moments of clarity, he always speaks with an astounding factuality. 

His smile fades as he looks into both of your eyes. The proximity of you two is now very apparent, but you're struggling to find yourself creating distance, struggling to keep your hands off of the edges of his tie.

“I–”

“I want to learn how to kiss!” Luffy announces loudly.

You sucked in a breath that catches in your throat, rather badly, and feel a cough fumble out of your mouth. You try to save face but find yourself awkwardly grasping onto your shirt and in the air for some stability. 

“I’m sorry, I’m surprised you know what it’s called,” you say after gaining enough breath.

Luffy gives you a frown and crosses his arms. “I know what kissing is. I’m not dumb.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Sorry, I just…” You kick yourself in your mind. “What brought this up?”

Luffy shrugs, looking out the nest’s windows onto the oceanline. The moonlight illuminates his face crisply through one of the windows, but you can’t tell exactly what he’s thinking.

“Was it the theater?” You ask him.

He looks back at you without moving his head, confirming your suspicions. 

“They did what we did. I wanna know how to do that.” 

“With… me?” You blink.

“Yup!”

You feel the thrumming of your heart in your veins, beating at his words. “It's pretty simple, you should know based on the first time we did,” you say. You try to stuff down your elation as best as possible, but you know your face is warming just like it did last night. 

“I wasn’t paying attention!”

“You should have been! You were there, you know-?!”

“You want to, too!” He says. His head juts forward, leaning down as he looks up at you.

“So, what if I do?” You say, a bit annoyed at his correct assumption. “You already know what to do, plus, we have to be on watch right now!” You gesture with your arms held out open in a reminder of why you’re both here. 

“I have Haki!” Luffy says with a childish pout. “If anyone comes I’ll know. I’ll beat them up.”

You frown at him, again seeing how easily your captain can push to get his way. It feels even redundant for you to be on watch if Luffy has enough Observation Haki to detect anything suspicious.

“Just one.” He grumbles. “I just want one.”

You know this feeling. The cocoons that were once hibernating in your stomach have hatched into butterflies, now violently beating against your gut. The small crush you had has transpired into an infatuation. An annoying infatuation. The current predicament you’re in is…

Tricky.

Luffy doesn’t seem to be interested in you like that. You know he just wants a lesson again—for his own purposes. But, can you find it in you to deny him of something that you’ve been thinking about, even before last night?

“Okay,” You sigh, hand waving up and down. “Stand up, then.”

Luffy stands up straight like a spring, smiling brightly at another victory. He is giddy from excitement, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, yet he waits for your next words of wisdom.

“I guess the best way to describe it is… there’s not any set rules for this. To kiss, at least one person is needed, you put your lips together like this,” you make a small pout, “and lean into the object of affection that you want to kiss.” 

You demonstrate by taking the back of your hand, looking at Luffy when you pout your lips, and gently placing them on the back of your hand. When you purse your lips and pull away, the contact makes a small smooch noise.

“Here,” you raise the back of your hand you kissed, holding it up to Luffy. “Try it.”

Luffy looks at your hand curiously before he leans in and he pouts his lips like you did. He presses his lips to your hand with the pressure of a feather until he briefly, brashly presses it down and lifts his head. It reminded you of the peck of a bird, almost. In the process, he opens his mouth to make a small smack.  

“Like that, got it? …why are you frowning?”

“That’s not what I want,” Luffy says. “I want to kiss like they did.” 

Why are you not shocked a hand kiss would be enough.

“To do that, both parties usually lean in for a kiss together. If it’s something that both people want to do, the rest should come naturally.”

“And they did this,” Luffy says, holding his arms and shaking them around to poorly mimic the embrace the two on stage did. 

“C’mere.” 

You take the ends of his tie, pulling him a step towards you until your bodies are inches away, the straw hat barely grazing the top of your forehead. Luffy lets you easily, watching you with gentle focus. You guide his hands around your middle. You lightly rest your hands on top of his shoulders. You hear a soft swallow. 

“When you want, you lean in. Once our lips touch, you close your eyes. Ready?” You ask. He nods. 

“Okay, just follow me.”

You lean in halfway, slowly, softly pursuing your lips together as your eyes flutter shut, nervousness bubbling up your body until your head feels light. You let it try and fizzle, try to let the stupid pounding of your heart quiet down in your eardrums, but it’s slowly replaced to wonder when your lips stay untouched by Luffy. 

…and, still nothing?

When you open your eyes, Luffy is staring at you, face reddened like a cherry with his mouth agape. His eyes are fixed in awe, flicking between your eyes and lips.

“Sorry, I,” Luffy stutters. “‘S weird. My body… it’s not moving.”

The weird feeling in your stomach has bubbled up again. His flustered cheeks and sheepish smile are quickly blocked from your vision as he mumbles into the back of his hand. 

“I don’t know. It’s like, l-like I don’t deserve it, or somethin’. Haha…”

Overcome with affection for the blushing captain, you quickly close the gap. You want to steal away his anxieties, steal away that flustered nervousness you couldn’t bare to see on him. It takes him only a second to process it before his muscles relax against you. 

Your lips touch his gently. His hands rest on your waist, his straw hat lifting oh-so-slightly by your forehead as you press into him. Those narrow lips of his feel so plush against yours, perfectly slotted together that you feel light and airy. It lasts just as long as last night’s chaste kiss.

When you slowly pull away with a small smooch noise, his face doesn’t look as cherried, save for a light pink tinge across the apples of his cheeks. 

“Cool!” Luffy says, “Let me try!”

“Hold on, I said only once–”

He gains the courage this time to lean wholly, trapping your lips between his thinner ones, feeling the smile etched on his face the whole time. When you pull away, he seems almost back to normal. The lingering worry on his face is gone now.

Smooch!

“Well?”

“It’s good,” Luffy said. “It’s really good. Again. Let’s do it again.”

You both lean in this time, lifting the brim of his straw hat again. His hands naturally graze down to your waist while your hands lay on his chest. His lips aren’t as chapped as you thought they would be. For a guy, they seem very soft. Not in the way that regular skin should be, but more pliable. It squishes against your lips but seems to spring back to form each time you pull back. 

Smooch!

“Again.” 

You both lean in again, as your hands explore past the partially unbuttoned shirt to his chest. Your suspicions of rubbery skin are confirmed as you feel the softness, malleable, that bounces back when you release the pressure of your fingertips. 

Smooch!

“Again.”

After slotting your lips back on his, you swallow down a whine, busying yourself with the feeling of his body against yours, his hands so subtly stroking the small of your spine just above your ass. This time, the straw hat slips off of his head and falls to his back.

A noise of frustration escapes him as he squirms.

“Do what you did last time,” he whines. “Your hands. Like you did yesterday.”

“So you were paying attention, liar.” You grimace. He smiles in response, just like a guilty captain would.

Yet, you have no qualms threading our fingers in his hair, grabbing the tufts together a little too excitedly. You dive back to his mouth to claim his lips. This time, his eyes close in tandem with yours as he slips his hands up and down your torso, kneading the flesh, leaning his body against yours. You absentmindedly feel the fluffy, soft black hair under your fingertips, running your hands through the scalp as Luffy presses his lip to yours. 

“I think,” Luffy breaks the kiss, speaking so close his lips are still grazing yours, “you have magic fingers.”

“Yeah?” You giggle for the first since you’ve started kissing him, making his face light up.

You turn his head slightly to give him a small peck on the cheek, he tries to copy you by stretching his head to yours and planting a quick, hard kiss.

“And you smell familiar.” He says softly. So unnaturally soft for the rubber man that it makes your face burn.

“What do I smell like?” You whisper.

“Like a cabin.”

You giggle. “Okay? Any cabin in particular?”

“Makino’s cabin. Back where I grew up.”

“Is that a good thing?”

Luffy thinks about it. After a moment, he gives you a big nod as if sealing the thought in his mind. 

“Yes,” he smiles.

“That’s nice of you to say, Luffy.” 

He seems to like that compliment. To which he smiles very brightly, now kissing you with a newfound passion that you find attractive.

Okay, like, really fucking hot. 

Luffy smushes your face between his palms and plants kisses any place he can think of. From the lids of your eyes to your temples, to the bow of your nose, and all the parts of your cheeks that squish into his lips when he puts extra pressure. Each time he leaves a small, wet smooch behind, a sound he seems captivated by the more he kisses you. 

“It’s really good.” He murmurs into your skin. 

His arms reach out and grip the back of your neck, almost pulling you closer despite the fact your chest couldn’t press farther. His heavy-handed presence causes you to shuffle a little. 

“Luffy…” You sigh out. You really can’t take it without needing more. You pull away from him; something he doesn’t seem happy about, illustrated by the childish pout he has on his face.

“There’s one more type of kiss we can do.” You whisper breathlessly. 

“Really, what’s that?” Luffy asks. You brush over his lips, noses lightly connected as you whisper to him.

“Just follow my lead, okay?”

You lean into him once more, but now slowly opening up your mouth to have your tongue slip out. You run it over Luffy’s thin lips before running against the entrance. After a moment, Luffy opens his mouth, tongue slowly peaking out past his lips to meet yours. 

You swear there is electricity in the air when it happens because he moans again. Whimpers from the sensation as his hands jolt around the caressed skin. 

Your tongues dance together in shared bliss, Luffy shudders against you at the feeling, grabbing your body like he’s surprised by the feeling. 

Luffy knew how bad you wanted to do this—he said himself—but, he must not know the extent, really. 

Because with every kiss, it just leads to more wanton in you. With every graze of his tongue against yours, feeling the wet muscle that tastes of meat, it makes your breath feel like magma. The noises coming from sucking and tasting his tongue slicks into the dead of night. It’s the only noise ringing in your ears save for the small whimpers and sighs coming from both of you. He despreately brushes his fingers against the sides of your face as his chest tightens, and grows still.

“Breathe through your nose.” You tell him after Luffy starts to turn blue in the face. His breath to hitch, the air exhaled back down your throat hot and wet.  He instantly returns to color, now with a revived energy. 

You can’t take it, him exploring and prodding the inside of your mouth, him gripping and almost vibrating against you as your upper bodies press together. You wrap your arms over his shoulder, permanently sewing your finger pads with that soft hair.

“Ah…” A small moan comes out of Luffy’s mouth when you tug on his hair to tilt his head up and off of yours. You dive in with false expertise as you give wet kisses on the underside of his jaw, consuming the skin until you’ve covered it all. You move to his neck, making him grunt as you pull his head back to expose it in full. Your tongue slowly sweeps down and over until it lands on his jugular, sweetly sucking it now as he gasps. The breathiness turns into a grunt of what sounds like frustration and he riggles against the feeling. 

“I think something’s wrong again,” Luffy says, face knit together. You pull off of him in concern.

“Do you need me to stop–”

“No!” He says, grabbing both sides of your head. His eyes fire wide as he grabs in panic. 

In his expression, he shoves you forward so hard you lose your footing, tumbling down with him onto the planks. You both fall into each other before he scrambles on top of you. 

“What’s wrong, Luffy?” You say, looking up at him.

“I don’t know,” He says, “But… every time I try to think about it, this happens!” His hand dives in between the two of you before hastily grabbing onto the hem of his shirt and pulling it so high his whole chest shows. When your eyes travel down, you see his problem. 

“It’s why I was late! I couldn’t make it go away even when I touched it like you showed me to!”

“Oh.” 

A breath catches in your throat as your eyes adjust under the moonlight. With his other hand, he points crudely to a large bulge now prominent under his pants. 

“Can you show me what I did wrong?” He breathlessly whispers. 

“Y-you did it like last night?” You prop yourself by your arms as he kneels over you. 

“Yeah. It didn’t feel as good, though. Used half of some bottle in the kitchen.”

Luffy shuffles a hand into the underside of his pants, rustling into his boxers until he grips the erection trapped inside. You swallow as he takes his dick, quickly slipping it out.

“You sneaked into the pantry?” And he’s still slick from it. The tip of his penis glistens from the lubricant, as well as the pre-cum now leaking from it. You should be upset on Sanji's behalf that he allegedly used half the bottle of what youf guess is oil from the kitchen, but the view of his dick was too appealing for you to care.

“It kinda hurt without it,” Luffy said. You don’t blame him, mostly thankful for its convenience.

“I can show you then, Luffy,” you whisper, “you can start when you want.”

He beams, bright and contagious, as he grabs onto the head. Without any guidance, he begins to pump himself with an arm propping himself over you. You don’t dare to mention the intimate space he's invading for fear he’ll back off of you. With proximity, you get to see more of his movements, his facial features, and the heat behind his breath.

His face scrunches up in his first initial strokes before easing into a steady rhythm, similar to the brisk pace he kept last night. His hand lingers on the base and shaft, quickly running over the head each time. You could hear the light, moist squelching of oil rubbing against his cock.

“Ah, this is familiar,” Luffy says. 

“Better than earlier?”

“I did this earlier, but it didn’t feel this good.” 

“You did it the same way?” You ask in confusion. 

“I guess.” He shrugs. “I think you help me. This is really fun,” Luffy huffs out.

Luffy’s confession astonishes you. To know you can help him, to know that you and you only have made Luffy experience this, it makes you burn up in lust. 

“Shit, Luffy, you sound so good saying that.” 

You want to reach up and touch him, graze down his body with wonderful kisses, and feel the heat against each inch of skin. You feel your hand inch in front of you to reach up to his face, but when you lift it, Luffy jerks into himself so sporadically that your fingers are caught in the crossfire. 

He’s loud when your hand suddenly fumbles onto his shaft. The feeling of surprise is mutual as you look deeply into one another. His mouth opened, pearly white teeth peeking out.

“Please,” Luffy doesn’t need to say anything else, his fingers hastily interlocking with yours as he lowers them. 

“Touch me like this.”

Your face feels on fire, his hands feel steady and laced with yours as you both grasp his shaft together. He whimpers in delight, satisfied with the new warmth of your hand wrapped with his.

It’s so erotic, so sensual, his shaft feels so hot with the slick of oily lubricant and pre-cum meshing in the crevices of both of your fingers now when you start fisting him. He shudders into you in pleasure, head lulling back and forth like a wave, chasing his highs and mellowing into lows. A wrinkle in between his eyebrows shapes off and on when he bucks out. The moistness of his lips attracts you again, how could you deny the savory taste of Luffy in front of you?

Your lips latch onto him, licking up the saliva awaiting from his drooling mouth. Teeth click together from the intensity you both kiss each other. It’s wild, and uncoordinated, you try to follow the beat of his pace while he desperately chases your tongue after each moan. 

His mouth in combination with his erection, hand, his fingers squeezing into yours as you stroke him. His dick felt firm in your grip, textured with small veins illuminated by the moon. Every time his hand slipped past his shaft, you would help guide him back as quickly as possible, and every time he would thrust his hips forward to compensate. 

“You look so needy like this, but you can’t help it, can you? Such a gorgeous look on your face, so sweet and filthy, hm?” You coo. Something in you adds a little more pressure to his dick stoking down the base. Something that Luffy finds quite enjoyable. It gives you so much gratification to see that lustful, desperate face, that you try something sinful.

“Why don’t you tell me how this feels?” With your one hand interlocked with his, you take your other and dive past Luffy’s leaking erection. You cup his ballsack, feeling the thin skin molding into your hand until you rub up against it.

“Ah!” His head bucks forward into the crook of your shoulder. He’s shaking from the pleasure of it. “So good. So good, I—ahhn!”

You fondle his balls under the breakneck pace of strokes into his cock. The smooth flesh is nothing like his pulsing, steel penis. You inch lower down to the underside of the sack and slowly stroke under until Luffy reduces to nothing but animalistic husks.

“Be as loud as you need to, Luffy.” You rasp. “You can do that for me, can’t you? A good boy like you can do it.”

And just like that, your words seem to coax something in him, because he grips your fingers harder with his, pumping himself into a devious pace, and moaning wildly in between his pants.

Puffs of warmth exhale from his lips, the heat between you two can’t be penetrated by any icy chill of the night air. You feel enveloped in him, in your lust and passion, you can hear his every bit of pleasure, every pump of his dick, and the way the sound of his pants is magnetized with his head tucked to your ear. 

My God, he’s drooling in ecstasy down your neck. You feel the wetness trail like sweat down your flesh.

“Nnn, ahh, ‘s coming out. I can feel it.” Luffy whimpers into your skin. His voice sounds rasped from his panting

“Why don’t you cum then, my captain?” You take the liberty to nip on the skin of his neck. It’s something small, but one that causes his whole body to jolt.

“Mmmph!”

That look. He’s so close to release that he’s completely hunched over you. There’s barely any space for you to stroke his pulsing dick, but you continue regardless. His voice is the only thing you can hear on the ear he’s crushed up against. 

But you don’t get that liberty of him cumming onto you again, however. In your other ear, you hear something alert enough for you to slow your strokes down.

You hear a faint shout from the deck of the Sunny as a familiar voice calls out the two of your names. Your body freezes.

“Luffy, shit, Luffy!”

“Hm?” Dazed and sublime, Luffy has half a mind to hear the panic in your tone. 

“Oiiii!” Says the voice, one that sounds so quiet, but it’s loud enough for you to tell who it is.

With a push you’ll soon regret, you shove him off of you onto his butt, scurrying to sit up.

“It’s the next shift!”

“Ah… so?”

“Get up,” You squeak, pulling Luffy's pants back up, much to his dismay. “Put it away!”

“What?! Why?”

“I told you why yesterday, just do it!” You zip his pants but up against the now trapped erection, and Luffy groans out.

Both of you try to get up at once—Luffy in agitation, you in alarm that his button-up is falling down his shoulder and he looked fucked out of his mind—but you bash your heads together. The clunk is so solid that you double down on the floor. You yelp out in pain, looking up from the corner of your eye to see Luffy’s standing up just fine. 

Of course. Of course he doesn’t feel how hard you collided into each other, the fucking rubber man. 

Quitely, you hear someone. 

“Oiiii, you never woke us up. Is everything okay?” That voice gets louder with each rung of the ladder of the crow’s nest until the latch is lifted. 

Coming from the opening is a mop of blonde hair followed by a mossy green. You freeze, whipping your head to see the state of Luffy. His face is slate, like nothing was happening, and…

What the fuck?

There’s no more bulge in his pants. 

You can’t think of it too hard, with the throbbing pain seeping into your head as your adrenaline creeps down.

“Oi,” Zoro gets up, looking back and forth between you two. “The hell happened here.”

“Ah! My angel, you’re hurt?” Sanji yelped in alarm, “You had me so worried. We were calling out for some time and didn’t hear anything back. And you’re sweating bad…” He kneels to your form glued to the ground, pointing to your neck ladened with Luffy’s drool, looking back at Luffy who was awkwardly standing close with no motion. “Hey, shithead, the hell did you do to her?”

“Nothin’, she was just showing me something.”

You don’t know if those two believe him. With the horrid poker face Luffy typically has in a lie, you can’t bare to look up and confirm it. You rub your head on the ground. 

“I just… bumped my head.” You groan.

He looks back at Luffy, then at you.

“Oh, dear, please go back down and sleep as much as you need, me and moss shit can take care of the rest, okay?”

“Who the hell are you calling moss shit, kitchen boy?”

Yeah, you’re getting the hell out of here before dumbbells are thrown.

Once you get the bearings to look up from the pain, you see the lemon-lime pirates gnawing their teeth at each other. From a glimpse, a straw hat dips down below the crow’s nest latch and disappears. 

You feel a small force compelling you to chase that hat, the man attached to it, that you ignore the masculine catfight beside you and follow it. 

You climb down the mast to the deck of the Sunny and hear your feet knock onto the deck. 

You see Luffy leaning against the dock next to the boys’ dorm, looking out for a moment before latching his eyes on you. You’re glad to see him. He doesn’t seem to be frustrated at the abrupt stop you put things.

“Hey,” Luffy calls, followed by your name.

“Hey,” you softly smile back at him. Maybe it was a little awkward. Maybe you’re distracted by the way the collar of his unbuttoned shirt is still hanging off of one shoulder, or that the shirt tie that laid around his shoulders is gone at this point. You hope it didn’t look weird to the two who came in.

Luffy rustles with the top of his straw hat. The ties of it dangle with the wind of the night.

“Thanks for that! It means a lot.” He says.

And just like that, he retreats to the boys' dorm, leaving you alone again as you make your way to your own bed. You snuggle back in bed with the girls, harboring a hardship that bounced in your head:

Damn. There’s always Nakama somewhere to walk in on you.

[too-much-tma-stuff]

Finally getting help (prt 9)

Masterpost

“So where’s the brother?” Jason asked as he followed Bruce down the hall. 

“He’s in Tim’s lab. It seems like they’ll be able to share it, which is good even with as big as this place is I don’t think we have room for two mad science labs,” Bruce said with dry humour, making Jason laugh in spite of himself.

“Tim must be thrilled to have a buddy huh?” He asked, still chuckling. No one in this family was stupid by any means, he often felt like the dumb one and objectively he knew he was still a fucking genius. But even with all of them being That smart no one could keep up with Tim’s innovative and scientific mind. 

“I think he might even learn a few things, which is a frightening concept. Danny asked for microwaves and toasters this morning so he could cannibalize them into anti-possession tech. The way that boy combines science and magic is going to give both me and Constantine ulcers.” 

Jason snorted, both at the joke and maybe a bit out of pleasure that someone was going to be giving Bruce a hard time. “Well if you need a babysitter don’t call me. I don’t want to deal with any of that,” he chuckled.

“Oh absolutely not, you would only feed into the chaos,” Bruce said quickly making Jason cackle, because he was right.

“Alright,” Bruce murmured to himself when they reached the closed door to the lab, it was almost lost in the banging inside but Jason heard it. Heard Bruce bracing himself for whatever was going to happen when Jason and Danny met.

He opened the door and across the room Jason saw who must be Danny. He was prime adoption bait with his black hair and blue eyes, but he was… absolutely beautiful, slight and elven, gently curved and wired with muscle. Jason froze, and it seemed so did Danny, staring at each other from across the room. Butterflies fluttered in Jason’s stomach, building till they didn’t feel like butterflies but something buzzing, trying to get out. He could hear the growl coming from his chest, not his throat.

Danny’s eyes swirled with green and he vaulted over the work table, abandoning the half finished tech he was working on to lunge at Jason. He collided with Jason with a snarl of his own, Jason growled and flipped Danny over his shoulder, the hall was a closed space so Danny twisted, running into the wall feet first and landing in a crouch. Jason twisted so he didn’t have his back to a wall anymore as Danny lunged at him again and Jason dodged, pushing off the wall to give himself momentum as he threw himself after Danny. 

Danny grabbed Jason’s arm and used his momentum to throw him over his hip, following him down to the ground, barely missing as Jason rolled away. He didn’t even think to draw a weapon, that wasn’t what this fight was about, they weren’t actually trying to hurt each other. Even as Jason punched down so hard he cracked the floor he somehow knew Danny would dodge, and wouldn’t get hurt. And Danny did, he got out of the way and lashed out in return, kicking Jason in the chest and sending him flying a few feet back giving Danny time to scramble back to his feet and chase after him.

This give and take carried them down the hall and to the landing by the stairs. Somewhere in the background Jason knew that someone was shouting at them to stop, and to be careful, but he wasn’t listening. He was too focussed on the growl emanating from Danny, and from himself which were starting to smooth out again, to feel less like desperate insects trying to escape and more like a cat’s purr, or some sort of song. They were reaching equilibrium, some sort of harmony. 

He didn’t realize how close they were to the stairs until Danny knocked him back again and this time when he stepped back he didn’t land on solid ground. The two of them tumbled down the stairs, rapidly switching who was on top as they fell. Jason could feel himself collecting bruises but he didn’t fucking care.

They came to a halt at the bottom of the stairs with Jason on top, his forearm pressed against Danny’s chest just below his throat. They were both breathing hard, staring at each other with wide blue-green eyes. The growling died down, lowering down into purrs harmonizing with each other as they caught their breath. Jason’s was lower and Danny’s a little higher, it was a hypnotic sound that made Jason feel… peaceful.

Danny moved first, reaching up slowly to touch Jason’s face, but before he could Jason realized what they had done and the position he was in. He had fought with Danny, and he was now pinning an abused teenager to the floor straddling his waist. This looked bad and now that he realized what was happening it Felt worse! He practically shot up off of Danny and was about to bolt before Danny grabbed his hand.

“Wait! Don’t go yet! Let me just, let me get you a specter-deflector so no one can possess you first okay?” Danny asked, sounding oddly desperate and even though Jason wanted to run he nodded.

Danny looked relieved and let go of Jason before suddenly flying up and through the floor above them. Jason blinked at the ceiling above him before looking around him. 

Oh dear, Bruce, Tim, Damian, and Jazz were all watching from the landing above. Damian looked like he wanted to kill Jason himself, Bruce looked disappointed, Tim impassive and Jazz looked… Excited? Why did she look happy?

Danny flew back down through the floor before anyone could think of what to say. “Okay! Here’s the specter-deflector,” He said, clicking something that looked like a watch into place around Jason’s wrist. “That’ll protect you, this is a blaster,” he said, handing Jason an odd sci-fi looking gun. “It’ll reload automatically from ambient ectoplasm, it works best against dead and undead but it can hurt humans too. And.. um, this is my number,” He said, blushing furiously as he handed Jason a slip of paper. “Please text me?”

When had Jason’s mouth gotten so dry?! He had to lick his lips before he answered, painfully aware of how hot his cheeks were and that he must be blushing too. He didn’t blush much, not since his death and resurrection, but he was absolutely blushing now, and he was still purring too if more softly now. He didn’t even know that he could purr, not really. “Ya, Yes, I’ll text you,” he promised before he fled the house. He would have to have some of Alfred’s lasagna later, just then he desperately needed to calm down and clear his head.

-----

Jazz was practically vibrating with excitement and as soon as the door had closed behind Jason she couldn’t contain it anymore. She squealed as she vaulted over the railing of the landing and landed in the foyer and sprinting over to Danny. “Danny what the heck! You have a crush?! I haven’t seen you that passionate in ages!” She enthused scooping Danny up under his arms and twirling him around.

“Jaaazz,” Danny complained even as he went kitten limp in her arms letting her hold him at arms length nearly a foot off the floor.

“I didn’t even know you liked boys! Why didn’t you tell me you like boys!?” Jazz demanded, shaking him a little.

“I didn’t really, I mean I always preferred girls. The only guy I ever really had a crush on was Dash and-” He cut off when Jazz made a disgusted face. “Exactly! That was never going to happen and he was an asshole so I didn’t want to talk about it!”

“Okay ya I understand- Wait you were making fun of me for having a thing for bad boys when your type is asshole meathead jocks!? Ohhh you’re never going to hear the end of this baby brother!”

“Oh my god No!” Danny groaned, finally squirming out of Jazz’s hold and dropping back to the ground stepping back. 

He turned towards the Wayne’s who had made their way down the stairs while the siblings were talking. “Is Jason an asshole?” He demands of Tim, he’s probably the fairest judge in Danny’s estimation.

“Absolutely,” Tim said promptly before realizing what he said and backtracking a little. “But I’m his brother, I'm supposed to say that. Jason’s heart is in the right place, he's a good guy, just kinda violent and a complete jerk,” Tim said. 

“Perfect,” Danny said his expression a little dreamy. 

“Why on earth would you have a crush on Todd?! You could do so much better!” Damian squawked indignantly, breaking the tension and making everyone besides Bruce laugh, and even he smiled just a little. 

“I want to say you did well Bruce, I know it was hard not to break up the fight but so? It was good for them, I hope it won’t be too hard on you if they do end up dating,” Jazz said, patting Bruce’s arm. 

He shifted from one foot to the other a little awkwardly but then shook his head. “No it won’t be, I mean it won’t be the first time, Barbra was as good as my daughter and she dated Dick, and Steph and Tim dated. It’s always a little awkward but I’d rather that than a Super,” He said, shooting Tim a look, he cleared his throat and looked away.

“Well good, we’ll see how this works out but really,” she turned back towards Danny. “This could be good! You’ve always been attracted to violent people but I don’t think that your ghost instincts realized that when Val was shooting at you it wasn’t bonding for her the same way it was for you,” she told him, her tone borderline accusatory.

Danny looked down and shifted from side to side, giving a little shrug. “I know, but she was a good girlfriend, when she wasn’t being Red Huntress and I wasn’t being Phantom. When we were just Danny and Val, it was good.”

“Oh Danny,” She sighed and pulled him into a hug. “I know, but he has the same instincts as you, I’m rooting for you Danny.”

“Thanks Jazz,” Danny said softly, hugging her back.

“Welp, I’m heading back to the lab,” Tim said, obviously uncomfortable with the genuine emotions he made a break for it before he could get roped into any hugs.

Next

[cherry-pop-elf]

Kiss it Better Pt:3

Curly x Reader

AN: I am just speechless. All this support is making me tear up. Like holy shit. Thank you. Don’t worry! When this finishes(god idk how it will I’m making up as I go since yall want more chapters) I’ll make sure to post it to AO3 for easier access! Just thank you again! And uh. Don’t forget I have a Kofi and Wishlist if you wanna like tip or something. NO PRESSURE! Just a reminder to anyone who WANTS and CAN! You come first! Just. Thank you again!

SUM: You couldn’t sleep, so you try and remember things with Curly to lull you to sleep. As you do, you remember things that are important for a captain to have. Very important, and you are gonna be certain to find them

Warnings: Jimmy, sexual assault, mentions of abortion (it’s a rather calm chapter really. Take it as a pallet cleanser because the next chapter imma really show you how fucked up Jimmy is))

You just couldn’t sleep. It felt criminal to right now. So much was going through your head. So much has happened and now you had time to let it all soak in. The crash, Anya, why there was a crash, Curly’s condition, it made sleep impossible. Especially alone in that big bed that was meant for you and your husband.

You tried to take in deep breaths, and just let the thoughts wash over you. There was responsibility as the Captains Spouse. You weren’t just ‘eye candy’ like Jimmy said. You had worth, and were just as much important to the team as everyone else.

Such as learning a thing or two about what Captain should do in case of an emergency.

Curly was in no state to help, and Jimmy sure as fuck won’t help either. He was the reason everyone crashed after all. He’s a loose cannon and you needed to tip toe around him. Who knows what he might do next. You weren’t even sure if telling Swansea and Daisuke about what’s going on was smart.

Swansea has little girls of his own after all. He won’t react well at all. Then there’s Daisuke. Barely nineteen and thrown into this mess. He might panic or maybe even do something crazy like confront Jimmy. There was just to many what ifs.

So you were left on your own.

You would wrap yourself up in what was once Curly’s sleep robe and grab his spare ID card. The very thing that can unlock any door, and be the one thing that can lock your bedroom door. Definitely should have Anya sleep in here for a while. She deserves to be able to sleep soundly.

While you were waiting for everyone to sleep as well you would explore the bedroom. Looking into nook and cranny to see if there was anything of use. The Captains always were given a bunch of extra shit after all. Even Pony Express had to meet some safety protocols. Curly was their best after all. Even went as far as to try and help him fine work else where. That’s what he explained to you.

Shame. Was just a normal bedroom. The only thing that made it special was it was bigger, and had a lock. Dammit all to hell.

That’s when you tried to think back on past memories of you and your husband. To try and recall any kind of special thing the ships carry. Oh how you felt so guilty for never paying enough attention. Made you feel stupid and useless, but you weren’t.

At least not in comparison to Jimmy.

With a deep breath, you managed to recall something. Something not long before the crash even. You had knocked on the cockpit door to enter it, and was greeted to your husband and Jimmy working. Curly was rambling on about something, while Jimmy kept eyeing the locker suspiciously. As if he wanted to get inside of it for some reason.

That’s your best lead now. God dammit was it a shitty one. The cockpit was stuffed to the brim with foam. But then again that’s the front of the cockpit. If you were careful, and cut the right spot, maybe you can access the locker.

It’s something. Something is better than nothing.

With the robe tossed aside, a change into your jump suit, gloves slipped on, and beanie pulled on to keep your head safe you would make your way to the kitchen. Card key tucked securely inside of your jumpsuit compared to a pocket.

Jimmy can’t know.

Can’t know that you were stealing the only knife that the ship had.

Was going to be a pain in the ass to cut that foam but you really had nothing better to do. So, you unlocked the cock pit and focused on remembering its layout.

“For Anya, for Curly, for Swansea, for Daisuke, and all our families back home.”

You would start the slow and agonizing cutting. Little by little. Just chopping away to try and reach the right side of the pit. To get to that locker and see what was inside. That locker was in the cockpit for a reason. It can only be accessed by the pilots for a reason. There was a reason.

Any time you felt like your arms would give out you thought back to Curly. How he didn’t really have arms anymore to begin with. How Anya was busy throwing up right now. How they needed you. They both needed you.

It had been well over a hour, but you managed to reach the locker. You allowed yourself a breather at the sight of it. Damn was that a pain, but it’ll be worth it. Right?

With your breather over you would use the key card to access the locker. Inside was….Honestly junk. That had you very disappointed. You were honestly ready to cry out of frustration, only to see there were a few locked cabinets inside.

Ones that needed codes.

Codes you knew.

Curly made you memorize them in case of an emergency. He just said to memorize them. That it’s meant to just unlock pin pads. That Pony Express never bothered to change them.

You went to the lower locker and typed it in.

Strange, there was nothing inside. Suppose whatever was inside was taken out. You wondered what could have been in there. Was a very small locker so maybe it was some code scanner or universal unlocking device. Just wasn’t big enough for something you hoped for.

A transmitter.

He prayed it was near the front of the ship. That a transmitter would stuck in the heart of the foam, or as far as just shatter on contact. They had to have a spare communicator. Pony Express had to follow SOME rules after all. Imagine the ship being discovered and the people who found it saw it was missing something as important as that.

So you typed in the code for the larger locker. You were kinda afraid of opening it. To be met with another empty void of metal and dust.

You took a deep breath, and opened.

There really was a god.

There was what you were looking for. A real deal communicator. It was real, it looked untouched and even had dust on it to show that Jimmy never reached it.

Before you grabbed it you made sure to close the door behind you. Just to be sure. Was the dead of night, well from what the clocks say, and everyone should be asleep. Even Jimmy had to sleep. You had to make you move now.

Remain calm, and focus.

You can’t fuck this up.

You snuggled yourself into the corner of the pit, with the communication device in your lap. You hooked the head phones onto your head, and turned it on.

As you waited for it to boot up you made sure you were positioned so that if anyone came through the door, for some reason, you’ll notice. As far as anyone was aware though this room was basically a wall. No purpose to enter. You should be safe, but you had to think ahead. Jimmy was unpredictable, and so full of himself.

Better to be over prepared than see what happens if Jimmy finds out what you are doing.

Couldn’t help but give a squeak of surprise when someone finally spoke to you.

“This is the Emergency Spaceship Retrieval Sector. What seems to be the problem?”

A woman, through the static, spoke to you. Tears of relief fell down your face but you forced yourself to remain focused. You can’t mess this up now. No way no how.

“This is Tulpar for Pony Express. We have suffered a crash about a month ago. From what I can recall we had been a little over four months into our twelve month journey-“ You immediately explained, as to best help them get an estimation on how far the ship had traveled.

“Alright, who may I be speaking to at this moment?”

Deep breaths.

“I am the Spouse to Captain Curly. It is me, Jimmy the co-pilot, Anya the nurse, Swansea the mechanic, and Daisuke our intern.” Deep breaths, keep things quick and to the point.

“Are you all in any immediate danger?”

You had to think about that a moment. Jimmy is a dangerous man. Who knows what he might do next if you don’t play along. So, you had to be honest. You felt guilty for telling the operator what happened. That Curly suffered greatly and needed immediate medical attention, how Anya was a victim of assault and required an abortion as soon as possible, and that the reason for it all was because of Jimmy. He crashed the ship, he raped Anya, he destroyed Curly, and god knows what he will do next.

“Estimated arrival time will be about a month. We have your exact location thanks to the communicator. Remain calm, and know that help is on the way. We have logged this down in the report. Take care of your crew the best you can, Captain.”

And she would log off. You would let your head thump back, and simply cried. Cried in pure relief and joy. That a real person heard you, and was aware of what’s going on. That if anything did go wrong that at least someone knows. Someone will know what happened.

There was hope.

Now was a matter of survival.

One month.

You all needed to survive one month.

One Month Until Rescue…

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[caffeinewitchcraft]

The Hero and Hope (Part 2/5)

(part 1) (part 3)

The next time you go hunting, the Bahrs go with you.

“It’s really fine,” you protest. It’s early enough in the morning that the air carries a bite. With any luck, they’ll think the redness in your cheeks comes from the chill rather than embarrassment. “I’m not even going far in. It’s Hera’s birthday coming up and she likes squirrel…”

“You’re going to catch a squirrel without a blade?” Mr. Bahr – Ivan – asks. He tightens the strap on Mrs. Bahr’s back, making sure the quiver of arrows is snug along her spine. He pats her shoulder when he finishes and beams at you. “Are you very fast?”

Yes, you are. You’ve noticed that you’re even faster lately as your 15th birthday marches closer and closer. You purse your lips. “I set traps.”

“Don’t mind him, Isla,” Mrs. Bahr -Marie -  says. She fondly shoves Ivan off the porch of the orphanage so she can get down. “He’s always joking.”

“What sort of traps?” Ivan asks. He runs a critical eye over your coat and pack. “Will that be warm enough?”

You’re not sure if your coat is warm enough for the weather or not. Another rising power: you’re nearly impervious to the cold. You shrug. “I’ll be fine. And just simple snares and stuff.”

“We can’t wait to see,” Ivan declares. He gestures towards the road. “Lead the way.”

You bite your lip. It’s clear that they knew you were going hunting today by their garb. Both are in sturdy, worn leather with swords on their hips and bows along their backs. They probably heard from Director Sarah and came specifically to make sure you kept your promise not to hunt alone. But… “The other kids will be sorry they missed you.”

“We’ll see them when we return victorious with birthday squirrels,” Ivan says.

“What a sentence,” Marie says dryly.

You aren’t going to convince them to let you go alone. You silently lead the way towards the orchard. Or, rather, as silently as you can. Ivan talks the whole time, asking questions about the apple trees and pointing to ducks flying overhead. You answer the questions you know the answer to and hum whenever you don’t. You wish you knew more about the vegetation, but the most you can tell Ivan is whether or not something is poisonous.

“Those ones,” you say, nodding to the low, circular leaves Mr. Bahr is pointing to, “are tricky. The real ones taste kind of sweet. The other kind that looks like that makes your stomach cramp for three days straight.”

“How can you tell the difference?” Ivan asks.

You shrug. “You can’t. I just tell the younger kids to bring it to me before eating it. Usually, I trade it for something actually edible.”

Marie, trailing behind you both, makes a noise of interest. “Usually?”

You feel your ears go hot. “Sometimes I’ll try it for them just to see if they can eat it. I’ve had enough of the bad one that it doesn’t affect me so much.”

“You try it?” Marie’s voice is sharp. “Isla, there has to be a better way.”

“Not really,” you say. You scratch the back of your head and quicken your step. You’re almost to the tree line of the woods. “The kids like sweet things. If I didn’t give in occasionally, they’d try it themselves. At least this way they check in with me first.”

“I still don’t think—”

“Sounds like Marie and I’ll be bringing some sweets along with us next time,” Ivan interrupts cheerfully. He points past the last apple tree about a dozen feet ahead. “Looks like the path ends there?”

“There’s an animal track about ten feet into the woods,” you say. You’re uncomfortable with Marie’s reaction. You know it’s not smart to eat poisonous plants, but what else were you supposed to do? Your worst fear is that the kids will one day get hungry enough to eat them without caring about the pain. Your shoulders round. “We’ll need to be quiet once we’re there.”

“I’m the best at being quiet,” Ivan says. He elbows Marie. “Right, Marie?”

“Right,” Marie says. Her voice is still a little strained, but you can tell she’s trying to hide it. “That’s why I married you.”

“That’s a lie,” Ivan says. He stage-whispers to you, “She married me for my amazingly dashing good looks.”

Marie huffs a laugh but doesn’t say anything else. You’ve entered the forest.

You were worried on the way that you’d need to tell Ivan that he needs to be quiet in the forest. You needn’t have been concerned. Both adults are silent and walk with quiet steps, their dark eyes alert on their surroundings. They move through the undergrowth gracefully, their years of experience showing in every step. You try to copy Marie’s soft footfalls as best you can and are pleased when your steps get a little quieter.

The Bahrs watch as you pick places for your traps. Ivan silently points to one of your knots, eyebrow raised. Guessing what he’s asking, you undo the knot and then redo it slowly. He nods in satisfaction and then gestures for you to give him the rope. Curiously, you do. Ivan completes the same knot, fingers steady through each step. When he’s done, he presents it to you proudly as if to say, See? I did it!

It makes you do something you very rarely do in the woods. You smile.

After setting the traps you take the Bahrs to your favorite resting spot. The clearing lies just by the edge of the shallow part of the river. About a mile downstream the banks widen and the North River joins this one, making it a dangerous place of rapids. Here, however, the water moves slowly and is shallow enough to be warmed by the sun.

Finally, you speak. “Shouldn’t be too long. Maybe an hour or two and then we can go check on them.”

“Is this where you found the horned rabbit?” Marie asks. You sit on a large, flat rock by the river, but she stays standing. Her eyes carefully scan the perimeter of the clearing.

“Not quite. That was near the hills.” You point. “Fifteen minutes that way.”

“That’s close,” Ivan says. He frowns, concerned. “Was that the first demon you’ve seen here?”

“No.” When the Bahrs turn to you in alarm, you shrug. “Not all the time, but demons come here. They’re usually not interested in me though.”

“But the horned rabbit was?” Marie asks.

Interested is an understatement. You’re not an idiot. You know that demons are dangerous. That’s why you usually avoid them when you spot them. Normally they’re content to let you pass by, but not the horned rabbit. It followed you nearly all the way back to the orchard before you realized you needed to do something before it attacked you. “Yeah.”

“What other types of demons do you see here?” Ivan asks. His voice is light, but he’s looking at you with a very serious expression. “Maybe howling bats?”

“I hear them sometimes,” you say, “but I don’t stick around after dark.” Ivan and Marie exchange dark looks. You fidget on the rock. “What?”

“This is protected land, Isla,” Marie says. She purses her lips. “No demons should be south of those hills.”

“What other types have you seen?” Ivan asks again. He comes to squat by you so he can look you in the eyes. “And when?”

“Just horned rabbits.”

“Are you sure?” Marie asks. She runs a hand over her hair, slicking back the fly aways. “Horned rabbits aren’t usually sighted alone.”

You hesitate. It’s true that the horned rabbits are the only demons you’ve seen, but… “There have been some signs lately, but I don’t know if they’re demons.”

Ivan’s eyes sharpen. “What?”

“Wolves,” you say. Both Bahrs stiffen, hands going to their swords. You speak quickly. “But I’ve never seen them! They might be regular wolves. I found the tracks at the base of the hill, and some bones, but they were a week old probably.”

“We’ll need to ask the Lord to investigate,” Marie tells Ivan. She looks deeply unhappy. “The patrol doesn’t cover this far south.”

“An oversight,” Ivan says grimly. He reaches out absently and ruffles your hair. It startles you, but it feels nice. Ivan makes an effort to smile at you. “Good eyes, Isla. Is there anything else you’ve noticed changing in the forest lately? Even something not demon related?”

Something funny is happening in your chest. Good eyes, Isla. You wrack your brain for anything else. “I haven’t seen any other tracks or anything and there’s only been four or five horned rabbits this season.”

Marie makes a small noise in her throat. When you turn to look at her, she hides whatever expression she’d been making. “That’s a lot. Did you need to use your sharp stick on all of them?”

Ivan startles. “Sharp stick?”

You rub the back of you neck. “Just two.” You look up at the sky. You only had a sharp stick that day, but there are times when you’ve come out here with a knife. Knife days are for when you’re looking for bigger game.  “I’ve been pretty lucky hunting lately, now that I think about it. There’s been more deer and regular rabbits south of the river.”

“What do you mean ‘lately?’”

“The past month.”

Ivan and Marie exchange another long look. Before you can ask them what’s wrong, Ivan turns to you with another smile.

“Say,” he says, “what do you think about trying to bag something bigger than a squirrel today? You ever fire a bow before?”

Your eyes widen. “No.”

“You can use mine,” Marie says, pulling it from her shoulder. She holds it out to you. “We’re nearly the same height. The draw may be a bit heavy for you—or not.”

Embarrassed by the shock in her voice, you release the string. “I’m, uh, stronger than I look.”

“Good,” Ivan says. “That’ll make it easier to actually catch something today.”

The next few hours are the most fun you’ve ever had in the woods. Marie and Ivan go over every part of the bow with you, explaining the weight of it, the flexibility, the length. Marie and Ivan carry several different types of arrows with different tips, all good for different types of shooting. They let you practice on a tree across the river and each time you’re closer to hitting the center of it, they compliment how fast you’re learning, how accurate your eye, how steady and consistent your draw.

By the time they let you hunt with it, you feel like you’re walking on clouds.

The feeling lasts even after you return to the orphanage, a deer slung over Marie’s shoulders and your hands full of squirrel. There’s a pleasant ache in your back and arms from practicing with the bow. You can’t stop smiling. Everything Ivan says is out of the blue and Marie’s tired responses make it all funny.

At one point you’re walking behind them, watching their shoulders brush when the path gets a little too narrow. They’re smiling at each other and talking softly and for a wild, wonderful, awful moment, you imagine that you can keep this. You aren’t sure what this is. Their attention and their companionship, their gentle guidance and the way they speak to you like you’re an adult?

After Hera’s birthday dinner, the Bahrs stay extra late to help clean up and to spend time with the younger kids. You are still feeling a sort of bone deep happiness you’ve never felt before. Everyone is full and sleepy-eyed from the amount of food you were able to put on the table. The kids gather around their slates in the common area, learning a new type of drawing game from Ivan and Marie.

Hera comes up to where you’re leaning on the doorway. Quietly, she slips her hand into yours. You squeeze it.

“Thanks for the squirrel,” she says quietly.

You lean down and press a kiss to the top of her head. “Happy Birthday.”

She hums and watches the fun in the living room for a long moment. She’s eleven now, three years older than you were that Winter. She’s the second oldest in the orphanage and, for the first time, you wonder if she feels the same sort of responsibility as you.

“I’m happy for you, you know,” Hera says.

You make a low questioning noise in your throat.

“The Bahrs will be good to you,” Hera says. She looks up at you evenly, a small smile tucked into the corner of her mouth. “You deserve that, Isla.”

Every muscle in your chest locks, chasing away the pleasant languidness you’d been feeling. “That’s not—they’re not—”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Hera says. She stands on tiptoe so she can throw her arms around your shoulders, hugging you like she did when she was five. She whispers in your ear, “But I would be happy if they did.”

She lets go of you before you can tell her she’s being ridiculous, skipping into the room to join the drawing game.

You feel out of sorts for the rest of the night.

-----------------------.

(part 1) (part 3)

Thanks for reading! The full story is already posted on my Patreon (X)! If you'd like to support me, please consider checking out my page!

This month will be seeing two main things update on Patreon first: Dandelion (x) and my Cinderella story (masterpost coming soon!) updates for both coming later this week!

[steddiehyperfixation]

don't you forget about me (steddie fic)

saw this post and was inspired to write something angsty <3

The first thing Eddie is aware of when he wakes up, before he even opens his eyes, is the dull, aching pain throbbing through pretty much his entire body. The second thing he’s aware of is that someone is holding his hand. 

“Eddie?” The hand in his tightens its grip as Eddie begins to stir; the voice it presumably belongs to sounds immeasurably relieved, yet only vaguely familiar. 

Eddie groans. His eyelids flutter, blinking awake, and he groggily rolls his head to the side to get a look at whoever had spoken. 

The voice sighs again, “Oh thank god-” 

“Harrington?” Eddie’s eyes fly open wide now as they land on the mystery man sitting beside him on the edge of the bed - a man he most definitely is not close enough with to be holding his hand, and a bed that is most definitely not his own. He snatches his hand away. “What the hell are you doing? Where am I?”

“Ed-” Another man’s voice, this one just as relieved and infinitely more familiar. It fills Eddie with relief too as he looks to his other side to find his uncle Wayne rising from a nearby chair to come up next to him. 

“Wayne, what-?” His surroundings are becoming more clear. “What happened? Why am I in a hospital? And why the fuck is King Steve at my bedside?” Eddie tries to sit up only to gasp and wince in pain as the dull ache in his sides sharpens to near agony at the movement. 

“Take it easy, son.” Wayne’s hand lands on his shoulder, gently but firmly pushing him back down onto the pillows. “You were hurt real bad.” 

“Yeah, I got that,” Eddie grumbles out. He sucks in a deep, intentional breath and exhales slowly, the pain beginning to dull again now that he’s settled. His questions are still largely unanswered, though. Blank mind reaching desperately for any logical piece to this bizarre puzzle, he turns an accusing glare to Harrington. “Did you land me in here? Is that why you’re here, some sort of weird guilt thing?” 

Harrington’s looking at him like a kicked puppy. “What? No, I-” he falters, takes a shaky breath and swallows painfully like he’s trying not to cry. “You don’t remember?” 

“I don’t remember what? Will someone just tell me what happened?” Eddie’s confusion is rising more and more into agitation with every second he remains without an explanation. 

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Harrington asks quietly.

“I was driving home from school, just found out I wasn’t gonna graduate again.” Eddie frowns as he thinks back, still trying to put pieces together. “Did I crash my car? Is that it? I was emotional and not paying attention and got into an accident?” 

Yet again, he receives no answers. 

“Eddie, what month is it?” Wayne asks instead, his tone dangerously measured and serious. “What year?” 

“May…” Eddie says warily, “1985.���

His words hold a weight he doesn’t understand, landing heavy on the others in the room and thickening the air. It sends a chill of dread down his spine, the way his answer etches concern deep into the lines of Wayne’s face, the way Steve Harrington seems to take it like a blow to the chest. 

Harrington exhales sharply as if he’s been punched, standing abruptly and taking a few stumbling steps back. Wayne says, “It’s April of ‘86, Ed.”

Eddie’s blood runs cold. “No. No, it can’t be.” 

“I’m gonna go tell the nurse you’re awake,” Harrington mumbles, his voice strained and his eyes glassy with barely held-back tears. 

“I’ll go,” Wayne offers, pushing himself away from Eddie’s bed. He gives Harrington a meaningful look, though what that meaning is, Eddie can’t decipher. 

Harrington turns his devastated gaze to the older man. “But, Wayne, he doesn’t-” 

“I know, kid.” Wayne gives a sad smile and places a sympathetic hand on Harrington’s shoulder as he passes by. “Just talk to him.” 

Eddie is thrown off by this familiarity between them. Since when were those two close? He feels like he’s entered some sort of parallel universe where everything is just ever so slightly wrong. It leaves an itch beneath his skin, uncomfortable and out of place, like he no longer quite fits in his own body, in his own life. He’s lost 11 months, apparently, and this world is no longer his; he doesn’t know where he fits into it anymore. 

Wayne leaves the room, and Eddie wants to protest: Don’t leave me here with this guy I don’t know in this time I don’t know, please, you’re the only thing that feels safe and familiar! Anxiety is crawling through him like a thousand tiny bugs in his veins. He wants to scream, he wants to cry, he wants to run. Anything to shake this feeling loose. But he’s confined to this bed, trapped both by his pain and by all these machines he’s hooked up to, and he sure as shit isn’t going to have a breakdown in front of Steve goddamn Harrington. 

Instead, Eddie resigns himself to this situation and casts a sideways glance at Harrington who very much looks like he’s also trying not to have a breakdown. “I’m freaking out, man,” Eddie says finally, hating how shaky and pathetic his voice sounds. “I swear to god, Harrington, if you don’t tell me what the hell is going on…” 

Harrington worries his lip between his teeth as he hesitates. “It’s a lot to explain.” 

“Yeah, I bet,” Eddie scoffs out a humorless laugh. “I’m missing nearly an entire year, of course it’s a lot to fill in. Unless I’ve been here this whole time?” 

“No.” Harrington shakes his head. “No, you’ve only been here about a week. I- I don’t know why you’re missing so much time, the whole Vecna thing only started like a week before that-” 

“Vecna?” Eddie interrupts to question. “What does any of this have to do with the D&D campaign I was planning? And, also, how the fuck do you know about that?” 

Harrington closes his eyes for a second and takes a breath, like having this conversation is the most painful thing he’s ever had to do. “I’m not talking about D&D, Ed. Vecna was a real-life monster from a real-life alternate dimension we called the Upside-Down. The kids only called him Vecna because we didn’t know who he was at the time and he, like, cursed people before he killed them, but he was actually Henry Creel, which is a whole other fucked up story.”

“Okay…” Eddie doesn’t know who ‘the kids’ are and he’s skeptical of the way Harrington talks so factually about monsters and dimensions and curses existing in the real world, but he does remember his uncle telling him stories about the demonic tragedy of the Creel family, which is the only thing that makes any of this even halfway believable. It still doesn’t explain how Eddie wound up in the hospital with his entire body feeling like it’d been run through a blender, though, or why the former king of Hawkin’s High was hovering over his sickbed. He gestures for Harrington to continue. 

“I never wanted you to get involved in all this Upside-Down shit,” Harrington’s voice breaks. He steps closer to Eddie’s bed again, and he looks so so sad as he stares down at him that it makes Eddie’s own heart ache, just a little bit. Harrington’s hand twitches at his side as if he means to reach out for Eddie but then thinks better of it, running the hand through his hair instead as he continues, “I tried to keep you from it for so long, I really did, but then Vecna killed Chrissy in your trailer and the whole town blamed you and you were just a part of things then, there was no getting around it. You helped us fight him - Vecna. You kept his army of bats off our ass while we weakened his body and El weakened his mind. If it weren’t for you we never would’ve defeated him and we certainly wouldn’t have all made it out alive.” Harrington’s gaze softens, as does his voice, his next words almost a whisper, “You were a hero, Eddie.” 

“That doesn’t sound like me,” Eddie says, like that’s the least plausible part of Harrington’s story. And, really, it is. He can wrap his mind around a lot of things: a murder in his trailer - sure, Forest Hills always was a shady place; the whole town accusing him of being a killer - yeah, of course, that tracks; even an evil wizard from another dimension with an army of bats - fine, okay, why the hell not. But Eddie Munson is no hero, and he’s definitely not any sort of fighter either.

“No, you never did think so, did you?” Harrington mutters with a sad sort of fondness and the barest trace of a wistful smile. “But it’s true. Dustin was in danger and you didn’t even think twice. You ran right into the fray without a second thought, sacrificed yourself so that the rest of us might survive. Those bats nearly killed you, b-” he breaks, choking on whatever word he was going to say. His eyes swim with yet more unshed tears. “I almost thought they had killed you, you know. I thought you were dead when I carried you out of the Upside-Down,” he admits shakily, choked up and barely managed, “and even when I brought you here and you were stable, I was still so scared you wouldn’t wake up…” 

Eddie doesn’t know how to react to any of that information or to such a display of emotion. His own hands twitch now with the urge to reach out and comfort him, but he too denies that instinct. He tries for humor instead, something lighter, cracking a grin and teasing, “Aw, Stevie, I didn’t know you cared.” 

Harrington makes a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh. “Oh, Ed, you have no idea.” 

“We were friends then, weren’t we?” Eddie guesses now, carefully. It’s rapidly becoming the only possible explanation for the guy’s behavior around him. “Before all the Vecna stuff?”

“Yeah,” Harrington manages, forcing a small, sad smile as his eyes finally overflow and streak his cheeks with tears. “Yeah, we were good friends.” 

~

Wayne reenters the room then with a nurse in tow, and Steve quickly turns away and rubs his hands over his face. He needs to pull himself together; he can’t break down right now, not yet, not here. 

He listens, distantly, as the nurse asks Eddie a bunch of questions and then tells the rest of them that she needs to take him in for some tests to determine the cause and prognosis of Eddie’s amnesia. He watches, numbly, as she wheels Eddie’s entire bed out of the room. 

Steve can barely hear, barely see, his emotion clouding his eyes and roaring in his ears. He stares blankly through the open doorway and struggles to swallow down the ever-rising lump in his throat. 

Wayne’s voice rumbles from somewhere beside him, but he can’t quite make out the words. “What?” 

“I’ll take that as a no, then,” Wayne says, the sound reaching Steve’s ears a little clearer now. “I asked if you were alright.” 

Steve shakes his head. His voice comes out coarse and raw, “‘Course I’m not alright.” 

“Right, ‘course you’re not,” Wayne echoes. He follows Steve’s mournful gaze to the door Eddie had disappeared through. “What did you tell him?” 

“Told him he was a hero,” Steve croaks, “...and that we were good friends.”

“Ah…” Steve’s vision is so blurred behind a thick layer of tears he can’t see the sympathetic frown on the old man’s face, but he knows it’s there. “At least he’s alive, kid,” Wayne tries to be comforting. “You can always start over.” 

“Yeah, I know, but I don’t- I don’t want to start over, I just want-” Steve chokes back a sob. He just wants Eddie.

It’s a horrible thought, but Steve almost thinks that this just might be worse than if Eddie really had died… Because how is Steve supposed to handle the fact that his boyfriend of 9 months no longer knows him? How is he supposed to cope now that the love of his life looks right at him and no longer sees him?

He closes his eyes, presses the heels of his palms into his eyelids, inhaling a shaky breath and exhaling an even shakier sigh. Steve whispers, “It feels like I’m losing him all over again.” 

(part two is here!)

(also on ao3)

[b38rman]

THROUGH THE MOTIONS [pt. 2] ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ Ollie Bearman

series tags - ollie bearman x afab!reader, enemies to lovers, slight angst, slight sickfic moment, eventual smut, explicit sexual content

synopsis - Between you getting an international driving permit and a rental car or having to spend time carpooling with the Ferrari Driver Academy co-driver you despised the most, you just had to choose the more difficult option. (Spoiler alert: it didn’t have anything to do with getting the permit or a rental car.)

parts - 1 | 2

rating - part 2 - explicit

warnings -  18+!!! minors dni, alcohol, driving without an international license! (please get the right paper work lol), explicit sexual content, unsafe sex

a/n - this video lowkey fired me up to write this. anyways, enjoy this filth !

Everything was almost annoyingly normal in the next few days—or at least, as normal as you and Ollie could be. It was as if both of you were just going through the motions, not caring to talk about what had just transpired. It was infuriating that you didn’t talk about it, but it was just as daunting to begin thinking about talking about it. 

Ollie would pick you up, bring you home, and you two would repeat that routine without a word uttered aside from absolutely necessary one-worded small talk. It was almost peaceful if it didn’t carry a heavy tension in the air. 

Sometimes you just wished you could figure out what he was thinking. Other times, you couldn’t help but wonder if he wanted to know what was in your mind too. 

The next time Ollie picked you up was for a joint birthday celebration for two Prema engineers. The house where it was being held was quite a long drive away, and you couldn’t figure out how to get there for the life of you. Maybe it was uncharacteristic of you to text Ollie if he was going and if he could bring you, but again, you had no other options and he was bringing you to work practically everyday anyway; what was one more drive?

You waited out in the cold evening air in an outfit you wished you’d brought a thicker jacket for, and the familiar vehicle pulled up again like clockwork.

When you opened the door, your breath hitched in your throat as your eyes landed on Ollie. 

He was in a baby blue button down that looked just swanky enough to make him look more polished than usual. His curls were a bit tamer than usual too, like he’d been running his hands through them incessantly, and his cologne was a tad bit more noticeable. It made you feel like you were being flayed alive that he looked just that good. 

You got in the seat, buckling yourself in, trying not to look at him directly again as if he’d become the sun himself. 

“Why’d you give me that look?” You could hear the grin in his voice as he started the car. It filled you with a guilty, eye-roll inducing feeling—but you felt your mouth tugging up into a smile like you couldn’t control your body anymore. 

You squeezed your eyes closed, like it could stop the feelings rushing through your gut.

“You look—“ Nice. Cute. You clean up pretty decent. “—less horrible.”

His laugh was obviously complacent, like he knew he fished another ounce of vulnerability out of you. Still, you felt like that first time was more his fault than yours. After all, it was his fault he looked for you, and it was his choice to stay. 

“You too?” He answered back.

The car ride was exactly 52 minutes. You had to pretend you didn’t want to throw up for a whole 52 minutes.

When you got to the party, it was all the same with you and Ollie. It wasn’t like a few remarks were going to change anything, much less his heroics to make you drink tea when you were sick in order to make you feel even just a little bit better. 

You were convinced nothing could drastically change your dynamic. Maybe you felt like his presence, no matter how annoying it could be at times, had grown into something reliable and comfortable—like a pair of ugly yet useful boots that needed to make your toes bleed before you could walk in them.  

To an outsider, it would’ve looked like you were a couple emerging from the car. Still, there was no getting your door, helping you with your things, or holding your hand as you stepped out. It was him, then you, then the two of you separately. 

The party went on like that, but you couldn’t bring yourself to mind. Everyone at Prema never made you feel out of place, and it was a welcome break from all the noise about ‘how it feels to be this’ and ‘what does it mean to you to do that’. 

Of course, there was alcohol, but you couldn’t bring yourself to indulge and possibly become embarrassing around anyone, especially Ollie for that matter. 

You’d drift in and out of circles, a cola in one hand and your phone in another. This was your safe space, despite how fleeting the concept of home was for motorsport drivers. Prema was steady, stable, and ready to be there for you in good times and bad times, and you hoped Ferrari would continue to be the same. It was still strange that Ollie was part of both of those things, if not an integral part of those things in your life.

As the conversations began to die down and your social battery began to falter, you found yourself sitting on a lumpy sofa in the corner of the living room, people-watching from a distance. You were content where you were, an easy smile playing on your lips as you watched 30-something Italian men gesticulate in the foreground.

That was until a familiar looming figure appeared in your periphery before taking the spot next to you uninvited.

“That’s where you went.” Ollie said simply, his breath smelling like a mix of white wine and whiskey. His cheeks were more flushed than you’d ever seen them, and you felt the warmth of his body radiate on you. 

“What d’you need?” You asked, trying not to think about your ride home later or how far down his flush went (it was disappearing down his neck and under his button down.)

“Nothing.” He paused and seemed to contemplate for a second. “A hug would be nice.” 

Forget a bear, right now he looked more like a petulant little puppy than anything.

You were confused, but considering how drunk he seemed to be, his attitude didn’t come out of thin air. He’d probably forget about all this in the morning anyway. 

“Okay, um, from me?” You trailed off as you looked at him, his arms already wide open. You should’ve been worrying about how the engineers and staff might react to this, or how embarrassing all of this actually was in the greater scheme of things. It was your fault, though, that you obliged. 

Ollie laid his arms around your shoulders and nuzzled his head into your neck, sighing. He was taller than you, so the angle was a tad awkward. Ollie didn’t seem to mind at all though. 

Little did you know that he would take it as a chance to not let go. All things considered, you accepted your fate pretty quickly.

After a few minutes, Rene (of course he’d notice first) approached the two of you, a goofy, knowing grin on his face. 

“I told you! Him driving you would get you two to like each other.” Rene said with a laugh.

“No, Rene, we’re not—“ You tried to answer back but the man shook his head.

“Nonsense. I’d know.” He winked in an overly exaggerated way to punctuate his statement. “Anyway, is your chauffer alright?”

You glanced at Ollie, who seemed to be taking a nap with his hair pressed into the nook of your neck.

“Not great.” You deduced.

“You should be the one to drive tonight, he is out of it for sure. Just don’t get caught.” Rene decided for you.

It shouldn’t have ended there, but it did. Little did you know, whatever this was didn’t really have an end in sight. 

You sat there for a moment, holding the weight of Ollie’s head against your shoulder, feeling strangely stuck in limbo. The night had shifted unexpectedly into something intimate, confusing, and decidedly uncharacteristic for the both of you.

“Alright, up you go,” you muttered under your breath, nudging Ollie’s shoulder. He groaned in protest but eventually sat up, his head lolling back against the couch.

“You good?” you asked, leaning forward slightly to catch his gaze. His eyes were glassy, his lips tugging into a lopsided grin.

“Never better,” he mumbled, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“I’m driving,” you announced, standing up and straightening your jacket.

Ollie blinked up at you, processing your words with the speed of molasses. “You don’t have a license.”

“Neither should you right now,” you shot back, holding your hand out to him. “Keys, Ollie. Or we’re both walking.”

He grumbled something under his breath before fishing the keys out of his pocket and handing them to you. His fingers brushed yours for just a second too long, and you felt a strange jolt of electricity shoot up your arm.

“Come on,” you said, avoiding his gaze and pulling him to his feet.

The walk to the car was uneventful, aside from Ollie’s occasional stumbling. You kept a firm grip on his arm, steadying him when he leaned too far to one side.

“You’re bossy when you’re sober,” he slurred, leaning his head against your shoulder as you fumbled with the keys.

“And you’re unbearable when you’re drunk,” you retorted, shoving him gently into the passenger seat.

The drive back to your host family’s house in Maranello was quiet, save for the occasional murmur from Ollie as he slouched against the window. The streets were empty at this hour, the soft hum of the engine filling the silence.

“You didn’t have to come get me,” Ollie said suddenly, breaking the quiet. His voice was softer now, tinged with something that sounded like regret.

“Yeah, well,” you muttered, keeping your eyes on the road. “I wasn’t about to leave you there.”

He turned his head to look at you, his gaze heavy. “You’re too good for that.”

You scoffed, trying to brush off the unexpected compliment. “Don’t get sentimental on me now, Ollie.”

The rest of the drive passed in a haze of quiet moments and shared glances. When you finally pulled into the driveway of your host family’s house, you turned to look at him.

“Come on,” you said, nudging his arm. “You’re not staying alone tonight.”

Ollie blinked at you, his brow furrowing slightly. “Here?”

“Unless you want me to take you back to your place and risk having Dino or Rafa film you passed out on the couch,” you said, arching a brow.

He considered this for a moment, then nodded. “Fair point.”

Getting him inside was another adventure. You shushed him more times than you could count as he stumbled over the threshold, laughing quietly at his own clumsiness.

“Shh,” you hissed, dragging him toward the guest room you’d been staying in. “My host parents are asleep.”

Ollie grinned at you, his steps faltering as you guided him to the bed. “You’re like a secret agent,” he whispered dramatically.

“Yeah, well, secret agents don’t babysit drunk soon-to-be Formula 1 drivers,” you muttered, pushing him gently onto the mattress.

He flopped down with a satisfied sigh, kicking off his shoes and wriggling under the covers. You stood there for a moment, watching him settle in, his face soft in the dim light.

“You good?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

He nodded, his eyes already fluttering shut. “Thanks,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible.

“For what?”

“For… not leaving me.”

You didn’t know how to respond, so you simply tugged the blanket up to his shoulders and turned off the light.

As you closed the door behind you, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. Whatever this was, it wasn’t over—not by a long shot.

When morning arrived, took a moment to register the unfamiliar weight against your side, the soft sound of breathing near your ear.

Ollie.

He was still asleep, his face turned toward you, his curls a wild mess against the pillow. One of his arms had ended up slung loosely across your waist, his hand resting near your hip. You froze, your mind racing as you pieced together the hazy events of the night before, the same clothes still on as a reminder that all of this was real.

He must’ve shifted in his sleep, you told yourself. It wasn’t like either of you had planned this. And yet, the steady warmth of him next to you sent a pang of something—comfort? Panic?—coursing through you.

You shifted slightly, trying to wiggle free without waking him.

“Don’t,” he mumbled, his voice groggy and muffled. His arm tightened just a fraction, holding you in place.

“Ollie,” you whispered, trying to keep your tone steady.

“Five more minutes,” he muttered, his eyes still closed, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips.

“Seriously, you’re—”

He cracked one eye open, his gaze meeting yours, and the sight of him that close—soft, unguarded—made your words falter.

“You stayed with me,” he said, his voice rasping with sleep.

“Yeah, well,” you mumbled, looking anywhere but at him. “You were in no shape to be left alone.”

“Good excuse,” he teased, though his tone was gentle, his hand brushing against your side as he shifted to prop himself up on one elbow.

You shot him a look, heat rising to your cheeks. “You’re lucky I didn’t just leave you on the couch.”

“Lucky, huh?” he said, his grin widening.

There was something about the way he was looking at you—like he was trying to memorize every detail of this moment—that made your chest tighten.

“Yeah, what are you gonna do about it?” You tried to taunt, without any bite coming out of it like you meant for it to. Instead you felt your faces inching ever closer, so close that you swore you heard his pulse racing in time with yours. 

That was finally, finally when his lips crashed into yours. Your body felt like it was about to give out, but it was even more overwhelming that you knew Ollie was right there to catch you. You were lightheaded from how much you wanted this. 

“Okay?” Ollie pulled away to ask as he moved to pin you down on your bed. You honestly couldn’t think straight anymore.

“Yeah, God, just—come on.” You replied breathlessly, and you felt Ollie smile against your lips. It was imperfect in most ways, morning breath and all, but it was everything you never knew you wanted. Maybe it was everything you weren’t allowing yourself to have.

Ollie continued to move on top of you, moving to kiss your forehead and cheeks before proceeding to bite down on your neck. That left you gasping for air, melting like putty in his hands. 

Next thing you know, you’re pawing at his button-down, all rucked up and wrinkled from your activities the night before. He made quick work of it, and soon the baby blue was discarded on the floor, the pile soon being joined by the dress you had on, and Ollie’s trousers.

“Shame, I liked that.” Ollie said as your dress hit the ground. “I like this more though.” His toothy grin took on a whole meaning of its own now, one that you’d probably think about nights from now, with your hands down your underwear. 

“Shut up.” You answered back, your body deciding to blush in spite of yourself and the situation you were already in. 

You continued kissing, harder and more desperate than before, and Ollie was grinding into you through the thin layers that still remained between the two of you. The whimpers that left his mouth made you feel a sense of power over him, one you never thought you’d have. It wasn’t drunkening though, it was more of a soft glow that you felt exuding from your body.

“I don’t have a condom,” Ollie was the breathless one now. “We don’t have to—“

“I’m on the pill.” You said with finality and a hint of desperation. You weren’t sure if you wanted Ollie to know the latter or not, but you definitely wanted what was to come.

“Fuck, okay.” Ollie looked a little blindsided by that, eyes blown wide and filled with what you could only explain as unabashed want. 

You unclasped your bra (you wished you could pause and frame the look on Ollie’s face when you did) and shimmed out of your underwear. When Ollie slipped out of his boxers, you hoped your face didn’t give away any particular thought. Because honestly, he was well-endowed.

“Like something you see?” He had the nerve to be smug as his cock was out, red and hot and waiting.

“Could say the same for you.” You retorted, pulling him down by his neck so you’d be face to face as it happened.

You wrapped your legs around his hips, and he seemed to get the signal because soon, you felt his tip breach your entrance. You bit your lip to prevent any noises, seeing as your host family was likely still home somewhere. 

Ollie continued to slide in slowly, biting at your shoulder probably with the same sentiments as you. When you felt his hips flush against yours, you relished in how good it felt to be completely full.

A soft “Move,” exited your mouth, and soon Ollie was pulling back and thrusting into you with force. You were so grateful your beframe wasn’t betraying you with sounds of what was going on.

It was surprisingly tender, but still so satisfying. Ollie was thrusting into you at a steady but deep pace, leaving you gasping and leaving crescent-shaped indents down his back as you tried to hold on. 

Something shifted though when Ollie hitched up your left leg and started thrusting into you harder and faster. You felt yourself barelling straight to release as you could feel everything without any barriers between you and him. 

“Ollie, please.” You cried out, him now hitting your g-spot with every thrust. He was still fucking you in earnest, but clearly getting sloppy. 

“Let go for me baby, that’s it.” Ollie encouraged, punctuating with particuarly hard thrusts, leaving you clenching uncontrollably. Eventually, you felt your orgasm roll through you, and you pulled Ollie back into a kiss just to muffle the sounds you were making.

You felt Ollie still hammering into you, and you could nearly cry from the excess of pleasure and overstimulation you felt. He laid into you with one, two more deep thrusts and he was spilling inside you with a grunt he couldn’t silence.

Ollie laid on you, his head nuzzled into your neck, softening cock still inside you. 

“You keep surprising me.” Ollie broke your solemn silence, brushing his fingers over your face. 

“I hope you like surprises.” You quipped back, unable to hold back your smile. You knew that this moment had to end sooner or later, and this would turn a bit disgusting with Ollie’s cum drying between your legs. However both of you were here now, still. Here. Still.

“I do, actually;” Ollie replied simply. “I do.”

[aciddrattboyy]

hesitation !

friends to lovers ! friends to lovers! friends to lovers ! or bachira has been your friend since childhood, and while he cant deny his romantic feelings for you now that you were older; you certainly try to deny yours

bachira x f! reader ☆ fluff, eventual smut, eventual angst(maybe) ☆ wc: 2.9k cw: sex jokes lol what else do college boys do a/n: ah i had sooo much fun with this, i think when i write i try to do it in a more traditional way so it was lowkey freeing and fun to get out of my comfort zone and get a bit silly also the frequent kunigami appearances are from my love for him as well he's my 2nd fav bllk character also also theres a very small very unimportant reference to a song somwhere in here and im interested to see if anyone will know it

pt: 01 || pt. 02 || ...

☆

the door to your apartment swung open with a bang, there stood meguru in the entrance, standing proudly with a plastic bag.

“oh honey i’m home!” his sing-song voice got a middle finger from you and a groan from isagi, nagi, and kunigami. the four of you were sat on the floor, table moved out of the way to make space for the project the five of you were working on. 

“meguru what did i tell you about playing house in my apartment,” you said sarcastically. you weren’t upset over your friends long running joke. you were annoyed that it took him near an hour to grab supplies from a dollar store. 

“you said we could only play when we were alone in your bed,” megumi gave you an animated frown, shaking his head as he closed the door behind him. your eyes bulged at his comment as kunigami choked on his water. meguru yelped as you threw a pillow at him in retaliation, ignoring your threats as he tossed the bag on the ground next to you before heading to the fridge. 

“guys we’re not fucking,” you said to the three other men sitting across from you. isagi was too busy helping kunigami recover to really be listening and nagi preoccupied with whatever game he was playing on his phone. 

“of course you’re not bachira is the biggest virgin i know,” nagi stated as fact, eyes never leaving his screen.

“hey!” megurus interjection from the kitchen made you laugh, only to be cut short when meguru ran to grab the pillow you previously threw at you to absolutely chuck it towards the back of your head. you shot him a mock glare before turning back to the project at hand.

“okay no more talk about megurus virginity- we need to get this done before i pass out from exhaustion,” meguru hummed in amusement, grabbing your last can of soda before presuming his spot between you and kunigami. 

“well we could’ve started about three hours ago if you werent asleep,” kunigami said, shooting you an annoyed glance before rummaging through the bag meguru had tossed. 

“i was tired,” you defended yourself, squinting your eyes at the orange haired man.

“yea she was tired,” meguru came to your defense, but it sounded more like he was mocking you. ignoring megurus presence all together, you open up your laptop, looking for the criteria for this obscure project.  

“what even is the project anyway,” nagi spoke from behind his phone, earning alarmed stares from everyone else. it took him a minute to even notice eyes were on him, the newfound silence being what gave it away. “im just kidding,” he said in hopes of calming all of you down, even setting his phone aside to pretend he was analyzing the supplies. 

“we’re doomed,” isagi said shortly, running a hand through his hair. 

“why are there trojan condoms in the bag,” kunigami damn near shouted. you all turned to meguru who just sat there with a dumb smile on his face. 

“i told you guys y/n said we could only play house alone in her-” you pushed your hand into his face, knocking him over. “i was joking, the condoms are for the project.” he stated simply, seemingly unbothered by the scrutinizing looks you all gave him. “what its supposed to be about human nature right? whats more human than sex?” he shrugged his shoulders, looking at you guys as if you were the weird ones for not understanding. 

“we’re not using that,” isagi said quickly, shutting the idea down entirely.

“no no he’s on to something,” nagi mused, enjoying the slightly chaotic energy in the room. meguru blew a kiss at nagi, happy someone was backing him up. “i change my mind,” nagi immediately says, staring a meguru with a blank face before picking up his phone and continuing his game. 

“how about we just work on it tomorrow,” you offered lightly, furrowing your brows in concern when isagi gasped as if you just suggested they sacrifice a new born baby and use that as the project. 

“im not getting a zero on a fucking posterboard project by working on it last minute,” isagi murmured, snatching your laptop to look at the assignment himself. 

“well we’re obviously not getting anything done now. maybe tomorrow we’ll all be a bit more… put together,” to be honest, you just didnt feel like working on it right now. your sleep schedule had gotten worse than usual and you had, no offense to them, more important things to work on. this small community project was on the bottom of your to-do list at the moment. isagi and kunigami glanced at each other wearily, seeming to be the only two people who actually cared about getting it done. “or me, nagi, and meguru each pay you 30 bucks for you guys to do it,” you took advantage of nagi’s selective listening to make that offer and was extremely relieved when meguru didnt object. “and i give you my amazon gift card and let you use my prime account to buy actual supplies,”

“okay deal,” isagi nodded, also aware of nagi not really agreeing. but since he was silent, that was complacency by default in his eyes. giving you your laptop back, isagi got up, followed by kunigami as they grabbed their stuff and the flimsy posterboard that sat empty for the last two hours. 

once isagi and kunigami said their goodbyes, you got up from your spot on the floor, making your way to the kitchen with the intent of making lunch. 

“honey could you be a dear and make me a sandwich,” meguru asked in a mocking tone when we saw you grab a loaf of bread.

“go fuck yourself,” you responded, searching through the fridge for anything that looked appetizing. megurus exaggerated noise of despair is what brought nagi out of his game, looking at meguru with pure judgement. 

“you’re so loud,” he deadpanned, before noticing that two of his friends were no longer there. 

“they left,” meguru said, completely ignoring nagis critique. nagi took that as a cue to leave considering isagi was his ride. with a quick goodbye to you and megumi, nagi was rushing out the door, trying to call isagi and praying they hadnt left him.

now it was just you and meguru, with him sitting on the floor of your living room as he watched you try to concoct a meal. you sighed from behind the kitchen island, making a mental note to remind your roomates that you guys desperately needed to go grocery shopping. 

despite the banter, you had no qualms with meguru staying behind. he was your closest friend, having known him since elementary school. it was a happy accident that after being separated for years, you somehow ended up at the same college. 

“stop telling people we fucked,” you said absently as you search your cabinets when you heard meguru make his way over to the kitchen. 

“whats wrong with that,” 

you shot him a confused look before turning back to rummage through your mostly empty cupboards. 

“we havent?” your voice echoed slightly as you peered in, standing on your toes in hope a four course meal would materialize on the shelf.

“well we could change that,”

you pivoted on your heels being met with a similarly shocked face from the guy who just said those exact words. you shook your head, chalking it up to another one of his jokes.

“stop joking like that,” you pressed your hands onto the counter, desperately trying to come up with something to eat. you were starving. 

“it wasnt a joke,” megurus face made it seem like he was more shocked by his response than you were. quickly turning away and trying to act busy looking for his phone, meguru left you wondering if he was telling the truth. your face grew warm as you really thought about your words. he was your childhood friend, you missed a few years of his life but it was apparent now that he’s grown up well. 

fortunately, or well unfortunately for you, your stomach grumbled loud enough to get you out of your thoughts. you took it as a sign from your body to not entertain the idea of fucking your best friend any longer.

“if youre here for food im sorry to disappoint,” you were trying to cut off the last conversation, turning it to something easier to talk about. 

“no i’m here for you,” he looked at you as if that much was obvious, and it was a bit disorienting. you were used to his crude humor and blunt speech but this was different. you guys were pretty comfortable in your friendship up until this point, at least thats what you thought.

“well im about to go get something to eat,” you averted his gaze, grabbing a hoodie and slipping on your shoes. meguru followed suit, a bright smile on his face as you rummaged through your pockets for your keys. 

“yay dinner with the missus,” you rolled your eyes, trying to hold back a laugh as you opened the door, feeling him follow behind you.

⭑.ᐟ

2:12am kunigami !!: absolutely slumped 2:12am kunigami !!: [sent 1 attachment] 2:13am pinky boy: y/n's gonna kill you when she sees that 2:15am kunigami !!: ill survive trust 2:16am ultimate gamer: theyre def kissing on the side

⭑.ᐟ

you were knocked out on kunigamis couch, a small gathering amongst friends turned sleepover once someone(reo) brought alcohol. you were curled into the corner of the couch, a blanket drapped over you. now that alone wasnt anything out of the ordinary, not something kunigami would risk getting his eyes gouched out for a singular photo. it was the fact that your head has resting on megurus lap. his head rested on your hip at what looked like an uncomfortable angle as he slept. 

there were jokes and side comments about you two secretly dating and you were always the one to deny them, meguru stepping aside and pleading the fifth every time. but the current state you were in was just another piece of evidence to confirm your friends suspicions. 

the night was basically over at the point, most of the other people either leaving or grabbing blankets themselves. 

what woke you up hours later was the smell of breakfast cooking. having been living off of instant ramen and takeout for the past couple weeks, the smell of a home cooked meal practically made your soul fly over to the smell like a cartoon. 

your eyebrows twitched as your hangover made itself known. with a groan you shifted on the couch, for the most part remembering where you were until you realized whatever ‘pillow’ you were laying on felt weird. your eyes shot open and you were met with a calm meguru scrolling on his phone. realizing you were laying on his lap, you shot up, swirling your head as you surveyed your surroundings. 

kunigami was in the kitchen, flipping something over the stove while wearing the stupid ‘kiss the chef’ apron meguru had gotten him as a gag secret santa gift. you tossed the blanket off of you, not awake enough to form words let alone coherent thoughts. 

“hey im cold,” meguru said with no real annoyance as he reached over and grabbed the blanket, putting on a show as he tossed it over his legs. 

“my head hurts,” you mumbled, bringing a hand up to shield your eyes from the bright light. meguru wordlessly reached for the bottle of advil on the coffee table, grabbing his water bottle you gifted him and handing you both. you mumbled a thanks, before tossing the pills into your mouth and absolutely chugging the water. your hand patted the couch cushions around you, looking for your phone.

“its charging in the kitchen,” meguru said without looking up from his own screen, earning a snicker from kunigami who watched the whole situation unfold. you wanted to shoot daggers at him via your eyes, but alas the searing pain right behind them rendered your temper useless. plus he was cooking breakfast and whether or not he was cooking just for himself, you planned to try to snag some. 

getting up from the couch you felt meguru lift a hand to your hip, helping you steady yourself. its something you wouldnt normally bat an eye at, even thanking him for the help. but now that kunigami was staring at you it felt different. 

averting kunigamis ever intensive gaze, you grabbed your phone from the kitchen counter. scrolling through your notifications. not much stood out and you were going to put your phone back down and let charge a little longer until meguru spoke up, much to kunigamis dismay. 

he knew youd see the picture eventually but would have preferred if you werent where his knives were when you did. 

“kunigami sent something funny in the group chat,”

“youre getting no pancakes,” kunigami shouted at megurus betrayal, pointing the whisk in his hand towards the giggly boy on his couch. you looked at kunigami and then meguru, and then kunigami again with raised suspicion. keeping your eyes on the orange-haired man, you unlocked your phone, scrolling through unimportant messages until you found what meguru was definitely were talking about. 

there you were, napping with meguru and looking completely at peace. you felt your cheeks warm as you read the following messages, squinting at kunigami. luckily for him, you were tired and in too much pain to do anything drastic.

“i’ll give you meguru’s pancakes if you let me live,”

⭑.ᐟ

3:34pm loser </3: can i come over 3:40pm you: im out rn 3:41pm loser </3: out doing what...... 3:43pm you: eating lunch with my mom 3:43pm loser </3: tell mom i said hi 3:47pm you: she said to stop bothering us while we're eating 3:48pm loser </3: UR LYING 3:48pm loser </3: ill text her and find out myself . 3:48pm loser </3: gmfu 3:49pm you: since when do you have my moms number 3:51pm you: STOP TEXTING MY MOM

⭑.ᐟ

“i swear to god if you drop anymore popcorn i will end your life,” 

meguru paused as he was lifting a handful of popcorn out of the bowl, eyes flicking from yours to the ball of popcorn in his hand that was threatening to spill out between his fingers. he blinked twice before quickly shoving the kernels in his mouth, chewing obnoxious and smiling around his stuffed cheeks. 

you stared at him with a glare that carried no anger before turning your attention back to the screen. you had forgotten what you were even watching, bachira having insisted on playing some obscure movie he watched a youtube essay about. 

“can you make some more,” megurus voice was muffled from the sheer amount of popcorn in his mouth, but you understood when you pushed the bowl your way. you shook your head, shoving the bowl back towards him.

“you ate most of it, you can go make more,” you listened to him loudly swallow the last of the popcorn in his mouth before pouting at you. 

“i dont wanna miss the movie.”

“pause it,” 

“no that messes with the vibe,” 

you rolled your eyes, getting up from your couch and taking the bowl from him. walking into the kitchen you grabbed a bag of popcorn and put it in the microwave, leaning over your kitchen island as you waited for it to finish. 

you looked at meguru, he seemed interested in the movie, watching intently. he was pretty, you couldnt deny that. and the way the light from the tv played on his face only added to it. his hair had grown since the last time you saw him before college, the yellow tips just passing his shoulders. a wave of emotions ran through you as he laughed at whatever was happening on screen. he was so sweet, you liked being around him no matter how chaotic it was. you were comfortable around him and you wouldnt trade the relationship you had with him for anything. 

the beep of your microwave and the slightly burnt smell of popcorn brought you back to the present. pouring the popcorn in the bowl, you made your way back to the couch, handing meguru the bowl and plopping back down onto the couch. 

“its burnt,” meguru pointed out despite getting ready to shove another handful in his mouth. you shrugged your shoulders, grabbing a pillow and laying against the arm of the couch, curling into a ball.

“you shouldve made it then,” meguru looked at you, your eyes already back on the screen. there was a sort of airy smile on face, enjoying your time together. he wished youd lay on him instead of that godforsaken pillow, but he would take what he could get. unlike you, he had words for the feelings he had towards you. he was in love with you. and while you were adamant on denying any dating allegations he didnt let it bother him to much. when it came down to it, meguru could be satisfied with just being a friend. he wasnt selfish he’d like to think. he was grateful you liked him at all, it was no problem for him if those feelings were platonic or romantic. but a boy can dream. 

i hope you enjoyed !! reblogs/comments are very appreciated <3

[cyberkitty1]

𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝑒 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇!

Kenji Sato x Reader

DISCONTINUED

Summery: All you could hear was sounds of destruction, screaming and fires all around you. You run trying to catch your breath as someone else trying to escape just as much as you pushes you making fall. Screaming in pain you clutch your ankle seeing as it is out of place. Your sight pans upward as you see a kaiju at least a million times your size running at you. Trying as much as you can to get up and run, but ultimately failing. Accepting your fait and covering yourself the best you can until the stomping comes to a stop….

banners by: @adornedwithlight ( thank you!!! )

Taglist: 15/50 - Just comment to be added!!

Part 1

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 3

Azriel x Third-oldest-Archeron-sibling!Reader

a/n: I think reader is beginning to realise something was up with Azzie’s behaviour…

Apologies if you’re not a gold-jewellery person (I’m not either, don’t worry)

warnings: general angst because you sickos love it for some reason (it’s affectionate, I swear), Pity Party by Melanie Martinez vibes, Elain

word count: 5,501

-Part 2- -Part 4-

You keep your eyes shut, hoping to waste another few hours, sleeping.

You want this day to be over as quickly as possible. It could never go fast enough.

Twenty-two.

Once, it was a third of your life—a quarter, if lucky. Now it’s a mere spec. A pebble beside a milestone. What is twenty-two in the face of immortality?

Awareness zips across your skin, feeling the soft drag of cotton against your toes; the warm wrap of your nightdress against the backs of your thighs. Remember how fingertips felt scraping up the skin, and tuck beneath the duvet, curling into a tight ball. Seconds tick by, slow and painful, each dragging its feet through a swamp of mud, tip-tapping and traipsing their dirty boots through your mind. You won’t get back to sleep.

But you don’t move, either.

Weighted like a stone in bed, bones made of lead, pressing you into the mattress. Even your sheets feel like soft shackles, binding your body like fine rope. A silky cocoon of your own making.

The sun rays slide down the wall, slithering across the rug, finally extinguishing as midday dawns in the city. Still, you don’t move.

Sweat beads beneath your arms, trickling down to your elbows, gathering behind your knees, saturating the sheets, making them sticky. It’s not enough to make you shift. You remain lying in the puddle of discomfort.

You push deeper beneath the duvet, temperature rising as the cotton clings to your body, sticking to you when you move to roll over. Frustration bubbles, and fizzes, then tears drip down your cheeks. They roll back into your hair, falling into your ears, and you sob harder.

The imagined smell of clean pillows, and crisp sheets revolves in your mind, and still you stay. Living through fantasy, counting the seconds.

Afternoon hits, and you’re still in bed.

Rolled onto your stomach, salty water sliding down your under arms, you turn the page. The parchment is dry, leeching moisture from your fingertips, making them feel pruny. The tears start rolling again.

Evening begins, and you’re stomach sobs with you, gnawing on your bones, as though eating itself with hunger. Sweat has dried, leaving your skin clammy and suffocated. Finally the thoughts start rolling in. The humiliation of rejection further dampening your cheeks. Merely picturing hazel eyes… You shut the book, and struggle out of bed.

The sheets are indeed tangled, wrapping and binding your limbs to the point you simply drop to the floor, hitting the wood painfully, skull clunking as your elbow whacks the bed frame. You lie still for more minutes. Wallowing. Eventually drag yourself out of the mess.

First, open the curtains wider, taking in the orange and pinks of the sky, the full, billowing clouds fluffing the cobalt… Blue siphons glitter behind your eyes, water spilling as your lip wobbles. They blaze with vibrant fury, simmering with unfathomable darkness, and the curtains snap shut.

You remove your night dress, throwing it into the wicker basket, dragging yourself to the washroom as your head pulses and aches from lying down too long. Heat ravishes your skin, a fresh wave of sweat coating your body. Water washes over your back, pouring down your front, bathing you until clean. Not an ounce of grime left marring your body.

You try the windows again, the heavens filled with orange and blue, purply-greys rising with the oncoming night. How have you nearly slept away the day? And yet it’s still not over.

Voices echo from somewhere below you—the kitchen. You cover your face with your hands, exhaling heavily. They’re all there. All waiting just beneath you. Knees nearly buckle.

Heart spikes in your chest at the thought of…

Birthdays used to be wonderful, full of gifts and vibrant colours, smelling of fresh flowers and tasting syrupy and sweet. Now they’re wretched and dull, a pressure around your throat as another year ticks by and nothing’s changed. You’ve done nothing. Sat around, taking up space, draining money, expending resources. And nothing to say for it. Just a stack of books by your bed, selling second after second, minute after minute, draining the days away. Draining the years away.

Muscle trembles, bones crumbles as you land on the floor, curled into a ball before the mirror, unable to look at the waste you’ve become. Everything has a function, everything has some sort of purpose, some duty to fulfil, executing their actions with mechanical precision. Moving because they have to. It’s what they’re formed to do. Yet bring choice into the equation, and everything stops. It becomes unreliable, and uncertain. Unpredictable.

So much choice it’s overwhelming. So many pathways, so many decisions. So many conclusions. Everything would be so much simpler if will was subtracted from the sum. Leaving you with narrow walls to keep you on course, the gust of wind propelling you forward. Without those things, your actions are your own, and you’ve plummeted from the path.

Mind buzzes and whirrs, firing off thoughts and clipped phrases, one blending into another. Chaos and mess fusing in a liquid covalent bond, linking their talons through sinew and cartilage. Hooking into your brain. Ripping into the tissue. Licking their fingers clean.

Three knocks tap to your skull, tripping through cartilage, tumbling to stone.

“Hello?” You call, forcing your voice to be even. Balancing out waves, crests and troughs synchronising.

“Are you going to be up soon? I haven’t seen you all day!” Feyre.

You scowl, hunching over yourself, nails raking through your hair, pushing the dried tails from your face. “I’ve been up for a while,” you reply, shortly, “reading.”

“Well, we’re having dinner together tonight, and it’s nearly ready, so come down soon!” She calls back, and you can imagine the way her ear is inevitably pressed flat against the door. Busybody, like the rest of them.

When you don’t reply, she steps back, walking away down the hallway, returning to the kitchen where the laughter blares and bubbles.

You slump over, spilling across the floor as you lie, limp. Strength falling from your muscles, as though they’re delocalising from your flesh and bone. You imagine sinking your hands onto your thighs, how your meat would come apart like perfectly prepared pulled pork. How your gluons would simply release; allow you to dissolve onto someone’s plate, drowned in gravy and dusted with rosemary.

Thoughts ebb and flow, trickling through your conscious like thickened cake batter over the edge of a mixing bowl, dripping from the table to splatter on the floor. Only to be wiped away seconds later, cleanly obliterated. Tiny explosions blow behind your eyelids, prickling until salt stings and spills.

The sun sinks, darkness settling like a veil over the city, horizon dimming to deeper, inky greys. Shoulders ache, bones grinding against one another, catching muscle and flesh between them. Still you lie, unmoving. Light, shallow breaths evenly dripping from your lips.

Another set of knocks in the same cadence. “Food’s ready!” She calls. The words thud dully in your ears, landing at the dried up base of the well. Prevented from settling deeper. “Will you be down soon?” She asks hopefully, voice blaring through your carefully cultivated silence. “Be down soon,” you call back, letters automatic and mechanical. Precise and unthinking. Words lilt and inflect, while your features remain stiff, eyes unseeing as they stare out.

She traipses away again.

Your mind falls back to sleep.

Tumbling through portals, falling into vortexes, tripping down tunnels. Flying through secret hatches in time, spilling across horizons and shooting up, up, up into the atmosphere.

Thoughts waver and crumble, disintegrating into galaxy coloured sprays of starlight, swirling and exploding like the movement of the Starry Night. Feyre had showed you that one, once.

When was the last time you’d had time to spend with any of them, individually? Now with Nyx around, her attention is spread thin. Navigating wife, sister, and mother. High Lady, too.

Mother, Wife, High Lady. Then Sister.

Maybe you were being harsh on her. After all, what do you know about having so many roles to play? Having achieved all those titles, fulfilled each one and continuing to do so while avoiding jeopardising another. Would you be able to handle what she does? A year younger than you. Already with a husband and a child. A whole Court at her fingertips.

Are you done with the nosey speculation into other people’s relationships, or is that how you’ve found yourself filling your time?

You blink, his voice ringing in your mind.

Is that how you’ve come to preoccupy yourself? Complaining about her success? What happened to being happy for her achievements? To being proud of your sister? At what point had it become a competition?

When had you started comparing yourself to them?

A stone sinks in your gut, plummeting through your stomach, dropping to your toes. Do you really fill your time by examining them? Analysing their relationships, dissecting their dynamics?

Go on, he’d said. Go on and tell me why I’m undeserving of her.

It had really come out so wrong. You hadn’t even planned on confessing to him. Had planned to keep it all to yourself. To wallow and drown, quietly, in your own secret corner.

You think you’re deserving of me?

He replays on an invisible symphonia, spinning through your world, making you dizzy as the sound whirls.

You think you’re deserving of me?

I think it’s cruel to continue asking after her when I so obviously answer every question you have just so you might pay me a little more attention.

Well done. Just open up your chest for him. Hand perfectly poised to pull your life’s muscle from your ribs. Instead he’d left it intact, an open wound to fester and turn gangrenous over time. To scar, deeply. To burn and burrow its way into your marrow. To turn bone deep, so you can begin to understand what you’d struck at.

You’d be better off turning your damn affections somewhere they’d actually be appreciated.

If you were even half the female she is, I’d be tempted to show a little interest.

How quickly the conversation had turned sour. How quickly it had flown off the pathway. How quickly blades had been drawn, poison tipped arrows fired.

At least she has someone interested in getting her into bed.

I doubt you can say the same.

A triptych of knocks lands on your door, making you flinch.

“Are you still coming down?” Feyre calls, “the food’s going to start getting cold!”

It takes a moment for your limbs to unfreeze, unstick themselves from your mind’s trap. “I’m—…” You’re not going down there. Not into that room, filled with so many people. She calls your name, a little confusion shining through, dragging you from your haze.

“I’m getting tired, Fey,” you manage back, not quite disguising the bone-deep fatigue that’s riddling your body. “I think I’m just going to go to bed,” you call.

“Oh…” she sounds surprised. A little crestfallen. “Are you sure? I mean, I haven’t seen you in a while, and we’re all down there, so…it would be nice. To spend time with you.”

You’re quiet, unable to formulate an appropriate response. You can hear her hesitating, too.

Then. “Can I come in?” She asks softly.

You freeze up, taking in your state. Clean, but messy. A few too many things out of place to be okay. Before you can skilfully deny her, she continues on. “I—… There are some things I want to ask you about.”

Her voice is soft, and quiet. Navigating High Lady and sister. Maybe you don’t give her enough credit. Then again, she should obviously be playing your sister right now.

“Let me put some more clothes on,” you respond with, swallowing as you get to your feet, picking up a few books here and there; grabbing your sheets to return them to the bed. Quickly, you shuck on a dress, tying your hair back into a neat-ish knot. “Okay,” you call, “I’m dressed.”

The door swings open, and her eyes scan the room, darting about before settling on you. She’s dressed nicely—she’s always dressed nicely. Whether it’s a jumper and slippers, or some kind of gown, she always looks lovely. Disgustingly put together. “What is it?” You ask, feigning sleepiness.

She shrugs casually, closing the door behind her. “I wanted to see how you were doing,” she explains, walking over to your bed. “Can I sit down?” You nod in response, then hesitate. “Maybe take the chair. It was boiling last night.” Her lips lift, a faint smile on her mouth, blue-grey eyes sparkling, “it was, wasn’t it? Rhys is going to show me how to put a temperature-maintaining ward around our bedroom. Nyx severely dislikes the heat.” Her voice lilts with laughter, and it’s easy to forget what she’s gone through. So easy to disregard every bloodied fragment when you see that smile.

“So?” She asks, conversationally. “How have you been?” You wince and her brow dips almost imperceptibly, “I really want to go to bed.”

“Oh.” She blinks. Nods slowly. “Okay.” She seems slightly upset at your not-so-subtle dismissal. At least it was gentle.

Feyre stands, runs her eyes over the stacks of books beside your bed, “have you read all these?” A heavy sigh blows from your chest, posture dissipating as your spine slouches, “Feyre…”

“Right. Yes. If you’re sure,” she says, watching you carefully. Intently. Eyes sharp. “I’m very sure,” you reply, managing a weak smile, hoping fatigue will cover for you.

She nods then, heading for the door. She stops, and you nearly groan.

“It wouldn’t…I mean, would it help if there were less of us?” She asks slowly. This time, you do groan. “Oh my gods, Feyre. I am tired. Please let me sleep.”

“So you’re not coming down at all? Even just s few minutes? Be with everyone for a bit?” She pushes, and irritation bubbles in your chest. You want to be done with this conversation. You don’t deign her with an answer. You’ve said what you want to, you’re not going to repeat yourself.

“If Azriel wasn’t there…” she says softly, taking a hesitant step toward you. You stiffen, blood freezing. “What do you mean.”

Feyre blows out a breath, brushing down her top, smoothing the nonexistent creases. “I’m not blind,” she murmurs, eyes latching onto you. “You’ve been off these past few days, and Elain—”

“What did Elain say?” You ask, skin leeching of warmth. Feyre pauses, watching you quietly. “Feyre,” you say, a little surprised at her hesitance. “If Elain said something, it’s fair for me to know.”

She sighs again, “I need you to be calm. I don’t want to argue with you. Not today. Not any other day, but particularly not today.”

“Sure. That’s why you brought this up when I’m obviously tired and irritable,” you shoot back.

She just observes you steadily, unfaltering. It makes you want to shift, and fidget. “Tell me what she said. I’ll be calm,” you say, finally, quieter than before. Still, she’s silent. Watching, weighing, judging. Busybody.

Finally, she opens her mouth, and her words nearly knock you off your feet. “She saw you in the library. Heard what you said to him.”

The floor opens up beneath you, and you spiral down. She heard your conversation with Azriel.

The nosey bitch. She had no right to pry like that. And then to bring it to your sister. The youngest of all of you.

How much more humiliation do you have to take?

“She what?” You whisper, unable to speak through your anger and hurt. Feyre gives you that look again, calming, steady, scolding. “You said you’d be calm,” she reminds, quietly. “Please keep your voice down.”

“That was none of her business!” You explode, voice raising as your hands scrunch into fists, sorrow giving way to rage. “And none of yours either, High Lady.” You spit out the title, so betrayed, and confused, you begin to switch off. It’s none of their business. They’re your emotions. Yours. Not things to be traded, and gossiped about. To be tossed around over some family dinner.

“I’m worried about you,” she says, brows curving with concern. “We all struggled with the cauldron. We struggled through the war, and everything that came after. But you’ve never shown any signs to warrant anxiousness.” Pain glimmers in her eyes, watching you steadily from across the room. Your room.

“Don’t use that as an excuse,” you bite back. “Don’t use it as an excuse to stick your nose into my life like that. It is my life.” Your voice wobbles, but remains strong, blaring through the space. “What happened between me and him is none of your concern. My relationship with Elain is none of your concern. Stop trying to find an issue with me. Something for you to fix, and put back together, so I can become part of your pretty, perfect family, too.” You nearly shout the end, vision blurring around the edges.

She blanches a little, “you need to quiet down. I will not be shouted at. You’re a grown woman, you can talk to me like one.”

“Treat me like one!” You nearly scream back, tears spilling. Her brows knot together, looking confused and disappointed. “I act, just like you,” you cry. “I’ve dealt with my own issues. I’ve kept them to myself. I’ve made. sure. not to be a burden. To you, or to anyone.” The words spill out, one after another. Brutal, and jagged in the light.

“I’ve been as cooperative as I can, I give answers if I have them, and I look for them if I don’t,” you sob, thinking of all the times he’d asked a question about Elain, so you’d repeated them back to her, stealing that information back for him. “I’ve never gone mute like Elain, I never sparked up like Nesta, I never spiralled into a depression like you. I kept myself intact. All by myself. And yet I’m the one everyone treats like a girl?” You shake as you cover your face with trembling hands, a small crack finally appearing in the damn you’ve been consistently reinforcing.

You push away your tears, trying to shut off the waterworks, finally meeting her glazed eyes. They clear when they realise you’re watching her.

“I can manage what happens between Azriel and me. It’s my business,” you repeat, the odd tear spilling as your lip wobbles. “I know I’m nothing compared to Elain. I know Mor would outshine me if I were next to her,” you cry, breaths heaving in and out in frenzied, uneven pants. Feyre’s eyes glimmer with pain, and she steps closer, arms widening a little. A silent offer. You ignore it.

“I know he doesn’t—” A sob cuts you off, lungs spasming as more walls break down, dissolving with the torrent you’ve kept at bay. Your shoulders hunch, eyes squeezing shut as you bite your lip.

“Nobody ever does,” you cry, softly, wrapping around yourself, back curving as you fold in on yourself. “He doesn’t even—… He’s never asked anything about me, but he knew…” I’m never the first choice.

Maybe the competition had been going on for longer than you’d realised.

Your voice grows softer, and her shoulders loose their tension, silence stretching through the room. Utter, devastating silence.

Not even a single, muffled laugh.

Your heart drops, stomach rising up into your throat.

You take a step forward, eyes wide.

Then vanish.

You reappear exactly one floor below, the silence not fitting in with a group of eight preternaturally still bodies. Seven pairs of eyes turn to you, filled with guilt. Almost instinctually, you seek out the darkest corner of the room, hazel piercing into you. Sharp and accusing.

You stumble under its intensity, flicking between the remaining pairs of eyes that seem to be pulling away from you. Lips part is surprise, flitting from violet, to grey-blue, to cocoa, returning to hazel.

“Good evening entertainment, huh?” You whisper, lips trembling. You don’t even know who to look at.

The High Lord opens his mouth, but Nyx begins screaming, shrill and cutting in the quiet.

Your jaw snaps shut, comprehending what just happened.

A heavy breath of air puffs from your lips, before you winnow yourself back upstairs.

Feyre’s already given you your privacy by the time you return.

————

A clock chimes somewhere in the house. Three in the morning.

The forced laughter and quiet shuffling of people had vanished around one. Two hours ago. Your stomach growls in the darkness.

How long has it been since you last ate?

You shake your head, not caring. You’re hungry, so you’ll get food.

On quiet feet, you pad into the hallway, peering both ways before tiptoeing down the corridor, listening for the sound of movement. Nothing. Silently, you descend the stairs, walking along another corridor that leads you to the kitchen. Stop in the doorway.

A cake lies on the table in the living room—adjoined to the kitchen. A polite pile of presents is stacked neatly beside it, a dull ache pressing down on your chest. Even from across the room, you can make out the pretty details. The pure white fondant, the foundations to the wobbly yellow and orange marigolds made from icing sugar, royal blue frosting squiggling the boarder, artfully dripping down the edges, like tears spilling over.

Stepping closer, the flaws become apparent, clearly decorated by people unaccustomed to creating cake toppings. The uneven petals, a dash of light blue marring the white fondant, the obvious blending point between yellow and orange. You wonder how long it took the three of them.

Sighing, you take a seat around the table, a single candle magically appearing and lighting atop it. You murmur thanks to the house, take a deep breath, and sharply puff the air out. It extinguishes instantly. Smoke drifts up in shadowy strings, the red ember winking out, and you pull the candle from the cake. A small knife appears at your side, and you cut a small chunk from its centre, getting the better part of a marigold at its tip.

It’s good—not too sweet, not too dry. Has weight to it, pleasantly spongy. The flavour lovely and—

Your vision blurs as you taste the vanilla, tiny pockets of jam infused throughout the cake. It’s the same as the recipe Elain practiced in cupcake form for a month. Practiced and persisted endlessly. Sampled until you both deemed it perfect.

No, you don’t forgive her for eavesdropping, for tattling to your sister, for being the reason the whole family now knows about your messy rejection. How unappealing you are. But she’d made this perfect for you, had practiced this recipe to death…and it counts for something.

You finish off the slice, ignoring the slight salty flavour that occasionally dripped over your lips, choosing to focus on the taste of the bespoke cake, instead.

Sitting a while in silence, thinking about everything that’s happened, you put it aside. Shift awkwardly toward the neat stack. Almost immediately drawn to the small royal blue gift box. It fits in your palm and you don’t need to read the note to know who it’s from. A tule bow is tidily pressed on the lid, shifting through vivid purples, reds, and pinks. Azriel’s gift.

It is stupid to be excited for his present?

You bite your lip, and shakily remove the top, peering down at the deep blue, satin cushion. A fearful smile lifts the edges of your mouth—disbelieving.

Inside the petite box, nestled within the plush pillow, are a pair of pearl earrings. They’re fashioned into small tear-drop like stones, golden hooks appearing at their crest. You pull them carefully from the cushion, holding them up in the moonlight, staring in wonder. They’re simple, yet elegant. An understated, subtle kind of beauty. The kind you only notice when you look closely.

You admire them for minutes, before raising them to your ears, neatly sliding them into the tiny holes. A comfortable weight, fun to play with, and tug on. You’re already in a better mood than when you came down here, a quiet smile on your lips as you remember their pretty shine.

Moving onto the next one, you begin filing through the gifts: A romance book from Nesta; from anyone else, it would have been obnoxious and self-centred, but you know how much she adores those books, and wants you to experience their happiness.

From Feyre, a miniature painting: Starfall rendered in blues, yellows, and oranges, in place of the irradiated greens and iridescent golds.

A silver embossed bookmark from Rhysand (spelled so you’ll never loose or misplace it, he’d written), making you smile.

From Cassian, necklace, a circular glass pendant hanging on the bronze chain. Peering into the glass, you can make out a small map of the world, containing the courts, the continent, and Hybern. Stretching down to the Mortal Lands too—acknowledging your past.

A small pot of crimson nail polish from Mor, coupled with a pink lipstick, making you laugh quietly. Attached is note saying she owes you a shopping trip—promising not to hijack it for clothes; to let you wonder about the various book stores.

And a 10,000 piece jigsaw from Amren—you can hear the challenge radiating from her as you pull the ribbon away.

All wonderful; all thoughtful. The seven pairs of guilty eyes that had been listening out of concern.

You rest your face in your hands, unable to resolve their opposites. The eavesdropping, but the clear attention they’ve all paid. Even if you’re in Rhys’ Inner Circle, you’d always thought you were somewhere measuring the circumference. Apparently they disagreed. You’re just as at its centre as they are.

Hot, wet droplets splash onto the wooden table, and you sniff quietly, taking long minutes to expel the sadness from behind your eyes. Finally, once they’ve dried, you reach toward Elain’s present. You’re not sure you want to see what’s inside, with how complicated your relationship has become. Still, you pull the lilac bow loose, raising the lid from the box. You stand up to look what’s contained within.

Your eyes bulge from their sockets, jaw dropping open as you see what’s inside. Slowly, carefully, you raise the mechanism from the padded inside of the box, setting it reverently on the table. Only then do you allow your hands to shake.

Sat politely before you, is an orrery.

Fingers tremble as you touch one of the planets, pushing it gently. When it moves, the cogs at its base align with one another, clicking together as each of the globes move harmoniously, spinning at their assigned paces. You wonder how accurate the spin is, what machinery they’ve used to delve so far into the universe. How wonderful it must be to live and explore.

Tears splash onto the table as you stare at the contraption. So incredible, rendered with such loving care you could cry. You are crying.

You peer closely, picking out the planet you’re on, how the world is carved into it: the land, the equator, no split lying between the previous human and faerie realms—the wall now gone. You thumb at the other spheres, staring with wide eyes as you trace small indentations made in their surface, peering and spinning the moons that rotate each. It’s utterly breathtaking; you have to blink away more wetness.

Seconds tick by, minutes draining in the blink of an eye. A clock chimes four in the morning and you’re still studying the mesmerising mechanism. How many centuries of research have created the stunning contraption? How many people dedicated their lives to discover the knowledge that is now rendered so extraordinarily before you? The detail is mind blowing, the loving rendition of the solar system, sitting on the table in a kitchen. Absolutely incredible.

You scan the array of gifts—the thoughtfulness and care that has gone into each and every one. The attention, the affection. All pieces of yourself, like looking at tiny fragments of your soul.

Muscles stiffen, eyes flicking to the empty, deep blue box. The royal blue cushion that you’d smiled so widely at. How giddy you’d been. It shrivels and warps besides the other gifts, an insult to compare them. While their gifts are clearly bespoke; unique; picked out with you in mind, the pearls…

Sorrow flushes your cheeks as you thumb free the earrings, staring at the demure jewellery. Beautiful, feminine, expensive…

Painfully generic.

A final smack in the face.

“You’re awake.”

Eyes flick up to meet cocoa. Lashes damp. Pearls tucked back in their box.

Elain walks forward on silent feet, gliding across the floor until she’s the other side of the table. Her eyes flick down to the cake, and a faint smile appears on her lips, “you had a slice.” She smoothes down her skirts, elegantly descending into a seat, “happy birthday.”

Pressure heats behind your eyelids, vision blurring, then spilling over. You bury your face in your hands as you sob, teeth biting into your lip as you try to quiet them, attempting to stop the cries that are leaking. You sniff, rubbing your skin until it feels raw. Hot and irritated from brushing tears away. Elain sits quietly, waiting for you to ready.

Once the sobs have dulled enough, you dry your eyes once more, looking at her. “Why did you tell Feyre?” You manage, throat wet, voice a little nasally from crying. Nose blocked. “Why did you listen?”

“She was worried. She asked about you, and I mentioned you’d seemed startled finding me and him in the library,” she answers calmly.

“It was none of your business,” you moan quietly, brushing away more tears. “You had no right to eavesdrop on us like that.”

Elain’s brow furrows, “I didn’t eavesdrop. All I heard were the things you said to him while I was in the room.”

You blink once. Twice.

She sighs. “I left as soon as I was out. You were in need of privacy.”

“But Feyre said you saw…what happened in the library,” you stumble, unable to bring yourself to say his name. “I did see you in the library. When you came in. And then I left.”

You blink again.

She hadn’t heard anything you and Azriel had said to one another. That was why he’d looked so accusatory. You’d gone and opened your mouth while everyone was listening. And your reaction…it didn’t make him look good.

Tears spill again as you bury your head in your hands. Shoulders shake and heave with sobs, hot liquid running between your fingers as they splash into the pool on the wooden table. He’s probably furious with you for being so oblivious. He would have noticed immediately. You cry harder.

A hand lands gently at your back, rubbing in soothing patterns. Staying beside you until you calm down. “I’m sorry…” you cry weakly, voice rasping in the silence. “I’m so sorry, ‘Lain. I thought… I’m so sorry…” Tears drip-drop steadily, but you regain control of your voice. “It’s okay,” she murmurs, and you feel her slide into the chair beside you. How long has it been since one of you cried in front of the other, unprompted? You can’t remember.

Maybe that’s what has you standing from your seat, pulling Elain with you as you cry into her. She’s stiff for a moment, then her arms slide over your shoulders, your own wrapping around her back, allowing the tears to pour. The world naturally leaning toward chaos.

After what feel like forever, you step away, drying your eyes once more.

“How are you feeling?” She asks gently, hand on your shoulder, thumb rubbing soothingly. “Better,” you sniff, managing to keep your eyes dry. They’re going to puff up badly, though. You snivel again, pushing the loose hairs from your face, wet with tears. “Thank you for the orrery,” you manage, softly. “Really. It’s so… I can’t even begin to explain how incredible it is. How great a gift it is. Thank you.” You hope you can at least begin to have her understand how much you love it through the sincerity in your voice. So she can hear it, even if you can’t explain it.

She smiles faintly. “I’m happy you’re happy.” It’s so Elain you nearly start crying again. “Nuan made it—she’s very skilled in her work.”

Nuan, who’d created Lucien’s eye. She must have…

Her eyes flick away for a moment, as if reading the question in your gaze, but return. “He and I… Things aren’t as tense as they once were. We’re… We’re doing better.” You stare at her, lips parted.

So she’s no longer after Azriel.

A wave of horror crashes over you as you comprehend the thought. Repeat it in your brain. Subconsciously, she’d been your saboteur. You’d seen her as competition, convinced you had to be better to keep his attention. How infatuated you’d become.

Two years you’d wanted him. Two years of late night thoughts, secret wishes, and strict obedience to him. Two years of living for someone else.

Such an idiot.

You’d been so happy to give as much as you could. To be as compliant and accommodating as possible. And he had fully taken advantage of that.

How much more is there for you to realise about him?

How much further does this have to go?

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb

Az Taglist: @azrielshadows1nger

CBMTHY Taglist: @impossibelle @naturakaashi @sakurafrost3-blog @ficienjoyedrbspot @azriels-shadowsinger @marina468 @misstea12 @going-through-shit @fussel9913 @minakay @i-am-infinite @wannabewolf @thegirlintheshadows101 @kennedy-brooke

[firerose18991]

Just Bimby Things

Prt 1 | Prt 2 | Prt3<you're here

Minors DNI

Pairing : Toxic(pathetic) Megumi x Bimbo!reader

Info: HVAC repairman megumi(itadori and nobara), interior decorator reader, used their surnames and first name interchangeably,  18+ characters. Written with black readers in mind

Wrd cnt: 1.5k

The trip had been a success in more than one way and you all returned to your jobs well rested. However, the open ended nature of your last encounter left Fushiguro wondering. Should he have taken you out first, Should he ask you out now. He had gotten your number, he just wasn't sure what to do with it.

He thought about this as he drove to his next appointment. Updating an old house that'd just been inherited by the former owner's children. It was farther out from the city than normal so he expected this to be a project he'd be working on for the next few days.

When he arrived he pulled his tool bag out from his truck and went in to greet the family. From what he could tell they were a middle aged successful couple. They were relentlessly happy when greeting him and showing him around the house while he did his assessment. After a short while there was a knock at the door.

"Oh you don't mind right, we made an appointment with our decorator. She's going to work around you to fix the place up as fast as possible for us." The wife headed toward the door to greet the decorator and bring her in.

"There's our star." The husband's voice boomed as he extended a welcoming arm to you.

As you stepped in you made eye contact with Megumi sending him a playful wink before taking the husband's hand.

"So what have we done so far?" You jumped excitedly. Your work outfit(if you could call it that) struggled to contain your movements.

Megumi made note of the husband still hanging onto your hand and staring down at you.

"We're going to have to gut the central wall and the basement to set up the systems. We should be able to get them back up in two weeks." Megumi's voice came out rasped. He was distracted by your closeness to the family. "I'll bring a team next time. What start day works best for you."

He pulled out his tablet to allow the couple to choose their time. Only the wife stepped up while you and the husband chatted quietly in the corner.

You were flipping your braids at everything he said, laughing at seemingly nothing. A feeling bubbled up in him when you took the husband's arm and went off to a different room.

"Well I'd like to start as soon as possible so this is a good time." The wife snapped him out of the daze.

She'd picked a date two days from now. "I'll get you the keys so you can let yourself in. We're still in the city while everything is getting settled.

“Honey!". She called her husband back to the room to fetch the keys.

"I can come back when the wall has been put up and start painting the house." You gushed while handing the key the husband had brought out to the wife who handed it to Megumi.

A week later Megumi still couldn't get the thought of you hanging off that guy's arm out of his head as he patched up the house. He was almost tempted to charge them more money and botched the job but it would reflect badly on his company so he held back. You stopped by the house just as he and his team were finishing up for the day.

"Hi Meggy." You hopped through the door in your usual tight get up.

You threw your arms around his neck.

"You haven't texted me." You pecked him on the lips.

He stood there frozen for a moment before stepping back slightly

"I'm working, maybe we can talk later." He attempted to grab his belongings but you beat him to it.

"I just wanna talk really fast." You held his work bag behind you. It almost tipped you over with how heavy it was.

“I can't make time right now" he reached for the bag but you stepped back again.

"Why noott~" You whined

"Cause you’re an ignorant fucking slut, now shut up and let me work” his words really struck you. While you froze he was able to grab his bag and leave you there.

The job was done after 2 more days and Megumi hadn't seen you at all in that time. He did reach out to let you know his work was done and he sent a half baked apology about his attitude after work. But he was left on read. Upon returning to his agency he was told that another event would be happening this weekend to celebrate the workers accomplishments. Though the reminder would be sent out again as hardly anyone was at the building when he arrived.

He went about the week leading up to it normally though he did put a considerable amount of energy into dodging Yuji as he knew he’d be reamed for what happened between the two of you. He was hoping the event would allow him the chance to pull you aside and straighten things out, and hopefully avoid his punishment.

As he got home from work on the day of the party he made sure to pick an outfit that wouldn’t draw too much attention to him. A plain suit and tie to a black and white event should allow him to fade into the background with the other workers. He got himself put together and arrived at the party. He was purposefully late as getting there early would also be cause for undue attention. He looked around for familiar faces and instantly spotted your body con baby pink dress surrounded by a chatty group.

“So much for black and white event.” He laughed to himself as he stepped further into the room to find a spot to wait out your conversation. He’d take all night if he needed to.

Just when he’d located a suitable corner he felt his shoulders buckle under the weight of someone's hand.

“Well if it isn’t Megumi.” Yuji talked through his forced grin and proceeded to drag him to the exact opposite area of where he wanted to go to sit with Nobara.

Yuji placed Megumi square between the two of them and there was a sinister pause. He could feel the anger flowing off the two getting ready to strangle him at any moment.

“Haven’t seen you this week.” Nobara hissed.

“Almost like you were avoiding us.” Yuji growled

Megumi sighed. “I'm sorry I insulted (Y/N). I’m here to apologize.” He really had no time to play their game.

“Why are you telling us that and not her?” Nobara raised her voice.

“I would be if you hadn’t dragged me over here!” Megumi shouted back earning a lot of attention from the partygoers including you.

Your eyes met for a brief moment before you very visibly turned away to pout. He could almost see a little steam cloud coming off your head. He’d be more amused if they weren’t directed at him.

After being released from the terror twins he made his way over to you, cutting into a conversation you had started to purposefully ignore him.

“(Y/N).” Megumi said a bit over you.

This prompted the person you were practically speaking gibberish to, to take the hint and leave

“(Y/N)!” he said a bit more urgently now that the person you’d been talking to had left and you were simply staring at a punch bowl. “I’m sorry for what I said to you. I was jealous.”

This urged you to peek back at him ever so slightly.

“I wasn’t happy because you were giving the client's husband so much attention.”

“I gave you more.” You turned back to the punch in a huff.”

“I know. I was being greedy.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of plane tickets,

“I was hoping, if you’d forgive me, we could go on a trip. So I can make it up to you.”

He held out the tickets with the destination set to paris. He figured you could get all the shopping you wanted done there.

"What do you say?”

“I’ll say, you must think I have pretty low standards for such a half baked apology.” You turned back to the punch bowl to keep yourself from being tempted by megumi’s gesture.

“(Y/N) if you give me a second chance, I promise I’ll do right by you and if I don’t please have my friends beat me up without hesitation.”

You smirked a bit at this but still didn’t let up. “One trip won’t make it up to me. How many days has it been…I think 9 days equals at least 2 trips abroad and 10 local vacations.” You turned around to peck him on the lips.

“Let’s see how much you want me.”

He laughed at the nonsensical math you'd come up with. He slipped his hand around your waist.

“Is that all?”

[gothamite-rambler]

"Weird Questions from a Weird City: Batfamily Edition

Duke Thomas: What’s your biggest fear?

Jason Todd: That I’ll never be good enough for anyone.

Tim Drake: Everyone hates me and talks about me behind my back.

Dick Grayson: Vampires.

Jason Todd: ...

Tim Drake: ...

Dick Grayson: I got turned into one once and nearly killed peoples. It's a bloodlust, you never know when you'll be fully quenched and every non-vampire is a succulent vessel... But I'm not a vampire anymore and that is in my past.

Dick eats his apple after that.

*silence*

Duke Thomas: Holy crap stick, Batman.

Tim: Can I change my option to Dick Grayson?

Jason: Same.

[captainmalewriter]

The 1000 Year Old Heart

Ch. 1

Deep in an unnamed cave somewhere in the Andes Mountains of South America, the HEARTS research team was in the middle of their latest expedition. Samuel, the historian of the team, read recently that some random backpackers had found wall paintings deep within the cave. After some initial research, it was discovered that these paintings had never been documented before. 

The discovery set the world of history academics on fire. Esmeralda, the team leader and archaeologist of HEARTS (and Sam’s wife) was bouncing off the walls when he shared the news. She had been dying for a good opportunity to use the last of her team’s research grant funds. Being the excitable woman she was, Esmi seized the golden opportunity as soon as she caught wind of the news. She expedited the paperwork processing and in just a few months, she was out in the Andes with her trusted colleagues and friends. Esmi was overjoyed to be back out on the field— especially with her beloved husband Sam right at her side. 

“Let’s GO, team! I’ve got a GREAT feeling about this cave!!” Esmi shouted as she went on ahead deeper into the cave. The rest of the HEARTS team sighed as they followed. After a week-long expedition, they started running out of steam. Esmi, on the other hand, was just raring to keep going. Even her husband Sam had to hurry up just to keep up with her high energy. 

“Hey Bebé, what do you think could be at the end of this cave?”

"Who knows! Maybe we'll find a mythical creature like a phoenix or something."

"C'mon, be serious," Sam said with a chuckle. "You know the supernatural doesn't actually exist."

“But I am serious! You never know what you could find in the depths of a cave like this. There could be an entire fairy civilization tucked away in here for all we know!”

“Yeah, yeah I guess so… Hey, uh, Esmi? I know it’s probably a bad time, but I was wondering if you’ve given our last conversation any thought since we talked. It’s been a couple of days now.”

“Huh? What conversation?”

“You know! The one about us hanging up our exploring boots and settling down to a quieter life—”

“Oh Sam,” Esmi groaned. Even though they were in a dimly lit cavern, Sam felt his wife rolling her eyes as she spoke. “I don’t wanna talk about that right now. We’re in the middle of an adventure!”

“I know I know! I was just curious if you’ve been thinking about it is all. We’re not in our early 20s anymore. We’re parents now! We can’t keep leaving to go exploring forever, you know.”

“I know that! I just think we can hold off this talk until we get back home. I want to enjoy this expedition without thinking too much about what if’s and maybe’s. Oh watch your step, amorcito.”

They reached a ledge. Esmi tossed a pebble into the dark pit. The thud came a couple seconds after. Nothing too steep, but they still needed to be careful climbing down. While Sam grew nervous just seeing the height, Esmi effortlessly scaled down the ragged slope like it was nothing. Sam watched her climb down with a glimmer of admiration in his eyes. In that moment, he was back in college.

It was at the school's gym where Sam first met Esmi. While he was struggling to get through his workout, Esmi was busy setting new records at the nearby climbing walls. Sam was immediately smitten by Esmi's beautiful smile and adventurous spirit. Being the shy type, Sam couldn't work up the nerve to introduce himself to his crush. But luckily, as fate would have it, they registered for the same advanced chemistry class that semester. Esmi struggled to get by in the class, and then Sam came to the rescue as her personal tutor. Although Sam was a bumbling mess, Esmi loved spending time with the awkward nerd. He was smart, funny, and so gosh darn cute whenever he got shy and flustered. Sam had a genuine quality that Esmi was very attracted to. It was something that a lot of men lacked. Too many of them were too self-absorbed and shallow. It made Sam stand out in Esmi's mind.

Soon after that semester ended, Sam finally made a move and asked Esmi out on an official date. Long story short: they hit it off incredibly well and became inseparable for the entirety of undergrad. They wound up graduating together with rings on their fingers. They then began exploring the world's secrets together, while also picking up a few new friends that would later make up HEARTS research team along the way. With careers they loved, a house in the suburbs to call their own, and a beautiful baby boy, life was going great for Mr. and Mrs. Benavides. Sam couldn't help but smile every time he reminisced (which was often). His frequent daydreaming was just another one of his quirks that Esmi found endearing about him.

"Okay everyone!" Esmi called out to the rest of HEARTS. "It's a short distance but the slope's insanely rocky. Just follow my directions and you'll be fine!"

Esmi verbally guided each member down to a safe landing. As always, Sam was the last one to make the trip. It took him longer to do things when it came to the physical part of adventuring. Sam tried his best not to slow down the team; not that Esmi really minded it, as she was always patient with him. She trusted him to get the job done despite his persistent nerves.

“There ya go!” Esmi said as she gave Sam a hand to steady himself. “You’re getting faster at this! I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you, I’ve got the best teacher a guy can ask for.”

The two adventurers shared a loving look with each other. They were still holding hands and there was only a small gap between them. They probably would’ve kissed too if the geologist of the team Harold didn’t start gagging audibly in their direction. 

“Oh my God, can y’all save the lovey-dovey shit for when you’re alone!? We got a job to do!!” Harold shouted. Esmi brushed off his annoyance with a chuckle.

“Alright alright, let’s keep moving.”

The HEARTS team continued trekking deeper and deeper into the cavern abyss through its many twists and turns. Their headlamps and flashlights were shining at max power just to keep their ragged pathway lit. Despite the ever-present danger, the HEARTS pressed on with their courageous leader Esmi leading the way. 

They eventually hit a dead end after some time. Unfortunately, there was no secret treasure or historical discovery waiting for them at the end of the cave. The team took the chance to catch their breaths while Sam photo-documented the cave walls for their research. 

“Is everything coming in clearly, Ruby?” Sam asked on the radio phone. 

“Crystal,” Ruby answered. Ruby was the brain of HEARTS. Although she usually stayed behind during expeditions, the team would be nothing without her technological know-how. 

“Perfect! Are we good to head out, Esmi?” 

Esmi didn’t answer. Instead, she kept staring at the empty rock wall that stopped their exploration. She reached out and felt around with the palm of her hand. She did this for several minutes without a word.

“Harold?” Esmi called out. “Does this rock wall seem unusually smooth to you? Almost like… it was sanded down.”

Harold walked up to the wall and placed his hands on the rock. 

“You’re right. It’s too smooth to be natural. Something’s wrong here.” 

The rest of HEARTS had a look for themselves too. As they marveled at how smooth and soft the rock was, Esmi came up with an idea: to push down the wall. The team joined their strength and with enough force, successfully toppled down the fake wall. Much to Esmi’s delight, they had found a hidden pathway.

“Hey team, the signal’s getting pretty weak. I don’t doubt it’s gonna cut out if you go even deeper. I won’t be able to send an SOS if something happens. Stay extra safe, okay?” Ruby advised. 

“Roger that, we’ll be quick,” Esmi said. She then led the charge into the narrow hallway. One by one, the members of HEARTS squeezed through until they all ended up in a small, dirty room. At the center of the dingy room was a small pedestal with a brown box on top. The box sat wide open, revealing a metallic human heart sitting inside of it.

“Is that it? All this spelunking in some unknown mountain cave just for some polished piece of silver?” Harold exclaimed. The annoyance in his voice was palpable in the tiny square room. 

“Don’t be like that, Harry! I know it’s been a long, tiring road but we finally did it! This could be the discovery of the CENTURY in our hands!! Hey babe, do you recognize it at all?”

“Hmm… No, at least not off the top of my head,” Sam answered. “I need my books for an in-depth analysis. We’ll have to take it back.”

“Okay, perfect!” Harold stepped up the podium and snatched the box. Esmi gasped as he did so. 

“Hey whoa whoa whoa! You can’t just do that!!” Esmi shouted.

“I just did. We were gonna take it back with us anyway, so what’s the problem? Let’s just get the fuck of this cave already!” 

“What the hell? What’s gotten into you today, Harry!?”

“Nothing! I just wanna go home already! I’m tired!!” 

A shouting match broke out between the exhausted Harold and overly zealous Esmi. Sam took a step back while the other HEARTS members tried breaking up the fight. Resolving conflicts was never Sam’s strong suit.

As he watched the yelling continue from afar, Sam noticed the silver heart Harold was carrying light up. There was dull, red light coming from the intricate carvings and grooves of the relic. It was mesmerizing to watch. It reminded Sam of Christmas decorations. He was about to call the team’s attention to it, but just before he could, one of the valves began pouring out luscious red smoke. The smoke piled up just behind Harold. Within seconds, the smoke gathered up and materialized into a muscular man who was heavily adorned with tattoos.

"Hey, who the fuck is that!?" Esmi shouted. She and the rest of HEARTS took several steps back. Unaware of the man's sudden appearance behind him, Harold simply looked at them with a confused expression.

"What's wrong? Why are you guys backing away all scared like that?"

They pointed at the man behind him. Harold turned his head slightly to look back.

“Hm? What the—”

It was too late for Harold. By the time his mind registered that there was someone behind him, the man with tattoos disintegrated back into a floating mass of scarlet smoke. It took advantage of Harold's surprised, agape mouth and shot straight into his throat.

"Aaagck!? Uuuughhhh!!!"

Harold let out a low, gagging groan as the red smoke forced its way inside of him. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he convulsed uncontrollably. His shirt and pants became visibly too tight as his body became bloated with every gulp of smoke. An intricate spiderweb tattoo began forming on Harold's throat too. The pitch-black ink stood out harshly against Harold's pale skin. It looked like someone had scratched it on with a ball point pen. Awful, jagged, and hard to look at without wincing.

The rest of HEARTS watched in abject horror as a massive amount of ominous, red smoke filled their beloved friend and colleague.

Harold jolted his head back down once he finally swallowed all of the smoke. Aside from his now bloodshot eyes and new neck tattoo, Harold looked more or less the same on the outside.

Everyone stood still, not saying a word. The air had become tense. Sam swallowed a breath. It felt sharp in his throat as it went down. Something was deeply wrong.

"Everyone, get back!!" Esmi commanded the team. Her voice snapped them back to their senses. "Harry, try to stay calm and listen carefully to me. Some kind of entity just forced its way inside your body. Tell me: how do you feel right now? And are you in control of your movements?"

Harold lowered his gaze down to the ground. His eyes matched a baby deer in headlights. The corners of his lips curled into a slight frown. Then, once he finally opened his mouth to speak, his voice came out shaky and quivering.

"I can feel it..." Harold held a hand against his chest. "It's slithering around inside of me. It's—"

He cut himself short. Harold threw his hands up to his head, gripping his temples as he began screaming horrifically. Esmi ran to his side while the others maintained a safe distance.

"What's wrong!? What's happening?"

"IT'S HIM! HE'S SCREAMING INSIDE MY MIND!"

"Who's screaming!?"

"ALACAN! HE WANTS HIS PERFECT VESSEL! HE'S FURIOUS— AAAAAHHHH!!"

"This thing's getting aggressive! Hang on, I've got a plan!"

Esmi took a step back. She then pulled out what looked like an egg from her backpack. Sam recognized the object. It was one of the many supposedly supernatural items Esmi liked to play around with. Sam didn't understand how an egg could possibly help them, but in a dire situation, he was ready to put all his faith in a magical trump card. Esmi stood in front of Harold with the egg held high.

"This is gonna hurt like hell, but I promise it'll get whatever's inside of you out whether it likes it or not! Now hold still!!"

With all her force, Esmi slammed the egg onto the back of Harold's head. The eggshell shattered upon contact, covering Harold in egg yolk. The yolk then spontaneously combusted, engulfing Harold in bright white flames. Sam winced as he watched his friend flop onto the ground, writhing in agony like a worm drowning in salt. His blood-curdling shrieks echoed off the walls of the tiny cave chamber. Halfway through his screaming, Harold’s voice dropped several octaves. His voice became hoarse and demonic.

“AAAAHHHH-OWWWWW!! yOU fUcKINg bITcH! GeT AWaYY!!!”

Sam wasn’t sure what exactly happened next. He heard Harold screaming, but then suddenly he found himself lying face down on the ground in severe pain. The back of his head ached, and the scraped, bloody skin on his arms and face stung with the air. Had something pushed him away? Was it some kind of invisible telekinetic force field? Sam didn’t know, but what he did know was that he wasn’t the only one affected by the impact. The other members of HEARTS had been thrown to the wall too. However, while Sam struggled to pick himself back up through the pain, the others had already gotten up and joined Esmi in fighting off whatever entity was inside of Harold. 

They were fighting a losing battle. Harold had gone into a full-blown rampage. He was slashing away at them and himself like he had razor blades for fingers. Blood and ink splattered the area. Sam watched the violence with bated breath. His heart felt like it was ready to explode. He wanted to jump into the fray and stop the demon from hurting his loved ones. But at the same time, his mind and soul were screaming at him to run away as fast as he could. Get away from the monster before he gets hurt too. Sam stood there, paralyzed by an impossible decision. It wasn’t until he heard his wife’s voice that he came back to his senses.

Run!

Sam looked up. His eyes locked onto Esmi’s. His heart dropped at the sight of her bloodied face. Her mouth was moving, but Sam couldn’t hear her through the adrenaline pumping in his veins. Esmi strained her voice, shouting again and again until finally, her words reached him.

“RUN! RUN AWAY, SAM! SAVE YOURSELF BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE!!”

Without any hesitation, Sam turned around and bolted out of there. The last thing he heard was the amalgamation of several screaming voices behind him. But even that sound was tuned out by him focusing on running at full speed. Sam ran with every last bit of energy he had in his body. He did not stop until he made it out of the cave and back to their campsite, where Ruby waited patiently for the team’s return. Needless to say she was flabbergasted when Sam came charging in by himself. She tended to his wounds while he took the time to catch his breath. 

“Are you okay? What happened back there, Sam?” Ruby asked. His eyes darted around wildly as he processed what he had just experienced. Although he had regained some of his composure, it still took him quite some time before he could finally speak again. 

“The cave collapsed…” Sam started. His voice came out flat and monotone. “They were crushed under the rubble... I-I had to get out there before I got caught too.” 

“Oh my God… Everyone’s gone?”

“Everyone’s gone… Everyone.”

Sam repeated that last sentence out loud several times. Like he was trying to convince himself as opposed to Ruby. Naturally, Ruby broke down in tears at the shocking and sudden loss of her close friends. Sam was devastated too, though he shed no tears for his face was locked in a thousand-yard stare. He had just lost the love of his life to a demon. It was a truth his mind couldn’t accept as reality. Sam had survived, but his soul had gotten killed in the process. 

…Over the course of the next 48 hours, Sam and Ruby gathered their belongings and returned to their research headquarters with essentially nothing to show for it. Nothing but tragedy anyway. Sam had fallen into a stoic silence. Although she was equally grief-stricken, Ruby took the initiative to report what had happened. She figured Sam just needed time to mentally recover after what he had endured firsthand. 

Once it was all said and done, Sam returned to his household— alone. He relieved the nanny from her duties, then sat in silence in the living room. The trauma from the past week weighed heavily on Sam’s body and mind. He took several deep breaths, trying to calm down, but to no avail. Sam rose from the couch and made his way to his son’s bedroom where Abel was sound asleep in his crib. The nanny had just tucked him in for the night. A slight smile cracked on Sam’s face. The sight of his baby boy sleeping peacefully was the only thing that gave him peace. 

He watched him sleep for a few minutes, then ran off to his bedroom when a sudden realization hit him like a pile of bricks. Sam rummaged through all of Esmi’s old stuff. She collected various paranormal things over the years as a personal hobby. Sam never really cared for the supernatural the way Esmi did. But after the violent encounter he had in the Andes, he had no choice but to believe now. He pulled an all-nighter as he studied everything he could through Esmi’s collections. By the time the next morning came, Sam had crafted two charmed necklaces designed to protect the wearer from supernatural harm. He designed the necklace charm specifically to resemble the accursed relic that brought him so much pain in hopes that it would grant extra protection against it. Sam was no expert craftsman by any means, but he hoped they would get the job done.

Sam donned one of the necklaces, then went to the nursery room with the other in hand. 

“There you go, mi cariñito…” Sam whispered as he carefully placed the other necklace around Abel’s neck. The eerie jewelry looked out of place on a 1-year-old baby, but Sam didn't care. He refused to take any chances. He knew he didn’t have the privilege of blissful ignorance anymore. There was no telling if/when another demonic entity would try to attack them. Sam shuddered at the thought. Abel cooed in his arms as he woke up. Sam shook off the bad thoughts and held his son close to his chest, their necklace charms almost touching. 

“Those evil demons took away Mamá, but they will never hurt our family ever again. I promise I’ll protect you no matter what, my sweet little Abel. Papá’s here, forever and always.”