#now he has good hearing aids though so it’s fine

[housewifebuck]

What languages to you speak/study?

English is my native language and I took Spanish and French in school for long enough that I can read/write it decently but in a spoken conversation I’m at like a 4 year old level 💀 I also know a fair amount of asl but I wouldn’t call myself fluent anymore (it’s been a long time since I had to use it)

[libraryofgage]

Good Vibrations Part One

Hello, it's me, back at it again with another Steddie AU.

Anyway, if I were tagging this AU, these would be the most important ones: Deaf Steve Harrington; Tooth-rotting Fluff; Getting Together

If you wanna be tagged in future parts, just let me know!

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;)

----

Steve has blown through three pairs of hearing aids in the past year. The first pair had lasted a few years and needed replacement because of normal wear and tear. The second pair was sacrificed during that fight with Jonathan. He hadn't been wearing them, but they'd been in Steve's pocket, and he'd landed at just the right angle to feel them shatter. The third pair was taken by the Russians because, despite Robin's shouting and cursing at them for being dumbasses (and this was before she actually knew what they were for), they accused him of recording their kidnapping and torture.

Honestly, he wouldn't recommend fighting Russians and Billy and Mind Flayers and driving while nearly totally deaf.

The funniest part of it all, though, is that Steve doesn't even use hearing aids regularly. He normally only wears them at home. The pair lost to Jonathan were present because, well, that whole day had been a lot for Steve, and he needed the comfort of knowing he could stop reading lips the moment it became too exhausting for him. The pair lost to the Russians was because he'd been getting ready to tell Robin about being deaf. She'd already clocked the weird things he does (well, weird to her, normal to Steve), and he figured letting her in on the big secret would bring them a little closer.

Of course, that didn't go the way he expected. Robin thought he was confessing love and decided to beat him to the punch. That's how he learned Robin is a lesbian, and Steve couldn't let her be the only one admitting to something like that, so he told her about being bi and his long-standing, hopeless crush. And being deaf. But the bi with a crush thing seemed more important in the moment. She took it in stride, it brought them closer, and then Robin asked if Steve could teach her sign language.

Which meant that Steve had to learn sign language because he never had. Between not wanting to feel even more different than he already did and trying to convince his parents that, really, everything was fine and he didn't need to go to a special school for deaf and hard-of-hearing kids, he'd never learned. Learning it had somehow felt like an admission of weakness, and that was the last thing he wanted. But he learned for Robin, and they stumbled through sign language together, creating new signs only they knew.

But that's all in the past now, and Steve is working his ass off at Family Video to afford a new pair because he refuses to ask his parents for money. If he asks them, they'll come back, and that's the last thing he wants. They don't need to have all their worries confirmed that Steve is helpless, and he doesn't want them anywhere near Hawkins "Hellscape" Indiana.

So. Working his ass off, taking extra shifts, and babysitting the kids as much as he can to make up for the whole Friends and Family Discount he gives their parents. He's exhausted, but he gets to recharge somewhat during his lunch break.

About a ten-minute walk from the Family Video is a record store, which Steve has started visiting daily to just breathe. The lone worker in the store is usually too busy listening to her own music to pay Steve any attention, letting him wander and try to determine which records will best serve him.

Steve drifts over to the rock and heavy metal section, hoping to find a new album but unsurprised when he doesn't. He browses through them anyway, moving past Metallica and Black Sabbath and Iron Maiden. He already has all of these albums on his shelf at home. He has the cassette tapes for them, too.

But he really wants something new. He likes the novelty of experiencing unfamiliar vibrations through the speaker, letting them thrum through his fingertips and into his bones. It's fun and relaxing, and after all the bullshit he's been through lately, he probably deserves something relaxing.

After glancing over a few more familiar albums, Steve sighs and glances at the counter by the door. The lone worker is standing there, headphones over her ears, and idly flipping through a magazine. She's chewing gum, and Steve braces himself for the sheer hell of trying to read her lips without making it obvious he's reading her lips while she's got something in her mouth to disrupt the normal shape of words and sounds.

But he has to try. Steve takes one more deep breath before walking over, shoving his hands into his pockets when he comes to a stop at the counter. The girl raises a hand, motioning for him to wait, so he stays quiet as she finishes reading her page. She flips to the next one before looking up, not making any move to pull her headphones off.

"Hi. Do you have any new rock or metal albums coming in soon," Steve asks, feeling the vibrations of speech in his throat and hoping his words aren't too loud.

They don't seem to be. The girl doesn't flinch or pull back. She just looks him up and down, taking in the polo shirt and the nice khakis and the Family Video vest he forgot to take off before leaving. Finally, her neck and shoulders jerk slightly, and Steve knows she's huffed in annoyance. "No," she says, the word clear enough in the shape of her lips for Steve to know it immediately.

He frowns slightly, his fingernails digging into his palms. Steve wouldn't mind just leaving now, but something keeps him there. He just...he really wants new music. He needs something new. "Are there gonna be any shows nearby?" he asks.

The girl rolls her eyes and says something, her mouth distorted by gum-chewing. Steve can barely make out the words "you" and "check" from her response. Thankfully, it's accompanied by a vague gesture at something behind him. Steve looks over his shoulder to see a bulletin board with flyers plastered across it.

"Right. Thanks," he says, nodding to her before walking over. The flyers are all different colors with various fonts that scream for Steve's attention. Some of them are for bands, some are advertisements of garage sales or instruments in need of a new home, and others are just business flyers from stores nearby.

He's seen the bulletin board before, but he's never actually paid attention to it. Steve has always been laser-focused on browsing the records. But now, Steve carefully reviews each flyer advertising shows. Some are for comedy shows, which he immediately dismisses. One seems promising, but then he sees how far it is, and Steve definitely can't do an overnight trip like that.

Finally, Steve sees a flyer advertising a show at the Hideout later that week. It's close enough that he won't be out overnight. The place is kind of seedy, but Steve figures he can find some corner near the stage to hide. Or he can bring Robin and let her help him navigate any potential social situations. He tugs the flyer off the board, gaze lingering on the "Corroded Coffin" emblazoned across the top.

He knows the band. Of course, he knows the band. He's extremely familiar with their singer. From a distance. Honestly, Eddie Munson probably doesn't have the best impression of him, but Steve's heart never really cared about that. Because Eddie is like everything Steve wants to be: he's loud and unafraid of being so, he doesn't care about his image and how others perceive him, and he looks like his laugh sounds beautiful. Steve wouldn't know if he's actually right about that last point, but Eddie throws his head back when he laughs, eyes crinkled and hand over his stomach like his muscles ache.

His mouth suddenly feels dry, but he's also filled with unprecedented courage. Steve has graduated (barely), and that means a significantly lower chance of running into Eddie during the day if watching the show somehow goes wrong.

Steve folds the flyer into quarters and stuffs it into his back pocket. He'll be overly aware of it being there until Robin starts her shift and he can show it to her, but that's okay. He throws a quick thanks over his shoulder as he leaves the shop, glancing up at the bell he can't hear that signals the door's opening. He vaguely remembers what bells are supposed to sound like (he'd heard a few before losing the ability to hear them), but he doesn't let himself dwell on it.

Instead, he focuses on the trip back to Family Video, keeping an eye on the road to watch for any cars he wouldn't notice otherwise.

----

When the final bell rings, Eddie Munson can't get out of class fast enough. He'd been packed for the last five minutes, and he slid out of his seat the moment that first peal rang out. He has a gig to prepare for, and every second counts. At least, each second counts until he notices something (or someone) that could prove entertaining for a while.

He spots Dustin alone near one of the exits, and Eddie decides to relieve the kid of his isolation. He waits until he's behind Dustin to shout, "Henderson!" and throw his arm over the kid's shoulders, ignoring the way he jumps like he'd been expecting an attack.

"Holy shit!" Dustin shrieks, jerking back to look up at Eddie. "Don't do that, man, you're gonna give me a heart attack."

Eddie snorts, waving away Dustin's concern as he continues toward the exit. The general flow of students trying to get out helps him along, and Dustin doesn't seem to realize they're actually moving until they've gotten into direct sunlight. "You're fine," Eddie says, "Anyway, whatcha doing all alone, Henderson? Lose your way?"

"No, I have...stuff to do today," Dustin says, shrugging as he blinks to acclimate to the sunlight.

Oh, yeah, way too cryptic for Eddie to not dig for more. "Stuff? What kinda stuff? Got a hot date? Going shopping with your mom?" he asks, and then he gasps dramatically and moves to stand in Dustin's way. He puts both hands on his shoulders and very seriously says, "Be honest, Henderson, you're seeing another DM, aren't you?"

Dustin stares at him for a few seconds before rolling his eyes and shrugging his hands off. "Who else in this town DMs?" he asks, "Other than Will, I guess, but he's still working on a campaign."

"Fair," Eddie concedes, "so, whatcha really doing?"

After a few seconds of getting nudged by the students around them, Dustin sighs and says, "I have chores, okay? But that doesn't sound cool to say, does it?"

Fair. Eddie nods in agreement and moves out of Dustin's way, continuing to follow him. "So, what, your mom picking you up today?" he asks.

"No, Steve."

"Oh, the famous Steve."

Dustin nods, looking over the parking lot before pointing to one end. "Yeah, he's awesome," Dustin says as Eddie follows the direction of his finger.

And standing there, leaning against the hood of his car and looking to the side where a group of trees is swaying in the breeze, is Steve Harrington. Steve "The Hair" Harrington. King Steve. The worst thing, Eddie thinks, is that Steve looks good. His hair is still perfect, of course, and his stupid little striped shirt is pulling against his biceps and riding up just enough for Eddie to see a tiny sliver of tanned skin above his jeans. He looks a little tense, but Eddie chalks that up to him being back on the campus after already graduating.

"Harrington? You've been talking about Steve Harrington this whole time?" Eddie asks, his voice a little strained, "How the fuck do you know Steve Harrington?"

"He's my babysitter," Dustin says, his voice implying that much should have been obvious, but Eddie wants to grab his shoulders and shake until his head rolls off.

Steve Harrington doesn't babysit. He doesn't know nerds that talk about D&D. He doesn't drive nerds around. At least, he never did in high school. Granted, Eddie never actually talked to Steve, but everybody knew that Steve Harrington was too cool for, well, anything that wasn't the typical jock and popular guy shit.

As he's thinking about the last time he saw Steve Harrington (in the halls, while the guy had bruises and looked worse for wear), they get within shouting distance. And Eddie has zero impulse control when Wayne isn't around, so he doesn't think before shouting, "Hey, Harrington!"

Next to him, Dustin whips his head to glare at Eddie. And Steve Harrington doesn't fucking react. He just keeps staring at that group of trees like it's the most fascinating thing in the world. "Dude," Dustin says, grabbing Eddie's arm and yanking harshly, "don't shout like that."

Eddie frowns, anger beginning to simmer in his stomach at the complete lack of acknowledgment. "Why are you upset with me?" he asks, gesturing at Steve as he continues, "I'm not the one being a douchebag here."

Dustin opens his mouth, about to say something, only to snap it shut once more. He frowns like he's just realized he can't say something, and huffs with frustration. "Just...just don't do that," he finally says, keeping a hand on Eddie's arm and dragging him across the parking lot. And, yeah, something is definitely weird here.

Instead of just walking up to Steve, they make a large arch until they're within Steve's line of sight.

Eddie watches as Steve notices them, seeing Dustin first and pushing off the car. He relaxes for a split second until he sees Eddie and his shoulders tense again.

Great.

Once they're close enough for Eddie to count the moles above the collar of Steve's shirt, Dustin grins and says, "Hey, Steve." But it's odd, because Eddie has never heard Dustin talk this slow or this carefully, like he's doing his best to enunciate his words.

Steve flashes a grin and ruffles Dustin's hair. "Hey, twerp, you're late," he says. He then glances at Eddie, his grin becoming a little smaller, and says, "Hey, Munson."

Wait. Steve Harrington knows Eddie's name? And he called him by it? He said Munson, not Freak. Eddie stares at Steve for a few seconds before nodding. "Harrington," he says, "how the fuck did you become a babysitter?"

Is he just imagining things, or is Steve looking at his mouth? Like, really intensely. He's definitely not, because Steve looks up after a few seconds with a raised eyebrow. "I needed some extra cash. Also, don't swear around Dustin. I'm the one who gets in trouble when he curses in front of his mom."

Something about the words makes Eddie grin. Never in a million years would he have guessed that he'd be talking to Steve Harrington. And he would have laughed you into Mordor itself if you suggested their conversation would be about Dustin Henderson swearing in front of his mother. "What's his mom do when he swears?" he asks.

Because he can feel the conversation veering into something potentially embarrassing for him, Dustin lets go of Eddie and starts pushing Steve toward the driver's side of his car. "Okay, we gotta go. So many chores, so little time," he says, his voice back to that normal speed and enunciation.

Steve frowns slightly, looking down at Dustin and tilting his head just slightly. "What?" he asks. Instead of actually answering, Dustin just makes some vague gesture with his hand and looks at the car. "Oh, right. Go ahead and get in the car. And, uh, see you later, Munson."

"Is that a promise?" Eddie asks before he can think better of it.

Steve pauses, looking at Eddie's mouth with a slight scrunch to his nose. He seems to be considering something as Dustin scrambles into the passenger seat, watching them with narrowed eyes. Honestly, Eddie is surprised he's not blasting the horn to hurry Steve up. Finally, Steve comes to a decision and meets Eddie's eyes again. "Your band has a show tonight, right? At the Hideout? I was planning to go. So, yeah, I'll see you then, I guess."

And with that, like he hasn't just fucking rocked Eddie's world, Steve Harrington gets into his car. He makes sure Dustin is buckled before waving at Eddie and pulling out of the parking spot.

Eddie finds himself waving back, staring dumbly at the car as it pulls onto the street. It only hits him a few seconds later that Steve Harrington is coming to his show. At the Hideout. His metal show. A Corroded Coffin gig at the Hideout.

Holy. Shit.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiesmuttyseptember.

Ready For It?

Week #1 Prompt: Mile High Club | Word Count: 2589 | Rating: E | POV: Steve | CW: Sex Acts, Risk of Being Heard, Alcohol Consumption | Tags: Famous Corroded Coffin, Road Manager Steve, Established Relationship, Steve Will Make Good on an Old Promise, But The Guys of Corroded Coffin Don't Wish to Hear It

"Are you ready for it?" Eddie asks, standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. Steve hears it creak, and rattle, under his weight. It's a door that's not made to be touched or used, only looked at, Steve's pretty sure.

"Don't lean on that. What's it?" Steve asks, not looking up from the binder that's on the desk in front of him. He has a thousand things to look over before they land, and he really doesn't have time for whatever nonsense Eddie's proposing. 

And Steve knows Eddie well enough to know it really could be anything that he's trying to break Steve's concentration with. A tray of shots. A racoon he smuggled on board the plane. Or just his finger sticking out of the fly of his jeans, so he can pretend it's his dick. 

Nothing would surprise him at this point. Between the four of them, he's seen everything twice at this point. Okay, maybe not the raccoon. But Eddie would, if he could just get one caught.

"It," Eddie stresses again, but not elaborating any further. 

Steve finally looks up, "It, like, the clown? What do you mean, it? You love to talk, use your words."

Steve's sure he sounds snappish, and short-tempered. But he's always this way before a show, and Eddie knows it. He entered at his own risk. There's too much to do, and never enough time.

That's why Steve gets this back section of the plane, the only bit of privacy on board, unless he wants to hang out in the john. So, he squirrels away back here so he can work while they're flying from show to show. It's technically a bedroom, and there is a bed that any of them are welcome to use to sleep while Steve works, as long as they are fucking quiet about it. 

Eddie's never quiet, though. 

And today surely won't be the moment that changes. 

Eddie laughs, amused and delighted, and it's a good sound, so Steve relaxes against his will, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Spit it out," Steve says, raising an eyebrow, then watches as Eddie pulls the flimsy accordion door closed behind him. It's not much of a door, more of a paper-thin screen, and Steve hopes whatever Eddie's about to say is something he's fine with the rest of the band hearing, because. Well. Door basically made of tissue paper and paper clips.

Lean on it, and you're definitely crashing through, as if you're the Kool-Aid Man, and that's why Steve just leaves it pushed open all the time. He's scared if any of them touch it, they'll destroy it and then they'll have to pay some ungodly amount of money to replace a shitty excuse for a fucking door.

Eddie flops on the bed, or what passes for one at the back of a small, private plane. For as much as this costs to lease, Steve really thinks it should be a little more sturdy in the furniture department. 

Steve watches as Eddie then runs his hands over his body, down his chest, finally settling on framing his crotch with his hands. 

"That's it?" Steve questions, trying not to laugh, but he's smiling. He can't not. Eddie's ridiculous. But he loves him. 

"C'mon, you promised we'd join the mile high club. Let's do it now."

Steve had promised that, a long time ago, when it seemed highly unlikely that he'd ever have to make good on the deal. Eddie wanted to do it on a commercial flight once upon a time, and Steve preferred to not have an audience of three-hundred and an indecent exposure arrest on his record when the plane touched down.

So, he'd promised that when Eddie made it big, and had his own private plane, they'd do it then.

Fucker probably went and did it just to spite Steve. 

But Steve smiles, "You can't be serious. They are right out there. They can hear every word we're saying-"

"We can!" Gareth yells from the other side of the sad excuse for a door, "And we are formally requesting that this not happen. We voted."

Eddie laughs, and shouts back, "You don't get to vote on whether I have sex or not! This is not a fucking democracy!"

"We do. We did. It is," Goodie says back, interjecting, not even raising his voice. He doesn't need to, nothing is blocking the sound, and Steve can hear all three of them cackling. He's sure they're each three drinks into the mini bar by now. 

He really should go take it away. They've got a show tonight, and he needs everybody to be able to stand on their own two feet. Well, Gareth just has to be able to sit. But Steve's not gonna remind him of that. Give him an inch, he'll take a mile.

Eddie sticks out his bottom lip. 

"You'll trip on that lip, if you keep it up," Steve says, looking back down at his tour bible. 

"Steve," Eddie whines. 

Steve closes his binder, and crawls up on the bed, until he's hovering over Eddie's face, whispering, "We will. I don't renegade on my deals, you know that. But not right now. Wait until we're at least halfway alone."

Eddie's about to argue, Steve can tell, he always can, when they hear an acoustic guitar plucking out the melody to Let's Get It On. Then it's followed by laughing, and Gareth drumming on something with his hands, and Goodie making bass noises with his mouth. 

Eddie laughs, "Okay. Point taken."

And Steve's fucking thrilled, because those three already know more about their sex life than Steve would ever prefer. 

"Alright, alright!" Eddie shouts, and they howl as they stop. 

Eddie's big eyes are still pouting, but he nods, ever so slightly.

"Nap with me at least?" Eddie asks.

Steve looks at his watch, figures out the remaining duration of the flight plan, and decides he probably has enough time for a short nap.

"That I can do," Steve says, and crawls on the bed, curling against Eddie's side. 

"I really wanted to join that club," Eddie says. "I wanna get my wings."

Steve laughs, "That's not how you get wings"

"It could be," Eddie stresses. And yeah, Steve supposes it could.

"Okay. You will," Steve promises. Just, hopefully when everybody else is knocked the fuck out. 

They have almost no privacy from each other, as is, but doing that with them right there would be ridiculous. They'd never hear the end of it. 

Eddie rolls off the bed, standing up, and starts removing his jeans. Steve's seen this move before. He knows the ending, and waggles his finger, shutting that shit down. 

Eddie doesn't listen. He never does. And the jeans hit the ground, the heavy belt buckle reverberating as it lands. 

Then he's standing there in his boxer briefs. Hand fondling his dick. 

Steve shakes his head. 

Eddie pantomimes jacking himself off, then points at his eyes, then at Steve, then at his own eyes again. 

Steve rolls his eyes. There's no way in hell Eddie can stand there and jerk off with Steve watching, and stay completely quiet. 

But if Eddie wants to embarrass himself, which probably isn't even possible, then he can go right ahead. As long as Steve doesn't have to be involved in any compromising ways.

So, Steve folds his hands behind his head, propping himself up, and crosses his legs at the ankle, getting comfortable. 

Then raises his eyebrows, like, I'm waiting. 

Eddie wastes no time, he steps out of his underwear, and strokes himself one, twice, then holds up a finger. Telling Steve to wait. Steve waits as Eddie bends over, bare ass mooning him, and Steve smiles. 

He's never prepared for anything. 

He finally digs around in his duffle until he comes up with the lube and raises his eyebrows, slicking up his hand, and going back to stroking. 

He tilts his head back, exposing his throat, and Steve looks between that length of pale skin and his hard cock sliding in and out of his fist. The soft sound of his strokes, the sight of the head of his cock appearing and disappearing, his other hand on his chest, playing with the ring through his nipple.

Fucker.

It's working on Steve, of course it is, even if he's not gonna cave and get fucked right now. But he'll enjoy the show, and has to force himself to not give in and join in. He won't give Eddie the satisfaction.

Eddie adjusts his head back upright, and catches Steve's eyes. Then he looks down at his slick cock, gazing at his own hand as if he isn't the one doing it to himself.

And they both watch. The slide, the firm grip of his talented, calloused fingers, and Steve lets out a small involuntary noise.

That's all it takes. Eddie's gonna come. Steve can see it in the shudder that rolls through his body, can see it in the tension in his stomach, his forearm, as he slows his stroke as he looks around for something to come in, to not make a fucking mess. Unprepared, as always.

Steve takes pity on him, and sits up, scooting towards the edge of the bed, letting Eddie slot between his thighs. 

Then he lowers his head, and opens his mouth. 

Eddie keeps stroking, and then slips the head of his cock past Steve's lips, the underside of his length rubbing against Steve's tongue, as he thrusts in once, twice, shudders and bites back a whine as he pushes all the way in, coming.

Steve closes around him, bobbing slightly, and swallowing as Eddie chuckles. Steve lets go, and licks his lips. 

Eddie bends down, slick hand finding Steve's cheek, and Steve can't even complain as he kisses him. Then Eddie's crawling onto the bed and falling face first into his pillow, sure to be asleep in a minute or less. 

Steve slides back off the bed, wipes his face with Eddie's shirt, and goes back to work at the desk. 

The show is textbook, running smooth and on schedule, and then they are wheels up again just a couple hours after. Off to the next one. The pace of this tour is faster than any other they've been on before. 

Steve's balancing the books from the night, when Eddie very carefully slides through the flimsy door, slotting the accordion door into place behind him. Turning the lock that can only be decorative. Steve had heard them out there doing shots and playing cards, the noise slowly dwindling as they wound down, the adrenaline finally fading.

"Everyone's asleep," Eddie whispers, "Now? Can it be now?"

"Didn't we already check that off the list?" Steve teases him. 

"That didn't count," Eddie hisses, eyes pleading. 

Eddie had somehow conned the band into playing a metal version of Learning to Fly during their encore earlier, really stressing the "I'm learning to fly, but I ain't got wings" portion of the song. Steve had heard him loud and clear.

Steve looks at him, standing there looking so hopeful, and laughs, "Okay. It can be now."

Eddie smiles so fucking wide. He's adored by fans worldwide, he just stood in front of a roaring stadium crowd a few hours ago, for god's sake, but Steve knows it's somehow still him that Eddie most wants attention from.

And he'll damn well give it to him.

Steve's facedown on the bed, and Eddie's grinding into him so slowly, trying to not make any noise. Not that he thinks anything would wake the rest of them up at this point in the night, but still.

Eddie's doing such good fucking work that Steve wants to moan. To whine. To scream. He doesn't know how Eddie has the drive, the stamina, after a whole night on stage. He just never stops, and right now, Steve is the lucky beneficiary of all that boundless energy.

And he can't help it, Steve lets out a muffled whine and Eddie covers his whole back, pressing into him, "Be quiet, sweetheart." 

Steve nods. He can be quiet. He can. 

Eddie doesn't move, just stays laying on top of him, his full weight pressing Steve down into the mattress as he slowly grinds his dick right into Steve's prostate.

It's torture.

It's hell.

It's fucking goddamn perfect.

Just a slow, firm roll of his hips, pushing up into him, over and over, and Steve is gonna come. 

The moan starts to escape his lips, and Eddie's hand is suddenly over his mouth, meant to silence him, but all it does is push him right over the edge. Body spasming as he comes into the sheets of the leased plane bed. 

Eddie chuckles, thrusting another half a dozen times, before coming inside him. He releases Steve's mouth, and Steve sighs, Eddie collapsing on top of him. Still deep inside. Right where he belongs.

"Fuck," Eddie whispers, and Steve laughs.

Fuck indeed.

"Oh, gross," Steve hears, and opens one eye. Gareth is standing in the doorway of the bedroom, looking at them laying on the stripped bed, the dirty sheets balled up in the corner, on the floor.

"I thought I locked that," Eddie says, not even opening his eyes.

At least they aren't naked. It could be worse. It really is a fucking worthless door, though.

"Twenty minutes to landing," Gareth says, "You need to get your asses in seats."

"Says who?" Eddie mutters.

"The pilot, asshole," Gareth answers.

Eddie groans, not moving, but Steve rolls out of the bed. Cars should be waiting at the airport to take them to a hotel so they can get some actual rest, and showers, before the show tonight. He definitely needs one.

"Eddie," Steve says, "get up."

"No," Eddie says, and Steve laughs. Now he's suddenly too tired to do anything. His motivation clearly all dried up since he got what he wanted.

"Yes," Steve says, pulling his shirt over his head.

Eddie mutters and grumbles, but flings himself off of the mattress, falling to his knees on the floor of the plane, crawling around, grabbing at his clothes. Eyes still closed. Hands reaching out, patting around, like he's a little raccoon looking for food.

It's a method of getting dressed, Steve supposes. Not a good one. But a method, nonetheless.

Eventually, they slide into their seats and buckle up, just in time to feel the decent starting, and Steve looks at Eddie. Eyes closed again, already falling back asleep. He reaches over, and slides the needle of the pin through Eddie's shirt.

Eddie opens his eyes, and looks down to see what Steve's doing.

They are a pair of golden wings, like children get to celebrate their first flight. Steve had asked their private pilot if he had any when they landed earlier, but he hadn't. However, when they reboarded after the gig, Steve climbing the portable steps, the pilot had handed over a pair he'd scrounged up at the airport while they were gone to the gig.

Now, Steve has gotten to give them to Eddie.

"Your wings," Steve explains.

And Eddie just grins, covering the pin with his hand.

Steve shakes his head, and looks down at his binder, going over the schedule for the coming day, and the days after.

He smiles to himself, happy that Eddie's happy, and decides that maybe he needs to pencil a few more of these mile high sessions into the official itinerary, after all.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiesmuttyseptember and follow along with the filthy fun! 💦

Notes: Song from the encore is Tom Petty's Learning to Fly.

[whousestypewriters]

taking care of you - a.w x reader

pairing: aaron warner x fem!reader

requested: yes / no

warnings: none?? a mention of a cut but nothing serious

a/n: guys im breaking out of this writers block forcefully. idc atp if these fics are shit (i do but wtv) im doing it ✊😔 wish me luck [not proofread or edited btw]

taglist: @nqds, @lxvebelle, @reminiscentreader, @ecliphttlunar, @tornqdowarnings

@off-to-the-r4ces, @emelia07, @benny1989fredd, @shiftingtomydrs, @ruriloveshim

"aaron," you protest futilely. "i can walk perfectly fine by myself."

"you cut yourself," is his only response.

"on my arm! i can still walk."

apparently he's not hearing it, because instead of putting you down like you've been asking for the last ten minutes he only grips you tighter. i mean you're not complaining though, aaron's comforting smell of gardenias wraps around you like a blanket. and on top of the you're actually comfortable in his arms as he carries you up the stairs to your house.

unlocking the door he carries you inside and softly places you on the couch, pressing a kiss to the top of your head and telling you to wait there while he goes and finds the first aid kit for your cut.

after a few moments of contemplation.

ok like zero moments contemplation you get up and wander into your bedroom hearing a scuffle from your ensuite.

"aaron?" you call you.

the noise stops and aaron appears in the doorway with a small first aid kit in his hand, "what's wrong, sweetheart?" he asks moving toward you with a furrowed brow looking for any signs of distress. hands hands reach your shoulders first before the travel down to your waist settling there.

"nothing," you assure him. you gently pull his hand off your hip and lead him to the large bed in the room sitting down on the edge. "see i'm perfectly fine."

"you're hurt, sweetheart." he kneels down between your legs and inspects the cut on your arm, "let me take care of you."

ok on a regular day you'd protest and insist that he doesn't need to, but right now? you're tired after a long day, you've accidentally cut yourself on a fence and the tone in which aaron just spoke in has you weak. so yeah, no arguing today.

you sit there in comfortable silence while aaron softly bandages your arm. you watch his beautiful face while he works, his concentration only appearing ever so often when he creases his brow, his blonde hair occasionally falling across it.

you reach up and run your fingers through the blond strands. its soft. always soft. one of them many reasons you love it so much - that and it perfectly frames aaron's face.

a soft sigh releases from aaron as he lets go of your arm and turns to you, an adoring smile on his face. he stands up and puts the kit on the dresser before turning back to you, he gathers you back into his arms and climbs into bed, covering the both of you with the blankets.

you snuggle deeper into aaron's arms and inhale the scent of gardenias that lingers on him.

"aaron?" you ask quietly when he starts to play with your hair.

he hums softly in response, "yes?"

"i know it wasn't much, but thank you for taking care of me."

a chuckle runs through his body and into yours. "i'll always take care of you, sweetheart." he presses a kiss into your hair and soon enought you fallen asleep in your favourite place in the world.

a/n pt2: im manifesting that was good. idk its 10:40pm, im tired and in a writing slump sooo hm. i hope you liked it :))

[moody-alcoholic]

Hurt

Summary: 2.7k words. Ghoap x Reader, throuple. Reader is female (she/her), army nurse, non descript physical features, names used: Ashe.

CW: descriptions of injuries, medical procedures, mentions of surgery, medical inaccuracies, hurt/comfort.

AN: Next part is the last part... It's a beefy one though.

Previous parts - masterlist - next part

Enjoy <3

Simon is scared, more then he has ever been. He’s watching his husband bleeding out while someone else he loves is trying her best to save him. She’s no combat medic but as soon as Johnny’s body hit the floor she was by his side shoving her gauze covered fingers into his wounds. She barked orders at Price while he called an ambulance. 

“Ambulance should be here in 15 minutes.” Price says his phone still pressed up to his ear keeping the dispatchers updated. Gaz has been running round the house looking for first-aid kits, clean sheets anything she can use to make bandages. Her hands are shaking blood running down her face. Johnny nicked her ear when he shot at Jack, could have been worse at least he’s down. 

Ghost is angry, pacing the room his eyes burning into Jack wondering which would be more satisfying to break his legs or his arms? Ghost is listening to every word Price is saying waiting for new orders. It’s easier to be Ghost then Simon right now. 

“Here, I’ve got this!” Gaz says as he rushes back in the room. Price helps him open the green first aid kit pulling out bandages and handing them to you. 

“How long until the ambulance?” you ask your voice shaking, as you instruct Gaz to keep watching Johnny’s breathing. 

“They’re coming.” Price replies not giving a time. A lump forms in Ghost’s throat he swallows to get it away. Price moves over to stand next to him. 

“Pass me your phone I need to call someone to deal with all this.” Price says leaning in. Ghost reaches into his vest pulling out his phone passing it to Price. He pats Ghost on the shoulder then moves back to the other side of the room. A moan comes from the floor, Ghost’s head snaps to see Soap moving. That’s good right. 

“Hey, Johnny keep still.” You say as his arms make their way to the source of the pain. “Keep his head still.” You say to Gaz. He was shot in the back he could have spinal damage. Gaz moves so he can hold Johnny’s head. He’s come too that has to be a good thing you think as you he moans. There is no telling how aware he is but he know’s he’s in pain. You have to fight to keep his hands away so he won’t pull the dressing out. He’s mumbling incoherently as you hear the ambulance sirens that makes you relax a little.

“Ghost go get them.” Price says, you hear Simon leave the room. You look over at Jack. He’s stopped screaming and shouting. Price patched his shoulder up he should be fine. He should be dead. You push the thought away you need to focus on Johnny. His hand has found your thigh, you reach down with your free hand to squeeze it. His eyes find yours and he smiles as you hear footsteps running. The door bursts open and paramedics flood in. You hear Price hang up on the dispatcher as two of them come over to you. 

“What’s happened?” The male one says as he bends down opposite you unzipping his bag. 

“He was shot from behind, through and through. I’ve tried my best to stop the bleeding.” You explain squeezing Johnny’s hand, you hear more sirens as Simon leaves the room again. The paramedic is trying to get Johnny’s attention as the second paramedic comes to take over holding the gauze from you.

You let go of Johnny’s hand moving out the way as the paramedics talk with each other. You stand up as another set of paramedics and police pile into the room. Price goes over to talk to the police as he points the other paramedics over to Jack. You turn and watch as they look at his shoulder. Gaz gets up on his feet as you watch the paramedics work on Johnny, getting an IV in, giving him oxygen, pressing more bandages into his wound.

Your cheek starts stinging and it takes everything in your power to not touch it. Gaz comes over to you leading you out of the way and over to a chair, Simon and Price are talking with the police. Everything was starting to feel like a blur. You look down you’re sat next to Marks body, you keep watching the paramedics work on Johnny and Jack.

You hear the paramedics say there is a doctor here for Johnny. You can see biased on the equipment he’s hanging on. He’s put under and they intubate him. The doctor arrives a few seconds later he wants to do an en-route blood transfusion. Jack leaves first with the other ambulance crew and some officers following behind. He’s formally arrested, his eyes burn into you as you hear the charges read out. The rest of the officers start collecting evidence. 

“Do you need medical attention?” Someone says to you. You look up from Johnny to see an officer stood beside you. You shake your head looking back as the paramedics move Johnny onto a spinal board. Simon is by your side now. You’re crying, each tear that falls in your wound stings. At least the bleeding as stopped you think. 

“Go with Johnny to the hospital and get patched up. We’ll meet you there as soon as we’re done here.” Simon says. You can’t look at him, not with his mask on not while Johnny is still fighting for his life. You get up off the chair though and he squeezes your shoulder. You look round the room as you follow the paramedics out. Jack is gone, Mark is dead. The body in the hallway the person who shot Johnny has been moved and covered up. You look at Price who nods at you then goes back to talking to the officers. Ghost follows you out to the ambulance. You get in the front, you don’t even remember the drive. 

  ——————————  

Your body moves on autopilot. When you make it to the hospital Johnny is taken through to triage. You’re in the waiting room, you refuse help from the nurse who comes to see you. You just sit and wait, using tissues to dab your wound, if you move in the wrong way it starts bleeding again. You’ll need stitches but you want to make sure Johnny is okay first. You don’t want to miss the updates. You need to be somewhere Simon can find you when he gets here. You’re waiting nervously when a doctor comes over to you, he introduces himself and you stand up.

“We’re going to be taking him through to surgery, to remove the bullet fragments. We won’t know the extent of the damage until after we can open him up. I’ll send a nurse through to take a look at your face, you were also involved in the attack from what I understand?” You nod not having the energy to fight with him. 

“I’m okay, I would like to wait for-” you stop yourself, what do you even say? You want to wait for his husband? For Price and Gaz who you barely even know. How much does the doctor know? You realise you’ve not been paying attention to whats been going on since you were hands deep in Johnny’s abdomen. 

“The other people involved in the incident, they’re his squad mates, from the army. They would like to know he’s okay.” 

“I can update them as well if you give me their names but I do think that wound needs looking at, cleaned and bandaged up at the very least.” The doctor says. You don’t want to you don’t want anyone to touch you. 

“I would rather wait.” You say sitting back down. The doctor relents and tells you someone will be out to update you. You feel sick your stomach in knots. You wish you had your phone so you could text Simon. You don’t know how long Simon is going to be or how long Johnny’s surgery is going to take. He’s going to be okay. You tell yourself.    

He’s going to be okay.

  ——————————  

You’re woken to someone shaking you. You don’t even remember falling asleep it makes you jump and you almost fall out the chair. You look up it’s Simon, he doesn’t have his mask on. You look at him confused the pain coming back to your face. 

“You need to get that checked out.” Simon says kneeling down in front of you. 

“Johnny’s in surgery.” You say. 

“I know, the doctor filled us in, Price is talking with him now.” You touch Simon’s cheek. 

“I’m sorry I got Johnny hurt.” You say, you’re too exhausted to cry. 

“It’s not your fault.” Simon says reaching up holding your hand on his chin squeezing it. He stands up. 

“C’mon, Price bullied the doctors into finding a private room for Johnny, we’ll wait in there. And I’ll find a nurse to take a look at that cheek.” Simon says. You let him lead you too your feet as he wraps his arm round your waist. When you make it to the room it’s nice even has a sofa in the corner which Simon leads you too. He leaves and comes back a few minutes later with a nurse who cleans your wound. She says it’s going to need stitches, you reluctantly allow her to do them. By the time she is done and bandaging your ear and cheek up Price walks into the room. 

“The police need a statement from you.” He says looking at you. You look at the nurse and thank her as she tides up to leave. 

“Christ, can’t she have a rest they can talk to her tomorrow.” Simon says from the other sofa on the other side of the room. 

“It’s just a statement 5 minutes tops. They’ll bring you in for a proper interview later in the week.” Price says. You nod getting off the bed heading back over to the sofa where Simon is. You lay up against him he wraps his arm round your shoulder. 

“Thank you for rescuing me.” You say. He kisses the top of your head. 

“I’m sorry it had to come to this, we should have stayed at the house with you.” He says. You can hear the guilt in his voice. You don’t know what he’s more guilty about. You being kidnapped or Johnny being shot. You don’t want to leave his side wrapping your arms round his stomach. When the police officers come in they ask you a few questions take a quick statement then leave.

You see Price and Gaz at the door. You’re exhausted leaning on Simon’s chest. You pull your feet on the sofa a shiver runs through your body. You close your eyes breathing Simon in but all you can smell is blood.

  —————————— 

Simon looks over at you still asleep on the sofa tucked under the blanket he threw over you. They wheeled Johnny in from surgery a bit ago, said he might need a few minutes to come round. Simon moved from the sofa to a chair by the bed so he could hold Johnny’s hand.

He hates seeing Johnny like this, he hates seeing him hurt. His eyes periodically flick back to you, what if Johnny’s vest didn’t stop the bullet. What if it kept going all the way through to you. Simon pushes the thought away, he can’t think about that, losing the both of you is just too much. You’re safe, Johnny is safe, he’s safe. Johnny murmurs and Simon’s head snaps up, he sits up pulling his chair closer to the bed and squeezing Johnny’s hand.    

“Hey,” Simon says as Johnny turns to look at him blinking. 

“Christ, I feel like shit.” Johnny says pulling himself up in the bed. Simon gets up helping him arrange the pillows. 

“Stop getting shot then.” Simon says, Johnny smiles leaning back down in the bed. Simon kisses him on the forehead before sitting back down. Johnny looks past Simon to see you curled up on the sofa.

“How is she?” He asks, Simon looks back for a second squeezing Johnny’s hand. 

“She’s fine.” Simon says, Johnny sighs. 

“What about..” Johnny trails off, Simon knows who he’s talking about. 

“In custody, he’ll live.” Simon says.

“Should have aimed for the head.” Johnny says. Simon smiles, if he had aimed for the head he could have killed her.  

“How ‘bout you? You good?.” Johnny asks, Simon rolls his eyes, bringing up Johnny’s hand and kissing it.

“I’m good.” Simon says, Johnny looks doubtful. Simon Squeezes his hand, looking away, he’ll deal with his emotions later. 

“Si,” Johnny says forcing his eyes to meet Simon’s. “I love you.” 

“I love you too Johnny.” Simon says smiling.

“Johnny?” Your voice cuts through the silence and Simon turns to see you sitting up on the sofa. He gets up bringing over another chair for you. 

“Good to see you lass.” Johnny says enthusiastically, he’s awake and smiling. It’s all you need walking over to him and throwing your arms round him.

“Easy love, still got holes in me.” Johnny says wrapping his arms round your back.

“I know I’m so sorry.” You blurt out you can feel yourself welling up again. It’s happy tears this time. You feel Simon’s hand on your back as you pull away. 

“You ain’t got anything to be sorry ‘bout.” Johnny says his face serious.

“We’re sorry we left ya, didn’t think anyone knew where you were.” Johnny says. Simon’s hand leaves your back pulling on your wrist for you to sit down. You look at Simon, he looks tired. You take his hand and squeeze it. 

“I should have fought, you gave me the gun.” You say looking at Simon. “I tried to run instead.” 

“It doesn’t matter now, you’re safe he’s gone.” Simon says. You know there is more to it, with so many people involved it’ll be a while before their all punished. You’re almost happy Chloe isn’t around to see it. She would have had a lot to say watching her family be arrested and court marshalled for their involvement. You take Johnny’s hand in yours rubbing it with your thumb. 

“Thank you for saving my life love.” He says pulling you back to relativity, you feel yourself blushing. 

“Well I wasn’t going to let you die.” You say feeling embarrassed for some reason. Johnny brings your hand up to his face and kisses it. 

“I know, I love you.” He says. It warms your heart and you find yourself leaning up against Simon. You smile at him as Simon wraps his arm around you kissing the top of your head. 

“I love you too.” You say. 

“So how much medical leave do you think I’ll get this time?” Johnny asks looking at Simon.

“Pff, with the way you’re acting I bet you’ll be ready to go by next week.” Simon scoffs. 

“Aw, not even a week, you’re such a tight ass. You hearing this captain. Si said I’m only allowed a week off.” Johnny says as you see Price walk into the room. You sit up straight so you’re not leaning on Simon. 

“If you’re lucky.” Price smiles. Johnny shakes his head and you squeeze his hand. 

“Well then, making sure I’m fit and ready for duty?” Johnny asks.

“Thought I would give you an update.” Price says crossing his arms. 

“Jack, he’s out.” It’s like someone sucked all the air out the room, your head starts to throb where you were hit earlier. You squeeze Johnny’s hand. 

“How? It’s only been a few hours.” Simon asks.

“His lawyers work quick and they’re good.” Price says, he sounds sympathetic.

“But he kidnapped me, what about all the evidence you got?” You say looking up at Price, eyes wide. This can’t be happening.

“They did a good job at destroying it all, it’s going to take the police time to go through everything.” Price says. You feel sick, no way he’s going to get away with it. No way. Your ears start ringing as you hear Johnny and Simon talk asking questions Price does not have the answers to.

This can’t be happening.  

—————————— 

Next

I am very much aware that the police would have reasonable evidence to hold Jack and not let him out but hey it's just a story.

# fuckjack

[coveholdenmyluv]

Mean Girls - Eren Jaeger

synopsis. Eren's the new kid at Trost Academy and being fresh meat in his senior year isn't easy. Especially so when the only friends he's made yet have managed to convince him to help them mess with "The Plastics". The problem?

He's got the biggest crush on their queen bee, Y/N.

series masterlist.

chapter warnings. Foul language, rich ppl, mentions of vomit, mentions of shitting your pants (what even are these warnings LMAO), laxatives, mentions of giving a character laxatives, hitch is a bitch (I love her I’m sorry I made her like this), drama drama drama, a lot of menstrual product talk (these characters are very comfortable talking abt these things!)

chapter synopsis. From a brawl at the supermarket to a meeting with the Queen bee’s arch nemesis, our trio’s plan preparations seem to be coming together! Though, will learning some lore regarding our resident plastics impede on Eren’s drive? Perhaps the future isn’t looking so bright for our revenge seekers…

chapter 2. Fuck with the Plastics: start

"Bag secured, over." Mikasa spoke in her usual monotone voice.

"And... you're completely sure that this will only make her a bit gassy, right 'kasa?" Armin spoke next, the shake in his voice painfully obvious even through the speaker of Eren's phone. With no answer, he tries again, "Guys? Hello?"

Silence.

"You're supposed to say 'over', Armin!"

"Oh! Over."

"Alright, mine is secured too... over?" Eren announced as he slipped his arm through the plastic bag, doing his best to be inconspicuous, though the hood over his head isn't helping his case. His attire was mostly to calm his troubled conscience.

The three way call had one purpose and a very important one at that.

Phase one of 'Fuck with The Plastics'.

"Good boy," Mikasa purred and Eren swore he could hear the mischievous grin his reply had caused to form on her face. "Now Armin, relax. All this is gonna do is make her tummy a bit upset, a little gas here and there never hurt anyone. She'll get the humiliation she made Eren bear... only much much worse because of her status, plus ruin her chances of winning this highly anticipated game and possibly her entire athletic career. Over."

"Please, stop repeating what could go wrong. I'm getting nauseous again..." Eren groans into the speaker.

"Mikasa, you say that now but, what if she's allergic to it or something? Ohmylanta, what if she dies?!" Armin screeches and Eren fears he may begin to wail soon. "I don't wanna go to jail guys! I can't go back!"

"Geez Louise, Armin." Eren winces as he pulls the phone away from his ear. "My ears are bleeding."

"Oh wait Eren, now that you reminded me, can you get me some pads from the store? My cycle is pretty heavy today." Mikasa asks.

"Uh, T-M-I Mikasa..." Armin mutters as he glances around the student aid center. His portion of contribution to the trio's master plan is arguably the least interesting, though the boy didn't seem to mind. All he was put in charge of was attaining their tickets for the game, which they receive free of charge with their student ID's.

"Mikasa, I'm literally already walking out of the store." Eren says exasperatedly, though his pace has already begun to falter in preparation for his U-turn.

"Well then, go back? If I bleed out all over the bleachers, it's your jacket I'm using to wipe it clean. The ball is in your court."

"Oh my gosh, fine!" Eren relents. "What size?"

"XXL."

Silence reigns over the three, and Eren swears everyone in the supermarket had audibly halted all movements along with them.

"Mikasa, you know damn well..." Armin begins.

"Armin! Shut the hell up, the length helps with my leakage so mind your own business!"

"Zayum, okay geez."

"Wings or no wings?" Eren asks, already having made his way back into the multiple isles freshly restocked.

"Wings, please. I want to be ready for anything." The girl answers ominously.

"I don't even want to know what that means. I'll head back to the academy after I'm done with this, where do you guys want to meet?"

"The restrooms near the cafeteria are right beside the doors that lead to a path straight to the stadium. We can meet there." Armin suggests, already beginning to make his way towards the meeting spot.

"Okay. Actually, since I'm here, do you guys want any snacks for the game?" Eren asks while he grabs a box of fruit roll ups and a bag of hot Cheetos for himself. "How long does a soccer game last?"

"A little under an hour and thirty minutes, and that's if they don't go into over time which they probably will, considering who they're playing against." Mikasa answers, "Oh, and I'll take an oat meal crème pie and a red Gatorade. But! The one with the twistable cap that you can suck on."

"We'll see how long this one will last with what we have planned, though." Armin mutters into the speaker anxiously, "Anyway, I'll take some Skittles, baby Gerber puffs, Teddy Grahams, Hubba Bubba, strawberry Hello Pandas, Scooby-Doo snacks, Gushers, Pirate's Booty-"

Eren hangs up before the other boy could finish, deciding it wasn't worth his weekly allowance.

He had already arrived at the feminine hygiene products aisle by the time Armin had sent him the remaining 27 items on his wishlist for tonight, which Eren promptly ignored. The wall that held most of the menstrual supplies was expanse and slightly intimidating to the teenage boy's eyes, though that was not to say he was taken off guard. Having a close relationship with your mother desensitizes you to a large amount of aspects of womanhood that most immature boys his age would either cringe at or ridicule.

He knows the brand his mother uses is best for absorbing, but they're not the best at being discreet. He wonders which Mikasa would prefer, though he decides that coverage and preventing leakage must have been her priority considering her earlier words. Deciding upon the trustworthy brand he had always picked up on late night pad runs with his mom, he notices how it seems to be the only brand that has yet to be restocked. The one in his hand being the very last one in XXL.

As he turns to leave the isle, a high pitched voice, practically whining curse words, catches his attention. Before he instinctively turns his head towards the sound, he internally prays for there to be no reenactment of his first encounter with Armin, knowing he couldn't bear to handle another stereotypical bully, much less work up the courage to stand up to them once more. 

"They don't have that one today, I swear I've looked everywhere!" The, now visible, person speaks into the cell phone clutched to his ear. "I don't know? Does everyone suddenly use the biggest size available? I know you do not need double X."

It seems to be a young boy, perhaps only a few years younger than Eren himself, with messily styled H/C hair and a few piercings adorning his delicate face.

"The one with the purple flowers on the box or the navy blue one with the stars?" The young boy asks, his impatience slowly making its way into his features.

Wait, purple flowers?

Eren's gaze moves back toward the box in his hands and his eyes trace those exact purple flowers printed and plastered smack dab in the center. Though, he knows there are tons of other brands that use matching floral patterns, perhaps this boy was looking for the one with the green background instead of the pink one Eren held.

"The one with the pink box, right?" The boy asks.

Well, perhaps he was searching for the 7 hour wear edition instead of the 8 hour one Eren got for Mikasa. Surely that was the case-

"8 hour version? Do you need to charge it or something, why is there a time limit?"

Certainly he couldn't be looking for the same size, not many people would be as paranoid as Mikasa due to leakage-

"Mm, XXL? Oh, cause of leakage, got it."

Run, that's what Eren needs to do. He knows how far passionate boyfriends would go for their lovers, especially ones as young as the boy he is sharing the aisle with. Kids his age will either pay romantic relationships no heed or take them far too seriously.

Though, before he could pivot in the other direction, the boy ends the call and turns to presumably search for the pink floral box in the size XXL. Coincidentally, the exact box Eren plans to buy.

The last box.

Green meets E/C.

His heart drops to his ass and his arm hastily shields the prized object behind his back as visible sweat forms on his forehead. Though, truly his efforts were all for naught.

Silence follows as the two teenagers hold eye contact, one accompanied with worry creases near his brows and the other with an unamused pout to his lips.

"Those are the last double X they have in stock, aren't they?"

"...Perchance..."

The H/C boy sighs and holds his hands up in surrender. "Look, dude. I come in peace, it's fine. What do I look like to you? Someone who would go batshit over menstrual products?" Eren shakes his head hastily, to which the younger boy agrees. Of course, what was Eren thinking? Incriminating a person who looked to be no older than the age of 15 was not cool on his part.

"You're right, My bad."

Letting any past thoughts flee his mind, Eren resumes his standstill with the stranger, neither seemingly knowing what to do next...

...before the stranger juts a finger behind Eren and exclaims, "Hey, look over there, it's TSwift!"

"What?! Where?!"

Eren was tackled to the ground and landed with a coherent 'oof', the assailant clambering on top of his chest and tugging at his arms to loosen the tight grip on the box that remains in his hands.

"That was a low blow, you psycho! I haven't seen her since I was in fifth grade!" Eren whines as he tries to free himself. Deciding that his actions were amounting to nothing, he thrusts the box away from his body and above his head, the cardboard sliding across the tiled floor of the supermarket.

"Morality is non-existent when it comes to the last box of pads, pretty boy!" The younger boy grits as he abandons Eren's body in favor of stumbling to his feet to reach the box.

As the boy steps over his head, Eren grabs onto one of his leather boots, causing him to plummet with his fingers outstretched only inches away from the prize. Eren flips himself onto his stomach and scrambles over the other boy, laying a palm atop his face to thwart his vision. In retaliation, though not after a sharp squawk, the boy chomps on the fingers overlaid his mouth, causing the brunet to cry out in pain.

"Give up!" The boy demands, "I don't care if I have to bite every one of your fingers off, I'll be leaving with that box!" He declares and delivers a torturous blow to Eren's crotch, causing him to wheeze and topple over in pain. "Aha!" The boy proclaims as he nears his victory, emitting a cry of premature success.

Though, before his slender fingers are able to reach the jackpot, his worst fear is born into existence.

"My Prada boots!" He squeals in agony and fear as Eren holds the cherished shoe above his head triumphantly and a pained smirk creases onto his face. "Don't you dare you monster, they're monolith!"

"You rich people are all the same," Eren scoffs as he throws the boot aways behind him, not sparing a glance in the direction as the boy abandons the box in favor of running over to his beloved shoe. Eren limps over to the pink box and swipes it up with an exhausted sigh escaping his lips. "I win." He states in a cocky tone, taking pride over the brawl he emerged victorious from, already preening at the amount of bragging rights he had just earned himself. "Mikasa, you owe me big time- ack!"

Not without a war cry, the unrelenting stranger rams a shopping cart into Eren's body, forcing the brunet back onto the ground and causing the box to slip out of his grasp and slide onto the floor once again.

"Never mess with my Prada boots again," He heaves and delicately steps over to the abandoned box, taking it into his hold and placing a kiss atop the the printed flowers. "Auggie, you're awesome." He then turns to face Eren and boldly upturns his pierced nose at the sight of the older boy sprawled on the floor. "You put up a good fight, unfortunately for you I reign superio-"

"I didn't hear a bell!" Eren shouts as he springs up and tackles the shorter boy, resulting in the two wrestling on the ground once again, just as they had originally started. Scratching, kicking, and biting their way across the floor, though noticeably making zero progress towards the box they both sought out.

An awkward cough acts as the bucket of cold water that halts their movements, both boys craning their heads in the direction of the sound alike deers in headlights.

An employee that hauled a cart filled to the brim with pink cardboard boxes and printed purple flowers decorating their surfaces stood before their tangled ball of limbs, gifting them a critical stare. Leisurely, and hesitatingly so, she tucks the prized boxes where they belong, before scurrying away with her haul of products stacked into her squeaky cart.

An air of silence follows the departure of the poor retail worker, both boys remaining stunned by the sudden appearance. Though, after realizing what a compromising position they had been caught in, the unraveling of their limbs went unspoken as they stood simultaneously.

Another awkward cough, though this one originating from the brunet, filled the vacant space between the two. Eren grabs ahold of one of the boxes that was recently stocked, his head hanging low in embarrassment. "So..." He utters hesitatingly.

The younger boy clears his throat, "M sry." He mutters.

"What?"

"I said I'm sorry! ...I know that Tswift joke was wrong of me."

Eren sighs in resignation, now realizing how idiotic his actions were, especially considering the fact that he seemed to be the older of the two. "It's fine. I guess we were both signed up for errand boy today, huh?"

The stranger shook his head, "Yeah but, to be honest, this is my first time going on a pad run for my sister. I wasn't 'old enough' a few years ago, and even then we don't usually do our own shopping. Our butler handles all of that."

"Oh..." It was stupid of Eren to forget that most people in his city were lathered in riches, but he did. His recent encounter with this new boy only furthered his forgetfulness, because what sort of opulent teenage boy was willing to engage in a full out brawl for a box of pads? "Well, either way. I'm guessing these aren't for you?"

"Nah, they're for my sister's friends. But, she can get pretty impatient real quickly and I'm not in the mood to deal with teenage Godzilla. She'd probably run me over with her convertible."

The mental image of Godzilla driving a convertible, only to then run over an edgy teen made Eren chuckle, "I get it, this size seems to be in high demand."

"My sister says that it's because of leakage, whatever the hell that means. I don't even think I want to know."

Eren smiled sympathetically, little brother ignorance was something he knew about all too well. "So, why are you here instead of your butler? I think I would have stood a better chance against him if I'm being honest."

The boy shrugs nonchalantly, "She says it's an emergency. Those girls can get pretty scary when in a state of panic. For being older than me, you'd think they'd be better at dealing with stress."

"I understand completely." Eren huffed in exhaustion, "My friends and I are dealing with these real popular kids at our school, we've got an ulterior motive of course, but we've seen a fair share of their antics and I can tell we'll have our hands full. At least the pay off will be worth it. We have a whole plan and everything."

The boy cackled a laugh that shook his whole body and clapped a palm onto the older boy's shoulder, "You don't say? What's such a good prize worth dealing with what seems to be a bunch of rich maggots eating away at your soul?" He asked.

"Well, it has to do with this girl..." Eren begun to attempt to elucidate the entire situation to this stranger but in the end only arrived with stutters, before he decided that the effort of reliving his trauma was not worth it. He sighed, "It's a long story."

Unexpectedly, a highly pitched rendition of 'I'm Just a Kid' began to chime in the stranger's pants, causing him to wince and groan in annoyance. "A story that I can't stay for, unfortunately." He muttered before slipping the device out of his pocket. "It's Godzilla." He confirmed his suspicions but made no moves to accept the call. Instead, he offered a jeweled hand towards the brunet.

This hand wasn't like the one that was offered to him earlier today. Instead of diamonds and gold, silver and various colored stones wrapped around this boy's digits, crowning them with luxury and status.

"My name's Augustine, but you can call me August." He paired with a friendly grin, bringing attention to the silver lip ring hung on his bottom lip.

For some reason, this boy struck something within Eren. He didn't know what it was, but there was a sense of reminiscence flooding his senses when he stared at his smile. The reminiscence that creeps up on you when you look at your sibling and recognize that the shirt they have on is in fact not theirs but yours.

He can't put his finger on it... but August reminded him of someone.

Nonetheless, he excepted his dressed hand with his own bare one. "Eren, it's just Eren."

"Alright, just Eren. I have to go, but hopefully I'll see you around!" August called out as he scampered down the aisle before Eren could have gotten another word of parting out.

What a nice guy, Eren hopes to see him again.

After grabbing the snacks that his newest friends had ordered, promptly ignoring 25 items on Armin's list, he pays the nice woman working the register and makes his departure. By the time he steps back on the pavement, the sun has begun its decent, painting the concrete buildings and vibrant trees in a golden hue.

Trost truly is a beautiful district — the architecture alone places it on a superior level when compared to many other extravagant districts out there.

Eren himself has never lived the kind of life that his new friends or acquaintances were born into. Although having a successful doctor for a dad, it was never an aspect that had ever brought upon wealth for the Jeager family. His mom rapidly rising in her fashion designer career is what has brought him to such a district as this one. Mrs. Jaeger is well on her way to being known for her individuality, and he couldn't be filled with more pride.

Having to leave his old school was pretty easy for him, he had never had many friends there anyway. Sure there were the few he could greet in the hallways, but none that had ever willingly stricken a genuine conversation with him, much less an interesting one. Though, that's not to say the experience of moving out of the blue in your senior year was something he was excited about either, that wouldn't be a nice time for anyone.

It was just his luck that he'd already made a fool out of himself on his very first day. In front of his crush to boot.

Y/N Ackerman.

He wouldn't lie to himself and proclaim that he has no feelings towards the girl. He quite literally puked on her because the amount of emotions she made him feel at a single glance proved to be overbearing to his body. Though, a portion of himself finds itself conflicted. Actually, scratch that - multiple portions of himself find themselves conflicted. As if the little people in his head are arguing against each other, and he isn't sure which side he should be on.

On one hand, the purple person that he decides to name Armeen is arguing that he should hate the girl. Mikasa said that Y/N had surely made it her goal to embarrass Eren in an attempt to solidify her superiority against him and that she was a vicious person with the ugliest soul she had ever seen. 

On another, the red person, Mika Mika, proclaimed that he already hates her. Armin and Mikasa have informed him of her vile friends, the people she willingly surrounds herself with. She condones their actions by mere association. Not to mention the absolute joke she had made of him, which was sure to have cost him a year's worth of ill-repute. Hell, probably even the rest of his soon to be miserable life.

But then, as if he had grown a sudden third hand, there appeared a pink person. This one unnamed, whispered details the other two would surely never approve of. How could she be a vicious person, when she had went out of her own way to not only invite him, but his only friends, to her highly anticipated game AND her own home, knowing that everyone in their grade had heard the abrupt invitation? She was willingly attempting to help him fix his image. How could the person those little people in his head describe as ruthless and callous, ever make his insides light on fire, as if he was a skewered rotisserie chicken on a white Sunday morning? How could the devil herself bring upon him feelings only talked about in movies?

Manipulation.

Gaslighting someone to their wits' end by batting her fluffy lashes. It's an old tactic really, but one that would never die out, nor could it. Eren isn't stupid, he knows the truth of the situation. How dire a messy set up like this could have affected her reputation as well, he gets it. Understands that measures need to be taken to prevail through such a trying time. When you're at the top, tiptoeing a razors edge, everyone at the bottom has a clear shot to shoot you down. Those mean comments and accusations of prejudice are just the paint strokes crafting a precise target onto her back.

But, to bring him and his friends into her little scheme?

To escape that threat, you need to move, and to move, you need stepping stones. Eren won't let himself or his friends be used as stepping stones.

That's exactly the reason why the three of them have developed a plan to knock her off of her prodigious throne. No longer will they allow the Queen Bee of Trost Academy to continue her reign of exploitation.

Instead, she will... shit her pants?

Well, that's the best they could come up with, so it'll have to do.

It was simple in nature really, Eren simply needed to buy her a drink, one that Mikasa claims has always been her favorite pick to drink before a game, though Eren still questions how she even had that information, and then he will offer that said drink to her as a peace offering.

A seemingly innocent gesture, except it's not. Mikasa was in charge of acquiring laxatives which they would infuse into the refreshment, which Y/N would drink and whatever happened next would be left up to fate. Though, Armin had elucidated three paths that which this plan could take.

Probability 1: She'd harbor a stomach ache, forcing her to be benched due to her poor performance, effectively eliminating the captain of Trost's varsity soccer team. Ruining her image, their chances of winning their vital game of the year, and her life.

Probability 2: She'd fart up a storm, or worse, ruining her image of the ideal senior of the year, their chances of winning their vital game of the year, and her life.

Probability 3: She'd pull an Eren and projectile vomit all over her teammates and opponents. Ruining her stellar image, their chances of winning their vital game of the year, and her life.

The third was preferred for their goal of seeking revenge, but they wouldn't complain if either of the other two played out perfectly.

"Finally, Eren! You took so long, we started to wonder if you had gotten lost on the way here." Armin says as the boy approaches their meeting spot.

"I did, three times. There is no need for this school to be so damn huge."

"Well, you're here now so..." Mikasa surreptitiously looks over her shoulder and then Eren's, "You got the goods?" She asks.

"Stop acting shifty Mikasa, you're making me nervy." Eren rebukes, eyes glancing from side to side in paranoia.

"Do you have it or not." She exasperatedly asks. He timidly ushers the plastic bag her way, his back moving to obstruct the exchange from any prying eyes. "Good boy, keep me covered and I'll crush these bad boys and then pour them in."

"Hurry 'Kasa, I don't wanna go to jail!" Armin's nerves get the best of him, and just as Mikasa began to pour the laxatives into the energy drink, his trembling palms latch onto her shoulders and begin to shake her back and forth. Unfortunately, the forcible motions cause her hand to slip and pour more than what was necessary for what they had planned. "Oops..." He breathes.

Eren's jaw drops at the amount, "Holy shit, are you- are you sure that's okay?" A dramatic gasp forcibly rasps his throat, "She's not actually gonna die, right?!"

"Uhm... no... I don't think so."

"What do you mean, you don't think so?!" He screeches.

"Ohmygosh,we'regoingtojailI'mnotbuiltforthatimgonnadie-"

"Armin, chill." Mikasa grits, before twisting the cap of the bottle and giving it a good shake. "She'll be fine, we're not going to jail. All that'll change is the addition of one more possibility, which is shitting her pants for real."

"I thought we were only joking about that? You mean she'll actually shart herself?" Eren asks.

"Yeah," Mikasa declares with no amount of remorse in her irises, simply tilting her head to face him head on, smirk standing proud on her lips. "Even better than we planned, right? Give the bitch the humiliation she deserves."

After a moment of maintaining arduous eye contact with the ravenette, Eren relents, throwing his head back to stare at the ceiling instead and interlocking both hands in his shaggy hair. "You're crazy. Like deadass, you belong in a mental hospital."

"Okay but, wait. The bottle is already open, no one who has a right mind would accept an already opened drink from someone she met yesterday." Armin points out, ever the observer.

"Well, she's gonna have to in order for this plan to work..." Mikasa mumbles, lips pursing in thought. "Oh, Eren! Why don't you be a doll and offer to open it for her, that way she wouldn't even notice it has already been open." She announces with a proud nod, clearly impressed with her solution.

Eren however, isn't as impressed. If anything, the pit in his stomach twists and turns even tighter, bringing forth creases onto the surface of his skin as his face lightly scrunches in disgust. Playing a direct hand in the demise of anyone's athletic career can be catastrophic to the psyche, though he doubts Mikasa's is being affected much if at all.

"Fine."

"Good boy-"

"Stop calling me that!"

"Anyway, we should get going now. Or else, we'd be late. The game starts in 20 minutes, and the walk there is about five, give or take. Though, the introductions take up a good 10 to 15." She ignores the boy.

"Plus, we still need to find seats. Hopefully we won't have to sit on the opposing team's side, or else we'd be royally fucked." Armin adds as they exit the school building.

The pathway that leads them directly towards the stadium is beautiful and cleanly. The school itself is exceptionally cared for, with vibrant green bushes that looked as if they were clipped with the utmost precision. Marbled vases for various other plants and polished benches littered across the lawn oozed a luxurious aura.

"Who are they playing against?" Eren asks.

"I think it's Stohess Prep." Armin answers.

"Oh, that means drama~" Mikasa adds, "10 bucks Levi chokes out Coach Nile?"

"Mm, nah. 20 bucks it's Ymir and Hitch." Armin replies, pointer finger prodding at the fat of his cheek in thought.

"Oh, I forgot about those two. 30 Y/N is forced to step in either way."

"40 bucks she joins."

"50 that they recreate that one Euphoria scene from season 2."

"60 someone yells plus ultra."

"70 bucks Y/N gets hit by a bus and dies."

"..."

"..."

"Okay, you need an exorcist." Armin quips.

"I've been wondering, why do you hate her so much? There's gotta be history you're not telling me." Eren asks the girl.

It was true, he can feel the animosity she seemingly reigns in 24/7 and he wonders if it was at all reciprocated. Though, he has the feeling that it's heavily one sided.

"Mikasa and Y/N-"

"Armin, shut it." The girl grits before her friend could have thought to utter the remainder of his statement.

Eren groans, "Armin, don't shut it. Open it. Open it wide."

"Don't word it like that, Eren..."

"I just don't see the point," Mikasa admits, though her face was telling to how difficult the situation seems to be for her, "What's in the past should be left there, why open up that can of worms?"

"I don't know if you've noticed, but it's pretty damn obvious that those worms have been out for a while now. You don't think I've noticed how personal this seems to be for you?" Eren rebuts.

"Oh, and I'm not supposed to notice how personal this is for you? As in, more than just some revenge brought upon by petty high school humiliation?" She challenges, and her piercing gaze bore into Eren's own. "You've made your little crush pretty obvious, the addition of this information might change more than you think it would, Eren."

"Who I have a crush on is none of your business. Besides, yeah, I'll admit I'm not blind, I can tell Y/N is an attractive girl. You can't blame me for admitting so, but a silly little school crush is just a silly little school crush at the end of the day. I don't get how your past with her had anything to do with something as minuscule as that."

Mikasa's arms crossed before her chest in frustration, and she kept her head forward, not relenting at unsealing her lips. Though, Armin, being placed in the middle of both teens, hates being a quiet middleman.

"Y/N and Mikasa are cousins." He blurts.

Eren's jaw drops, "What?!" His fingers thread through his hair once again, this time gripping at the roots because what the actual fuck. "You're fucking with me, right?"

Armin shakes his head vehemently, "Deadass. They even have the same last name! You'd have never guessed, right?"

"Well, not really. Like, at all."

"Trust me, I wish it wasn't true either." Mikasa sighs.

Eren's arms flail before him defensively, "No! It's not that I wish it weren't true, it's just that it's hard to believe considering how you guys are like polar opposites. I mean she's so... y'know-" He awkwardly shrugs his shoulders, expecting the action to speak the words he couldn't find in himself to utter out loud. "And you're... y'know..."

Armin coughs, "Emo."

"I'm not emo! As a matter of fact, I'm not even a goth, contrary to popular belief. I'm just edgy, how hard is it to look up, people?!"

"...what's the difference?"

"Oh, shut up, Armin! That's why your balls haven't dropped!"

"You promised you wouldn't bring that up anymore!"

"Armin, your balls haven't dropped?"

"Oh, look! We're here!"

As Eren looked before them, he was met with the front of an impressive industrialized soccer stadium. The words 'Home of the Scouts' were engraved above the entrance in proud bold letters. He notices that they are currently standing in the middle of the massive parking lot, containing multiple first class busses bearing the titles 'Stohess Stallions'.

Guessing that those belong to the opposing team, and that team was no where to be found, Eren concludes that both teams must be inside already. Which begs the question, how late is this trio?

"You're in the way."

Eren nearly jumps out of his skin at the sudden stern voice, and the freight was not limited to himself. Armin squeaks and hides behind his two friends, using them as human shields, though Mikasa simply whips around with a nasty scowl at her face because, who would have the audacity?

Oh, that's who.

"Hitch." She grits.

Coming face to face with a group of girls clad in forest green shorts and jersey's, though their matching team jackets obscured the latter, was intimidating, to say the least. The one standing with the most pride, right at the front and center, wore a smug smirk on her face that her short and wavy dirty blonde hair framed beautifully.

"Well, well, well, would you look at who we have here." She drawls with a laugh. "This is such an interesting trio you guys have going on."

"Mikasa who is this, and why did she come up to us like an anime villain?" Eren whispers towards the ravenette.

"Just our luck." The girl mutters under her breath, not at all a just answer in Eren's eyes, but he was not about to voice his thoughts.

The stranger eyeballs Eren in a way that a certain Ackerman did just a few hours earlier in the day, though this time it did not have him weak in the knees, instead an eerie shiver ran down the length of his spine and caused him to gulp down a yelp.

"Come lookin' for a barf bag, new kid?" She decides to single him out directly, "You know, it's almost funny. I always have the same reaction you did when I see Ackerman as well! I don't blame you, hell, I'd even praise you if it wasn't so disgustingly embarrassing." She jests. "You are new aren't ya? Man, the balls you must have to pull that stunt on your very first day. Oh, the look on her face was enough to have me in tears, I've got to tell you."

"It wasn't on purpose." He mumbles with an eye roll.

"Oh, be careful Hitch. You'll make him mad and we just had our jerseys dry cleaned." Comes a voice from beside her, one of her teammates presumably. This draws out many more chuckles from the group of girls, causing Eren's cheeks to heat up from the jab at his poor stomach.

That voice, low but smooth, causes both Armin and Mikasa to stiffen, as if they had recognized it.

"No way..." Armin mutters, his eyes widening in surprise as the owner of the voice made herself visible.

Another blonde, though this one a paler tone, with glacial blue eyes and a sloped nose emerged from the group, a large bag slung over her shoulders and purple cleats hanging from her fingers.

She had an aura about her, one familiar to Eren. One that wrapped itself around every throat and forced the people around her to pay her heed.

"You're right, Annie. Coach would bench us if we happened to sully them and he can't afford to bench his star players." Hitch agrees, though her eyes are not on her apparent teammate. Instead, they seemed to be inspecting Armin and Mikasa's faces, clearly amused by their starstruck expressions.

"Kasa, do something..." Armin whispers.

"What do you want me to do, hex her?"

"Mikasa, long time no see." Annie continues. It seems that the two know each other, perhaps they are old friends? What a heartwarming reunion. "How's it feel living in your cousins shadow?"

Or, perhaps not.

Mikasa's eyes darken and she begins to fumble in her bag for a pair of scissors, "I quite like the shadows, it gives me a place to properly plan your downfall. Maybe even your murder."

Hitch gasps and feigns a frightened expression, "Oh shiver me timbers, small emos are so scary."

"I'll show you scary cunt-"

"Hey hey hey! What's going on here?" Connie unexpectedly appears from behind the trio, his arms making their way around their shoulders. "You guys will be late if you keep loitering around."

"You could never be Bokuto." One of the girls murmur.

"Oh, Connie, I'm so glad you're here. Bend down a little will you? I feel like I have something stuck in my teeth." Hitch jests as she rubs a finger across her pearly whites.

"Aha, funny." Connie grits, "Hey, how's Marlowe by the way? I imagine he's better since he left you for, who was it again?" He asks with a false pensive look.

"Her mom." Armin declares with a proud grin.

The girl clenches her jaw and scowls, "Fuck you, Connie. Isn't yours chilling upside down on a roof?"

"Wrong AU, hitch."

"At least my hair doesn't make me look like I call corporate." Connie retorts.

"Yeah, well at least-"

"Hitch, we don't have time for this." Annie interrupts, holding her wrist out and allowing her teammate to glance at her watch... is that a Rolex? "We still need to warmup."

Eren doesn't think he has ever seen Connie's eyes darken as much as they did then, shooting daggers at the blonde on par with the ones Mikasa fires at her cousin. "You finally decide to talk, Annie?" He calls the girl out.

Without even sparing him a glance, she states a monotone, "I have nothing to say to you." And walks away from the group in pursuit for the entrance.

Following her departure, Hitch scowls at the fact that she too should follow. "Whatever, I'll save my energy for your little friends on the field. You better watch your captain, it'd be a shame if she forgets her place and mysteriously finds herself on her knees where she belongs."

"Don't dish out what you can't take." Connie asserts.

The girl simply rolls her eyes, "Let's go." She says and takes her leave, taking her army of followers along with her.

"Saweetie did it better!" Armin yells after her, to which Mikasa agrees and waves her hand daintily at the group.

"Man, you are having the worst of luck today, aren't you, Eren?" Connie says with a guffaw.

Eren groans and holds his head in his hands. "Trust me, I know."

"I'm surprised you held your own, Connie. Considering that was literally Annie... and she's with Stohess." Mikasa says.

The boy sighs, "Yeah, I know. Fortunately, Reiner found out yesterday, so we weren't as blind sided. Though, we still haven't told the team, and that's been a topic of discourse amongst a couple of our friends." He answers, and the pained expression on his face almost forces Eren to feel sorry for him.

Almost.

Shaking his head lightly to disperse his frown, he instead returns his attention towards the brunet once again. "Anyway, don't worry about Hitch. She's always like that. It's petty school rivalry shit that we used to have with Marley till they shut that school down. Now Stohess thinks they need to step up and claim the spot as our rivals." He explains, though Eren laughs at the ridiculousness of his joke.

They're in high school, clearly it wouldn't actually be that serious, right?

Why is Eren the only one laughing?

"No literally, look." Connie says and juts a finger towards the busses they had spotted earlier. Eren hadn't spotted it before, but right under the school name seemed to be the words, 'Trost Academy rivals! Fuck Marley and Fuck Trost!'

"Oh..." Eren utters breathily, "We're too old for this shit."

"Anyway, we should really get going or else we won't find good seats." Armin ushers his friends with his hands.

"Oh!" Connie exclaims with a newfound grin, one that Eren thinks fits him better than his previous frown. "Don't worry about your seats, you can come chill with us. We've already saved some for you guys."

Armin gasps dramatically and his eyes nearly bulge out of his skull. "Y-you mean, your VIP section? We get to sit in VIP?!" He screeches. Even Mikasa seems taken aback, her jaw slack and her brows hiding behind her bangs, though she didn't dare voice it.

"Yup! Though I had no idea it was called that, Sasha is gonna freak when I tell her!" The teen buzzes with anticipation. "I'll lead the way, come on."

As they begin to follow him, Eren leans into Armin's ear to ask, "Why are they called the VIP seats?"

Armin sputters, "Why else, Eren? They're the best seats in the stadium. The plastics are the only ones to ever use the space, but today we're making history."

"We haven't even told you about the rest of their clique." Mikasa adds.

"The rest? There're more than the eight we've talked about?"

"Oh Eren... there are levels to this shit, okay? Not to mention, lore." Armin says whilst his fingers wiggle before Eren's face to build suspense.

"For instance, remember Annie from earlier? The blondie with blue eyes and a tongue as sharp as a dagger?" Mikasa asks.

"Yeah?"

"Well, she might not act like it, but she's a retired plastic."

"What? You mean she attended Trost at one point? Also, you can retire? Why would she retire?"

"She didn't just attend Trost, she was a founding member of the plastics. A true OG. She helped run our halls. In fact, I'd go as far to say that she was once closer to Y/N than Jean has ever been." Armin said.

"Then, what would make her willingly give that up?"

"Something so simple and obvious, yet achingly torturous that you wouldn't help but sympathize with her. Especially someone like you, wearing your heart on your sleeve like that." Mikasa lightly jabs at her friend.

"Just tell me, 'kasa. I'm not as soft hearted as you think I am." Eren grumbles.

"Unrequited love."

Eren's breath catches in his throat at her words, for he couldn't believe what she was implying. "W-what? You're telling me..."

"Yup," Armin decides to finish his sentence, "We're not sure which way it went or how exactly it went down, but...

One of those girls loved the other far deeper than just mere friendship."

Taglist: @idreamitski @str4wberrylover @jesus-son-of-god @hoejosblindfold @caycaysblogg @simpingmyassoff @youatemylollipop @enouche @longestline [comment to be added, dm to be removed!]

A/N: im sorry this took so long, its shorter than the last but twice as long as my first draft 😟

[weirdmorefics]

I think I got mugged... Carmen Berzatto X reader

Reader's pronouns- (She/Her)

Word Count- 2,063

Summary- Reader gets mugged on her way to work and tries to act like it is no big deal but Carmy forces her to sit down and patches her up.

"Y/N why the hell are you so late? We are slammed! Carmy's losing his ever-loving mind!" Richie shouts at me before I even fully step through the door.

"Shh. You are being so loud right now," I groan while holding my head.

Richie looks at me and grimaces," Woah you look like shit!!"

"Thank you that's exactly what every woman wants to hear. You must be drowning in ladies." I roll my eyes because I am well aware I look like shit I don't really need to hear it.

"Ha ha Y/N you are so funny... but seriously are okay?" Richie fake laughed then looked at me seriously.

"Yeah... I think I got mugged or something... but it's chill," I mumbled a tad embarrassed because I may or may not talk a big game of being tough.

Richie's jaw dropped and he shouted "WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU THINK YOU WERE MUGGED! YOU WERE EITHER MUGGED OR NOT MUGGED!"

At this loud statement, courtesy of Richie Carmy peeks his head out of the window and Sydney comes out to check on guests.

Sydney pauses what she's doing and concernedly says "Y/n are okay?" Then proceeds to shout as well "Is that blood!"

I touch my head and feel the warm wetness on my head, "I suppose it is.. can we just stop the shouting though so I can finish walking in the door and actually help with the rush."

Carmen is instantly rushing out of the kitchen at the statement, "There is no way you are working today!"

"I swear I am fine! I will clean up in the bathroom and get right to work." I attempt to walk away but fail miserably as Carmen instantly grabs my arm.

"Bullshit you are not fine! You are bleeding from your head! If you won't take care of yourself I will do it for you. Sydney cover for me!" Carmen seethed so hard I thought smoke would blow out of his ears.

Sydney responds "Yes, Chef." I mouth I am so sorry as Carmen drags me to the back office.

"OOO Carmy is mad," Richie drags out like a high schooler watching a school fight.

"Shut the fuck up, Richie!" Carmen shouts not even looking back.

I clamp my mouth shut and Richie laughs "Good luck Y/N! I'll beat the mugger up for you though if Carmy doesn't get to him first."

I glare at Richie and I kind of blame him for the whole restaurant finding out I was mugged.

Carmy slams the office door open and basically forces me to sit down without saying a single word. I watch him silently as he mumbles profanities and makes a mess looking for something. After tearing half the office apart he pulls out a first aid kit. He shines a flashlight annoyingly close to my eyes and grumbles for me to follow the light.

I chuckle slightly and ask, "What are you a doctor now?"

He simply glares at me and does not say a word. "Um.. are you mad at me for getting mugged? I mean trust I am mad too I lost fifty bucks I am just glad I only had cash on me and not my wallet. I just don't see why you are mad."

He sets the flashlight down and looks at me like I am an idiot. "Are you serious? You do not know why I am mad? Also, you are concussed so you are not working and I am driving you home."

"What! I am so not concussed they barely even pushed me! Can you even diagnose me with a concussion?" I tried to stand up and walk away from him but was instantly pushed back down in the chair.

"I need you to let me take care of you for once," He said like it was no big deal at all but it made me blush so bad. He did not acknowledge it and poured some alcohol on a towel and cleaned the dry blood off the side of my head.

"You know I'd give you a ride to work anytime," he whispers as he puts my hair behind my ear.

"You being all nice now is giving me serious whiplash. I don't mind taking public transportation anyway and my apartment is literally in the opposite direction from yours I could never ask you to go out of your way to just drive me to work. If you are not going to let me work I will just walk home." I went to stand up again and once again pushed back down.

"Let me get my keys I'll drive you home it is not a question. I will drive you to work when you are healthy enough again. Can't have you getting hurt again." he said bossing me around. This time he noticed my blush and quickly added to the statement " Can't have you getting hurt because we can't afford to lose an employee I mean... just stay put let me get my keys."

As soon as he left the office I stood up and sneaked out to the kitchen.

"Hey Marcus what are you working on," I said in a sing-songy voice. He showed me a wide variety of donuts he was taste-testing for his new donut recipe. I instantly took one and started to help him determine the best ones. Then we both heard Carmy shouting "Y/N where did you go? I thought I told you to stay put!"

I hold my head and groan "What crawled up his ass today?"

"Well, maybe the fact you got mugged and he is obsessed with you?" Marcus says like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

I laugh at him "Shut up I may be concussed but I am not gullible. "

"You may not be gullible but you are certainly oblivious. Better go your boyfriend is still calling for you." He teases as I roll my eyes.

"I am taking a donut because you are being mean," I say and steal my favorite donut out of the batch.

I walk out of the kitchen while taking a bite of my donut and am greeted by a glaring Carmy. "I thought I told you to stay put."

"You did I just didn't listen," I tease.

"Come on we are leaving. Richie behave, Sydney please hold down the fort." He says and Sydney responds with a yes chef and of course, Richie mocks her.

We go outside and Carmy opens the passenger door for me, "Wow a gentleman."

"Thanks, I can be sometimes," He smiles as he gets in the car.

We sat the majority of the ride in silence he still seemed mad at me and I couldn't stop thinking about what Marcus said he had to just be teasing me.

I notice we are going in the wrong way and go to point it out, "Hey Carmy we are going in the wrong direction maybe that's why you always offer me rides home."

"No that's not why. I am taking you back to my place," He says like it is no big deal at all.

"What!" I shout so loud that it makes me instantly hold my head.

"You obviously aren't going to take care of yourself and you can't go to sleep right after getting a concussion either so someone needs to watch you." He said annoyed.

"I still don't get why you are so angry at me. I appreciate you taking care of me but it's unnecessary and I never asked you to." I responded also annoyed at his attitude towards me.

"The thing you don't realize is you don't need to ask me." He says lowly while gripping the steering wheel.

We arrive at his apartment and I am a blushing mess and there is no way of hiding it. Then he opens the car door for me and again and I am way too nervous for my own liking.

He smirks at my reaction at least he is somewhat happy now even if it is at my own expense. He puts his hand on the small of my back as we ascend the stairs.

He sits me on his couch, "Seriously don't move this time I am going to get you an ice pack and make you some breakfast because we both know you always skip it."

"Do you even have food in your fridge we both know you don't even feed yourself," I jest and he laughs.

"You know me so well," he smiles and kisses the top of my head.

I instantly flush at this gesture and he again walks away like it is no big deal. For someone saying he just wants to take care of me, he is certainly stressing me out.

"Okay, I found cereal the milk has gone bad though... on the bright side I also have peanut butter and crackers." He comes back with peanut butter crackers on a plate and a box of cereal.

"My savior," I put my hand on my chest.

"Yes what I crave to be," he responds back.

"Is that why you crave to drive me to work when I can just take the bus and walk the two blocks after?"

He rolls his eyes, "Would you really rather be mugged than drive to work with me?"

I am quick to defend myself "That's not it all I just don't want to be a hassle!"

"You a hassle never, well of course when you refuse to listen but I will never see you that way. Not after all the times you have helped me with the restaurant." He says seriously with a lot of eye contact that makes me feel awkward.

"Well, I am your employee it's what I am supposed to do... but Marcus seems to think we are more," I mumble the last part.

His eyes widen, "What did Marcus say?"

"Does Marcus know something I don't?" I awkwardly smiled. "Marcus did say I am oblivious."

"He shouldn't have said that," He shakes his head.

"I mean it is true I am quite oblivious," I laugh.

He starts mumbling about Marcus and teaches me to open up to him. I put my hand on his shoulder "You know you can open up to me snitches get stitches as I say"

" I mean I didn't want to tell you this way and I wanted to make sure I was good enough," He said.

"What you didn't want to tell a concussed me with a head wound you don't think you good enough? I can assure you are good enough. You are the best chef I have ever known and the smartest guy I have ever met."

"That's not what I meant... but I do appreciate the compliment." He picks the ice pack back up and holds it to my face as I roll my eyes. "What I mean is that I am um good enough for you. I can't focus when you're late to work when you don't text me your nightly I'm Home text. You are distracting my mind no matter what I am doing."

I try to fight the smile appearing on my face but I just can't I feel like the Chesire Cat. "It sounds like you like me," I smirk some more.

" I do."

At that bold confirmation, my face gets extremely hot I must look like a tomato. I look to the side and stutter over my words unsure of what to say " I guess you can drive me to work as long as we go on a proper date together that is not The Bear."

"There is no argument from me," He kisses me making me even redder, more than I thought was possible.

"One more thing to add to these conditions is you must take care of yourself," he whispers in my ear.

"Your one to talk! How about you promise to take care of YOURSELF." I rebuke

"How about we both make sure we are taking care of ourselves," He smirks.

"Deal" I smile and kiss him. I pull back, " I am kinda glad I got mugged today totally worth the fifty bucks."

He shakes his head, " I am glad you think it was worth it I am still incredibly mad they hurt your beautiful crazy brain.

[plutoslittlerkive]

Telepathy

Leo/Loke x fem! Reader Smut

Authors Note: Heyyy guys, so like I’m kinda back, I’m really just taking a break from my Tiktok:Princessofmagix (shameless lol) but I find tumblr more comforting rn so I’m here YAY but yeah, here’s a Leo fic because I’m tired of y’all acting like he’s not BAD, he’s so fine like that’s my baby and y’all are sleep👁️👁️ but whatever, more for me ig😴 But anyways here something a lil short, a lil sweet!

Warnings!: Somnophilia, slight manhandling, and the reader cries…(idk Leo’s just HIM fr) but I think that’s it?

(Also mini text is speech through telepathy!)

Enjoy<3

I personally like to believe that my Leo is a sweetheart, he’s so eager to please, haven’t you heard that lions are loyal?

Especially if you allow yourself to be comfortable around him? He’s so grateful, he’d do whatever you ask. Anything to make you happy!

Like he’s such a sweetie and he always wants to know that he’s being good for you PLEASE praise him, he’s a sucker for words of affirmation…aside from physical touch. He can’t stand to be away from you and he definitely has some attachment issues.

If he could he’d be glued to your side! He’d give anything to be able to touch you. Mans will real deal get down on his knees, like his pride and ego are big but his love and desire for you are BIGGER! Like you could wake up to him between your thighs, he has absolutely no shame, you were his craving, and how else could he ease you after a stressful day?

It’s no wonder, the overstimulation damn near suffocated you in your sleep as if you’d been succumbed to paralysis. But what kind of nightmare would turn hell into heaven? You surely felt the heat, it was a warmth that enveloped every fiber of your being but you couldn’t keep up.

He looked up at you satisfied, he loved seeing you like this. Sure you were his master and you held his leash but to see you in such a vulnerable state, how could that ever be the case? He smirked as your thighs trembled around his face, clenching the sheets to try and brace yourself.

It was just too much, but prey never took the lead, and as your eyes finally opened allowing him to see their glossiness, he immediately gripped your hips and buried his face deeper, he had the power now.

“Feels good beautiful?” He asked through telepathy, a new power you incorporated with your spirits to aid in future battles.

Though now you kinda regretted teaching him at all, he just couldn’t behave.

But you wouldn’t play his game, you were exhausted and the pleasure only made you feel dizzy, so you spoke aloud.

“L-leo…wait…p-please~!“ He eased his fingers inside and curled them up, running his tongue soothingly along your clit.

“Wait why?” He questioned innocently in your head. People love to say cats are spoiled and Leo was no exception, he was such a tease and so brutal in these moments where your body craved any kind of release. Your back arched as you took a deep breath.

“Lion I can’t even breathe, please give me a break…” you stressed as you stared down at him pleadingly, lord only knows how long this has been going on.

“How, when I’m being so gentle with you?” Immediately he pulled you back to him when you tried to escape his grasp.

Curling his fingers deeper, he gently pressed down over your abdomen to feel every thrust. You couldn’t stop your thighs from shaking, he knew how torturous this probably was for you but he also knew he wasn’t going to stop, not until he felt like you were satisfied, he just wanted to please you, if you allowed it.

And allow it you did, because realistically you could’ve easily just closed his gate if you wanted him to stop but, of course your body betrayed any sane thoughts you had. It was especially different now because you were in fact EXHAUSTED but it was so hard to say no to him when he only did this because this was his way of taking care of you.

“I can feel you getting tighter babe” You’d be more thankful if he weren’t so sly, he was mocking you, and chuckled hearing your cries slowly excel, until suddenly you started to hold your breath.

“That’s it beautiful…” He spoke to you softly knowing you were about to cum.

The arousal dripped down your thighs as he sucked harshly along your clit and continued to curl his fingers up to meet his other fingers that rested gently on top of your belly.

You squeezed your eyes shut allowing the tears to fall, he played with your body for so long that all over felt tense, you couldn’t find it in yourself to open your mouth, too afraid of the struggled cries that would slip if you did. He further guided you until your mind settled, but you panicked as he proceeded to run his tongue over you.

“Relax Princess I’m almost done.” He cooed as he looked up to you, but you whined at his touch as you realized your body really couldn’t handle anymore, but soon enough he pulled away from you slightly and gently kissed along your thighs lovingly.

As you caught your breath he reached up and stole it back with a kiss, then brought one up to your forehead.

He smiled sweetly and pulled you close to him, kissing all over you, you wanted to thank him but your eyes fell heavy, so you finally spoke to his mind.

“I love you lion, thank you…” it didn’t take much time for you to drift back to sleep.

“I love you more beautiful…sweet dreams”

THE END!

(Thank you for reading! You wanna like and reblog so bad👁️👁️ *Holds up a hypnosis screen*)

Also request something I miss Fairytail sm :(

[blasphemecel]

Michael Kaiser, Alexis Ness — Wardrobe Malfunction

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader/Alexis Ness WORD COUNT: 1.6k TYPE: Humor, Clothes Swap NOTE(S): For the purposes of this situation, reader is on the shorter side, and also because I feel like they have the evil of a short person in their soul. Also, same Y/n character as Dog Walking, but you don't need to read that to read this at all!

Despite whatever airs you put on, you like wearing your Bastard München uniform. Mostly because it makes you feel like a big shot professional, which appeals to your sense of self-importance.

You don’t think much of it when you slip on your shirt, but soon enough it becomes apparent to you that something is off. It feels wrong, too loose. And it’s falling down way lower than what you’re used to. You take a few seconds to scrutinize it in between owlish blinks, although the emboldened logo on the front doesn’t aid you in figuring out this mystery.

The easy way to check comes to you soon enough, and you lift your leg to see a traitorous ten in the corner of the shorts instead of your number. A look of horror takes over your face… No… You’re going to get Kaiser’s cooties. He is contaminating you with his germs.

You can already feel them loosening after the movement, and once you put your foot back down, they immediately slide off. With a huff, you grab them from the floor and resolve to strut up to the crux of your dilemma.

When you approach, Kaiser has his back on you, and you immediately notice the big eight, and the wrong name accompanying it. Ness is struggling to fit into the shirt he got, and while his jersey isn’t too ill-fitting on Kaiser, it’s too short, leaving him to fumble with the hem to try and hide the exposed part of his waist.

“It’s just like the pants, I can’t put it on,” Ness cries.

“What do you mean, you can’t put it on?” Kaiser asks before taking a handful of fabric and yanking down with too much force. “See, you can put it on just fine.”

“I can barely move! This is ridiculous-”

Oh, you see how it is now. Are they stupid, though? How have they been talking for so long without pinpointing the problem? You sneak behind Kaiser and reel in your arm before smacking him on the back with the shorts, exerting all of your might.

He lets out a grunt of pain you believe is overdramatized since it can’t have hurt that much, shoulders jerking up. “Whoever did that, I will fucking curb stomp y-” and then, after he whips around and sees you, the threat dies down on his tongue.

“Your dirty pants, sir,” you say in a fake fancy voice before throwing them at his face.

Kaiser flings them away on the bench, narrowing his eyes at you with this weird mix between taunting and adoring. “What the fuck? What the fuck is wrong with you. You’re so cute right now. Let me see.”

With this new positioning, Ness seems to finally realize what happened, too, because he says, “Wait, Kaiser, that’s… m-mine.”

Ignoring him, Kaiser steps around to examine you, and his ugly grin that you can’t stand grows even wider somehow when he reads his name. His name that’s on you because you’re wearing his jersey. “Holy shit.”

“You look like an imp.”

He disregards you with ease, too — you have to admit he’s good at this ‘only hearing what he wants to hear’ stuff — and opens his locker to rummage through it. Ness says, “You’re- you’re wearing Kaiser’s? That’s so unfair.”

“Yeah, and you’re wearing mine. Stand proud. You’re blessed. Millions would kill to be in your place. Everyone’s gonna wear this merch in the future, but you get the real thing.”

“You seriously live in la-la-land, it’s unbelievable.”

You spin your finger in the air, seeming way too pleased with yourself. “Do a little twirl for me, I wanna see how it looks on you all around.”

“I will NOT be doing that,” Ness denies with a huff. He’s so uptight when it comes to anyone who’s not Kaiser. Someone would’ve thought you have gangrene or that you asked him to clean roadkill off the street or something with the way he’s acting.

What Kaiser was searching for in such a rush turns out to have been his phone, you come to find out when he starts taking pictures of you without even a modicum of shame. Multiple of them, if the repetitive pressing he’s doing is indicative of anything.

“Don’t point your phone at me, you sick fuck,” you say, reaching out to cover the lens.

Your efforts go in vain, since he just lifts it up high where you can’t reach and continues. “No way. You’re just way too cute right now. I mean, shit.”

Mocking you aside, there’s this thinly-veiled wonder on his face, and it’s making you want to vomit because of course he’d be the type to get a kick out of stupid shit like this. He’s so fucking lucky, too, it’s pissing you off. Among the three of you, he’s the only one who’s kind of in presentable condition.

Once you come close to swatting the device out of his grasp with a jump, Kaiser presses his palm to your face and shoves you away, keeping you at an arm’s length. Then he diverts his attention to Ness, snapping photos of him now and laughing. “You look stupid as hell.”

“Nooo, Kaiser, don’t! Stop!” Ness says, red-faced, to absolutely no avail.

He even takes a few steps back and does a bad job of covering his stomach with his hands while inching towards the bench, which… he makes a genuine attempt at ducking under. This doesn’t deter Kaiser from continuing his paparazzi session or whatever it is that he’s doing, nor does it conceal Ness from view.

You detach your cheek from Kaiser’s hold and announce, “Don’t worry, Ness, I’m gonna save you from the vile pig,” before you take an unnecessary leap and stick your fingers where the shirt is riding up, tickling his sides.

This startles him enough to let go of his phone (the apparatus of evil), sending it flying. You at least have enough decency to catch it, since you’re not really above letting it shatter either. Then you start scrolling through it with the intention of deleting the photos.

It doesn’t take Kaiser long to recover from your attack, and when he does, he reaches out to you. You assume he’s just trying to get his phone, so you kind of twist around to try and prevent him from doing so, but what he does is much worse.

He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into him before collapsing his stupid ass on the bench (which, at this point, has witnessed many horrors), leaving you to sit on his lap. Then — as if this isn’t offensive enough already — he rests his chin on your shoulder.

“God, you’re such a touch-starved freak, it’s actually appalling.”

“You probably won’t look this good in your life ever again.” You roll your eyes at the stupid comment, and he starts tapping the screen along with you, and he even has the nerve to snicker. “I needed to be opportunistic.”

“Whatever, man.”

The weird battle results in a lot of random apps opening and closing, until eventually the gallery comes up on accident. With a feeling of triumph, you slap his hand away, so he won’t get in your way anymore. There you see the long string of pictures depicting Ness’s progression towards hiding under the bench, which, in your opinion, would make a great slideshow. Next are the images featuring you, where you’re looking up at him and struggling to even graze the phone, swiping your fists at thin air. Wow, you never thought you’d see your Great and Almighty Self from such a… pitiful perspective.

Before you can mope about how vertically challenged you are, however, something else catches your eye, and you burst out laughing, borderline dry-heaving from the acuteness of it. “What-”

Kaiser flusters and snatches his phone out of your fingers before pushing you up and away from him. This, for better or for worse, doesn’t wipe your memory or make you unsee the comically large amount of shirtless mirror selfies he has accumulated.

Despite your stumbling, you don’t fall. “How did you always manage to make the exact same pose and exact same expression in every single one of them?! Seriously. That’s spine-chilling.” You pretend to wipe a tear, even if it’s not that funny.

Kaiser doesn’t respond and turns around to toss his phone back to wherever he got it from. Ness — whose presence you kind of forgot about — deems it safe enough to stand up and reemerge. He asks, “What? What did you see?”

“His shrine of himself,” you say. “By the way, I think he’s a stripper.”

“I’m not a stripper,” argues Kaiser as if there was a possibility Ness might believe you.

For the first time, it’s Ness who is pretending Kaiser didn’t say anything. “Did you delete them?”

“No.”

He slumps, disheartened.

You make your way behind him. “Alright, let’s switch back,” you say, rolling up the material of your jersey. Surprisingly Ness accepts the help without any complaints and just accommodates you with a high raise of his hands.

You’re nearing the biggest problem area — his shoulders — when Kaiser deems it fit to intervene. “Ness, bend over. You’re taking too long.”

He does as told and Kaiser, for some godforsaken, idiotic reason, hooks his fingers inside of the collar. But you don’t see that since you’re trying to focus on your part, so instead you just comment on his willingness, “Slutty.”

“S-Shut up- Oh my god, don’t pull like that, what if it tears?!”

“It’s not going to tear.”

This exchange alarms you somewhat, so you shift your gaze to Kaiser, and what greets you is the sight of him tugging on the collar, trying to hoist it over Ness’s head. Your eye twitches. “If you damage mine, I’m gonna make good use of yours. Naturally what I mean by this is that I’ll use it as toilet paper.”

“It’s not going to tear,” repeats Kaiser, yanking harder. Apparently your collective lack of faith in him is vexing him.

… You hear a rip.

___

Happy valentine's day (I wrote this yesterday i was with my boyfriend today lol. He's american so he thinks valentine's day is a real holiday)

[missblissy]

Can you write an Alastor x reader where the reader tries to save him from Adam but ends up badly injured?

((Ofc course nonny! I apologize if I’m a little rusty and this wasn’t exactly what you had in mind but!! I did get inspired by the last episode and decided to rewrite the scene with reader there too :’) I hope you enjoy!! This is more of a platonic stage of a relationship with Alastor, something where he cares for reader but not like… ya know… together yet 😂))

You already knew the plan, you knew your place in it, that being down on the ground with all your friends. In front of the hotel you stood, not far from the others. While Charlie and Vaggie watched with wide eyes, you felt a sliver of dread work its way into your mind. The shield that Alastor had created was holding… for now.

And you could see far above like a speck of glowing sand, Adam and his bright wings keeping him afloat. The sliver of dread was momentarily replaced with rage, anger, and possibly hatred. You had to shake it away though, as within a moment's notice Adam broke down the shield and the dread returned.

It wasn’t long before angels came flying down once again, with a newfound fury to destroy the demons who dared to stand against them. Luckily you at least knew a thing or two about dodging and weaving. Spending time in hell taught you enough to throw a few kicks, with the stab of an angelic weapon given to you before the battle.

You’d manage to take down a few angels, all while still keeping a seething eye on Adam. The closer he got to the hotel the more panic you felt, and more so for selfish reasons rather than selfless ones. And with Alastor’s shield down it was only a matter of time before the table would start turning. Purely out of your own instincts you turn tail from the battle out front and start racing up the hotel.

There were angels already swarming in like flies, and you did your best to avoid them. Despite that, one still caught you off guard and managed to slam you to the ground. A struggle ensued, wrestling on the ground with this vile heathen, to you at least.You’d let out a yelp and wriggle, arms flying and nails clawing into holy skin. With you elbow you jammed it into the angel’s face over and over until you could reach you weapon and go for their throat.

The bright glowing blood splashed onto you, golden, while slick it escaped the angel and stole its life in the process. You shoved the lifeless body off you and stumbled further up the hotel. You could hear the battle above, while bits of rumble crumbled and flung to the ground. The building gave a shake and shudder strong enough for you to slip on a step and reach for the railings.

Your heart leapt into your throat and threatened to burst any second. The panic was a terrible and familiar feeling. It was hard to say, or even admit, but dammit you cared for that stupid bastard up there in a way. Alastor certainly couldn’t stand a chance against Adam, you didn’t believe a word of his boasting earlier. Claiming that he could single handedly take care of Adam and keep him distracted.

No sinner, not even the radio demon could do such a thing you believed. He’d been gone for so long as well, who’s to say he hasn’t gotten rusty? Alastor was cocky, and arrogant, yet still you were racing up floor after floor to aid him in battle.

The hotel shook again and you had to put your hands out to catch yourself in the fall. You still shimmered with holy blood as droplets fell from you while racing the last few steps. Another good shake and rumble had you rushing and stumbling out of the door onto the rooftop.

A panicked expression came on your face, witnessing what was before you. Though Alastor seemed fine, causal even with a simple smile, you saw Adam trying evade the dark tenacles that manifested to and fro around him. Adam may have had a sneer on his face but he let out a mocking laugh, “Ha! You think you’re tough shit don’t you?” His golden eyes met yours in that second, and you started to take a step forward.

Alastor hadn’t even noticed, he just smiled and took another swing at Adam, “Tougher than you~!” He grinned with a twisted laugh. While Adam took a few attempts at striking Alastor, lurching forward with his bass ax, Alastor was too caught in the battle to see the split second decision that you made.

You ran forward with all your might, weapon in hand and death in your eyes. You hoped that with your speed you’d have caught Adam off guard, but it wasn’t enough. You were able to cut the distance and jab the angelic weapon into Adam’s side but not without him reaching around and back handing you away. You landed with a thud on the ground several feet away, ready to get back up, but Adam was quick enough to kick away your only weapon.

His ax cut down quickly on one of your arms, leaving it hanging by a thread before he grabbed you by the throat and used you as some meat shield. Your own blood gushed like a sprinkler and began to pool. All while you let out a curdling cry in pain.

To say Alastor was anything but enraged that you managed to make it up there was a mistake. His smile was still there regardless. But he froze if only to listen to Adam bicker. With his hand around your throat, the air was running out quickly in your lungs while you did everything you could to kick your feet at him.

“Come on you edge lord freak! Not gonna fight now that I got this neat little trick?” Adam’s smug grin was enough to test Alastor’s patience and reasoning. The grip on your neck only got tighter. Wriggling there you could do nothing but listen and watch… in fear. As Alastor only grinned and took a swing at Adam, taking you by surprise as well. You were mere inches away from being scathed by one of the tentacles as Adam prepared to use you to block it, but instead he was attacked by another seconds sooner from behind.

But it was enough of a hit to knock you from his hands, and you thudded to the floor. The two of them were back in some kind of battle locked tango as Adam swung and swung his ax and only missed Alastor as he mocked him, “You lack discipline, control!” Alastor laughed, his voice ringing in and out of your ears as you tried to fight back the pain and blood loss, “And worse! You’re sloppy!”

You couldn’t see, let alone hear much more other than the battle going on… You just needed to rest… just for a second. The back and forth bickering between the other two went fuzzy, along with the rest of the battle going on around. That’s when you felt… something... At least try and attempt to pull you to safety. It was the wrapping of a long singular black tentacle curling around your ankle, one that was coming from the shadows and away from the fight.

Even still, above it all, the ringing of battle, the throbbing of pain, the muffled bickering. You could hear the distance snap then a visceral cry of equal pain from an all to familiar voice. Perhaps it was the last bits of adrenaline and endorphins. Or it was your continuing unrelenting nature to never do as told, and always do as you wish instead. Even if it was every instinct in your body telling you otherwise, your eye snapped open and through the blood you could see Alastor becoming a corner like a caged animal with a wound all his own.

Something primal in you awoke, something that wasn’t fueled by hatred or even really fear, but rather more of a rage induced panic for someone cared for. The burn was enough to push you to your feet, leaping with all your might towards Adam. You managed to tackle him down, using your only good arm to wrestle him to the ground, fighting over his ax, “You little shit!” He barked at you, “You just don’t know when to quit don’t you?!?”

It was Alastor’s turn to bleed and watch, and more helpless than ever before. His ego tore in two behind a smile while fighting the instinct to turn tail and save his own skin. Guaranteeing your death. Or, risk what little left he could do to save you. And even more infuriating, his deal wouldn’t allow him to do more than what he wanted.

He gritted his teeth and choked on blood. Alastor smirk only got more bitter as he chuckled to himself and muttered a curse, reminding himself to chew you out later if you both made it out alive.

While you struggled on the ground with Adam, while his fist greeted your face, jaw and throat a few times, you’d claw and bite at him with the same force. If Alastor was going to act, he needed to act now. So he got to his feet, holding his arm over his blood oozing wound. However, in the other hand shadows began to take form. He closed the distance and let out a mocking laugh, “Don’t forget about me!” His arms swung back over his head, “You aren’t the only one experienced with an ax!” Alastor cackled as the long broad long handle of a felling ax formed from the shadows.

Alastor chopped down with all his strength, eyes turning to dials, the large red X growing on his forehead. He flung the ax down with memories of dismembering bodies, however here he only managed to clip Adam’s wing, far from the glory days of his serial killings. But Alastor still had a skill or two left from then as he used the same motion to knock Adam back like a baseball player hitting a home run.

With a thud and a yell Adam cursed out, forced apart and bleeding from his wing he let you go in the tussle between him and Alastor. In that split second you felt a new pair of hands grab you from behind. Everything felt like it started moving in slow motion to you. The air felt thick, and shadows grew larger from every source. Alastor grabbed you with one arm, bleeding out as equally as you but still keeping you secure by his side, and using the other arm to throw the felling ax like a tomahawk, missing Adam by a hair.

Shadows started creeping in around you, misting and closing in on you. The last thing you saw was Adam’s shit eating grin before darkness enveloped you as you escaped with Alastor. Wind whirled around you but you couldn’t see it, only feel the cool icy bricks of the sharp currents. Lightless like a feather one moment, then the next you felt gravity slam you back into the ground.

The air was smacked out of your lungs, dropped onto the ground you let out a yelp as the world returned. Rubble and ruins surrounded you, dust fell and rocks shambled to the cold hard floor. This… must be the basement of the hotel… You thought. You could still hear the battle above.

But you couldn’t forget how you got here, and who brought you. Guilt washed over you quickly, you spun your head around and saw Alastor propping himself up against a crumbling wall. His ears pinned back, his smile all broken and shaky but still holding true… And some little shadow minion of his was shoving his guts back in his torso and stitching him closed.

That’s when you remembered your own wounds. Your arm… Quickly with fear you looked down and were surprised to find it also being tended to by a little shadow puppet. Which, honestly, you couldn’t feel anything from the shoulder down at this point. So pain or detecting someone pulling the sinews back together wasn’t going to be noticed anyways. At least your arm wasn’t a total loss.

Quickly though, you began frantically, apologizing, “Alastor-.. I am so sorry- I… I-” You felt like a fool, but you also felt a little angry, “I’m sorry!” You said again, “But why did you think you could take Adam on by himself!?” The little flair of anger was gone as soon as it came. Being replaced by guilt once more you hung your head and stared away from your own wounds, someplace random, and repeat, “I’m sorry,” You just didn’t want him to become a causality….

You kept muttering and mumbling away, you even felt tears ready to escape but the quick and short, “Stop,” From the other hushed you up quickly. Out of fear at first, you didn’t look up, but the slow troubled pattern of heels clicking towards you was enough to lift your tired eyes.

Still bloody but not bleeding, and with a limped pain in his step, Alastor approached you, his smile tired and barely hanging on. To your surprise, at first all he said was, “Are you alright?” As he knelt down and gestured to your arm. You were ready to be scolded, and even chewed up and split out… But all Alastor seemed to care about at this moment was if you’d live to another day.

The little shadow had nearly finished sewing you together like a broken doll, repaired and ready to play again. It disappeared once its task was done, and just to test its work, you moved your arm, rolled your wrist and waved your fingers, “I’ve been worse,” You told him with a huff, and a sheepish smile.

“Good,” Was all he said, which, you’d be lying if the empty look in his eyes and his hollow smile didn’t unsettle you to some degree. You didn’t have much of a chance to get a better look, as he stood up while brushing the debris and loose hair out of your face, “Go to the others,” He told you, “And tell them what happened…” His shoot started tapping further away again.

When you looked up again his back was to you. He reached down to his staff snapped in two, you couldn’t see his face but you heard the heavy sigh, “What about you?” You asked, he was still injured, he couldn’t possibly be going off for another fight…? Your nerves where settled only slightly as he reassured you, “I need to find something to fix this,” He gestured to the broken staff, “I believe there is something left in my radio tower,” He explained.

You slowly got to your feet, a sigh, a huff, then a nod of your head, “Okay,” You said. You watched for a second more, turning to leave but not taking a step, looking over your shoulder at him. A sullen moment broke into the air, an unfamiliar sorrow. And he stopped in his steps too. Mimicking your actions, looking back until your eyes met. He shared a smile, one at least more true and strong enough to spread on your lips. A second more was spent there, until more earth shattering rumbles began and the moment was broken. Separating you two once again, leading down different paths away from each other.

[haruka-norikoyo]

Monoma x reader who is Mirio’s sibling Part 5

Wow, I can’t believe I already have this much parts.

Other parts:

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 6 | Part 7

Part 5/?

~~~~~~~~~~

You had the movie set up by the time Neito returns to the room. He was only supposed to get ice cream and soda so…

“Why do you have all that with you?!” you laugh. With him is a whole cart of food that the two of you would not be able to finish. He didn’t forget the ice cream. It was in one giant bowl topped with a myriad of sprinkles and syrup, as well as some slices of fruit as if that would make it healthy. On the second level of the cart are a bunch of cream puffs and small cake slices, and on the bottom level are chips and popcorn. Behind him, he is dragging along a wagon stacked high with blankets and clothes pins.

Neito shrugs, smiling at your amused expression. “They all got nosy and decided to chip in.” He sets down the blankets beside you on the bed, taking out a mini projector. “Aw, they’re so sweet.”

He nudges you while he connects the projector with his computer. “Hey, pay attention to me, not my classmates.”

You nudge back teasingly, “I dunno, you seem pretty out done.”

Neito rolls his eyes. “Are you gonna set up the base or what?” he asks, gesturing to the blankets and pillows.

You gasp, unfolding the blankets with glee. “A pillow fort..! That’s what it’s for..!”

He chuckles at your childish excitement. Though, he had to admit that the pillow fort was a good idea from Honenuki… he’ll have to thank him later.

Once he was done setting the projector up, he helps you with the fort. You pin the blankets onto his unused ceiling fan and his curtain rod, and some at the edges of his bed. Next you stack the pillows around you as a wall, using one of them to prop the projector up to properly face the wall. Now that the fort is done, you sit inside, waiting for Neito to join you after shutting the lights off. You hear them click. The blankets part as Neito crawls in with faintly lit electric candles. The extravagance of this one final touch has you rolling with laughter. He raises a brow at you with a smirk, setting the candles down around the fort. “What? Don’t like it?”

“No, I love it,” you giggle.

Neito smiles, finally sitting with his arm around your shoulder. He’s silent for a while, so you look back at him. You tilt your head, “What’re you staring for, hm?”

“Wow, so I can’t even look at you?”

You shake your head, leaning against him. “Just don’t ask me about what you missed in the movie.”

“Yeah yeah, I’ll pay attention to it,” and so he presses his keyboard, and the movie begins.

***

There is a knock in the 1-B dorm.

Kendo is quick to open it, finding her homeroom teacher standing there. He doesn’t usually have to check on them, so she figures why he’s there. “Oh, Vlad-sensei. Togata-san’s over at Monoma’s room.”

“Ah,” he says. He had gotten a call from Aizawa saying that some students from class 1-A were worried about (y/n) Togata not coming back to the dorm when they said they’d be back before curfew. Both teachers knew where you’d probably be without saying anything, which leads him here. “Tell them it’s past curfew and time to call it a day.”

“Well… we tried, but we figured it would be fine for Togata-san to stay?”

“What do you mean you tried?”

Kaibara peeks his head out of the door. “Just look at them.” He holds out his phone, which is on video chat with Tsubaraba over at Neito’s room along with Fukudashi, Shishida, Rin, Awase, and Kodai. The camera settles on Fukudashi as he draws on Neito’s face with a marker, which already has a few doodles. The unsuspecting boy is fast asleep, curled up against you, whose face is untouched… for now. Fukudashi’s face is in a mischievous “fufufu” speech bubble.

The other four are aiding him by holding up the blankets while he draws. In the background, the credits of a movie is projected on the wall. Several trays of the remnants of snacks sprawl across the floor.

Technically, the curfew only specifies that students must be in the dorms, but not which dorm so… Vlad sighs. “Alright. Just remind them not to be late for class.”

Besides, Aizawa probably won’t give a damn either. It’s hero school. Let the kids be kids every now and then.

***

You are gently shaken awake as a soft voice calls out your name. “(Y/n)… (y/n), I’m leaving soon.”

“Hm?” you rub your eyes, opening them to see Neito now dressed in his P.E. uniform. Curiously, he has a few dark smudges on his face. Ah, you must’ve fallen asleep. “Morning Neito… where are you going?”

“I’m going to Gym Gamma. You should head back to your dorm before your classmates get worried. Maybe get a little more sleep in your room.”

Sitting up, you notice that the fort is still up, just parted to make room for you to move. Most of the mess from last night have been stacked neatly to the side, ready to be cleaned up later. As he’s setting his gym bag up, he adds, “By the way, they drew on our faces on our sleep.”

Now that wakes you up. Quickly, you take your phone out and look at the camera and see that there, in fact, are doodles on your face from permanent marker. Well that explains the ink remnants on Neito’s face…

He hands you a wipe, saying that you can use the one of the 1-B sinks as well as their soap before you leave for your dorm. “Thanks. Why so early though? You training?”

Neito rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, your brother visited yesterday while I was getting snacks.” Seeing the scowl on your face, he quickly adds. “He didn’t try scaring me this time. In fact, he offered to help train me.”

You did, staring incredulously at him, “He did?” “Yeah,” Neito sits down on the edge of his bed. “And considering he’s one of the big three of UA, how could I refuse? Besides, it’s a good chance to see his quirk in action.”

Fearing that he’d accidentally go too hard on Neito, Mirio had Hado take over in the demonstration with 1-B. She kicked their asses. No remorse, I fear.

———

“I’m here because I’d like to make an offer to you. Think of it as an olive branch being extended,” Mirio, whose head is peaking out from the 1-B dorm’s floor says.

Neito raises a brow. A peace offering? “I’m listening…”

“I’ve heard of your quirk Copy. You’re able to copy other’s quirks if you’ve made physical contact with them for a certain amount of time, correct?”

“I’m a little concerned about how you know that, but you’re right. I’ve been training to extend that time limit.”

“Ah, sounds great! Ah—” Mirio sinks into the floor. Neito furrows his brows in confusion. After a few seconds, his voice returns. “Anyway, since we’ve started out on the wrong foot…”

Neito looks up as Mirio’s head now pokes out of the ceiling.

“…I would like to get to know you better. As both a person and as the hero you’re aspiring to be. So I came here to offer to train you on using my quirk. It’ll help you improve your duration too right?”

Neito puts his finger on his chin, looking straight ahead, “That’s… an interesting offer…” His mind weighs his options. He doesn’t exactly fully trust this guy even when he’s your brother so…

Mirio sticks his hand out from the ceiling to make a thumbs up. “It is, isn’t it? You see, my quirk isn’t what you’d think is hero like, is it?”

At this, Neito looks up again, eyes bigger with interest. “Not hero like? Even though you’re top of the school?” “My quirk makes me untouchable to everything. That includes any surface and even air. A simple movement such as taking a step through a wall would require me to turn it on for all except one leg, stepping through, turning it off in that leg that stepped through, and then turning it on in that previous leg.” “It took me a lot of time and dedication to make it a hero like quirk. I want to see if you’re the type who can persevere. I think that’s fair considering you claim you’ll spend the rest of your life with (y/n).”

Neito smiles wryly as Mirio quotes him. But that smiles soon fades, his expression going serious. “I do intend to make good on my words. They’re not simply hopes and wishes, they’re promises. I accept your offer.”

Mirio smiles a little wider. It’s subtle, but Neito picks up on it. “Alright! Lets meet tomorrow at Gym Gamma. Two hours before class.”

Neito nods. “Understood, onii-san!”

Mirio narrows his eyes at the boy, “…Fine, I’ll let you call me that.”

[writeforfandoms]

Warrior Song 15

Find the series masterlist

Well, we made it to the end of this fic. This is not the last I'll write of Master Chief, but I may take a break for a bit. I think I managed to wrap up everything with this last chapter, but if you have any lingering questions, I'd love to hear them!

Now, let's get this lot squared away, shall we?

Warnings: Swearing, mention of injuries, little bit of politics, everything will be okay.

Word count: 2.7k

By the time you caught up to John, there were a group of Sangheili walking towards him. He didn't have a weapon in hand, so you figured it was safe enough. 

“Master Chief,” the one in front greeted, silvery armor different from what you were used to seeing. “It has been a long time.”

“Arbiter.” Chief inclined his head, ever so slightly. 

“You are a difficult man to find.” 

Chief just shrugged. You held back your laughter. 

“How did you find us?” Fernando joined you on your other side, subtly bracing you to help you get weight off your injured leg. 

“There was unusual slipspace activity,” Arbiter said calmly. “Whoever was controlling the computer was sloppy - pieces fell through, and from them we were able to determine the coordinates of this weapon.” 

You blinked. You’d gotten probably half of that, but you were also exhausted, so. Whatever. 

“We have injured,” Chief cut in, fortunately not looking down at you. “Limited supplies.”

“I have enough to share,” Arbiter agreed easily. “I will summon aid as well from the nearest human ships. In the meantime, you must tell me what happened here.” 

Chief nodded once, taking a step forward. Kelly (who had appeared from nowhere and nearly gave you a heart attack) ushered you and Fernando away, more or less gently. 

“Kelly, what–?” You started to ask, frowning.

“You are supposed to be resting,” she reminded you. “I could always carry you.”

You huffed but didn’t object further. Okay. Fine. So she was right. But you wanted to know what was going on!

Somehow you ended up back in bed, pouting, a tray of food on your lap and Kelly making sure you and Fernando both ate. (Fernando opted to sit on the floor.) 

After the third time you huffed at your food, Kelly huffed back at you. 

“Keep that up and I won’t ask Fred for updates.”

You pouted harder but ate in silence. 

Vaguely, you could hear the camp buzzing around you, excited voices and the stomp of feet and movement all combining into one continuous drone. You’d bet news of the Sangheili ships had spread fast. Or maybe they’d heard about the human ships coming to aid too? How long would that take? How long had you been asleep, even? Long enough for Arbiter to arrive, clearly, but how long had that taken? 

“Stop thinking,” Kelly advised, poking your cheek. 

“Easy for you to say,” you grumbled. And then paused. 

Welp. You were dead. 

Kelly huffed a tiny laugh. “So the explosion did knock the sense out of you,” she teased. 

You had no defense for that, so you just hunkered down in your bed, ears burning. At least you weren’t as sore today, though probably still some level of dehydrated. Your thigh was definitely the worst of your injuries still. 

“Why did you blow up Atriox?” 

The sudden question from Fernando startled you, and you blinked rapidly as you refocused on him. “It seemed like a good idea at the time? And, I mean, it’s not like he was friendly.”

Fernando shook his head. “No, I know that, but why you?”

Oh. That was the issue. You swallowed, looking down at the blanket pulled up over your lap. “It’s not like I sat there and debated the pros and cons,” you started slowly, picking at a loose thread. “It just… happened. I was there. I had a grenade. Nobody else was close enough, and he was doing something, and I couldn’t think of any other way to stop him.” 

Fernando perched next to you, taking one of your hands in his, ducking his head a little to meet your gaze. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, you got out okay, yeah?” 

You sniffled once, hands starting to shake. “Only because of John,” you whispered, shaking your head a little. “It was dumb, but I couldn’t do nothing.”

Fernando wordlessly pulled you into him, one hand patting your back gently but a little awkwardly as you fought back tears. 

“Here. Tea.” Kelly nudged you, ever aware of her strength, holding a mug until you took it. Fernando looked a little relieved, honestly. You couldn’t blame him. 

“Any idea how long things will take?” You took a sip of the tea. A little bland, but warm and soothing. 

Kelly shrugged, a monumental shift of broad shoulders. “Arbiter is chatty. Could be a while. Longer for ships to arrive.” 

Naturally. You made a face but didn’t protest, just drinking your tea. You still felt unsteady, like thinking too hard about anything might tip you out of balance again. Logically, you knew you shouldn’t be surprised - you’d had a harrowing experience that was going to stay with you for a long time.

But logic was hard to come by when you were busy wrestling your emotions back under control. 

The quiet was almost too much, after the stress of the last few days. But it was good, too - at least it meant there wasn’t any further excitement. Against your will, your head started to dip, eyelids growing heavy. The quiet was also very good for making you sleepy, at least when you were running on so little sleep. 

Fernando pushed you to take a nap, promising he’d wake you when something happened. 

So when you did wake up, bleary and confused, to someone sitting next to you, you thought it was Fernando.

“Go back to sleep,” John murmured, voice low and rough. A heavy arm settled over your waist as John laid down behind you, already dressed down.

“What happened?” you asked, voice still thick with sleep. 

“Nothing yet.” He breathed out slowly, tickling the back of your neck. “Sleep.”

You huffed half-heartedly. You wanted more answers. But the furnace-like heat of him was soothing, his even breathing lulling you back to sleep before you could voice a complaint. 

You woke next time over-warm, restless and finally alert again. It took a bit of doing to get out from under John’s arm, but you did it. 

Only to find him awake, lips twitching with the barest of smiles, eyes bright with amusement. You dropped your head, torn between embarrassment and amusement. 

“How long have you been awake?” 

“Long enough.” He didn’t move, just watching you. 

“Good, you can catch me up on everything that I missed yesterday.” You sat up carefully, mindful of your bruises and aches. 

John shrugged, looking up at you while still reclined. “Nothing interesting.”

“Nothing interesting?” Your eyebrows shot up. “Somehow I doubt that.” 

John shrugged again, though his lips twitched. He knew exactly what he was doing. “Arbiter has agreed to give us aid,” he said, either taking pity on you or deciding not to test your patience. “UNSC ships are on the way, but it’ll take time for them to get here.”

You nodded, not quite sure how you felt about that. You’d been away for so long, and then this Halo had become its own kind of existence. You didn’t know what would happen after this, anxiety rising at all the possibilities parading through your mind. 

You breathed in slowly. You didn’t need to have all the answers right now. You were okay. You had time. 

John was watching you, though he didn’t reach for you. He just watched. 

You managed a little smile. “Breakfast?” Sure, you did both need to eat, but also you needed out of this conversation and out of your head. 

That got him moving, and it wasn’t long until the two of you were walking to get food. Your thigh ached, forcing you to go slower than normal, but you grit your teeth and worked through it. John didn’t offer to carry you, which was good because you probably would have hurt yourself smacking him. 

It was odd to see Sangheili around the base, standing taller than most everybody else. They kept out of the way, mostly, though a few of them had humans with them. You couldn’t hear the conversations, but you imagined mostly it was to do with supplies. Probably. 

John still attracted stares, as always, and you could just hear murmurs rippling through camp about the encounter with the Endless. How anybody knew, you weren’t sure, and you weren’t sure you cared to find out. It didn’t really matter, anyway. Soldiers were terrible gossips, so the story was bound to get around and probably even grow. 

But he wasn't the only one attracting stares.

You finally caught on when someone ahead of you in the chow line actually stopped and turned to look at you. Not at John. At you. 

“John,” you whispered, gaze flitting from person to person, uncertain. 

“Ignore them,” he muttered, gaze flicking down to yours before he gently nudged you forward. 

You frowned but didn't say anything more, just getting your food and then finding an empty table. The stares bothered you though, in a way they never had when it was just John people stared at. 

And then Fred plopped down next to you, making the bench shudder under his sudden weight, the bulk of him blocking most of the rest of the room from your view. The arm he threw over your shoulders helped. 

“Good to see you awake,” he rumbled, flashing you a smile. 

“Thanks.” You relaxed, finally doing more than just poking at your food. “What did I miss?”

“Oh, not much.” Fred smirked down at you. “Just that you became a legend.”

You choked on your bite of food. There were several moments of flurry as both Spartans tried to help, until you were no longer choking. “What?” You managed to ask, a little wheezy still. 

Fred and John exchanged a look before Fred cleared his throat. “Well,” Fred started, unusually slowly. “Word has gotten around about your part in defeating Atriox.” 

“I'm sorry, my what? My part?” You couldn't quite help the way your voice slowly went up in pitch. 

“You did roll a grenade under him,” John pointed out, entirely too reasonably. 

“That was hardly anything,” you pointed out, gaze darting between the two Spartans. “I was mostly useless.” 

“You survived.” Fred spoke quietly, almost gently, his gaze fixed on you. 

Your jaw dropped a little and you looked between the two rapidly, not sure how you felt. How you should feel. Your head throbbed, too much too soon, and you shoved away from the table abruptly. It felt like every eye in the mess was on you as you walked swiftly out, palms clammy, breathing fast. 

You didn't want any of this. You hadn't done that for recognition, or anything like that. You'd just wanted to help. 

A call of your name finally jerked you to a halt, and you blinked rapidly. You'd made it almost all the way to the edge of camp, the Pelican not far from you. Fernando watched from the open door, hair extra ruffled. 

“You okay?” He asked, brow furrowing in his concern. 

“Just…” You shrugged, hands flapping uselessly at your side as words failed you entirely. 

Fernando didn't push. Instead he stepped down onto the grass, walking over to you. He looked at you, closely enough that you weren't sure what to think, before he nodded once. 

“I see you learned part of why I avoid the mess.” 

That startled a huff out of you. “I think so,” you agreed, dry but more settled. 

“Come on, got some rations here.” Fernando dropped his arm over your shoulders, leading you into the Pelican. “Did Chief bother to catch you up on the actual news?” 

“I think so,” you murmured, settling easily into the copilot seat and taking the bar that Fernando handed you. “We're getting supplies and stuff from the Sangheili, and human ships are on the way to us.” 

“That's about it,” Fernando agreed. “Joy says it shouldn't be more than a week.” 

“Right!” Joy popped to life between the two of you with an easy smile. “And then everybody will get to go home!” 

Home. The thought filled your chest with an odd ache. You weren't ready to think about home yet. “But we've had so much fun here,” you snarked. “What are we doing about the remaining Endless?”

Joy shrugged, though the look she shot to Fernando was almost worried. “I don't think that's been decided yet.” 

“You are doing nothing,” Fernando scolded, even as he held out a canteen to you. “You are staying where it is safe.” 

You snorted. “I'm staying with John.” 

Fernando eyed you, clearly debating if he could win an argument. His lips twitched. “Stubborn.” 

You laughed quietly. “What's that old saying? Pot something kettle?” 

Fernando just snickered at you. “Finish eating,” he ordered you. “And drink more water.” 

You blinked at him, momentarily nonplussed. “Since when did you get bossy?” But you took another bite of the bar. 

“Since things keep happening and you keep getting hurt.” Fernando watched you to make sure you ate and drank before he finally looked away, satisfied. 

Silence settled between the two of you, comfortable after all this time together. 

You wondered if you'd still be able to find this kind of quiet after the rescue ships arrived. 

“You know you're not going to end up alone, right?”

You jerked your gaze to Fernando, who wasn't even looking at you, but out at the view ahead of you both. It looked deceptively peaceful, with only a few lingering marks of humanity around. 

“I don't…” You swallowed, not sure how to finish that sentence. 

“Chief will follow you wherever you go,” Fernando continued. “And I'm with him. Pretty sure Blue Team follows him too, mostly. So you won't be alone.” 

You breathed through the shock and revelation of that. You'd unpack that issue another day. 

“Neither will you,” you pointed out, giving him the same courtesy of watching the long grass sway. 

Both of you pretended not to notice signs of high emotion in the other. 

Heavy boots coming up the ramp made you both turn, watching as John approached. He didn’t say anything, just stood calmly between the two of you, one hand resting on your shoulder. 

He didn’t magically make things better. The panic still gnawed at your chest, the ache in your thigh hadn’t abated, and the dampness under your eyes hadn’t suddenly gone away. 

But you felt better, anyway. Just having John at your side helped. 

Things weren’t okay, and possibly never would be. But you were all alive. 

That was enough. 

–

It took a week for human ships to arrive.

Arbiter had led an assault against the remaining Endless, with Blue Team of course. You stayed behind, with Fernando threatening to sit on you. You did hear afterwards that there were fewer Endless than anticipated. Kelly seemed relaxed… except for the tap of her fingers against her thigh.

But there was nothing else to be done. If some Endless somehow managed to get off the Halo, nobody knew how, or where they had gone. There was nothing to be done.

It took a little time to arrange evacuation - the wounded went first, then everyone else. Chief, of course, insisted on being on the Pelican, along with Blue Team and yourself. Fernando, of course, was piloting. 

You personally made sure Lindsay and Carter got on board a ship. 

It was odd, seeing the base so empty. Not many were left beyond a few Sangheili and the last of the survivors of the Infinite. 

“Strange, isn’t it?” Fernando murmured, unconsciously mirroring your thoughts, even as he stood next to you.

“It is.” Your lips twisted in some complicated expression. You wouldn’t miss life here. You’d never miss those months of fear and cold and survival. But all the same… “Just as strange to suddenly be going back.”

Fernando hummed soft understanding. “It’s not all bad,” he said with a little teasing nudge of his elbow to your ribs.

“No,” you agreed, hearing John coming up behind the two of you. “Not all.” 

“These are the last to board,” John informed you, one big hand settling at your waist. “The Pelican is loaded.” 

You breathed in deep, slowly. This Halo truly was beautiful. 

Maybe someday you’d be able to look at long grass and flowers again. 

“Let’s go,” you said, turning away from the view to look up at John, staring into the familiar gold of his visor. 

Even though you couldn’t see his expression, you knew he smiled. Just a little. Just for you. “Together.”

[ohmyeyesmyeyes]

slowly but surely

quinn hughes x f!reader; platonic!petey x f!reader

warnings: smuttish towards the end/suggestive themes; alcohol and drunkenness; swearing; cheating and toxic exes; reader is a chef and has tattoos; the ending might be a bit dodgy

word count: 17k

this gif got me smiling like an absolute fool

You’d only been standing outside in the mild Summer air for a few minutes, mind seemingly intent on conjuring up arguments as to why you should and shouldn’t give in and book a taxi back home, when the door to the hotel swivelled around. You could recognise it because the brush tickles the floor and makes a distinct swooshing sound – you knew no one had walked in because you’d been the only one on the pavement on that stretch of tarmac, so the only other option was that someone had left the party.

It was getting dark, the sunlight slowly crawling back over the tops of buildings, enveloping the entire city in a deep blue haze. The warm lights from the lobby didn’t do much to aid your vision through the blacked out glass when you turned around – out of habit more than anything.

Your bag for the night was hanging from your fingers, a black sparkly thing you’d taken from your mum’s wardrobe when you were seventeen, that she’d never had the heart to ask for it back, and you were dressed formally, in an astonishing scarlett dress. Obviously, you hadn’t exactly thought you’d be at the wedding reception for too long (strangers kept luring you into conversation), so you’d neglected to bring an extra layer. That reminder only seemed to strike gold when your skin erupted in goosebumps – coincidentally at the same time you’d made eye contact with the person that had just left the building.

Where you’d been previously unbothered about your current state of dress and appearance, you suddenly felt the material of the dress against your skin, and where the straps touched your shoulders; where the skirt caressed the backs of your knees. The way your hair was blowing gently in the breeze, and the inevitability of some of your makeup not being as perfect as it was when you first arrived.

“Hey.”

He spun around upon hearing your voice, and the crease between his brows seemed to disappear along with the tension in his shoulders. He was carrying a navy blazer in the crook of his elbow as he slowly made his way over to where you were standing, your phone now switched off as you carefully watched as the corner of his mouth twitched up into a shy smile of greeting.

The top buttons of his shirt had been popped open all night, and although neither of you had had the chance to talk to each other, you noticed that more than just two buttons were now undone.

“Hi,” he said, coming to a stop just a few feet in front of you, one hand comfortably resting in his pocket, “are you okay?” He asked, raising an eyebrow in concern despite the soft look that still decorated the lines in his face.

You could tell he was referring to the way you’d almost whimsically decided to pick up your things and leave the party without even so much as saying anything to anybody. He’d been keeping an eye on you all night, and you him – though you couldn’t really understand why; it seemed to just be a comfort thing considering the fact that he was the only person in the crowd of blurred faces that you knew.

Even saying you knew Quinn would be a bit of an exaggeration. He was a friend of a mutual friend, and you’d barely had a real conversation with him that extended past what sweet treats he’d like to eat from Petey’s cupboards.

You swallowed, something heavy and not unpleasant settling in your chest as you forced a smile for him, “I’m good. I just couldn’t really stomach being there for much longer, but I’m fine.”

You flashed an unconvincing smile, uncomfortably adjusting your stance. Quinn seemed to get the hint, because he nodded. An awkward silence descended between you both – one that seemed to make you even more aware of the fact that you’d both spent time in each other’s presence before today, yet seemed completely incapable of making conversation.

Since you partially knew a bit about Quinn, you had an idea that he wasn’t exactly the type of person to kickstart a conversation, despite being the one to initiate it and seek you out in the first place, so you crossed your arms, and the action seemed to drag Quinn’s attention away from the neon signs of the restaurants down the block. There was a faint hum of music coming from somewhere, and you registered the faint longing in his eyes as he dragged his attention away from the delicious aroma that you now found yourselves ensnared in.

“Are you hungry?” You asked, focused on the tone of your voice so as to not seem like you were accusing him of losing interest in you, but also one that hopefully mimicked the desperation for food that you were also feeling.

The plan had been to go home and put a frozen pizza in the oven, but that had been kicked to the curb when you were joined by Quinn, who also seemed to have found himself in a similar predicament.

His mouth quirked up for a brief moment, something shining in his eyes as he nodded, “I’m starving.”

You pressed your lips together to suppress the smile that was attempting to claw its way onto your face, and instead turned your head to the side, eyeing the tempting restaurants and enticing wafts of a mixture of different cuisines. 

Italian…Mexican…Thai. Somehow you could smell them all, and it was the way your stomach seemed to ache that inspired you to gain the courage to turn back to his awaiting response.

“Me too,” you started, inhaling through your nose, “would you want to maybe get something to eat?” 

You didn’t know why, but in that very moment, your brain had decided that then was a brilliant time to fear rejection from such a trivial question. 

You knew what his answer was going to be, and yet somehow you feared an impossible sting at the mere idea of Quinn turning your offer down. 

“I’d like that.” He replied, arching an eyebrow as he turned back to the restaurant lined block, “Do you have a preference for where, or…?”

He left the question unfinished, and tilted his head in your direction as you swivelled on your heels in the direction of crowded pavements and the inevitable sound of friendly laughter.

“No, you?” 

Quinn shook his head, and upon coming to the conclusion that neither of you would suggest a place for fear of the other declining, you took one last look at the restaurants.

You hesitated for a moment. You knew these streets, you’d lived here for the past four years and had even dined in some of the places Quinn was looking at right now, but due to your indecision (you chalked it down to hunger – any food would do), you knew of a place.

So you turned to Quinn, “Do you trust me?”

“That depends.” Was his immediate answer.

“On what?” You found yourself asking, curiosity getting the better of you for just a moment. You were intrigued in what his answer would be. If you were being honest, you hadn’t even expected him to say he didn’t not trust you – in certain circumstances – and the admission, though small, warmed you slightly.

For the first time ever, you felt you were getting somewhere with him.

“Well…” Quinn started, his brows knitting together as his mind raced, “I wouldn’t trust you if I left my open bag of M&Ms out on a table and left the room. I think you’d eat some.”

You couldn’t restrain your smile or the short, shocked burst of laughter that flew past your lips before you could catch it and reel it back in. You couldn’t help but blush slightly when he turned his attention from a spot behind you and broke into a smile when he caught you laughing. 

It barely took a couple of seconds before you’d calmed yourself, though the grin on your face hadn’t dimmed one bit.

You knew Quinn had a sense of humour – you’d even seen it in his bickering with Petey, but it was somehow different when the teasing was directed at you. It was more amusing and slightly endearing.

You found yourself nodding, “That’s probably a smart idea, actually.” You agreed, voice soft, “But would you trust me if I told you I know a nice place to eat?”

He paused – momentarily – as if he was caught off guard by something, and then he nodded, “Absolutely.”

“Okay–”

“Sell it to me.” He interrupted you, and when you turned your attention back to him from the direction you intended on taking him, it seemed even he was shocked by the blurting of his words. His eyes were wide and his mouth was pressed shut, as though he was on the brink of fighting sudden laughter, or mortification. Judging from the way he seemed to part his mouth and narrow his eyes, he looked as if it was the latter – and as though he wanted to take what he’d just blurted out back, but you were intent on keeping him out of his shell.

You cleared your throat, and he stopped his movements.

“Do I have a time limit?” 

He chewed the inside of his lip, “Ten seconds.”

You raised your brows, feeling a surge of competitiveness and adrenaline enter your system. You had limited experience in selling things to people, but you knew the key was a unique selling point – an angle.

It didn’t take long to settle on one, and you knew if you chose this specific angle, Quinn would probably be even less inclined to trust you than he was before, but you were willing to risk it.

“Tell me when.” 

There was a moment’s silence as he held you in anticipation, and you found your mind wandering to how you’d managed to get from A (being invited to the wedding of your ex) to B (discussing dinner plans with Quinn Hughes – of all people). And how you’d both forgone the previous awkward aura and slipped into an easier flow of conversation that seemed to be filled with secretive smiles and blushes gratefully hidden by the coveted curtain of night. Granted, you couldn’t exactly say that you were both completely comfortable to be in each other’s presence; you’d never been alone with each other longer than the time it took Petey to have a piss – and that awareness hung above your heads like a dangling bone, but it didn’t feel like you had to try too hard or think too much about making small talk.

Christ.

“Go.”

Quinn made you nervous.

You took a deep breath, thoughts slightly scattered upon the realisation, but persevered, your angle stuck at the forefront of your brain.

You held out your hand, flicking up your fingers as you listed off several points, “A five minute walk, it’s always quiet, good quality food, a nice drinks menu, friendly staff,” you were nearly out of breath, “and there’s another shocker element but it’s gonna be a mystery because I’m not telling you—”

“And stop.” 

You’d been making eye contact with him the entire time. You hadn’t realised how intensely you’d been looking at him – mostly out of concentration – until you realised that you’d been watching him silently count to ten because your eyes were already on his mouth when he stopped you.

He gave you no time to overthink your actions, “A mystery, huh?” He rocked back on his heels slightly, his shoe kicking the back of the opposite foot as his eyes skittered around you, intent on not looking you in the face.

You nodded, folding your arms across your chest as a chillier breeze whipped past you. Your bag clipped your arm, so you lowered the hand holding it, still ensuring you kept a grip on your other arm as your goosebumps seemed to intensify somehow.

“Do I get a clue?” This time his eyes trailed back to you, and you missed the way his gaze flickered to your arms and the way the arm holding his blazer twitched.

You tilted your head at him, quizzically, “What part of ‘mystery’ and ‘not telling you’ do you not understand, Hughes?”

He shrugged, “All of it. Please woman-splain it to me.”

You froze. Mind blank. 

You wanted to laugh, you really did, but a small part of you couldn’t move from your spot, mind intent of playing the tone of his voice over and over in your head until you were dizzy. His voice sounded…You didn’t know how to describe it, but it sent shivers of a different kind down your spine and your mouth went dry.

You covered your tracks fairly well and pretty quickly despite the fact that your brain seemed to short-circuit for a second, because you rolled your eyes, trying not to smirk at his words.

“Or I could just show you?” You offered, beginning to take slow steps away from him, your hand pointing in the direction you knew the restaurant to be.

He followed your hand to where it pointed, then his gaze flicked back up to your hopeful face slowly – he seemed to trace you from your outstretched hand, all the way up your arm and to your face, and you felt ashamed at how much a single look was affecting you.

So you increased your pace and dropped your hand, spinning on your heel as you pretended to walk away without him. You took three steps before looking over your shoulder, seeing him still planted to the spot right where you left him. 

Until he caught you looking at him, and a bashful smile seemed to overtake his lost expression as he realised that, no, you weren’t leaving him behind – you were just waiting for him to catch up to you. He took quite a few long strides and, to your surprise, managed to cover the distance between you both, until he was walking alongside you, the soft material of his shirt brushing against your arm.

It was only when he nudged your arm that you realised he was holding out his blazer to you, “You’ve got goosebumps and I’ve seen you shiver a couple of times…And I’d rather have you alive and breathing because I’m actually pretty excited about seeing this place.”

You swallowed, eyes zipping between the obviously expensive navy blazer in his grip to his face. For some reason you were hesitant to accept his offer.

Accepting the blazer felt like committing to something else.

“Oh, it’s okay, we’ve not got long before we get there–”

“Five minutes, fifty minutes – either way, it’d ease my mind if I knew you weren’t cold.”

You slowly nodded, not bothering to argue with him as you both stopped on the sidewalk and he helped you into his blazer, his hands gentle as you threaded your arms through the sleeves.

“Thanks.” You muttered, feeling slightly sheepish that you’d try to deny it in the first place. You could feel the remnants of his body heat in the fabric from where he’d hugged it close to his torso carrying it.

He must have been pretty warm if you were almost instantaneously cured of your chills.

“You don’t have to thank me.” He smiled sweetly.

You carried on walking, unable to even look in his direction as you tugged the blazer tighter around your body, desperate to maintain as much heat as possible. The temperature seemed to drop even further in the next couple of minutes, and you almost felt guilty at taking Quinn’s only source of protection against the night temperatures, but once you remembered the sincerity in his tone and the firm glimmer in his eyes, it seemed to vanish.

“So,” Quinn started, both his hands now in his pockets as he kept his focus on the pavement, “were you there for the bride or groom?”

You sighed, a sudden pit of nerves settling in your chest. There was a reason you’d left the wedding reception shortly after the speeches. 

Even thinking about it now makes you feel nauseous.

“Groom.” You said, “What about you?”

Quinn winced, “I was a plus one for someone on the Bride’s side, so neither, really.”

“And were they okay with you leaving?” You breathed a laugh, feeling a stab of guilt for being partially responsible for Quinn running out after you.

Quinn bit the inside of his cheek, the gesture immediately accentuating his cheekbones further, “Honestly, I only agreed to go because of the open bar, and he only invited me to go with him because he’d name dropped, and I’d pledged myself on a path to self-improvement, and part of that commitment was getting out more…So, here I am, I guess. And to answer your question, no, he didn't mind. He’s been trying to pick up a bridesmaid all night so he wasn’t paying much attention to me anyway.”

You’d found yourself trying not to smile at his behaviour since he’d first approached you, and it seemed this was one of the times you were struck dumb with how surprising Quinn was at times. It had barely been fifteen minutes in his presence and he’d already subverted most of what you thought you knew about him. You couldn’t help but laugh at his choice of words.

“You’ve pledged yourself on a path to self-improvement?” You weren’t condescending in any way, more curious as to the specifics of his vow, but you couldn’t help the slight teasing tone that edged its way into your voice. “What does that involve?”

He twisted his torso mid-step so he was partially facing you when he answered, and the tell-tale slight pink flush to his cheeks gave it away that maybe he was being completely serious after all, “Oh, you know…Stuff like saying yes to more plans with my friends, putting myself out there. Nothing too major, but enough to rescue my hermit crab status in society.”

Adorable.

That was all that was running through your mind, and you didn’t have it in yourself to get rid of it.

He said everything with such sarcasm that it contradicted his real meanings that just ended up seeming unsure of everything he was talking about. 

You found yourself thinking back to whenever you’d been in the same room at Petey’s or out with a group of friends, and it felt like you’d missed something, because how could he have been right under your nose and you didn't notice? It could be the haze of alcohol that meant he didn’t hold back as much, or maybe it was the fact that there were less people around and more room for him to express himself, but he seemed like a different person than the Quinn you’d got to know with your friends.

Two years. Two years you’d known Petey, and a year and a half you’d known Quinn, and only now were you having a real conversation.

You could almost feel Petey’s evil laughter in the back of your mind.

“You’re not a hermit crab, you’ve come out with us plenty of times before.” You argued.

“Tell that to my family,” Quinn shook his head, a melancholy smile now on his face, “they think that because I don’t take pictures of anything that I don’t go out.”

“So on this path to self-discovery, you didn’t think to just take more pictures instead of forcing yourself to go out?” 

Quin stopped in the middle of the pavement, clenching his jaw as he swung his head in your direction, a sigh of exasperation passing his lips as you too stopped, blinking in confusion.

“If only I’d have thought of that sooner.” He was being sarcastic, the drawl in his voice giving so much away, and you rolled your eyes as he started back up again.

“Funny.” You muttered back, grabbing him by the arm as he continued walking down the street, unaware of the way you’d stopped on the sidewalk, prepared to cross.

He didn’t say anything or convey surprise at your actions, and almost immediately you retracted your touch, before looking both ways and crossing the road, him hot on your heels. The restaurant you’d picked was small; built on two floors, with the windows of the bottom floor half blocked by the sidewalk. There seemed to be fairy lights hung in strips behind the glass, with posters of some sort of print on the front. 

There were steps right in the middle of the building, leading to a door bracketed in by two large windows on either side, also decorated with string lights of different colours: red, blue, green, yellow. Behind those, the silhouettes of sparkling cardboard stars could be made out, blocking the view inside the restaurant.

It was quaint, and in the light – you knew by experience – anyone would walk straight past such a charming little diamond, but at night when the city was shrouded in darkness, it was hard to miss it; the twinkling lights acted as blinking stars and it was charming to look at. Tacky, maybe, but charming nonetheless.

You both came to a stop, necks craning to look at the building. It was a sight you’d seen many times before, and one that you never found yourself growing bored of, but you couldn’t help sneaking a glance at Quinn out of the corner of your eyes.

His mouth was parted slightly, but his eyes were difficult to read – Quinn was difficult to read. He was wearing that dumbfounded look – one that often reminded you of an exaggeration of being dazed and confused. 

“Is it lit only by string lights?” Quinn asked, not tearing his eyes away from the view.

You shrugged coyly, nodding your head in the direction of the steps, silently asking the question.

He nodded, and you both made it up the steps, you heading through the door first and holding it open for Quinn – who audibly let out a low breath when he stepped into the threshold.

You guessed he must have been mildly impressed by the exterior, but judging from the way his eyes seemed to widen and his gaze kept flicking almost wildly from the ceiling, to the tables and back up to the ceiling again. It was almost as though he couldn’t make up his mind on where to look.

Even after a waiter had approached and even after you’d requested a table for two, Quinn hadn't stopped gawking at everything. You had no choice but to resort to poking him in his side to get his attention, and even when he was following behind you, you had no doubts he kept looking at the ceiling.

Like in the window, the ceiling was packed with lights. Some flashed, some softly glowed, and some remained one colour. The waiter had paused at a table tucked towards the back, and just like you’d previously promised, there was barely anyone else inside. A couple of lone stragglers sat huddled in their chairs, but apart from that, the only sound above the occasional clinking of cutlery was the soft hum of background radio.

“Thank you.” You took the menu from the waiter and got settled in your seat, shrugging Quinn’s blazer off and placing your bag on your lap.

You scanned the menu half-heartedly, not having the willpower to read the descriptions of the food after your stomach was already churning up a whole load of nothing. You already knew what you’d order, and putting yourself through the added torture of imagining dish after dish of steaming food only seemed to make that ache in your stomach even more painful.

“Is this the mystery you were talking about?” His finger pointed towards the ceiling, where illuminated chilli’s hung down above your heads, all different colours.

“Part of it.”

“What’s the other part?” 

You pulled a face, shrugging your shoulders, “Have you looked at the menu?” 

He shook his head, furrowing his brows in confusion, until his eyes began scanning over the text. Then his face switched, brows shooting upwards in mild shock, “There’s something from nearly every cuisine here.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty awesome.” You agree, feeling proud of yourself for impressing him.

“What’re you having?” His eyes flick to yours over the top of his menu.

“Moroccan spiced pie.” 

He nodded, thinking for a moment.

“Do you have any recommendations?” 

“Shit, you really do trust me with your food, don’t you?” You breathed a laugh, arching a brow in his direction. 

Quinn lowered the menu, an incredulous look on his face, and it suddenly dawned on you that maybe he knew more about you than you initially thought, “You’re a chef.” He stated, blinking once dramatically for effect, “I’d be stupid not to.”

You ducked your gaze, unable to control the way your cheeks warmed. You weren’t embarrassed by any means, just somewhat flattered that he’d remembered that; you were sure you’d only mentioned it once in passing when you’d been asked about work, and even then you weren’t aware that at the time Quinn was even listening.

Was he even there that day? You couldn’t remember.

“Just because I’m a chef doesn’t mean that you’ll like the food I suggest.” 

“Oh, no, I think I will.”

“In that case,” you straightened, leaning over your menu. You didn’t know if Quinn had any specific dislikes or likes in food, so him putting you on the spot did put a little pressure on you – you wanted to get him something he’d like, something safe? But if he wanted to be safe, wouldn’t he have just chosen? You sighed, “I’d suggest a fusion dish? Maybe the teriyaki tacos with sesame nori?”

“Sounds good.” He put his menu on the table, and you were able to see his face properly under the new lighting. Despite the brightness of the lights and their combined effort, there always seemed to be a dimmed glow about the place – a soft illumination that somehow made the man in front of you look somewhat…enticing? You pulled your eyes away from his soft smile before you allowed yourself to change your mind or allow it to wander too far.

“I can’t believe they didn’t order enough food to feed everyone.” You found yourself talking, wondering exactly where that comment had come from considering the fact that your brain seemed hellbent on trying to distract itself from Quinn, therefore sending you into an inevitable whirlpool of not being able to think of anything but him.

“Right?” Quinn mumbled, his brows furrowing in something akin to concern as he remembered the night’s previous events, “Did you eat at all?”

You shook your head, “I had one slice of the small toast things they had, the ones with salmon and cream cheese on, but I didn’t have anything else. Did you manage to get anything?”

“I had two of what you had, and I tried to drink a couple of beers, but on an empty stomach? Didn’t think it was a great idea.” He shook his head in disbelief, trying not to smile at the ridiculousness of it all.

“It was pretty brave of you to even attempt the beers in the first place. How many did you have?”

“I had one and was halfway through the other and I think someone stole it – it was on the table and I went to the bathroom and it wasn’t where I left it when I came back.” He leant forward across the table, resting his crossed arms on the surface as though he was telling you a secret. He played into the notion, eyes scanning the room as if to suss out anything suspicious, before shielding his mouth with his left hand, “I heard they hired a wedding planner, and they were sure there would be enough food for everyone.”

Your jaw dropped, “Did they miscount their RSVPs or something? I don’t know how there was no food left when only half the people had gone up to the tables.” 

“I have no idea, but if I ever get married I’m personally making sure everyone gets fed.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

There was a lull in conversation, and just as you went to adjust the straps of your dress, a hot plate was put in front of you.

Your stomach churned, and you didn’t think either you or Quinn even spoke when you were tucking into your meals. Judging from the way he nodded and didn’t stop to breathe through bites of taco, you could only rejoice in the fact that he obviously liked what you'd picked. Or, it was possible that his hunger had blinded his taste completely, but you relished in the former.

A win's a win.

It was when you’d both finished and were sitting back in your chairs that he’d spoken.

“I didn’t know you had tattoos?” He asked softly, and when you followed his line of sight, you noticed he was staring at the skin under your collarbone. Your neckline on your dress had warped slightly as your strap must have slipped when you were eating, providing him with a snippet of black ink.

You blushed unintentionally; you’d never considered your tattoos to necessarily be private to you, but not many people had seen them or even knew you had them, and for Quinn to know? It felt a little odd.

There was a voice in the back of your mind, and you didn’t know where it had come from or what its intentions were, but it muttered something briefly – and it sent your head spinning slightly.

It said: but it’s Quinn.

You didn’t know what it meant, but you offered Quinn a small smile, tucking your strap back up. 

“Not many people do.” You hesitated. Usually you wouldn’t have expanded on the topic and just left the conversation in the dust, but he was looking at you earnestly, as though he was waiting for you to start talking – you knew he would listen as intently as he possibly could. You came to realise that he might have been quiet in group settings, but he absorbed every little piece of information like an everlasting sponge; he’d proved that much tonight, “I got that one,” you pointed at the patch of skin now covered by your dress, “when I was nineteen, and I’ve got a few now. Seven in total.”

He crossed his arms and leant on the table, eyes tracking down your arms and any exposed skin as though trying to spot another peek of ink. He settled on the crook of the inside of your elbow as you tilted your arm so he could get a look at the two that were on that side, “Do they have a meaning?”

“Most of them. I have one on my ribs that doesn’t mean anything, I just liked it in the shop. One of my friends in high school went on to do an apprenticeship for a tattoo shop back in Toronto and I let her practise a stick and poke design that she drew…It was risky but she was incredible, and I still go to her for all my tattoos.”

“They’re really pretty.” 

You looked at him, only to find his brown eyes boring into yours, the flush from his new glass of beer pinking his cheeks – probably spurring on his boldness as well. You distracted yourself by taking a sip of your wine and playing with the stem to avoid his gaze.

“I know.” You replied.

There was a comfortable silence.

“I’ve had fun tonight.” You broke the silence.

“Me too.”

_ _ _ 

Petey didn’t have many parties, but when he did it was usually a small gathering anyway, and he always hosted in his apartment. His birthday bash was probably the craziest, though he’d once told you that somehow there were always more people that arrived than he’d invited. This time seemed to be no different.

You'd texted him on your way over, asking if he needed you to pick anything up from a store, so you’d arrived armed with a bag full of alcohol and another full of snacks – only to walk into chaos.

It reminded you of the Community episode you’d watched the other day where Troy walks in through the apartment to see several things on fire, furniture broken, and everyone trying their best to put out the chaos but only successfully making it worse.

That was the comparison that immediately came to mind when you shoved your way through the front door. Petey’s place wasn’t exactly small, but it was still packed to the brim with people. There was music playing somewhere, but over the chatter and shouting, you could barely hear it anyway. You had to push your way through the thick throng of drunkards to even make it to the table that Petey had clearly designated for snacks and drinks and even then you didn’t even have the room to pull everything out of the bags and onto the table; you’d displayed about half of what you’d bought when people started reaching in and taking stuff for themselves, at which point you’d given up even trying and moved around to the other side of the table to pour yourself a drink.

You downed it immediately.

When you’d gone to pour another, a hand gently touched your shoulder, and it was barely a moment later when Petey appeared, sliding in next to you.

“Thanks for getting supplies.” He yelled into your ear, and you could smell the alcohol on his breath already. 

Petey didn’t drink often, and his party was barely about him anymore, more about the spectacle surrounding it, and it was hardly an hour in already. It gave you a pretty solid idea of what tonight would be like.

“This is insane.” You yelled back, knocking a gulp down. Your eyes were frantic, desperate to seek out a familiar face among the unrecognisable, and upon seeing no one but the blonde next to you, you took another gulp.

“I know. I might head out at some point—”

“It’s your party.”

“This is not my party; it’s out of control.” He held up his hands, tongue poking the inside of his cheek in apprehension. “I would say I’m surprised no one’s called the police, but even my fucking neighbours are here.” 

“Is there anyone I can talk to?” 

It was a vague and thinly veiled question – not entirely specific. It could have meant a million different things; you and Petey had quite a lot of friends in common for some very odd reasons, and you’d not said it with any particular motive at all. But Petey was looking at you weirdly, and it wasn’t because of the amount of alcohol already in your system.

He blinked, jerking his head away from yours for a minute and regarding you with suspicion.

“What?” You asked, furrowing your brows.

“Nothing.” He shrugged.

“I was just asking if there’s anyone I can talk to apart from you—”

“I know. You don’t have to defend yourself.” He smirked, leaning back slightly as he took a sip of his own drink, an eyebrow flicking up.

He fucking knew something.

You clenched your jaw, “I don’t like that look.”

“It’s the only one I’ve got.” He shrugged, his smirk widening.

You tilted your head, the alcohol not helping to numb your growing frustration. You’d had a stressful day at work – even more so than usual; you’d heard rumours about a highly regarded food critic apparently planning to dine in your restaurant, so everything had been clamped down on to each miniscule detail. The last thing you’d really wanted to do tonight was come to a party with loud music, strobe lights and people you didn’t know. You didn’t particularly have the effort for social interaction, but you’d held out – for Petey’s sake.

And not only was it worse than you’d originally imagined, but the birthday boy himself was even planning on ditching, and you had yet to spot someone you were comfortable with.

Suffice to say, added on from your previous irate manner, you were a little pissed. It wasn’t Petey’s fault, or anyone’s really, but you just didn’t know if you wanted to stay.

“Quinn’s in the kitchen. It’s locked and he’s a little drunk too, but he told me the secret knock – watch, just do this.” He held up his hand, mimicking a pattern that you committed to memory.

“Why is he in the kitchen?” You asked, not intentionally pretending like you weren’t at least looking forward to seeing him – the last thing you wanted was for Petey to jump to conclusions, but you were going to have to at least put up with some teasing, because he’d most definitely noticed the recent dynamic change lately.

It was hard not to, considering you and Quinn went from not speaking a word to each other unless absolutely necessary, to Quinn approaching you and instigating a conversation – one that Petey had noticed neither of you seemed to shy away from. There were hesitant smiles and slightly awkward silences, but he’d noticed Quinn looked less distressed, and actually more like he wanted to be there.

But, of course, Petey didn’t voice that to you; he resorted to the odd teasing glance – very much like the one he’d given you earlier when you asked after a familiar face.

Now, however, he lifted his cup to his face to mask the smirk he was unable to control, and answered you carefully.

He didn’t want to be accused of ruining whatever it was that was going on, so he’d vowed to not meddle in your business – no matter how tempting it might be.

“He said, and I quote, ‘I need some me-time’, and I think he’d been here about forty-five minutes? He’d only just gone in by the time you arrived.”

You nodded, “I need some me-time too.” You patted him on the arm, “Happy birthday, Petey.” And kissed him on the cheek in a friendly gesture, and he nodded his head towards the locked kitchen door on the other side of the hustle and bustle in the living room.

“Thank you.” He muttered in response, before flashing a brilliant smile and turning his body to let you get past.

It took a lot of energy and shoving of elbows to make it through the living room. People seemed insistent on not budging when you’d politely asked them to move, though you did give them the benefit of the doubt that a, they were too drunk to comprehend anything anyone said, and b, couldn’t hear you shouting over the noise.

By the time you had made it and completed the secret knock that Petey had given you – you were sure the rhythm was familiar – there was nothing left to do but wait rather impatiently as someone knocked into your shoulder, sending you a little off balance. It was like being in an overly packed club, but the lights were on and you were on the verge of running out entirely.

Just as you were about to give up hope, and just as you raised your fist to repeat the pattern again, the door flew open, your hair momentarily whipping into your face. You barely had a moment to remove it from your face before a hand was gripping your wrist and leading you inside. Over the thumping of the bass, you vaguely registered the sound of a door slamming shut behind your head and the click of a lock sliding back into place.

After that, the music and noise from the other room seemed to dissipate, and you were standing in Petey’s kitchen – only the countertop lights on – with your heart pounding and head recovering from the sudden whirl of motion. You were sure you were blinking your eyes to clear the sudden fog, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the stark contrast from the mess in the other room to the absolute cleanliness of the kitchen. Sure, there were a few empty glasses near the sink, and a box of beer on the marble surface, but other than that, there wasn’t much to look at.

Until you registered the sound of a voice on the phone, and you looked to the floor, just a couple of feet in front of you.

Quinn was resting against the cupboards, his legs outstretched in front of him, and there was a phone held up to his face, a tinny voice exuding from the device.

“Who was that?” 

Jack.

You averted your eyes from the scene in front of you, but your slightly tipsy frame of mind seemed intent on staring after Quinn. He was wearing a dark cap, placed backwards on his head, and a simple short-sleeved henley with jeans. Simple, but it didn’t stop your heart from quickening in your chest.

The guilt seemed to overpower that, though. You knew Quinn missed his family, and the knowledge that you’d stepped in on a FaceTime call with Jack? You wanted to walk back out into the party and let them have some time in private. 

You did feel awkward standing there, looking a little dumb without a drink in your hand, and when Jack had asked who he’d let in, you had to turn your head, because suddenly Quinn was looking straight at you, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“Oh. I see.” Jack answered quickly, and Quinn turned back to the camera. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his cheeks flush under the low light of the kitchen. The alcohol you’d drunk seemed to embolden your actions, because upon seeing how flustered Quinn was as he stuttered to get his words out, you planted yourself on the floor next to him, a reasonable gap between your bodies.

He had no choice then but to tilt his phone so you were both in Jack’s eyeline, and the kid was already grinning from ear to ear, his hand coming up to wave in the frame, “Hey, Y/N. How are you?”

You smiled back at him. You’d spoken to Jack before on the occasion the Devils would play against the Nucks – neither Hughes brother seemed to pass up an opportunity to see each other when they had a game, and the two of you had had your fair share of interactions. Ironically, you knew more about Jack than you did Quinn up until the wedding a couple of months ago. The younger Hughes was friendly, approachable and incredibly smiley – somewhat the opposite of Quinn, though you were beginning to see that they were similar in more ways than not.

“I’m good, you?” You asked, pulling a knee up to your chest to rest your chin on.

“I’m very good. I’m fabulous, in fact,” he nodded, smile never fading, “but now that I see Quinn isn’t so lonely anymore, I think I’m gonna go…” He trailed off, and took a swig of a drink as you felt Quinn look at you out of the corner of his eyes briefly.

Jack took no notice of the action, “Anyway, miss you, Quinny, love you.” He blew a kiss through the phone, and Quinn smiled.

“Love you, miss you too, Jack.” This time Quinn waved at the camera, before Jack grinned again.

“See you soon.”

“Bye.”

Quinn dropped his phone in his lap and the silence that engulfed the both of you was achingly loud.

Until Quinn broke it.

“Hi.” Was all he said, turning to face you, his cheeks still slightly flushed.

You forwent the usual greeting, “What’s this about you being lonely?” 

He breathed a laugh, adjusting the cap on his head, “Just that I got bored sitting here by myself, so I called Jack.”

“Did you prove you were ‘getting out’?”

Quinn nodded, folding his arms, “I put the phone next to the door so he could hear everything.”

This prompted a laugh from you, and you lent your head back against the cupboard door, “What did he say?”

“He told me that I’m too introverted for my own good, and that by hiding in the kitchen, I wasn’t putting myself out there, I was keeping myself in.” He answered with a good-natured eye-roll.

“He does have a point.” You admitted, rolling your head against the door to look at him, only to find he was already looking at you.

“Yeah, but you’re here too.”

“I haven’t vowed to socialise more.”

“Yet you still sought me out?” He raised both brows, laughing softly at the way you furrowed your brows and leant away from him as if you were disgusted by the accusation.

Intrinsically, yes, you had sought him out, but you’d outwardly asked Petey if there was anyone you knew and he happened to point you in Quinn’s direction, and you weren’t about to give either man the satisfaction of proving them right.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” you started, holding out your hands in surrender, “I’m only here because I asked Petey if there was anyone I knew, and he pointed me in your direction–”

“And you gladly followed.”

“Some might say that you were my last option because I was actually having fun out there. I just felt guilty for you being by yourself.”

“Some might also say that I was your first option and you immediately ran with it.”

“What are you drinking that’s making you so difficult tonight?” You deflected his statement, and you knew he’d picked up on the way you’d purposefully dodged actually answering what he’d said.

That had been the dynamic between the both of you recently: awkward starts when neither of you knew how to approach a conversation, but falling into a comfortable, teasing rhythm within minutes. It was weird how you’d gone from not talking to each other to being quite good friends within the span of four months.

You could have kicked yourself – this guy was right in front of you the entire time and you were only just realising it.

“Water.” He deadpanned and you tilted your head, not entirely believing him…until he reached above his head and produced a glass full of clear liquid, that upon smelling, you came to realise that he was indeed pumping himself full of water.

“I’m impressed.”

“That was my intention.”

“It was? I’m flattered.”

“Good.” He broke into a smile, and it was so infectious you couldn’t help but replicate it, “Would you like a drink?”

Your throat dried upon hearing those words, and you realised that even through the drinks, you’d not actually had anything that had quenched your thirst from dragging up two massive bags full of supplies, so you nodded, grateful for his offer, “What are the options?”

Seeing as you were both still comfortably sitting on the floor, Quinn had to slide himself over to the other side of the kitchen. You’d both been in Petey’s fridge many times before, but it always seemed to be a lucky lottery as to whether he had anything of real interest – a sentiment that you both seemed to take into account as you found yourself trailing after him.

The light from the fridge did more in illuminating the entire room than the lighting itself, and you both had to blink to allow your eyes to readjust to the sudden harsh, cool tones.

Your eyes landed on a bottle of electric blue smoothie and your mouth started watering.

“I fucking love this thing.” You found yourself reaching in and extracting the entire bottle before Quinn had the chance to comment, and this time you stood up, ducking under his arm as he held the fridge door open, and placed the bottle on the countertop, extracting a glass from the cupboard above.

It wasn’t long before you felt a presence press against your side as you poured the smoothie into the glass. Quinn was warm, and through your still tipsy haze, you could faintly make out his hot breath fanning your neck as he leaned over your shoulder to look at the bottle.

“What is it?” He asked, curiosity lingering in his tone.

“Pineapple, apple, guava and spirulina extract. And it is gorgeous.” You didn’t wait to screw the top back off before chugging half of the glass down, relishing in the coldness as it soothed your thirst.

Quinn moved closer, his torso pressing into your arm and the contact had you swinging your head to look at him. He held out his hand, clearly hesitating in saying something, and it was through the quick flick of his eyes between you and the glass had you connecting the dots before he could even open his mouth.

“Would you like to try some?”

He nodded.

“Want me to pour you a glass or…?”

He shook his head, “Can I just–”

“Yeah, sure.” You handed him the glass, feeling something foreign burrow itself in your chest.

He took a gulp, furrowing his brows as he tasted it properly, “Shit, this is good.”

“Right?”

He nodded, and before you could yank it back, he quickly tipped the rest of the glass into his mouth before you could protest.

You jaw fell open, and a short burst of uncontrolled laughter escaped you, “What the fuck was that?”

He shrugged, smirking as he placed the glass back down on the counter, “I was thirsty.”

You eyed the pint glass of water that he was slowly pushing out of your view with his fingers with distaste. 

“How was your day?” The question caught you off guard, and you found yourself freezing in your spot.

It was so simple, yet domestic. A question your family used to ask when you’d come home from school, or what your friends would ask after a hard day at work. Coming from Quinn, though, the question seemed to take on an entirely new meaning.

To you, it meant something along the lines of ‘I care about you enough to ask about the trivial things’. It was simple, but it meant more than you thought it would.

He was probably just being polite, and now wasn’t the time to dissect everything he said and did.

You swallowed, your expression melting into one of neutrality. You’d opened your mouth to answer him, but nothing was coming out, and when you could feel the intensity of his gaze turning into something akin to recognition – as though he could sense the cogs turning in your mind – he seemed to soften, and nudged you gently in the arm in reassurance.

Truthfully, your day at work had been difficult.

And unlike Quinn, you hadn’t vowed to make more of an effort in the social scene, but after taking inspiration from the sentiment of his promise of self-improvement, you’d silently decided to somewhat draw from his idea.

Yours was to be more honest.

“Kind of stressful, actually,” you replied, “we’re supposed to have a food critic in at some point and everyone's strung pretty tightly…it’s a fast paced environment and one mistake could potentially be the difference between a good review and a bad one. If we get a bad one, there’s always that risk of not maintaining customers; it’s kind of a pivotal time right now.”

You couldn’t look at him when you were talking. You felt like an open wound with the threat of salt water on the horizon: terrified. 

You’d always had a little trouble in talking about the personal stuff – it was why not a lot of people know about your tattoos. Yet, Quinn did.

And you were finding out that you trusted him more than you liked to let yourself – more than you’re comfortable with.

You found the strength to look at him, and were pleasantly surprised by the way he was looking at you. It wasn’t pity, or repulsion, or patronising in any way – it wasn’t any of the things you’d been scared to see. If anything, his brown eyes were soft, but held a glimmer of something you couldn’t recognise or associate with him just yet, and you knew right away that he was hanging onto every word you said. 

When he noticed you looking at him, his mouth twitched into a hopeful half-smile.

You turned around and resumed your previous position on the floor, and he took the precious liberty of following suit, only instead of sitting right next to you, he chose to sit directly opposite. Your legs were still touching, but it meant you could see each other clearer instead of having to crane your necks at awkward angles.

“Where do you work?” He asked, using his arms as leverage to push himself against the cupboard again.

If he noticed your gaze stray from his face to the contours of his arms, he chose not to react. 

“That place on Hornby Street.” You answered.

He tilted his head fractionally, his mouth parting in shock. You could tell he knew what you were talking about because he started to smile, “Holy shit, you work there?”

You nodded, feeling sheepish.

“And you’re the chef?”

“One of them.”

“I ate there three weeks ago.”

This time it was your turn to act shocked, “What?”

“Yeah, the best meal I’ve had in ages, and I’m not even exaggerating.”

“What did you have?”

He winced, “Basic. I had pesto pasta.”

“When?”

“I want to say…Thursday?”

“And you liked it?”

“Loved it. Like, I want to have it in an IV, I loved it that much.”

“Thank you, I think.”

He froze, his eyes slowly drifting from the countertop above your head to your smug face, “Fuck off.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

He let out a sharp burst of laughter, one that made you jump. It must have shocked him some too, because he looked mortified for a moment after, until he’d remembered what he was reacting to.

“You cooked that?” 

You nodded, “I make the pasta and pesto fresh, that might be why it was nicer than the usual pesto pasta.”

“Or maybe it was nice because you made it?”

You shrugged.

You knew the food you made was nice – it had to be if you cooked for a living, but you were never one to shy away from compliments of how good it was. You rarely did; you lived by yourself; whenever you’d go to a friends house, the last thing you wanted to do was cook even more food after a suffocating ay in the kitchen, so you tended to just order a takeaway; your family hadn’t even tried your food in a couple of years. To top all of that off, it was even rarer that you’d get recognised for your work when it was plated and fed to the customers – you’d only received one ‘compliment for the chef’ in your entire career so far, and even still your other colleagues don’t get many offered to them either.

So, hearing Quinn talk about your food that you’d made before he even knew that it was you that made it was nothing short of euphoric.

Quinn dipped his head, and when he next looked at you, something dropped in your stomach. 

You could tell instantly that something was up.

“What?” You asked, the atmosphere now tense.

Something was hanging unspoken in the air above you both and it was unsettling. He looked a cross between pained and concerned, and his brown eyes seemed to hold a hint of torture.

“You know at the wedding?” He began, taking his cap off his head and fluffing his hair slightly, as though he was trying to play the question off as more casual than it really was.

In reality, it was casual. You knew it shouldn’t have incited the level of dread that had just accumulated in your very bones, but you had an inkling of where he was going with his question.

“Yes.” Your voice was tight, and your heart was hammering in your chest as you played with your hands apprehensively.

“Why were you so upset when you left?” He whispered it, as if afraid to break the delicate bubble you were both in.

You took a breath through your nose.

You hated talking about it, and you hated everything that was associated with it. The bitter taste of regret even thinking about it made you almost want to vomit, but the prominent flavour that stood out to you most was the burning – of anger.

“Um,” you started, taking a deep breath, unable to maintain eye contact with him, “I kind of knew Sam in college.”

“The groom?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, briefly looking up at him. He’d tensed, his arms now crossed over his chest, as though he had an idea of where you were going with it, “he was my first boyfriend in college, we started dating when I was nineteen and he was, like, twenty two, I think? And to say he was my first real boyfriend, we were pretty serious – we loved each other, and we were fine until he just broke up with me after a year, on our anniversary actually.” You laughed bitterly, rolling your eyes at the ridiculousness of it all – because in context, it really did make you want to just laugh. Not the usual laugh, but the belly laugh, gasping for breath and rolling around kind of laugh.

“It came out of nowhere?” He asked, voice soft.

You hesitated, “Sort of. We were arguing about little things, but it wasn’t anything detrimental. We’d forgive each other and move past it, you know?”

He nodded.

“I think I was in my second semester of my second year and I was nearly twenty one – he’d finished college by then, he was living in the area, and I think the first time I noticed something was up was when he’d refuse to let me stay over at his place. He stayed in this apartment; I was renting with a couple of my friends, but he’d never let me stay at his – which was really fucking sketchy. And I think the last fight we had before he broke it off was about that, and he stormed out – I mean, it wasn’t like I’d accused him of anything, I was polite about it, I wasn’t yelling, I just wanted to know – and he blew up on me about it, saying that I never gave him enough space – the works. And then a week later, he came by to pick up his stuff from my apartment when I wasn’t in and broke up with me in a ten second voicemail a day later.”

Quinn was silent. His eyes were wide, but there was something stony in his expression. His arms were still tightly crossed over his chest, and no matter how badly you wanted to not talk about this, you had to. You didn’t know where the resignation had come from – if it had been anyone else, you’d have just denied the entire thing and pretended that you didn’t feel too well, but that thought didn’t even cross your mind when it came to Quinn.

“Then he invited me to his wedding, and I naively went, thinking he just wanted to lay the past to rest or whatever, but it turned out he only wanted me there for the speech. You remember Macey’s speech, right?”

“The bride?”

“Yeah,” your heart was still pounding, but this part of the story had you almost anticipating his reaction to it, “anyway, she talked about when they met and when they started dating, and I didn’t think anything of it until I caught the dirty bastard smirking at me–”

“He didn’t.” Quinn sighed, shaking his head. His jaw ticked and there was an uncomfortable hardness in his eyes.

“He did.” You pressed your lips together in an attempt at a smile, but you knew it exuded more of a wince or grimace than anything, “Turned out they met about seven months into our relationship and he’d been cheating on me with her for the last five.”

You were met with silence.

A long silence.

“After our…meal, I got home and broke out the photo albums because most of that relationship was pretty much a lie, and I needed to know when—”

“You know it wasn’t your fault, right?”

You scoffed, “You just happen to know that?”

“No, I just happen to know that a few flimsy fights about a valid subject doesn’t justify any reason for cheating.” He shrugged.

“Maybe I was too clingy. Or I wasn’t interested enough in him. Or maybe I was just a bad girlfriend because it was my first relationship–”

“You know it wasn’t your fault.” He muttered, unfolding his arms, a sad smile on his face.

You paused, taking a deep breath mainly to calm yourself. This was the first time you’d told someone about the entire truth – including the whole wedding disaster – and you were getting a little worked up. No tears, no sadness, just good old regret and frustration.

“Somehow that’s even worse.”

Quinn tilted his head in question, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, that if he did that without any incentive from me – I wasn’t a perfect girlfriend, and I never will be – but what’s stopping a future partner from not cheating too? There’s no guarantee they’ll be faithful, because they could just turn around one day and willingly choose another woman. And how the fuck am I supposed to figure that out?” You were at the talking hands stage. Your hands had a life of their own as you spewed off your train of thought, suddenly not giving much of a shit about what Quinn thought of you, because he’d let you get this far into the deep stuff, and he hadn’t shown any indication of shutting you up.

In fact, he rather seemed to be determined to prove a point with the way he kept opening his mouth to say something until your continuous rambling cut him off. He’d leant forward, legs now crossed underneath him, and he was seated at your knees.

“I’ll be honest, I have no idea how you’re supposed to know – there’s no manual for shit like that, and it’s scary–”

“It’s terrifying.”

“–and the last thing you’re gonna want to do is throw yourself into something, I get that.” He paused, gritting his teeth in thought, “But I will say that if you ever need me to run a background check on someone you have your sights on, I will be more than glad to help you out.”

You shook your head, smiling bitterly, “I appreciate that, I do. But it doesn’t change the fact that there’s no guarantee. How am I supposed to know if I picked the right guy?”

Quinn blinked, then swallowed, and the silence that stretched almost had you aware of the sudden palpable tension that had enmeshed you both. You were aware of the way you were both sandwiched together in the smallest area of the kitchen, and aware of the fact that he looked almost as frustrated as you felt.

“You won’t. I guess you’ll just have to find someone you trust beforehand. I know that’s not helpful, and I know it won’t solve anything that that fuckwit did, but you deserve so much more than guys like him.” The earnesty in his voice was shattering, and all you could do was sit still and watch him talk. “There’s something so screwed up about the entire thing, because I know, for sure, that if I was dating you, there’s no way I’d even be able to concentrate on anyone other than you. The fact that he acted that way, like he was some sort of target as well, I mean, fuck, that’s seriously – God, it just pisses me off so—”

You didn’t know where it came from, or whether you’d even realised what you were doing until you did it, because as he was ranting – his chest quite literally heaving and his neck reddening – your brain decided that that was the moment it would change the way it thought about Quinn Hughes.

Right then and there.

The revelation crashed through you, and somehow your physical reactions to his passion and presence remained the same – as though that desire and nervousness and excitement at being near him and talking to him had always been there; like it had just been simmering under your skin, waiting for you to just recognise what you were feeling. It wasn’t friendship, you knew that, but it felt like something more than just a crush.

Crushes were supposed to make you self-conscious and stutter, but you didn’t do any of that with Quinn, you just felt so comfortable. And safe.

Then you wonder why you kept coming up short with reasons why you trusted him – you fucking liked the guy. 

And for some reason, when you came to that realisation, the only thing you could do that made sense was clamp your hand over his mouth to stop him talking, as if the spewing of words toppling out of his mouth would somehow correlate with how much you liked him. The unconscious theory was that if you stopped him talking, then maybe you wouldn’t get too ahead of yourself and start overthinking everything.

You weren’t quite at that point yet.

But clamping a hand over his mouth only seemed to have the opposite effect you intended. 

Because you couldn’t see the lower half of his face, it only seemed to make you more aware of his eyes.

Through the haze of his spouting, his gaze had trailed from you to dart around the room as he tried to keep his own train of through from flowing smoothly, and as you effectively stopped him speaking, he slowly and carefully slid his eyes back to you, and after that astounding revelation, the eye contact only seemed to send chills down your spine. His brows furrowed, this time softening slightly – from sheer exasperation to pure befuddlement. And because you’d halted him entirely, his hair flopped right onto his forehead, his cap left abandoned in his previous position after he’d removed it earlier.

Fuck.

You didn’t know if you were stepping over the line when you looked straight at his flopped hair. You knew what you wanted to do.

The hand not on his mouth twitched from where it had automatically landed on his shoulder. Quinn noticed – or rather, felt the movement. His own eyes slipped from your face to the hand on your shoulder, and all it took was the amused quirk of one of his brows and the purposeful glance to the curtain of hair that had obstructed his view for you to practically give in to the spontaneous urge.

The hand on his shoulder gingerly reached up and you carded your fingers through the hair hanging over his forehead. His hair wasn’t curly, as such, more wavy, and you were still slightly alcohol-induced, so it took a moment for you to actually realise you were touching his hair. It was so damn soft. 

You pushed it back, now able to see both his eyes.

Your cheeks were already blazing from the heated conversation, and you knew if they weren’t on fire then, they most certainly were now.

You felt him smile from under his hand, and a soft laugh threatened to pass your lips at the ridiculousness of it all. You went to remove the hand on his mouth, keeping the hand in his hair still because you knew if you removed it, there was no way it wouldn’t fall back into his face.

“When you get tired of stroking my hair, just let me know.” He said it with zero hesitation, and all cheek, and due to your closeness, it was the first time you could tell that despite the water he’d claimed to have been drinking, and despite drinking some of the smoothie, the unfocussed glaze in his eye, he was still a little tipsy too. Not drunk enough to do anything he would regret, but enough to give him a boost of confidence. 

You shut your eyes and immediately rolled them upon reopening them again. Your hand was still woven into his hair, but you let it drop rather dramatically.

“You’re a dick.” You muttered under your breath, but made no attempt to move away. You wouldn’t have done fifteen minutes ago, so you weren’t about to clue him in on the fact that something had changed for you.

His grin widened, but he said nothing – not immediately, anyway.

“So why’d you shut me up?” He spun on the spot, pushing himself against the cupboard next to you.

You hesitated, mind foggy with what exactly he had been saying, “You were getting pretty worked up, and the last thing you needed was to pop a blood vessel.”

“So, all of a sudden you know what’s best for me?” There was no bite to his words.

“No, I didn’t say that,” you sighed, rolling your eyes and fighting a smile, “just that it’s cute that you’d defend me like that.”

“Cute?” He wrinkled his nose, “I am deeply passionate about the injustice you faced with that cheating fuckface.”

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

_ _ _

Sunday mornings were your epitome of heaven. They were your only free full day of the week, and you spent every morning the same – catching up on housework, making coffee, baking sweet treats that would last you the week, watching a few episodes of whatever it was you were behind on. 

Just lounging around.

Sundays were your peaceful days – guaranteed no disturbance.

They were the days you knew you could curl up on your sofa, watch some TV and let your body recover from the intensities of work. 

So, when a knock sounded on your apartment door, you didn’t think twice about it. It was a Sunday, who would possibly be wanting to see you on a Sunday? You hadn’t ordered any parcels lately, or invited anyone over, so you just assumed it was someone knocking on your neighbour’s door.

Until it sounded again.

And again.

And by that time, you were fairly irritated with whoever it was, because they were insistent, and weren’t about to leave you anytime soon, so you were left with no choice.

You hauled yourself up off the sofa, pausing the show you were halfway through watching.

Maybe the neighbours weren’t in and you had to look after one of their parcels?

By the time you’d made it to the door, the knocking had changed – it was a subtle change, but there was a familiar rhythm to it that was remarkably similar to…

You looked through the peephole and had to do a double take.

Nevertheless, you wasted no time in unlocking the door and swinging it open. You were conscious of the fact that you were only wearing your comfies, and that you’d neglected to make yourself presentable – but in your defence, this visit was incredibly spontaneous. If there was a scale of spontaneity for things you thought could happen on a Sunday, a plot twist in your show would have been on the high end of the scale, but Quinn Hughes rocking up unannounced at half eleven in the morning, with a hanger and dark suit draped over his shoulder was not even on there. 

It broke the scale – especially because the guy had never even been to your apartment before. He didn’t have your address. 

Which only begged the question – “How did you get my address?”

He blinked, slightly alarmed at your tone, “Petey. I hope that was okay? In my defence, though, I rang you a bunch of times and you didn’t answer, so–”

“It’s my fault?”

He paused, tilting his head and screwing his face up in a way that had you recoiling in offence – he was trying to suss you out.

“Essentially, yes.” Was his answer.

You were very tempted to shut the door. So tempted, you jerked it in its place to see if he would react to the sudden movement, and he did – slamming a palm against it to stop you shutting it in his face. The momentary alarm in his expression was picturesque. The only thing you could compare it to was the image you’d seen online when someone had managed to get a picture of his face when he was getting pushed up against the boards.

But the reason you knew you wouldn’t actually shut the door in his face is because your curiosity for what he was actually doing here overpowered every other inclination. 

A gorgeous man – who just so happens to be one of your close friends – shows up at your door unannounced and carrying a suit over his shoulder? You had questions.

“That was rude.” He stated, only removing his hand when he was absolutely sure you weren’t going to shut it on him.

“Oh, so now you want to talk about manners?” You raised an eyebrow in his direction, leaning on the doorframe with your arms crossed.

The corridor was deserted, and as you leant forwards to look the other way, Quinn refused to budge out of your line of sight. In fact, he only seemed to step closer until you headbutted his chest. This time, instead of arguing or allowing to explain himself on your doorstep, you took the liberty of giving him the benefit of the doubt, and shoved your door open wider, allowing him to wander inside.

Your apartment wasn’t too big; you lived alone in Vancouver, so the rent wasn’t exactly low, and a part of you felt shy at Quinn seeing how cosy everything was. It was like baring a piece of your soul to him.

A chaotically organised, colourful, cosy part.

You could tell he was interested, taking his time to look around. When you shut the door behind him, he wandered over to his left, skimming a hand along your booth seats at the island, and then he seemed to drift back over to the right side of the apartment to where your sofa was, along with the TV hung up against the wall. Then his feet seemed to have a mind of their own, because whilst he was still eyeing up the stack of books and candles on your coffee table, he found himself at the windows lining the far side of your apartment, bathing your entire flat in the sharp morning light.

“This view is incredible.” He said, jaw dropping in awe as he took in the skyline of Vancouver.

You nodded, knowing he couldn’t see you, and made your way back to the sofa. He was wearing tracksuit bottoms with a yellow t-shirt, and judging from the navy ‘M’ painting the front, you knew it was a UMich shirt. 

And you never thought you’d say this about anyone, ever, but he looked good in yellow. Really good.

“Thanks,” he spun around upon hearing the closeness of your voice, and you hung an arm over the back of your sofa, “would you like something to drink? Or eat?”

He shook his head, “No, thanks.”

There was a flash of disappointment. He wasn’t staying long, then.

You waited until he’d torn himself away from the windows and settled with you on the sofa, his suit laid carefully next to him.

“What are you doing today?” He interjected just as you were about to ask him what he was doing here. He looked strangely hopeful; his knee was bobbing up and down and he couldn’t look you in the eyes for too long without letting his gaze wander.

“I mean, it’s Sunday, so I was planning on romanticising a quiet life, but now I have a feeling that won’t be the case for whatever reason.” You rested your head on your fist, watching the oddly domestic scene as he kicked off his shoes and mirrored your movements.

“Well, I was thinking–”

“That’s dangerous.”

“Hey, be nice,” he scowled – clearly joking, “but I have this thing tonight. A game, and it occurred to me that you’ve not been to a game yet. It also occurred to me that you take Sundays off, so I was thinking, would you possibly do me the honour of coming to one of my games?” 

He chewed the inside of his cheek, squinting his eyes as he waited for your answer.

You thought hard for about ten seconds – probably longer than necessary considering the fact that his invitation was pretty much a no-brainer anyway. It always was when Quinn asked you to do something.

You couldn’t help your brain from picking apart the way he’d said ‘my’ when he knew for a fact that you were also friends with Petey – really good friends with him, in fact. It was the blonde that had introduced you in the first place, and you couldn’t help but wonder if Quinn had intentionally worded it that way.

“I know it’s late notice, but I figured if I came by this morning you’d have more time to get ready so you’re not as stressed.” He offered, a slight grimace on his face. He thought you were rejecting him.

And you couldn’t lie, something clenched in your chest, both at his reasoning and consideration, as well as his sweetness in approaching the situation.

“I’d love to go with you.” You answered, and he immediately broke into a grin, the tips of his ears reddening as he blushed. He tried to play it off by turning his head away from you, but you could still make out the curve of his lips and the contours of his smile lines.

His happiness was so goddamn infectious it made you feel nauseous – in an unusually good way. Although it scared you to dwell on it, you couldn’t deny that the dynamic had changed between you both over the last couple of months – it started after Petey’s party and the little moments you’d shared on the floor of his kitchen, both intoxicated.

You couldn’t tell if it was because you’d had a recent epiphany and seemed to be more attuned to where he was, but you were sure something had changed. Perhaps a stare that lingered a little too long, or a colliding of glances that left you both turning away from each other a little flustered and hotter than you were before. You’d also somehow picked up an insane radar – one more like a magnet than anything, and somehow you’d always accidentally end up within a few feet of each other. If either one of you was feeling brave, perhaps there would be a teasing poke or brush of hands – nothing that couldn’t have been passed up as a serendipitous interaction.

Yet, with the way he’d reacted to you accepting his invitation, maybe you were wrong? Maybe that little voice in your head – the one too afraid to admit that maybe something could be made of this – was right?

Then again, you couldn’t hurt yourself more right now than by playing into that fantasy.

“Good, I’d like that.” He ran a hand through his hair, before reaching behind him and unzipping the suit.

It was a black suit, plain and simple, and as you stood up to inspect it further, you could tell by touch alone that it was of a fine quality. He’d draped two ties over the shoulders, one a dark red and the other a stripy blue. Even before he’d opened his mouth, you’d pointed to the red tie, and he nodded, offering you a grateful smile as he tucked the blue one back into the covering.

Truthfully, Elias had asked you if you wanted to go to a match before. You’d had varying excuses, mostly truthful, because you’d had work one time, then you were seeing your parents, and at one point you couldn’t go because you were ill.

It wasn’t as though you were trying to avoid going to a match on purpose, even if the prospect of having to navigate a busy, inevitably raucous arena by yourself was incredibly daunting – to the point a knot of apprehension had formed in your chest; your previous blow-offs had just been coincidental.

Petey had stopped asking after a while, and you never worked up the courage to ask him for tickets, even after he’d told you it’d be okay to do so – you just felt too guilty bothering him with such a hassle, so you’d eventually let the subject settle.

It didn’t quell your desire to go to a hockey match, though.

The only difference between you watching hockey now as to a year ago, was that you were keeping more of an eye out for Quinn than you were for Petey – it wasn’t hard to. He was an incredibly graceful skater, and played an unbelievable amount of minutes. It was hard to miss him on the ice.

The silence that had settled between you both was comforting, even despite the fact that you were both essentially standing up and doing nothing but looking at each other, fighting the embarrassing urge to keep a straight face and not blush.

“When do you need to leave?” You asked, changing the subject.

Quinn smirked easily, “Wanting to kick me out already?”

“The opposite, actually,” you admitted quietly, “I don’t really want you to leave.”

He tried to mask his pleasant surprise, his entire demeanour shifting slightly as his smirk melted into a soft smile as he placed his suit back onto the back of your sofa, “In that case, you’ve got me for two hours.”

___

There were three things you were hyper-aware of when you were sitting in your seat, embedded in a sea of black and white jerseys, music blasting over the speakers as the sound of skates and shouts erupted.

One: that he’d seated you against the glass, a few seats away from the bench, because (quote, unquote) that way you wouldn’t be able to distract him when he’s playing.

Two: that upon learning the only Canucks merch you had was a cap, Quinn had thrown you a spare jersey from the back of his car, his ears red as he apologised for not owning a Petersson one, and for giving you an old one of his instead.

Three: that you really fucking liked Quinn. Really.

So much so that when he’d subtly skated past you in the warm ups before the game, and winked at you under his visor, a sidewards smile on his lips – passing it off as nonchalant for the sake of the fans watching nearby – you had to leave your seat to down a drink before the game even started because your cheeks were practically burning with how much the simple action of acknowledgment had affected you. 

Somehow, though, you’d made it through the game – concerned towards the latter fifteen minutes after Quinn had taken yet another puck to the face and raced off the ice to receive treatment. You knew he was fine; it had happened to him before, and you knew the more you dwelled on it, the more you’d worry, so you’d turned your attention back to the game, instead focusing on Petey. 

You’d see him after, anyway. He’d told you he wasn’t on media duties, and after getting a puck to the face, you’d assume he’d be let off the hook a little easier – you weren’t entirely sure that was how it worked, but it seemed logical?

Which was how you’d found yourself back at your apartment, hopes not too high on him arriving back at your place within the next hour, the post-game analysis humming in the background as you manned a simmering pot of pasta.

You hadn’t bothered getting changed, and you’d had a cautious look through your cupboards, pulling out some painkillers and after realising that you didn’t actually know the extent of his injuries, had left the box out on the side. It wasn’t that you doubted the medical team wouldn’t have done a sufficient job – you just mostly wanted to show him you cared.

It was as you’d piled up your own spaghetti into a bowl, leaving Quinn’s portion warming in the microwave that there was a knock on the door. You took your bowl with you as you unlocked it, opening it wide to let Quinn through.

You followed him closely, shutting the door behind him. He hadn’t exactly looked at you long enough for you to assess his injury – too busy trying to shrug off the suit as he shamelessly stripped himself in the middle of your living room right in front of your eyes.

The first thing to go was his blazer, and you’d walked around him, back to the kitchen island, eyes flickering back to him as you spooned him his own bowl. It wasn’t exactly odd that the first thing he’d want to do was take off his blazer, but then he seemed to continue, and when he’d gone to unbutton his shirt all the way down, you’d frozen like a lovesick idiot. Neither of you had said anything to each other when he’d walked in, and now he was standing shirtless in front of you, either oblivious or ignoring your lack of speech and sneaky glances at the soft abs on display. 

You felt something shift when he turned to look at you just as he bent down to snatch that Michigan shirt back out of his bag, eyes locking onto yours when he pulled it over his head.

It excited you and – quite frankly – had you swallowing and blood rushing through your body because it sent sparks flying throughout every single atom in your body. You felt uncomfortably hot, and the only thing you could do to try to diffuse the sudden tension was to divert your gaze away from him.

It hadn’t even occurred to you that you’d been caught staring, and if you were being honest, you weren’t all that bothered. He stripped right in front of your eyes – there wasn’t much you could have done to avoid not looking at him in the first place.

“So, what’s the damage?” You asked, walking past him once more to place his bowl on the coffee table as you leant back into your sofa, twisting yourself so you were almost eye level with his recently clothed torso.

He paused, leaning his hands on the back of your sofa as he leant forwards, face only inches from you – so close you could see his individual eyelashes and the slight rosy hint to his cheeks, as well as feel his breath against your own cheek. You blinked, unsure of how to react, before he was poking a hand under his eye – right across his cheekbone, where a bruise was beginning to blossom on his skin, varying shades of darkness.

You frowned, pulling his hand away so you could get a better view of it. It was a tactful decision on your behalf when you neglected to let go of his hand until the very last second, when you used your own to tilt his head to the side, catching his injury in the light.

It was a fractional movement, but you saw him swallow, his eyes still boring straight into you. You didn’t know if it was a natural reaction or because you’d gripped his chin and physically moved him, but his mouth parted slightly, jaw going slack in your hand.

You, however, fought to keep your attention on his injury – eyes only flicking to his for a millisecond, unable to resist. He’d been bleeding, and there was a horizontal scab forming directly on top of his cheekbone.

“There’s painkillers on the side if you need any.” You breathed, slowly retracting your grip.

He nodded, slightly tense, “Thanks.” Then, after a slight pause, “Did you enjoy yourself tonight?”

His hands went directly to his belt. You dropped your forkful of spaghetti in your bowl – shocked to say the least. 

Somehow, it took him fiddling with his belt buckle for you to realise just how fucking pretty they were; you didn’t even know you liked hands until that very moment, seeing him expertly unbuckle himself with ease, and before you could let your mind wonder too far into the sudden fantasies that had purged your mind, you abruptly spun in your chair, heart racing and eyes staring blankly in font of you in complete bewilderment. Somehow, none of it felt real.

You were beginning to think he was doing all of this on purpose; that there was a plain insinuation behind your level of enjoyment and the fact that he was taking off his clothes in your front room.

Nevertheless, you remained somewhat normal in your reactions despite every morsel in your body burning with anticipation of something that wouldn’t happen. You turned your attention back to the TV, humming in agreement and spinning your fork in your bowl, desperate to prove you weren’t reacting to his actions, “Yeah, I did. I had fun. You were amazing, as usual. And the seats had a good view.”

You heard him laugh behind you. You weren’t aware you said anything that was funny, but you refrained from turning around, wanting to give him some privacy.

“We lost.” 

You swallowed, looking at your bowl at his defeated tone.

It had been partly the reason you were on edge at his arrival in the first place; whenever Petey lost, he’d usually come over with the promise of a takeout, talk for half an hour and then sit and watch whatever you’d happen to agree on that night. You hadn’t had the chance to deduce Quinn’s post-match attitude, so this was all new territory, and your nerves were amplified because it felt like more was resting on how you reacted to his mood than it would have if it had been Petey in your apartment.

It felt like there was more to lose with Quinn.

“Didn’t impact my levels of enjoyment.” You tested the waters, waiting for a reply. When you didn’t get one, you continued, “I mean, I am disappointed for you and the team, and a little pissed you took a puck to the face again, but I mostly had fun just because I got to see you play.”

The rustling of clothing stopped behind you, and you strained your ears, desperate to gauge a reaction of some sort.

“Are you okay?” You poked, beginning to feel a little pit of dread form due to his lack of reaction. 

He didn’t answer, just made his way around the sofa, picking up the bowl you’d left for him. You could feel him stop, eyes burning into the side of your face. You looked at him, noting the slight furrow to his brow as he looked from you to the bowl and back again – seemingly considering something important.

The hesitation on his face could have been from a number of things, but he was taking too long to answer a yes or no question, and it was sending you nerves haywire. Your cheeks flushed at the intensity of his gaze, and you paused eating as well, waiting for him to say something.

“Do you want to talk about it?” It was a futile question, and you were beginning to get slightly frustrated at his pensieve silence. You’d prefer it if he’d verbally voice his thoughts out loud so then you could get a grip on exactly what was racing through his mind.

He cleared his throat, just as a text buzzed through on your phone.

Petey: idk what you did but you broke quinn today

You: he’s unresponsive rn. catatonic. send help

Petey: WHAT DID YOU DO?

You: literally told him he played well and was glad i could watch him play. 

Petey: symptoms?

You: i’d say silence but it’s not exactly out of character

You: he’s looking at me like i shot a horse in front of him though

Petey: oh

You: expand.

Petey: tell him to look at my messages IMMEDIATELY

You cleared your throat this time, placing your phone on the sofa next to you, turning back to Quinn, who’d abruptly turned his attention back to his bowl of spag bol, “Petey wants you to look at his message.” Was all you said.

He nodded, hand digging into his pocket and though it had only been a minute of silence since you’d asked the last question – not entirely long enough for the silence to become awkward, but long enough for Quinn’s neck to turn red, as though he’d only just realised he forgot to answer your question.

You waited patiently, concern slightly elevated when he coloured, blinking and awkwardly putting his phone back in his pocket, seemingly stuck with what to do with himself.

You couldn’t tell if he was horrified or downright confused, and as you spooned another forkful of spaghetti into your mouth, you couldn’t help the small smile of amusement that had crept onto your face.

“What the fuck is up with you tonight?” You found yourself asking, tone probably a little sterner than you’d initially intended — driven by the will it took you to squander the laugh bubbling up your throat as Quinn swung his head in your direction, eyes wide and an offended noise expelled.

“What the fuck is up with you?” He shot back, a telltale smile on his face, a drastic change to five minutes prior. 

Petey worked his magic, then.

The tension in his shoulders seemed to evaporate and he seemed to gain some more energy, allowing him to freely overcome the imaginary blockage in his mind that meant he lost the ability to communicate with you for a bit. He seemed to melt back into the Quinn you knew how to communicate with.

Your jaw dropped, “What have I done?”

Quinn narrowed his eyes, as though he couldn’t quite believe your naivety to the situation, and when it was clear you genuinely had no clue what was happening, he rolled his eyes, “Little Miss 'I had fun just because I got to see you play’.”

Your eyes flickered to your TV, mind completely boggled at his reaction, before returning to him, unable to help the side-eye you were giving him as your mouth curled into a frown, “What about it?”

Quinn chuckled darkly for a second, “It’s like you genuinely don’t know the effect you have on me, or something.”

You shut your eyes, tilting your head in confusion as you let his words sink in properly. You held up a finger, but before you could speak he was talking again.

“On another note, this spag bol is delicious, you should be a chef — oh—”

You cut off his lame excuse of a joke, jabbing the held up finger into his side and finding a great deal of amusement in the way he yelped, automatically tensing, “Very funny. But let’s just backtrack a second—”

“Do we have to?” He groaned, cheeks red.

It was obvious he’d said his previous statement in a way that he’d meant for you to skip straight over it, and it was even more obvious that he was rather enjoying this confrontation of sorts, a smirk pulling onto his cheeks as he pretended to be embarrassed, turning his head at an angle and away from you as best as he could.

“Yes. We do.” You placed your bowl back on the table, now more confused than you had been at his sudden silence. “Because first of all, you come in and strip. Right in front of me—” You could tell he was about to protest, and you held up a hand, imploring him to keep quiet, “And then when I answered your question honestly, and then ask you ones in return, which — I don’t know if you know this, is how a conversation occurs – you just shut the fuck up and didn’t talk until Petey did whatever he did.”

He was ready to jump in, and placed his own bowl back on the coffee table, “The stripping thing was because I hate wearing suits around the house, they’re not exactly comfy for lounging around in—”

“What, you couldn’t get changed in my room?”

“No, because you wouldn’t have seen me that way—”

“What the fuck?” You gaped, unable to help laughing a little, “Was that you trying to flirt with me?”

He neglected to answer your question, instead carrying on with his original stream of thought, “And you can’t be oblivious to what you’re doing to me, surely? You’ve been saying all these things, even from the wedding, and I don’t know if you’re being intentional, but it makes me wonder—”

“Are you trying to tell me that my hints haven’t been landing with you?” You muttered, slightly concerned. 

It was true, you had been giving him hints — hoping he’d at least recognise them. You thought it had gone straight over his head, but his words only seemed to confirm that he’d been collecting an armoury of sorts, and even despite all his collated evidence, seemed to lack the belief that you were meaning what you were saying.

You didn’t believe his disbelief — partly because (even though you had been slightly afraid of his rejection, you knew he’d let you down slowly) you’d not exactly been subtle with your comments.

Even Kuzy had picked up on it, and English wasn’t even his first language.

Quinn stopped, stared and breathed. He almost looked hurt, not including the sustained injury, “You meant all of that?” He asked, just as confused as you.

“Yes!” You all but yelled. “I just thought it all went over your head or that you were letting me down gently by not reacting or doing anything about it.”

At this he recoiled, looking offended, “Why the fuck would I reject you?”

You shrugged sarcastically, “Maybe because you haven’t given me much to suggest you’re even interested, dipshit.”

“Me? Not done anything to show I was interested?” He echoed, his voice getting higher in pitch as his disbelief skyrocketed. He jumped across the sofa to get closer, though you had a sneaking suspicion it was because his brain only seemed to think he was getting his point across if he told you face-to-face — in the more literal sense, “Okay, so the wedding? I chased you outside and then asked you if you wanted to get something to eat—”

“Because you saw me looking at you and didn’t want to be rude?” You reasoned.

You truly thought that was why he’d followed you out that night. Quinn was a polite guy, always following through and ensuring people felt welcome and included. That might had only been a reflection of that.

“Dude, no!” He winced.

“Don’t call me ‘dude’.” You pulled a face, and he nodded.

“You’re missing the fact that I fucking chased you from the conference room because I just couldn’t not talk to you that night.” He took a deep breath, running a stressed hand through his hair. 

You pressed your lips together automatically, trying to hide the need to desperately touch him as a few strands still wet from his earlier shower hung limply in front of his face. You didn’t realise it but mouth parted slightly even imagining running a hand through his hair. You’d done it before at Petey’s party, but then you’d been a little intoxicated and given a helping hand in courage, but you had none of that now.

It was just you and Quinn.

“I don’t chase people on foot.” Was what he said then, “Ever.” 

“Is that supposed to mean something?”

He groaned, his head collapsing in his hands, completely oblivious to the way you were trailing your eyes over the veins across his hands, and the curls on top of his head. You took a shaky breath, and it seemed to garner his attention because he lifted his face out of his hands slowly, furrowing his brows as he took in your nervous state.

“What’s up?” He asked, his eyes flicking between yours, a small smile slowly entering as you shook your head, taking a deep breath.

“You look way too hot right now.” You admitted quietly, clenching your jaw to contain yourself.

His reaction was instantaneous; his entire demeanour seemed to switch from frustrated to something unfamiliar. He swallowed, his smile diminishing. The only thing that seemed to bring you some comfort in his reaction was the way his eyes seemed to darken and his jaw flexed as his gaze travelled from your eyes straight to your lips in an incredibly unsubtle way. He wasn’t being shy.

His cheeks reddened and he paused, considering.

Then he lifted his hand and in one simultaneous notion he was guiding you towards him, hand gently resting on your neck, though before he’d even touched you you were leaning forwards to meet him halfway, both your mouths clashing in a greedy mess. His grip on you tightened in response to your hand tugging in his hair, and you found yourself being lowered to the sofa, Quinn’s arm snaking around your back as his body pressed you further into the cushion. 

You allowed him to slot a knee between your legs, and neither one of you slowed your motions at the change of angle, mouths still moving against each other with a rhythm that would have had you guessing if you’d kissed Quinn before.

It was just so easy.

A desperate sound and slightly breathy moan escaped him when you tugged on his hair a little harsher, and it had you pulling him impossibly closer, his arms collapsed from where they’d been propping himself up, and every inch of him was pressed against you. With the newfound closeness, you could feel the way his chest was heaving clumsily, almost in time with your own hurried breaths.

Neither one of you wanted to pull away, your lips tingling and skin burning from where he slid a hand under the hem of your borrowed jersey.

You both lost your control embarrassingly easily, the added contact only fuelling your desires. You felt like a teenager again, with the way you were both rolling your hips into one another, leaving no choice but to pull away as your breathing became shallower, a delicious ache throbbing forming where you were both chasing the friction.

You both finished your spaghetti covered in blankets and smiling like lovesick idiots.

And then Quinn started laughing, “I know where all your tattoos are now.”

[smt4flynn]

stone walled

Note: R18/Explicit, Minors do not interact! There's PIV in this one, with a bit of cunning linguistics, but not too much. again, NO MINORS.

A stuck in the wall fanfic where both you and Ast are being pervy. ('-')b Much thanks to reddituser WeirdGirlActivity888 on r/AO3 for having an easily accessible image for Kinktober 2023, especially with the loss of the google drive link for the Kinktober 2023!

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

You, without a shadow of a doubt, are an incredibly embarrassing idiot. You push down on the walls that are currently caging you, making you feel like you are in the stocks, being punished for something extremely mundane and not noteworthy yet here you are regardless. Because you are the smallest out of everyone, you are the one that gets asked to try and crawl through this hole so that you can see if there is something by the end. Of course, you manage to make a good degree through the hole before your hips find you forcefully and humiliatingly stuck. There is a moment of silence before Karlach bursts out into unholy laughter, aided by a Lae’zel whose sigh is so loud it echoes in your head, and Astarion soon joins in with the laughter once he returns to the task bestowed onto him.

Whenever the laughter is finally over, Karlach and Lae’zel take turns trying to yank you out, just for you to yelp and flail and yell to “stop it already! You’re about to rip my legs straight off!”. It is Astarion who suggests to the other two to go and get Gale from camp, given that he surely has something to help with this – a dimension door in the reserves, perhaps? Though there is the mild issue of the fact that camp is hours away.

Earlier, you split your group up when you get this deep into the woods to try and get more ground covered this way. You take with you Lae’zel and Karlach, mostly because they don’t want to be stuck listening to the debates Gale, Wyll, and Shadowheart are going to have, and Astarion because of his dexterous fingers and nimble body. Now, however, you kind of wish you didn’t, because you know for a fact that it is going to take Karlach and Lae’zel an hour at the very least to try and find Gale, then another to bring him back to you so that you can escape.

“Ta, darlings.” Astarion calls out from behind you when Karlach and Lae’zel make their leave; there isn’t much left to the cave that isn’t better to just leave Astarion to slinking about in, given his roguish ways, so of course you are left with your resident vampire.

There is quiet once again when the two heavy hitters are gone. You wiggle a little, trying to get some comfort, and you yowl when you feel something smack down onto your arse cheek. “Astarion!” you cry out, smacking your hands down on the walls either side of you, and you wish you can turn around and glare at him. “Really, now? Stop being so bloody perverse!”

“Nope.” he practically sings out, his hands once more returning to your butt so that he can start groping and squeezing it. “I am oh-so-very glad you wore a neat little robe today, darling. You don’t mind if I take advantage of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, will you?” you want to kick back at him, though your limbs feel a bit awkward given where you are currently locked in, and he simply massages your arse while he waits for your response.

A part of you wants to genuinely say no, given how embarrassing this is; here you are, stuck in a hole in a wall, half of your body being groped and squeezed by your bloodsucking lover, while the other is staring into a bland looking room, hands uselessly slapping down onto the wall. You can somewhat hear Astarion humming behind you as he squeezes your rear. You slump down eventually, sigh, and you can practically see the way Astarion perks up as you say, “fine, but not too rough, they’re going to return eventually.”

You do not realise how excited Astarion is at your predicament until he has your trousers unlaced and shoved down to your knees, leaving you in your panties and you shudder a little as your legs are exposed to the elements. The leather of his gloves drag across your skin, making you jolt as much as you can in your situation, and you flush when Astarion presses a kiss to where your thigh and pelvis meet.

“Thank you.” he says, strangely sincere about it, though you aren’t given a moment to think too much about it when rough fingers once again squeeze your rear and you feel him bury his face into you. You feel his tongue slip out, giving a lazy lick against your clothed vulva, and you stop your twisting a little bit to make it easier for Astarion to touch you. His fingers finally grasp at your waistband, pulling it back just to let you feel it snap against you, a squeak slipping out before dragging your underwear down to bare your vagina to him.

His tongue is back on you again, dragging between your vulva, lapping lazily against your labia, and you sink your teeth into your lower lip when Astarion begins his languid taste of your vulva. You squirm, just for him to grab your hips and force you down further onto his face, nose bumping against you momentarily before his tongue slides slightly further out to flick at your slowly emerging clit. Almost as if trying to coax a prey from hiding, he lavishes his attention onto your clit, thumbs coming down to spread your swelling vaginal lips, and you let out a wet, shuddering gasp.

He is just as skilled at this as he always is; lapping alternatively at your dripping hole and angling you to play with your hard, swollen clit. He holds you open, letting you drip all over his face, and you whine, wishing you can grab onto his hair, or anything, to try and ground yourself while he kisses and plays with your vagina. More and more of your pre drips out of you, no doubt staining his mouth and chin, his lazy movements getting a bit more vigorous, frequent, and you smack your hands against the walls all over again.

There is nothing to help you focus, your mind only able to hone in on the pleasure his tongue drags out of you – perverse man that he is, he moans against you and the vibrations make you squeal, though nothing makes you whine louder than when you feel him completely retreat from between your legs. “Thank you.” he repeats from behind you, and you still have no clue why you are being thanked – there is something going on behind those eyes of his, though you have no desire, nor the wits really, to use the tadpole to probe into his mind.

Thumbs press once more against you, though this time to spread open your hole and show off your insides to him, though you don’t really open up much given how tight you are, and how he hasn’t bed with you in quite some time. You don’t really think much about it; you aren’t that sexual of a person in the first place, or so you think, and it is hard to really believe that when Astarion is currently cooing over your cunt and pressing wet kisses against your inner thighs. The fact that Astarion insists on this is actually surprising, the haze from your mind clearing thanks to the frustration of an orgasm denied, but you aren’t allowed to dwell on it for long when you hear shuffling behind you.

One hand grabs your hip to steady you and your mouth falls open in anticipation when you feel his cock head press against your dripping hole. “Wa-wait,” you start, “aren’t you going to prepare me-?”

“Well darling,” Astarion says innocuously, “I can’t prepare you with leather, can I?” before you can even suggest he just take them off, he slams deep inside of you in one go and you scream loudly, slapping your hands against the stone surrounding you, feeling utterly stuffed by his erection as he settles into you. He is at least merciful enough to let your fluttering walls adjust, your hole immediately feeling sore from how it stretches around him, and you close your eyes while taking deep breaths, trying to steady yourself.

You feel so, so full; the stretch is borderline painful, the sting of it making you shudder and moan pathetically, and you hear Astarion’s answering groan when you tighten around him before relaxing again. “Oh,” and he sounds almost surprised when he says that, “you feel good like this. I could use you however I want.” you aren’t entirely too sure how to feel about the dark edge his voice takes on, though your thoughts aren’t your own for long when Astarion pulls out almost all the way only to violently thrust deep into you again.

“Ahhhstarion!” you moan his name out, aimlessly tumbling out, and he gives you an answering growl before he does it again – long, dragging pulls that scrape roughly against your walls before slamming all the way back in, forcing you to feel him in his entirety while he gets to feel your poor vagina try to clamp down around him. The sounds escaping you are wet and humiliating, not aided by the way you claw at the stones around you, and it doesn’t help when Astarion grabs your tail to yank you up, rubbing at the sensitive base of it, and you practically weep from the onslaught of sensations.

He is all grunts and groans behind you, the slapping of skin and the wetness of your cunt swallowing his cock echoes in your head and the underground hideout the two of yourselves are in. You get louder, voice bordering on a scream, when the hand not squeezing and rub the base of your tail decides to rub your sensitive clit. “Mmmmmnnnnooo, closssse, it’s too much!” you wail out; he is being so harsh on your poor body and merciless with your swollen cunt. The twisting in your abdomen gets tighter and tighter, your legs kicking out yet barely being able to move, and still Astarion keeps pounding into you, as though trying to force you to remember him for weeks to come.

“Come... ON!” Astarion hisses out, his own voice sounding worn out, and it takes another rough rub of your hard clit before you find yourself barrelling to orgasm, eyes wide when you feel that strong urge to pee, and your entire body flushed when you squirted, squeezing around him as you do. He crows a strange laugh behind you before he too orgasms, following yours, and you slump forward, feeling completely worn out and deeply tired. He pulls out of you slowly... and does not even bother to clean you up as he drags your underwear and trousers back up.

Your legs and vulva feel extremely sticky and you can already feel his spend dripping out of you and into your gusset, making it cling to your vaginal lips, and you flush. There is more shuffling behind you and Astarion moves your legs around, obviously cleaning up whatever mess you make from your intense squirt, and you are feeling too tired to try and berate him for leaving you all dirty.

“There,” Astarion says, somehow getting his second wind already, and you curse everyone (except for Gale) in your party for being more physically fit than you, “now when our resident little wizard comes and gets you, you can only think and feel me and what I helped you achieve, and you will have to explain your flushed little face to him when he helps you out.”

You try to kick him behind you, though the movement just reminds you starkly of the fact that you let Astarion have sex with you like this, and he just grabs your ankle and squeezes it playfully.

“I hate you.” you say.

“Sure you do, darling. Now be a good one and wait here, won’t you? We have quite some time to kill before anyone is to return to help you out.”

[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 45)

“Sooo Hal, what exactly do I do here?” N asked nervously, twiddling his thumbs as they walked through the halls.

“I’ll be giving you a shortrange frequency that you’ll monitor, our office takes reports from concerned citizens, and Khan, Dale and I take the ones most suited for our respective teams.”

“Crime here is usually pretty tame, petty theft, b and e’s, vandalism. Occasionally we’ll get more serious calls, domestic violence, occasional homicide, though that’s gotten rare thankfully, or an odd “crime of passion”. Hal continued, N listening intently, he understood most of that, but “crime of passion” seemed to escape him.

“Crime of passion?”

“Couples getting too frisky and damaging one or both of them. Usually young ones who dunno what their doing. Most of the time they just dunno how to disconnect and panic, not too big a deal.”

Except N was still lost, he knew what all those words meant separately, but together they made little sense in his processors. He blinked. He wanted to ask what he meant by “disconnect” but at the same time it felt like a private question, not one he should be asking to his boss on his first day of work. Maybe he’d ask Uzi, or Thad, whichever was less embarrassing.

“How’s your daughter doing by the way? Khan mentioned she was having mobility problems when she was first transferred.” Hal asked turning yet another corner to go down yet another hallway, it always surprised him how large the bunker actually was, even if over half the rooms seemed to be empty. A pang of guilt entered his core, how many of these empty rooms were his fault? Or V’s?

“She’s fine now, she was just a little stiff, now she’s clinging to Uzi like a little monkey.” N gave a soft laugh thinking about his family at home, he always missed the both of them even if he wasn’t gone for very long, he supposed that just came with having a job though.

“Ah, yeah, sometimes that happens… when my son was printed into his toddler body we had to take him to the medical wing and they had to do surgery on his neck for him to start moving.”

“I didn’t know you had a son, I’m sorry, I’m sure that scared you both.”

Hal seemed to slow down for a moment, like he just caught himself doing something he shouldn’t before sighing.

“I did have a son. He’s… agh, nevermind that, we’re here.”

He banged his fist on the steel door, sending the grating noise through the hall, they waited for a few moments, only for nothing to reply back.

“She probably has her damn hearing aid turned off again.” Hal grumbled, before knocking as hard as he could, enough to send a vibration through the floor that N could feel through his feet.

“I heard you the first time! Go away!” A croaky, static filled voice called back, sounding irate and just a little bit scared. Hal rolled his eyes.

“It’s Hal, Mrs. Hopkins, you called us in to check out a break in.” Hal put on a very practiced customer service smile, N felt a minuscule shiver go up his spine, being reminded slightly of J, before it dissipated, here, it actually made sense for someone to have that kind of forced smile, and it wasn’t being used exclusively to make him uncomfortable.

The door opened quickly, the drone responsible being so old her casing had started to yellow, her eyelights were white, behind a thick pair of glasses. And she leaned on a cane, she shook with just the effort it took to stand and she adjusted her glasses as she looked at them.

“Good morning Mrs. Hopkins, what seems to be the problem today?” The way Hal asked the question alluded to his multitude of visits, she didn’t immediately answer, instead looking up at N squinting.

“You’re a tall one. Are you new?” She asked, prodding him in the stomach with her cane, he grunted, still trying to keep his polite smile even as he glanced over at Hal for assistance.

“She can’t see very well” He whispered up into N’s audio receptors, covering his mouth with his hand. “Probably a good thing, don’t give yourself away.”

N nodded and smiled again, extending his hand to shake the old woman’s hand, having to crouch down slightly to do so as she was hunched over her cane. She took it, her casing was freezing and felt like sandpaper, N made a internal note to not live this long.

“Hello Mrs. Hopkins, I’m N, it’s nice to meet you ma’am.” He said, and the ancient drone looked at him again, before her face grew into a kindly smile.

“How polite! And such a handsome young man. I hope Hal here doesn’t ruin you.”

The man in question’s eye twitched, before the moment was gone and he cleared his throat, clearly wanting to be done with this as soon as possible.

“You called us in for a break in?”

“Hmm? Oh yes! I was woken up last night by some footsteps. Above me! Someone was clearly trying to steal my fortune!”

N looked around her apartment, the couch was antique, plush and covered in so many blankets and throw pillows that it was hard to see the color of the actual seating underneath, the coffee table was decorated with a lattice of lace, making using it as an actual coffee table near impossible. The same could be said for most the the apartment, nothing here screamed “valuable”.

“Right, okay.” Hal replied, tense but still playing nice, N decided to help him out, he may have been tired of dealing with this lady, but N wanted to make a good impression, to both his superior and this lady.

“Where did you hear the footsteps Mrs. Hopkins? I could go and check for any signs of forced entry.”

“In my bedroom of course, how else would I hear it?” She answered, and N nodded, turning to Hal who seemed to be asking what he was doing, N gave him a smile before leaning over to whisper at him.

“Even if nothing happened, she believes something did, let me just check out her bedroom and the vents, then we can tell her that nothing was there.”

Hal nodded, seemingly agreeing with this plan, he sighed, before adjusting his posture.

“Well we take every report seriously, may we investigate?”

“Be my guest, and if you find the little hoodlum, tell them to get lost!”

Both officers made their way to the bedroom, which at first glance, had nothing amiss. Aside from the abundance of rather creepy porcelain dolls, all staring at them from various angles, N felt unease, and also the need to voice it.

“Whyyyyyy….” He whispered under his breath, just loud enough for Hal to hear it and he snorted in response, giving him an amused smile.

“I’d be paranoid too with all these eyes on me while I slept.” Hal whispered back, sighing and scanning the room, running his hand over one of the only clear spaces on the large wardrobe that held the vast majority of the dolls.

“Seems clear to me, any difference on your end son?”

N scanned the room in both infrared and thermal, but neither showed anything out of the ordinary, but even still his eyes locked to large vent in the corner of the ceiling, he didn’t know why something felt off with it, but it was giving him some weird vibes.

“Lemme check the ventilation, she did say she heard it above her.”

Hal nodded, looked into the doorway to ensure Mrs. Hopkins hadn’t entered the room and have a thumbs up to N, who let loose his wings and zipped up the shaft after carefully removing the grate in his way.

He had always hated climbing through the vents, not only was it dusty and he’d have to spend an hour cleaning out his olfactory and audio receptors later, but it was a tight squeeze, even without his wings, his shoulders scraped the sides of the ventilation shaft uncomfortably.

It was almost impossible for a normal drone to get up in here unless they had a ladder or also had the ability to fly, so he doubted he’d find anything accept a colony of robo-roaches.

When he got further in however, that feeling of unease watched over him again, like something or someone was aware of his presence and he was disturbing them, but rationality still won out, the chances of somebody being in these vents were astronomically low.

Then, the vent opened up a little, allowing him to crouch instead of crawl, to his left was a slowly rotating fan, his front the vents continued forward, but to his right, there was indeed something out of the ordinary. Caught on one of the seams of the welded metal was a ripped piece of red cloth, stained with multiple layers of oil, the freshest layer though, smelled of iron, and seemed to create a glaze of crimson on top of the multiple layers of dried oil. Blood.

He plucked it from its resting place, dread mixing in with confusion, the oil made some sense, maybe whoever had been here had been injured and using this scrap as a bandage, but the blood made less sense. The only time he’d seen blood recently was when that weird fleshy thing under Doll’s bed bled when he poked it, well, and Uzi’s… head… injury.

He looked back down at the red strip, before he remembered what Doll usually wore, that red cheerleading outfit.

His dread grew, becoming a cold weight around his core, Doll was here? In the bunker? Sneaking around the vents doing who knows what and clearly some type of organic based on this blood. What did he do? V was here, she wouldn’t be expecting Doll if she just dropped down from the ceiling one night and tried to off her. And what about Uzi? She was home alone most of the day, taking care of Tera. Oh Robo-God, Tera, she’d be completely defenseless if the Russian decided to come after her as well.

You must go home, your family is in danger!

He wanted to, his worry sinking it's claws deep into him, but he couldn't just leave, Hal was still waiting for him, and he was on the job.

Who cares? Their safety is more important!

The voice was loud and demanding, far more then it had ever been before, it caused ringing in his ears, but still he had to control himself.

Then he got an idea.

He simply called his girlfriend, he was a phone. And even though his hands were shaking and the urge to go home was strong, the voice ceased, seemingly content with his choice.

“N? Why are you calling me through my system? Are you okay?” At the sound of her voice his worry lessened and his core soared, she was okay, Doll hadn't already come for them.

“I-I found a scrap of cloth in the vents. It's Doll's. S-she's somewhere in the vents, please warn V.”

There was silence on the other end, enough of it that he could hear his daughters light giggling through the other side.

“I fucking hate it here!”

Next ->

[kayesfanfics]

General Striker x Reader Headcanons

He hates too much PDA, only likes it when he’s either jealous or showing you off. Otherwise, refrain from kissing and hugging and all that lovey dovey crap, save it for when the both of you are in private. He’s got a bad boy reputation to hold up, and yes he likes to flaunt you but he doesn’t want to be too affectionate and have people realize you’re a weakness of his, especially with he people he works and deals with

He calls you stuff like darlin, pumpkin, sugar, doll face, sweetheart. You call him cowboy, stud, Casanova, babe, and you save daddy for when you want something cause you can NOT tell me Striker doesn’t refer to himself as daddy in the bedroom I’m sorry-

He really likes showing off for you, showcasing his strength, smooth singing voice, rugged good looks, everything. Will do some hard work for you like any repairs around the house, carrying heavy stuff for you, anything like that. Will cook for you as well, he’s really good at barbecue and def makes the best barbecue sauce you’ve ever tasted, and he’ll proudly smile when you dig into his food. Will sing for you if you ask him enough, yes he’s confident but with you he can be a little bashful since he actually wants you to like him. He’s secretly a big sap though and has probably written a song or two about/for you

Whenever you want to go out, he doesn’t have a ton of money to go crazy but he tries his best to find a less sleazy place where it’s less likely for creeps to hit on you and make you uncomfortable. Def the type to fight you on who pays the bill, and it’s often settled with you agreeing to pay for your own stuff, but then Striker will intercept the waiter and give him the cash to cover the both of you. You know he’s not exactly rich himself so you never expected any big fancy thing from him, but when you have date nights in he’ll make you a really nice candlelit dinner and blush a little when you call him a lover boy

But whenever the two of you do go to bars, he gets pretty protective cause he knows the kind of shit that washes up in these places. He knows you can handle yourself and have been for years before you met him, but he’s here now so he can help you out. So if the bartender gets a little too flirty or another customer gets a little too close to you, you hear the rattle and hiss from Striker as he glared at the person as a warning to back off. If the person doesn’t listen or dares to even lay a single finger on you, he WILL start a bar fight and get kicked out for you, he does NOT like anyone touching what’s his or making you feel uncomfortable and unsafe

You do go days, sometimes weeks without seeing him due to his work, but he’ll call you on his burner phone when he’s free to check in with you. You’re not allowed to call him and don’t ever have his numbers to his phone, just in case because he could get caught or something. Which is fine, cause he always calls you in the evening when he’s winding down for the day to say hi and make sure you’re okay. He’ll listen to you ramble about your day, and sometimes he’ll fall asleep on the phone with you, listening to your voice and you smile when you realize he’s asleep before saying goodnight and hanging up

When he comes home all roughed up, you scold him as you grab the first aid kit, which is often kept out now rather than tucked away under the bathroom sink. He rants about how a guy named Blitz and his other imps keeps beating him, but you could honestly care less as you tend to his wounds for him. He’s extra grumpy but you kiss him on the cheek and he softens up a bit, accepting your offer to head to bed early and cuddle a bit. He’s definitely a cuddler once he softens up with you, loves to have you in his arms and sometimes even lets you hold him instead if he’s in the mood for it. And after a beat down, he wants nothing more than to lay on your chest and let you play with his hair or rub his back as he groans from his sore body

CAMPING DATES. He’s already got all the stuff to spend nights out in the desert for his job, so it doesn’t cost him more money and it’s just the two of you. You’ll both ride Bombproof out into the middle of nowhere with nobody around for miles, setting up a fire and lying against his horse to look up at the sky. He’ll give you his jacket when you get cold, claiming he’s just fine but he’s trying not to shiver so you don’t feel bad. Or you can both cuddle up in a blanket, your head on his shoulder as the two of you chat while he roasts some food for the both of you over the fire, giving the leftover scraps to Bombproof