#or at least a series of standalones but i usually read those back to back too

[juleworm]

man i have no clue what to read now LOL

[lostfracturess]

remedies and reasons | ch. 03

pairing — professor geto x law student reader

summary — this wasn’t supposed to happen. not that miserable internship at the law firm you hated, not him becoming your doctor, and definitely not that drunken night at the bar. but he helped, and god, you needed a friend. and he did too. except it's never just friendship with him, is it? it could be perfect—messy, complicated, but perfect. if only his heart wasn’t already taken.

word count — 11.8 k

warnings — 18+ ONLY. contains explicit sexual content, age difference (10 years), doctor-patient relationship, smoking, alcohol use, mature themes, and depictions of illness. reader discretion is advised.

author's note — hey everyone! i'm back with a new chapter, and i know it's been a while. this time, we're diving back into suguru's head to explore his conflicting feelings. as always, this story is a spin-off of symptoms and causes, starting after chapter 12, but it can be read as a standalone. this chapter takes place during the events of chapter 14, where things were pretty intense, so get ready for suguru's perspective on those events, plus some extra bonding time with a certain law student.

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

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(note: r&r reader)

What a strange fucking day.

The coffee from the hospital cafeteria tasted like burnt rubber, leaving a bitter aftertaste that matched my state perfectly. Everything felt slightly out of sorts, like the world had shifted two inches to the left while I wasn't looking, and I was the only one who noticed.

I'd put on mismatched socks this morning, didn't notice until I was already at work. Stepped in a puddle that somehow soaked through my supposedly waterproof shoes. Small things, really. Inconsequential. But they piled up like evidence that I wasn't quite myself lately.

And on top of that, my mind kept drifting back to the sports bar, to easy laughter and surprisingly good conversation. To someone who actually managed to make me forget about work for a few hours. It was... nice. Different. Unsettling. Probably why I let things get carried away. 

What the hell had gotten into me?

I wasn't the type to hook up in bar bathrooms. I didn't do reckless. I was the responsible one, always cleaning up other people's messes — usually Satoru's. 

Yet here I was, distracted and unfocused because of a law student who somehow got under my skin without me even realizing it. Frustrating. That's what it was.

I stared at the ruined samples in front of me, the third batch I'd had to throw out this morning. A stupid beginner's mistake — mixing the reagents in the wrong order like some first-year med student. The solution had turned an ugly shade of red instead of the pale blue it was supposed to be, completely useless now.

I slammed the test tube rack down harder than necessary, making the glass containers rattle. A few drops of the failed experiment splashed onto my lab coat. Perfect. Just perfect.

I glanced at Satoru across the lab bench. He'd been staring at the same equation for twenty minutes now, his leg bouncing that infuriating rhythm that made me want to stab him with my pen. The same nervous energy that had been radiating off him all morning. Neither of us was really focused on work it seemed.

"You going to tell me what's wrong, or do I have to guess?" I finally asked, perhaps partly to distract myself from my own thoughts.

He blinked, as if just remembering I was there. "Nothing's wrong."

"Really? Because you've been glaring at that formula for like an hour."

"Maybe I just enjoy looking at my own handwriting. It's pretty, isn't it? Unlike yours."

"At least the nurses can read my prescriptions without three callbacks."

"That was one time." He spun in his chair to face me. "And the pharmacy figured it out eventually."

I need a cigarette.

No, I need several cigarettes.

I was about to retort when a soft knock echoed through the lab. We both turned toward the door, and suddenly all my annoyance vanished. It was her.

Standing there in the doorway, clutching a folder to her chest, looking almost nervous. Her eyes darted between Satoru and me, and I could see the moment she registered the awkwardness of the situation.

She was wearing a crisp blazer, her hair pulled back neatly — every inch the professional law intern. Maybe it was the confused sleep deprivation talking, but I swore I caught a hint of pink creeping across her cheeks when our eyes briefly met before she looked away.

"Oh," she said. "I didn't expect to find you both here."

Satoru straightened up, his demeanor shifting instantly to doctor mode. "Everything okay? Is it your medication?"

"No, no," she quickly assured him. "Actually, I'm here about the... um, the legal consultation from the other day?" She held up the folder. "Mr. Higurama asked me to get both your signatures on these forms."

"More paperwork?" Satoru groaned theatrically. "They really love their forms at that firm, don't they? I bet they have forms for their forms."

She laughed — not the bold, uninhibited laugh from the bar, but something smaller, more contained. Professional. It was strange seeing her like this, all sharp edges and formal wear, when just days ago we'd been trading stories over beer and darts.

"Well," she said, stepping fully into the lab, "we do love forms, yes." Her eyes landed on the mess of failed experiments on our benches, the chaos of scribbles on the whiteboard. I just now realized how utterly chaotic the whole lab was. "Bad time?"

"No," I said, maybe too quickly. "Just a rough morning in the lab."

"Rough morning?" Satoru raised an eyebrow. "This is the first time I've seen him mess up this experiment since university. Usually he's annoyingly perfect."

I shot him a look that promised murder. Or at least severe bodily harm.

She glanced between us, a hint of unease, her fingers tightening on the folder as she took a small step back. "Should I come back later? When there's less...chaos?"

"No, it's fine," I said, reaching for the folder. Our fingers brushed as she handed it over, and I found myself wondering if she was still thinking about that night too. Probably not. She was just here doing her job.

I opened the folder, scanning the documents inside. More forms about professional conduct and boundaries. The irony wasn't lost on me.

"These need both our signatures?" I asked.

She nodded. "Mr. Higurama was very specific about that."

I grabbed a pen and signed where indicated, then passed the folder to Satoru. As he signed, I caught her stifling a yawn.

"Long night?" I asked.

"Just law student things," she replied with a tired smile. "Coffee and case studies until 3 AM."

"Sounds familiar," I said, thinking of my own sleepless night, though for very different reasons. "Though I prefer my all-nighters with better coffee than whatever they serve at that firm."

"Our coffee is not that bad actually—"

Before she could finish, Satoru thrust the folder at her. "Here," he said. "All signed and ready to go back to the fun police." He glanced at his phone, then suddenly stood up. "Speaking of which, I need to go. Got a... thing."

A thing? I raised an eyebrow at him, but he was already halfway to the door. "Don't mess up any more experiments, Suguru," he called over his shoulder, and then he was gone, leaving us alone in the now quiet space.

She stood there, folder clutched to her chest, looking unsure. "Is Dr. Gojo okay? He seems a bit on edge."

"Not more than usual, I guess."

"So that failed experiment over there?" She gestured past me with her finger.

I glanced at my failed experiment, which had now turned an alarming shade of green that definitely wasn't in any textbook I'd ever read. Either I'd just discovered a new chemical compound, or I was about to violate several safety protocols. Possibly both.

"Observant. They teach you that in law school?"

"No, that's just natural talent," she said, some of that bar night ease creeping back into her voice. "Though I have to say, watching things change color isn't usually part of my job description."

"Consider it a bonus lesson in chemistry." Before I could overthink it, I heard myself asking, "Have you had lunch yet?"

She hesitated, shifting the folder in her arms. "I should probably get these back to Mr. Higurama—" Just then, the folder slipped from her grasp, papers scattering across the lab floor. "Oh god," she muttered, immediately dropping to her knees to gather them.

In her haste to collect the papers, she bumped into the lab bench. The rack of test tubes rattled precariously. I lunged forward, managing to catch the rack just as it started to tip, but not before one of the tubes spilled its contents onto the counter.

"I'm so sorry!" She scrambled to her feet, papers clutched messily to her chest, her cheeks now bright red. "I swear I wasn't trying to sabotage your experiments. Though they were already ruined anyway—not that that makes it better! I just meant—"

I watched her frantically trying to collect the papers, a small smile tugging at my lips despite the chaos. "I'll pay," I offered, cutting off her rambling. "Besides, we should probably get going, that failed experiment's probably going to turn purple next and who knows what happens then."

She paused mid-reach for another paper, looking up at me with wide eyes. "Are you threatening me with your failed experiment to get me to have lunch with you?"

"Is it working?"

She glanced at the door where Satoru had disappeared, then back at me, fidgeting with the crumpled papers in her arms. "You know what? Yeah. If you really want to—I mean, after I almost destroyed your lab—"

"Well, you're certainly making my morning more interesting."

She tried to smooth out the crumpled papers, only managing to wrinkle them more. "Oh, I mean—Is that a good thing? Because I can't tell if you're complimenting me or—"

"Come on, Attorney, let's get you away from any breakable objects," I said, already shrugging off my lab coat and heading for the door. "I know a good place and trust me after that, you'll never defend that law firm sludge again."

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(note: r&r reader)

The café was tucked away in a narrow alley, the kind of place you'd walk right past unless you knew what you were looking for. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of freshly ground coffee beans and something sweet baking in the back.

She looked around, taking in the worn leather chairs and mismatched mugs, the walls lined with old medical textbooks and vintage anatomy charts. "So this is where all the doctors hide out?"

"Best kept secret in the hospital district," I said, leading her to a small table by the window. "Though I'm pretty sure I'm violating some sacred code by bringing a lawyer here."

The owner, an elderly man who'd been serving coffee to sleep-deprived medical staff for longer than I'd been alive, brought over two cups without us having to order. The coffee was served in glass cups, the dark liquid nearly black, with a perfect crema on top.

"What is this?" she asked, leaning forward to inspect the cup.

"Just trust me."

She raised an eyebrow. "The last time a doctor told me to 'just trust them,' I ended up with a prescription that made me sleep for sixteen hours straight."

"Satoru's work, I assume?"

"Maybe."

I watched as she lifted the cup, inhaling. Her eyes widened slightly. "Oh."

"Try it," I said, finding myself oddly invested in her reaction.

She took a careful sip, and I couldn't help but smile as her expression changed — surprise, then joy, then something close to awe.

"Holy shit," she whispered, staring at the cup like it held the secrets of the universe.

"Better than the law firm sludge?"

"Okay, fine, you win." She took another sip, closing her eyes. "What is this?"

"Family secret, apparently. The owner won't tell anyone, not even me." I picked up my own cup. "Though I have my theories."

"Care to share?"

"Doctor-patient confidentiality."

She kicked me lightly under the table. "I'm not your patient."

"No," I agreed, the words carrying more weight than I'd intended. "You're not."

She looked away, suddenly very interested in the anatomy chart on the wall, a slight flush creeping up her neck. I caught myself enjoying her reaction more than I probably should.

"You know," I said, breaking the silence, "you still haven't shown me your paintings."

Her eyes snapped back to mine. "What?"

"At the bar, you promised to show me your work someday." I took another sip of coffee. "Unless that was just the alcohol talking."

"I did not promise anything," she protested, but her fingers fidgeted with the handle of her cup. "And I don't really show my work to people."

I leaned back in my chair, studying her. "Not even to doctors who hold your hand during MRI scans?"

"Especially not to doctors who do such unethical things, Dr. Geto." But there was a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

"I seem to recall you saying my hands were very good or something."

Her cheeks flushed pink, and she fumbled with her coffee cup, nearly sending it sloshing over the rim. "I did not say that."

"No? Must have been another patient then."

"Can we please pretend I never said anything about your hands?" She shifted in her seat, clearly flustered. "Or anything else that happened that day?"

"Show me your paintings and I might consider selective amnesia."

"Are you actually blackmailing me with my own embarrassing moments?" She leaned forward slightly. "I should sue you for violation of doctor-patient confidentiality."

"Please don't. I have enough lawyers breathing down my neck as it is."

"Oh, I know." Her lips twitched into a smile. "Your case files take up an entire cabinet at the firm."

"Now who's the unethical one?" I couldn't help but smile. "Pretty sure those files are supposed to be confidential."

"See the positive." The corner of her mouth quirked up, and she propped her chin on her hand. Her sleeve slid down slightly. "I can help you. Though my rates are quite steep—one painting viewing equals one legal consultation."

"Brutal negotiation tactics. They're teaching you well at that firm."

She bit her lip, fighting back a grin. The gesture was distracting in a way I didn't want to examine too closely. Then, she wrapped her hands around her cup, leaning forward slightly. "Speaking of teaching, how's that research project going?"

I groaned, running a hand through my hair. "Can we not? I'd rather hear about your law stuff."

"Oh god no," she groaned in return, slumping back in her chair. "Let's not talk about that either."

"That bad, huh?"

"You have no idea. Just endless stacks of papers and Chad being... well, Chad."

"Chad?" I raised an eyebrow.

"This awful intern who thinks he owns the place because his dad's some stupid partner. Like, today he tried to take credit for my research on the Yamamoto case, which, by the way, I spent three nights working on. And then he had the nerve to correct my citations in front of everyone, except he was wrong. He was completely wrong, and everyone knew it, but nobody said anything because, you know, his dad and everything—" 

She stopped abruptly, her eyes widening as if just realizing she'd been rambling again. Her hands fluttered nervously around her coffee cup. "Sorry, I'm talking too much, aren't I?"

"No," I said, surprising myself with how much I meant it. "I like hearing you talk."

Her eyes met mine, startled. "You do?"

"Yeah. It's... refreshing, I mean hearing about anything that's not related to someone's blood and lab work." I traced the rim of my cup with my finger. "Is this Chad giving you trouble? Because I could always stop by the firm, maybe have a word with him."

She let out a startled laugh, then immediately looked embarrassed by how loud it was. A few other people glanced our way, making her shrink slightly in her seat.

"What, are you offering to intimidate him for me?"

"I can be quite intimidating when I want to be."

"That's a weird thing to say about oneself."

"You say way more weird things." I glanced at my watch and couldn't help but sigh. "Speaking of intimidating, I've got a class of overconfident med students waiting."

"Oh." She looked up. "Right, of course."

I should leave it at that. Get up, go back to work, stop whatever this is before it gets complicated. I have enough on my plate with the research, with Satoru acting weird, with everything else. The last thing I need is to get involved with—

My hand brushed against the crumpled paper in my coat pocket. That flyer some art student had thrust into my hands this morning at the campus entrance, just like they did to everyone else rushing past. 

"Actually, there's this art exhibition next weekend at the city gallery."

What the hell am I doing?

She blinked at me, her coffee cup frozen halfway to her mouth. "Are you... are you asking me to go to an art exhibition?"

This is stupid. I don't even like art exhibitions. They're crowded and pretentious, and I have better things to do with my weekend. Like work. Or sleep. Or literally anything else. I'm really not quite myself lately.

"I mean, if you want to. I don't understand much about art, but—" I rubbed the back of my neck. "If you show me what to look for, I'm sure I'll like it."

That sounded so lame. Why am I even doing this?

"You mean that?" she asked. "Because you don't have to pretend to be interested in art just because I—"

"I want to," I cut her off. "Besides, maybe you can explain to me why people pay millions for paintings of soup cans."

She laughed, that genuine, unguarded sound from the bar, and I was glad I hadn't thrown the flyer away. "Those are Warhol, and they're actually a commentary on mass production and consumer culture in—" She stopped herself, cheeks flushing. "And I'm doing it again."

"Saturday at 6?" I asked.

"Yeah," she said softly. "Saturday at 6 sounds good."

As I stood to leave, the absurdity of the situation hit me. Here I was, voluntarily signing up for an afternoon of art appreciation. What was wrong with me? 

The closest thing to art in my apartment is that anatomy poster Satoru got me as a joke last Christmas. If he ever found out about this, I'd never hear the end of it. But somehow, I couldn't bring myself to care.

It wasn't until I was back in my office at the university, staring at a stack of research papers, that I realized something strange — I hadn't smoked since morning. My usual lunchtime cigarette break had come and gone without me even noticing. 

My pack sat untouched in my coat pocket. I pulled it out now, turning it over in my hands, and somehow I found myself oddly looking forward to learning about soup cans.

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(note: s&c reader)

The lecture went fine. It always did.

Talk about neurons, synapses, action potentials. Watch sleepy med students pretend to take notes while secretly checking their phones. Answer the same questions I'd answered a hundred times before. Rinse and repeat.

Now, hours later, I was back in the lab. The chaos from this morning had been methodically cleaned away. New solutions mixed, properly this time. Everything in its place, color-coded and labeled with my precise handwriting.

The lab was quiet at this hour. Just the soft hum of equipment and the occasional footsteps in the hallway outside. It was peaceful, in its own way. Or maybe just lonely.

I checked my watch — 5:47 PM. I should probably head home, but then what? Watch some mindless TV show? Read another research paper? Order takeout that would sit in my fridge until it went bad? God, when did my life become this predictable?

The solution in front of me turned the correct shade of blue this time. Finally. I made a note in my lab book, but my mind wandered. About Satoru's strange behavior. About her. About how she looked at Satoru like he hung the moon and stars just for her.

I pushed away from the bench so forcefully my chair squeaked against the floor. My hands were already reaching for my cigarettes before I made it to the window. The night air was cool against my face as I lit up, inhaling deeply.

This was exactly what I didn't need to think about. Not now. Not ever. Focus on the research. On the failed experiments. On anything else but the ache that threatened to consume me whenever I let my mind wander in her direction.

The cigarette burned down too quickly. I lit another one immediately. What kind of person fell for their best friend's girlfriend? What kind of friend was I to even—

No. Stop that train of thought right there.

The smoke curled up into the night sky, hoping it would carry with it all the things I couldn't let myself feel. All the words I couldn't say. All the moments I'd had to watch them together, pretending my heart wasn't being torn to shreds. I'm pathetic.

I exhaled another cloud of smoke into the night air. Maybe that was why I asked about the art exhibition. God knew I could use the distraction. From the research, from Satoru, from her.

And she — there was something in her eyes. That familiar look of someone drowning in circumstances they couldn't control. She needed a break too, probably more than she admitted. Maybe this Chad was partly responsible. Speaking of Chad—

I tapped my cigarette against the windowsill. It wouldn't be hard to figure out his real name. Law firms kept records of their interns, and with his father being a partner. One quick search in the hospital database and I could probably find something interesting in his medical history. Everyone had secrets. Maybe something embarrassing. Something that would make him think twice about—

What the hell am I thinking? I stubbed out my cigarette, leaving a black smear. Great. Now I'm contemplating abusing my position to dig up dirt on some spoiled law intern. Real professional, Suguru. Really living up to that ethical conduct seminar.

Though the thought of his smug face when he tried to take credit for her work—

No. Absolutely not. I'm better than that.

I lit another cigarette, trying to ignore how satisfying the idea was. I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. Saturday at 6.

At least that was something to look forward to. Something normal. Well, as normal as anything could be when you were a neurosurgeon voluntarily going to an art exhibition with a law student who was also your patient, technically. What did people even wear to art exhibitions?

My pen tapped against the lab book as my phone buzzed.

[2:34 PM] s&c reader: Need any help in the lab today? I can come in if you want.

[2:35 PM] Me: Just boring prep work left. Take the day off.

Three dots appeared, then disappeared. Then appeared again.

[2:37 PM] s&c reader: You sure? I can help with the prep too.

[2:37 PM] Me: Rest. Doctor's orders.

[2:40 PM] s&c reader: I hate when you say that.

I found myself smiling at my phone, picturing her frustrated face as she typed that. She was probably pouting right now, hunched over her textbooks in the library, annoyed that I'd pulled rank. That stubborn set of her jaw when she tried not to admit defeat. Just like him.

The smile faded as quickly as it had come. I immediately set my phone down and took a deep breath. I should be thinking about the research. About tumor markers and treatment protocols. Not about my student who was probably still in the library despite my orders to rest.

No. Not about her at all.

I glanced at my phone again, fighting the urge to text her back. Focus, I told myself. Work. Don't do anything stupid. God, this day really couldn't get any more fucking frustrating. 

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(note: s&c reader)

The lab was quiet.

I'd been at this for hours, my eyes straining in the bright light of the laminar flow hood, my back aching from hunching over the bench. The familiar chemical smell of ethanol lingered in my nostrils from the endless rounds of sterilizing equipment. 

I straightened up, rolling my shoulders in a futile attempt to ease the knots. A glance at the clock told me it was late, far later than I'd intended to stay. 

The steady hum of the cell incubator behind me had become white noise hours ago, punctuated only by the occasional click of the temperature regulator. I was exhausted, ready to call it a night. But I couldn't leave, not yet.

There was still work to be done, still samples to process. The micropipette tips rattled in their box as I reached for another one, the sound sharp in the empty lab. My stomach rumbled in response. 

I sighed, tugging the elastic from my hair and running my fingers through the dark strands before twisting them back into a loose knot. A few pieces escaped, falling around my face as I looked over to the window, staring out at the darkening sky. 

The sun had already dipped below the horizon, the last streaks of orange fading into deep purple. The campus was quiet, most of the other staff and students long gone for the day.

My stomach growled again, reminding me that I hadn't eaten since lunch as I returned to work. I weighed my options—power through these last samples and face my empty fridge at home, or brave the vending machine downstairs for stale coffee and a questionable sandwich—

Then I heard the door open behind me. I didn't turn, couldn't turn, my hands still buried in the fragile work, the pipette cool in my gloved fingers. But then I heard her voice, and my heart stopped.

"Suguru?"

God, how I wanted to turn to her, to drink in the sight of her. But I couldn't, not yet.

"Hey," I replied, my gaze still fixed on the vials before me. "Didn't expect you here today. Sorry, the fun part's already over." I completed the transfer, then turned to face her, a easy smile on my lips. But the smile died as soon as I saw her face.

I didn't respond immediately, too startled by her appearance. Even in the dim light, it was impossible to miss.

She looked small, fragile in a way I had never seen before. Her eyes were red and swollen, her cheeks pale. She had been crying, that much was clear. She hugged herself tightly, as if she was trying to physically hold the pieces of herself together. 

Seeing her like that, so broken, tore at something deep inside me, something I hated, something fierce and aching.

"What happened?" 

The question was inevitable. But I already knew. There was only one thing, one person, that could make my pretty girl cry.

Her eyes were fixed on the floor, but I could see the tears welling up, threatening to spill over. "Can we work on something?" she finally asked, her voice small. "Please."

I hesitated, torn between the need to comfort her and the knowledge that it wasn't my place. "Do you want to talk about it?" I offered, even though I knew the answer before she even shook her head.

"No," she choked out. "I can't. I need—I need to focus on something else. Anything else. Or I think I'll fall apart."

I understood that feeling all too well. The need to lose yourself in work, to bury yourself in the familiar of the lab until the rest of the world faded away. But I hated that she felt it too, hated that he had driven her to this point. Hated him, with a fury that burned white-hot in my veins.

And the worst part was that I knew there was more, more that he was hiding from her. More lies, more secrets, more ways he was hurting her without her even knowing. And it made me want to scream, to rage, to tear him apart with my bare hands for daring to hurt her like this.

But I couldn't. All I could do was be here for her, in whatever way she needed me. 

"Please, Suguru." Her voice was pleading, desperate. "Can we just work?"

I hesitated for a moment longer, my gaze lingering on her face, taking in the vulnerability etched there. The urge to pull her into my arms, to hold her until the pain faded away, was almost overwhelming. But I knew I couldn't cross that line, not now, not like this.

Finally, I nodded and peeled off my gloves, setting them aside. I reached for her, gently undoing the tight knot of her crossed arms. Her hands were like ice in mine, trembling and fragile. I took one hand in both of mine, wishing I could take away her pain.

"What do you want to work on?" I asked softly, my thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of her hand.

"The nanoparticles," she said, her voice a little steadier. "We still need to narrow down the potential materials and targeting ligands, right?"

"Yeah," I said, forcing a smile. "Anything you want."

Anything for you. 

The words echoed in my mind, a bitter reminder of the truth I could never speak aloud. I loved her, had loved her for longer than I cared to admit, but she was with Satoru. And no matter how much it hurt to see her like this, to know that he was the one who had caused her pain, I couldn't let my own feelings get in the way.

So I pushed them down, buried them deep, and focused on the work. On being the friend she needed, the partner she could rely on. Even if it meant ignoring the part of me that screamed for something more. Even if it meant watching her break, again and again, and being powerless to stop it.

We worked in silence for a while, the familiar routine of the lab providing distraction. For her. For me. She focused intently on the task at hand, her brow furrowed as she carefully prepared the samples. Like everything she did, with unwavering precicion.

I watched her out of the corner of my eye, my heart aching at the tension in her shoulders, the tightness around her eyes. 

Time seemed to slip away as we lost ourselves in the work, the outside world fading away. I caught myself stealing glances at her, watching how her hair fell forward when she leaned over the samples. Every little gesture a knife to my heart. 

These moments were the hardest — seeing her so close, yet having to maintain this careful distance. Watching her push herself to exhaustion, knowing I couldn't hold her, couldn't comfort her the way I desperately wanted to.

I averted my gaze and glanced at the clock, just now realizing how late it had gotten.

"Hey," I said softly, breaking the silence. "It's nearly midnight. We should probably call it a day."

She looked up, blinking as if coming out of a trance. "Oh, no I have to finsish this first." She looked over to me and my stern gaze must have silenced her objections.

I hesitated for a moment, then reached out and touched her arm gently, ignoring the way my skin burned at the contact. "Come on. I want to show you something."

She followed reluctantly as I led her to the far corner of the lab, where our old microscope sat — the one we rarely used anymore since getting the newer models. I pulled out a worn slide from the cabinet.

"Remember this?" I asked, setting up the microscope. "From your first week here?"

She leaned in to look, and I had to force myself to step back. "Oh god, my first attempt at cell staining. It's horrible."

"Actually," I said, adjusting the focus, "look at this part here." I pointed to a small cluster of cells. "See how you managed to isolate that specific population? Most students take months to get that kind of precision. You did it on your first try."

She was quiet for a moment, studying the slide. A look I adored so much. And for a moment, the pain and hurt seemed to fade away. 

"You've got instincts that can't be taught," I continued. "That's why you're going to crack this nanoparticle puzzle too."

"You really think so?"

"I know so." I pulled out another slide. "Here, look at your work from last month. See how far you've come?"

She studied it for a moment, then shook her head. "It's still not perfect, the staining could be cleaner, the resolution better. I should be doing better by now."

"You're being too hard on yourself." Always chasing perfection, just like him. "You can't expect to master everything in a few months. Even Satoru took years to—" I caught myself, watching her shoulders tense at his name. Wrong thing to say. "What I mean is, you're already exceeding everyone's expectations. Except maybe your own."

She fell quiet, turning back to the microscope. I watched as she adjusted the focus. Finally, she straightened up from the microscope, turning to face me, and there it was — that spark in her eyes I'd grown to love, the one that made my heart stutter every time.

"We should try adjusting the polymer composition," she said suddenly. "Maybe if we modified the surface charge—"

I smiled, relief flooding through me at seeing that spark return. "Whatever you want to try. I'm right here with you. But tomorrow, okay? After a bit of sleep."

"Thank you," she said softly, leaning back in her chair and stretching her arms above her head. A small yawn escaped her. "Sorry for taking up so much of your time. You must have been here for hours."

"No, not at all," I lied, watching as she rolled her shoulders to work out the stiffness. In truth, I'd been at the lab since dawn, but she didn't need to know that.

I swallowed hard, my heart suddenly racing. "You know I'm always here for you. No matter what."

We remained silent for a moment, the weight of everything unsaid crowded in my throat — how much I cared, how seeing her hurt made me want to tear the world apart, how every smile she gave me was torture.

"Come on," I said finally, breaking the spell before I could do something stupid. "Let's get out of here. I think we both need some sleep."

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(note: s&c reader)

Cold autumn air burned in my lungs as I pushed myself harder, feet pounding against the leaf-strewn path. A thick blanket of mist hung low between the trees on my usual morning run, though nothing about this morning felt usual.

I hadn't slept. How could I?

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face. The way she looked so small, so broken. The tears she tried to hide. The trembling in her hands as we worked. The memory of those words made me stumble, my running shoes skidding on wet leaves, made my chest tight with something painful.

I picked up my pace, as if I could somehow outrun the guilt of my own thoughts. Because every time I saw her like this, a treacherous part of me whispered, I would never make you cry. I would never give you reason to doubt yourself. I would cherish every brilliant, imperfect moment.

Damn it.

I'm a terrible friend. To both of them.

The park was almost empty at this hour — just a few other early risers and their dogs. A jogger passed, giving me a brief nod. It was my routine, something that usually helped clear my head, but not today. Not when I couldn't stop thinking about how she looked last night, working herself to escape whatever he'd done this time.

What kind of man watches the woman he loves hurt like this and does nothing? Someone so passionate, so full of life, slowly dimming because he can't get his shit together—

Stop it. Stop thinking about her like that.

I stopped abruptly, hands on my knees, breathing hard. A cloud of vapor formed with each exhale, disappearing into the cold morning air. My t-shirt was soaked with sweat despite the chill.

This isn't my business. I've told myself this a hundred times. Their relationship, their problems — none of it concerns me. I'm just her professor. Her research partner. Just his friend. But friends don't let friends destroy the people they claim to love.

And I can't keep pretending I don't see what's happening. Can't keep watching her slowly break apart while he—

Before I knew what I was doing, I was heading back to my car. To hell with my day off. To hell with staying out of it. I've watched this play out for too long, kept my mouth shut for too long. Sorry, Satoru. But we need to talk.

I stormed through the university hallways, my footsteps thundering off the walls, still in my damp training clothes that clung uncomfortably to my skin. The lab door was ahead, and through the window I could see him.

Satoru was sitting in his chair, staring blankly at the whiteboard where incoherent scribbles were scattered, just like yesterday.

In two strides, I crossed the room and grabbed the back of his chair, spinning it around to face me. He looked awful — pale, unshaven, his hair a mess. The sharp scent of coffee couldn't mask something else on his breath. His eyes were bloodshot. I didn't care.

"What the hell did you say to her?" I snapped.

Satoru didn't even seem surprised by my presence. "Wow, that's a pretty broad question, don't you think?"

"Cut the bullshit, Satoru. You know exactly what I'm talking about."

He glanced up then, one eyebrow arched, that infuriatingly casual look I'd seen a thousand times before. "Damn, Suguru. Who pissed in your cornflakes this morning?"

Something snapped inside me. Before I could think better of it, I was there, hands gripping the arms of his chair, caging him in. Close enough to see the muscle working in his jaw. "I'm gonna ask you this one time and one time only. What happened between you two?"

"Wow, you're really close." He glanced pointedly at the narrow space between us, but I caught the way his fingers tightened on the armrest. "We had a disagreement, that's all," he added, his tone dismissive.

"A disagreement?" The laugh that escaped me was harsh. I pushed away from his chair, turning so I wouldn't have to look at him. My hand scraped roughly across my face, trying my best not to take a hit on him. "She was in tears, Satoru. She could barely get the words out."

He didn't answer. Just straightened up, brushed imaginary dirt from his lab coat. Then he was on his feet, moving past me to the whiteboard as if I wasn't even there. As if we weren't having this conversation.

He picked up a marker, adding to the chaos of scribbles already there — equations that went nowhere, diagrams that made no sense.

"God, would you just—" I ran a hand through my hair in frustration. "You can't just ignore this, Satoru."

His knuckles went white around the marker. For a second, I thought he might actually turn around and hit me.

"How long are you gonna keep doing this to her?" I pressed. "Until she breaks completely?"

"You think I'm not aware of that," he muttered, still facing the board.

"Then fucking stop. If you can't treat her right, just let her go."

That got him. He spun around, eyes hard. "Oh, you'd love that, wouldn't you?"

I blinked, taken aback. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Satoru laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Come on, Suguru. Don't act like you haven't been waiting for this. Waiting for your chance."

"That's not—" The words stuck in my throat. "This isn't about me."

"No?" He took a step closer. "Then what is it about? Why do you care so much?"

"Because she deserves better than this. And you know it."

"Better? You mean like you?" His lips curled into something cruel. "Too bad she's not yours to care about, huh? Even though you think you'd be so much better for her than me." He tilted his head, eyes cold. "Funny, isn't it? She doesn't want you, even knowing how bad I am for her. What does that say about you?"

The words hit like a physical blow, each word a serrated edge twisting in my gut. It took everything in me not to grab him by the throat. "You're being a dick."

"And you're being a lying piece of shit. When were you gonna tell me?" His voice dropped dangerously low. "About how you feel about her?"

"This isn't about me," I repeated through gritted teeth. "This is about what you're doing to her."

"You don't know anything about us."

I stepped closer, close enough to see the shadows under his eyes. "What happens when she finds out the truth, huh? When you're passed out in some hospital bed? That how you want her to learn about it?"

Something flickered in his eyes — pain, maybe guilt — but it was gone in an instant.

"Stay out of it," he said, his voice cold. "Just... stay out of it."

He turned back to the board. I watched him, this man I'd known my whole life, suddenly feeling like a stranger.

"What happened to you?" I asked quietly.

He didn't turn around. "Yeah," he said, his voice heavy. "Guess we'd all like to know, wouldn't we?"

I watched him scribble new, illogical equations on the whiteboard, this stranger wearing my best friend's face, and for a moment I saw echoes of who we used to be.

Late nights in the university library, surrounded by towers of medical textbooks. Satoru falling asleep on his notes, drooling on diagrams of the nervous system while I threw paper balls at his head to wake him up. The way we'd quiz each other until sunrise, high on caffeine and the shared dream of becoming surgeons.

Our residency years, which were nothing but brutal and endless. Sleeping in on-call rooms, stealing each other's coffee, covering for each other when we were dead on our feet. Learning to navigate the maze of hospital politics together. 

The rush of our first successful surgeries, the crushing weight of our first losses.

Even when things got bad, when the pressure started getting to him, when the pills became more than just a way to stay focused during exam season, he never shut me out completely. He'd show up at my door at 3 AM, shaking and sweating, and I'd let him in without a word. We'd sit in silence until the sun came up, until he could breathe again.

I was there through all of it. The interventions, the relapses, the promises to get clean. The nights when he'd call me, voice slurred, talking about how he didn't know how to go on. I'd talk him down, drive across town to pick him up from whatever hole he'd crawled into. 

We were brothers in everything but blood.

But now—

Now he stood there, shoulders rigid, adding meaningless equations to an already chaotic board. The gap between us felt wider than the few feet of lab floor. When did that happen? When did we stop being able to tell each other everything?

Was it when she came into our lives? When he fell in love with her? When I—

No. It was before that. The distance had been growing for a while, so gradually I hardly noticed. Like watching someone drift away on an outgoing tide, too slow to notice until they're already too far to reach.

The marker squeaked against the whiteboard. The sound grated on my nerves, like everything about him did these days. His secrets, his dismissive attitude, the way he kept everyone at arm's length while slowly self-destructing.

"Do you remember," I found myself saying, "that night in our second year of residency? When that kid crashed on my table?"

His hand stilled on the board.

"I was a mess afterward. Convinced I'd missed something, that it was my fault. You came to my place and we sat on the floor until morning, going over every detail of the surgery until I finally believed that I couldn't have saved him."

He didn't turn around, but I saw his shoulders tense.

"What happened to us, Satoru?"

The marker dropped from his hand, clattering against the metal tray. The sound echoed in the quiet lab.

"I don't know" he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper, "I'm tired of it all."

We stood there, two people who had once finished each other's sentences, now unable to find the right words. Silence stretched, thick and suffocating, filled with twenty years of shared history that suddenly felt meaningless.

I wanted to grab him, shake him, make him see what he was doing to himself. To her. To us. But I stayed where I was, the distance between us feeling more insuperable by the second. 

This strange, hollow feeling in my chest — was this what growing apart felt like? This gradual realization that the person standing before me, had become someone I didn't recognize?

But the details were still there—the slight crook in his nose from that basketball accident in high school with him, laughing it off even as blood dripped onto his jersey—the white line across his knuckles from that fight behind the gym, my own fists aching as I pulled him away—the small scar above his eyebrow from when we tried to climb that tree in sixth grade, both of us sworn to secrecy, telling our parents we fell off our bikes. 

Every mark told a story I could recite in my sleep, yet somehow, they all added up to someone I didn't know anymore. Like looking at a familiar photograph that had been subtly altered — all the pieces were there, but the picture was wrong.

My best friend, my brother, the person who knew me better than anyone — when did he become such a stranger? When did our comfortable silences turn into this suffocating void? 

The thought sat like lead in my stomach, bitter and cold, as I realized that sometimes knowing every scar on someone's skin doesn't mean you know what's beneath it anymore.

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(note: s&c and r&r reader)

Days blurred together in a haze of surgeries and lectures. 

I went through the motions, my hands steady as ever in the operating room, my voice clear during presentations. To anyone watching, I was the picture of professional composure. But inside? I don't know.

I thought I was doing a decent job of holding it together until one of my students approached me after a practically grueling morning lecture. The young man clutched a stack of papers, a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead.

"Dr. Geto, about my thesis proposal—"

I cut him off with a wave of my hand, not even looking up from gathering my materials. "Email me to request thesis mentorship. I'll review your proposal and get back to you."

"Oh... you're, ehm, already my thesis advisor. We had an appointment scheduled for today."

I froze, finally looking at the student—really looking at him. Recognition dawned slowly, followed by a wave of shame. Takada Jun, one of my most promising students. We'd met twice a month since the semester began. Damn it.

"You're right," I said. "Sorry, can we reschedule?"

I was better than this. More professional than this. But lately, everything felt like it was slipping through my fingers.

The research lab was closed for the week—a "cooling off period," Yaga had called it. I knew what it really meant. We were all too volatile, too raw from recent events to work together effectively. So I went home early, something I never did.

My apartment felt emptier than usual, the silence pressing in from all sides. I tried reading, but the words swam before my eyes. I attempted to eat, but everything tasted like ash. Even my usual evening cigarette was bitter and harsh in my lungs.

My thoughts kept drifting to Satoru, wondering what he was doing, not if he was using, only what cocktail of pills he'd chosen this time. The math was easy enough—one to stay awake, two to fall asleep, three to numb the edges, repeat as needed. I'd seen it too many times before.

I crushed out my cigarette, watching the ember die. I reached for another only to find an empty pack. Figured. I should go buy more, knew I'd need them if I let myself think about her, about them. But I didn't want to leave the apartment, couldn't put on real clothes.

My only glimpse of light was the art exhibition on Saturday. The thought of it made something in my chest loosen, just slightly. I pulled out my phone, staring at our last exchange of messages before typing out a new one.

[6:45 PM] Me: Should I pick you up for the exhibition?

Her response came quickly.

[6:47 PM] Attorney: Let's meet there. I might be running late from a study group.

[6:47 PM] Me: Sounds good.

I hesitated, then added.

[6:48 PM] Me: Looking forward to it.

[6:49 PM] Attorney: Me too :)

A small smile tugged at my lips. For a brief, ridiculous moment, I wondered if I should bring flowers. The thought made me pause, my hand reaching automatically for my cigarettes before remembering the empty pack. What the hell was I doing?

This was wrong on so many levels.  She was my patient. Well, technically Satoru's patient. And young—god, she was so young. And I was... what? A mess of a man carrying a torch for someone I could never have, trying to fill that void with someone else? I was not sure.

My mind kept drifting back to that night at the bar. The way she felt pressed against me in that dimly lit bathroom, her skin warm under my touch. The soft sounds she made when I slipped my fingers inside her—God, I shouldn't be thinking about this.

This was getting pathetic. Still. Saturday couldn't come fast enough.

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(note: r&r reader)

I was late. Damn it, I was so late.

The emergency surgery had gone longer than expected—a complex arteriovenous malformation that refused to behave. By the time I closed, my hands were cramping and my neck was stiff from hours of hunching over the microscope. But the patient would live, and that's what mattered.

Still, as I rushed through the hospital parking lot, yanking off my scrub cap and shoving it in my pocket, I couldn't help but check my watch again. Two hours late. Shit. I'd texted her updates throughout, but still. Two hours.

The art exhibition was being held in some converted warehouse space downtown. Even from outside, I could see the warm light spilling onto the street through the large windows, hear the soft sound of voices and clinking glasses. I paused at the entrance, trying to catch my breath and compose myself.

That's when I spotted it—a small splash of red on my shirt sleeve, barely visible but unmistakably blood. Perfect. Because showing up late wasn't bad enough, I had to show up looking like I'd just walked off a crime scene.

I quickly shrugged my jacket back on, tugging the sleeves down to cover the stain. It would have to do.

She was standing alone near a large abstract painting, wine glass in hand, studying the canvas. Even in a room full of people, she seemed somehow apart from it all. The sight of her there all by herself felt like fingers wrapping around my heart.

"I am so, so sorry," I said as I approached, placing my hand on her lower back.

She turned, and the smile that lit up her face made my stomach flip. How could she look at me like that when I'd kept her waiting for two hours?

"Hey, you made it!" She didn't sound angry at all. If anything, she seemed genuinely happy to see me. It only made the guilt weigh heavier in my chest.

"I'm really sorry," I repeated, because apparently that's all I could say. "The surgery took longer than expected. There were complications and—"

"Did you save them?"

I blinked, caught off guard by the directness of her question. "Yes."

"Then stop apologizing." She took a sip of her wine, her eyes twinkling. "Besides, fashionably late is totally in right now."

"Two hours isn't fashionably late, it's just rude."

"It's your job," she said simply. "Saving lives tends to take priority over art exhibitions."

I watched her for a second longer, unsure how to react. "Have you been here alone this whole time?"

"Yeah, but it's fine," she said, waving off my concern. "I've actually had time to explore everything properly. Plus, the wine is decent."

Guilt twisted in my stomach. I pictured her wandering these halls alone, checking her phone for my updates, making awkward small talk with strangers. For two hours.

"I really am—"

"If you apologize one more time, I swear I’ll spill this wine on your jacket. And you know me—I don’t need much of an excuse to be clumsy." Before I could respond, her eyes narrowed, focusing on something near my collar. "Is that?"

I followed her gaze to where my jacket had shifted, revealing the telltale red stain. Damn it. I quickly tried to adjust my jacket, but she caught my arm, stopping me.

"Sorry," I muttered. "I'm a mess. I should have gone home to change first, but I didn't want to be any later than I already was."

"Hey," she said, leaning in conspiratorially, "if anyone asks, we'll just tell them it's paint. I mean, we are at an art exhibition. Who's going to look too closely?"

Despite myself, I laughed. "You'd make a terrible witness in court, you know that?"

"Good thing I'm going to be a lawyer then, not a witness." She grinned. "Come on, I want to show you my favorite pieces. And maybe we can find you a painting with enough red in it to stand near. You know, for cover."

I let her lead me through the gallery, and I found myself placing my hand on the small of her back. It was an unconscious gesture, one I immediately second-guessed, but she leaned into the touch slightly. So I let my hand stay where it was.

"You're not still feeling guilty about being late, are you?" she asked suddenly, glancing up at me.

"Maybe a little."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, stop it. Although—" She pretended to think for a moment. "You could make it up to me by buying me another glass of wine."

"Done," I said immediately. "Although maybe I shouldn't be encouraging drinking."

"Oh, now you're being a doctor again?"

"Force of habit."

She laughed, the sound warm and genuine, wrapping around me like summer rain. Dangerous, how easily I could get used to that sound. She led me further through the gallery, linking her arm through mine, chattering away about everything and nothing. 

It was fascinating how much she knew—not just about the art itself, but about the whole scene. She'd point to a painting and launch into stories about the artist's infamous feuds with gallery owners, or how someone's entire series was inspired by a bad breakup with another artist three rooms over. 

She knew every bit of gossip, every drama. Which curator was sleeping with which artist, which pieces were painted during mental breakdowns, which collections were secretly commentary on messy divorces. She made the plain white walls of the gallery come alive with her stories.

"Oh, and that guy over there?" She nodded discretely towards a man in an expensive-looking suit. "He's actually—"

I caught myself staring at her again, watching the way her eyes lit up as she spoke, the subtle changes in her expression as she moved from one story to the next. The way she'd lower her voice when sharing particularly bits of details, leaning closer to me like we were sharing secrets.

It was strange. I never knew that art was so... fun. Her excitement was contagious, and I found myself being pulled into her world without resistance.

"You're not even looking at the painting anymore," she accused, catching me staring at her instead of the canvas she was discussing.

"Sorry," I said, trying to focus on the painting she'd been discussing. "You were saying something about the use of negative space?"

She launched back into her explanation, describing techniques and influences I barely understood. But there was something captivating about her, the way she could find something fascinating in every piece, even the ones she claimed to hate.

I couldn't help myself. I had to ask.

"Why law?"

She blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. "What?"

"You're clearly passionate about art. You know all these techniques, all this history. Why aren't you studying art instead of law?"

Her smile faltered slightly. "We've had this conversation before, remember? Stability, good career, making my parents proud—"

"But that's what your parents want. What do you want?"

She was quiet for a moment, her fingers playing with the stem of her wine glass. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, almost resigned. "It's not that simple."

"It could be."

She looked up at me then, something flashing in her eyes that might have been anger. "Says the successful neurosurgeon who followed his passion."

"That's different—"

"Is it?" She took a sip of wine and pulled her arm away from mine, the loss of contact unexpectedly cruel. "You chose medicine because you loved it, right? Because you couldn't imagine doing anything else?"

I thought about Satoru, about following his lead into neurosurgery, about all the complicated reasons behind my choices. "It's... not that simple either."

"Exactly." She gave me a knowing look. "Life rarely is."

We stood there in silence for a moment, both lost in thought. Around us, the gallery filled with the white noise of clinking glasses and polite laughter.

"I'm sorry," I began. "I shouldn't have said that."

She shook her head, loose strands of hair catching the light. "No, it's... you're not wrong to ask. It's just complicated." She paused, staring into her wine glass. My parents worked so hard to put me through school. Dad worked double shifts at the factory, Mom cleaned houses on weekends. They saved every penny they could."

"They were so proud when I got into law school," she continued, her voice softer now. "You should have seen their faces. Dad actually cried—I'd never seen him cry before. They threw this little party in our apartment, invited all the neighbors. Mom made this huge spread of food even though I know they couldn't really afford it."

She smiled at the memory, but there was something bittersweet in it. "They see law school as this—this ticket to a better life, you know? This chance for their daughter to have everything they couldn't give themselves. How could I tell them I'd rather spend my days covered in paint?"

"They sound like good parents."

"The best," she agreed. "That's why it's so hard. Every time I think about changing paths, I remember how much they've sacrificed. The hours they worked, the things they went without. Dad's still picking up extra shifts to help with my expenses, even though I tell him not to."

She turned to look at a nearby painting, but I could tell she wasn't really seeing it. "Sometimes I calculate how much they've invested in my education, down to the last yen. It feels like a responsibility, you know." A pause. "So I'm—acting. Playing dress-up in these fancy suits, pretending to care about corporate law and international trade agreements. But it's okay."

Her story settled like lead in my stomach. Here I was, someone who'd never had to watch his parents sacrifice anything, presuming to give advice about following dreams. And suddenly, I felt almost ashamed of my own privilege. 

I grew up never wanting for anything. My parents had well-paying jobs and valued education above all else. Private tutors, college prep courses, academic summer programs—they spared no expense in paving my path to success.

When I decided to go into medicine, my biggest concern had been whether I was doing it for myself or just following Satoru's lead. Not whether I could afford it. Not whether it would drain my family's savings.

I'd never had to work during university. Never had to count pennies for textbooks. Never had to weigh the cost of pursuing my dreams against my family's needs. The academic world had been my playground, every door already half-open. I feel so dump.

Sure, medical school had been demanding. The long hours of study, the grueling residency, the constant pressure to excel—but I'd never had to wonder if I could afford to chase my passion. Never had to choose between my dreams and my family's financial stability.

I lived in a nice apartment, drove a decent car, could afford my vices without a second thought. And here she was, brilliant and passionate, having to bury her dreams because she couldn't bear to waste her parents' years of hard work.

Looking at her now, in this gallery surrounded by art she understood so deeply, I could see the weight of those unrealized dreams in the way she held herself. In how her eyes lingered on each painting a bit too long, like she was trying to capture a piece of what could have been.

"I hope you get to paint someday," I said finally, the words feeling inadequate. "The way you want to. Not just alone in your apartment, but really paint. Show your work. Be the artist you clearly are inside."

She looked up at me, surprise flickering across her face. Then her gaze dropped to her wine glass, her fingers tightening around the stem. A strand of hair fell forward, and she pushed it back with unsure fingers.

"I mean it," I continued, resisting the urge to brush that stubborn strand of hair back myself. "Besides, who says you can't have both? Practice law until you're stable enough to pursue art. Or find a way to combine them—art law is a thing, isn't it?"

"You're awfully supportive, for someone who barely knows me," she said quietly, the words half-muffled by her wine glass.

"Is that such a bad thing?"

She shook her head, blinking rapidly. "No, I just... I'm not used to people understanding. Everyone else just talks about being practical, about growing up and facing reality. Like art is somehow childish."

The last words came out bitter, and without thinking, I reached out to touch her chin, tilting her face up to meet my gaze. Her skin was warm under my fingers, and I could feel her pulse flutter at the contact.

"Art isn't childish," I said firmly. "Neither is wanting to pursue something that you're passionate about. That's actually pretty brave."

Something shifted in her expression then, a softness I hadn't seen before. We stood there for a moment, her eyes locked with mine. That's when I finally realized I was still cupping her chin, my thumb absently brushing against her skin. I quickly dropped my hand.

"I really want to see them." The words slipped out before I could stop them. "Your paintings, I mean." 

It felt too intimate, too presumptuous. Like I was asking to see more than just her art, but something deeper, more personal. But she just smiled, a real smile this time, reaching up to tuck that persistent strand of hair behind her ear.

"Okay," she said. "If you promise not to judge too harshly."

"I already know they're great," I said softly, surprising myself with how much I meant it. "I don't know much about art, but I know they're great because you painted them." Then my phone buzzed in my pocket. My heart nearly stopped when I saw the caller ID.

I took an instinctive step back from her. "I'm sorry, I need to take this," I said, already bringing the phone to my ear. "Hello?"

There was silence on the other end, just soft breathing that I knew too well. Then, "Suguru?"

Something in her voice made my chest tighten. She sounded—lost. Different from her usual self. Gone was that fierce confidence, that spark that made her so much like Satoru. Instead, she sounded small, fragile.

"Hey," I said softly. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I just—" A pause. "I don't even know why I'm calling."

Someone laughed loudly behind me. She must have heard it through the phone because she hesitated. "Sorry, are you out somewheret? I don't want to—"

"No, no," I said quickly, probably too quickly. "It's fine. Really. Talk to me. What's going on?"

I was painfully aware of the her standing nearby, pretending to study a painting while obviously trying not to listen. I caught her eye briefly, gesturing that I needed a moment. She nodded, with an understanding in her eyes that somehow made it worse.

I quickly made my way to the entrance where the coats hung, seeking somewhere quieter. She was quiet for so long I thought she might have hung up. Then, in a small voice that didn't sound like her at all, "Is he okay?"

I didn't need to ask who she meant.

"He's okay," I said, even though I wasn't really convincing either of us. "You know Satoru. He's managing."

A soft laugh, maybe a sob. "That could mean anything with him."

"No, really. He's okay," I lied. "I'm keeping an eye on him."

A pause then, "I'm being stupid, aren't I?"

"No," I said. "You're not being stupid. You're in love." The words hurt to say, but they were true. "That's never stupid."

Another shaky breath. "I shouldn't have called. You're out, and I'm here just—"

"Hey, do you need me?" I cut in. "I can bring you something. Coffee? Food? Those terrible convenience store onigiri you pretend not to like?"

That got a real laugh, albeit a watery one. "No, I'm... I'm actually at Maki's. She dragged me out. Said I needed to stop rotting in my apartment."

"Good. That's... that's good." I ran a hand through my hair, not quite believing her. I knew her too well by now, knew she was probably curled up alone in her apartment, just as I knew she knew I was lying about Satoru being okay. Strange, how we'd both gotten so comfortable with these little deceptions. "But the offer stands. Anytime."

"Thank you, Suguru." Her voice was softer now.

"Yeah," was all I could manage. I closed my eyes, pressing the phone harder against my ear as if I could somehow keep her there longer.  Each second of silence felt like another chance to say something, anything, to make this right. But what could I say? That I was sorry? That I missed her? That I thought about her every damn day?

"I should let you get back," she said. "To wherever you are. Sorry for—"

"Don't apologize. Not to me. Never to me."

I took a deep breath, briefly pulling the phone away from my ear because I couldn't trust my voice not to say what I desperately wanted to. Don't go. Stay on the line. Let me fix this. But I had no right to ask that of her. Not anymore. Maybe never did.

After we hung up, I stood there in the gallery's entrance, frozen. Around me, couples laughed and gathered their coats, heading out into the night. The door kept opening and closing, letting in bursts of cold air inside, reminding me I needed to move, needed to go back.

When I finally made my way back to her, she was studying the same stormy seascape from earlier. She didn't turn around immediately, giving me a moment to compose myself. Maybe it was some sort of kindness on her part.

She didn't ask about the call. Didn't question my sudden disappearance or the tension I knew was in every fiber of my being. Instead, she just glanced at me with a small smile that somehow made everything both better and worse, and said, "I think we've seen everything. Should we head out?"

The relief nearly knocked me sideways. "You sure? There's still the upper floor—"

"Please," she said. "I've been here for hours. I could probably give tours at this point."

I watched her gather her things, struck by how carefully she was moving around the weight of what had just happened. Like she understood something about me that I hadn't expected her to grasp. 

"You're awfully understanding, you know that?"

She looked up at me. "Something we have in common, it seems."

We walked to the exit in silence. I helped her into her coat, her fingers brushing mine as she adjusted her collar. Outside, the night air was sharp with the bite of early autumn. She pulled her coat tighter around herself.

"I can call you a taxi," I offered.

"Actually," she said, "I think I'll walk." She looked up at the sky, where a few stubborn stars managed to shine through Tokyo's light pollution. "It's not far, and it's a nice night."

"Not a chance," I said, already pulling out my phone. "It's late."

"I'm a big girl, you know. I can handle myself."

"I'm sure you can," I replied, already dialing the taxi company. "But humor your doctor, will you?"

She rolled her eyes but didn't protest further. While we waited for the taxi, she stood close enough that I could smell her perfume, something light and floral, while I tried to ignore the guilt for leaving the exhibition early, guilt for being late, guilt for enjoying myself despite everything else.

"Thank you," I said suddenly. "For tonight."

"No problem, doc," she said with a warm smile. "Next time, maybe we can finish looking at the art."

"Next time," I echoed, like a promise I wasn't sure I should be making. The taxi pulled up, its yellow light cutting through the darkness. I opened the door for her. 

She turned before getting in, looking back over her shoulder. "Oh, and Suguru?" The use of my first name sent an unexpected shiver down my spine. "Don't overthink everything tonight, okay?"

I watched the taxi disappear into the flow of traffic, its red taillights blending with all the other lights of the city. Only then did I pull out my cigarettes, lighting one with slightly shaking hands. The night felt colder without her presence.

I took a long drag, watching the smoke disappear into the night air, then started walking in the opposite direction, no real destination in mind, just a vague hope that if I walked long enough, the conflicting feelings churning inside me might fade away. 

The city lights blurred around me, and somewhere in the distance, I could hear the last trains of the night rumbling through their stations.

Next time, she'd said. 

God help me, but I was already looking forward to it.

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

author's note — hello again! i hope you enjoyed this chapter from suguru's pov. i'm sorry for the lack of updates lately, university life and low motivation can be a real challenge. but i'd love to hear your thoughts, so feel free to leave a comment or send in a message. i love to read them <3

& i hope his pov didn’t break your heart too much, especially with his and satoru’s spiraling friendship. also, this chapter ties back to ch 14 of symptoms and causes, for those who are following along.

pls consider subscribing to the story on ao3 or turning on notifications for my blog for furute updates (i've given up on taglists, to be honest).

and as always, thanks for reading, and i wish you all the best, whether you're reading this in the middle of the day or late at night :))

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or modify my work.

[flowerandblood]

The Lost Haven (14/16)

[ modern mafia • Aemond x niece • female ]

[ warnings: incest obviously, unprotected sex content, kind of hate sex too, oral sex, fingering, smut, the angst, drug dealing, violence, uncomfortable conversations, bad, bad things ]

[ description: The vacation from eight years ago still haunts his memories and doesn't let him forget what happened between him and his niece, the daughter of his sister and Harwin Strong. Their paths separate and he immerses himself in his father's mafia world until the day she calls him for the first time since those events. Sexual tension, dark, dangerous, withdrawn, thirsty Aemond. ]

Author’s note: As promised, this is another, this time official modern version of The Fall from the Heavens. In this version, Daemon is not related to the family, but is simply Rhaenyra's husband and the leader of the second gang, Alys and Larys are also not related to each other, but Larys is Harwin's brother. I will partly refer to the original series, hiding some easter eggs, and some will be a completely new, fresh plot. As in every universe, only Aemond calls her Rhaenys and this is not her real name (she is unnamed character and the others also do not know that he calls her that). There will be a lot more brutality and angst in this version, so watch out. You can read this as a standalone story.

Series & Characters Moodboard Aemond & Rhaenys Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

She wasn't sure when she first felt it: that overwhelming, suffocating terror, the unpleasant, cold sweat on her back, the anxiety and fear. Just as in her childhood, such feelings were evoked in her by the darkness, mostly when she did not feel his warm body beside her, his safe arms not embracing her, his calm breath not enveloping her face.

She opened her eyes then, always feeling the same thing: panic.

Her fingers tightened on the duvet as she realised after a moment, semi-conscious, where and who she was, who she was actually waiting for and why he wasn't there.

An almost physical pain accompanied her as she realised that her uncle was not with her, that he had gone again to sink into his Hades, his World of the Dead, full of drugs, shootings and whores, something she never wanted to have anything to do with.

She would then look anxiously at her watch, counting the seconds, the minutes, the hours, flinching at every creak of the floor or sound in the stairwell, her heart pounding in the hope that it was him, that he had returned, that she would soon be able to sleep in peace again, wrapped in his arms and his wonderful, familiar scent.

He did not return, however, and as usual, when her despair reached its zenith her only thought was that he was dead.

That he wasn't coming back this time.

Even though she knew she shouldn't do it, she would then pull out her phone and call him with tears in her eyes, praying that he would answer, her breath stifling in her throat, when suddenly she heard his voice on the other end.

"What is it?" He asked impatient and frightened, as if he feared the worst.

That something had happened to her.

She was relieved because he was alive and didn't know how to act, how to explain the fact that she was actually bothering him with whatever he was doing for no reason.

"I woke up and you weren't in bed." She muttered in pain, listening to his quiet sigh of fatigue and understanding.

"I know. I'm sorry, baby. I didn't want to wake you up. I have to stay here for at least another hour."

She swallowed hard, glancing at her watch, seeing that it was one o'clock in the morning.

Another hour alone, in the emptiness of his flat, which felt foreign and cold without him.

Even with her things there, it didn't feel like home.

It was his flat, his space, his Hades, and she was just a visitor in his darkness.

"Why?" She asked like a small child, looking around her, again seeing the various frightening shapes in the objects that stood in the room.

She closed her eyes, trying not to think about it, repeating to herself that, after all, she had long since outgrown this fear, that monsters did not exist.

"I have a problem with one man. We are clarifying things, but he is…reluctant. He has taken a lot of money from me, but he has not given me what I need. I have to go. One more hour and I'll be back, I promise." He whispered in pain, and she swallowed hard, feeling her heart in her throat.

Had he just tortured someone?

No, he'd promised her he wouldn't do such things.

That he would do everything he could to avoid violence.

"Oh. Okay." She mumbled, unable to get anything else out, feeling even more terrified than the moment she had called him.

Her lower lip began to tremble when she heard him hang up, tears of fear and despair one by one began to run down her face.

She went into the living room, lay down on the sofa and turned on the TV: the sounds that came from it and the light it emitted made the space around her seem less frightening.

She thought she would just wait for him.

However, an hour passed, then another, and he still wasn't there.

She curled up on the couch and began to cry, tired and drowsy, at the same time unable to fall asleep, Vhagar lying next to her on the floor turning from time to time, having no similar worries to her.

She shuddered as she opened her eyes, still half asleep, feeling someone touch her, his familiar arms lifting her up.

"– easy – it's just me, little one –" He whispered tenderly, her hands and legs automatically entwined around him like vines, her heart full of pain and relief at the same time.

He was back.

She stared at him, breathing loudly through her mouth, at his familiar, beloved face, his sad look full of remorse, his fingers stroking her cheek tenderly.

"– you promised –" She mumbled, hurt and disappointed, his broad hand running over the skin of her warm face as his brow arched in pain.

"– I know, baby – I know – I'm here now –"

He always made love to her when he returned, no matter what state she was in. Even if she tried to push him away, to show him her anger and dismay, his hands and lips full of patience caressed her between her thighs until she fell apart in front of him.

He only took her when she was completely vulnerable, her cunt all slick and leaking from her peak offering him no resistance, even more delicate and sensitive to his every sharp thrust. She couldn't push him away then, craving only the embrace of his arms, his lips that devoured her in a thirsty, yearning kiss.

Their hands clenched desperately on their bodies, cuddling them into each other with loud grunts and moans escaping from their throats, wordlessly testifying to the fact that they both suffered the same way through the separations they experienced almost every night, finally being together again. She drew then on his sighs, his assurances and his pleasure, his gaze filled with an affection so deep it frightened her.

There was something beautiful in the fact that he was somehow devouring her, bit by bit.

The feeling of emptiness would only return when he disappeared again a few nights later.

In between, in the time when she woke up in his embrace, when she looked at his peaceful face in the sunshine, she had the feeling that she was a completely different person: everything made her happy.

In her presence, her uncle was gentle; that didn't mean he didn't get frustrated or that they always agreed, but sensing subconsciously that her words weren't meant to attack him, he reigned himself in and expressed the understanding she so desperately needed.

He did not treat her as his housekeeper or maid: together they went shopping, cleaned his flat, went out with Vhagar, did laundry. She enjoyed watching him from the sidelines as he did simple, prosaic tasks: cutting vegetables next to her, reading on the internet how to make a dish they liked, wondering aloud with her if he had just poured too much pepper into the pot.

"– fuck, so spicy –" He muttered when he tasted what he'd made with the sauce, but she decided when she tasted it herself that it wasn't so bad, and that pepper, unlike salt, was very healthy.

He chuckled at her words, looking at her with pity, as if he was wordlessly trying to tell her that she didn't need to show him mercy.

She noticed that he began to laugh and smile in her presence.

That he began to joke and tease her.

That they talked about things that were increasingly difficult and complicated, and that he didn't back down or avoid answering.

That he had changed.

And then his phone would ring again at night, and he would get up quietly, get dressed and leave.

It felt like she was regressing at that moment: all her childhood phobias, the terror of being left in the dark, were coming back to her with redoubled force, and although she didn't tell him, she would light the small lamp next to her bed, calling Vhagar to come inside, wanting to at least hear her breathing beside her.

Only when she heard the sound of the key turning in the lock did she turn off the light, afraid he would think she was being childish, and pretend to sleep until his hands sank into the softness of her body under her shirt, his lips against her ear, whispering:

"– I'm back, baby –"

A few days of sweet peace had lulled her vigilance again, and the appearance of his grandfather on his doorstep made her state of limbo between worlds collapse. As she locked herself in her room, where she didn't usually stay but kept most of her belongings and books, she began to reflect on the fact that although her mother had called her several times, she hadn't had the courage to answer her.

She didn't know what words to use, fearing that she would try to convince her to come home.

But there was no going back for her.

Not there.

It bothered her that this conversation had gone on for so long and she felt an overwhelming urge to overhear what they were talking about, but she held back, thinking that she should trust him, that he surely knew what he was doing. She jumped up on the bed when she heard the front door open and close, getting up uncertainly and stepped outside, looking at his silhouette from a distance.

He was bent over the countertop and had just had a glass of whisky despite it being so early.

Why?

She approached him uncertainly, feeling his aura, his rage and frustration.

"What did he want?" She asked, watching in horror as he filled his glass anew with alcohol.

"That I should come back. I didn't agree." He replied coarsely, not even looking at her.

She swallowed quietly, glancing sideways at him, her hand touching his shoulder seeing his gaze, frantic and wild.

"Aemond. What happened?" She mumbled and he looked at her in a way that made her feel a cold sweat on her back, a darkness and emptiness in his eyes, something she felt like running away from and hiding under the bed.

"Are you deaf?"

She stared at him with big eyes, feeling for a moment that she had lost her breath and her heart stopped. She turned away, moved ahead and closed herself in her room, locking the door behind her with the key, feeling that her hands were trembling.

Who was this man?

She naively thought that that look, that tone of voice was reserved only for his men, only for those with whom he had to talk rough, whom he had to press down and destroy, but not for her, never for her.

She sat on the bed, pulling her knees up to her chin, and sat like that, staring dully ahead, feeling shivers with every move or step he made on the other side.

He knocked on her door only hours later, when she was struggling to concentrate on reading one of her textbooks.

"– baby, I'm sorry – he brought me out of balance and I took it out on you – I shouldn't have done that – it's a hard subject for me – will you join me and Vhagar for a walk? –" He asked in a voice she knew well, the same one he had used after he had forcibly kept her in his family home.

In a voice filled with remorse.

She looked at the pages filled with text, thinking with surprise that she didn't want to go anywhere with him, didn't want to do anything with him, didn't want to have anything to do with him.

She thought the look was for everyone else, but not for her.

That she was special.

But she wasn't.

"– I'm reading a book – I'd rather stay home –" She said quietly, but loud enough for him to hear her.

A long silence answered her and she was afraid he would become furious, but he only swallowed hard, as if her words had hurt him.

"– okay – we'll be back soon –"

He made several more attempts to drag her out of the room, she however felt safe there, knowing that he could not violate her space by force and had to stand outside, waiting patiently until she wanted to look him in the eye again.

"– are you angry with me? –" He asked at last.

She felt tears under her eyelids thinking that she was not angry with him.

She was afraid of him.

But she wasn't sure if he would bear those words.

"– shall we watch something on TV? – I'll stroke your head afterwards before bed, just the way you like it – I'm sorry –" He mumbled out like a little boy, and she felt a squeeze in her heart knowing that he had already returned, that he was again the one she loved, the one she wanted, the one she had agreed to marry then, on that beach.

She looked at her bracelet made of candy and then at the scar underneath it, thinking that she was sure the man because of whom she had made it to herself had disappeared.

"– I think I'd rather spend the evening here – if that's okay –" She muttered in a breaking voice, feeling tear after tear run down her face, her lips quivering all over with emotion, with regret that she had to push away, if only for a moment, the man whose presence she craved incessantly, because she needed distance and a moment to breathe.

A sense that she, too, had something to say in a situation where everything really depended on him.

"– oh – okay – I'll be next door if you need me –" He replied, and she closed her eyes, pressing her lips into a thin line, trying not to make a sound, feeling her chest twitch with each of her quiet sobs.

And then, as the late evening fell, she saw him turn on the light in the hallway, heard him put on his jacket and shoes, and her heart stopped in her throat.

No.

"I have to go out. I don't know when I'll be back." He said loudly, and she jumped up from the bed as if burned, opening her door quickly, facing him, pale and shocked.

"– why? –" She mumbled with difficulty, thinking that she didn't want him to leave, that she just wanted him to let her be alone for a while, but for him to be next door, in the other room.

"– the policeman who was helping us was shot – Tyland is taking revenge for what I did to him – the consequences of my actions are slowly reaching me –" He muttered without strength, as if he was very tired and weary, something in his gaze that told her he had given up.

Tyland is taking revenge for what I did to him.

The consequences of my actions are slowly reaching me.

"Take me with you." She whispered, just wanting to make sure he was okay, that everything was under control, that she would be with him and not in an empty, dark, big, scary flat, counting down the hours and minutes until his return.

"No. I can't. I won't make the same mistake again. The more they are aware that you are not my temporary whim, the more danger I put you in." He said, and she shook her head, deciding that she didn't care what happened to her.

She could no longer stand the terrifying emptiness she felt when the door closed behind him and she was left alone in her cage.

"Then treat me like your whore in front of them."

She saw that his eyes grew big at her words, as if he couldn't believe they really came out of her mouth.

"What did you say?"

"Treat me as if you're bored with me. As if you hold me close just because I am Daemon's daughter. Be cold and chilly. You can hit me if you want." She said without thinking, deciding that it didn't matter anymore anyway.

In their eyes she was just his whore anyway, a deviant, a niece he had raped and made his sex toy out of.

"What? Do you want me to do it so you can find the strength to leave me? Reassure yourself of how fucked up I am?" He asked furiously, gesturing with his hands in a sign of impatience, his words like a cold shower that woke her up, making her realise what she was really afraid of and why she was so desperate to say something like that.

"I don't want to stay here alone, wondering if you're still alive. The fear I feel then no lamp can light up." She muttered with difficulty, feeling that she couldn't hold back the tears that flowed down her face.

His eyebrows arched in pain, as if it was only then that he understood what she was trying to convey to him, something in his gaze that told her he had hesitated, that he felt something, that there was hope.

"– I don't know, baby – God, I have to go – I –" He mumbled, and she nodded, not wanting him to think about it.

"– give me five minutes –" She said and disappeared out the door, looking for some of his hoodies in the wardrobe to put on, feeling relieved.

And then she heard his quick footsteps, the sound of the door opening and closing, the fact that he had shut it with a lock he knew she didn't have a key for.

She ran out into the corridor, looking at it, the symbol of her enslavement, and ran towards it as if she had lost her mind, bursting into a loud sob, banging on it as if she were a small child.

"– NO – NO, NO, NO, AEMOND, DON'T LEAVE ME ALONE – TAKE ME WITH YOU, PLEASE, DON'T LEAVE ME –" She shouted, choking on her tears, digging her short nails into the wooden structure, pounding on it with her fists only to fall to her knees.

"– I'M SCARED, I'M SCARED, I'M SCARED, PLEASE –" She whined, laying down on the floor, but he was gone.

She felt Vhagar run up to her, sniffing her anxiously only to lie down beside her a moment later and they lasted like that, an hour, or maybe more, lying cuddled together.

When she woke up, she was blinded by the light of the lamp in the corridor – she felt an unpleasant shiver and the fact that she was cold, so she picked herself up from the floor and went to her room. Vhagar moved behind her, apparently thinking that perhaps they would go out for a walk, however, even if she wanted to, she could not open the door now.

He had locked her in here.

She stared blankly at the ceiling, feeling a constriction in her chest, tears one by one running down the side of her face onto the pillow under her head, complete nothingness in her mind, darkness, as if there was not a drop of light left in her.

He didn't return until hours later – his silhouette that stopped in the doorway of her room was dark and tall, as if he were a demon, a nightmare, a demigod, a dream, but not human.

The touch of his hand on her skin, his fingers digging into her flesh, his lip that she bit, the taste of his blood on her tongue seemed at once completely foreign and wonderfully familiar to her.

"– no –" She breathed out, wanting to punish him, to push him away, to make him feel what she felt.

However, her body betrayed her, her pussy leaked under his fingers with desire and lust, with the need for him to embrace her and wrap her in the warmth of his body, for his hard manhood to sink deep into her again and soothe her.

"– I'm back – I'm here, baby – you can let go now –" He whispered, as if uttering some kind of spell or curse from which her body relaxed, allowing him to do what he wanted, to sink her into his darkness and take her for himself.

His voice seemed to come to her from afar, his fingers deep inside her hitting again and again the sweet spot between her throbbing muscles making her lose touch with reality, writhing beneath him in ecstasy.

"– being with me, you won't know freedom – I'm not in a position to choose between that and your safety – if that's what you want, I'll let you leave – but make love to me one last time –" He breathed out and she felt tears under her eyelids, her throat squeezed so tight she had trouble taking a deep breath.

If that's what you want, I'll let you leave.

I don't want leave, she thought.

I just want to be alone.

I want to be special to you, the only one in the world.

Beloved.

"– my sweet baby girl – my little sunshine –" He whispered, taking her for himself, the voracious, desperate stabs of his hips thrusting deep into her slick, hot opening, filling her with his seed with the loud click of her moisture, their breaths heavy and ragged, their embrace tight, full of desire to be reunited again.

His tears joined hers as he pressed his face to her cheek, his broad, familiar hand stroking her head, his breath raspy, surrounding her ear with warmth.

"– my grandfather – what he told me –" He whispered, and she froze, opening her eyes suddenly. "– he said that you wouldn't be able to bear this life, just like my grandmother – that you would commit suicide too – and I don't want to live in a world where you won't be there, even if you are no longer by my side –"

She hugged him tighter, feeling that she suddenly understood what had happened.

Why he had been so angry, why he had looked at her that way, why he had spoken to her that way.

He was terrified as much as she was.

This realisation, the fact that she wasn't the only one living in fear was both depressing and liberating for her, the weight of his words and the emptiness she felt inside her seemed to pull her lower and lower.

When she woke, the sun was just rising – his arms were embracing her from behind, her hand on his palm, his warm breath enveloping her neck.

She knew that something inside her had snapped, that if she just stayed and claimed that nothing had happened, their whole lives would start to crumble around them, and he would feel it.

She stood up quietly and looked at him, putting her hand in the pocket of his trousers. She swallowed hard when she felt the keys to the house by the sea underneath them and took them out quietly, praying he wouldn't wake up.

She didn't know how she would then explain to him what she wanted to do and what it meant to them.

She pulled her hoodie over her head and, dressed only in his sweatshirt, shorts and trainers, with her small backpack in which she had only her keys, wallet, phone and charger, she quietly left the house and closed the door behind her, seeing the look of concern of Vhagar standing in the corridor, not understanding why she had not taken her with her.

Sitting on the bus, she wondered what he would feel when he woke up.

Disappointment?

Anger?

Helplessness?

What she felt every time he left?

She wondered if she should leave him any kind of message, but as much as she wanted to, she wouldn't know what she should write him on it. She felt that she was stuck, unable to either move backwards or forwards.

She knew she loved him and she knew she was miserable.

When she arrived, the sky was cloudy, as if the world around her reflected her state of mind. She only had time to step inside the large, empty house and felt her phone vibrate.

She knew he was awake.

Was he angry?

Desperate?

She unlocked the screen with a trembling hand and swallowed hard to see couple unanswered calls and one message from him.

She closed her eyes, understanding what he was asking, feeling that part of her wanted to do this for him, to reassure him him that she was okay, but she knew how it would end.

He would write another message, then another and another, and she would give in to him and let him come.

She needed to clear her mind, she needed the solitude she had condemned herself to, not forced into.

When she walked into his old room she put her small backpack on the floor and lay down on his bed, looking towards the window. As she looked around she felt a squeeze in her heart at the thought that when she was a child it felt like there was so much space, but now she felt it was cramped.

She reached her hand to the shelf standing next to his bed and smiled, taking from it one of the small volumes telling the adventures of the Mighty Vhagar. She flipped through page after page of tales of the Prince and his beloved Rhaenys travelling across distant lands on their dragons, feeling tears of emotion and melancholy pool under her eyelids, clutching her throat.

The Prince, though fearless and relentless, feared, watching the other powerful dragon riders for his beloved's life; her dragoness, Larax, was beautiful, her scales silvery blue, glistening in the sunlight, her figure slender and light, sailing beside him across the sky. However, what made Larax different from Vhagar was size – Vhagar was gigantic like a stone fortress, yet Larax was small and delicate. And so, although his Rhaenys deeply desired to visit the neighbouring Kingdom, he never agreed, knowing that it was a barbaric people, riding dragons that were shrill and terrifying, which he himself feared, though he did not speak of it. He, as a Prince, would travel to this dark land with his father the King, thus keeping the peace, and she would cry when he left her. "Weep not, my dearest," he said, "my heart remains with you."

She closed her eyes, feeling the heavy tears one by one run down her cheeks straight onto the sheets of paper, onto the pages filled with beautiful illustrations of dragons and their riders, stories they had read with hot cheeks all evenings.

She spent the day walking on the beach – the squeals of the seagulls around her and the hum of the sea simultaneously calmed her and filled her with sadness. She put her arms around herself, feeling the coolness of the wind seep through her body, involuntarily smelling his scent as soon as she touched the fabric of his sweatshirt.

It was as if a part of him was still with her.

She looked at the bracelet she had received from him, an expression of his love, so childish, naive.

Innocent.

And yet so dark at the same time.

And then the night came.

Even though she slept in his bed, under his duvet, even though she could smell him, she was afraid: she was not afraid of monsters now, however, but of what was going on inside her head.

Where was she supposed to go back to?

Who was she supposed to be?

What was she supposed to do?

She felt that a sense of meaning had slipped through her fingers: she realised that without her mother, her father, her uncle, her professor, she was nothing.

What kind of person was she really?

What were her values?

What did she want?

For eight years she had only dreamed of being with him again, but she had never thought about what that would look like.

What she would have to sacrifice.

She didn't want to betray him, abandon him – never – but she was terrified of living in constant fear of losing him again.

Of hearing the news that someone had shot him in the head, just as he had once done to Larys.

The next day she woke up even more tired than when she fell asleep: she had nightmares all night.

She dreamt of a monster coming out of the wardrobe, dark, tall and long, who just stood over her and watched her, and she couldn't say anything or scream.

She realised that this was the personification of what she feared most.

The inability to react, to make a move.

The cage.

The fact that she had received another message from him and how he was suffering did not help her.

She didn't know what she was supposed to answer him.

"I'm alive"?

Wouldn't he then feel that she no longer loved him? That she had only written him off so that he would give her a break?

She didn't want that.

She didn't want him to suffer.

Sitting on the beach for hours, gazing at the horizon, she thought of a way out of the deadlock she was in, something that might make her regain control of her life, the feeling that she was co-determining what was happening to her.

But there was a void in her mind, and that scared her the most.

That there was no path in her life in which she could be truly happy.

That she was doomed to wither like a flower, to die while she was alive.

Part of her wanted to give up, to call Daemon and tell him to take her home: however, what kind of life would await her there?

Jace would never forgive her. They would all pretend that nothing had happened, but they would certainly be disgusted with her in reality. After all, she'd fucked her own uncle, run off with him even though he'd hurt her, fooled her, humiliated her.

It was hard for her to understand how one man could combine so many contradictions: her uncle. It seemed to her, although she recognised that this could only have been the result of her vanity, that in her presence he was revealing a part of himself from the past that he had locked away. He was rediscovering a gentle, tender touch, a soft tone of voice, a calm gaze, a lightness in breathing, as if to remind himself that what his men had seen was only a mask.

But was that really the case?

Or was she merely telling herself this to make herself feel better, to look at his stone-cold face when he spoke to them without feeling terror?

That he wasn't pretending at the time.

That he was the other part of himself then.

A monster from the wardrobe.

Could she love someone who soothed and terrified her at the same time?

Or did he need her to subdue that side of himself, to save himself from falling?

In the end, she knew that he himself was afraid of the dark.

She thought sadly, looking at her hands, that they were both just as hopelessly lost, standing on the margins, unable to find a place or purpose for themselves, feeling an eternal, never-ending shame since they were little children.

That night a storm broke loose: lightning struck close to home, thunder shook the ground, loud and dangerous, making her curl up in bed in fear.

And then she heard it: the creaking of the floor.

She clamped her hands on the sheets, swallowing hard and listened with her heart beating in panic, recognising that the sound was coming from the floor below the room.

She drew in the air loudly when she heard it again, this time more clearly, as if someone was coming up the stairs: she picked up her backpack, slid to the floor and hid under the bed, exactly as she had done when she was a small child.

She closed her eyes, feeling the tears of terror one by one run down her face, clenching her lips to make sure no sound came out, thinking it was just a bad dream, nothing more.

And then someone opened the door.

She stared ahead with big eyes, feeling her heart in her throat, begging in her mind that she could just melt into the floor, disappear, dissolve into the air, the footsteps beside her getting louder and clearer, making her realise it wasn't a nightmare.

And then a silhouette knelt beside the bed and she recognised his face.

He was looking at her exactly as he had when he first found her: his gaze expressed shock and compassion, his brow arched in pain, as if he himself wanted to cry.

"– Rhaenys – oh, baby –" He mumbled with a breaking voice, reaching out to her, and she crawled to him quickly, bursting out crying as soon as he enclosed her in the embrace of his familiar, safe arms.

"– I'm sorry –" She cried out, whooping with tears, feeling that her whole body was trembling from fear, sadness, disappointment, the suffering caused by their separation. "– I'm sorry – I didn't know what to do –"

He hushed her, kissing the top of her head again and again, his hands stroking tenderly through her hair and down her back, cuddling her into him, his wonderful scent filling her nostrils giving her relief.

"– no – it's okay – I found you, little one – you're safe now –" He whispered, and she nodded quickly, tightening her hands on his leather jacket.

She felt him take her in his arms and lift himself up, exactly as he had done then, laying down on the bed with her. He pulled off his shoes and jacket before his shaking hand touched her cheek again, as gently and slowly as if she were made of glass.

He gave her one tender, warm look full of relief before his warm, full lips pressed against hers in the sweetest, gentlest kiss she had ever experienced in her life.

He gasped when her fingers ran over his neck, when her body pressed against his, when her lips parted in front of his, trailing over their fleshy structure, just teasing them. She heard his shuddering sigh, felt his hand sink into her hair, combing through it with tentative, affectionate strokes full of hope, the tips of their tongues touched and licked, making her shudder.

There was something perverted and obscene in those kisses alone, in the way their lips, swollen with desire, melted together again and again with the quiet clicks of their saliva as all she could hear around them was the tapping of raindrops against the window.

She thought that only in his arms she was not afraid.

Only in his arms did it all make sense.

The affection, the suffering, the sacrifice, the pain, the joy, the sadness.

It all came down to his person.

"– I love you –" She whispered into his mouth and heard him sigh, his hands clenched tightly on her body, craving those words like nothing else. "– that's all I know –"

His tongue slid deep between her teeth, coming out to meet hers, as if he couldn't take any more of the feeling that was tearing their hearts apart, his hands pulled her closer, allowing her to feel the hard, throbbing bulge in his trousers on her stomach.

She moaned involuntarily into his throat, feeling her nipples harden with sweet desire, the space between her thighs all swollen, producing moisture in response to his treatments.

They said nothing more to each other – his hands slid under the fabric of her hoodie, roaming lazily over the bare, smooth skin of her back, her waist, her thighs. He wasn't in a hurry; she felt that after this sudden, terrifying, shocking separation he wanted to enjoy this moment, the feel of her body under his fingers, everything she was and had become to him.

He pulled away from her to look at her, his free hand stroking her jaw – his thumb ran over the line of her cheekbone as his gaze traveled all over her face, a hot, tender feeling in his healthy eye from which her heart fluttered in her chest. She clenched her thighs together, feeling the tension, just looking at his parted lips, hearing his broken, accelerated breathing, feeling his manhood pushing again and again against her lower abdomen.

When his fingers rubbed against the material of her panties she merely nodded, and he took a breath, pressing his thirsty, moist lips against hers again, pulling them off her thighs with a few sure tugs. He didn't unzip his trousers, however – instead, his fingers sunk tentatively between her thighs into her warm folds, drawing a surprised, girlish moan from her throat.

"– shhh – shhh, baby, it's okay –" He murmured into her mouth, sighing with delight as her cunt leaked under his hand, hot and eager, the tips of his fingers wandering lazily around her swollen, sensitive clit made her roll her hips, needing more, harder.

"– please –" She mumbled, throwing her arms around his neck, allowing herself to drift off completely into the pleasure his painfully slow, sure touch was giving her, his movements deliberately gentle, not giving her what she needed.

The corner of his mouth twitched in satisfaction when he noticed something in the expression on her face that told him she would give herself to him completely, his free hand tightening on her hair.

"– I'd rather use my mouth down there – but I want to look into your eyes when you come –" He whispered in a way from which she felt a drop of cold sweat run down along her spine, her lips parted involuntarily in a pathetic moan as the tips of his fingers dug firmly into her silky folds at last.

There was something unsettling and frightening about his dark, defiant gaze, the way it was fixed confidently in her eyes, not allowing her to turn or move away, just to simply take what he was giving her. Her fingers tightened on his black T-shirt as he finally sped up, with each circle around her clit rubbing her throbbing opening, weeping in desire, begging for his attention.

She closed her eyes and gasped as she felt the tips of his two fingers push against her slit, stretching her swollen pussy on their thickness, receiving her quiet cries of desire in return. His hand tilted her head back, his breath heavy and hot on the skin of her face.

"– no – look at me –" He breathed out, his gaze dark and hot with desire, his fingers hitting her sweet spot again and again making her walls begin to clench around their length in convulsions.

"– Aemond –" She cried out and his mouth was immediately on hers, devouring her with greedy, loud, sticky kisses full of his tongue and panting, his fingers pounding into her in a relentless, fierce rhythm making her feel a wonderful tingling in her lower abdomen, in her lips, in her nipples, her pussy beginning to clamp down on them, close to fulfilment.

She squealed and mewled, feeling the tears of relief one by one run down her cheeks as she suddenly reached her peak, her hazy gaze barely able to see his face, his black eye staring at her as if he was seeing a woman orgasm for the first time, wide open in delight and satisfaction.

She felt him slide his fingers gently out of her hot, throbbing insides, hearing the sound of his belt and zipper being undone a moment later, letting the fingers of his hand stretch her slit to the sides, allowing his full, fat cock to slide easily into her without any resistance.

He groaned in relief when he was finally inside her, positioning himself so that the movements of his hips were enough to sink him again and again between her hot walls, leaking from her fulfilment, letting his hands embrace her and cuddle her into him.

He panted into her ear, focused only on himself and his sensations, with lazy, slow thrusts opening her again and again on his swollen length, teasing again her spongy spot inside her, now oversensitive and delicate.

His touch was surprisingly tender, light, devoid of aggression; it made her feel relaxed, herself taking pleasure in feeling him deep inside her, in the way his face sank into the hollow of her neck, his lips brushing her skin encouragingly.

"– oh baby – mmm – my little girl – ah, God, yes –" He gasped, speeding up, chasing his fulfilment without thinking about how long he should last to feel masculine enough, experienced enough, confident enough.

Something about knowing that with her he wasn't worrying about such things, that he was just being, reaching for what he really wanted with a few sloppy, messy thrusts reaching his peak with a sigh of delight, made her simply close her eyes, focusing on how hard he was pulsing inside her, filling her with his release.

They lay snuggled into each other, panting quietly, not saying anything or moving, just lingering in that most natural state for them, where their bodies were entwined together to form one person.

"I know how to fix this, baby. Do you trust me?" He asked in a whisper, and she opened her eyes and blinked, surprised to feel her heart hit harder in her chest.

"What do you mean?" She asked just as quietly, trailing her fingers down his back, pressing her face into his neck, smelling of his aftershave and cigarettes. He swallowed hard, as if gathering his courage, and kissed her forehead.

"I will give you back the premises that belonged to your father."

She froze, not understanding for a moment what he meant, and looked at him, trying to make out anything on his face.

"What?"

"Before Larys took over their entire family business, your father had three establishments: Harrenhal Club, Twins Club and Eagle's Nest Hotel. He got to the point, wanting to get as far away from drug smuggling as possible, that the people working there were reluctant to go back to their old ways. Larys forced them to do so, but most of the best workers fled to my grandfather or Daemon. I didn't know for a long time what to do with these places, but now I think I should just pass them on to you. That will make you able to take part in some of our conversations as an associate, like Baratheon does, for example. I will assign you some of my men to protect you. Some of them are tired and want peace and quiet for themselves and their families. Your presence, the fact that you are with me and at the same time you are Daemon's daughter gives us the assurance that you will not be attacked from any side."

She listened to him in disbelief, thinking, touched, that he was serious.

He wanted to give her some of his power, some of what her father had worked for, so that she would feel that she was not completely dependent on him.

She would be part of his world, not delving into the darkest side of it.

"What about Jace? Luke? He was their father too." She mumbled, thinking that would surely make them hate her even more.

She heard her uncle grin.

"I don't give a shit about them."

She swallowed hard, looking him straight in the eye, seeing the certainty in his gaze that made her feel hot.

"I won't have to store your drugs or sell them?" She muttered, and he shook his head.

"No. You'll just be giving us cover for our meetings from time to time. Nothing illegal that would burden you." He whispered in a trembling voice, looking at her expectantly like a child waiting for praise.

"You'll really do it?" She asked, and he nodded, licking his lower lip.

"Yes. Yes, if you come home with me. We'll go to the notary tomorrow, make it official." He said, excited that she hadn't rejected his idea.

What he was saying simultaneously pleased and horrified her.

"After all, none of them will want to listen to me. They won't respect me. I'm just a little girl, what do I know about their tough world?" She asked, shrugging her shoulders, realising that it all only sounded simple.

"I'll help you. Just like you helped me with my studies. I will teach you everything. They'll respect you, first for the sake of me and your two fathers, and then for the sake of you when they realise you'll protect them and not drag them into this shit." He said looking her straight in the eyes, something in his certainty, the warmth that emanated from his voice made her eyes glaze over with tears.

"Shall we try?" He mumbled, his haze full of hope.

She nodded her head and hugged him, his arms closing her instantly in a tight embrace.

"I love you. Everything is going to be okay. I promise." He whispered.

And she believed him.

[suckerfordylansstuff]

Not a date - Steve Harrington

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Henderson!reader

Summary: Dustin is certain you're dating someone. You, on the other hand, are not so sure.

Word count: 2.5k

Notes: As you can see we're changing the style with this new post. You could consider this kind of a small prequel for "A date like no other", but mostly, I just wanted to write more of Dustin and Y/n's relationship (more will follow, inspiration has hit me). Plus, it was fun playing detective. Hope you enjoy! 💕

!This piece goes along my Steve Harrington series "New Journey", but can also be read as a standalone!

Timeline: After the winter dance, but before their first date.

“I have gathered you here today on an important issue.” Dustin was pacing around Mike's basement while all the rest of his friends followed him with their eyes “It is crucial that we take upon this matter with focus and determination. Not to mention stealthiness since a bit of spy work is going to occur.”

“Dustin, why are we here?” his dramatics had Max over the whole thing very quickly.

“It has come to my attention that my sister, my own blood, has been seeing someone behind my back and simultaneously lying to me about it.”

“And?” Lucas asked, not understanding his friend’s anger.

“What do you mean and? This is it!”

“You’re mad your sister has finally found someone?” Will was trying to understand Dustin’s motives.

“I’m mad she hasn’t told me about it. I mean, why would she do that? I certainly tell her everything.” his pacing hasn’t stopped from the moment he entered the basement.

“Maybe because she wants to focus on the new relationship and not on her little brother’s obnoxious opinions?” Max told him with a smile, making Dustin stop in his tracks.

“You’re new, you don’t get a say.” he pointed in her direction and continued his pattern on the floor.

“Dustin, what do you want us to do?” Mike sighed when he saw Dustin place large papers on top of a chair, opposite to them, a pen in his hand as he settled beside them. It reminded him of their teacher, and not in a good way.

“I want you to come with me and spy on her.” he removed his first blank paper, revealing a calendar with colorful dots on certain days “It all started a month ago. I realized she began going out a lot more than usual. I mean I love my sister, but let’s be honest, she doesn’t have many friends.” he pulled out another paper, this time a pie chart with all the colors they had previously seen on the calendar “So, I began tracking her behavior. When she would go out, when she would return, and try to figure out with whom. So far, I’ve noted 14 outings in the span of 29 days… She went out with Jonathan twice, once with Nancy, once with you, Max, and you, Eleven, for girl’s night. Three times with all of us and another three with me. That all makes 10. The other 4 are a mystery to me.” with each sentence, each ‘clue’, he was pointing the pen at every chart so the rest wouldn’t get lost

“When she hangs out with friends, I have noticed Y/n coming back at a decent hour, say around 10:30, at least 11:00. However, when she’s ‘on her own’ those hours defer.” the new paper showed the said hours with a big question mark at the end “I have caught her sneaking into the house well after 1:00 am! Clearly, she’s not out there on her own. But I haven’t been able to figure out with whom. I checked with both Nancy and Jonathan telling me that they had not seen her those specific days. She’s clearly with someone doing something, but when I ask her about what she did and where she went she outright lies to me, saying she was with Jonathan and/or Nancy.” he let the last paper fall flat on the chair, the pen rhythmically hitting his other palm “It is our mission to figure out who she is meeting on these days, so I can evaluate if I need to step in and help her.”

The kids all looked at one another, trying to see if they wanted in on this. His thinking could be correct, but the thought of him being wrong and giving them the chance to mess with him is what sealed the deal.

“Alright, we’re in.” Mike announced for all of them. Dustin’s face immediately lit up.

“But how do we know when their next meet-up is?” Lucas asked him.

“Already ahead of you my friend.” he began organizing the papers he had used, stacking them into his bag before putting it on “I overheard Y/n talk with my mother, saying she’s going out. Again, wouldn’t outright tell me with whom. So that’s why I came here, to find out if Nancy had any plans. As it turns out she did. But not with my sister, with Jonathan. Right?” his eyes fell on Will.

“Yeah, they are hanging out at ours.” Will confirmed Dustin’s words.

“Okay, so that excludes them from this ‘secret meet up’.” Max thought out loud.

“Precisely.” they were now getting out of the house from the basement’s door, making their way to their bikes.

“So… Where is she?” Eleven asked, her small voice was now loud enough for all to hear, turning their heads at once to look at Dustin.

Dustin wasn’t sure at the beginning where his sister would be. She had mentioned she would leave around 8:30. Now, he had left earlier to check on her small lie at the Wheeler’s, so their first stop was at his house to check if her car was still there. It was, which meant either of two things. She either walked to their meeting place (which was unlikely of her after everything that had happened to them, walking somewhere alone was a no-no for his sister). Or the person she was meeting picked her up. It left a lot of options open so he decided to head inside with the rest and look for more clues.

His mom greeted them, chatting a bit with the kids while Dustin looked around for any indication as to where she went. He noticed that her sneakers were missing, telling Dustin that they weren’t going somewhere fancy, so maybe their destination was the theater or maybe grabbing a bite somewhere.

“Hey, mom. I was thinking of eating the leftover pizza from last night after I come back. Y/n didn’t eat it, right?” he looked over at his mom, Tews on her lap as always.

“Oh, no, Dusty, she specifically said that she didn’t want to have anything since she’ll be going out to eat with her friends.”

Bingo.

Dustin excluded from the options list the diner where you used to work. Too many people knew you there and the secrecy wouldn’t last. So, they began roaming around the town trying to get a glimpse of you. They succeeded after a couple of tries. Lucas had caught a glimpse of your figure inside the burger place. You were sitting in a corner booth in the back of the store, your face bright, not only by the lights of the place but by your present company as well.

“Holy shit. Dustin was right.” Max climbed out of her bike, staring at the older sister of her new friend.

“Of course I was. Can you see who she is with?”

“No, his back is turned.” Lucas tried to wiggle around in an attempt to see who was with you. They couldn’t go  

We’re gonna have to get inside.” Mike noted and Dustin agreed.

“Not all of us, we’ll draw attention. Will, you’re coming with me.” the said boy wasted no time and followed his friend toward the entryway.

“Why him?” Mike called out, annoyed he wasn’t getting in on the action.

“Because he’ll be quiet, unlike you.” Dustin whisper-yelled.

They get inside and make their way to the end of the front counter. When they peaked at the back, they had a clearer shot at the two figures. Dustin could clearly see your big, bright smile, but the guy you were with was sitting opposite of you, meaning they could only see his back

“We still can’t see his face.”

“Wait… I know that hair.” Dustin’s eyes squinted as he focused on the person in question. The waiter had approached them, his lips moving, probably asking them if everything was okay. It was then when the mysterious guy turned his head, making him visible to him, a relieved sigh falling from his lips  “Oh, it’s just Steve.”

He and Will went outside without alerting you, joining the others once again.

“Okay, people, crisis averted. It was only Steve, just a friendly meet-up.” he announced to his friends before he grabbed his bike, ready to return home.

“Sure.” Max smirked his way, suddenly making a frown appear on Dustin’s face.

“Uh… Dustin? I don’t think this is very friend-like.” Mike was pointing to the restaurant. Dustin turned and met the horror. Steve had now switched his seat, joining you on your side. His arm was around your shoulders, your faces way too close for his liking. And then it happened. Steve kissed you.

Dustin was waiting for you to return back home. He was in the dark, his mother fast asleep, not realizing her own son was stewing hot. He was ready. Ready to tell you he knows your secret and ready to express his anger. He liked Steve, he didn’t like showing it, but he did. He was funny and honest with him, and a guy. He had a guy friend. Someone whom he could rely on when seeking advice. He knew he could come to you about everything, but sometimes he felt too embarrassed to say certain things. He was getting older, more ‘mature’ as his mother had said, and Steve had been through those things before, therefore could give him the advice he needed.

He liked Steve, but now he was afraid he was going to lose him… and you. You always wanted to be in a relationship and now that you were in one, you were going to spend all your time with each other, forgetting all about the party and mainly him. Or you would eventually break up and he would have to choose your side, his sister’s, and forcing him to say goodbye to his friend.

It all felt unacceptable to him, so he had to tell you about it.

Finally, he heard a car stop outside. After a couple of minutes, your keys were daggling as you opened the door. He watched you come inside, a lingering smile on your face as you took off your jacket and placed it on the hook beside the door. You were in the process of taking off your shoes when he decided to intervene.

“Hello, sister.”

He startled you, a small yelp coming from your lips as you squinted your eyes to see where your brother was hiding “Dustin? What are you doing in the dark? Do you know what time it is?”

“Do you?” he countered back, catching you by surprise

“What?”

“How was your night?”

“Oh… It was really fun actually, thanks for asking. But this still doesn’t answer my question as to what you’re still doing up.” your arms were now folded in front of your chest, thinking you had the upper hand here.

“Oh, I just had a simple question really. Who were you with?”

It took you a second to form your question, confusion rising inside you “What?”

“I was over at Mike’s today and I stumbled upon Nancy.” Dustin stood up from the armchair and walked closer to you as he explained “I asked her if she was on her way to come get you, but she told me she wasn’t meeting with you. She was actually going to meet up with Jonathan for a date at his place.”

“Oh…” was all that came from your lips.

“I know who you met tonight. I followed you and found out you are secretly dating Steve.” his finger was accusingly pointing at your figure. He didn’t know what reaction he was really expecting from you but it certainly wasn’t what you said next.

“I’m not dating him, Dustin.”

“Wait, what?”

“We’re not dating.” you shrugged your shoulders and sat down on the couch.

“But he kissed you. I saw it!”

“I don’t know what to tell you, okay? It’s all very confusing.” your head your resting on top of your palms. You looked defeated, confused, sad, a whole different side of you than the one he had seen at the restaurant. He slowly approached you, sitting next to you. You looked up and saw him looking at you, a silent invitation to explain “It all started after we dropped you off at the ball. We happened to dance a little and it ended in a kiss. After that, we’ve been hanging out as much as we could and, yes, I admit, some kissing has gone down, but I don’t know what we are.”

Dustin noted that your voice was small but your feeling big “Do you like him?”

You looked up and locked eyes with your brother. You hadn’t been able to tell no one this, and you had no idea how much it was eating at you to get it out before this conversation “Very much.”

“Then I’m certain it will all work out.”

And just like that Dustin had forgotten all about his speech. He could still remember the way you smiled at him, thanking him with a big hug. It was the same smile when you picked up the phone, a couple of days later, Steve’s name falling from your lips. It was a soft one, your focus entirely on the voice coming from the phone, from his friend. When you finally hung up, a small shriek sounded all around the room. After just a moment he found out you were excited, beyond excited because he had asked you out on a date.

“Didn’t you go on one like yesterday?” he had asked.

“This is the first time he uses the word date, Dustin. The first time!”

He secretly smiled at your antics, even if in front of you he called it gross. When you returned home after that so-called ‘first date’, bliss was written all over your face. The next day, you all were meeting with the party for a campaign, the first time you would include Steve in your game. The first time he would see you two together officially for the first time. It was funny seeing him make all the wrong decisions and getting himself killed in the first thirty minutes. It was hilarious seeing you and him bicker about what you should do next. Steve making it his business to judge you all based on your actions. And it was certainly sweet when he would cheer with you after a successful roll. It didn’t seem all that different to him; your behavior.

It was after the campaign when Steve was talking his ear off on the way to their house about what movie you should see at the next movie night with the kids, that it truly hit him. Nothing would change. You would still be his sister and Steve would still be his friend. It couldn’t be that bad. Especially, if he saw his sister so happy every day.

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[silentcryracha]

❍ ‗ Watching a movie with Han ‗ ❍

Pairing : Han Jisung x f reader

Summary : chapter five of a cute standalone miniseries. It's what it says in the title

Genre/ Warnings : scenario/imagine/headcanon, drabble, fluff, suggestive but no actual smut, everyone yaps and is a nerd, homebody! Jisung is real, some swear words

Word count : 600 words

A/n : none

ps: There could be grammar errors. Do NOT repost on other socials. Leave feedback if you feel like it, otherwise enjoy! ♡︎

masterlist

series masterpost

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Watching anything, not just a movie, but a tv show, an anime, a short, a music video, literally anything, is an experience.

Each one unique and requiring at least a whole five minutes of commentary.

He's the kind of guy who feels like his life changed completely after viewing a certain product. He will gen into it so much, from the possible lore or original material, the music, the character takes and analysis from twitter users. He's probably one of them

It's so funny actually because you can pretty much guess what mood he's in by the type of thing he recommends watching. A sad movie? He's in his feels and probably lowkey needs a good cry. A fun anime? He wants to have fun and not pay too much attention, probably just relax.

A horror movie? He either wants to try and scare you and then act like the knight in shining armor (he's actually shitting himself too, trust)

"Shit! They just did a jumpscare, I didn't expect one two seconds later!" a couple of popcorns jumping out of the bowl.

"Oh no did that ugly nun scare my princess?" he wraps your shoulders with his arm, voice comically condescending, "Does she want a kiss to make it better?"

"Don't even try it, Sung. I saw you jump too, loser"

A thriller or dramatic movie? Probably feels the need to overthink something other than his life, and most likely have a nice, interesting conversation.

He's also quite strict with seeing new episodes from a series he hasn't seen before. He doesn't like to watch stuff in your presence unless you are also watching them. He much prefers your company anyway, feels also a bit disrespectful and in general he probably wants to focus on the plot.

He's usually pretty silent and concentrated but if it's a rewatch or he's purposefully showing you something he just yaps. So much. He NEEDS you to feel things as he felt them, you know?

"Baby, there! Did you see that shot? It's so fucking genius actually, will be so important for the plot later on"

"Don't spoil!" you exclaim, annoyed.

"Yah, I didn't spoil, I just commented on how good the shot was!" he defended, as you rolled your eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. Shush."

But it's actually stronger than him, I fear.

"The composer using that bit of music during that scene..I know what they're doing"

"How can you hate someone so much but also enjoy their presence at the same time? Such good acting"

But don't get me wrong! He loves to hear you yap just as much. He's actually so in awe, looking at you with those big round eyes and an amused smile.

"Am I talking too much? Ah, sorry baby" you chuckle embarrassed as you catch yourself basically covering the audio of the movie.

He shakes his head with a smile, still with those adoring eyes. Like you could do no wrong, ever.

"No, my baby. You could be literally reading a cooking book, I don't care. You look too pretty."

But when you've both seen the movie/series in question and it's NOT a sad one...it's over. You both know damn well it's just part of the game foreplay at that point.

"Honey, how about we just chill and rewatch this? It was fun last time"

And just like last time, this time was indeed fun, since the movie was left on his own to the end credits as you were blowing each other's backs out.

It's a given at that point, I don't make the rules

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

[atoriid]

A Glimpse Of What Was

-one shot- (series??)

summary: Visions of the past seemed to haunt you more than usual today…

incl.: angst, murder, death, canon divergence, established relationship, fem reader, heian era Sukuna, son Itadori, pseudo-adopted son Megumi

pairing/s: Sukuna Ryomen x Fem! Reader, Geto Suguru x Gojo Satoru (yes I’m keeping those two together fuck death!)

warning/s: angst, nsfw talks but just a sprinkle, blood (well…Jujutsu Kaisen is a whole warning in on of itself so…proceed with caution)

note: I’m. Going. To. Have. A. Happy. Ending. No. Matter. What. Gege. Says. So! This one shot is inspired by this flash fic [ ever imagine having children with me? ] Can be read as a standalone but check it out still! Also, part two is in the works! Hurrah!

☆masterlist☆ Part 1 - 2

Everything felt wrong.

From the moment you opened your eyes in the morning til after you've wrapped up your class with the second years, everything just did not feel right…

You could not pinpoint the cause, like an itch beneath your skin that you were unable to scratch. And to your misfortune, your unease showed just enough for your co-teacher, Gojo Satoru, to notice.

“You look like you just touched chewed gum, L/n~chan.” His infamous giggle, like a menace melody, rang through the faculty room.

A heavy sigh left your mouth as you continued to type the report you have neglected to work on from your previous mission. “It's…nothing, Gojo.”

“Eh~.” Poke, poke, his freakishly long fingers mercilessly assaulted your cheek. “But you look so miserable~.”

Having no energy to entertain this massive cat, you begrudgingly tried to ignore him.

A few seconds later, the office door opened, revealing Gojo's better half, Geto Suguru. Well, better half was an overestimate. Geto Suguru was a whole other menace but at least he's more tolerable than his partner.

“Toru? Shouldn't you be with Megumi right now?” You raised an eyebrow; Gojo had told you Megumi was back in his dorm.

“Gojo…did you give Megumi your task…again?”

“Maybe~,” he shamelessly replied as he spun around in his office chair.

“You're supposed to retrieve a special-grade cursed object, Toru!” Geto scolded, forcing the chair to halt so he could face him.

“He'll be fine, baby~.” Geto facepalmed.

“A gentle reminder you willingly proposed to this pain in the ass,” you said before taking a sip of your poison for the evening.

Geto's face scrunched, a look of deep regret painted on his face, while Gojo's jaw dropped, seemingly offended by this. “Hey! That's mean.”

“Don't worry, babe, I still love you.” Geto kissed his cheek before pulling this noodle of a man to his feet, and you gagged at the display of affection.

“Really? Right in front of me?” Gojo stuck out his tongue as he clung onto Geto’s arm, who was clearly amused by your misery.

“You're the one who refuses to see people, L/n-san,” referencing the countless attempts they made to set you up with someone they know.

“Mhm~ you're gonna get old and alone, L/n~chan~.”

An irk mark appeared on your forehead. “I swear, Gojo, if you stay here any longer, you won't have a full head of hair.”

“Eik!” Gojo pathetically jumped onto Geto, reflexively wrapping his arms around his neck as Geto held him up like he weighed nothing.

Geto chuckled, “I'm taking this pain in the ass away now.”

You rolled your eyes, dismissively waving your hand. “Just go, you two.”

“We'll see you tomorrow, then, L/n-san. Don't stay here for too long.”

“Mhm, yeah, yeah, I'll try not to.” Once the duo was out of the room, you caught a bit of their conversation.

[ Gojo: Let’s get Kukifuku before picking up Megumi~]

Though you can't see it, you just know Geto was shaking his head but would ultimately give into Gojo's whims.

You were right because the next thing you knew Geto was agreeing.

Just as their voices faded away, a sharp pain shot through your head, before disappearing just as abruptly as its appearance. You shrugged it off before continuing your work.

:

After a few, the initial ache came back again with a cruel vengeance as the pain crawled into every crevice of your brain. You started to feel nauseous, your vision began to blur, and not long after, everything turned black.

You woke up from your little nap, nestled onto your husband's lap, wrapped around one of his strong arms. You looked up, your sleepy eyes catching a blurry image of your handsome husband. A dopey grin stretched onto your face as he fussed over the small bundle of joy in his other arm.

Once he noticed you were awake, he turned his head to face you, pinching your cheek with one of his free hands. “Look kid, your mother is finally awake.”

Your smile widened even more as you heard the melodious gurgles of your little baby. You sat up to lean over and reach your hand to hold onto his small, gloved ones.

“Sorry, baby, Mommy was just feeling a little tired~.” Your husband's warm hands rested on the small of your back and onto your shoulder. Your baby started to playfully punch the air, happily kicking his chubby feet.

“Hm~ yeah, go reprimand your mother.” You playfully glared at your husband.

“Ryo! Just so we're clear, this is all your fault.” He just gave you a look.

“Woman, are you on about?”

“Oh, I don't know…fucking me to oblivion just this morning? Hm?!” You accused him, leaning closer until your nose was almost touching.

Sukuna deadpanned, “Say that to me again but do remember you're the one who begged me not to stop.”

Heat crawled up to your cheeks. “I- uh sp-ugh…s besides the point…”

He quirked up an eyebrow, “Hm…yes, sure…whatever you say, wife.”

Before you could say anything more, your little boy made a few noises before spiraling into a crying session.

“Oh no, Yuuji baby~.” You reached out to hold him in your arms, rocking him a bit before realizing he must be hungry. “Hungry, are we now?”

You bolted awake, the migraine gone, but the ringing of your phone might as well have brought it back. You looked at the caller ID; it was Megumi.

Without a second thought you answered it. “Gumi?”

[“L/n-sensei, uh, there was a situation.”]

You heard a big crash in the background.

“Are you in danger or hurt, Megumi?” Worry filled you; you swore if Gojo and Geto let this kid get hurt while in their watch-

[“Danger, no.”]

You let out a sigh of relief.

[“Hurt…yes.”]

“I-what? I thought it was a simple pick-up?”

You heard him sigh, [“It was supposed to be, but it spiraled out of control.”]

“Oh dear…do I need to go there?”

[“No, but are you still in Jujutsu Tech?”]

“Yes, why?” You heard him choke out his words, and you found it adorable, really adorable.

[“C-can you patch me up when we get back?”]

You fought the urge to coo, “Of course! I'll wait for you at the gate.”

[“Thank you, sensei.”]

You chuckled, “No problem~ oh, and please be a dear and say to Gojo and Geto they're dead once I see them.”

[“I will, oh, we'll be heading back in a bit.”]

“Okay then, I'll see you soon.” He ended the call, and you stretched a bit before preparing the first aid kit for your injured student.

:

You stood near the entrance of the tech when a cold chill ran up your spine as you made out the figures of Gojo, Geto, Megumi, and a pink-haired boy slumped onto Gojo's shoulders.

Sulfur filled your lungs, your eyes fought to stay wide open as you fought tooth and nail from your captors and the special chains they caught you with.

You let out a strangled scream; to your right was your husband struggling to fight his way towards you. Tears of pure rage streamed down your face as you witnessed the grueling sight. Your husband’s arms and legs were wrapped with red-hot chains as several sorcerers tried to subdue his rampage.

And as if this sight was not enough, your world slowed when you heard your precious little boy's scream.

Your head snapped to the direction. Your boy, your Yuuji, was being held like some animal by some disgusting sorcerer.

“YUUJI!” He was supposed to have run far from here already; why is he here?!

This split-second distraction was a grave mistake as the sorcerers took this chance to finally pin you down.

A guttural sound came out of you as they began to gag you and put more chains to keep you from moving. You were breaking your skin, your bones even as you feraly tried to break the chains.

Your husband seemed to also have seen what was happening as his rampage seemed to amp up. You could see your Yuuji trying to get out of the man's hold, kicking, punching, and screaming to let go. Your baby was calling your name and your husband's. Your heart broke again and again as you heard his broken voice crying for you.

“Kill the child.” Some fly dared to order. The man holding your baby pinned him down while another was holding up a blade ready to swing.

NO

NO

NO

MY BABY

YUUJI MY BABY

LET GO

You gave everything you've got to loosen the chains, dislocating your arm in the process just to give you even a small opening to brutally pry yourself out of the hold. You ignored the searing pain everywhere in your body as you made your way to your crying child.

What you failed to notice was a sorcerer behind you; she took a stance and without hesitation swung the blade right on your back.

You stumbled forward, a gut-wrenching feeling coursing through your veins; you did not even feel the blade because right in front of you, the sorcerer plunged his sword into your Yuuji's chest.

He mercilessly stabbed thrice, “Stop it, soldier!” The woman behind you shouted, and the man hesitated before giving up, muttering curses before stepping away.

You pathetically crawled your way to your baby, blood dragging and pooling around both of you as you took your boy into your weak arms.

“M-mom-mommy…” His weak voice choked out.

“I-I'm so sorry, my baby…” Your shaky vision caught his tearful eyes. You tried your best to hold his bloody body nearer to you.

“I l-love you, my Y-yuuji.” You choked out as you felt his weak heart give out.

A lone tear started to fall from your eye. Not a second later, like a dam had been forced open, tears freely flowed from your eyes. Emotions of unknown origins weighed heavily on your heart as the face of the pink-haired boy came into view.

“Oh dear gods…my Yuuji.”

☆masterlist☆

[be-my-ally]

The Seatbelt Sign is On

A Big Bunny Vignette.

Bunny wants to get tied up, so uh, here we are. Playboy!Reader x 76/77 Elvis - this little plot-less smutty fic is set between The Lisa-Marie & Crash Landing. Although I think it could be read as a standalone. This is pretty much totally unedited, so apologies for any typos.

warnings: 18+ 18+ 18+. Light bondage. No safewords or anything but it is clearly pretty ssc**. Oral, and penetrative sex (p in v), slight overstimulation. 

75-77 elvis x playboybunny!reader (established relationship - here's the link for the rest of the series)

wc: 4.2k (miss concise smut is back baby!!)

** ((Spoiler: Elvis does say he has scissors in case she needs to be cut out - but he’s pretty much just holding her down with some ribbon and a seatbelt.))

Elvis often climbed up the stairs with his last burst of energy post-show - happy to collapse and settle in or onto the nearest chair, sometimes not even making it to his bed, taking in the precious hours of rest before the next stop. It meant that even though you were spending a serious number of hours with Elvis, it didn’t leave a whole lot of time that he was lucid or awake enough to actually spend it with you. 

You’d worried it was you, to start with, but you’d heard the guys whispering about him lately. About his lack of interest in the girls he flew out to meet him, or the ones waiting back home for him. You’d watched Sam looking you up and down a little smugly in the middle of the conversation as if saying without a word that there was a lack of interest in you too. The rumours that he couldn’t get it up at the moment followed raucous retellings of salacious events from years before that you were sure were heavily embellished if they’d even happened at all.  But, despite what they would gossip about, you never would describe Elvis as lacking in some way, and certainly not out loud. Sure, he didn’t always (or even often) have the energy to be intimate with you but when he did he was as considerate and, usually, as fun as ever.

Sometimes though you couldn’t help but feel like it was just…a bit bland. You still blush when you think about those first few flights on Big Bunny, meeting him in next to nothing for that rehearsal. Nothing has really come close in a long time. He certainly wasn’t behaving in the same way, and you felt a little like maybe you had become too comfortable together, or like a married couple or something. A distinct lack of excitement together. 

The issue, you thought while brainstorming ways of keeping it interesting, was that despite how brash and forward Elvis could be, he ultimately became quite shy and almost too respectful towards you while you were alone. You knew enough about how his brain worked to know that part of the appeal of the opposite sex was, for him, the perceived softness and ability to at least perform an act of gentle innocence. He could be brazen and arrogant while ordering you to dance for him, to roll his latest dirty film acquisition, yet when he had you alone he’d be almost apologetic, gentle. You didn’t want him to be mean to you, but maybe a little less of the…desperation. If he could just take a little more control again. 

It was at the end of a run of shows, Elvis tired but with it, when the answer came to you. He’d been carefully kissing the inside of your thighs, where you lay, still fully dressed on the bed of the Lisa-Marie when you’d moved your hands onto his head in an attempt to impatiently guide him. He’d tutted at you, immediately pulling away from your fingertips trying to bury themselves into his longer hair. 

“No, no, no, keep your hands outta the way, baby, gotta let me work.” He returned, but a kiss to a sensitive crease sent your leg knocking into his shoulder. It’s been a while. You can feel his grin even as he pulls away again to look up his lashes at you. 

“I told you you gotta stay still, I need my hands for this, can’t be holdin’ you down.” You’re not sure the noise that came out of your mouth could be heard by anything but dogs but he laughs, shaking his head, “What m’I gonna do with you?” You wiggle a little, and there’s a clunk of metal hitting the floor. You both turn to look, and your wide eyes meet his calculating ones. 

“You can. You know, if you want.” He stares at the seatbelt now trailing on the floor for a moment longer before responding, turning bashful; 

“Uh, well, I don’t know. I wouldn’t wanna pin you - I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable… I was really only jokin-“ He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it off of his forehead. 

“El- it’s ok, really, I think I’d like it.” 

“I didn’t, uh, I didn’t - do girls, do ya, do ya, uh, really like that kinda thing?” 

“Uh-huh, I think so, or well, maybe not every girl, but I like the sound of it, all tied up and ready for you, just having to take whatever you wanted to give me? Doesn’t that sound good to you too?” While you were talking you could see him looking at the belt, gently stroking your wrist as he considered the proposition, he swallows. You can tell he likes the idea. 

“You’d… you just, you’d just let me know if you want out right?” You laugh at his nervous questioning; 

“Lord Elvis, what’s running through that mind of yours to do to me that I’d want out?” He shrugs, glancing at the clock. 

“Well, not today, baby, gotta be ready for the show in an hour, ‘m gonna, gonna freshen’ up.” And with a pat to your side, he headed to the bathroom, leaving you there.

You realised you might have made an error in judgement bringing it up just then, just when he’d started to get going now you were left with your panties twisted to one side, skirt hitched, alone on the bed with the plane seemingly whizzing past any prospect of an orgasm today. 

——————————————————————

“We’re uh, going to Denver, you know, for the uh, burgers.” You pull the headset from your ear, as if blinking at it was staring at him and he would offer you more explanations.

“Oh, yeah… sure, ok.”

“Well, don’t ya wanna come too?” He sounds offended at your noncommittal response, but you don’t really. Truthfully, you still didn’t quite feel like you were rested from the tour yet and you knew it was only a matter of days before you’d be up all hours of the night and day and running ragged after him again. But, he made that dejected sort of hopeful hum that made you cringe at the mere thought of not agreeing to his plans. 

“Of course I do - I’ll uh, I’ll be there just as soon as I can.” It’s silent on the other end, and then, 

“We’re leavin’ now, so hurry.” Of course he was. 

It didn’t occur to you until much later that he didn’t want to go to Denver at all, and definitely not for the burgers - you’d heard Joe ringing from the comfort of Elvis’ fancy car-phone to make sure someone, presumably a pretty Miss Colorado of some sort, was home. Assuring them down the line that Elvis couldn’t come to the phone right now, but if they made sure they were at the airport he’d be there in a few hours for a flying visit. Somehow, you were able to listen to this - your legs nudging his, and his nudging Joe’s, without the slightest jealousy - just a mild sympathy for this girl desperate for the crumbs he was willing to lay. It would be much later that you would realise Denver had nothing to do with this girl either, that it was all an excuse for you. You’d realised there was some kind of ulterior motive to a lesser extent though as soon as you were, quite frankly,  shoved into the bedroom as soon as you had boarded. 

“Elvis! I’ve got a job to do!” He shakes his head, grinning at you and standing in the way of the door, 

“Nu-uh baby, I been thinking about what you said last time.” You didn’t expect that. 

“Oh?” 

“Yes ma’am, and you’re right.” You really didn’t expect that, 

“Oh! Well I can’t say I’m surpr-” You yelp as he pinches your side, 

“‘Nough of that, on the bed! I got ‘quipment.” You pause your stride towards the bed, looking at him grinning with his hands on his hips, it was all a bit sudden.

“Um, I didn’t, I mean, I’m not su-” He grins at you, 

“I thought you were Miss Confident?” He gets that sly look on his face, his eyes narrowing and crinkling in their corners, “You know… I’ve been readin’ up and I don’t know if I oughta be worried, liking this kind of thing is listed in the DSM you know…” You gulp, your stomach twisting a little, feeling a flush rise up from your chest to your cheeks. 

“Jesus El - I’m not the one with equipment! I just like a little…I’m an adult, and I know what I like and I think it’s unfair of you to say that kind of thing, especially when I know what you’ve been up to, and you know Hugh -  Elvis stop laughing at me!” 

“You’d have thought I was secretly sending you off to the nuthouse baby, the way you were carrying on then,” He manages to get the words out past his giggles, “ ‘s just a bit of ribbon, honey-bunny.” You both feel the rumble of the engine starting up, “C’mon we’re on a time limit.” 

“Well, if you’re - if you’re sure…” You bite your lip in nerves. 

“Where’d my conf’dent l’il bunny go huh? C’mon baby, ‘s no worries - you’ll like it .” 

“Are you - you know what you’re doing?” His mouth gapes a little, wide-eyed. 

“Of course!” He looks genuinely offended, for a second before grinning, “I got good at knots in the army don’t you worry.” He winks at you as he salutes, his feet knocking together and you giggle, your tension relieving itself.

“I’d be more reassured if you’d been in the navy.” He swats at you, 

“ ‘M better than any of them boys playin’ out on their little boats I tell ya, now hush and let me work here.”  Your breath catches again, “don’t worry darlin’ I saw this in a uh, blue movie, don’t ya worry, I know how you like it.” 

That did little to calm your nerves - his reassurance that he knew what he was doing too often led to some kind of mild disaster. “Well, ok, but - you’ve got, you’re prepared, right? You got some scissors or, something, haven’t you? In case you hafta get me out quick?” 

Elvis puts the bag back onto the bed, holding three fingers up - but his solemn face belies the comedy of the action; “I swear, swear to you, I’ll get you out if you want to be. Not gonna let anythin’ happen to my best bunny.” You look into his eyes pausing for a moment and nod, lying back on the bed. He situates himself between your legs, bending to place a feather-light kiss on the corner of your mouth, 

“Aren’t you gonna…?” You shake your wrists at him and he huffs a laugh, his breath fanning over you, 

“Gotta get you worked up first baby, ain’t no fun if you’re not ready to wriggle and jiggle around, is it? Now, hush,” He whispers against your skin, “let me work my magic.” 

He might not have been focussing his energy through his ‘healing hands’ this time, but you couldn’t deny he did have the magic touch, he barely had to brush his fingers over you, press a thigh against your side, and you were gone from the world, levitating above the bed, above the plane, into the sky above. You’re embarrassingly quick to turn on, making out with Elvis enough to make you squirm. After a minute or so he presses kisses against your clavicle, open-mouthed while his fingers fumble with opening the buttons that stretch from your neck to your thighs, almost immediately shoving his hands around the waistband of your tights and he tugs hard enough that there’s the tell-tale ripping sound of the nylon falling apart - if you’d been more conscious of it you would have rolled your eyes, somehow you never seem to be able to keep a pair for long around Elvis. As it was you were far too distracted to care, relieved simply to be divested of the fabric and you lift your hips to let him roll them off - throwing the destroyed fabric to the corner of the room. His hand supports your back as you lean forward, pulling your arms out of your dress, immediately wrapping them around his neck once you were free. 

He’s all-encompassing, someone else might find him smothering, the way his arms seem to be everywhere all at once, caging you against him. But you can’t get enough. Your underwear ends up somewhere, god knows where. You’re reminded again of that revelatory first time when he’s biting nibbling kisses across your chest, tiny pink bruises sucked onto your soft skin, Elvis’ hands pawing at you in that somehow hot clumsy way. He tweaks a nipple and your back arches to meet him, you don’t know when your eyes closed but you open them at the sudden loss of any sensation, 

Elvis is sat back on his heels, assessing you, rubbing your thighs firmly. He nods with satisfaction at whatever he sees, reaching up the bed for the ribbon and tugging your wrists towards him. He kisses your pulse, and you wonder if he can feel how it jumps. He tuts when the ribbon twists, wrapping it around several times and looping it over and under before finishing it off with his best attempt at a bow. You make eye contact with each other, and you open your mouth to tease him about it, but he stops you with a pointed finger, his eyes alight. 

“Don’t say a word.” You swallow your words, playfully snapping at his finger instead, and he laughs, holding your newly tied wrists above your head as he leans down to kiss you again. It’s somehow dirtier this time, whether because you just feel that way, or because he doesn’t take his time, biting your lip and pushing his tongue into you; forcefully mapping out your mouth. He works his way down, sucking a small, darker bruise on the underside of your left breast, you wonder if it was intentionally close to your heart. You tremble, wriggling against him and after a moment he evidently grows tired of pinning your wrists, his long arms not able to keep them pressed flat while he works down your body and he looks for a way to secure them better. 

“Well, I guess we didn’t think this through, honey, it’s not the right kind of headboard, so I s’pose you’ll just hafta keep ‘em there.” He presses your newly tied wrists against the pillows, fingertips brushing the velvet of the headboard and your back arches with the effort of keeping them there. His breath tickles when he returns to his place, and the air over the sticky wetness of your inner thighs makes your arms involuntarily attempt to come back down to hold him in place. Elvis tuts at you, leaning back.

“’S no good. You’re wriggling around too much.” He stands up, his hands on his hips to assess your predicament. He sits back down and peers down the side of the bed. “C’mere.” He hauls your body up and you wriggle up with him until you were high enough up the bed that your back was now supported by one of the cream-golden reading cushions and he was able to pull the seatbelt across your stomach.“Keep your hands there.” He pats them at the top, and you grip the top of the headboard as best you can. “Where was I?” 

You’ve lost all ability to speak, simply too turned on to comprehend what’s going on. There’s the barest hint of sweat beading above his eyebrow and glistening on his dark, longer, sideburns. Your hands twitch to cup his face and you whine in frustration, unable to reach where he kneels between your legs, your fingers clutching the dusty top of the headboard, desperate not to ruin the game. He grins, tongue running over his teeth, and you thump your head back against the hard cushion, 

“Elvis, c’mon.”

“I’m havin’ fun now, baby,” He sing-songs it delicately and you shiver, “Gonna get you so worked up.” His thick hands grasp your thighs, fingertips digging in, “C’mon, bunny, open up for me.” You have no idea if the growl that comes from his mouth was intentional, or if it just had the unintended side effect of your legs immediately spreading, your breath hitching. He leans in and you feel yourself tense, hairs pricking with the tension of the moment, desperately anticipating his next move. 

Elvis is clearly not unaffected by the sight of you - his breathing much harder than before and it tickles as he gently kisses your inner thigh, his pouty lips open. The very tip of his tongue ghosts across your skin, and you shudder at the sensation, aching for him. 

“Elvis you’ve gotta - you’ve gotta touch me.” 

“I am touching you.” His fingertips continue to dance, and you try to squirm a little, the seatbelt trapping you in place. 

“Nooo. Properly.” He chuckles, 

“Properly” He teases with a shake of his head and you whine again, 

“Ssh, shhh, I’mma take real good care of you, bunny, just relax baby,” He firmly rubs at your thighs, as if he wasn’t the reason you were squirming. You let your head roll back again, suddenly distracted as he teases you by the sight of yourself in the mirror at the end of the room, the dark mahogany of the wood-covered room and the dim light reflecting off of the creamy ceiling putting you into a soft-glow focus. You can barely see yourself beyond him, he takes up the majority of your view, and though the concept is hot to you, fully clothed as he was, it left little to look at - just your twitching tied wrists, above both of your bodies, really visible. 

Finally he’s kissing across your bare skin and you’d forgotten somehow, impossibly, in the time since you’d last been together like this, just how good he was at this. You’re already so sensitive, you can feel the cooling dampness in the air, and yet it still comes as a surprise at his first kitten licks how responsive you were to him. He presses one hand against your thigh, fingers leaving bruises from his tight grip, holding you totally open to him. Elvis leans back a little, grinning at your attempts to grind on nothing, and you might be ashamed at such a wanton display in the morning but right now you just need the pressure back. He spreads your slick folds with his flattened tongue, moving his fingers in to keep you spread open so that he can lick up to your clit, sucking on the little nub and sending you shuddering. 

Your legs are the only part of you able to move, and you wrap them around his, now thicker, waist holding him against you until the movement of his talented tongue and fingers make them kick out. For some reason, even though he wasn’t doing anything new, being secured down like this was making everything feel ten times more - like someone had turned your sensitivity up on a dial. He tongue-fucks into you, and it’s so hard to keep your hands where they are, writhing around as you were, desperate to hold him in place - gain better purchase to grind against his clever, talented tongue.

The singular focus he dedicates to this task always reminds you of that first time and having him so committed only adds to your enjoyment. Elvis renews his efforts, suckling like he needs you for oxygen, and the warm wet pressure builds until finally, you’re shuddering over the edge of orgasm, legs spasming and your back arching as much as it was able to do so - and the tension of the seatbelt across your body - pinning you down far more than you would usually be held, has you electrified, adding to your startling passion. You pant, trembling as he leans back, it’s scandalous how he smiles at you, catching his breath, lips glistening with your slick and you try to form words to tell him how earth-shattering that vision is, but you struggle from the sheer anticipation of watching him stand up. 

“El- Honestl-El, how’d you, it’s so good. You need, I need you -“

You cut yourself off, panting, as Elvis finally, finally, slips out of his lounge pants and jacket.  His tanned hairy chest unveiled itself, a perfect trail leading down to his hard cock, its pink head poking out, glossy with his precum. You shudder, and he grins at you wildly for a moment, before seemingly focussing on the task at hand, clambering back atop you. He mutters the same thing he always mutters as he presses himself into you, 

“Y’re good, y’re a good girl, bunny, swear it - y’re so, fuck, so tight.” It probably shouldn’t make your chest glow so much. He presses a hand on your stomach, just below where the seatbelt pins you to the bed - holding you in place for him to get himself situated. The firm pressure is almost enough to tip you over the cliff again. You realise you’re babbling, muttering pleas when Elvis kisses your sweaty cheek, hushing you. He jerks his hips once, twice, in time with your gasps before he growls, evidently incapable of getting the angle right and you suddenly feel yourself being tugged down the bed, hands leaving the headboard and seatbelt scraping your skin until you were lying mainly flat, mostly immobile.

“That’s it, that’s - that’s better - that good for you Bunny?” He doesn’t give you time to respond, laughing to himself, “ ‘course it is. You’re like one of them kids toys, what’re they called, those, those, slip n’, slip n’ slides. So fucking wet down here.” You nod frantically in agreement, stuttering out that you were fine, it was all good - but please, Elvis, please, just move. 

It’s a strange sensation, being unable to use yourself to get leverage, and it feels almost objectifying. Lying there just to be used, but you liked it, and Elvis took advantage, pulling and tugging to exactly the pace and angle he needed to chase his own pleasure. You plant your feet, when you manage to get purchase, able to use your thighs to your advantage a little. You can feel the edge rising, but before you get there Elvis stills, his mouth agape, sweat beading at his forehead and eyebrow, upper lip aglow with it, and you feel him pulsing. His hand comes down to stroke between your folds, as he slowly pulls out, and you shake your head - it was almost too much, but he hushes you, 

“Shh. Wanna see you go again, it’s only fair - ’n’t that the reason I got you all tied up like this.” You tremble, and he presses his thumb against you, it’s filthy, the viscous mix of your fluids. Elvis deftly rubs your clit, and your body shakes through the waves of orgasm until you squirm away from his fingers, completely overstimulated, 

“El- El, that’s that’s enough, I can’t - fuck, that’s too much - too much,” He laughs at you, stroking you a final time as your legs twitch. You lie there panting for a long while, and Elvis gets up before you do, cutting the ribbon off of you, not bothering to deal with the knots that had tightened as you struggled, and heading to grab a drink from the little dressing table alcove at the end of the room while you caught your breath.

The ribbon had done pretty well at keeping your hands together, he’d done them up tight enough that they’d laid fairly flat and untwisted, but still, when you rubbed your wrists there was a light mark and the hint of soreness, especially around the outside edge of your forearm. You unbuckle yourself, sitting upright slowly.

Clearly, there’s a reason people don’t usually use seatbelts like this. The rough edge of the nylon had rubbed you where you’d wriggled around, the lines criss-crossing, while the heavy weight of the gold buckle had left indents - several of which you were sure were going to bruise. You didn’t mind that so much, pressing a finger into the darkest of the marks. 

“Good Lord Elvis, I look like I’ve been whipped or something!” He glances back at you in the mirror where you’re now fully upright, brushing your fingers over the pink marks. He points a finger at your reflection, 

“No chance in goddamn hell. Nope. There’s not enough space - don’t you go gettin’ any ideas now, li’l girl. Absolutely fuckin’ no.” 

---------

taglist: @lookingforrainbows @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny, @doll-elvis @18lkpeters @prompted-wordsmith @richardslady121 @meetmeatyourworst @marriedtopresley @steph-speaks @a-literal-no-name @elvisabutler @precious-little-scoundrel  @eliseinmemphis @iloveelvis @literally-just-elvis-fics @livelaughlove-talia @angelborn1 @amydarcimarie @peskybedtime @shakerattlescroll @i-r-i-n-a-a @saintomie @literally-just-elvis-fics @missmaywemeetagain @rainyday10-4 @chelsaiswerid @landlockedmermaid77 @mydarlingelvis @ooihcnoiwlerh @from-memphis-with-love

[lady-pug]

The Bet

Summary: Dustin cannot believe Eddie “The Freak” Munson has a girlfriend (as pretty as Galadriel, no less), and the boys seem to think the same. Max and Robin disagree, arguing that Eddie is, in fact, a catch. They decide to settle things once and for all through a bet.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Word count: 4,9k

Warnings: cursing

Notes: I'm absolutely in love with this one, it's honestly my pride and joy (at least so far). The idea for this one came to me during an Invertebrates class (should I have be paying more attention to the class? probably, but I did end up doing well overall in that subject, so). If you spot any mistakes, please feel free to warn me and I'll correct it right away, and feedback is always welcome and appreciated. I hope you truly enjoy this story.

This is part of a series, but most parts can be read as standalones (so far they are published in cronological order, but this will change).

Reader is female, but no physical descriptions provided (other than being gorgeous, that is!)

Next part | Masterlist | Read on AO3

“I call bullshit.”

“Dustin!” El exclaimed.

“There’s no fucking way you have a girlfriend!”

“Dustin.” El gritted her teeth “Don’t be mean.”

“What? I’m just saying” Dustin explained, completely unphased “that out of all the people sitting on this table, he is the least likely to have a girlfriend.”

“The same has been said about you and yet…” Max smirked in that sardonic way of hers, making the others laugh.

“Do not bring Suzie-poo into this!” the boy rolled his eyes, but his shoulders tensed in embarrassment.

Lunch time at Hawkins High was never a quiet affair. More often than not someone, most likely someone from their usual table (even more often than not that someone was Eddie), would be doing something rambunctious that would attract the attention of every other student in the cafeteria. They had all learned to ignore it and fully embraced their nerd/outcast situation, almost always wearing their Hellfire Club t-shirts. Today, Dustin was the one drawing attention to them, fervorously denying what he had just been told.

“Come on, people.” he opened his arms, gesturing around the table “Let’s face it. Other than Mike, Lucas and I, who already have girlfriends, the most probable person here to get a girl would definitely be Robin.”

“Ouch, Henderson,” Steve punched the boy next to him on the shoulder, with a little more force than necessary “uncalled for. And besides, all she does all day is mope about Vickie, without ever making a move.”

“Uh, actually” Robin piped up “I just asked Vickie out, we’re gonna watch Letter to Brezhnev this weekend.”

Steve groaned, while Dustin’s face conveyed something akin to ‘I told ya’.

“Actually, Eddie, I’ve been meaning to ask, if this whole thing between me and Vickie does work out, can I bring her to one of our sessions?”

“Be my guest.” the man, who was currently being talked about as if he wasn’t even there, answered, his smile never weavering.

“Guys, we’re losing focus here.” Dustin clapped his hands “Let’s get back to the matter at hand: Eddie, your so called girlfriend.”

“What about her?”

“Tell us more about her.”

Eddie’s smile grew impossibly bigger.

“She’s everything my humble heart could ever ask for.”

“Humble, yeah, right.” Steve scoffed, earning him a slap on the back of the head from Robin.

“She is immeasurably intelligent, infinitely kind and would never hesitate to help those in need. Not to mention, she is the most beautiful creature to have ever walked this Earth.”

“How beautiful are we talking?” Lucas asked.

“Galadriel level of beauty.”

A bunch of ‘wow’s and even an impressed whistle, courtesy of Robin herself, sounded from the group.

“What does that even mean?” asked Steve. Dustin narrowed his eyes at the older boy and didn’t even bother with an answer, before addressing his DM again.

"Bullshit! What’s her name?”

Eddie’s once dreamy smile turned mischievous.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Dustin scoffed.

“There is our answer. You are making her up.”

“No, I’m not.” Eddie said, a strange calmness in his voice.

“Yes, you are.”

“Why would I make her up?”

“I dunno, you are our DM, you literally come up with the most creative stories as a hobby, which, might I add, might as well be your side job at this point!”

“Why have you never introduced her to us?” Eleven asked, only slightly offended that her new friend hadn’t deemed them worthy of knowing the inner mechanisms of his private life.

Some people shook their heads in agreement.

“She works at the time of our campaigns.”

“How convenient.” Lucas exclaimed.

“If you really want to meet her so badly I’ll bring her around some day.” Eddie shrugged.

"How about this?” Dustin lowered his voice conspiratorially “10 bucks she’s made up and you’re bullshitting all of us.”

“Dustin!” Max hissed.

“I’m in.” Lucas said.

“Lucas!”

“Guys, don’t you think this is a little… cruel? Making a bet at someone’s expense?” El hesitantly pointed out.

Everyone looked in Eddie’s direction at the head of the table, whose face didn’t give anything away.

“Nah.” all the boys, excluding Will and surprisingly including Eddie, said.

“I’m with Dustin.” Mike said, to which El glared at him “What? Easiest money I’ll ever make in my life.”

“Make it 20 that not only she’s real, but she’s also gorgeous.” Robin chimed in. 

“Thank you Buckley.” Eddie bowed his head at her.

“Seriously?” Steve almost shouted.

“What, Eddie is a pretty nice guy. If I wasn’t into…” she trailed off, glaring at Steve next to her as he mouthed the word ‘boobies’ “other things,” she emphasized “I’d definitely date him.”

“You are so on, Rob.” Steve indeed shouted this time “You’re going down.” 

“El?” Mike asked his girlfriend.

“I don’t know. I’m not really comfortable doing this.”

“Me neither.” Will agreed.

“I’m with Robin on this one.” it was Max's turn to say.

“Alright!” Eddie grabbed a pencil and a rumpled sheet of paper (math’s homework, they noted) “It’s two against four: Buckley and Mayfield vs Harrington, Henderson, Sinclair and Wheeler. Should I mark 20 bucks for everyone?”

The boys, who originally opened the bet at $10 each, all agreed.

“So that makes the final prize a total of… $120.” he eyed all the people on the table with a mysterious grin, his voice morphing into the one he used while performing as Dungeon Master during their campaigns “Do you, my mighty Fellowship, accept this challenge?”

Everyone looked at Dustin, the one who had come up with all that mess, to seal their next step. He stood up and extended his hand for Eddie to shake.

“Hell yeah.”

“I’m telling you, there is absolutely no way in this world, and in the Upside Down, that Eddie is telling the truth.”

Dustin was leading the group around downtown Hawkins on their way to the movie theater for a showing of Top Gun. 

“Dustin, man, don’t you think this is going a little too far?” Will asked, a worried look crossing his features.

“I mean, why does he feel the need to lie to us like that?” Lucas interrupted “Not having a girlfriend is not something to be ashamed of.”

“Tell that to Steve.” Dustin smirked, high fiving his buddies, to which El, Will and Max rolled their eyes.

“Maybe because he isn’t lying?” Max said, crossing her arms, annoyed “Has that ever crossed your minds? And that maybe he hasn’t introduced her because you are simply too immature to handle it?”

Mike, Lucas and especially Dustin had the decency to look sheepish for a fraction of a second before diving right back on their shenanigans.

“I mean who in their right minds would date Eddie of all people?” Dustin changed the subject, making Max wave her arms incredulously, giving up.

“Why is it so hard to believe someone might be interested in Eddie?” El asked, half trying to defend her friend and half genuinely curious.

“Well, for one he’s an outcast.” Lucas said.

“So are we all.” Max retorted.

“He’s a freak with a very peculiar set of interests.” Mike gave his input.

“That doesn’t really mean anything, we all enjoy D&D and rock music as well.”

“And he’s on his way to have to do the senior year for the fourth time.” Dustin finished.

“Oh, come on, give the guy a break!” Max snapped “You know what he went through this year, it kinda makes sense that school wasn't his top priority.”

El nodded, agreeing.

“Besides” she said, a tilt to her head indicating she actually meant it “Eddie is a really nice guy and anyone would be lucky to date him.”

“Would you?”

“Would I what?”

“Date Eddie.” Mike told her “Would either of you date Eddie given the chance.”

Eleven and Max shared a look, not even hesitating before they answered.

“Yes.”

“Absolutely.”

“What?!” the boys asked in disbelief.

“He’s a really nice guy!” Max said, linking arms with El.

“He’s really funny.” El complemented, adding a skip to their step.

“And he’s pretty good looking.”

“His hair is cool.”

“And have you seen his tattoos?”

“He’s bitchin’.” El finished, smiling.

Mike and Lucas looked at each other, only slightly worried, while Dustin scoffed, shaking his head in disappointment.

Arriving at the theater, they went to buy the tickets.

“Okay, let’s entertain this crazy idea for a second and say she is real.” Dustin simply couldn’t let the subject go “What do you guys think she’s like?”

“Like him to some degree, otherwise they wouldn’t be together.” Lucas rushed in “They have to have a lot in common.”

After a moment of silence Mike spoke up.

“I could see Eden dating him.”

“Eden?” Dustin asked, perplexed “Suzie’s older sister? When did you- you know what? I don’t even wanna know.”

“But she’s dating Argyle now.” Will pointed out.

“True.”

They finally arrived at the snack booth, a familiar face behind the counter that they knew pretty well.

“Hey, look who it is! My favorite person in the whole world!” Dustin called your name very enthusiastically, a gigantic, very dramatic smile plastered on his face while he leaned his forearm over the counter “Whats up?”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Henderson.” you rolled your eyes, already used to the boy’s behavior.

“But why?” he whined, head thrown back dramatically “You always give El an extra piece of candy every single time, how come she’s your favorite?”

“Whaaat? I do no such thing.” you retorted, sending a conspiratory wink in El's way “Even suggesting that is an offense to my honor.”

“Ugh, I’m so sorry, miss ‘do-no-wrong.”

You giggled. No matter how much it seemed to annoy you, you absolutely loved those kids and would do everything for them.

“Same as always?”

“You know us too well.” Mike answered.

While you went about preparing the kids’ snacks, they (read Dustin, Mike and Lucas) quickly created a game out of people watching, much to the annoyance of the rest of the group.

“What about her?” Lucas pointed out a girl, plain clothes and nothing truly remarkable about her appearance.

“Nah, they don’t seem like they really match.” Mike countered back before pointing to a stuck up looking girl who seemed annoyed to just exist “How about that one?”

The other boys looked the girl up and down before shaking their heads.

Dustin perked up when his eyes landed on someone coming out of a showing of Poltergeist II.

“What about her?!” he pointed out a woman in darker clothes, excitement lacing his voice “She seems like she would be perfect for him. Look, she even likes horror films!”

Max rolled her eyes so hard they almost popped out of the sockets.

“If he was interested in older women he would be drooling over Mike’s mom.” the corner of her lips lifted in a tiny smirk “How did you describe her? ‘Smoking hot like chicken wings’?”

Mike’s face turned red as he turned to face Dustin.

“What did you say about my mom?!” his next move would have surely resulted in an immeasurable amount of pain for Dustin (and probably a trip to the hospital) had you not intervened at that very moment.

“Alright! Here you go.” you started putting the snacks over the counter “Three large popcorns, one with extra butter, two large sodas, two medium sodas,” you then proceeded to hand the items one by one “Blue Raspberry Airheads for Will, Cry Baby Tears for Max, Gummi Bears for Lucas, Licorice Rockies for Dustin, Watermelon and Cherry Nerds for Mike and last, but not least, a packet of Spree for El.”

As you were sliding the packet towards El, the girl noted that you had given her a Caramello bar, hidden under the other candy. That had been something you had been doing ever since she had first stopped by the theater you work at; she had been mesmerized at the assortment of sweets on display and simply could not choose one. You had overheard her telling her boyfriend that she had never tried any of those, and you had made it your life’s mission to give her as much candy as you could without getting busted by your boss just so she could figure out her favorite kind. So far, nothing had beaten Spree. She smiled at you, grateful for what you’ve been doing for her.

“Hey!” Dustin also seemed to have noticed the interaction “I saw that!”

You and El looked at each other, suppressing a smile.

“Saw what?” Eleven asked, a deadpan look on her face that only made Dustin more exasperated.

After paying and balancing all their food, the kids started heading towards the movie rooms. As they were walking away you called after them.

“Good luck trying to defeat Lareth the Beautiful!” you waved and then added under your breath so they could not hear from the distance “You’re gonna need it.”

“Thanks!” they all responded in unison, not giving it a second though.

After a moment of playful banter, Eleven decided to address something that had been on her mind since they got to the movie theater.

“What about her?”

The others shot her a confused look.

“What about who?” Will asked.

She nodded her head back at the counter where you were wiping out fallen kernels and elaborated, though it ended up sounding more like a question.

“As Eddie’s girlfriend?”

The boys who were in on the bet looked at each other before bursting out in hysterical laughter.

“Her?!” Lucas sputtered out “Dating Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson?! Seriously El?”

“Little Miss Perfect, Goodie-Two-Shoes over there?” Dustin added “Who works at the nursing home during the week and volunteers at the animal shelter every other weekend?!”

“There is no way!” Mike doubled over.

“Never in a million years!”

“Absolutely not!”

El looked towards Will and Max for support, who only shrugged, as if having given up discussing the subject. But she didn’t miss the quiet look of agreement she saw crossing their faces.

On the other side of town, a similar conversation would take place only a few hours later.

“I’m telling you, Rob” Steve said, placing a recently returned copy of The Empire Strikes Back in its respective place on the shelf “if I can’t keep a girl interested in me for more than a week, there’s no way Munson has a girlfriend!”

Robin hummed, rearranging the collection of Planet of the Apes in the correct order.

“That’s not saying much, you know that, right?” she snickered.

He rolled his eyes at what she was implying.

“Let the guy be, Steve.” she moved on to the next row “If he says he has a girlfriend, then he has a girlfriend. I don’t know why it’s so hard to believe that.”

“We go to the same school as him, right? I don’t know if you noticed but girls aren’t exactly throwing themselves at him.”

“I don’t know if you noticed, dingus, but he’s almost three years older than us. He’s supposed to have graduated by now. I’m pretty sure his girlfriend was in his original class or something.”

“But we were freshmen when he was a junior!” he threw his arms up “I’m pretty sure we would have noticed if he started getting cozy with someone!”

“Steve,” the girl gave him a sad, almost resentful smile “you didn’t even notice me before we started working together last year. You only had eyes for Nancy.”

Steve was quiet, for he knew she was right.

“That and you let those two dickheads Tommy and Carol infiltrate your mind and hypnotize you into becoming a jock!” she tried lighting up the mood, knowing she had hit a sensitive spot for him, which seemed to work as he chuckled.

Their bonding was interrupted by the sound of the little bell over the door, signaling a new client had just come in. Robin started the whole customer service speech while walking slowly towards the counter.

“Hi, welcome to Family Video, how may we help you?” she stopped short once she realized it was you “Hi! Oh my god, I haven’t seen you in a while, how are you?”

“Hey, Robin! I’ve been good, a little busy but what’s new?” both of you giggled, Robin with a bit more flare than necessary.

Steve watched the interaction with a strange kind of fascination.

“What can I get for you today?”

“Let’s see…” you tapped your chin, deep in thought before asking with a hopeful tone “Is Lady and The Tramp available?”

“I got it!” Steve typed it down on the computer “Lucky for you, m’lady, it is.” 

Robin stared at him as if he had grown a second head while he retrieved the tape.

“Can I get a second one? I really wanted to watch The Three Caballeros, but I think it’s kind of mandatory to watch Saludos Amigos first.”

The girl checked in and sure enough, it was available. While she checked you out, Steve was busy putting your tapes in a bag.

“Make sure to drop by more often.” Robin said “It’s been so long, we have to catch up eventually!”

“Yeah, come hang out with us sometime!” Steve added, immediately wincing at his own lack of subtleness.

“Will do.” you waved at them and walked out of the store.

Robin slowly turned towards her friend.

“What was that?”

“I don’t know! I kind of panicked!” he rubbed a hand over his face “Who was that anyway?”

“Duh,” Robin stated your name “only the smartest, sweetest and most beautiful girl in school in forever? Straight A’s, always super nice to everyone, incredibly well dressed, kind of a nerd, but no one gave her too much of a hard time?”

Steve continued to stare blankly at her. She sighed, giving up.

“I had the biggest crush on her in sophomore year while she tutored me in math, but she left the following year and I almost flunked without her help.”

Steve shrugged, not really remembering you at all.

“Now that I come to think of it, she used to hang out with Eddie quite a lot back then.”

“No!” he stared at the door you had recently left through “Do you think…?”

“I don’t know!” she shrugged, a seemingly victorious smile spreading across her face “Maybe?”

They stood in silence for a second.

“There is no way a girl as sweet and as hot as her would be interested in Munson of all people!”

“Come on, Steve, that’s so mean!”

Almost a month had passed since that fateful lunch break. Lucas and Mike eventually settled down and forgot about the whole ordeal, but Steve and, especially, Dustin were relentless. Everyday they would bring up the subject of Eddie’s girl, to the point where the other members of Hellfire Club were starting to get annoyed.

“So, Eddie,” Dustin started accusingly, “where is that imaginary girlfriend of yours today?”

Everyone groaned. 

“How many times do I have to tell you this?” Eddie rolled his eyes and rubbed both hands down his cheeks “She’s working!”

“At night? In the middle of the week?” Steve added, suspicion is his voice.

“She’s fresh off training so she gets the worst shifts.” Eddie explained, getting kind of tired of the matter.

“Hey, Steve?”

“Yeah, Henderson?”

“You know what that sounds to me?”

“What?”

“A bullshit excuse!” Dustin shouted, pointing his finger in Eddie’s face.

“Uhm excuse me.” a voice sounded from the end of the table “If you two old ladies have finished your daily 3 pm gossip over the window, can we go back to the game? How are we supposed to defeat Lareth if all you do is bicker all day long?!” Erica, who occasionally joined the party if she didn’t have too much homework, piped up, annoyed.

Dustin mumbled, clearly not done talking about it, when an idea struck him all of a sudden, making him punch the table, rattling all of the metal figurines.

“What the fuck was that for, Dustin?!” Max asked, startled, a look of angered surprise on her face that matched that of almost everyone there.

“S-sorry.” he answered, only slightly embarrassed “I-I’m just- excited to maybe finally defeat Lareth?”

He winced, not sounding the least bit convincing even to himself, but the others seemed to have bought it for now.

After the game, in which they hadn’t, in fact, managed to defeat Lareth the Beautiful and frankly almost got all killed trying to do so, Dustin pulled Erica aside, out of earshot from the others, especially Eddie.

“What do you want?” she hissed.

“I need a favor.”

“What makes you think I’d help you?” she crossed her arms petulantly. 

“Please?”

She sighed and nodded for him to go on.

“I need you to spy on Eddie for me.”

“Uh, why?”

“We have a bet. He says he has a girlfriend, I think it’s bullshit. Steve, Mike and Lucas agree with me, while Robin and Max, the fools, think this girl is actually real.”

“And what do you need me for?”

“Follow him around, I don’t know. He would never suspect, you’re not part of the bet. Just try and prove that he’s actually lying to all of us”

She thought for a long moment.

“What’s in it for me?”

“What?” he squeaked.

“What’s in it for me?” she repeated with a smug expression “What do I get out of helping you?”

Dustin sighed.

“You can keep my share.”

Erica’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped open.

“Honestly? At this point I just want to prove I’m right. Join in, make the total amount larger and you can keep both yours and my share of it.”

She extended a hand for him to shake.

“It’s a pleasure doing business with you.” and she skipped away to catch up with Lucas.

Dustin hadn’t heard from Erica since their conversation and his faith in her was beginning to waver. A couple more weeks went by before the girl finally joined the Club once more.

“Eddie.” was the first thing she said the minute she sat down in front of the board game “I heard there is a bet of sorts going around.”

“Yes there is, Sinclair the Second.” the man answered and, having a feeling where the conversation was going, grabbed the paper he previously wrote all the names (and it looked somehow even more crumpled than before).

“I’d like to join in.” she said, a large grin on her face.

“It’s $20 per person-” Eddie started explaining before she cut him off.

“Actually I’d like to add 30 bucks.” she said decisively.

Most people around the table looked at each other, impressed and apprehensive at the same time. Dustin on the other hand, nodded victoriously towards his buddies.

“Alright, I have to admit you’re bold, Sinclair the Second.” Eddie did the math “So that increases the final prize to $150. Which side are you joining?”

Erica looked towards Dustin, who discreetly nodded at her.

“I think she’s real.”

Dustin’s jaw dropped.

“Wh-aat?!” his voice cracked from surprise.

“I just don’t see why Eddie would lie, that’s all.” she shrugged nonchalantly.

Dustin shot her a murderous look while Eddie scribbled down her name alongside Max and Robin’s.

“That sure is a good thing. Because she was just talking about requesting to change shifts with a coworker who’s said something about wanting to take more care of his cat during the day.” Eddie finished writing with a flurish “So you might get to meet her pretty soon.”

“Yeah, right.” Lucas snickered, which prompted an elbow to his ribs from Max.

The game proceeded without much hitch after that. After the fiasco that was trying to defeat Lareth the Beautiful the last time everyone was a little apprehensive in trying to take him out again, that was, if they could even find where he lived. But, in a move of sheer luck, Eleven managed to figure out his hideout after scoring 17 while searching an abandoned moathouse. Now all they had to do was attack.

“But I must warn you, my fellow adventurers,” Eddie spoke, his low voice smooth and mysterious while his eyes roamed the face of everyone in the room “every action has consequences. Think through before you strike, for you might not come out of this alive.”

El, who had been feeling brave after a succession of favorably high rolls (which may or may not have had something to do with her powers when she felt she was going to score too low, but you’d never get that out of her as long as she lived), decided to speak up.

“I say we go for it.” everyone stared at her wide eyed “What? We had a lot of time to prepare, everyone has their health full and all their best weapons… we already lost once, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“She’s right.” Lucas agreed, grabbing the dice “Who wants to start?”

“I will.” Steve decided “I’m the weakest of us all, that way if something happens to me you still have a chance to escape and get stronger.”

“No, Steve.” Robin argued.

“No one gets left behind.” Max concluded “I’ll go first.”

“No, I will.” Mike tried ripping the dice out of Max’s hands.

“Come on, let me go first.” El tried to speak, but suddenly the metal doors squaked open, silencing everyone in the room.

Shyly, someone poked their head inside. 

“Hey!” you spoke from your place by the door “I hope I’m not too late?”

Eddie practically jumped out of his throne.

“Sweetheart!” he boomed, opening his arms “You are just in time! They are just about to face Lareth the Beautiful.”

“Again?” you asked, fully stepping inside the room.

“For good this time.” he answered with a mirthful smirk. “What are you doing here?”

“Mrs. Johnson let me off earlier from the nursing home. I managed to swap shifts with Mateo, so now I can come to your campaigns!”

Walking closer to the table, everyone gawked at your sudden appearance. You stopped beside the DM’s throne, but Eddie was quick to pull you sideways into his lap, where you landed giggling like a maniac. Turning your head over your shoulder, you pressed a light peck on his lips.

“No way…” Lucas gaped, shaking his head.

“Yes way.” Max retorted, nodding mesmerized.

“Hah!” Robin slapped both her hands on the table, pointing a finger at Steve in front of her.

Confused, you stared at Eddie, whose smile has never looked more smug.

“What is going on?”

“It is you?!” Dustin stood up so quickly his chair scraped on the floor before tumbling backwards onto the floor.

“Is what me?”

“You’re his girlfriend?” Steve started in awe, feeling a tiny pang of hurt on his chest.

“Uh, yeah.” you nodded, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“How?” Mike all but shouted, Eleven smiling triumphantly at his side.

You and Eddie shared a look.

“You know, Wheeler,” Eddie started, smirking “when two people love each other-”

His speech was interrupted by a chorus of repeated ‘woah’s, Steve rushing to cover Erica’s years, Robin doing the same for El, all the while you chuckled at your boyfriend’s antics .

“There are children here, man.” Steve hissed.

“No, I mean it.” Dustin shook his head in disbelief “Why are you dating him ?”

“I told you would never believe me.” Eddie explained.

Your laughter turned into a dreamy smile.

“Eddie is such a sweetheart. He’s charming, he makes me laugh. And I know I can always count on him no matter what. I know he’ll always be there for me.” you beamed softly at him, before turning back to the party, a playful grin on your face “And it doesn’t hurt that he’s incredibly attractive.”

Dustin made a gagging noise while Eddie playfully flicked his hair over his shoulder.

“I mean, who could resist my witful charms, Henderson?”

Erica turned towards her brother, Dustin, Mike and Steve, a proud look on her face.

“Pay up, losers.” she made a come hither motion with her hand “I believe the four of you owe us $50 for each of us.”

She high-fived Robin and Max.

Dustin stared at her, a look of betrayal taking over his features.

“You agreed you’d help me.” he accused.

“No” she said matter-of-factly “I agreed to spy on Eddie for you. And I did.”

Eddie let out a fake gasp, holding an offended hand over his heart.

“You asked Sinclair the Second to spy on me?!”

Dustin held a hand up.

“That’s besides the point.” he turned back to Erica “What happened?”

“I spied on him, just like you asked. And what I found was the both of them” she nodded her head in your direction, where you were still draped over your boyfriend’s legs “being all lovey-dovey with one another. Y’all are just too dumb to see it.” 

Dustin shook his head as if he still couldn’t believe it. 

“Now that we’ve gotten this out of the way” Eddie’s voice suddenly shifted to the one he used as Dungeon Master “are you ready to take on Lareth the Beautiful once and for all?”

Everyone around the table shouted words of agreement and encouragement, including you. Dustin quickly grabbed the dice, ready to go first. He raised his arms, hands cupped around the dice, and started shaking them. Every member of the club, and now you, stared at him in anticipation, before he hesitated.

“Seriously, though, what do you see in him?”

“Dustin!”

[mxnster-soul]

TMC OC DUMP TIME BABEYYYY

This is technically just them post-reincarnation (reawakening). They have memory loss lol. (They're originally from a TMC AU thing but can be seen as a standalone)

Nicknames: Don/Dawn

[MORE INFO/A LOT OF RAMBLING UNDER CUT. ALSO TW: one ref hardly has clothes on but it's just because there's scars. Sorta 17+ zone]

Heavily inspired off of Stanzi's 'heaven and hell' comedy series (also the case of sona turned to just an OC)

Abaddon (or in this case, reinarnated Abaddon) is an absolute goofball. A bit snarky at times,

Lore stuff:

Pre-'reincarnation', They worked part-time shifts.

Part-time as a guard at heaven's gates, part-time in hell as clean up (usually just purging whenever it's starting to get overcrowded) not meant to be a hazbin reference

While at the gates, Gabriel also worked the same shift as Abaddon.

(TMC AU related. Abaddon had no clue that Gabe was plotting)

The two are just work friends, dynamic being 'The strong silent type that's usually hard for others to read, and the one that's good at talking and somehow just knows what the silent one is saying'./'Don's a gentle giant when it comes to co-workers' (also can't understand jokes/comedy)

Don uses to ALWAYS wear full armour, to the point noone could recall what they look like.

The two were actually friends, buuut as the plans for overruling were finished. Don was seen as 'in the way'.

So when they least suspected it, they were slain with one of their own swords. (Backstabbed through the heart, in a literal sense) I HC that higher rank angels can be killed only with their own weapons

They died confused since they had no time to see who betrayed them.

REINCARNATION (sorta. They kinda just come back from the dead since seraphim probably don't stay dead for eternity)

Don woke up sore as heck in some lake on the mortal realm, still in armor but stuck like they one of those underwater statues which are actually just metal things that rusted/the covered by plants over time.

Their wings decayed a bit cuz it's been thousands of years of being dormant. (And they were able to get the sword out cuz the angelic power that was in it down).

They're a bit more physical (so certain mortal things can now harm them)

Their memory is gone, so they ends up just observing the humans around them and adapting as the years pass by.

Ends up being a very chatty/rowdy dork that likes social media and thinks punk/alt fashion/etc is cool.

TLDR: very serious worker got betrayed, died, and can't remember it when they came back to life so they embrace modernity and probably go to spencers and hottopic/thrifting for clothes.

Also their new fave weapon is a street stopsign

More info:

-7 to 8ft tall (either works)

-Agender/Enby (They/He/She/it) <they really don't care

-Loves overdressing

-Has no clue wtf alternates are but probably annoys them if they happen to meet.

-'ooh, those are alternates? Damn, they look like they've been hit by a truck'

-listens to hyperpop/phonk/loud stuff

-usually guised as a human (bascially just wingless/halo-less cuz it makes it hard to use doors)

-Has no clue that Gabriel is alive

-deadass would not remember a thing, even if reminded.

Current outfit ^^^^

Alt wing color^^^^

OLD/V1 outfit (can be used)

FACE CLOSEUP^^^

Might redo the ref at some point cuz i'm not happy with the post

V1 ref^^^^

HEY, WARNING BELOW INCOMING

[TW: LACK OF CLOTHING REF]

(my anatomy sucks but i tried)

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 17: Not Yours

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Grace Burgess x OC

Summary: John says something regarding Lucy’s relationship with Charlie that cuts deeply.

Word Count: 3,428 

Notes: I wrote this for @call-sign-shark’s 1k followers celebration. Congratulations, Shark! I decided to participate in the angel themed option, and I picked the dialogue prompt: "Don't listen to them" from this list. As usual you can read this as a standalone fic without reading the preceding parts if you prefer. There are some spoilers for previous parts, so if you want to go into the fics preceding this one totally blind, I suggest reading those first, but it’s by no means required to understand what’s going on here. All you need to know is that it takes place sometime between seasons 2 and 3, and that Tommy, Lucy, and Grace are in an established polyamorous relationship. Warnings for depictions of angst, polyamory, infertility, some irresponsible behavior when taking care of a baby (the baby is fine, though, don’t worry!), and insecurity.  

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She rushed down the hall, shoes clattering against the hardwood floor, bursting through the doors to the drawing room, following the high wails that were steadily increasing in volume. 

“Charlie!?”

The baby was sitting on a blanket in the middle of the room, his face contorted with terror as he cried his little heart out. Swooping into the room, she scooped him up, cradling the back of his head when she pulled his tiny body into her chest. He immediately nuzzled into her neck, still crying even as he clung to her.

“Sweet boy, sweet boy. It’s okay. I’ve got you,” she swayed them both gently from side to side. “Shush…it’s okay,” satisfied that he was safe once he started to settle, she looked around the room, brows furrowing.

John and Esme had come by to let their kids run off some of their energy by playing on the expansive grounds around Arrow House. She could hear their hoots and hollers filtering in through the window. Tommy had to go down to his office in Small Heath for something, and Grace was in London doing some wedding shopping. Lucy had some things she needed to get done, and had taken up John and Esme on their offer to babysit Charlie while she worked in her office. She thought it would be fine; they had about a thousand children so it wasn’t like she was worried they would drop the baby on his head or anything. Besides, it was only for an hour at most. 

And yet, looking around the room where she’d left them with Charlie, there was no John or Esme to be found. Her eyes narrowed. What the fuck? Didn’t they know better than to leave a baby alone like this? The least they could have done was put him in his crib in the nursery so he couldn’t get into trouble.  

Charlie’s cries had mostly subdued, resting his head on her shoulder with his chubby little arms still clinging to her.

“Where’d your aunt and uncle go, Charlie?” she asked, truly baffled. But steadily replacing that bafflement was a deep fury. What the fuck was wrong with them?

Still carrying Charlie, she began to walk towards the upstairs, adjusting the weight of him in her arms. 

“I know, sweetie,” she said when he sniffled into her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone with them.”

A pit of guilt had opened up inside her. She should have known better than to trust them. 

It was just as she was rounding the corner to take Charlie back to the nursery that the door to one of the guest rooms flew open, John and Esme staggering out, giggling and readjusting their clothes. 

When they caught sight of her they froze, expressions turning sheepish. For a long moment, the three of them just stared at each other. 

“He was crying,” Lucy said finally.

“Shit,” John wiped a hand down his face, stifling a laugh. “Sorry. We didn’t hear.”

“Cleary,” she knew that she would be better served to just bite her tongue and tell Tommy about what happened later and let him deal with it, but she was too angry. “You should have said if it was such an inconvenience to watch him. I could have just put him in his bassinet in my office.”

“It’s no inconvenience–”

“No?” she raised an eyebrow. John rolled his eyes.

“Look, the kid fell asleep. Esme and I haven’t had a moment alone in fuck knows how long. We figured we’d just step away for a few moments while he slept and everything would be fine–”

Poor Charlie. He must have woken up laying on that blanket in the big drawing room all by himself and gotten scared. Lucy tightened her arms around him protectively. 

“Well then you should have called a maid or the nanny to come watch him. You can’t just leave a baby alone like that! He could have gotten hurt!”

“Oh, come on, Luce, he can barely even crawl yet, he would’ve been fine–” John started.

“We know a hell of a lot more about raising kids than you,” Esme ground out. Lucy felt her hackles raise at the underlying meaning.

“Excuse me?”

Esme opened her mouth, but John interjected before she could say anymore. 

“Look,” he pinched his brow. “Fine. It was a mistake, and we’re sorry,” he gave Esme a little nudge. “Aren’t we, Esme?”

“Mm,” was all she said, still glaring at Lucy. 

“But he’s fine,” John gestured to where Charlie was settled comfortably in Lucy’s arms. “No harm done. So…”

Lucy raised an eyebrow. “So…?” she quoted back, though she had a pretty good idea of what John was going to ask of her next. 

He sighed. “So, if you could just maybe not mention any of this to Tommy…”

Lucy cocked her head. “I think that Tommy has a right to know what happens in his own household, don’t you? Especially if it has to do with his child.”

John’s face twitched. He’d always had a short fuse. But at least Lucy was fairly confident he wouldn’t try anything too rash so long as she had the baby in her arms. 

“Would it kill you to not be a fucking snitch, just once in your life!?” he snapped. “You act all shocked and hurt that none of us can fucking stand you, but have never stopped to consider that maybe it’s because we know everything we do or say around you gets back to him?”

“I do my job, John. Just like you do yours.”

Esme scoffed. “His little spy. Even amongst his own family members,” she hissed a curse in Shelta and spat at her feet. Shaking her head, Lucy shouldered past them. She wasn’t going to stand around and listen to this. 

“I’m not going to lie to Tommy when he asks me how things went today just so you two can avoid a scolding.” she said over her shoulder.

“Why do you even care so much!?” John exploded, shouting at her as she continued to walk down the hallway. “He’s not even your kid!”

Lucy froze, shoes skidding to a stop against the soft rug. She was glad that her back was turned, so John couldn’t see her face when the words punched a hole in her heart. 

Swallowing hard and carefully schooling her features into an expression that hopefully hid just how heartbroken the statement had left her, she turned around, taking a few steps back towards them.

“Get out of my house.”

John and Esme both looked momentarily taken aback by the dark tone in her voice.

“It’s not your house,” John tried to argue.

“Oh, okay. Let’s wait for Tommy or Grace to come home and see how they feel about that sentiment.”

Their jaws clenched, but they both seemed to recognize that was not a fight they particularly wanted to engage in; especially considering they were in enough trouble already. John wiped at his nose, then took Esme’s hand.

“Come on, Esme,” he led her with booming steps towards the stairs. Lucy watched them until they had disappeared out of sight, squeezing Charlie a little tighter to her. The moment they were gone, she felt her features crumple slightly, breaths shaky as she turned back around to head towards the nursery. As if sensing she was distressed, Charlie pulled back from where he’d been resting his head on her shoulder to look at her. 

“I’m okay, honey,” she said, shouldering open the door to the nursery. Instead of taking him to the crib, she sat down in the rocking chair with him in her lap. Charlie craned his head up to look at her curiously, the chair shifting back and forth as she rocked them mindlessly. Breaths still shuttering in her chest with the effort it was taking her not to cry, Lucy smoothed down Charlie’s hair with her palm, kissing the top of his head.

She loved Charlie with all her heart. And Tommy and Grace had made herculean efforts to ensure she never felt left out in raising him, always insisting that Charlie was just as much hers as he was theirs. 

They’d made even more of an effort on emphasizing that fact ever since she’d finally admitted to them her secret regarding her inability to have her own biological children. 

But despite their efforts, fear still weighed heavily inside her chest. Fear of what would happen when Charlie got old enough to begin asking questions about the nature of her relationship with his parents. And that, maybe, even after he knew the truth, he wouldn’t understand. He could even come to the conclusion that he didn’t want his parents being with her at all. 

They hadn’t really decided how much they were going to tell him when he got older. Of course there was the concern that when he was young he might not fully understand the importance of discretion in the whole arrangement. But the idea of him not knowing, and growing up thinking that either of his parents were being unfaithful to each other with her, and inevitably resenting her for it, made her want to cry. 

“Da!” Charlie squawked.

“I know,” she stroked his soft hair. “Daddy’ll be home soon,” she soothed.

Charlie cuddled back against her chest, yawning a little. Lucy sighed, stroking his back. 

“I hope you’ll still love me this much when you’re older, kiddo,” she whispered. 

“He’s not even your kid!” John’s voice echoed in her head, and her bottom lip trembled.

It always stung to be reminded that outside of Tommy and Grace, no one would ever really see her as Charlie’s parent. While most of the family knew about the arrangement between her, Grace, and Tommy, many of them did not approve of or even accept it. And she knew that quite a few of them also viewed her extensive involvement in Charlie’s upbringing as her pushing herself into a position where she didn’t belong.   

God, the possibility that Charlie himself might someday feel that same way…

A shuddering sound left her lips, breaths stuttering as she tried hard not to cry. Suddenly unable to sit still, she picked Charlie back up and stood, going to the window.  

She had never thought of Charlie as anything other than her baby. 

And given what the doctors had told her, he–and any other children Tommy and Grace might have–was the only baby she would ever have.  

That was alright. She’d mostly made peace with that fact, small bouts of sadness or insecurity aside, and she loved Charlie so much; he would always be enough for her. 

He’s not even your kid.

But the idea, that nagging, insistent feeling, that someday Charlie might say something to the exact same effect to her, was more than enough to break her heart.  

Hot tears finally slid down her cheeks, a small sob spasming in her chest. Charlie, staring up at her, reached up, patting at her wet face clumsily with one of his tiny hands. 

“Mama,” he said.

“Mama will be back soon, too, sweetie,” her voice was heavy with tears. 

“Mama!” he insisted, patting her face again.  

Lucy looked down at him in puzzlement, lips parting when she finally understood. “Oh, no, honey…I’m not your mama.”

“Mama,” Charlie said once more, stubbornly, and she sighed. He really was his father’s child. 

“It’s just ‘Lucy,’ baby,” she tried to explain. She didn’t really have an official title for him to call her by. Any form of ‘mother’ just felt like it would confuse the poor boy, but she wasn’t particularly fond of variations like ‘Aunt Lucy’ either. She had come more or less to the conclusion that she would just be ‘Lucy’ to him almost without even realizing it.

“Mama!” Charlie’s hand tried to again pat at her damp cheek, though it was more like he was gently smacking her with it thanks to his lack of coordination. She sputtered out a sound that was half a laugh, slightly tipping her face away from him after he almost poked her in the eye. 

Adjusting him so he was propped up on her hip, she leaned her head against the top of his, closing her eyes while swaying them back and forth. A moment later, Charlie put his little arms on each of her shoulders in what could only be considered a hug, and she nearly burst into another round of tears over how heartwarming it was.

Sometimes she swore that the kid understood far more of what was actually going on with the adults around him than they thought.  

She didn’t think she stood there for very long, though she couldn’t be entirely sure, before she heard the creak of shoes on the floorboards behind her.

“There you are,” Tommy said, striding across the room before she really had time to process that he was there, pecking a kiss to her lips and stroking a gentle hand over Charlie’s head. He frowned when he pulled back and got a good look at her face. Her eyes were probably still red from crying. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, um…”

“Da!” Charlie interrupted her, clearly ecstatic to see his father, pulling both of their attentions to him. 

“You wanna go to your Daddy, Charlie?” Lucy asked. “Give my arms a break before they get too sore? You’re getting heavy, kiddo.”

Tommy chuckled, taking Charlie from her with a grin, holding the baby close to him with Charlie’s head tucked securely on his shoulder. Once he was situated, he turned back to Lucy, eyebrow raised questioningly. She shook her head.

“I’m fine.”

The look in his eyes said that he didn’t believe her. “I noticed John, Esme, and the kids are gone,” he prompted. 

“Yeah, I, um,” she cleared her throat. “I kinda threw them out.”

“Why?” he tilted his head curiously. 

“Because they offered to watch Charlie while the kids were playing outside so I could get some work done. And then I heard him crying later while I was in my office and I found him lying on a blanket in the drawing room wailing by himself.”

Tommy’s brows pulled together. “They just left him alone?”

“Apparently he fell asleep, and they thought it would be acceptable to go fuck in one of the spare rooms,” she reached out to stroke Charlie’s back. “He’s okay,” retracting her hand, she ran it through her tangled curls. “I shouldn’t have left him alone with them.”

“John and Esme know better than that,” Tommy growled, and from the far-off, calculating look in his eyes, she could tell that both his brother and sister-in-law were in for a proper scolding the next time he saw them. His gaze snapped back to her. “What else happened?”

She shook her head. “That’s it.”

One arm hooked securely around Charlie, he reached out the other to cup her cheek, thumb stroking the slightly puffy skin under one of her eyes.

“You’ve been crying.”

“I’m okay.”

His eyes narrowed, immediately closing in on what must have happened. “What did John say?”

“It’s not that big of a deal, Tommy…”

He gave her a stern look and she sighed, breaking eye contact with him to instead adjust the collar on Charlie’s shirt. “Just some shit about Charlie not really being my kid.”

Tommy was quiet for a long moment. “What?” he finally said, voice a low, dangerous growl. When she looked back up it was to find that his eyes had hardened, jaw tensing. 

“Yeah, um,” she coughed. And then, because she figured if she was already going to do the equivalent of throwing John into a pit with an angry wolf, she might as well tell the entire story, she added, “he also tried to say that this wasn’t my house…”

“I’m gonna kill him,” the absolute seriousness with which it was said had a weak smile pulling at the corners of her lips. Tommy shook his head, turning his furious eyes towards the window like he could somehow beam his anger and disappointment at John just by staring in the general direction of his house. “Fucking John…” he hissed under his breath.

“Yeah,” wrapping her arms around herself, she looked down at the floor. Tommy’s head snapped around to her.

“Hey,” adjusting Charlie in his arms, he reached out and cupped her face again, tilting her head up and resting his forehead against hers. “He’s wrong, eh? John’s an idiot; don’t listen to a word he says.”

Lucy let out a small laugh, a hand coming to rest on Tommy’s chest. “It’s what they’re all thinking, though,” she peered up at him, lip caught between her teeth.

Tommy shook his head. “Don’t listen to them,” his nose brushed against hers. “They don’t know what the fuck they’re talking about,” he whispered huskily, and Lucy shivered, letting him crowd in closer to her, mouth brushing over hers sensually. “You’re his mother,” he said after he pulled back. “Both me and Grace say so.”

Charlie made a squealing noise, reaching his little fists for Lucy’s hair. Tommy chuckled.

“See? Charlie does too.” 

Lucy sniffled, nodding and letting him draw her into the circle of his arm, so that he was holding both her and his son to his chest. 

“We love you,” Tommy said into her hair.

“Love you too,” she mumbled. Charlie tried to grab her hair again, catching a fistful of it.

“No tugging, son,” Tommy spoke gently, carefully untangling the curls from Charlie’s fingers before he could begin yanking on it. “Lucy doesn’t like that.”

Charlie pouted, but relented, yawning and resting his head on his father’s chest. 

“I’ll talk to John,” Tommy told her. 

“You gonna yell at him?”

“Oh, yeah.”

She tried not to smile at the idea and thoroughly failed. He never had once failed to defend her to his family whenever they stepped out of line. She couldn’t begin to tell him just how much that meant to her. “Thanks.”

He pecked her forehead “Of course.”

The door opened with a soft creak, approaching heels clicking on the floor. “Why, hello you three,” Grace smiled brightly when she took in the sight of her two lovers and her baby embracing. She whisked forward to give both Lucy and Tommy quick greeting pecks on the lips before kissing Charlie on the cheek. He made a happy cooing noise at the presence of his mother before snuggling closer to Tommy. 

“I think he’s about ready to go down,” Tommy commented, hoisting the baby a little more firmly up on his shoulder.

“Can I take him?” Lucy asked suddenly. Tommy shot her a look, smile pulling at his lips. 

“Sure,” he handed Charlie over to her with zero hesitation, the baby, already half asleep, nestled his head in the crook of her neck with no complaint, heavy in her arms. Grace pulled her eyes away from Charlie to look at her, brows furrowing. 

“Did something happen?” she asked. 

“John’s been being an ass,” Tommy said, wrapping an arm around Grace’s shoulders and kissing the top of her head. She rested her head on his shoulder. “I’ll take care of it.”

“How was the shopping?” Lucy asked, wanting desperately to change the conversation, though she could already tell from the look on Grace’s face that she would be wanting more details later. 

“Oh, very successful. I got the order in for those centerpieces we agreed on.”

“That’s good,” Lucy nodded, carrying Charlie over to the crib. “I love you,” she whispered into the baby’s ear. He cooed softly when she cradled him carefully as she put him down. 

“Mary said dinner is almost ready; we should head down,” Grace said, her and Tommy moving to join Lucy at the crib, the three of them crowded together around it. She kissed Lucy’s temple. “And then you can tell me all about what exactly John did.” 

“Okay,” Lucy breathed out, still staring down into the crib, where Charlie was looking up at her sleepily. Most of the inhabitants of Small Heath, and even many of the Shelbys, had always looked at her like she was a demon. Some monster that had crawled out of the bowels of hell to terrorize them all. But Charlie looked up at her not just with the unquestioning love that a baby had for its parents, but with complete and absolute trust. Like she was his guardian angel. 

She hoped, probably in vain, that he would always look at her like that.

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Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

[neonacity]

IRIDESCENT | A LUCID SPECIAL CHAPTER [RENJUN VER.]

Iridescent - a reflection of luminous colors that changes when perceived at different angles. 

A/N: After almost a year of updating Lucid with Jaemin’s special chapter, I finally had the time and inspiration to write Renjun’s version. It has been a while since Lucid ended, but consider this a little gift from me for those who still remember the story. Note that this is is connected to my 00′ line series here so it will not make sense if this is read as a standalone. Renjun is also aged up in this chapter (27 yrs. old) since this is set in the future. I reserve all the rights to this work and I also do not claim any likenesses between the actual person and the character in this story. 

Read here for: LUCID SERIES | JENO’s VERSION | JAEMIN’s VERSION | HAECHAN's VERSION

“AND FINALLY, AFTER RUNNING FOR SO LONG, THEY FOUND A PLACE TO REST.”

“Miss? We apologize for keeping you waiting. You can meet the kids now if you are ready.”

You tore your eyes away from the painting you have been staring at to give the elderly woman by the door a kind smile. The pale glow of the winter sun bounced against the white walls of the small room you are in, illuminating the gold-framed artwork that was taking the center wall of the office. When you were first ushered into the school, you weren’t expecting to be welcomed to the principal’s office while the rest of your documents were being filed. Nevertheless, your initial nervousness was eased the moment your eyes set on the said centerpiece which was currently being kissed by the soft gentle light from the open window. You definitely needed it, especially with the usual jitters that comes with starting your first day on your new job.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I wasn’t waiting for a long time,” you answered politely as you picked yourself up from your seat and reached out for your purse. The lady, who you assumed was the principal herself, gave you a kind, curious look before stepping further into the room. 

“Do you like the painting?”

You blinked at her, smile still frozen on your lips at her unexpected question. She gave you a knowing look before nodding towards the artwork.

“You were staring really hard at it,” she observed, causing your cheeks to heat up a little under her gaze. You cleared your throat softly but finally gave a small nod as you adjusted the strap of your bag on your shoulder.

“It’s very beautiful. I don’t know anything about art at all, but I think it’s amazing. It’s somehow calming to me,” you said as you glanced at the piece again. As you did, a cloud shifted outside, showering it with better light. The change in illumination seemed to make it glow and you saw details on it that you haven’t noticed before.

It was a very simple art piece—a view of a room with a wide window that opens to a snow-capped landscape outside. The main subject of it, however, was a girl overlooking the view, her gentle back on the viewer. You can't fully explain it, but her stance seemed lonely yet hopeful at the same time, like she was waiting for something... or someone. She felt familiar… almost like a dream you’ve seen before. 

“The head of the school is the artist behind it,” the woman shared behind you. The information made you look at her in mild shock.

“The Head? I thought you are…” 

“Oh, I am the Principal, but the school is owned and managed by someone else. This is his office.”

You quietly processed that. When you first saw the job post for a literature teacher here, your interest was immediately captured by the description of the place. After years of working for a larger academy, you decided to look for a job that is more peaceful to say the least. Raven Oaks is a smaller, private academy that also doubles as an orphanage housing abandoned and abused children in need. It was a fairly new school, too, and so you thought it was the perfect opportunity for you to go back to a life of teaching that is quieter but meaningful still.

Honestly, you didn’t expect you would even get a call back after taking your chances.

“I didn’t expect the school owner to be a talented painter,” you said now, mumbling more to yourself as you looked over the artwork again. “I would have thought it would be mentioned in your academy portfolio if he is this good.” 

“Ah, our founder is a very private person. I’m usually the one he asks to do all the public appearances, if you may have noticed in our profile. Sometimes, I even question it myself to be honest. What can an old woman like me do, right? But he is a very trusting man who has also saved a lot of kids, and so I thought I want to do whatever I can to help him out.”

You nodded slowly. “It is amazing. I have read some stories and I… felt inspired by them. It was honestly the reason why I decided to apply here.”

“And now you’re going to be a part of that help, too,” the woman said as she reached over to give your shoulder a squeeze. “Now, do you want to maybe meet some of the kids? They have their craft classes this morning. We have an amazing art program as part of our therapy sessions.”

At that, your smile warmed and you gave a nod. You shot one last look at the painting behind you before finally taking a step towards the door to follow the other. 

“Yes, I am. I can’t wait to learn more about everyone.” 

*******

“I think blue will look best if you use it on your drawing.”

You watched contently as the little boy took the tube of paint that you offered him from the supply box on the table. After the principal escorted you to the art room, you were tasked to observe the class which is currently in the middle of a mini painting session. The children were currently unsupervised because the teacher had to step out, so you temporarily took it upon yourself to watch over them yourself to help around. The child stared at the paint in his hands now before finally glancing at you with his big brown eyes. 

“Do we have yellow?”

“Oh, do you want yellow? Let me see if we have it here,” you said as you immediately sifted through the other tubes in the box. In your peripheral vision, you saw the kid sit on the small stool across from you to patiently wait.

“Are you a new teacher, Miss Mam?” 

You quickly looked at the boy and gave him a small smile. He looks no older than seven, with black hair that almost falls to his eyes. For some reason, the image of him looking at you so honestly with a curious gaze made a familiar but distant feeling throb fleetingly in your chest. 

“Yes, I am. I am going to teach literature here. Do you like that subject?” 

The boy’s eyes sparkled as he gave a small, shy nod. 

“Yes. I like books. They read us a lot of stories before we go to bed.”

“Oh, really? I promise we will read a lot of amazing books then. Do you have other classes here that you love?”

At that question, the child tucked his head down a little bit, like he was all of a sudden shy. You looked on curiously as he turned his head left and right to make sure that nobody is listening before he leaned over to whisper to you. 

“I really really like art class. I think Mr. Huang is super cool.” 

His words immediately made your hand freeze.  Smile dropping a little, you fought back the deluge of emotions that rushed to the surface of your consciousness at the mere sound of the name. It has been five years since you’ve last connected it with a face so hearing it now almost felt like a dream. You felt a dull throb from deep in your chest, and all of a sudden, you were brought back again to the days you’ve tried so hard to leave behind.

It felt like one of the longest winters of your life. You remember Jaehyun describing the whole thing as a nightmare, one that the pair of you tried so hard to survive. You remember waking up with no memories, and the brutal days that followed as you tried to put back the splintered pieces of yourself that your own mind was trying to shield you from. It was a long fight, one that left you with more wounds the more that you know. In the end, it wasn’t only you who was left scathed by the whole debacle, and you and Jaehyun finally decided to part ways as you tried to find yourself. 

It's been five years since then. Five years after and you’re still here, trying to do the same. 

Five years in, and the mention of a mere name still shatters what you’ve at least managed to fix. 

“Mr. Huang… Is he your teacher?”

The boy gave an excited nod. 

“Yes. He helps us a lot with our projects.”

Unconsciously, your fingers wrapped around the cold feel of the paint container in your palm. A part of you told you stop asking questions, but your lips have a mind of their own.

“Has he been teaching here for a long time?”

“Mm. I think so. He’s really nice. He also sometimes reads us stories.”

You could almost hear your blood rushing to your ears. It can’t be… After so long, it is too much of a coincidence to have the last person you’re expecting suddenly show up in your life.

“Would you… probably know what his first name is?”

“There’s no yellow in that box. Here’s a new one if you want it, Jiwon.”

The sound of a new voice from behind you immediately made your heart stop. Before you even had the chance to turn around, you saw a hand reach out to offer a paint tube to the boy. The latter took it happily, his face immediately brightening as he smiled at the person behind you. Your eyes, however, remained pasted on the gentle, long fingers in front of you… 

And the faint birth mark on his pale skin. 

When he stepped beside you, you felt your world freeze. The colors, the sound, even the air stilled. The only sound left was your own voice, saying the last name you wished Jiwon wouldn’t say in answer to your question. 

“Renjun.”

*******

It was like standing in the middle of a spiraling vacuum. 

You know the world is still spinning on its axis, but in that moment, nothing else mattered to you other than the vision of him and the space he was taking in your universe. He wasn’t looking at you, his eyes set on the boy, and yet even the lack of contact managed to take away the last breath of air in your lungs. When you saw  him smile, the stillness inside of you cracked, like a mirror finally breaking into a million pieces. 

“Sorry it took me too long to get the new supplies. Have you been working well?” 

Jiwon gave a proud nod. “Miss Teacher was helping us while you were gone. But can we have a break now, Mr. Huang? We want to eat snacks."

Renjun laughed softly as he reached out to ruffle the boy's hair. He sounded beautiful… gentle… and yet the sound made you internally flinch as it dragged you back to the rare nights years ago when he would let his walls down around you, his laughter just as soft as he kissed your skin. The memories were so stark that you actually had to take a step back from him to keep yourself from suffocating. You thought you saw him turn his head towards you at your movement, but by the time you looked at him, he was once again focused on Jiwon. 

"Sure. But only for a few minutes, okay? Why don't you bring your friends outside? You can play in the courtyard for a little bit."

The suggestion made the boy’s smile almost split his cheeks. 

"Yey! Thank you, Sir!"

The child gave a quick whoop of excitement before skipping towards his classmates. Numbly, you watched as the rest of the kids scrambled out of their seats as soon as he shared the news of playtime. It was the sound of the door closing that finally pinned you back to the present moment, your heartbeat picking up again as you realized the spot you were left in. 

The silence was so heavy you could almost feel the pressure on your head. All of a sudden, the spacious airy room became too small and you were fighting once again for your breath. You didn't realize that one of your hands resting on the edge of the table had started slightly shaking as you tried to keep yourself from losing your balance.

"Sit down... You need to relax or you'll black out." 

The gentleness of his voice pulled your eyes towards him again before you even had the mind to stop yourself. It was a bad move, because the moment you did, you felt something unravel inside of you. He still wasn't looking at you, but this time, you could see him much better, as if he was the only one you could focus on. 

He had definitely changed. The years have let him grow so much more into his features, the once boyish curves of his face now sharper and more defined. Even the set of his shoulders and the way he stood is different now, his stance steady and sure against the light streaming from the window. Despite that, there was still a gentleness that still remains on the way he carries himself and his eyes still hold the softness that he used to only reserve for you back in the days. 

Honestly, you wished they didn’t anymore.

"What are you doing here?"

Your voice came off so weak that it was surprising he still heard you. He briefly stopped from fixing the paints in front of him before he slowly, finally lifted his gaze to meet yours. When your eyes finally met, you felt torn between running towards him and running away from him. From the way the emotions in his face flickered, you could tell he feels the same. 

"I teach here."

It was the most sensible answer to your question, but for some reason, it was not enough to calm all the emotions consuming you piece by piece at the moment. You wanted to ask a million things, but you didn't know where to start.

Where have you been? 

What happened on the days after I lost my memory?

Where did you and your brothers go? 

Why... did you leave me? 

Renjun looked at you quietly, his eyes shadowed by a look that seemed so familiar yet so distant at the same time. For some reason, you knew that he could see right through you without you needing to say a single word. It has always been like that between the two of you. He has always kept to himself, but his answers are always clearly heard in his silence. 

"What… are you doing here?" You asked again, slowly this time. Renjun tightened his jaw before shifting his gaze, knowing full well the difference in your question despite using the same words.

"I wanted to see you." 

"Why now? Why just now?" 

The tightness in your voice was so raw that for a second, his mask almost broke down. You pushed on, not wanting to give him a chance to try and run away again. 

"I looked for you. For all of you. I looked everywhere and couldn't find a single trace of your family," you said, feeling the words start to bubble up from your chest. "I thought—I thought I was going crazy. It was so painful when I couldn't remember anything, and when I did," you paused, finding the need to compose yourself. 

"When I did, all of you were already gone." 

He kept quiet, though you can already see the strain that he was trying so hard to hold back beneath his front. You wished he would reach out to you, or that you could have the courage to do it yourself, but you felt so breakable at the moment and you doubt he is any different. 

"Renjun—"

"You weren't supposed to see any of us again," he finally said before you could let out another word. "None of us were good for you so we had to disappear from your life. I—," he paused, his Adam's apple bobbing. 

"I had to go before I can hurt you even more."

You looked at him silently, torn between the emotions that were pulling you into different directions all at the same time. You would be lying if you say you haven't wished for this moment to come or how you've rehashed again and again in your head what you've wanted to say to any of them in years. You were angry. Hurt. Lonely. He and his family ruined your life and stole your peace, then left you hanging. You hate how things turned out to be... but most of all you loathe yourself for not being to hate them. Him. 

"If I can, I would have let you go if that's what's really going to make you happy…" 

You internally flinched as the last words he said that day came rushing to your memories. It sounded so clear in your head that it felt like it only happened yesterday. 

"Then why?" You asked in a whisper. "Why did you have to come back now… After so long?"

The look of pain and guilt that crossed his face was undeniable. When he glanced away, you were sure that it was a question he was also fighting with himself. 

"I wanted to just… See you," his voice, though strained, was honest and raw. "It was wrong of me, I know that. It has been so long and I just wanted to have you close again, even for just a bit." 

You let his answer sink in. Oddly, the erratic beating of your heart has started to slow down just as soon as it started, as if his admission has taken off a weight in your chest that you have been carrying for years. There was one question resting on the tip of your tongue that you needed to say, or else, you feel like he’ll slip through your fingers again. 

"Do you like me?"

Renjun paused before slowly raising his eyes to meet yours again. For a second he looked scared, but the expression slowly morphed into that of resolution as he saw the look on your face. At that moment, it truly hit you just how much he’s changed in the years that have passed. This was no longer the boy you once knew, but the man he was always meant to be. 

"No. I don't. I love you.” 

“Even after all these years."

"Even from a distance." 

The way your heart jumped to your throat left you at a loss for words. It was like the ground beneath you and everything else around you dissolved, leaving you and him pinned in a slice of time that none of you really wanted to escape. 

“It took me years to try and see you again because I know how much I've hurt you. But it's not just that," he continued, his eyes telling of the words he can't phrase. "I was broken. I thought for a time that I must only want you because of how I am, but I was wrong. If there's one thing I realized, it's that I love you… Both in my brokenness and wholeness."

"If you do, then why did you run away from me?"

"I didn't want to mess up your life anymore."

"You didn't really make it better by not being beside me for the last five years."

This time, it was him who looked taken aback. Slowly, his eyes lowered, only to rest for the first time on your vacant ring finger. 

"You were wrong… for what you and your brothers did to me…" you said, your gaze still on him as he seemed to process things. "All of you messed up my life. I did try to go back to living it, but I couldn't anymore no matter how much I tried. I didn't deserve any of it, even if none of you knew better back then. I hate what you did to me."

"But I also hate how you're not with me." 

Renjun's face was pale as his eyes remained plastered on your hand. You could almost hear the gears working in his head, but you didn't wait for him to say anything. He didn’t have to. Silently, you took a step back to put more distance between the two of you. 

"You are right. Maybe it is better for us to not cross paths again," you said as you reached out for your bag. "I'll talk to the owner of the school and the principal to retract my application. I… don't want to be in the way. It was nice seeing you again, Renjun."

You have already started walking towards the door when you suddenly felt a warm, strong hand grab yours. Turning around, you looked at him, surprised by the unexpected contact.

"You're not married?"

You had to process his question again before finally replying.

"No. My fiance and I went our separate ways years ago."

The way his eyes glazed over before darkening a little left you feeling increasingly more torn. When you tried to pull your hand away, his fingers only gently tightened around yours.

"Don't go."

"What?" 

"Don't go. The school head won't just cut your signed contract." 

"You don't know that—"

"I do. Because I won't let you." 

Your eyes widened. Slowly, the pieces started fitting in your head. The orphanage… the kids…

The painting in his office.

"You… own Raven Oaks…"

Renjun's gaze dropped to your hand that he was still holding. 

"I started it because I wanted to save other kids from what me and my brothers suffered from before. It was my way of repenting for what our family did to everyone… and to you," he said, his eyes moving upwards to roam your face. You felt your throat start to close up as you listened. 

"When I saw your file in my office, I thought I was dreaming. I was supposed to let you go… but I couldn't stop myself. I just wanted to see you again quickly before letting you live your life again free of me."

Your heart had started thundering in your chest once more. You wanted to look away from the intensity of his gaze but couldn't find it in yourself to do it. No. This time, you want to match his fire with yours. 

"And now? Did you change your mind?"

Instead of answering, Renjun fixed you with a look that made you feel like he was looking through your soul. Slowly, he pulled you in, his hold on you gentle but firm as his other hand moved to wrap around your waist. You were surprised by the fact that instead of freezing in his arms, you melted against him immediately, like you've always been meant to be there.

"Do you like me?" He asked in a low voice as he looked down on you. The way his gaze touched your face made you feel so vulnerable in front of him that you knew lies have no place in this moment. You felt open... bare... 

You were iridescent in his eyes. 

And so was he in yours. 

"I don't know…"

"Do you want to be with me?" He asked a different question, his voice softer this time. You knew he was trying to help you figure out your answer, his hand cupping your cheek gently. You didn’t even need to think twice before giving an answer.

"Yes." 

Your voice, steady and clear, made him finally smile. Renjun had changed so much, but in that moment, you can still see the boy who had loved you in the past in the only way he knew how. Your feelings for him are complicated—changing from different angles—but as he held you now, lips only a few inches from yours, there was one thing you can be sure of. 

You finally being here with him makes all the sense in the world. 

"That's fine. We have time to figure it out…” he said, giving you a smile that you’ve dreamt so many times before. You returned it, slowly and full of hope.

"Together?" 

You asked. 

"Together." 

He promised. 

*******

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[newpathwrites]

Series Masterlist Main Masterlist

There Was Only One Bed (prequel)

But the bunk was another story. You had been just a little bit terrified over the prospect of sharing a bed with a man - one you barely knew. He seemed trustworthy, but he was a man still, and you hadn’t had the greatest experience with those. But his initial insistence on not sleeping in the bunk with you set your mind at ease a bit. In fact, he seemed more terrified than you were at the idea, probably worried again about his creed. Maker, this man had trust issues.

Summary: There was only one bunk… and it turns out that makes Din exponentially more nervous than it does you…

In the early days of your partnership, you and Din get to know each other better.

Note: This can be read as a standalone. This prequel turns the “there was only one bed” trope on its aroace head - inspired by an aromantic Tumblr prompt by @aro-rambles. What do two aroace work partners do when they must share a bed? - talk all night!

We’re going back now to the beginning of their partnership where they’re still getting to know each other and aren’t thinking this will be a long-term arrangement. Maybe this conversation is the turning point… where respect and collegiality blossoms into friendship and affection.

Warnings: None.

Read on AO3

————————————————————————

The last handful of weeks had been… weird… to say the least.  But your temporary Mandalorian partner proved to be a better decision than you’d initially thought once the haze of liquor that had colored your first and only extended conversation in the cantina the night before wore off, leaving you in a state of dread over what you’d done.  The Mandalorian!?  What were you thinking?

  But Din Djarin was not at all what you imagined - certainly not the bloodthirsty, armored monster portrayed in myth… or in the rumors passed around the guild of the man himself.  Din was endlessly polite and respectful, even if unnervingly quiet at times - and while he was very good at what he did, you quickly recognized a propensity for kindness, hidden behind annoyed sighs and sarcastic quips.  A walking contradiction - but one you were beginning to understand.

  Din had been almost comically stiff and awkward when he arrived at your ship that very first morning, and you realized that the alcohol had probably loosened him up, too, when you’d both shared your troubles and planned this temporary partnership the previous evening.

  “Uhhh… We need to discuss something… I was a little… drunk… last night… I wasn’t thinking…”

  You nodded sympathetically.  “Yeah, same… What’s on your mind?”

  He hesitated, fumbling over his posture a bit before settling his hands on his hips.  “My name… I don’t usually share it… It’s just… Please don’t use it in front of others…”

  “Oh,” you started.  This was really the last thing you’d thought he’d be worried about, but what did you know of Mandalorian culture?  He’d shared his name freely yesterday, albeit while a bit inebriated.  “It’s ‘Mando’ in public.  You have my word.”

  He nodded.  “Thank you… You also understand that I can’t show my face, right?  It’s important.”

  Now this, you already knew.  Everyone knew, really, because no one had ever seen it.

  “Of course, Din.  Don’t worry - I have the utmost respect for your creed… and your weapons…”

  He paused for a second, not accustomed to people joking with him this way.  But it earned a very small chuckle - and that sure felt like an accomplishment.  

  You’d find later that the man wasn’t nearly as serious as he first seemed, delivering dry, sarcastic jokes at random in a monotone that had you guessing for a moment if he was being earnest or making fun.  Somehow that seemed very him, and you delighted in learning his various character traits - each more surprising than the last.

  And despite the anonymity and rigid adherence to his creed, it became clear that he was just a person like anyone else - a kind and respectful one, who just happened to be ridiculously skilled in fighting… but he was maybe a little bit sad and lonely, too, if you were reading him correctly.  He actually seemed to genuinely enjoy your company, and you hadn’t expected that from somebody so quiet and closed off.

  Tension around the helmet, though, remained ever present.  Clearly, trust was a difficult thing for him.  He would not eat or drink in your presence, even if you offered to turn around.  The first few times he even engaged the security system in the cockpit.  He relaxed a bit eventually, leaving the door simply shut, and one day, he even agreed to keep it slightly propped open so that you could discuss the particulars of an upcoming job, granted you faced the other way.  Okay… he just needed some time to learn to trust you…. That habit, at least, stuck, and you were beginning to really enjoy your dinner conversations, even if they focused primarily on work.  

  But the bunk was another story.  You had been just a little bit terrified over the prospect of sharing a bed with a man - one you barely knew.  He seemed trustworthy, but he was a man still, and you hadn’t had the greatest experience with those.  But his initial insistence on not sleeping in the bunk with you set your mind at ease a bit.  In fact, he seemed more terrified than you were at the idea, probably worried again about his creed.  Maker, this man had trust issues.

  “Din, people our age need sleep.  The bed is plenty big enough for two.  I swear I will not lay a hand on your helmet.  And if you’d like to take it off, we can cut all the lights, and I’ll face the wall.  I promise you that I sleep like the dead.”

  He tilted his visor then, regarding you.  “And how would you know how old I am?”

  You chuckled - he was always suspicious.  “Well, we started in the guild around the same time, so I imagine we’re around the same age… Most join in their late teens, early twenties, so...  Forty-ish?  Am I right?”

  He sighed - you got him there.  “Yeah…”

  —-----------------

  Din did sleep in the bunk.  Well, the first few nights, he nervously laid awake instead, awaiting the moment you’d try to remove his helmet.  But that moment never came, and each morning, he’d find you facing the wall as promised… So finally, about a week in, he allowed himself to fall into slumber.  It was honestly the best sleep he’d ever had - unused to a real mattress and a reliably functioning ship that didn’t alarm at him all night.

  But after a few weeks of well-rested bliss, he couldn’t help feeling that it might be nice to sleep without the helmet - and maybe fewer pieces of armor - to fully enjoy this indulgence while he had the chance.  But the idea of spending an entire night helmetless in the presence of another person, however trustworthy, was absolutely terrifying, even in this pitch black room.  He had never done such a vulnerable thing.

  Din wasn’t sure why he was so terrified.  You’d given him no reason not to trust you, and your high ethical standards were well known amongst the guild - a subject of ridicule mostly, as you lost out on lucrative jobs, but a strong point in your favor as far as Din was concerned.  And anyway, what would you have to gain from violating his creed?  Besides, you’d made it abundantly clear that you didn’t much care to sacrifice life or limb to satisfy a curiosity.  His identity was clearly safe with you.

  For Maker’s sake, he was a Mandalorian. Why would he fear this incredibly respectful and unfailingly kind person who was allowing a stranger in need to stay in their ship and sleep in their bunk?  This was probably the least terrifying thing he would ever do. Alright, he was going to do it… maybe not tonight… but soon…

  It took a few nights to fully work up the nerve, but he’d decided - tonight, it was happening. Kriff… he was nervous.  He should have had the kid teach him that meditation thing.  It felt like his heart might beat out of his chest.  But he took a deep breath and stepped into the bunk anyway, shutting the door behind him to keep out the light.

  You were already tucked in, facing the wall as always, though probably still awake.  He flipped off the night vision - pitch black… good.  Letting out a long puff of air to calm his nerves, he sat down on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots and remove his weapons before bringing his hands to each side of his helmet and pulling it off quickly, before he had a chance to overthink and stall any further.

  The panic rose immediately at the nakedness of his face, just a little, but your silhouette remained unchanged, still facing the wall, so he settled himself facing the opposite - just in case - and attempted to calm down.

  But dank farrik… he just couldn’t turn his brain off.  His breath was picking up now, audible in the otherwise silent room, and that only made his anxiety more acute.  He was just about ready to grab his helmet and put it back on his head - consider this a failed experiment.  But your voice cut through the chaos - 

  ——————————

  Holy kriff … he took the helmet off…

  As much as you wanted him to feel comfortable, you really never thought he would actually do it.  And now that he had, the sound of his unfiltered breathing just a few feet from you as he settled on the mattress, the pressure to ensure his face remained protected became very, very real.  One slip-up, and you’d destroy a man’s life… and maybe lose your own - if he was the vengeful type.

  How could you possibly sleep - knowing his bare face was literally right next to you?  You were paralyzed, afraid to move a single muscle, lest he know you were still awake.  But why?  Dank farrik, you didn’t know how to react right now - the whole thing just felt so weird.

  But then his breath picked up, accelerating every few seconds, like he was panicking.  You couldn’t let him suffer like that when he’d taken such a significant step, clearly an anxiety-producing one.  What if he gave up and put the helmet back on?  He deserved a night of sleep free of its confines.

  “Relax, Din.  You're going to give yourself a stroke.”

  He let out a long exhale, almost relieved, as your words interrupted his building panic and allowed him to turn his focus elsewhere.

  “Sorry… I’ve never slept without the helmet in another person’s presence before.  It’s a little…”. He paused, trying to think of the right word.

  “Scary?” you offered, grinning to yourself at your word choice with this formidable warrior.

  He huffed.  “Yeah… Look… Loosening the creed this way is new for me...  Just don’t be offended if I put the helmet back on… It's not because of you…”

  “I understand.  So is this an intentional thing… the loosening?”

  He hummed.  “I suppose it is.  I wouldn’t have dreamed of it a few years ago.”

  Well, that was a heavy statement.  It was also none of your business.  You barely knew the man.  But… you finally got him talking about himself… and distracted him from his anxiety… Why not learn more?  He’d certainly let you know if you were being intrusive. 

  “I don’t know much about your creed, besides hiding your identity.  Is there more to it?”  You stared at the wall nervously, afraid you’d crossed a line by asking.

  But Din was taken aback for other reasons.  It was rare that an outsider took an interest in Mandalorian culture beyond weapons and hidden faces.  That was honestly… refreshing.

  “Well, hiding my identity is the creed.  But we also live by a set of tenets - mostly about honor, supporting the tribe, protecting the innocent… things like that…”

  “That’s very noble.”  Really, that made a lot of sense.  You’d noticed through the years that the Mandalorian’s bounties tended to come back in one piece - no unnecessary brutality, unlike some of the others.  You’d even witnessed him once chastising the guild’s henchmen for being too rough when he handed a quarry over sans carbonite, which on its own was rare among bounty hunters.  “I’ve always thought you seemed to have stronger morals than some of our colleagues.”

  He was silent for a moment, swallowing the automatic suspicion that arose at your knowing statement.  “Why would you know anything of me?  We’d never spoken until recently.”

  You laughed.  “You’re a little hard to miss… Mandalorian in shining armor… Besides, we’ve been running the same circles for years.  I’m sure you’ve known of me, too.”

  Well, that was, in fact, true.  He really needed to relax with the suspicious attitude.

  “Yeah… sorry…”

  Ah, so he did know who you were.  You could play his game, too, turn the suspicion into something a bit lighter maybe…

  “And how did you know me, Din Djarin?”  Your voice was almost playful.  But his answer shocked you into a moment of stunned silence.

  He paused, unsure if he should reveal what he knew, but his inhibitions were dropping as the conversation pushed forward.  “You were practicing the same good deeds that I was - and usually beating me to it.”

  What…  A pit formed in your stomach.  How did he know? “Explain.”  Your voice was a bit tremulous - this could potentially be bad news for you.

  He sensed your tension and turned his head just slightly in your direction.  “Hey, no… Relax… I’ve never told a soul…”

  You still weren’t speaking, so he continued.   “Whenever I had enough credits, I’d try to get the pucks of… innocents… but most of the time you’d gotten to them first.  And when I’d check into it, they’d had their bounty canceled… by you, claiming they were deceased… and all traces of them would disappear…”

  You found your voice, relieved a bit by the implication that he was possibly doing the same thing… a very charitable… but very illegal… practice.  “Why did you check into it if you weren’t aiming to turn me in?”

  He answered simply, “Had to make sure you weren’t thwarting my efforts.  Turned out we were on the same side.”

  You let out the breath you’d been holding.  “Thank you… for keeping it to yourself.  I can’t believe I never realized.   Why did you do it, Din?  Because of your oath?”

  He considered for a moment.  “I was once an innocent, and the Mandalorians offered me protection… I want to pay it back to others when I can.  And guild rules be damned, I will never return a battered woman to an abusive husband… or an enslaved person to their master… It’s not right.”

  Smiling through the dark, you responded, “I’m glad to know I'm not the only one.  That's why we work so well together.”

  “Yeah, probably…” he puttered off into awkward silence.

  Oh, right - you still didn’t really know each other.  You should probably quit while you’re ahead, but you still wanted to learn more about this mysterious man… he was incredibly interesting, actually.

  You cleared your throat in preparation for another potentially touchy topic, but your curiosity was killing you.

  “Am I allowed to ask about the loosening of your creed?  Did something happen that prompted you to do that?”  He hesitated just a bit too long.  “Forget it, I’m sorry - that’s none of my business.”

  Din sighed.  “It’s a fair question.  I’ve learned that not all Mandalorians follow it, and I’m honestly just tired of hiding… and sacrificing so many normal human things.”

  “Like sleeping without a helmet?”  Your voice was softer now.

  “Yeah, like sleeping without a helmet… Thanks for… making that possible.”

  You grinned to yourself.  “Of course, Din.  We all deserve some basic comforts.”

  ——————————

  The conversation continued well into the early morning hours, revived each time a topic reached its conclusion.  Eventually, you could sense that Din was tiring of talking about himself, but it was also not in his nature to ask questions of others, being rather unskilled in socialization.  So you offered up a bit about your own life without prompting.  And finally, he got comfortable asking.

  You told each other about your home planets and the families you left behind, how you got into bounty hunting, and so forth.  When things reached a lull, he hesitantly, and almost timidly, offered, “I have a foundling.”  

  This was shocking information, but it made sense - the sadness he carried with him.  He spoke of the child with the love of a parent, and his voice became almost animated relating stories of its magic.  So this was why he’d turned on the guild not long ago - and was later reinstated by Greef Karga.  Now this complicated man’s story was coming together.

  As you both became too tired for these heavier topics, you moved on to bounty hunting escapades, sharing your most humorous and embarrassing stories, especially from your early days.  How he’d tracked his first quarry right into a brothel - a thing the sheltered nineteen year-old Mandalorian knew nothing about - and he was so shocked when a naked twilek latched on to his chest plate that he’d let the bounty get away.  Or when you’d chased a spice dealer onto a small farm and fell straight into their manure pit - and it was the bounty himself who helped you climb out, covered in animal refuse, in return for handing over his puck.  That story earned a genuine laugh from your serious companion.

  But as first light began to slip under the bunk door, you both realized you would need at least a few hours of sleep before working the next morning and reluctantly agreed to end your conversation, one of the most enjoyable you could remember.

  “Hey… uhmmm… Thanks for this… getting my mind off it… It was nice going without the helmet for awhile.”

  You smiled broadly to yourself and kicked your elbow behind you to nudge his back gently.  “You’re welcome.  It was nice getting to know you, Din.  Sleep well.”

  Despite his best efforts to keep professional distance, Din enjoyed getting to know you, too… Maybe making a friend out of this temporary partnership wouldn’t be so bad.

  ——————————

  Neither of you knew it yet, but one day you would know everything about this man.  You would love him… consider him your family… marry him.  You would know his handsome face… and his arms around you while you slept… and his mouth on yours… You would meet his foundling and love him like your own - a clan of three.  And when you were both too old to do this kind of work, you would sell your ship and settle down together on a dusty planet, partners for the rest of your days.  

  You would thank your lucky stars for a chance encounter in that dingy cantina… or was it fated, after all?

  But for now, you were content to make a new friend in this lonely galaxy - an enigmatic man who similarly had no idea the place that you would someday hold in his life… and his heart…

  —-----------------

Thanks for reading!

Next chapter

[bouncehousedemons]

Until Morning

This was created for the winter solstice event hosted by @vikingsevents for the prompt sauna.

1.5k one shot (whoopsie) below the cut. Smut. 18+. Pairing: Ubbe x Casja (OFC). Part of my Salt of the Earth and Sea series. Can be read as a standalone though.

“We are lost!” Casja declares as her and Ubbe walk through the forest.

Ubbe ignores her, his mouth set into a tight line as he continues to walk. He suspects she may be right, but isn’t prepared to admit that aloud. At least not yet anyway.

They had left their son, Ragnar, in the care of his dutiful uncle Hvitserk earlier that day, and had gone off in search of a sizeable patch of land Ubbe had claimed to have seen a few days prior. Ubbe thought that it would be suitable for farming and he wished to move their settlement further inland, to prevent attacks from the ever increasing number of explorers that were arriving by sea to the coastline. He had wanted Casja to see it, to have her approval before any decisions were made.

However, despite setting off hours ago, they had found nothing, despite Ubbe’s best efforts to retrace his steps from his initial discovery.

The sky was turning a deep orange, with vibrant hues of lilac and the air grew chilly. It would soon be dark.

“Ubbe, that is the third time we have passed that tree!” Casja complains.

“It is a forest. There are many trees.” He says simply, keeping his eyes ahead and continuing to walk.

“That tree stands in front of a cave, there are not many of those in a forest.” Casja stops walking and folds her arms over her chest. “I am not walking any further. It will be dark soon and it isn’t safe.”

Ubbe is nothing if not a rational man. He knows that Casja is right. He stops, turning to look at her. Her sea green eyes are ablaze with defiance, visible even in the rapidly darkening light of dusk. He realises he has made a grievous error in judgement, but he is a brave enough man to weather her scorn.

“We will take shelter in the cave.” He juts his chin in its direction. “We’ll return home in the morning.”

Casja scoffs, tossing her long copper curls over her shoulder and storming towards the cave. She is angry with Ubbe for getting them lost, but mostly angry with herself. She should not have put blind faith in him. She should have pointed it out hours ago when she’d begun to suspect they may have taken a wrong turn.

Ubbe watches Casja walk away with mild amusement. She is ever his hot headed temptress of the sea and he finds enjoyment in her fiery nature. Even when he shouldn’t. He takes long strides to catch her up as she reaches the mouth of the cave.

Casja comes to a stop once she’s satisfied she is far enough inside to be properly sheltered. She looks around the cave, wrinkling her nose in disgust. It is dark, it smells dank and it seems to emanate a coldness that causes her to shiver.

Ubbe watches Casja carefully. Her discomfort is evident. He is far from pleased with their predicament, but decides to take the lead in making the best of a bad situation. He removes the fur from his shoulders and lays it on the ground.

“There. Now we have something to sleep on.” His eyes hold a mischievous glint as he stares at Casja expectantly.

She sucks her teeth, fighting the natural urge to smile that Ubbe evokes in her.

“Lucky us!” She huffs sarcastically as she lays down on the makeshift bed. The ground still feels hard and lumpy beneath her and she grumbles as she attempts to get comfortable. She is thankful at least that she is shielded from the cold of the stone floor.

Ubbe lays down next to her, feeling rather put out when Casja snubs his efforts to be close to her by turning her back on him.

He sighs. “Being angry with me will not keep you warm tonight.”

“You getting us lost will not keep me warm either!” She bites back.

“Stubborn thing she is” Ubbe thinks to himself as he stares at the outline of her back in the darkness.

He wants to point out that it still not fully dark outside, that it is hours until they would usually fall asleep. But Ubbe knows better than to push her on the subject. He resigns himself to dealing with Casja’s temper in the morning and rolls onto his back, his hands clasped over his chest as he stares up into the gloomy light of the cave.

As he lays there lamenting the rumble of hunger in his stomach and the thought of the ache he will feel in his back tomorrow from having slept on the uncomfortable ground, Ubbe feels a gust of warm air against his skin. He ignores it until another much hotter blast sweeps across his face.

“Do you feel that?” He asks Casja, as he begins to stand up.

“Yes, I think it’s coming from further inside.” She says, her tone laced with curiosity.

Ubbe picks up his fur once they are both back on their feet. A silent agreement is struck between them to move further into the cave to see where the heat is coming from.

The rockface seems to narrow as they walk, the air becoming stiflingly hot. They continue their exploration until the passageway opens out again to a cavern. They see a hot spring centered in the large expanse of the earth. The highest point of the cave has eroded away, giving a full view of the sky above for the steam to escape into.

The open air setting gives them the last of the dying light to see by. The setting sun bathes everything in a deep orange glow.

Casja gasps happily, immediately beginning to undress. She can feel that the chill of the air has settled into her bones and is keen to warm herself in the warmth of the water. Ubbe eyes her appreciatively as she disrobes. Bearing his child has made her fuller at the waist and hips. She is softer than when they first met and he craves her all the more for it.

Casja feels the intensity of Ubbe’s gaze upon her and turns to him with narrowed eyes. “What are you staring at?”

Ubbe offers a small shrug. “Can a man not appreciate his wife?”

“I am not your wife.” She says curtly, before stepping into the hot spring.

It is clear that she is still angry with Ubbe. But she is right, she is not his wife. Ubbe supposes he should do something about that, she is the mother of his child after all and they have been a part of each other’s lives for years.

Casja sighs happily as she sinks into the warmth of the water, feeling her skin tingle as the hotness nibbles away at the chill of her flesh. She twists her long fiery mane of hair up and knots it to stop it from getting wet.

As Ubbe begins to undress, Casja finds her eyes drawn to him. As much as she is determined to hold onto her anger and ignore him, the magnetic pull he has on her is irresistible.

Ubbe appears to notice her eyes upon him and a smug smile tugs at his lips. He slows down his movements, taking his time to peel off each layer and draw out her anticipation.

Casja rolls her eyes but does not look away. She bites her lip as the line of runes that start from Ubbe’s hair line and trail down the length of his body are revealed to her.

Ubbe climbs into the water with Casja. An appreciative rumble vibrates through his chest as the warmth envelopes his body.

He pulls her to him. She is stiff in his arms, unyielding. He sighs.

“You cannot stay angry with me forever.”

Casja fixes him with a petulant stare, but says nothing. She is fighting hard to keep her resolve, but Ubbe’s will is too strong for hers. He is rapidly wearing her down.

Her eyes soften as Ubbe pulls her onto his lap, so she sits astride him.

“Let me make it up to you.” He says, smiling more with his eyes than his mouth.

The last of Casja’s resolves finally crumbles. She can never resist that look. She pulls Ubbe’s face to hers and kisses him hungrily.

Ubbe grips her wrist as she makes to grab between his legs.

Casja gives him a questioning look, but gasps as she feels his fingers swipe through her folds and begin to prod at her entrance.

“We have many hours until morning.” Ubbe reminds her, “First you will have these.” He punctuates his statement with a curl of his digits against her. “Then we’ll see if that sour attitude of yours has sweetened enough for you to be deserving of my cock.”

[e-b-reads]

Books of the Summer: May-Aug 2024

I'm back baby! These little blurbs at the top are usually where I put my disclaimer that these books are the ones I recommend, but not necessarily my favorites, and that particularly holds true for this summer when I consider a few that didn't make my list below: I read 20-something(!!) of the Hamish Macbeth mystery series, by M.C. Beaton, over June and July, and obviously I liked them because I just. kept going, but I also have several quibbles with them (e.g., twenty books and several years into the series, the main character is still "about 35"). I enjoyed them as something mostly brainless. Then in August, I read and very much enjoyed the Windrose Chronicles, by Barbara Hambly, a particular type of 80s portal fantasy, but in this case although my enjoyment was unalloyed, I feel like they're a rec for very specific circumstances or specific people. Anyway, thought both these series deserved some sort of honorable mention, but my official Books of the Summer are:

May

Giovanni's Room (James Baldwin): This is one of those tragedies where no one could have done anything different because of who they are as people, but even as you know what will happen from the beginning of the book, it's still worth reading to understand how. Also Baldwin is so good at writing. Not a happy book, but worth it.

June

Last Call at the Nightingale (Katharine Schellman): I'm recommending this one because it seems like I've seen (at least a few) people on the lookout for a good mystery set in the 1920s that is (queer) female-centric and not entirely trusting of cops, and this is definitely that. (Also the other book I saw being recced for that kind of thing was Dead Dead Girls, and I read it a little while ago and tbh was unimpressed with the writing.) I also read a few in another series by Schellman this summer, and I generally enjoy her mystery plots and attention to historical detail, while she also always makes sure she has a diverse cast of characters.

The Bellamy Trial (Frances Noyes Hart): A classic mystery (as in, published during the Golden Age), interesting in its trial formatting - the murder has happened, we're hearing everything in the courtroom sort of from the point of view of a pair of newspaper reporters. It's fun the way details are revealed.

July

The Ropemaker (Peter Dickinson): Did you know that Peter Dickinson was married to Robin McKinley? True power couple. I love The Ropemaker, I think I originally found my copy in a used book store with absolutely nothing to go on but the cover (it was years ago), and have read it several times. I particularly like that the main character doesn't have magic (and magic isn't entirely common in the fantasy world, though several other characters can do it), and she starts out feeling reasonably upset and left out, and then starts to realize that her own lack of magic is a particular, specific strength.

August

The Documents in the Case (Dorothy L. Sayers with Robert Eustace): I think I found this book by poking around the "Mysteries" section in a used book store, which is always a good way to find odd anthologies and Detection Club collections. This standalone mystery is, as it suggests, a collection of documents (mostly letters) meant to illuminate a mystery: handily, the son of the murdered man is collecting them and writes a little bit of analysis for us/the official to whom he is sending them, so we eventually get gaps in the story filled in. I particularly like the way that the nature of the medium means that every character is an unreliable narrator to some extent, and it takes a little reading before you can start to figure out who to trust more. I have read this a few times and always forget that it is kind of a chilling little story, in the end, but also really good!

[away-ward]

Continuation to my prev rant about michaelrikakaibanks bonus scene:

Michael telling rika in corrupt "dont look to anyone to have this" or something like that, only for pd to turn him into a cuckold 😭 i kinda feel bad for him as a character now, because i feel like pd was the one writing him like shit, he just always gets sidelined, and maybe that plays even a little part as to why we hate him so much, just like how we dislike rika. Im pretty sure, at this point it's just pd's fault in writing. They just suck as hell.

It's the fact that michael's rika's partner in everything but he always had to eat her leftovers as if he was just a sidehoe to her. I hate it! What's the whole point of corrupt then? PD could just literally made MichaelRikaKai happen and end that story there like their original plan for a reverse harem to happen in Corrupt as a standalone. This brings me back to a conversation on your blog here about Damon/Will' possibilities of happening and the answer was a big NO because no one can replace Emmy, not even damon (i sleep good at night knowing emmyks always will's priority even above damon in will's life 😌), then leads us to KaiRika's dating possibilities, and I think what you and anon said then finally happens now. Not to spook yall or anything, but Yall kinda jinxed it!!

PD wrote "possessive" men only for them to end up sharing their lovers with everyone, and worse was there was no tags of the story being a poly story like many other romance authors did. Even if this story or dynamics are experimental, they should've been mentioned way before all these happening. PD pulled the riverdale poly ending for michaelrikakaibanks, and for what? No one writes their MMCSs and FMCs worse than PD so far. And all because they favour that terrorist rapist ass hoe damon? And that self-insert, dull as a block rika? 🙄

And i hate that kai would give into rika, but not alex. Alex wanted to fuck banks, but she can't because he doesnt share banks, but why can rika have her then? Literally, no other excuse than pd being obsessed with horny taboo ass fetishes and wanting to make sure the readers know that that if there's one woman in this world that kai will be with other than banks, it's definitely rika. I never saw it this way but i feel like Kai's one of those guys that will actually marry a second wife and not admit that he likes it 🙄 how surprising, because he's the last character with a personality written like that, should be acting like this. I hate it!!!

PD's new bonus made me lose all respect to them as a writer, made me pity michael (pitying michael!?), disliking rika even more, pitying the fuck out of banks she literally cant catch a damn break, and hating kai. Idk, this series really left a bad taste in my mouth. This bonus is like an extension of that rika fight in conclave, so fucking unnecessary, and as usual, PD's just so dissapointing. What was going on through their head honestly??? I feel so angry because this means only DamonWinter and WillEmmy's love for their partners are the only legit ones in the whole series, at least, monogamously. The series were already shit with the plot and characters, now it just got worse with the dynamics. All that michael's sweet talk in corrupt and conclave to rika, and kai's assurance for banks in hideaway were ruined because of this bonus scene.

Devils Night Series at this point, is just Fall Away + Credence 2.0 + p*rnhub

When i first read nightfall, i remember MOSTLY thinking that alex/emmy and will/damon scenes were mainly WLW and MLM fetishes. Other readers kept on telling me that that wasnt all there was to it to these relationships and those sex scrnes, and while i agree to a certain extend that maybe they're not just fetishes and they could mean something more for these characters, look at what happens now? Am i not right? And lets not forget the target audience for this series is for WOMEN, ADULTGROWN WOMEN, and NOT FOR QUEER PEOPLE. So It IS mainly a big perverted fetish by now, if it wasn't then. Because if this wasn't queer sex fetish for these horny women, then what it? Everytime dmaon/will or even alex/emmy or banks/rika hookup, there will always be the other opposite sex being entertained and sometimes even get off to them, be it that the one being entertained were either DN readers, or the characters in the DN universe. We queer people cant catch a fucking break. I fucking hate itttttttttt. PD's braindead fans cant defend them anymore, pd'll never get out of these siblings & queer sex fetish allegations i fear, not like they ever cared, they'll just write worse, because "no ONe TeLls mE WHAt to WriTE" 🙄

At this point, it's really better for me to just stay away from dark romances, especially PD, because these Dark romance writers are just NOT IT. They'll never fight their allegations out of their weird ass trenches i swear. From damon's romanticised and infantilised arc, to the plot, to the characterisation, to the assault and crimes and all the unnecessary incestous plotlines between banks damon rika, and then the out of touch with reality to the point of utmost stupidity of the whole revenge thing, then the misogyny from male and EVEN female characters here, then weak men abusing women and gaslighting them, and rebranding them as women empowerment, then this. This fucking binus and THIS FUCKING QUEER PEOPLE FETISH. fuck pd honestly. Idgaf anymore someone needs to knock some sense into them. Because aside from writing all of that, the biggest problem was that pd and their hardcore friends always seem to live in a weird bubble and rebranding their ahit to look nicer as if they dont stink? Ohmygod look, pd and pendragons literally sound like the horsemen! Shocking!

Maybe DN is my first darkrom so that's why i fell so strongly about it, but ohmygod, this series is just so exhausting, and whatnot with its cult followers, especially on twitter 😭 those booktwt devils night were part time bullies too. Thank god you've never been on DN side's of booktwt KO, they're all always so mean, always namecalling people out of nowhere just because they were against assault (against assaulters!!), being bullies and horny af 24/7 over disgusting things damon do, making jokes about it too as if rika still wasn't suffering from damon's actions in conclave. It's good that you're just here minding your own business because let me tell you, booktwt is not wort it. Booktok too, but booktok is only a tad better. The amount of cringe ass accounts on twitter i've seen acting like theyre the horsemen or cowgirls, or acting as if thunder bay is their home is something else!!! Not to mention the emory hate? Banks hate? And they also come Even from big booktwt DN accounts too! I feel like this series was worth my read, only so that i know now which authors, books and fandom to avoid in the future.

I've always been familiar with stan and fandom culture, and now i'm reminded why i can never last long in it because of things like these. Apart from my interest gradually decreasing, the fandom and author experience were just trash tbh. Ngl, i always pray that your blogs wont be found out by booktwt because the amount of hate theyre (big booktwt dn accounts) gonna give us just because we dont like their favs (FOR VALID CONCERNING REASON TOO, not even petty ones). As much as i love to see your fics been read by others, i hope they only stay with the sane ones 🤞 so far dn tumblr accounts have been nothing but reactions, fics, chill and memes, so i hope it'll stay that way always, like booktwters can take their shit ass opinions to booktwt, let me have book tumblr to myself god!!! 😭

Sorry, at this point it's just useless rants, so i'm ipending this here.

That was such a mess, wasn't it. Michael's always been soft when it comes to giving Rika what she wants, and I think that's probably what he meant. He'll be possessive in the idea that no one else can keep her, but if she wants to touch and be touched, he'll let that happen too. He's still the one making the call, which is why Banks asks him for permission.

But still. I hated it.

then leads us to KaiRika's dating possibilities, and I think what you and anon said then finally happens now. Not to spook yall or anything, but Yall kinda jinxed it!!

Haha, right. I did say it could only happen if both of their partners are dead, so even I couldn’t have predicted this would surface. But again, I’m not surprised by the situation itself. There was one line in Nightfall that told me all I needed to know about how these people were going to function going forward.

"Winter will consider it cheating if she's not here, too."

Based on that alone, I figured these people would continue hooking up with each other whenever they felt the desire to do so. They have their Partner, but as long as their Partner is there/okay with what’s happening, it’s all good. My surprise was that it took more than ten years for it to happened (I thought it was happening the entire time), and that PD hadn’t dropped the notion that the sun rises and sets with Rika Fane. Not only is it still being pushed, but now it’s being pushed through Banks. That was what I was frustrated about.

PD pulled the riverdale poly ending for michaelrikakaibanks, and for what? No one writes their MMCSs and FMCs worse than PD so far.

Funnily enough, I just watched Dylan is in Trouble’s reaction to Riverdale’s first and last episode, and when he got to that scene his reaction was basically the same as mine to the bonus scene. I thought it was the perfect coincidence.

And doesn’t hate that kai would give into rika, but not alex. Alex wanted to fuck banks, but she can’t because he doesn’t share banks, but why can rika have her then?

That’s a really good point! And it got me wondering about where the line was for them. Is it just the four main couples are involved in this “sharing” or do Alex and Aydin get an invite? I imagine the girls would want Alex to join, but if their Partner needs to be there/approve, then that would include Aydin and I can’t imagine any of the guys wanting to include him. We know canon that Kai and Michael have shared before Rika, so this break down is in line with that. And the same for Damon and Will. But I can’t imagine any scenario where Damon is willing to bring in Aydin, so that means any sharing that involves Alex can only be with Willemmy, but we’ve been there, done that.

But again. What do I know. Maybe Kai and Michael are a lot more open that I think they are.

make sure the readers know that that if there's one woman in this world that kai will be with other than banks, it's definitely rika.

Again, it’s this pushing that Rika too amazing to resist, and the only reason Damon didn’t get a go is because they discovered their related. It’s irritating because it really does circumvent the idea that their partner is the one for them. It gives the idea that their partner is the one for them because Rika isn’t available (Will’s excluded from this because I don’t recall a time when he’s ever shown actual interest in Rika that way. His heart has been Emory’s since he was 14 and nothing will change that.)

made me pity Michael (pitying Michael!?)

oh the horror. I can understand why this is disturbing.

When i first read nightfall, i remember MOSTLY thinking that alex/emmy and will/damon scenes were mainly WLW and MLM fetishes.

One, I don’t know enough to argue fetish vs kink, but I know PD is queer themselves, so to me it just seemed they wrote what they would be interested in reading. If you think it’s wrong that they are anyone else are interested in that content, it’s fine, but it’s the readers responsibility not to engage. Idk, I’ve never gotten mad at an author for writing something I don’t approve of, even morally. I just avoid consuming it for my own sanity. But I know you’re not alone in this sentiment for either DN or other works, so who am I to say.

At this point, it's really better for me to just stay away from dark romances, especially PD, because these Dark romance writers are just NOT IT.

 From what you write after this, I would say, yeah you probably won’t have a good time with Dark Romance. I don’t think I’ve ever read a dark romance where the ML doesn’t to something irreprehensible and feels no need to apologize or redeem himself, or the narrative excuses it some way. Misogyny and abuse are prevalent throughout the genre, as well as sex and relationships that are outside the norm.

If DN is you’re first dark rom, then I definitely wouldn’t go deeper than this. As far as content goes, there’s so much darker stuff. But I will say for some, writing makes a big difference, so maybe you’ll find a writer you enjoy more. Again, though, if it’s the content that’s bothering you, I’d stay away.

For me personally, I don’t venture into dark roms too often. I tried a lot of the popular series when I had the KU trial, but not a lot drew me in. And I’ve already discussed what it was about DN that caught me, so I won’t go over it again. Just know it’s not for everyone and that’s fine. Find where you’re line is and stay on the side you enjoy so that you have a good time.

this series is just so exhausting, and whatnot with its cult followers, especially on twitter

DN is exhausting. From it’s plot to it’s characters, it’s not hard to understand what’s going on but trying to figure out the why takes so much effort sometimes, and it usually just goes back to “PD wanted the vibes, that’s all.” Which, okay fine, but I’m struggling to fine a reason within the context of the story and that’s where I’m getting frustrated.

I need context and good characterization. And I’m super easy to please. The characters can do just about anything, if it makes sense, and I’ll be fine.

Fortunately for me, this has been my only interaction with other fans, so it's been pretty good so far.

those booktwt devils night were part time bullies too. Thank god you've never been on DN side's of booktwt KO

Oh, I’m not worried about them. I think they’ll probably stick to their preferred socials. I used to worry that PD would find my blog, but I have no indication they’ve traveled this far away from FB, Twt, Insta, and Tiktok. Which is funny, because tumblr used to be the fandom site. It makes sense that they think Banks is the most hated in that case.

In my personal experience, it’s a lot easier to remain excited about a series if you can find people to talk to about it who are likeminded. Even if it’s a small group, it’s usually enough. I do wish more people created content for the series to share and gush over, even if it’s not what I personally want. I can also understand people who close the last page and never want to think about it again. Sometimes I feel the same way about DN.

Tumblr is a pretty chill place most of the time because you can just block people, even anons. It’s can be easy to ignore hate or avoid interacting with different sides of a fandom. I’ve never been on anything other than Insta and at this point it’s been a long time since then, so I don’t know how easy it is to cultivate your experience over there, but it’s probably why I prefer tumblr so much and never felt the need to leave or try a different site.

Anyway, you’re free to rant. I totally hear you and get where you’re coming from.

Take care, KO

[duhragonball]

About the Super Liveblog, maybe do two or three episodes per post until you get to Champa? I know it's not in-keeping with the other series, but if you're really not finding enough to talk about, it might help a little.

That won't solve anything. It's the same content, just presented in a smaller number of posts.

The problem is the show. At least GT was actively terrible. The first leg of Super just cribs from other works. What can I say about Bog and ResF that I haven't already said when I covered those in 2019?

Or, to put it a different way, the problem is that I wanted to do more Dragon Ball liveblogging, but the content available to me is just not much fun to cover. I could have chosen to do some machete cut of just the good stuff, but that wouldn't take very long. Also, I feel like this is an important way for me to sort out what "the good stuff" really was.

Also, I think it's important to keep the TV episodes separated from one another. I think it's easy to only remember the good parts of a show, and to look back on it with rose-colored glasses. People will defend the Battle of Gods arc in DBS by saying: "Hey yeah that was awesome! There was a cruise ship and they foreshadowed Ultra-Instinct and Vegeta made Takoyaki balls..." but those were three moments out of seven episodes. Once you start looking at it in those terms, you realize how watered down everything really was.

Like, with DBZ, I expected it to be that way. There's a lot of filler before the Cell Games, for example. But each episode had some standalone quality. And the multi-episode fights were the same way. Frieza vs. Goku is usually remembered as this long slog, but there's one (1) episode where Frieza tried to fight without using his hands, and one (1) episode where Goku tried a 20x Kai-o-ken, and one (1) episode where Gohan went back to try to take down Frieza by himself. They're not all good episodes, but they each stand apart for one reason or another, and I enjoyed exploring those distinctions.

I think manga chapters are a different story, though, since very little ever seems to get done in a single manga chapter. I thought Jojolion would be different, since each installment would be 40 pages long or whatever, but it still felt like I was only reading a piece of a full story. It didn't surprise me that the Vento Aureo anime was able to condense the longest manga arcs into one or two episodes.