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alloftheimaginesblog · 11 months ago

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holding on {alex karev}

plot: you and alex aren't friends but he's the person that sits by your hospital bed day and night until you wake up.

character: alex karev (early seasons) x reader

The steady beeping of the various machines was something that Alex had grown tired of two days ago, the machine's volumes had been turned to 0 but his anxious eyes kept flickering to them every few seconds just to be sure. The background noise of the hospital was something he was used to and it was an oddly comforting sound. Now, the silence of being in the room with you had been nice at first but now that he was here, with you, waiting... just waiting... the silence was unnerving him.

He tapped his foot, checking the clock on the wall. Bailey should've been here by now, she promised him that she'd check on you every two hours. She was late. Anger surged through his body causing his heart to pound and his fists to clench.

"You're such an idiot," he could hear you scolding him in his mind, "if you just stopped dealing with your problems with sheer anger then maybe, maybe people would actually start to like you."

He scoffed.

You and him had hardly been friends. You and the rest of Bailey's interns were the best of friends, all living together in Mer's mom's house so why wasn't George or Izzie or Cristina or Mer here? Why was it Alex? That's all the four of them had been whispering about. Cristina asked Alex, Izzie asked Alex... hell, Bailey even asked Alex. Alex had ignored each of their questions and instead gave some snarky asshole comment with an eye roll. Alex didn't even know why he was here - why he'd purposefully demanded the week off to be by your bedside day and night sleeping on a camping bed with the scratchiest sheets in the world. He didn't know and yet, here he was.

You were annoying. You annoyed him. But since the news of the accident and since you'd been in a coma, Alex couldn't stop thinking about the way you laughed as you teased him. He couldn't get one specific moment out of his head.

You and Alex had been working on a case together - much to your dismay - and Alex had opened up slightly, letting you see that he was much more than what you previously thought.

"So... you're not just an asshole with the emotional range of a teaspoon, who knew?" You helped yourself to the bar stool next to Karev. Joe glanced at you, asking if you wanted your usual to which you nodded.

Alex rolled his eyes, "Whatever."

There was silence for a few seconds before you tried again, "I know you have this hard 'I don't care' exterior," you started, "and I know it's probably because of some past trauma in your life, Karev - believe me we've all got some shit - but..."

"Are you gonna keep giving me a stupid high school girl pep talk or are you gonna shut up and drink?"

It was your turn to roll your eyes now, "Joe, another round please."

As Joe poured the two of you more drinks, Alex sighed and looked at you, "Thanks," he murmured quietly, "I'm not- I don't..." he cleared his throat, "I don't mean to be an asshole all the time... I don't really know... Social shit isn't really my thing."

"Now who's acting like an emotional high school girl?" You teased. Alex laughed, a genuine smile stretched onto his face. Yeah... maybe he wasn't so bad after all.

So after the accident, Alex stayed.

It was then Bailey strode in, chart in hand, "Karev," she said glancing up for a second, "you look like hell. Don't you think you should go home get a proper sleep? Take a damn shower?" She could see the worry in him, she could see how stressed out he was; the dark circles under his eyes, his nails chewed down. Alex might not even know it yet but he cared about you.

"I'm staying," he said with a nod standing to look over her shoulder at your chart, "Any updates?"

"You tell me, you're the one who's been here since she got admitted." Bailey moved to you, turning the volume up on the machines, checking your levels.

"Oxygen levels were a little low at 3am, managed to level them out... No issues since." He nodded, arms crossed with a hand rubbing at his jawline, "Why hasn't she woken up yet, Bailey? She should be-"

"Karev," Bailey said, voice strong, "Go get yourself a cup of coffee, now."

"I don't-"

"Now, Karev. Let me do my damn job and stop hanging over me. Coffee."

With a few harsh words which made Bailey surprisingly laugh, Alex stormed out of your hospital room, storming past O'Malley and Stevens who had come to check in with Bailey on how you were doing.

Bailey leaned down closed to you, "If you die, god help us all... that boy..." she looked to the door where Alex had left from, "he'll be lost forever. So don't you dare, you hear me?"

The coffee machine was a minute's walk away from your room so Alex would know if anything were to happen to you, he would know but he kept checking over his shoulder anyway just in case. He was exhausted, he couldn't remember the last time he'd drank or even the last time he'd eaten. You had consumed him for the last two days; making sure that you were okay was his first priority.

He stopped at the coffee machine punching the button for a crappy black coffee that he wasn't going to drink anyway, "Come on," he grumbled as the cup dropped and the coffee began to pour in slowly, "Damn piece of crap machine, hurry the hell up!" He yelled suddenly, slamming his fist into the plastic front. Around him, people stared but he didn't care. When the coffee finally stopped, he pulled the cup out when he heard it.

"Code blue! I need a crash cart! Room 2203!" It was Bailey. It was you.

Boiling hot coffee splashed over the floor, the cup dropped and on the ground as Alex Karev took off running.

His heart pounded, usually the thrill was the thing he loved the most but this wasn't a thrill, no, this was dread. When he burst into your room, the first thing he heard was, "Clear!" and heard the noise of the defibrillator.

"What's going on?!" He yelled over the chaos.

"Get him outta here!" Bailey yelled, "Charge to 200! Get him outta here, O'Malley!"

George tried but a determined Alex was a strong Alex. He resisted George's grip, shoving him back every chance he tried to take him out. It got to the point that George gave up, "Dr Bailey!" He exclaimed, hopelessly as Alex barged to your bedside. Bailey couldn't do anything, she was busy trying to save your life, she couldn't deal with Karev as well so she let him be.

"Don't you dare die on me," Alex hissed, eyes flooding with tears, "don't you dare. Can't do that to me, (y/n). Can't have me sitting here waiting for two days to just die on me-" he looked to Bailey, "Save her... please."

Bailey's eyes met Alex's and she found a lump in her throat, "You hear him?" She asked you as the paddles charged, "don't you dare die on us, (y/n)." With one final shock, the monitor started to beep again, "Heart rate is coming back up," she said with a relieved sigh, "Thank the Lord. Levels are stabilising."

Alex collapsed into the chair at your bedside, hand clamped around yours, as his eyes closed, letting the relief wash over him. You were alive; you were stable.

"What- what caused it?"

Bailey shook her head, "Don't know, levels were fine but as soon as you left the room they started to drop so do me a favour, Karev," she looked pointedly at him, "don't leave this room again." Normally he would've bit back, said a comment about her forcing him out but instead, he just nodded falling back into his chair, hand still in yours, "I'll check every hour, okay? You page me immediately, got it?" Again, he nodded and then the room cleared out.

Alex didn't turn the monitors down, he needed to hear the steady beep to know that you were okay, you were alive and you were breathing. For the last three hours that he'd sat here, he had prayed to every god he could remember the name of - he didn't know if it counted but even started praying to some Greek Gods as well. Why have God in the title if it doesn't count? His hand was still firmly in yours.

Bailey had checked five times in the three hours, checking on you but also on him. She brought him a soda, a sandwich and a muffin and didn't leave until he'd drained half the can and eaten one of the sandwiches. He hadn't realised how hungry he was until he'd started eating, he devoured the rest of meal once she'd left. You were still stable but you weren't awake yet. Bailey was optimistic but Alex wasn't. He was dreading the worst, expecting your levels to become unstable again but as he was dosing off, he felt your hand twitch in his.

He shot up, "(y/n)?" He asked staring at your hand and then at you and much to his relief, your eyes began to flutter open. He let out a sound that was half laugh, half sob. Utter relief crashed over him, "You're awake," he grinned, "you're actually awake."

"A-Alex?" You croaked.

"Here," he said gently as he grabbed a plastic cup and straw and filled it with water from the jug on your bedside unit, "Drink up. How you feeling?"

"Sore."

"Multiple ruptured organs and a few broken bones'll do that to you," Alex teased with a smile. You noticed his hand was still in yours, warm and strong. He saw your eyes narrow at your joined hands and he was quick to pull his back despite everything inside him not wanting to, "I- I'm gonna page Bailey, you drink up." He helped you take the water and left. He was just outside, close enough to make sure that you were still safe - still alive.

It was as he left you looked around the room and you noticed the camping cot which was set up on the floor next to your bed. You frowned. Someone had been staying here. Was it... no, it couldn't have been Alex; Alex hated you.

Your thoughts were cut off by Bailey bursting into your room, "Oh thank the Lord," she grinned, "it's good to see you awake. You scared us." As Bailey checked you over, Alex returned to the seat next to you. Bailey saw your confused expression seeing him sat there, normal clothes not working, "Karev," she said, "go and get (y/n) a sandwich, will you? She's hungry." Alex went to argue, to tell Bailey she told him not to leave your room but Bailey's pointed look made him stop and nod. He left a second later giving you one last worried look, "She's fine now go."

You looked up at Bailey who sighed and looked down at you, "You had that boy scared to death, you know."

"Who? Alex?!"

Bailey nodded, "You're not the only one who's surprised. As soon as you were admitted he was here. It was his day off and he was here. Soon as you got outta surgery he was set up in your room. He hasn't left since Tuesday."

You looked down to the cot next to you, "He's been here the whole time?"

Bailey nodded, "I don't know what's going on between the two of you - if anything - but I'd say that there's something." Your frown deepened and Bailey smiled, "Just... be patient with him."

When Alex came back, Bailey gave you a secret nod with a knowing smile before she left promising to come check on you every hour and to not dare think about going back into a coma otherwise she would kill you. "I'm a doctor, I know how to save people but I know how to kill them too."

"Hey," Alex said as he placed a sandwich and soda on the unit beside your bed, "You okay?"

You nodded, finding yourself rather overwhelmed and touched by his actions. He - Alex Karev - had stayed by your side since the accident. What did that mean? What did Dr Bailey mean? You nodded quickly, "Yeah," you said softly, "just tired."

Alex puffed out a long breath as he sat in the seat next to your bed, "Yeah, you must be. Gave me- gave us all a fright."

Silence fell and the two of you fell into the comfort of the sounds of the hospital. You sipped at the soda Alex had brought before curiosity got the better of you, "Alex... why did you stay with me?"

You could've sworn his cheeks flushed a darker shade of pink but he rubbed his hands over his tired looking face so you couldn't have been sure, "Hell if I know," he muttered, "it's not like we're friends but... I didn't want you to be alone. You're the only one that's almost like a friend and... I dunno." He shrugged, "I don't really understand it myself." Maybe there was something deeper lurking under the surface but he didn't know. That was something you'd have to navigate together, "I know you'd have probably preferred Cristina or Mer-"

You took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, "Thank you, Alex," you whispered, "for everything. Thank you." Now, this time you could see the tips of his ears go pink. You smiled, "Now when are you going to shower cause boy you are looking rough-"

"Shut up!" Alex rolled his eyes but he laughed with you and for once, it felt nice to joke around with him. It felt normal. You didn't know what was going to happen but you somehow knew that he would be beside you, figuring out this crazy journey together and somehow, that made it a little less scary.

#one shot #grey's anatomy #grey's anatomy imagine #grey's anatomy one shot #os #reader insert #alex karev x reader #alex karev #alex karev imagine #imagine #prompt #alex karev x you #greys anatomy

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foreverisntenough · 1 month ago

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‘Movie Night’

Summary: If only life was like the movies. For years, you’d flirted with the idea of something more with Trent, your brother’s best friend. You'd always danced around the edges of something more with him, sharing flirty moments that felt like scenes straight from the cinema. You had been silently desperate for the main character of your life’s film to finally get the boy but you knew moments like that were saved for Hollywood. The lines were clear; you were always going to be his mate’s little sister. So what happens when you go off script? In a whirlwind of passion, secrets, and stolen moments, you're left wondering: will you and your brother's best friend get the happy ending you've been waiting for, or was it never meant to be more than a fantasy?

Index:

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, slight mention of dv, loss of a parent, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Chapter 2 - Bruises | ‘Movie Night'

word count - 10.6k

Trent slumped down next to Noah, running a hand over his hair, his thoughts all over the place. It had been hard enough leaving you upstairs, seeing you so vulnerable, so close. Noah nudged him, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Mate, seriously—what is the deal with you two?” Noah asked, raising an eyebrow. “She’s putty in your hands, and you’re practically breathing down her neck. Thought you’d snap eventually but you just keep dragging it out.” Trent let out a frustrated sigh, leaning back against the couch.

“I don’t even know, mate. I can’t keep this up. Every time I’m around her lately, it feels impossible to just… be her friend.” He shook his head. “But Jack would kill me, you know that.” Noah burst into laughter, shaking his head.

“Trenty, it’s been years of this. You’re acting like this tension is new! This is, hands down, the longest and most intense case of foreplay I’ve ever seen. Even Jack’s gotta know by now.” Noah smirked. Trent rubbed the back of his neck, a guilty grin breaking through.

“Yeah, but it’s different now. She’s… she’s not just Jack’s sister anymore. It’s like she’s looking at me the same way I look at her.” He groaned and then he let out a shaky breath, feeling exposed for the first time. “And tonight—I feel like she’s slipping, no? Just hard to leave her room after all that. I don’t know what the fuck I��m doing.” Noah leaned in, eyes glinting with amusement. “Mateeee.” Trent groaned once more for good measure.

“Bro, you gotta sort this. You can’t go on like this forever.” He clapped Trent on the shoulder. Trent chuckled, a little embarrassed but unable to deny how much he wanted you.

“I know. But I’m just trying to play it smart, you know? I don’t want to hurt her but Jack’s my boy.” Noah raised an eyebrow, laughing harder.

“Play it smart? Just try not to trip over yourself sneaking back upstairs.” He teased. With one last laugh, Trent let himself sink into his thoughts of you, wondering how much longer he could hold himself back.

Another night of drinking to forget came. You knew it wasn’t the healthiest method, but it was maybe the most fun. The club was packed, pulsing with the beat of the music and the energy of people letting loose on a Saturday night. You had dragged Layla along with you to have a fun night out, a chance to unwind and forget about all the stress from the past week. You were in good spirits, laughing and dancing with Layla, letting the music take over. But everything shifted when you spotted him—your sort of ex, a footballer for Manchester United, Josh. If playing for that club wasn’t enough of a reason for you to hate him, he also was just an awful person. He was standing by the bar, surrounded by his friends, looking as arrogant as ever. You tried to ignore him, but it was clear he had seen you too. A smirk tugged at his lips as he pushed through the crowd, heading straight for you.

“YN!” he called out over the music, a mocking tone in his voice. “Long time no see.” You forced a polite smile, not wanting to cause a scene but you knew this was being done to be rude.

“Hey,” you replied shortly, hoping he’d get the hint and move on. But he didn’t.

“What’s the matter? Not happy to see me?” he jeered, leaning in closer than necessary. You could smell the alcohol on his breath, could see the malice in his eyes.

“I’m just here to have a good time with Layla,” you said, trying to keep your tone even. “I’d rather not—” But he cut you off, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Oh, come on, don’t be like that. You were always such a good girl, Y/N. Too good for the likes of me, right? Or maybe you’re just playing hard to get?” He sang in an obnoxious tone. You’d ‘split’ because you didn’t like each other enough. It was sex and that was about it. Josh particularly didn’t like that no matter what, you’d never look at him the way you looked at Trent and so he blamed the split on you. Despite him ending it, it was your wrong doing apparently.

“She doesn’t want to talk to you, yeah? Fuck off.” Layla stepped in, sensing the tension. He sneered at Layla before turning his attention back to you.

“What’s the matter, YN? Still pining after Alexander-Arnold? Aye just get it through that pretty little head, he’s never going to want you.” The words stung, sharper than you expected. You rolled your eyes and he didn’t take kindly to that. Even though you didn’t care for him anymore, his cruelness cut deep. Tears welled up in your eyes despite yourself. Josh had never been the kind to hold back, not even in public. You had seen glimpses of his temper before, but tonight, it felt different—meaner, more deliberate. His words were mocking as his fingers gripped your arm with a force that made your skin sting, and as he leaned in closer, his words grew more venomous. "What, are you going to cry now?" he spat, tightening his hold on you. His grip was firm, biting into your flesh with enough pressure to bruise. You winced, trying to twist free, but he only tightened his grip, his nails digging into your skin. He was holding you close to him, he was angry in a possessive way. You could feel the bruise forming under his touch, a dark mark that would remind you of this night long after it was over. You hated how he could make you feel so small, how he could strip away every ounce of confidence with just a few words and a harsh grip.

“Please just stop,” you snapped, your voice breaking. You tried to yank your arm away again, but he only pulled you closer, his lips curling into a cruel smile. He pulled you away from everyone so it was just the two of you. You felt a wave of shame, not just for the scene he was causing but for yourself—for letting him do this to you, for putting up with it, for not having the strength to push him away once and for all. Layla didn’t know what to do. So often you had said it was fine with him but right now it felt anything but. You didn’t know why you even put up with him, why you had let him into your life at all. He had always been like this—aggressive, dominating, possessive,always needing to control every situation, even when you were out in public. It was as if he thrived on belittling you, on reminding you of every perceived flaw, every mistake you’d made. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear.

“You’ll be nothing without me, know that?” he hissed, his grip tightening painfully. You flinched, the pain radiating up your arm. “You’ll always be nothing.” The tears blurred your vision, and you hated yourself for letting him see you cry. You hated how he still had this power over you, how he could reduce you to this—a sobbing, broken mess in the middle of a crowded club. You hated how he could strip you of your dignity with just a few cruel words and a tight grip on your arm. Somewhere in the haze of your thoughts, you found the strength to pull away. You jerked your arm back with a sudden burst of energy, managing to break free from his grasp. You stumbled back, cradling your bruised arm against your chest, the sting of the fresh bruise radiating through your skin. You looked up at him, your vision blurry with tears, your chest heaving with a mix of anger, hurt, and frustration.

“I’m done. We’re done” you choked out, the words barely more than a whisper. “I get it. Just let it go, okay?” You whimpered. He just laughed, a dark, hollow sound that sent a chill down your spine.

“You’ll be back, babe” he called after you as you tried to leave, his voice dripping with arrogance. “You always come back.” You hated that you had gone back to him before, that you had let yourself get tangled up in his web of anger and possessiveness. The sex had been good—at least, that's what you told yourself. But he had cheated on you more times than you could count, though you were never really sure if it counted as cheating. Your relationship had always been undefined, a messy entanglement of emotions and misunderstandings. He was hypocritical, a storm ready to explode any time he saw you so much as smile at another man. And yet, there you were, always caught in the crossfire of his jealousy and rage. It didn’t matter what he did, his whole goal was to just have complete control over you and Trent threw a wrench in that. He especially hated Trent. It wasn't just because they played for rival clubs, though that was part of it. It was deeper than football. He saw the way your eyes lingered on Trent, the way your face softened when you spoke his name. He knew there was something there, a connection that went beyond friendly banter or casual attraction. Trent was everything he was not—calm, kind, successful in a way that made others admire rather than fear him. And you—God, he could see it—your feelings for Trent were written all over your face, in the way you laughed at his jokes, in the way you always seemed to find yourself at his side. He resented Trent for being everything he wasn’t and for being the object of your affections. You ootd to keep Josh’s behavior hidden from your brother, somehow managing to mask how fucked up it all was. Jack didn't know how deep your ex’s temper ran or how controlling he could be. But if he knew.. If Jack knew or even his friends knew but probably especially Trent knew… all hell would break loose. So you’d learned how to swallow back the stories, pretending that everything was fine.

“Can you just leave me alone,” you managed to say, your voice breaking.

“You’re pathetic, you know that?” He leaned in, his voice a harsh whisper. “Does your brother know you slut yourself out for his best friend? What’s your dad think of that... Being a whore for the boys your brother trusts most… and your mum.. Oh well.. You wouldn’t know what she thinks of her slutty little daughter.” That was the last straw. You hated that you even trusted him enough that he had that bit of information about your life. You felt the tears spill over, and you turned and bolted, pushing your way through the crowd. You needed to get away, to breathe, to clear your head. Your heart was pounding, and your vision blurred with tears. You stumbled trying to get to the back hallway of the club, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps. Layla had seen enough.

“Fuck you!” Layla screamed rushing over but when she turned to try to follow after you, you were lost in the crowds. Unbeknownst to you, Trent had been at the club too, celebrating with a few of his teammates. He had seen you running, and had noticed the distress on your face. Without a second thought, he followed you, his concern outweighing any questions about why you were there or what had happened. The flashing lights of the club blurred around you, a kaleidoscope of colors that seemed to spin faster with each passing second. The pounding bass reverberated through your chest, matching the erratic beat of your heart. You felt dizzy, your thoughts swirling like the flickering neon signs above. The laughter and shouts of the crowd melted into a distant, muddled hum as your vision began to swim. Tears streaked your cheeks, hot and unchecked, as you stumbled through the throngs of people. The room felt like it was closing in on you, walls shrinking as the faces around you became distorted, like a nightmare you couldn’t escape. Your breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, each one catching in your throat as you fought the rising tide of panic.

You could barely think straight, your mind a haze of confusion and pain. Everything felt wrong—your body, the people around you, the pounding music that seemed to pulse through your veins. You wanted to escape, to find a place where you could breathe again, but everywhere you turned, there were people, faces, eyes. It was too much, all of it pressing down on you, squeezing your chest until you thought you might break. Your legs felt heavy, your steps unsteady as if the ground were shifting beneath your feet. You pushed through the crowd, desperate for air, for space, for anything but this suffocating chaos. Your tears blurred your vision, and you wiped at her eyes, her hand trembling. Then, through the haze, you felt it—strong arms wrapping around you, pulling you close. At first, you panicked, thinking it was someone else, another stranger trying to touch you, but then you caught a familiar scent, a mix of cologne and something uniquely comforting.

Trent.

Your body sagged with relief, your knees nearly buckling beneath you as you collapsed against his chest. His arms were solid and warm, encircling you like a protective barrier against the chaos of the club. You felt his hand on the back of your head, gently cradling you as he whispered soothing words you could barely hear over the music. Then for the first time, Trent saw a bruise forming on your arm. His face was a mask of concern, his eyes darkening with anger as he took in the sight of you, your arm marked with the telltale signs of aggression.

"Y/N," he whispered, stepping back before reaching out to gently lift your arm, his touch featherlight but steady. He turned it over, revealing the bruises that had already started to bloom in shades of purple and blue. His jaw clenched, and his grip tightened just enough for you to feel his rage simmering beneath the surface. "Who did this to you?" You tried to pull away, tried to hide the evidence of your shame and pain, but Trent wouldn't let go. It was so obvious it came from someone grubbing you too tight, being too rough in a way no one wanted. His hand held yours firmly, his thumb brushing against your skin as if he could erase the marks with a touch.

"Please," you muttered, your voice breaking, "stop." you weakly begged.

"Y/N…" he insisted, his voice low and steady, but with an edge that made it clear he wasn't going to let this go. "Who…" He snapped demandingly. Your eyes filled with tears as you looked up at him, the weight of everything crashing down on you. Trent's face hardened, his eyes narrowing as he took in you attempting to tell him what just happened but he couldn’t focus on anything but how sad you looked, how broken. He pulled you closer, wrapping you in his arms as if to shield you from the world, from the pain, from everything that had ever hurt you. In that moment, you felt safe for the first time in what seemed like forever. His arms were your refuge, his strength your solace. Trent's blood boiled with a fury he rarely felt, his hands shaking with the need to do something—anything—to make Josh, who he knew it had to have been, pay for what he'd done. But then he saw your tear-streaked face, your lips trembling as you tried to hold back sobs, and all that rage took a back seat. His anger didn't matter right now; you mattered. Your body shuddered with each sob, and Trent felt a pang of helplessness in his chest. He wanted to tell you everything would be alright, that he'd take care of everything. He wanted to promise that no one would ever hurt you again. But he knew that words wouldn’t be enough, not now. So, he just held you tighter, letting you cry into his shirt, his thumb brushing away the tears that spilled down your cheeks. “Hey, hey, hey, you're okay. I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice a low, steady rumble that cut through the noise, anchoring you to the present. You buried your face against his chest, your hands clutching at his shirt as if he were the only thing keeping you from drowning. The tears kept coming, but they were different now—less frantic, more a release of all the tension you had been holding onto. Trent’s embrace was a lifeline, pulling you back from the edge of the abyss you had been teetering on. The world around you seemed to fade, the thumping bass and flashing lights dimming in comparison to the steady, comforting rhythm of Trent’s heartbeat against your ear. You could feel his warmth seeping into you, calming the storm that raged inside you. In his arms, you felt a safety you hadn’t known she needed—a reassurance that, despite everything, you weren’t alone.

“Just breathe for me,” Trent whispered, his voice soft and close to your ear. “I’m here. You’re safe.” You tried to do as he said, taking a shaky breath that caught in your throat. But with him holding you, the air seemed easier to draw in, the panic slowly ebbing away. The tears continued to fall, but now they were softer, quieter, as if his presence was slowly soothing the hurt you felt. For a moment, there was only you—no noise, no crowd, no chaos. Just the steady beat of his heart and the warmth of his embrace. Trent held you tightly, his grip firm yet gentle, his touch grounding you in a way that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, everything would be alright. You stood in there struggling to catch your breath as Trent's arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. The familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the faint smell of spilled drinks and cigarette smoke, grounding you in a way that felt comforting and electric all at once. He tightened his hold, his chin resting on the top of your head, and his fingers tracing soothing circles along your back. But even as he tried to comfort you, a battle still raged inside him. Part of him wanted to go find Josh right then and there, to make him pay for every single bruise on your skin, every tear he'd caused. The other part of him—the rational part—knew he needed to stay with you, to keep you safe and calm. And then there was the question he couldn't push away: Should he tell Jack? Jack was his best friend, but Jack was also your brother. He deserved to know that his sister had been hurt, but Trent also knew how fiercely protective Jack was of you. If he told Jack, there’d be no holding him back, and things could spiral out of control. Plus, he wasn't sure if you'd want Jack to know—if you'd want your brother to see you in this vulnerable state.

"I got you," he whispered as his thoughts spiraled, his voice filled with a tenderness you hadn't felt in a long time. "I got you, okay?" You felt something break in that moment-a wall you'd kept up around yourself for so long. And when his lips brushed the top of your head in a soft kiss, something stirred inside you, a longing that had been quietly simmering for years. It felt like an opening. Your heart raced as you pulled back slightly, your gaze finding his, and in the dim light, his eyes softened, a silent understanding passing between you. You hesitated, but then, almost instinctively, you tilted up, pressing your lips to his. It was a tentative kiss at first, a question in every touch of your lips against his. Trent tensed, caught off guard, but he didn't pull away. He wanted this so instead, his hands found your waist, his fingers digging in ever so slightly as he kissed you back, the warmth of his mouth melting away the hurt that had clung to you since your ex's cruel words. The world around you disappeared, leaving just the two of you tangled together, like a fuse that had finally been lit. The kiss grew deeper, hungrier, years of unspoken attraction finally bubbling over. His hands roamed, his grip on you tightening as he leaned into you, pushing you up against the cool brick wall behind you. Every touch, every brush of his lips against yours, felt like it was meant to be, like you'd waited your whole life for this moment. God, he wanted this… but not like this. This was wrong. So then, just as quickly as it started, he pulled back, his breathing heavy as he looked at you with wide eyes, his expression torn between disbelief and something deeper.

"What...Y/N… what are we doing?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, his fingers still lingering on your skin. The conflict in his eyes was clear, and it sent a pang through your chest. But you didn't care about the doubts racing through his mind. You leaned in again, refusing to let go of this feeling. To remind him how very right this wrong was. The kiss was softer this time, gentler, but just as consuming. You poured everything into it—all the years of longing, the quiet, unspoken feelings, the ache you'd felt every time you saw him with someone else. And for a moment, he gave in, his lips moving against yours like he'd been holding back for years. You could feel him wanting more but then, with a deep sigh, he pulled away once more, his forehead resting against yours as he tried to steady his breathing. "Y/ N... we can't. I can't," he murmured, his voice thick with regret. "I'm sorry. I just..." He muttered. The rejection cut deeper than you expected, the pain raw and immediate. Your eyes burned with fresh tears as you took a shaLay step back, your heart pounding with a mix of heartbreak and anger.

"Fuck you!" you cried, your voice trembling. It felt like the walls you'd let down were crashing back up, each one harder than before. You turned on your heel, ready to escape before he saw you fall apart completely. But he reached out, his hand grazing your arm, as if he couldn't quite let you go. You recoiled, stepping back, your expression a mix of pain and anger.

"Wait," he pleaded softly, but you yanked your arm from his grasp, your heart shattering as you disappeared into the crowd, leaving him behind with the lingering taste of regret on his lips. Trent’s heart ached seeing the tears well up in your eyes again. You turned and ran, pushing your way back through the crowd, your vision blurred with tears. You didn’t care where you were going; you just needed to get away from him, from the humiliation and the heartbreak. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you as you fled, but you didn’t look back. Trent watched you go, his heart sinking into his stomach. He wanted to run after you, to explain, to somehow make it right, but his feet felt like they were glued to the floor. He knew you needed space, needed time to cool off. But as he stood there, the guilt and worry gnawed at him. He had never wanted to hurt you, but in trying to protect you, he feared he had done exactly that. The sounds of the club grew louder around him, but Trent felt miles away, lost in his thoughts. He knew he’d have to find a way to make this right with you, to explain himself, and to make sure you knew how much he cared. But for now, all he could do was watch you disappear into the crowd, your absence leaving a painful ache in his chest. Trent leaned back against the wall, trying to process what had just happened. Some of his teammates who he was out with came over. They were giving him confused looks, clearly curious about the scene they had just witnessed. From their perspective, he had chased after to a a teary-eyed girl, who then kissed him like her life depended on it, and then, just as quickly, pulled away with a broken ‘fuck you.’ They had questions.

“Mate, what was that about?” one of them asked, laughing awkwardly, unsure how to react to the tension still lingering in the air.

“Bro, was that…” Another piled on cautiously, recognizing you. Trent ran his hands over his face, trying to shake off the flood of emotions. He glanced toward the crowd, desperately scanning for you, but you’d disappeared into the sea of people. His chest tightened, and he let out a heavy sigh, feeling the weight of what just happened settle in. He couldn’t explain it, not to them, not in a way that made any sense.

“Yeah, was Jack’s sister.” He muttered after he took a deep breath, eyes still flicking toward the direction you’d gone. The second those words left his mouth, Trent knew something had shifted inside him. It wasn’t a lie, not really, but it felt bigger than that. It felt like a realization he’d been avoiding for too long. You weren’t just Jack’s sister. You were his everything. And the truth of that hit him like a freight train, leaving him standing there, breathless and rattled.

“Fuck, mate. That’s complicated.” One of his teammates whistled, finally connecting the dots.

“Yeah,” Trent breathed out, his mind racing. It was beyond complicated. Jack was his best friend, and you… you were the girl who had been slowly slipping from childhood crush to something deeper, something dangerous. He shook his head, his thoughts swirling. The way you’d kissed him tonight, the hurt in your eyes, the fire in the way you’d pulled away—it was like everything had boiled over, and Trent had been too slow to catch up. He’d rejected you, not because he didn’t want you, but because he wanted you too much. He couldn’t handle the idea of hurting Jack, of crossing a line that could never be uncrossed. But now, standing there with his teammates still glancing at him for answers, he realized that line had already been blurred for a while. You weren’t just Jack’s sister. You hadn’t been for a long time. And now, Trent wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep pretending otherwise. As the music pulsed around him, Trent felt a shift. He needed to find you, needed to figure out what came next, no matter how messy it got. Because, after tonight, he knew he couldn’t go back to seeing you as just Jack’s little sister. You were more than that. You always had been.

After leaving Trent behind, you had stumbled back into the chaos of the dance floor, your heart pounding and your emotions a tangled mess. You had felt rejected and humiliated, and in a haze of frustration and alcohol, you made a poor decision. You spotted a man at the bar—a tall, handsome stranger who had been eyeing you all night. Without much thought, you walked up to him and struck up a conversation. His flirty smile and eager compliments were a welcome distraction from the pain you felt. When he suggested you leave together far sooner than appropriate, you didn’t hesitate. You just wanted to forget, to numb the ache in your chest caused by Trent's rejection. You told Layla you felt sick and had needed to leave. She knew it was a farce but she also knew she couldn't stop you. She assumed it was just Josh being an ass she had no idea you had just kissed Trent. She called and called to find you; to leave with you but you just texted saying it was all fine. But as the night unfolded and you found yourself in the stranger's bed, you quickly realized how hollow it all felt. The sex was awkward and unfulfilling, a stark contrast to the passion you had imagined when you thought of Trent. You found yourself comparing the man to Trent in every way—his touch, his movements, the way he spoke to you. Every comparison only made you miss Trent more. You knew deep down that Trent would have been different—gentler or maybe rougher but definitely more attentive, more real. Tears stung your eyes as you lay there, regretting your impulsive decision. This was a low. By the time morning came, you left the stranger's place without a word, feeling emptier than before. You hadn’t heard from Trent since that night. Part of you was relieved, thinking it was better this way—less complicated. But another part of you ached for him, for his presence, for the safety you felt in his arms.

You’d stumbled in through your front door just after dawn, your steps heavy and uneven, your head pounding with every movement. Jack was already up, a coffee mug in hand, leaning against the kitchen counter with a lazy grin.

“Rough night?” he joked, his eyes barely glancing up from his phone. “You look like you’ve been through hell.” You tried to muster a response, but all that came out was a soft hum, barely audible over the sound of the coffee machine. Your shoulders slumped as you shuffled over to the fridge, your body moving on autopilot. The sting of tears was still fresh in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall again, not in front of him. Jack finally looked up from his phone, his grin fading when he saw the look on your face. He straightened up, setting his mug down on the counter, his brow furrowing with concern. “Hey, you okay?” he asked, his voice softer now, more serious. You just hummed again, the sound weak and empty. You didn’t have the energy to explain, didn’t want to get into it with him. Not now. Not after everything that had happened. You could feel his eyes on you, watching you closely, but you kept your gaze fixed on the floor, avoiding his gaze. Jack took a step closer, his concern growing. “You sure?” he pressed gently, sensing something was wrong. “You don’t look so good.” You just shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak. Your throat felt tight, your chest aching with the effort of holding everything in. You needed to get out of there, away from his questions and his worry. You couldn’t deal with it, not now.

“I’m fine,” you finally managed to say, your voice barely more than a whisper. It was a lie, and you knew he could see right through it, but you didn’t care. You needed to be alone, to let yourself fall apart without an audience. Jack watched you, his expression a mix of confusion and concern, but he didn’t push any further. He just nodded, letting you go. He knew you knew he was there if you needed him.

“Alright,” he said quietly, stepping back. “But if you need anything...” You nodded, not waiting for him to finish. You turned and headed upstairs, your steps heavy and slow. As soon as you reached your room, you closed the door behind you and sank onto your bed, burying your face in your hands as the tears finally came. The weight of the night before crashed down on you, and you couldn’t hold back the sobs that tore through your chest. The shame, the regret, the confusion—it was all too much. You’d thought you could handle it, thought you could keep it together, but now, alone in your room, it all felt too heavy to bear. You cried until there were no tears left, your body shaking with the force of your sobs. And when you finally stopped, when the tears finally ran dry, you were left with nothing but the hollow ache in your chest and the haunting memory of Trent’s rejection.

You were absolutely mortified. You had kissed Trent. How could you have done something so reckless? You laid there, staring blankly at the ceiling on Layla’s bed at her place, your mind racing in sheer panic. Every nerve in your body felt on edge, replaying that moment over and over. What was worse was that it never happened before, not even close, but something had come over you—like instinct taking over reason—and now you regretted it. Layla shifted beside you, sensing your turmoil.

“Come on, it won’t that bad,” she said in an attempt to soften the blow. You groaned, rolling onto your side to face her.

“No, Lays. I can never, ever see him again.” The words came out in a rush, your voice cracking under the weight of your embarrassment. She raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.

“That’s not true.” She told you. You sat up, hugging your knees to your chest, your breath shaking.

“It is! I crossed the line. And he… rejected me.” The last part was barely a whisper, like speaking it aloud made the sting of it even worse. You felt your face grow hot, the emotions swelling until they spilled over. The rejection was unbearable, and before you knew it, tears slipped down your cheeks. You tried to laugh it off, wiping at your face. “I’m sorry, I’m just tired,” you said, your voice wavering between a sob and a chuckle. Layla immediately wrapped you in her arms, pulling you close.

“No, it’s not just tiredness,” she murmured into your hair, holding you tightly. “This sucks. The boy you like just said no. That’s a lot to handle, but we move.” You stayed in her embrace, taking in her warmth, but her words only made your heart ache more.

“I’m not even sure if I just like him,” you admitted, voice small and hollow as you pulled away slightly to look at her. Layla’s face twisted in confusion.

“What?” she asked, blinking, and then a knowing look crossed her face as she softened. “Oh no. Babe…” You swallowed hard, blinking back more tears.

“I mean, I do… but it’s more complicated than that. It’s not just like.” The weight of the word hung in the air between you both, unspoken but understood.

“You love him,” Layla said quietly with a frown she couldn’t control, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “But maybe right now, the feeling of love is for your friend.” She paused, her eyes full of sympathy. “You don’t need to hurt yourself imagining anything more, okay? Not right now.” You bit your lip and nodded, the tears still threatening to spill over. You were exhausted, heartbroken, confused. You knew you loved Trent as Jack's best friend, as a friend of your own but you had never had an intimate relationship to say you loved him any deeper than that. The thought of those feelings right now though were making you sick.

“But what if I can’t face him? What if it’s too awkward?” Layla shook her head and gave you a reassuring squeeze.

“You’ll bounce back. Trent’s nice. He’s not going to make fun of you for this or make it weird. You two have been friends for too long for that.” But deep down, you couldn’t shake the sting of rejection. Maybe Layla was right—Trent wouldn’t make fun of you, but things weren’t the same anymore. Not after this.

When Jack invited Trent along with all the other boys over for a movie night a few days later, Trent was hesitant. He knew you might be home, and he wasn’t sure how you’d feel seeing him. But Jack was his best friend, and Trent figured maybe it was time to face the music. As Trent walked up to Jack’s front door, his nerves were on edge. He took a deep breath and knocked, his mind racing with what he might say if you were there. The door swung open, and Jack greeted him with a grin, pulling him into a quick hug.

“All good, mate?” Jack said, stepping aside to let Trent in. But Trent only hummed. He managed a smile, following Jack inside. He glanced around the living room, half-expecting to see you curled up on the couch. But the room was empty. “Y/N’s out,” Jack said casually, noticing Trent’s quick survey of the room. “I think she’s been a bit off lately. Haven’t seen much of her.” Trent nodded, trying to hide his relief that you weren’t home but sadness Jack noticed things were off..

“Yeah, I haven’t seen her either,” he replied, his voice steady despite the churn in his stomach. Jack grabbed a bottle of water and handed one to Trent.

“She seemed pretty fucked up when she came back from a night out but didn’t tell me much, though.” Trent took a long sip of his water, not sure how to respond. Jack and Trent were sitting in silence on their phones only best friends could sit in whilst waiting in the kitchen for the other boys to show up. Trent kept glancing toward the hallway, waiting for the moment you would come home. He wanted to see you, to talk to you, to somehow make things right. But as the minutes ticked by and there was no sign of you, a sense of unease settled in his chest. The sound of a key turning in the front door caught Trent’s attention. He tensed, his heart quickening as he heard the door open and close. A few seconds later, you appeared strutting through the house, your face mildly flushed from the summer heat outside. You froze when you saw Trent sitting there, your expression shifting from surprise to something unreadable.

“Hey,” you said quietly, your voice tight.

“Hey,” Trent replied, his eyes locked on you. Jack, sensing the tension, cleared his throat.

“Hey, Y/N. Weird vibe but erm.. Lads are watching Shawshank tonight. Want to join?” He asked, trying to lessen whatever awkwardness just flooded the room. You shook your head, avoiding Trent’s gaze.

“No, thanks. I’m just going to head to my room.” Jack looked between the two of you, frowning slightly.

“You sure? You haven’t been out here much lately.” He cooed gently.

“I’m sure,” you smiled sympathetically at your older brother. You appreciated him caring but this was far from something he could help with. You turned and disappeared down the hallway without another word. Trent watched you go, the weight of your unfinished business hanging heavy in the air. He knew he needed to talk to you, to explain himself, but he wasn’t sure if you’d even listen. For now, all he could do was sit and wait, hoping for a chance to make things right.

You had spent the last few days trying to keep yourself busy, but no matter what you did, you couldn’t get Trent out of your mind. Trent, on the other hand, was torn between worry and respect for your space. He had tried to find you that night at the club, but it was like you had vanished into thin air. He didn’t want to push you, especially after how things had ended between you. Still, the thought of your hurt and alone gnawed at him. Trent thought about that kiss everyday and how much withstraint he was having to practice. He wanted to rip your clothes off, he had to stop his hands' magnetic pull to grab your ass. It was a typical movie night—Jack had all the boys over for another film. They’d yell through the whole thing and gossip in a way they’d claim only girls did. You knew the drill by now, but tonight felt different. You hadn’t seen Trent since that moment, the kiss that had turned everything upside down. You tried to ignore how awkward things were between you and trent but you were dying of thirst and you weren’t sure if dying of embarrassment of dehydration would be worse, You settled on dehydration so you moved quickly through the house, attempting to avoid where all the boys were, but Trent wasn’t going to let it go. He heard you try to sneak into the kitchen.

“Y/N,” he called out quietly, coming into the room behind you and taking a few steps toward you. You froze, your back to him, the tension thick in the air. You could hear Jack in the cinema complaining about something, completely oblivious you’d hoped. You weren’t ready for this, not now, not when your emotions were so raw.

“Please, I don’t want to talk to you,” you said firmly, your voice low, trying to keep the emotion out of it.

“Y/N, come on… just give me a minute,” he persisted, his voice filled with a quiet plea.You whipped around, eyes already welling up.

“Trent, I really don’t want to talk to you,” you snapped, trying to hold your composure. “Frankly, I’m having a hard time even just seeing you right now, so please,” you begged, your voice cracking under the weight of it all. You could feel your chest tightening, the tears threatening to spill. His face softened, but he didn’t move.

“I just want to talk. Please,” he said, sounding desperate now, like he was grasping at straws. But you couldn’t do this. Not here. Not with Jack just a few rooms away. You shook your head, blinking back tears, but one escaped anyway.

“I don’t want to talk,” you choked out, your voice shaLay, as the tears began to build along your lash line. Trent stood there, helpless. His hands flexed at his sides like he didn’t know what to do, caught between wanting to comfort you and knowing that he couldn’t—not here, not now. You could see the frustration and guilt etched on his face, but it didn’t matter. You didn’t have the energy to deal with this.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice laced with regret. But you just shook your head again and walked out of the room, leaving him standing there, stuck in the mess that neither of you had any idea how to clean up. And the worst part was, Jack was still there—completely unaware of the storm brewing between you two, his heart left open to wounded arguably as much as yours if you couldn’t sort this.

Trent thought about that drunk, tearful kiss at the club every single day. It replayed in his mind over and over, the taste of it, the way your lips had trembled against his, the way your hands had gripped onto him like he was the only thing anchoring you. He hadn't even expected it—had been caught off guard by how much he wanted it too. But then, the reality had hit him hard. The restraint he had to practice afterward felt like torture. It felt like trying to fight a g force the way his hands moved on your body. He wanted to rip your clothes off that night, to give in to the magnetic pull that constantly drew him to you. But he couldn't. Not like that. Not when you were drunk and emotional. Not when it could ruin everything. Now, the moment haunted him, and he was stuck in the limbo of not knowing what to do next. What if you regretted it? What if that kiss had meant something completely different to you than it did to him? And what scared him the most-what kept him up at night-was the realization that he didn't just want the kiss. He wanted more than that. He wanted you in a way that wasn't just about desire or physical attraction. He wanted to be the one who made you smile, who you leaned on, who you could trust with all the messy bits of life. But what if he'd already blown his chance? What if that kiss had been the beginning of the end rather than the start of something more?

This tension carried on for days. Neither you or Trent making any further attempts at sorting it. Trent sat at a restaurant with Jack and Noah one night, completely lost in his own thoughts. His fork hovered above his plate, food untouched, as he stared blankly at the table. Jack, noticing how quiet he’d been, shot Noah a look. They’d been trying to get him to open up all night, but nothing was working.

“Mate, seriously, what’s going on?” Jack finally asked, setting down his drink. “You’ve barely said two words.”

“Yeah, you’ve been in your own head all night. Go on.” Noah chimed in. Trent talked nonstop all the time so this was very out of character and it’d been going on for over a week. Trent shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He wasn’t sure if this was something he should even bring up, especially not with Jack sitting right there. But the weight of what happened between him and you had been pressing down on him for days, and he couldn’t keep it to himself anymore. He ran a hand over his hair, debating how to word it without setting off alarm bells.

“Have you ever…” he began slowly, his voice low, “turned down a girl and then immediately regretted it?” He sheepishly asked his eyes, flicking to both boys trying to gauge their responses.

“Nah, mate. If I turn her down, it’s for a reason.” Noah, always the confident one, scoffed.

“Yeah, once or twice. Why?” But Jack, ever the romantic, leaned back in his chair with a thoughtful nod. Trent’s eyes flickered between them, his stomach churning as he chose his next words carefully. He had to be vague, had to make sure Jack wouldn’t catch on.

“There’s this girl…” he started. He hesitated, feeling the weight of his own words. “She kissed me, but she was drunk, so I pushed her away. Now she’s pissed, and she won’t talk to me.” Trent hesitantly explained. Trent wasn’t normally shy talking about women so this whole thing was very confusing for his friends.

“So why did you turn her down if you’re this worked up about it?” Noah’s brow furrowed.

“Because she was drunk!” Trent said, frustration lacing his voice. He looked down at the table, unable to meet their eyes. “I didn’t want it to be like that.” Jack shrugged, clearly puzzled.

“That’s more than valid, mate. If she was drunk, you did the right thing. Why wouldn’t she understand that?” Trent groaned inwardly, knowing he couldn’t explain the real reason behind his frustration without giving too much away. The truth was, he didn’t want just a drunken kiss. He wanted more than that—something real, something that wasn’t just swept under the rug as a mistake.

“It’s complicated,” he muttered, his voice trailing off. Noah, always the one to push for action, smirked.

“Next time you see her, just go for it. Easy.” He looked at Trent like he had solved his issue no problem. Trent couldn’t help but laugh at the simplicity of Noah’s solution. If only it were that easy. He wasn’t just dealing with any girl—this was you, Jack’s sister. It wasn’t something he could just ‘go for’ without thinking about the consequences. Jack, who had been listening quietly, leaned forward with a more serious expression.

“Mate, just talk to her. Tell her you actually care about her and that you want it to be something she remembers, not something that happened when she was drunk. Simple as.” Trent’s heart sank. Jack had unknowingly hit the nail on the head. That’s exactly what he wanted to say to you, but how could he? How could he tell you that he cared about you—really cared about you—when Jack was right there, completely unaware of the storm brewing between the two of you? He tried to keep his expression neutral as Jack gave advice, but guilt gnawed at him. He was about to take his best mate’s advice and use it to get closer to his little sister. The irony wasn’t lost on him, and it made his stomach twist. But he couldn’t keep running from the situation. He had to talk to you, had to tell you how he felt before it drove him insane. Noah, oblivious to the deeper layers of the situation, laughed and gave Trent a light punch on the arm.

“Yeah, man. What’s the worst that could happen? You talk, she listens, and you two figure it out, I imagine she’s leng.. Get her in bed. Done.” Noah quipped and Trent’s guilt worsened. He forced a chuckle, but his mind was already elsewhere. What was the worst that could happen? Jack could find out. He could lose his best friend. You could reject him, or worse—tell him that kiss was nothing more than a drunken mistake. The thought made his chest tighten. But Noah’s lightheartedness didn’t calm Trent’s nerves. Jack’s advice, however, echoed in his mind��talk to her, tell her how you feel. Trent knew it was the right move, but the fear of rejection, of ruining everything, loomed over him like a dark cloud. As they finished dinner and paid the bill, Trent’s thoughts were already on what was coming next. He was heading to your house after this. You’d be there. Jack would be there. And somehow, amidst it all, he had to figure out how to have that conversation. As they walked to the cars, Jack patted Trent on the back.

“You’ll be alright, mate. Just don’t overthink it.” Trent forced a smile, but his mind was racing. He couldn’t shake the anxiety bubbling inside him. Jack’s words rang in his ears, and he knew he had to take the advice, but how? As Trent drove to your house, the weight of everything pressed down on him. He was about to walk into a house where everything could change in a matter of minutes. He wanted more than a kiss, more than just a fleeting moment—but what if you didn’t? What if that kiss had meant nothing to you? You only said you didn’t want to see him… were you just mad. He couldn’t tell. Pulling into the driveway, he took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. He had to talk to you. He had to try, even if it scared him to death

Trent awkwardly made his way into the living room, his heart pounding as he spotted you already seated on the couch, a blanket wrapped around you. You looked adorable and it made him sadder. You were curled up in the corner, your eyes glued to the TV, but he could tell from the stiffness in your posture that you were aware of his presence. The soft glow from the screen cast a flickering light over your face, highlighting the tension in your jaw and the way your lips were pressed into a thin line. He hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should sit down. But with a deep breath, he took a seat next to you, careful to leave a respectful gap between you. The silence between you was thick, almost tangible, and he could feel the awkwardness settling over you like a heavy blanket.

“Hey,” he said softly, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. You barely acknowledged him, giving a short nod without looking away from the TV.

“Hey,” you replied curtly, your tone clipped. Trent’s heart sank a little at your cold reception. Never in his life had you greeted him like this and it was starting to eat at him but he couldn’t blame you. He knew he’d hurt you that night, and he was ready to face the consequences. He could imagine what he would feel like if you said no to him. Still, the distance between you now felt like a chasm, one he was desperate to cross. He kept his eyes on the screen, pretending to be engrossed in the show, but he was acutely aware of every small movement you made—the way you shifted slightly, the soft sound of your breath, the way your fingers fidgeted with the edge of the blanket. He wanted to say something, anything to bridge the gap, but the words seemed stuck in his throat. Minutes passed in silence, the tension between you unyielding. Trent’s mind raced with what he could say or do to make things right. He didn’t want to push you, didn’t want to overstep, but he also didn’t want to let this moment slip away without trying. Finally, gathering his courage, he reached out and gently placed his hand on your leg, just above your knee. It was a tentative touch, his fingers light and hesitant, but it was enough to make you stiffen slightly under his hand. You glanced down at his hand, then up at him, your eyes wide with surprise.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice soft but steady. “I didn’t mean to upset you that night.” He cooed gently. Your gaze remained on his hand for a moment longer before you sighed, your shoulders relaxing a fraction.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “For… trying to kiss you. I was drunk and— Clearly that’s not something you want and I get that…” You earnestly and awkwardly were trying to apologize but Trent couldn’t help but chuckle softly, interrupting you.

“You honestly think I didn’t want to kiss you back?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his tone. He kept his eyes on the TV, a coy smile tugging at his lips. “Trust me, Y/N, it took everything in me to stop.” You looked at him, a flicker of confusion mixed with curiosity in your eyes.

“Then why did you?” you asked, your voice softer now, almost vulnerable. Trent’s smile faded slightly as he turned to meet your gaze.

“Because you were upset and not in a good place. I didn’t want you to think I was taking advantage of you, especially after what that asshole did to you.” You flinched at the mention of Josh, the hurt from his cruel words still fresh in your mind. You looked away, your eyes downcast.

“He… he said some awful things. It wasn’t great,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. Trent’s grip on you tightened just a fraction, his touch becoming more reassuring. You sat there, your heart pounding as Trent's words hung in the air. He'd never spoken to you like that-direct, unfiltered, like he'd been holding back for too long. The way he placed his hand on your thigh, his fingers pressing just enough to make you aware of every inch of contact, sent a spark straight through you. Your mind raced to keep up, to make sense of what was happening, but he was already pushing forward, his tone low, serious, like he needed you to understand.

"That kid's a fucking idiot for losing you," he said, his voice tight, almost angry. "Saying whatever he could to make you feel small... he doesn't know shit about you, and you know that. Right?" You nodded slowly, words caught in your throat. It was true-you did know, somewhere deep down. But hearing it from Trent felt different, grounding, and it made the sting of your ex's words fade, bit by bit. Trent's hand stayed warm on your thigh, a quiet promise in the small gesture. You glanced up at him, your eyes searching his face. You could see the sincerity in his expression, the way his brow furrowed slightly with concern.

“You really think that?” You asked quietly, your voice tinged with disbelief. Trent nodded, a small, earnest smile playing on his lips.

“I know that. You’re smart, occasionally funny,” he teased with a glint in his eyes and your lips curled, “you’re the sweetest girl I know, and—” he hesitated for a moment, his cheeks flushing slightly, “—gorgeous. You’re fucking gorgeous. Anyone who can’t see that is a fucking donut.” He kept his eyes on the TV, trying to play it cool, trying to be nonchalant in case anyone else happened to come into the room but he could feel his heart hammering in his chest. He risked a quick glance at you and saw a soft smile slowly spreading across your face. The sight of it made his own heart lighten, the tension between you beginning to ease.

"Trent.." you started, wanting to say something, anything, but he shook his head slightly, a glimmer of intensity in his eyes.

"You're beautiful," he interrupted, each word sounding heavier than the last. It was like he'd been carrying them around, waiting for the right moment to let them out. You felt your cheeks flush, a mix of nerves and thrill rushing through you as his gaze stayed locked on yours. He leaned closer, lowering his voice so it’d be impossible for anyone else to hear, his hand firm on your thigh. "And just so you know... that's not the way you get bruises. Never again. I'll fucking kill him if he ever comes near you." His eyes were dark, protective in a way that felt both comforting and incredibly dangerous. Then, in the midst of the tension, he smirked, the intensity softening into something else, something teasing. "The only bruises you ever get are from not being bored in the bedroom. Yeah?” Your breath caught, your face flushing as his words registered. You recalled telling when you split with Josh citing boredom in the bedroom as a problem but you were surprised he remembered that. Surprised he just said that to you. Before you could respond, he gave you a wink, that same smirk lingering as he stood up and walked away, leaving you stunned, heart racing, and desperate for him to come back.

You laid in your bed later that night, staring up at the ceiling, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts about Trent. You could hear the low rumble of laughter drifting up from downstairs where Jack, Trent, and their friends were still hanging out. But your thoughts were miles away, lost in memories of Trent and all the moments you’d shared over the years. You closed your eyes and let the images flood your mind. The way he’d smile at you from across a room, a mischievous glint in his eyes, or the way he always seemed to find a reason to touch you—a hand on your shoulder, a playful nudge, his arm brushing against yours when they sat close. You thought about all the times he’d said sweet things to you, little compliments and comments that you’d always brushed off as friendly banter. You tried your entire life not to take the pet name ‘pretty girl’ too seriously, you always thought maybe he said that to every girl but now it felt personal and just for you. Was he talking about bruises in the bedroom in a sexual way, yeah 100% but did he mean that he would give them to you? Leave love bites on you? Your mind was racing. But, lying there in the dark, you couldn’t help but wonder if there had been more to it. Your heart fluttered as you recalled the feel of his hand on your leg earlier tonight, the warmth of his touch and the firm yet gentle way he’d reassured you. You shivered, a pleasant tingle running through you as you thought of all the times his hands had been on you, even in the most innocent of ways. His touch always left a lingering warmth, a sensation that seemed to seep under your skin and settle deep within you, leaving you longing for more. You bit your lip, a wave of desire washing over you. In your longing haze, you wondered if maybe you’d been missing something all along. Had Trent been flirting with you all these years, in his subtle, teasing way but in all seriousness, did he want something? Was there something real to your relationship that you hadn’t let yourself see? Was it more than teasing? The thought sent a thrill through you, a mixture of excitement and nervous anticipation. Your fingers itched to reach for your phone, and before you could second-guess yourself, you grabbed it from your bedside table. You couldn’t shake what he said to you, Trent had made it clear-it wasn't that he wasn't interested. Now, you were ready to take the risk, fully aware that all the boys were together. It was dangerous, maybe even reckless, but that only made it more exhilarating. They were watching a movie in the cinema room, the lights dimmed, everyone absorbed in whatever action scene was playing on the screen. You were upstairs in bed, restless and buzzing with anticipation. You flipped your phone camera to 0.5 to catch yourself at a high angle, tits prominently displayed in your thin bralette, the flash making your nipples obviously visible. You typed out a message, your fingers moving faster than your brain could catch up.

"Is this the appropriate place to get those bruises you were talking about?"

You pressed send, heart pounding in your chest. The silence afterward was deafening as you waited for a response. It was insane you just did this, but you couldn't back out now. A part of you wished you could retract it but there it was… ‘read.’ Trent opened the message, his heart skipping a beat. He blinked, unsure if he'd seen it right, unsure if you had actually sent it. This was the first time you'd ever texted him directly. Sure, you'd always been in the group chats-always flirty in your usual playful way-but nothing like this. The last personal message you'd sent was your order for a takeaway months ago, and before that, it had been something for your birthday and then passport details for a trip that seemed forever ago. A trip you weren’t sure why you were invited on to begin with but it was one where you'd teetered on the edge of something more with him but never quite tipped over. Now you had pushed things over that fragile edge with a stupid text. There was a reason for the limited texts though, because you knew it’d lead to something just like this. Trent swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on the image, the words beneath it repeating in his head. He couldn't let the boys see this but he also didn’t want to look away. He couldn’t… but he had to.

Quickly, he swiped out of the message, his phone burning hot in his hand. He shoved the phone into his lap, screen down, and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus on anything but the visual of you barely in that bralette. He felt a slow, stupid grin spread across his face despite his best efforts. His heart was racing, and he could feel the tension building inside him. He knew things were spiraling. He'd always told himself this was a line he couldn't cross, but now? Now, it felt inevitable. Trent moved, his thumb hovered over his phone. He dimmed the screen, adjusted his seat in the chair, trying to play it cool making sure the other boys were none the wiser. His mind was racing, wondering if this was you really finally putting your hat in the ring. And god, if it was... there was no way he could say no. Now, all that was left was his response. Trent took his time responding, trying to be as calculated as possible. You stared at the screen, your breath catching in your throat as you waited for his response. The dots appeared then disappeared only to reappear, showing he was typing back, and your heart leaped into your throat. What was he going to say? Had you gone too far? You felt a rush of adrenaline mixed with a hint of fear. But underneath it all was a simmering excitement you couldn’t deny. You could practically feel the tension building in the air around you. Finally, your phone buzzed with a new message, and you hesitated before opening it, your pulse racing…

•

Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter or of what's to come!

Next part - Chapter 3 - Crossed A Few Lines xx

#trent alexander arnold #Trent Alexander Arnold x reader #alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold imagines #taa x reader #footballer x y/n #footballer x reader #fie fic #Movie Night Fic

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sorcerersandskillusers · 1 year ago

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Card Meanings in the new, The Day I Picked Up Dazai art.

Ok so im currently still in shock that were getting new day I picked up dazai content so bare with me, but onece again Asagiri has included playing cards in his art so of course I have to break down what they mean.

Lets start with side A (the right side):

First we see a joker:

While Gogol is the obvious fit for the joker, the card also describes Dazai extremely well. He is almost always acting like the fool in any given situation, even in the mafia he loved to be as weird and funny as he could as well as tease and annoy the people around him, something jesters famously did.

In fact, his dynamic with Mori is very close to how a king and a jester used to work, where the jester was the only person who was allowed to openly mock the king and would usually heckle him. They also played a key part in psychological warfare, which we see Dazai specialises in.

I think the whole; wit, intelligence and unpredictability kind of speaks for itself.

Next card is the four of spades:

This one is also really fitting, it shows how after the day I picked up Dazai side A, Dazai settles into his little routine of going to bar lupin with Oda as well as how he finally has someone who he can trust and be comfortable around. Finally, it is a clear message of optimism, something Dazai never shows before he meets Oda.

Next the two of hearts:

This one is pretty obvious, it's Dazai and Oda spending time at bar lupin. It actually fits so well, there's not much I can say about it other then how it shows the love and care Dazai and Oda had for each other (platonically)

Now for Side B (prepare to cry)

The first card is the three of spades:

Whyyyyyyyyyy... why Asagiri. This one is also fairly obvious but it has multiple meanings. It most clearly represents Dazai suffering in side B as he has to run the mafia without odasaku and live in utter loneliness while destroying all the connections he never got to have for the sake of a friend he never got to meet.

“It was hard,” muttered the young man. “It was really hard fighting Mimic without you in the organization. I had no choice but to take over for Mori and make enemies of everyone around me to expand the business. Everything I did was for this world’s—”

It also represents the moment on the platform where he nearly tells Odasaku the truth and goes with him to bar lupin, the horrible decision to abandon everything for Odas future

The next card is... the ace of spades:

The ace of spade has many meanings, most of which involve change or transition, but by far its most famous meaning it death. I really don't think I have to explain this one, Beast Dazai having the card of death has a pretty clear meaning.

But the ace of spade does have a secondary meaning, and this one is a little more hopeful, as it shows Dazai passing the safety of this world onto Atsushi and Auktagawa.

Finally, (it's a bit hard to see) we have the ten of diamonds:

I want to focus mostly on the highlighted part because it's what really applies to BEAST Dazai, he lived his whole life to create a world where what matters most to him, that Oda gets to be happy and write his books, becomes real. This card doesn't apply to Dazai directly, more to the fact that he made succeeding in his mission his only priority and discarded everything else.

Bonus round Odasku card; the king of clubs

the only card thats seen on Oda's section and one that clearly represents Odasaku as a character.

"King of clubs represents a dark man, who is loyal and kind. He is a good businessman, shrewd with money and investments, but isn’t selfish. In fact, the King of clubs is a very devoted father, husband and citizen. In a broader sense, the King of clubs encompasses idealized qualities of a fatherly figure. This card is universally considered as a very good omen."

I feel like this sums Odasaku up very well, the devoted father and loyal friend parts are just him to a t.

(this is also the card I think best represents Fukuzawa)

Right, I think I got everything, if you disagree with this or find something I missed, please reblog or comment with whatever you want to add, or send me an ask. I love discussing, and hearing other people's views as long as they're respectful.

If you add something, please add it in the post not the tags, so I can reply to it (or in the tags if that makes you more comfortable)

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2btheanswertothequestion · 2 years ago

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Steddie rockstar x roadie AU, with Steve being Eddie's queer awakening

(in a not-fic-format because I cannot be arsed to actually write it)

So. Corroded Coffin isn't huge by any means, but they're big enough. Successful and respected within their genre. Has a loyal fanbase, constantly sells out smaller venues, gets to go on tour every so often. They're rockstars who've made it while still getting to live like they're not rockstars when off the clock (and stage). The best of both worlds, really.

They're gearing up for another tour and have a couple of new faces on their crew. One of them got the job by being a friend of a friend. He doesn't at all look like he'd be a roadie for CC, and he doesn't actually listen to them – he's more into classic rock (respectable) and occasionally new wave (not respectable), but it's whatever. He's strong and hard-working and gets the job done. He also withstands the initial hazing like a champ, even biting back a few times. Yeah, Steve Harrington carves a place for himself in the crew and is soon one of them.

Eddie is especially fond of the new guy. Partly because it's clear Steve is as enamored with Dustin as Eddie is, and mutual interests bring people together. But also because Steve is simply a fun dude to be around? He's nice. Except for when he's mean; then he's funny instead. He's honestly funny a lot of times, even when he doesn't mean to be. Like, sometimes someone will make an exceptionally nerdy reference that he doesn't get, so he'll tilt his head and scrunch his eyebrows as it's explained to him. And, all right, maybe that's not funny, per se. More like cute. Endearing. Eddie often finds himself endeared and wanting to pat Steve on the head like the sweet little puppy he so strongly resembles.

The others mock him for it. Tease him about his man-crush on Harrington. Eddie laughs along with them, because yeah! Were he into men, Steve absolutely would've been his type. Look at him! Guy's ripped and has great hair (almost better than Eddie's. Just imagine the mane it'd be if he let it grow past his shoulders...) and Eddie has great taste. He'd for sure be head over heels for Steve if he were gay, and he is man enough to admit it.

That's how the flirting starts – as an extension of the joke. It's not out of character for Eddie, who flirts with everyone. With reporters, interviewers, photographers, TSA officers, venue security, other bands, anyone! Gender, age, or appearance don't matter because flirting is fun. And it's especially fun to flirt with Steve, because he flirts back! No matter how much Eddie does it, Steve will flirt back and help make everyone laugh. It's a great part of their dynamic and actually brings them closer as friends. Dustin would be proud of them.

So, while on tour, they have this thing where one member of the crew gets to decide where they'll go after shows or on their days off. Participation is optional but encouraged, because it's an 'organic bonding experience' or whatever their manager called it. Occasionally it'll be a movie or a museum, but usually the destination is a bar or club. What's there to say, they're a bunch of male, red-blooded twenty to thirty-somethings – what better pasttime is there than to get drunk after a hard day's work? Yeah, every so often someone will pick up a girl, but it's a rare occurrence. A bunch of the guys has special ladies waiting at home, and for the single ones it's much easier to just book a date with their own hand.

There's one guy on the crew, Peter, who always takes them to a gay bar when it's his turn. This because he is gay. Duh. No one minds it, and if they do they don't come back next tour. Corroded Coffin prides themselves on their allyship. They're freaks of nature welcoming all other freaks of nature. Seriously, what does it matter if a dude likes cock instead of tits? Why is it wrong if he wants it up the ass? It's actually not that bad! See, Eddie used to date this woman who was puh-retty kinky. Pegging was just one of the many, many, maaaaaaany things she enjoyed. And Eddie loved her, so, well. It wasn't as good as she claimed it'd be, but it was fine. Enjoyable enough to do again. The point is that CC doesn't dance with homophobia, and Eddie will scream it from the top of every table.

Anyway. When it's Peter's turn, Steve (who hasn't gotten to pick yet because he's the newbie and they pick last) comments upon it. Nothing big. Nothing bad. Still, Gareth is on him, puffing himself up like a chihuahua and asking if Steve has a problem with it.

Eddie’s hands turn clammy with nerves in the split second it takes for Steve to roll his eyes and scoff "of course not".

Look, he'd really like for Steve to be back next tour, okay? They're buddies now and he doesn't want to lose him to bigotry. Also, it'd suck to have to tell Dustin that the guy he hero-worships is actually a douchebag. Nothing to fear, however – Steve continues to prove himself to be a good dude. He doesn't even blink when propositioned at the club! Simply tells them "thanks, but no thanks". Unsurprising, since he's cool with Eddie's nonsense, but there's a difference between a straight guy hitting on you as a joke and a gay guy doing it for real. At least, for some it is. But not for Steve. Fuck, Eddie hopes he'll be back next tour. He's on his way to being Eddie's new best friend and he'd miss him.

Then, it's time – they're in Chicago and it's Steve's turn to pick. Some of the others grumble over the newbie getting such a big city at his disposal. Eddie doesn't blame them for suspecting favoritism – it's happened before – but not this time! It just became like this and Eddie has nothing to do with it! Ask the other band members.

(When he breaks the news to Steve, his hazel eyes light up. He asks, "Can a friend of mine come with?"

"Sure, man," Eddie says, clapping him on the shoulder.

Steve buzzes with excitement, giddier than a kid on Christmas morning. Fuck, he's so cute.)

That night after the show, as they're leaving for the 'organic bonding experience' (seriously, Chrissy? Of all the things you could call it...), they're met by a young woman outside the venue.

She's tall and skinny, like a giraffe, and that's all Eddie can tell at first glance because she rushes up and flings herself into Steve's embrace. They hug, they laugh, they might cry a little, and he even spins around with her in his arms.

(Girlfriend? She's certainly pretty enough for it.)

Once the heartwarming reunion is over, Steve introduces her as Robin, and tells her that it's his turn to pick a place for them to decompress but he's making it her choice. Robin spits out options with a speed none of them keep up with; Steve stops her, saying, "No, Robs. I'm making it your choice."

They share a look.

She gasps.

They grin, mischievously, and then...

She takes them to a lesbian club.

It's open to gay guys too, obviously, but clearly caters to lesbians. It's a smaller thing, the kind that entertains a steady line of regulars. Apparently, Robin and Steve are among these regulars, because the bartender greets them by name the moment they step inside.

They order their drinks and claim a booth. Robin is quick to instigate a discussion about what dorky things Steve has done while away from her. Eddie is happy to share while Steve laments he should've known better than to introduce them.

An hour or so in, Robin skitters off to catch up with a group of women, all varying degrees of butch. Not ten seconds later, someone new claims her seat (which is also Steve's lap). Eddie mistakes them for a girl at first, because they're small with a high-pitched voice, but no, it's just the twinkiest twink. He makes himself at home on Steve's thigh, pressing a kiss to Steve's cheek and squealing, "Stevie! I didn't know you were back!"

Steve laughs. "Hey, babe. Just for tonight. I'm here with my coworkers."

The twink twists around in Steve's lap. He really is girly-looking: soft jawline, slender build, shoulder-length blond waves, and huge eyes enhanced with makeup. He even smells like a woman, strawberry and jasmine.

"Oh! The rock band!" He extends a dainty hand. "Hi, I'm Brendan!"

Brendan sticks around for a while. Like Robin, he wants to know what Steve's been up to. Unlike Robin, he's more interested in awe-inspiring stories than embarrassing ones (unfortunate, for the latter kind heavily outweighs the former). He doesn't move from Steve's lap. Kind of weird, actually. Like, there are available seats. Yes, Robin also sat exclusively in Steve's lap, but that's different. They're best friends and it was chaste and cute. Brendan is... honestly, Eddie doesn't know who Brendan is. Some dude who's shameless enough to rub his ass on Steve's dick in full view of everyone. Yeah, you're not as subtle as you think, babe.

He doesn't even move when they get up to let another crew member go to the bathroom! No, Steve slides out of the booth still holding him, Brendan perched on his forearm. His muscles flex, a vein straining underneath the skin, but Steve's face is relaxed. As if the – small, sure, but still grown – man in his arms weighs nothing. More likely, Steve is just that used to carrying things.

For some reason, Eddie's mouth dries a little at the thought of it.

At last, Brendan leaves, but not before sweetly kissing Steve on the lips and telling him to "let me know when you're back for real, stud".

Steve promises with a laugh, then turns back to the table and rejoins the conversation as if it was nothing strange. As if making dates with other men happens to him all the time.

Shit.

The entire thing leaves something gnawing on Eddie. He holds it in while in the club. He holds it in when they escort Robin to her cab. He holds it in as they walk back to the tour buses.

Then the others are gone. It's just him and Steve left, lingering to smoke in the parking lot, and he can't hold it any longer.

"I didn't know you're gay!"

Smoothness, thy name is Eddie Munson.

Steve shrugs. "I'm not; I'm bisexual."

"Right, right."

Eddie takes a deep drag, putting some of the smoke in the wrong pipe and coughing it up. Steve thumps his back.

"Woah, man, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Eddie rasps, tears prickling his eyes. "So, um, is it okay? What we've been... The flirting?"

"Uh, yeah?" Steve tilts his head, eyebrows scrunching and, Jesus Christ, how can he be so adorable? "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Because!" Eddie gestures between the two of them. "You're bi, and I'm not, and is it offensive for me to...?"

Steve blinks at him, before bursting into laughter. Eddie feels the blush warming his neck.

"Don't be stupid," Steve says in between peals of giggles. "It's just a fun thing. S'not that deep. You don't have to lose sleep over it."

"Alright, man. Then I won't."

But he does.

That very night he finds himself tossing and turning. And thinking. Thinking about Steve. About Steve's strong arms and broad chest. About his square jaw and plush lips. About his thick hair and hooded eyes. About how the ugly polo shirts the techs wear look genuinely good on Steve, and about how his tight jeans leave little to the imagination. That particular line of thought has Eddie whimper and roll his hips against the mattress. Rachael's strap-on always felt kind of so-so. Was it because it was too rubbery or because it was too small?

He also thinks about what makes Steve Steve. Like Steve's selflessness, always the first to volunteer to do the tedious work so no one else has to. And Steve's barbed tongue, sharp enough to give even Eddie a run for his money. Eddie thinks about their easy banter, and how Dustin sings his praises, and how Steve let Robin pick a club when it was his turn.

After three consecutive nights of tossing, turning, thinking, and no sleep, Eddie comes to a horrifying conclusion.

It's not simply a question of 'want'. He's not just horny and curious. No, he likes Steve.

It makes things so fucking awkward. He has no idea how to act around Steve afterward. Falling for a crew member is bad enough (so unprofessional; Chrissy would definitely be on his case if she knew), but this is worse because he's a guy. Eddie's never been into guys before! Sure, there are men out there who are objectively hot. Eddie can admit that. But it's not the same. There are feelings involved here.

And the worst is that people notice. Steve notices. How can he not? When Eddie stops responding to their usual flirting, turning into a skittish bunny whenever Steve is close.

At first, it makes Steve pause. Tilt his head, scrunch his eyebrows, and pout in confusion (Eddie's heartbeat turns irregular every time he does). Then Steve pulls away, and Eddie's heart fucking breaks. The atmosphere among the crew turns tense; Peter starts sending him dirty looks that Eddie shrinks away from.

A few days into it, he's cornered by a pissed off Jeff.

"Dude, what's your problem?" he snaps; Eddie wants to sink into the ground. "I thought you were better than this. Who cares that Harrington is also into dudes? It's still Harrington! It won't kill you to treat him like you used to. No one is going to think you're gay for standing next to him."

Eddie croaks, "What if I am?"

"You- What?"

"What if... I like Steve?"

Jeff's jaw hits the floor. "What."

Eddie inhales deeply, staring at his wringing hands. "I like Steve. I've been thinking... After Chicago, I started to think about... And I realized I like him." A sob tears from his throat. "I don't know what I should-"

Jeff's arms wrap around him; Eddie buries his face in the crook of his neck.

"Jesus Christ," Jeff mutters, stroking Eddie's back. "Um, it's okay? We support you. No one will judge you! We love you all the same."

Eddie nods, Jeff's leather jacket squeaking with the movement. He's been wearing it since high school and it smells like home.

"I don't know how to act around him anymore," he sniffles.

"Why don't you tell him?"

Eddie recoils from the embrace to give Jeff his mightiest 'are you stupid for real' look. Jeff sighs at him.

"Oh, come on. You're his friend and a good-looking guy. Why not?" Jeff says, as if it's that easy. But...

"I'm not his type!"

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do! Didn't you see that Brendan guy?"

Jeff falters. He realizes Eddie is right. Because, yes, Eddie is pretty hot. He has the long hair and a pretty face, he's been told. But he's still a masculine guy. A blue-collar type with calluses on his hands and dirt under his nails. He's not a svelte, dainty, little twink – he's as tall as Steve is, with more tattoos than bare skin and who smells like sweat and tobacco badly masked with cheap cologne, not strawberries and jasmine. He doesn't wear makeup or do his hair and some days he just fucking picks a used shirt from his pile and maybe sniffs it before putting it on. He talks too much and too loud. His limbs flail when he's excited. He's not going to sweetly ask for flattering stories about Steve – his instinct is to tease him for calling one of the guys from Nip/Tuck 'Dr. McDreamy'. He's closer to Robin than he is to Brendan. Jesus Christ, he's in the same category as Steve's lesbian best friend! Or at least he was, before he shot their friendship to hell.

There's no hope.

The tour ends on a sourer note than previous ones. It's all Eddie's fault. He doesn't even stick around for the last 'organic bonding experience' – he gets into his car at the first opportunity and drives home.

And then comes the wallowing. Several tubs of ice cream are consumed as High Fidelity plays on loop on Eddie's TV. He writes dozens of miserable, yearning songs and screens his calls, not even picking up for Chrissy or Wayne. It's not until Dustin's cheerful lisp rings out from his answering machine that there's a change. He's inviting Eddie to come visit him and Suzie and the cats in Massachusetts, like he always does after a tour.

Eddie can't turn that down. Besides, he probably needs to get out of the house.

So he goes, and it's nice. Dustin is still a little shit, Suzie is a pearl, the cats are cuddly, and Eddie is a good enough faker to mask his emotional state – his hosts notice nothing amiss.

Then, halfway through his visit, Eddie returns from his walk and who does he find unpacking their car in Dustin and Suzie's driveway?

Can you guess? I think you can.

It's Robin!

And Steve. They're a package deal, you know.

And Dustin's like, "Eddie! They're here! Oh, did I forget to tell you they were coming? Oops. Well, you already know them, so it's fine."

And Eddie is panicking, and Robin is trying to murder him with her mind, and Steve is just like,

"Hey."

Coldly polite.

Eddie hides in his guest room until dinner time. When he comes out, he expects Dustin to chew him out for being an asshole homophobe and kick him out of his life permanently.

But he doesn't. Dinner is as usual, if Steve Harrington ignoring you and Robin Buckley glaring at you is part of your usual dinner experience.

After cleaning up, Steve steps outside to smoke. Eddie, figuring he has to take some responsibility, follows him. Steve is standing on the deck, elbows resting on the wooden railing, his back to the house. He straightens up and turns when Eddie closes the screen door behind him. The sun has set, but the moon is out; Steve's profile is sharp in the pale moonlight, his posture sure. The cherry of his cigarette makes shadows and flames flicker dramatically over his features, highlighting the edges and the curves and he's so fucking gorgeous Eddie forgets how to breathe. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder.

He slinks over, Steve's gaze following him.

"Hi," Eddie says.

"Hi," Steve says.

"You didn't..." Eddie swallows. "You didn't tell Dustin?"

Steve frowns. "No. It's between us. For now, at least."

"Oh."

Shuddering, Eddie wraps his arms around himself. It's late summer and still warmish as long as there's no wind. Right now it's windless, the cold coming from within.

"I wanted to talk."

Steve hums, noncommittal.

"I wanted to apologize."

Another hum, more interested.

"I'm sorry. For how I acted. I've been an asshole and you don't deserve any of that."

Eddie glances up to gauge Steve's reaction, and oh. The whole evening, Steve's been aloof, cordially keeping Eddie at arm's length, but now...

Now he just looks sad.

A few weeks ago, they were close enough for Eddie to hug him when he looked like this. Eddie would crush his own heart with a sledgehammer if it meant they'll go back to that.

He says, "We haven't known each other for long, but you're already one of my best friends. Then it got weird at the end and-"

Steve's face hardens again, eyes tapering with anger.

"Things didn't 'get weird', Eddie. You made them weird. What the fuck?"

And Eddie takes a deep breath and says,

"I like you."

Shock colors Steve's expression; he takes a step back. It takes everything to stop Eddie from following in an attempt to reel him back in.

"I don't know when it started," he says, the confession tumbling out. "I always liked you? You're a good guy and fun to hang with and a great friend, and I guess you were hot, but a ton of guys are hot and it doesn't have to mean anything. I can be straight and still think guys are hot, you know? But then, in Chicago, you came out and I started seeing you differently. So, huh, turns out, in my case? Thinking guys are hot does mean something. And I freaked out because I didn't know what to do. Being close to you made me so nervous, and I couldn't tell you how I felt because just because you like guys doesn't mean you like me, and I already know your type is cute little blond twinks, and-"

"I actually prefer brunets," Steve says.

Eddie chokes on what else he had to say. He looks up at Steve, who's smiling. Kind of shy but mostly bright, eyes crinkling at the corners. His cigarette is almost down to the filter; Steve drops and snuffs it out without looking away from Eddie. His eyes are like gold, glittering.

"Y-you what?"

"I don't really have a type," Steve says, stepping closer. "I like who I like." Another step. "But, uh, most of my relationships have been with brunets." Another step, then stop – they're nose to nose. "Nerdy ones."

Eddie's head spins. He squeaks, "Oh?"

Steve nods. "I like smart, passionate people. And I..." He giggles. "I've had a crush on you since the beginning."

Eddie's head fucking explodes. It leaves a gash in his face that stretches from ear to ear. A breeze blows past, caressing his burning cheeks. It's his turn to giggle.

"You're fucking with me."

Steve tilts his head, but doesn't scrunch his brow this time. No, it remains smooth, but his eyelids droop as his eyes roam Eddie's body.

"So far, only in my head."

Eddie sputters. He grabs a fistful of hair and pulls it in front of his red face. Steve, the bastard, laughs at him. He reaches out, coaxing the locks out of Eddie's grip and tucks them behind his ear. There's an endlessness in his gaze; simultaneously looking through Eddie and at him. Seeing him from every angle, especially the ugly ones, but touching him just as tenderly anyway.

Eddie wets his lips. Since he caused the distance in the first place, it only seems fair he takes the last step. "Do you want to go out with me?" he asks. "A date?"

Steve leans in until they touch from forehead to nose tip.

"Yes," he says. "I do."

#Eddie: It's not that easy!#Narrator:It was in fact that easy #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steddie #steddie fanfic #eddie munson #steve harrington #my writing

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hauntdoesthings · 9 months ago

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let's talk about: Husk

Husk is a character that I see a lot of love for, but not a lot of discussion about, at least not the same way we talk about Angel Dust or Alastor, so I'd like to start the conversation since I've noticed certain details about him during a rewatch.

How He Socializes

Husk puts it best himself; "Everybody likes to bitch to the bartender." He knows more about everyone than anyone else, whether they tell him or not. Not only is he the one people turn to vent to at their lowest, he has incredible skill at reading others. It's most likely something he picked up as a gambler, but we can see he still utilizes it to read the other residents, like knowing Angel shouldn't be getting drunk after his long shift and realizing when he's masking right afterwards.

On the other hand, reading people like this doesn't seem to fit with his character in earlier episodes. In the first episodes, Husk makes it very clear he doesn't want to at the hotel and by extension doesn't want to be around the residents. His first line is literally about how he's forced to be there and pretty much all of his screen time is spent being anywhere from unfriendly to outright aggressive towards the rest of the cast. He surely doesn't care enough to read people to get closer to them, so why does he? I believe it's either a subconscious behavior or possibly as a defensive measure. Like in a poker game, he reads his "opponents" to stay ahead of them while keeping his own cards close to his chest.

It's already clear Husk values his boundaries when watching his earlier interactions with Angel, but this combined with other behaviors makes me think he's a very defensive person in general. His body language is constantly closed off, often crossing his arms or physically being separated from others behind the bar. This could just be indicative of his surly personality, but there is a specific behavior makes me think more of it. During my rewatch for this post, I realized Husk has a tendency to hug himself during certain moments of discomfort, like the entire first trust exercise in episode 3(more on that later), and during his first argument with Angel in episode 4, he actually shields himself with his wings when AD insults him before leaving.

Speaking of, episode 4 is really a great example of how Husk view others, especially since this is when his mindset finally shifts.

It's easy to see how dismissive Husk is of AD during this episode, with his constant reiterations of how "fake" he is and even saying that he'll be fine after running out despite knowing that he's had a hard night. Looking a little closer at his mannerisms though, it's clear that he cares more than he wants to let on. He insults the scripts and setting of AD's video rather than his acting and even says that that's specifically what Angel tends to complain about. Even when Valentino sudden calls up AD, Husk's face is more upset than "I told ya so." He realizes that Angel is unhappy with his work, but at the same time, he doesn't think too deeply about it.

Husk assumes that because everyone tends to spills their guts to him while drinking, he knows all he needs to about them, and he's correct to a certain degree; however, despite everything he knows, he doesn't appear to think too deeply beyond what he can easily glean. Charlie wants to help others so she doesn't have to help herself, Vaggie projects her self-hatred and high standards onto those around her, and Angel bullshits his way through everything because he's an actor who doesn't know how to be real. Husk realizes these things easily, but not why the others are this way, and it especially shows during his confrontation with AD, as when Angel finally snaps and reveals his true motives, Husk is visually taken aback.

He's so used to knowing and analyzing people easily that this sudden, truly heartfelt moment from Angel makes him rethink how he's been going about their interactions, how he's been thinking of him this whole time. And this is the moment that makes him decide to open up about his own past. Whether it was seeing that common thread between himself and Angel or possibly a realization that he won't accept help from someone who doesn't offer any input of their own, this is the first time we really see him offer any of his private, personal life, and afterwards, there's an obvious shift in how he treats Angel and everyone else.

"Loser Baby" is the first time we see Husk willingly initiate physical contact onscreen when he's always be visibly tense and uncomfortable at even most mentions of it, though most of that was AD being suggestive so it could be an issue with sexual intimacy than physical. He's comfortable enough in episode 6 to go clubbing with the group and genuinely looks like he's enjoying himself, especially compared to when he went to keep an eye on Angel in episode 4, even helping look out for Niffty when needed and supporting Angel after standing up to Valentino. In the lead-up to the Extermination, there's not a single insinuation that he would've left the hotel, choice or not, and he is with the rest of the cast during all the important moments of the battle, from Sir Pentious' death to the ending number. Even when Alastor is presumed dead, even if he assumed Alastor wasn't really gone, Husk could've easily run off during his absence, but he sticks around to help rebuild, undeniably of his volition, wanting to help his friends and possible family.

That note also brings me to something I've really been wanting to talk about:

Husk and Alastor

Unless we see a shift or get new knowledge about Nifty, Alastor and Husk have a really unique relationship both in theory and as evidenced. Husk is a former Overlord, presumably from before Alastor's rise if he was willing to bet his soul in a game with him. This opens up a lot of questions for me, mainly about what their bet entailed, what led Husk to making it in the first place, and if there's a certain respect between them. Yes, Alastor refers to Husk as his "pet," but Husk also comes to him with his suspicions about Mimsy and it can almost be read as worry. Alastor even responds that "it's nothing [he] can't handle." There has to be a certain level of trust for someone to bring up "hey, that friend you've known for decades only ever comes to you when they need something" and have their concerns taken seriously, even if Alastor's care for others is negligible at best. This whole scene seems to be showing that despite their deal, their past as equals has not been totally forgotten by either of them, leading to a certain understanding of each other that neither, particularly Alastor, have had with anyone else up until now.

The biggest reason I bring their relationship up though is Alastor's deal. With all we've seen, I believe Husk is the one character besides Alastor himself and whoever the other party is that knows about the deal and its possible connection to Alastor's disappearance.

For one, Husk is the one that confirms Alastor is "on a leash" in the first place, and he shows no surprise that Husk knows. Alastor is definitely not the kind of person to let anyone know about something like that no matter how close they are, so this makes me think either Husk had to know or that he was possibly there during the deal.

It also stands out to me the specific phrasing that Husk and Alastor use during the scene.

"You've been gone a long time, and it's not like anybody knows why." "They don't need to know!"

This kind of phrasing makes it feel like Husk is specifically being excluded from that group by both himself and Alastor. If it's true that Alastor's deal is the reason he disappeared, then Husk knowing about both the deal and why Alastor's been gone lines up perfectly. Maybe Husk will be the one to reveal more about this to the audience or even the rest of the cast later on, but it's clear that he does know more than anyone not directly involved and at this moment is the most likely to talk about it, assuming Alastor doesn't immediately tear him a new one for it.

Little Details

Last section, I promise. This is just some little details I noticed while rewatching for this that didn't really fit in anywhere else and questions/speculation about them.

Remember how I mentioned Husk hugging himself earlier? The first time I noticed this was during episode 3 when, after seeing the stage, he declares "I'm not about to put on some show for these fucking chumps." Not sure how much of everyone's backstory is still canon, but it was stated that Husk was a magician during his life, so maybe this is hinting that he has some stage-related baggage?

Also during episode 3, we see Husk sneak down the stairs before Vaggie can toss him off the roof in the warzone, and since he didn't come back up with Angel and Pentious, he presumably left before they made it out. However, at the end of the episode, he's laughing with everyone over the events of it. He comments that SP can "take a beating like a champ" and "you did ok, new kid," so was he just pretending like he was there or did he just hang out on the sidelines and watch? Husk wtf?

Husk specifically says that AD's video is "not a very convincing interrogation scene." Does Husk have experience?

When the bartender pours drinks for the gangster getting Angel a refill, Husk immediately watches the drinks themselves, before the guy even reaches for that little bottle. He's a bartender, he's probably seen too many people have their drinks fucked with to the point it's just an instinct now.

He was ready to square tf up when Valentino hit Angel, but waited until Angel walked away instead of jumping in like in episode 4. He really does trust him to take care of himself and was ready to back up whatever he did.

During "The Show Must Go On," it's minor, but Husk actually tucks his wings around the group hug and it's aasfjkdsajfd

For those who've made it this far, thank you so much for listening to my overthinking and ramblings. Please feel free to ask about anything incoherent, add on to anything, or point out things I missed, I'd just really love to get the discussion started on some of these things!

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel husk #husker #hazbin husk #hazbin hotel analysis #hazbin hotel theory #also thinking about doing one of these for vox esp since he's supposed to be a major antagonist next season #but all that rewatching may lead to me getting very sick of my husband sooo(i say as tho i'm not fixated like he is on radio man)#holy shit haunt posts twice in one week(this is a rare occasion please do not expect things of me i will cry)/j

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honeyspawn · 10 months ago

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Real talk, I think Frank Pricely is a genuinely really interesting character.

So when we meet him in Black Friday, he is basically a cartoon capitalist supervillain. He's obsessing over money, he is condescending to Lex, and we get the impression that he's Mr. Krabs level of money-grubbing shitty boss. He gets a whole song where he revels in how much money he's going to make, and shows ambivalence to how dangerous black friday shopping can be. Then Feast or Famine happens, and something... changes. There's a visible shift on stage when he and the audience realize that he is no longer in control that's genuinely really eerie. Put a pin in that, cuz I'm gonna come back to it.

When when we're introduced to him in "Daddy", we get a much more complete image of who he is as a character. It's not that he's not a greedy and condescending person, because he definitely is, but that's not the foundation of his character. When we see Toy Zone outside of Black Friday, we see that it's a struggling small business, and a genuine passion project for Frank. It's not that Toy Zone is a means for financial success, but financial success is a means to keep Toy Zone operational.

Then there's his relationship with Lex. He's definitely snarky and condescending, but he also actually cares about her, and sees himself as a parental figure to her. He gives her advice that he feels is in her best interest, and shows her a lot of the "tough love" that he thinks Sheila should be showing Sherman. Lex is even one of the people he says sorry too when he's about to die, because he worries that he failed her. While I do think Lex has some level of respect for him, I never really get the vibe that she sees him this way; she seems to think of him as more of a hard ass, and she would absolutely leave Toy Zone the minute a better opportunity comes up. Her job at Toy Zone for her is more about her need to take care of her family. And this is significant, because Frank is a very lonely person. After his dog Buddy dies, he has no family left. He reminisces on his parents, who didn't support his passions. He thinks of himself as a father figure to Lex, because he has nobody else left in his life. I'm not necessarily saying that he's a good parental figure to Lex, he can be pretty selfish, and even denied her for a raise once he could afford it, knowing she damn well needs the money. It's clear though, that he's trying to look out for her more than her actual mother (low bar as it may be), and on some level, he does think he's helping her. Because she's all he has. Her and Toy Zone, and he's about to lose that too.

This is why Sheila is so appealing to him. She represents not only financial stability, but a chance to not be alone. He doesn't love her, and I think he knows it, but he could learn to love her. He could have love and money, and if that doesn't work out, at least he'd have money. That's what he thinks anyway. But again, he's not the one with the power.

When we first see him in Black Friday, we initially think Frank represents the corporations, but he doesn't. He's a small business owner, and can only support his passion by participating in capitalism. He is a retailer, not a CEO. And that's what puts him in so much danger in Black Friday. Capitalism treats him as disposable. And that's how he dies. Frank was just as much under Wiggly's influence as anyone else. He lived a lonely life, and the business he's prioritized over forming any lasting bonds with other people is about to go down the toilet. Then this little green doll comes along that's supposed to fix everything. He doesn't want to keep the Wiggly dolls, but he still thinks they're going to fix the holes. And once he's served his purpose, Wiggly disposes of him. And that's what Sheila tries to do, too. The only reason he survives in Daddy is that Sherman decides he still has value. It's honestly really haunting how these stories mirror each other.

#this is such a long post sorry #i just feel like we don't appreciate how much went into the writing for Frank #and how well Corey sells the performance #starkid #team starkid #hatchetfield #black friday #nightmare time #nightmare time 2 #nightmare time daddy #frank pricely #corey dorris

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lavellane · 22 days ago

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ok i have avoided talking abt my datv thoughts but now ive finished and slept on it here it is. this is huge btw and really just a way to process my thoughts for my own peace of mind. and get out what i need to say. so yeah word salad below

2 disclaimers before i start. firstly i think im going to be SUPER blunt and clear about my thoughts on this post but then i will mostly be putting the matter to bed in my heart bc i am not someone who delights in being a hater nor do i take comfort in it. i will take from this the things i enjoyed and keep my distance from the rest. second disclaimer: ultimately i think i will still enjoy being a part of the fandom and seeing other people enjoy the game, because it will endear it to me and maybe take away the pain im feeling right now, so this isnt a long rant to make you feel bad about enjoying the game if you do like it! in fact quite the opposite. it comforts me that there are people who find value in the game and i hope in watching you play it i may be able to eventually be able to say the same

that being said . obviously i didnt like the game

which is an extremely difficult thing for me to say. i went into this game thinking "i will at the VERY least enjoy the game. not love it but at least like it. but im sure ill love it". it really is quite distressing for me that it didnt even really reach that bar for the most part. i TRIED to like it. i begged this game to give me ANY handhold at all that i could cling to, to forgive and like this game. i think the things i liked err more on the technical side. the graphics i loved, the character DESIGN was *fantastic*. the art. the pacing. the vague vision of what they were obviously nebulously aiming for. and honestly, i mostly enjoyed the main plot although i wish it had been more disciplined and constrained with the lore it was trying to expand on. act 3 was fantastic and naturally i am happy and fulfilled for the most part by the conclusion of solas's story, who i still believe was and is the best written "villain" of dragon age. sorry logang and meredith nation but i do still stand by this.

but thats really about it. as a disclaimer i am not an origins puritan or a da2 diehard or anything like that. i have loved (almost equally) EVERY single iteration of dragon age which has been released. i am one of the few people who sees equal value in inquisition and origins. i love them both so deeply. i couldnt pick between them.

for me what i love the MOST about dragon age - and which every single previous game has always nailed despite other flaws - is the characters. right under that is the world's capacity for introspection. and unfortunately nothing in this game provided that for me

regarding the characters: i do not care about a single one of them unfortunately. or at least i do not CARE about them the way that i have CARED about the other previous games companions. companions i would write banter about !!! just for fun when i was bored!!!! i would say my only exception is harding, but even then i care about her only because i care about her due to inquisition. overall i just found them all so ..... shallow. and devoid of any of the conflict or nuance or ethical quandries that make biowares stories so compelling - and sure, usually controversial! i would give ANYTHING for this game to have been controversial. for a unforgivable RO, or a problematic fave, or a cancelled wife. did bioware forget that their most beloved or at least enjoyed characters are people like anders, merrill, mordin solus, blackwall, sten, loghain, SOLAS??? i dont understand HOW they could have forgotten that, because solas is literally right there in game and handled (in my opinion as a fan) well. love him or hate him or dont care about him, he is such a hallmark of great bioware writing (in dai if nothing else) - characters who are not EASY to like. characters who are not SAFE to write and who WILL generate criticism from all sides because they are written boldly and unapologetically, strengthened by a foundation of consistent ideals, clear objectives and beautiful faults. characters that do not NEED you to like them, but instead invite you to engage with them critically. solas, even to someone who hates him, is nuanced and morally complex enough to muse and fight over for 10 whole years. hes IN this game, just as ethically murky as ever, but the morally grey hallmark of biowares writing really does kind of live and die with him alone. the rest of the companions feel like they barely made it out of their concept phase. what are lucanis's flaws??? genuinely asking. other than being a murderer who exists in an organization which buys and trains literal child slaves of course, but i'll get to that in a sec (because bioware sure as fuck didnt). um, i guess you could say hes broody?? and emmrich too. what actual flaws does he have?? he has a fear of death, as we're TOLD, but it does not really reflect in the overall convesations we have with him over the course of the game. mostly hes just.... a little bumbling i guess. bellara's flaw is being a scatterbrain. harding's is that shes..... angry??? but shes not???? fucking come on. i really felt the lack of actually being able to TALK to these people at the end of act 2, when i realized i still felt like i havent really MET any of them. and yet here rook is talking about found family and being a team. ok

and then there are the romances. which from my perspective - having romanced taash - and my friends who have romanced lucanis, neve and davrin..... WHAT romances. davrin's full romance is 20 minutes in a 30 PLUS HOUR GAME. solas had the least amount of content out of any companion in inquisition and was a last minute unintentional RO and still had like easily 50 minutes of content. so why did these romances feel like nothing. actually nothing. i was so excited for taash, but their romance straight up felt like neither rook nor taash even wanted to be there. i forgot they were technically together at certain points. zero chemistry. zero intimacy. all TELLING zero SHOWING. if you had told me that i would be saying these sorts of things about a writer like trick weekes a month ago i would call you fucking crazy to your face. i cannot reconcile that taash was written by the same person who wrote solas. i cannot reconcile that mary kirby - who wrote the fucking chant of light - wrote lucanis. its so dire. its devastating actually.

lastly i want to talk about my other point - bioware's famed emphasis on introspection and ethically quandries. again, i'm genuinely experiencing a sense of profound whiplash because when it comes solas's character you can still see it. its still there. they actually doubled down on making him worse than he was in trespasser which i LOVED and thought was so incredibly promising. they could have caved to solavellan fans and uwu-ified him but they didnt. thats great.

but where was that energy for literally anything else. everything has been defanged - even minrathous, the capital of the tevinter slave trade, does not even ADDRESS the elephant in the room of slavery. and i know because i played a shadow dragon. so tell me why i as a shadow dragon am happily allied with the crows, who solely exist to assassinate politicians and BUY SLAVES. THEY BUY SLAVES. THEY BUY SLAVES AS CHILDREN AND TRAIN/TORTURE THEM TO MURDER. HELLO??????????? there is no commentary made about the mages/templars. there is no discussion of the treatment of the elves in the north or Anywhere. there is no discussion of why exactly blood magic is or isnt acceptable - they simply tell us its bad. all the theories of the last 10 years were answered with handwaved comments or bare bones codex entries that honestly stripped so much nuance away from so many things (the blight, my BELOVED) that i dont know how im going to go about fixing it or making it right in my head. the introspective nature of dragon age always went hand in hand with player choice, but there really WAS no choice in this game as so there IS no real capacity for other interpretations or schools of thought. it is so..........................bleak.

i think the thing that finally made it click in my head that this game had fundamentally let me down was the gloom howler quest. and i know im not alone on this. for those of you who dont know - the gloom howler, "isseya" was the protagonist of the dragon age novel "the last flight". i would HIGHLY recommend you read it, especially if you're an origins fan. super bleak, super political, not flashy at all in terms of magic. it was set 500 years pre origins, during the 3rd blight. isseya is very similar to characters like loghain and solas in a way - a richly complex, beautifully intricate, terribly thought provoking character who did HORRIFIC things for the most NOBLE reason you could imagine, under the most traumatic of circumstances. im tearing up just thinking about her story, and how the title "the LAST flight" foreshadowed that her story had a definitive, bittersweet, finite and peaceful ending.

and then this game did THAT to her. turned her into a grotesque caricature of what she was. stripping her of her nuance and her capacity for atonement or forgiveness. and once again, i do not fucking get it. she was obviously brought back because she is a parallel to the solas dilemma. so WHY is she not afforded the same opportunity for empathy that he is. why is bellara's brother not either. its insane. its literally insane. i cannot begin to imagine the oversight or laziness or WHATEVER IT WAS that occured to have this game turn out this way.

there are innumerable other problems with the game that im not going to get into because what ive said above is the main crux of my problem. introspective and character. those are all i really wanted from this game, and like..... i thought we would get that. because the game centered around solas. and i know people dislike his fans for very fair reasons, but i hope those who know me know that i enjoy him not because hes hot (he is though) but because he is terrible. i love him because they made a character who was TERRIBLE, and then gave you the task of using your head and refelcting on your own morality and values and deciding and arguing and meditating over whether he is worth loving anyway. to me, solas is the person i point to when i want to describe why i love dragon age. its complicated, its nuanced, it is terrible and wonderful and everything in between depending on the angle you look at it from. and so having the writer of a character like THAT in charge of the whole game filled me with hope and dissuaded so many of my fears for this game. but i was wrong apparently.

so now im left with a feeling akin to survivors guilt. genuinely. because at the VERY least, despite me saying all of these negative things, i at least finished the game crying happy tears and being overjoyed that my favourite character was handled well and got an ending i enjoyed. and yet that happiness *i* got to feel and that glimmer of good writing was paid for at the expense of literally everything else. i feel almost personally responsible in a way, which sucks. im sorry to all the people who did not enjoy or care about solas, im sorry that you really did get nothing out of this game. i hope we can all be comforted by the trilogy we have and will always have, and i hope we can all take what good parts we enjoyed out of veilguard and make peace with the rest

leaving this youtube comment my friend sent me which is unfortunately a summary of how i feel about the game as a whole.

#tay plays datv #datv #datv spoilers #datv critical #nobody needs to read this but fgdjkfgjk if you do #i hope it is clear that i write from a perspective of profound love for this series and all its characters.

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darling-i-read-it · 1 year ago

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Convenience and Desire

Johnny Cage x fem!reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: heavy allusions to smut (eventual smut basically but i got lazy)

Author’s Note: i main kitana cause she’s powerful and beautiful and a good leader and intelligent. But beside her i play johnny because he’s hot and dumb and i love him with my whole heart.

Summary: You and Johnny work together often and go to blow off some steam.

Song: unironically listened to hey baby by pitbull while writing this. feel like johnny would be proud

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif) (can't wait to play this little guy right here even though dilf johnny has my entire soul)

Johnny Cage’s smile was infectious. The way it curved was practically a trademark. It was shiny like a cartoon, almost too good to be real. He tossed it at oncomers, at girls who even half looked his ways, at people who could potentially elevate his status, at DJ’s who played songs he liked.

It was annoying.

You stood beside him, not sure how you had gotten caught up with him. Raiden had assured you that you were both some of Earthrealms best fighters, even if there was a bit of a personality shift. You weren’t sure how one ‘saving the world’ mission had turned into two, which turned into three. Eventually someone decided you worked well together and you were constantly shoved into the same space. When had convenience become necessity?

Johnny smiled at Liu Kang, who returned it with a gentle gaze. Why couldn’t you have been paired together with someone like Liu? He could forever pine after Kitana and you would work well together.

“Are you even listening?” You were broken from your thoughts by Kung Lao. His voice cut through your annoyance, making you snap out of it.

“Yes. Yeah, sorry.”

“Geez and usually I’m the one who doesn’t know how to listen.” Johnny nudged you. You couldn’t even muster an eye roll. Your smile is distracting Johnny. Even the thought made you gag. When had convenience become desire?

“Thank you for your help,” you finally said, ignoring Johnny. “We couldn’t have done it without you. Your assistance is always greatly appreciated.”

“We could have done it without you but that would’ve taken too long,” Johnny quipped. You ignored him. Liu smiled gently and nodded once.

“It’s always a pleasure to work with you Y/N. Are you both heading back home after this?” You nodded, finally glancing at Johnny.

“We should. I have to report back to Raiden on all of this and I’m sure you two have lives to get on with. Plus, Johnny has an early bedtime.” He snorted.

“I’m glad you were able to reach us in time. Please don’t hesitate to call if you need anything else,” Kung Lao said. His voice had more of an edge to it. You knew Kung Lao less well than you knew Liu Kang. You tended to stray from the vastly magical aspects of earth realms defenders. “Do you read him a bedtime story too?” he quipped.

“You all are acting like I didn’t help out there,” Johnny argued. He took his sunglasses off, revealing his eyes. He cleared his throat, like he was going to say something fancy. “Personally, I plan to celebrate our win. I know I’m going to drag her with me, you guys wanna come?”

“Where are you going?”

“Dunno. Bars. Clubs. Wherever there’s drinks, music and ladies.” You closed your eyes hard and shook your head. You would have put your fingers to your temple if you wanted to be any more stereotypical and feed into Johnny’s cartoonish personality.

“Probably not the best idea for a bunch of people with superpowers to get drunk,” Liu commented. You snorted and the tension of the fight officially dissipated. There was quiet laughter coming from the two in front of you, usually on the heroic stoic side.

“Just us two then!”

“Who says I’m coming?” you questioned. He rolled his eyes, gesturing for you two to head back home. You had the ability to conjure portals to any place you knew of. It came in handy when getting out of sticky situations, from which there always were some with Johnny.

“We should bar hop in Ireland,” he suggested.

“I’ll see you guys around,” you finally said. They nodded, ghosts of smiles on their faces. You turned around and Johnny stepped aside, allowing you to lift your hands. You had no interest in going to Ireland, where you were fairly sure it was early morning anyway. Instead you opened the portal to a place Johnny knew well; the streets of Hollywood.

“Fuck yeah!” he exclaimed. “You’re the best babe.” You rolled your eyes and let him walk in ahead of you. Liu Kang and Kung Lao watched as you entered your own portal and then it closed shut behind you, leaving only a faint singe in its wake.

“Are they together?” Kung Lao asked. Liu narrowed his eyes and shrugged.

“I’m actually not sure.”

“I didn’t think they were but I kind of think they might be.”

“Yeah no, I could definitely see it.”

“Maybe we should have gone clubbing with them.”

“Could’ve been educational.”

Thankfully for Johnny, most of his fighting clothes could double as clubbing clothes. As he emerged from your portal he was in the thick of LA foot traffic and he fit right in. You on the other hand looked a little out of place with your padded armor and knives at your side. Though thankfully, most people seemed too drunk to care.

“I’ll come pick you up at 4am?” you questioned. He shook his head.

“Oh c’mon,” he said. He walked up to you and he had to get close because you could barely hear him over all the commotion. “Loosen up.” You looked in his eyes that were usually shaded by his sunglasses. It was a nice change of place to see that movie star complexion up close and not covered in blood. Though you’d be lying if you said he didn’t look good after a fight.

“Just for a little bit.”

“That’s the spirit.” His voice was low and sultry. If he knew how to do anything it was to seduce a woman and you knew that. You knew Johnny Cage better than most. He gestured for you to follow him through the crowd. “I know this place like the back of my hand. I used to live down here after auditions.”

“How long were you auditioning unsuccessfully?” you teased.

“Not as long as most.” You walked closely behind him. People were rushing by, wearing barely any clothing, laughing with their friends. You admired their carefree nature. Johnny’s shiny jacket fit in perfectly in the sequined crowd. You pushed yourself against him when others tried to get between you and he made no snarky comment like you expected.

Finally he made a sharp turn. You looked up at the name of the place but you only saw long loopy bright letters. You half thought he had brought you to a strip club when he got to the door. You noticed the line that wrapped around the corner.

“Johnny, there’s a line,” you said.

“They know me.”

You rolled your eyes. Always with that mentality. He approached the bouncer.

“Hey,” he exclaimed, enunciating the y. “Mark, right? How’s the wife?” You expected the angry answer that always came after Johnny asked about someone's wife.

“Hey man!” the bouncer said, giving him one of those bro handshakes you could never understand. “Where you been?”

“Not doing many movies,” Johnny admitted. “Too busy saving the world and whatnot.”

“That’s cool, that’s cool. Go on in man, it’s nice to see you.” You tried to suppress your surprise. You started to walk forward but the bouncer stopped you before you could.

“She’s with me.”

“A little different than your usual crowd huh Johnny?”

“She’s better than them,” he said and it even sounded like he meant it. The bouncer's gaze followed you as you walked past.

You emerged in the club. Clearly exclusive but large. There were two floors and the one you were on was filled with staggering people. Music blasted. You couldn’t locate the speakers but they had to be close with how aggressive they were on your ear drums. You stuck close to Johnny as he weaved through, saying hi to people as he passed.

Your place had always been the fight. This was clearly Johnny’s place.

He turned back to you.

“Pretty cool huh?”

“Not bad Cage. Not bad.” He smiled back at you. He approached the bar area. It was a clear table that was glowing from the inside. He found an easy place to order and he did it for both of you. He had gone with you to a bar or two. He knew your tastes.

Drinks came quickly. He put it on his tab.

He leaned his back against the table, handing you your glass. You took it.

“So this is your world?”

“Yes ma’am. Thoughts? Concerns? Comments?” You looked around. People were high or drunk or happy. You had left the war and blood outside. For now, there was only every form of ecstasy that man could come up with.

“I can understand why you like it.”

“And…”

“And I like it. Is that what you wanna hear?” You took a sip of your drink. He took a drink of his as well, narrowing his eyes on you. You and Johnny had spent so much time together on the field. Usually the occasional drink was limited to both of you being exhausted. You suddenly felt like you had just woken up rejuvenated.

“That is what I wanted to hear. Thank you.” The pulse of the club felt aggressive. They were playing some shitty Pitbull song that everyone got excited to hear. “You ever wonder why Raiden set us up together?”

“In the working capacity? Yeah, I do.”

“Got any working theories?”

“You needed a babysitter and I’m patient.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Your lips turned into a smile. His movie star grin had returned, the one that looked so easy to kiss. “Eyes are up here sweetheart.” You met his gaze. He was starring.

“Wanna dance Cage?”

“Thought you’d never ask.” You took off your jacket and tossed it on the bar table. You had replacements lining the walls. With it off it revealed your arms and the tightly woven fighting armor you kept. It was thinner than it should be but you didn’t need the protection. Johnny watched your back as you walked to the dance floor. You took your hair out of its tight updo that was keeping it out of your face. It fell and you brushed your hands through it, smoothing it out.

The lighting was lower there. People’s bodies were melding together, kissing but not knowing whose lips were on the other end. You didn’t even bother looking around. The music that had been pounding in your head since you walked in was now against your chest. Johnny was swaying and you didn’t even notice you were too. He put his hands on your hips and you didn’t stop him. You put your arms over his shoulders, straightening them out so that your fingers were clasped together. Your torsos were flush, glued to each other.

The tension of the day's battle loosened in your shoulders. You were bruised but not broken. You were safe, here, with Johnny. In the middle of the dance floor without a thought in your head other than his eyes. You wished he had left his jacket behind as well but you knew he was too materialistic for that. Your smile looked drunken but your head was clear.

When had convenience become need?

Johnny pushed you closer. Now your bodies were together, dancing together, a sly smile on his face. You brought your hands down, against his chest and then around his torso, beneath his jacket where he wasn’t wearing a shirt. It was his problem he never seemed to wear armor to a fight.

He had goosebumps. You smirked. When you looked at his face you noticed his eyes had traveled south from your lips.

“Eyes are up here Cage,” you teased. He snapped back up.

“You wanna be real classic and go to the bathroom?” he questioned. You rolled your eyes. He pressed you even closer to him, if that were at all possible.

“What, you don’t have your own hotel room upstairs or something?” His movie star grin came in full force. “Raiden’s gonna kill us.”

“Raiden’s gonna kill you. He knows I make bad decisions.” His head dipped, slipping his lips onto yours. You were actually taken aback. His lips tasted like chapstick and beer. You put your palms flat against his back and then scrunched your hands so that your nails dug into his skin.

It hadn’t occurred to you until then that Johnny was nearly indestructible. The thought was alluring.

His lips left yours. You had stopped dancing to kiss him. The music seemed to muffle.

“That okay?” he whispered.

“Perfect.”

“Good. Been wanting to do it for a minute.” You grabbed his arm and turned back to the crowd. He pouted as his hands left your body. You dragged him through the crowd, weaving through the other people having the time of their lives. “Bathrooms the other way.”

You finally came to a space that wasn’t completely filled with people. You stopped abruptly and Johnny ran into you. You lifted your hands in a formation he knew well. He didn’t even try to hide the smirk when the portal opened revealing his own room. He walked in before you and you followed, leaving only a soot behind.

#johnny cage x reader #johnny cage x fem!reader #mortal kombat imagines #johnny cage fanfiction #mortal kombat fanfiction #spicy tag

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months ago

Text

Crushed 19

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, manipulation, cheating, sleazy behaviour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your next door neighbours hook up, bringing to surface deep-seated feelings.

Characters: Colin Shea, Jonathan Pine

Note: it's hump day, let's get humped.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like my dog loves belly rubs (that’s a lot). Take care. 💖

Jonathan doesn’t drive you back to your building. Instead, you walk with him through the halls to his condo. You stop outside the door as he slips the bags up to his wrist and unlocks the door. He holds it open and waves you inside.

You enter, rubbing your arm nervously. It’s been a long day. A long few days. You’re exhausted. You catch a yawn in your hand as you hug yourself with one arm and peer around.

“I’ll have to go into the office tomorrow. Can’t be avoided much longer,” he explains as he puts the bags on the side table, “you will stay here. To be safe.”

“Oh, uh, right,” you sway back and forth as you press your palm to the side of your neck, “um, I don’t mind--”

“I mind,” he interjects, “I can’t trust that animal not to act as what he is. Darling, you must think, yes? Learn from your mistakes. We both know he’s dangerous. I wouldn’t put you in such danger and I would hope you wouldn’t walk right into it.”

“I know, I wasn’t... I just... I wouldn’t want to impose,” your eyes drift away meekly, “that’s all.”

“Impose? Have I not made my feelings clear?” He approaches you, brushing his knuckles up your arm, “I cannot get enough of you, fawn.”

You smile but it’s hard. You feel weak. The day is only half done and you could keel over. He brings his hand up to cradle your cheek, “what is it?”

“Just tired,” you shrug.

“Mmm, how about... I’ll run you a nice hot bath. You can relax. We’ve done rather much today... you have been through even more,” he gives a doleful look, “you let me worry for everything. All will turn out, I’m certain.”

“I guess,” you purse your lips. It’s easy enough for him to say. He still has a job, you’re not so sure you do.

“Darling,” he brings a bent finger under your chin, tiling your head, “I will take care of you.”

Your lips part but you quickly close them. You don’t want to argue right now. You don’t want to point out that everything is still fresh and new. Or that he might not feel the same in a month or two. Or a year. Especially if you’re unemployed.

One day he’ll see how worthless you are.

“So let’s get that bath going,” he bends to kiss your forehead, “I’ve some bath salts which may help ease the tension. I’ll light a few candles...” he rambles as he turns and strides down the hallway. You follow after him reluctantly, as much as the bath sounds nice, you already feel like a burden.

You stand in the doorway as you watch him remove his jacket and roll up his sleeves. He fusses over the tub as of you’re not there. The water spills out into the deep porcelain basin and he stands. He turns and gestures to a towel on a silver bar.

“That is clean,” he says before he opens the tall cupboard near the sink, “bath salt... rose.”

He reads the canister before he uncaps it. He turns to add a sprinkle to the water, the floral aroma rising with the steam. He sets it aside and beckons you into the bathroom. You cross the tile as you play with the hem of your shirt.

He brushes past you and you turn to watch him go. You face the tub again and pull up your shirt. You let your pants slip down your legs and as you straighten, you hear him return. He places a three-wick candle on the ledge above the tub and lights it.

He looks at you, his eyes roving up and down, and he smirks, “I’m almost tempted to join you, darling, but alas, I do have a few things to tend to.”

“That’s... okay,” you murmur, hugging yourself as you stand in panty and bra.

He scoffs, “why are you playing shy, eh?” He nears and tickles along your collar bone, sending a shiver through you.

“I’m not, I’m... cold,” you lie and turn your attention to the tub.

“Mm, if you need any help warming up,” his fingers flutter up your neck before he retracts his touch, “should you need me, you need only call my name, fawn.”

“Alright,” you eke out.

You wait until he’s past you but don’t check to see if he’s gone. You strip down the rest of your clothes and near the tub. You lift your legs over the edge and sink into the water. You sigh as the warmth seeps into you.

You close your eyes as the water continues to lap down by your feet. You try to let the tension out. You’re thinking too much.

💔

You button up the shirt Jonathan left for you. You still feel uneasy as you slip into bed but you’re too tired to care. You might be invading his space but he doesn’t seem to mind much. Besides, the hot water has finished you off. You just want to sleep forever.

Your eyes roll back and you hide from the world. It doesn’t quite fade away, still vaguely present on the other side of your eyelids. That hazy itchiness settles in your head but the fog just won’t thicken to darkness. You’re awake, barely, kept conscious by the nerves rattling in your chest.

In your stupour, you remain vaguely aware of your unusual surroundings. Despite the threat that lingers on the other side of the walls, you can’t help but miss your apartment. It’s the first space that was truly your own. All that’s ruined.

You hear a dulcet tone, a low hum that’s soothing a much as it is stirring. You roll onto your side and grumble, peeling open your eyes as your ears prick. Jonathan’s voice precedes him into the room. You blink at him from the bed, curled up under the blankets as your warmth keeps you in place.

“Yes, I will have her there, never you worry,” he says breezily, “mm, yes, I’ve the time. I’ll add it to my calendar. Shouldn’t be any issue.” As you watch him, he meets your gaze and his brows flick up as he grins, “thanks, Eugenia, can’t wait. Yes, you have a wonderful night.”

He pulls the phone away from his ear and you recognise the case and the cracked protector. It’s yours. What the heck? You sit up and reach instinctively for him.

“Hey, that’s my phone,” you accuse.

“Yes, it was ringing and I thought you asleep. It was only your mother,” he drops the phone on the bed next to you. “I could hardly answer between messages from that pest you call a neighbour.”

“What?” You grasp the cell and slide it closer.

“She only wanted to confirm the time for the engagement party next weekend. You can wear one of your new dresses,” he explains as he goes to the wall mirror and checks his reflection, smoothing his hair before he unbuttons his collar. He works a path down the row and the fabric slackens around his shoulders. “I’ve made certain to make record of each message that creature sends. We may just need to consult authorities.”

“Colin? I—I blocked him.”

“Please do not say his name. It’s absolutely hideous, isn’t it?” He faces you as he shrugs off his shirt. “It seems he has found an alternative, that chit he keeps around.”

“Ally?” You wonder.

“Mmm, is that her name,” he drones as he dumps his shirt into the hamper. “Well, we needn’t worry about them much longer.”

He continues to undress as you pull yourself up against the pillows. Things just keep happening and you can’t keep up. You look up as he wears nothing but his short cotton boxers and nears the bed. You peek down at your phone and put it on the night table to right of the bed.

“I do think you should call your landlord and give notice sooner than later,” he climbs onto the foot of the bed.

“Notice?” You echo in confusion, “why--”

“You cannot go back, darling, it’s not safe,” he tugs at the blanket, pulling it away from your body, “I cannot in good conscience let you return.”

“But I—we can just let things mellow out, right? Colin will get over it--”

“I told you,” he grabs your ankle, “do not utter his name at me.”

He pulls you so you fall flat on your back. You throw your arms out and gasp as your head bounces onto the mattress. He separates your legs and perches between them. You lift yourself on your elbows, breathless, and stare at him.

“I can’t stay forever--”

“Did I ever say that?” He challenges, his blue eyes blazing up at you.

“No, but--”

“I understand things have escalated quickly, fawn, but we will figure it all out. I will be certain to clarify everything at the office, let them know it was simply not your doing,” his eyes cling to your face and narrow before slowly descending.

He glides his hands up your legs, crawling closer on his knees. He slides his touch beneath the loose shirt and tickles your naked skin. He sends a chill through you that speckles hotly. He feels your body, running his hands up and your torso as you quiver.

He slips his hands above the fabric as he kneels between your thighs. He unbuttons the shirt to your belly button, unveiling your chest and bending to dote on it. He cups one side as his mouth explores the other; nipping and nuzzle. You let out a pathetic noise as you cradle the back of his head.

You arch your back as his warmth draws you in and chases away your doubts. His long fingers soothe you and his intensity overpowers you. As much as this man has you uncertain, you cannot resist him. It feels nice to be wanted even if it isn’t who you wanted.

💔

Once more, you fall asleep in the afterglow of Jonathan’s attentions. How easily he can obfuscate your fears and doubts. How his touch can so easily distract you from the things that might keep you awake.

The weight of his arm settles over you, holding you to him, his hard long body coiled around yours. He keeps a leg curled between yours as his hot breath seeps into your scalp. You’re content, you’re safe.

Your sleep is only disturbed as he untangles himself carefully from you. You don’t rouse entirely, clinging to the pillow and dregs of fatigue. He tucks the blanket under your figure and the bed shifts with the absences of his weight. His scent lingers behind him.

You sink back down and fall flat on your back, spreading out across the mattress. The late night lull settles over you, lulling you down as the distant drone of Jonathan’s lilted voice further coaxes you. You moan through your slumber and roll onto his side, longing for him to return.

You blink and the blue digits of the clock have changed. Twenty minutes and he’s still not back. You shiver and flutter your eyelashes, rubbing your cheeks as you force yourself awake. You sit up dizzily, you can still hear him.

You shimmy to the edge of the bed and stand. You hug yourself as a shiver washes over your naked flesh. The button-up is lost somewhere in the bedding. You put your feet down softly as you pad across the room, following his timbre as it come between sharper tones.

You creep out into the hall, a bluish glow drawing you in. You follow the cool hardwood to the front room and hide in the dim as you squint. Jonathan has his phone in hand, the screen alight as his profile is limned in its shine. He watches it intently as you recognise the voice chirping from the speaker.

“That’s so lovely, dear, hope we can see you soon,” his mother chimes.

You waver on your feet. Oh, you shouldn’t listen.

“Will she be coming?” His father’s gristly accent comes through.

You pause before you can back up. Jonathan clicks his tongue, “yes, I think so.”

“Jon,” his mother titters, “oh, that’s so exciting! That’s... big.”

“Eh, yes, don’t think you ever let us meet one of the birds,” he father chides.

“Father, she’s not... don’t call her that,” Jonathan rebukes.

“I’m teasing, yeah?” The elder Pine chortles, “you’re gonna have to warn her about us. If that place has made you so soft, I shouldn’t want to scare the girl.”

“Father,” Jonathan utters once more, “she’s... not... She’s perfect.”

His mom squeals and giggles. You gulp and press yourself against the wall. What is he talking about? He’s talking about taking you somewhere. To his home? That’s a far way. Something he should probably ask you first. His mother is entirely correct; that’s big. His compliments cannot counteract the shock of his one-sided decision.

You sidle along the hallway, careful not to place your feet too heavily. As you near the bedroom, your elbow hits the frame and the thump casts silence through the apartment. Shoot.

You peer toward the front room and see Jonathan’s shadow closing in. He must have heard your misstep. You quickly flit into the room and ease into the bed. You pull the blankets over you and turn your back to the door. Your heart is racing.

You sense him in the doorway, watching you. Silent.

“Everything okay, son?” His father asks.

“Yes, it’s... fine,” Jonathan answers, “I’ll let you go. Wouldn’t want to wake her.”

“Oh yes, get some sleep,” his mother insists, “love ya.”

“Night, son.”

Jonathan crosses the room and you hear his phone meet the table on his side of the bed. The mattress dips as he climbs in and pulls the blanket over himself, nestling in close to you. He sighs and hums as he hugs you to him once more.

You lay, frozen and silent, praying he can’t feel your pulse.

“Did I wake you?” He whispers and kisses your crown.

You force a groan from your throat and feign grogginess, “hmm, oh, no...” You wiggle into the mattress and yawn, putting your hand over his.

“Back to sleep, darling,” he purrs as he nuzzles you.

#colin shea #jonathan pine #dark colin shea #dark!colin shea #dark jonathan pine #dark!jonathan pine #jonathan pine x reader #colin shea x reaader #what's your number?#the night manager #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #multifandom

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