#probably will give the rest to someone else

[la-patrona-magdalena]

Synopsis:

You always wanted your family to look at you, even just once. At least with a bit of the affection they gave to the portraits of your mother. Too bad that when they finally did, you were looking at the pages of a comic that showed the cruel future.

Inspired by the manhwa: no place for the Fake Princess

Warnings: English is not my first language, so I used a translator. Yandere content, neglect, abandonment, angst (?), allusions to death, original character (not the reader), allusions to torture. I try to keep the gender neutral,but in part there are mostly feminine pronouns. I think this would also count as slow burn. If any warnings are missing here, please let me know.

Disclaimer: This fanfic is for personal reading only. The use of this text for AI model training, data mining, commercial purposes, or any automated reproduction is strictly prohibited without the explicit consent of the author. Translation or reposting to other platforms is also strictly prohibited without the author's permission

Thank you.

You can read the fanfic in its original language (Spanish) on my AO3

Thank you so much to @seleneprince for being the beta reader and editor of the English version.

previous chapter - Next chapter

Masterlist

Chapter Four - Too Many Looks!

After several days, the Batcave was suddenly filled with laughter as several masked figures came in..

— Nothing serious, probably just some entity wanting a milkshake or something.— Stephanie removed her mask, sighing in exhaustion.

— Yeah, well. I hope that “entity” also gives me back the hours of sleep I lost over this. — Terry glanced over his shoulder at Bruce with a hint of annoyance…noticing he looked more tired than usual, even overwhelmed.

— If it was an “entity” ordering a shake, it’s probably a glitch in the Batcave dispenser’s temporal condenser, — Harper said smiling, unlike the dark-haired boy, as she ran a quick check on her gear — I’m going to download the sensors logs; if there’s another “interdimensional creature” lurking around, I don’t want it to catch me off guard.

— I’m glad everyone’s here, — Alfred arrived through the elevator, greeting the vigilantes who had just come. Most of them were removing their gear and handing in their reports, the boy in the yellow suit simply nodded to Alfred and headed straight back to the elevator.

— Master Duke, she will be staying at Tim’s apartment temporarily.

— …What? — Duke stopped in his tracks, looking at Alfred in surprise. And it wasn’t  just him. Everyone else looked equally surprised. 

Well, at least some of them.

— Who? — Terry and Harper looked confused. Most of the female members had come with them, and Barbara had been helping as Oracle. So, who were they talking about?

— Avery’s daughter. Remember her? — Luke tried to jog their memories, though he looked a bit disappointed that the two of them clearly had no idea who you were, even though he at least remembered introducing you.

Terry ran through a mental list of faces and names he’d come to know since he started visiting this universe more often. He only had a faint recollection tied to that name.

— I remember the model… she gave me cookies. — He scratched the back of his neck, feeling a bit awkward because he clearly had no clue who they were talking about.

Cassandra walked past everyone, approaching Alfred, her voice firm but tinged with sadness.

— She’s leaving? Why?

You knew Dr. Leslie already. She came at least once a month to give everyone a basic checkup, although you seemed more familiar with her than the others.

She confirmed Alfred’s diagnosis, so for a few days you were put on rest with a strict diet and, to your annoyance, it wasn’t just Tim worrying about you anymore, but Damian, and to your further consternation, Dick as well.

The doctor prescribed you two to three days of rest, but someone, you don’t remember who, (and right now it’s not your priority with everything you have to do) suggested it would be a good idea to keep you there for a week. That week would have been perfect for carrying out your plan to study the comics and gather information for phase two of your plan, but finding time alone proved almost impossible.

All week long you always had someone around you, starting with Alfred. You loved him, of course, but ever since you fainted, and knowing it was because of you skipping meals, he hasn’t taken his eyes off you.

— Young lady, if you don’t empty at least half of that plate, I’ll be forced to call Dr. Leslie to remind her of the importance of following medical instructions… again.

It was just typical Alfred worrying about you. It wouldn’t be threatening if it weren’t for the fact that you felt he wouldn’t leave your room until you ate every bite. You no longer went down to dinner in the dining room because they insisted you ate in bed. You could barely get up to go to the bathroom without someone trying to follow you or staying nearby. In theory, they had things to do, but somehow they always found a way to keep their eyes on you.

— Someone has to make sure your brain doesn’t rot while you lie around all day.

Ever since Damian arrived at the mansion, he hadn't seemed very enthusiastic about studying. You knew it took him a while to start studying and that, unlike you, he didn't study at home. Although, based on what you saw in the comics, he apparently didn't need to. You also didn't understand why he suddenly insisted on doing his homework with you around.

The comics never mentioned in detail what kind of place Damian came from, but the name “League of Assassins” and the fact that he was the way he was… told you a lot.

Damian never seemed interested in studying, so when he would come over with his books to sit beside you with the excuse of “studying together so you don’t turn dumb from resting,” it felt very odd. Although not as odd as the times he showed up with a pencil and notebook to draw—never letting you see what he was working on, but always picking moments when you weren’t moving too much. Once he even brought you new yarn and needles so “you’d have something to do” while he sketched. You ended up making a replica of Alfred The Cat with yarn and placing it next to the little crocheted Haley on your shelf.

— I… understand that you don’t want me around, but Haley can keep you company along with Titus and Alfred. You’re not going to turn down this adorable little thing, are you?

You really didn’t want Dick’s presence after he’d openly admitted to forgetting you exist, but you couldn’t do much since you couldn’t leave your room anyway. Besides, Haley wasn’t to blame for the kind of person her owner was, so you let her stay in your room… which gave Dick free rein to be there too. Each time Damian finished his time with you and went to the academy, Dick took his place. On the first day of rest he made no attempt. The hurt look you gave him must have stopped him…but only for a few days. It was barely over half a week before he tried everything to get closer. He never touched you or insisted on hugging you —you don’t know why—but his constant presence and need to talk to you was more than enough. It felt like he was forcing himself into your life.

— You knitted a Haley plush? How sweet. – It would be sweeter if he hadn’t been trying again to force conversation, sitting beside your bed and almost invading your personal space — How long have you been doing that? I also noticed you have a gymnastics book. Are you interested? — You were interested once, but you stopped after reading so many confusing lessons that sounded painful. And you're pretty sure you mentioned to him at some point that you were interested in knitting, although of course, he didn't listen. But at this point, you didn't blame him or hate him for it.

Yes, you felt betrayed and hurt by this family that you stopped calling your own since the day you fainted, yet you didn’t blame or hate them for it. They aren’t your real family—you know the painful truth of why you were never truly welcomed or treated like any other family member. So even if it did hurt, you’d never hate them.

What annoyed you was that in their eyes, you weren’t even a civilian worth keeping alive or giving minimum attention—unless something serious happened to you. Because now you had the full attention of those you once believed were your siblings, just as you wanted, but that’s not what you want now.

You’re certain they’re only waiting for you to recover to return to their daily routines. They feel guilty about your fainting, and besides, you don’t deserve this attention—Serelith does. Not you. You shouldn’t be here, with their… strange, affectionate attitude, their worried looks. Those looks weren’t meant for you, not even for a week. They weren’t yours; for a reason they never gave them to you. Those looks have always belonged to her. Not to you.

What you want, what you really want now, is to have enough time to gather what you need to live, to move to another country under another name and start over. You want them to stop trying to look at you. Their eyes don’t leave you for a second, and it bothers you more than their ignorant concern. At this point, you wouldn’t even be surprised if they took you from room to room in a wheelchair.

— You took one minute and fifteen seconds longer than usual to shower. Did something happen?

Tim hadn’t managed to keep you in his room, because as soon as he suggested it so he could monitor you constantly, Dick and Damian also demanded you stay in theirs, so you remained in your room while Tim brought his computer and a chair. He sat at your desk and worked on what you assumed was something related to his double life. You thought that, unlike the others, he’d be focused enough on that so you could do your own things in peace. It didn’t happen. Every time you tried to do something, he somehow anticipated it, dropping everything just to help you. If Tim was a nuisance during your panic attack, now he was worse after your fainting.

You didn’t have classes, even though you wanted to at least continue your knitting class. They wouldn’t let you—supposedly being in this state and doing school tasks could stress you more. Although you’d rather have a math class than be subjected to Damian’s lessons, Dick’s questions, and Tim’s concern.

– She’s eating much better, her blood levels are stable, there’s no sudden glucose drops, almost everything is fine.

– Almost? – Dick felt his heart drop to his feet when Dr. Leslie said that at the end of the week. He’d been one of the main causes of your condition; he was the one most terrified for you. If he hadn’t spoken with Bruce that day, if he’d stopped when he noticed your presence, you wouldn’t have fainted. He wasn’t even aware that you’d stopped eating. He should have stopped the conversation the moment he knew where it was going, he should have been there for you first.

– Don’t worry, her physical health is good. Her mental health…less so.

That wasn’t much comfort. Of course he was relieved about your health, but hearing the doctor’s hesitation about your mind stole any joy he felt. He could barely hide how sorry he was for what he’d caused you… Although he could see Bruce beside him looking worried too. Most might have missed it, but not him. After all, Dick had warned him.

– For the moment, she may show signs of severe anxiety. She should go to therapy to get a better diagnosis. I told you that part of the rest was to avoid the cause of stress as much as possible — didn’t you do that?

And that’s how you ended up clearing out your room to move to an apartment. 

You and Alfred are packing a few things from your room.

Just the essentials for a few weeks at Tim’s apartment: clothes and study materials.The first thing you slipped into your suitcase, once you were sure no one was watching, were the comics, hidden in a somewhat lumpy wool bag.

The final decision was yours. Dr. Leslie suggested you keep some distance for a while; she also recommended a psychologist. But honestly, you didn’t want to go. What would you say? That you’d seen a horrible destiny drawn in some comics? That you live with Gotham’s vigilantes and they left you to your fate? That you were switched at birth with another baby and your only proof is those few comic books?

Of course not, getting away from them for a few weeks was actually a better solution you thought, you'd have a respite from such a suffocating week. Alfred asked you directly, if you agreed to take some time away from this family, you could choose who to stay with.

You didn’t go with Dick because you still held resentment. And although you’d miss Alfred—and even Damian’s teasing—you were grateful not to have him with his notebook tracking you.

To you, Tim was the best option. You wouldn’t be near Bruce, and even though he’d brushed you off when the Joker struck and you’d once heard him call you “dramatic,” he’d never said anything hurtful directly. In fact, his previous indifference had hurt more.

Anyway, there were no other family members available at the moment; they left early two days before everything changed to who knows what. So you have no other options.

It was the first time you’d left Wayne Manor for anything other than shopping—and without Alfred by your side.

With your bags packed, Alfred took a couple and you grabbed the other two. Together you descended the stairs and reached the grand foyer, where the others waited: Tim and Damian glaring at each other, Dick with a downcast look… and, to your surprise, Bruce.

You’d already grown accustomed to not calling him your father.

The atmosphere felt heavy. It was the first time in days you’d seen Mr. Wayne outside of a passing glimpse in the hallways—or when you spied on him in secret. He hadn’t been around all week like the others; you weren’t even sure he’d been present during the time you were unconscious. Seeing him face-to-face after reading those pages, after learning the truth, was strange—but at least you’d spent the week resigning yourself to the fact that this man would never care for you as family… or even as a civilian.

Your real father barely appeared in the comic saga. You’d seen his face, you knew his name, but for now he didn’t seem like someone interested in his daughter. He didn’t even know you—or Serelith—existed. Though that brief glimpse in the comic might help you find him: a man with a single lock of hair falling over his brow. You wondered if he’d show you more compassion than Mr. Wayne ever would—they did seem to share one or two things in common from afar.

— How absurd. I don’t understand why she has to go with you. The manor is a better option— Damian grabbed one of your suitcases, nearly wrenching it from your hand as he stalked toward the car Alfred had prepared for you both.

— Oh, really? And who decides that—you? — Tim followed, yanking the other bag from your grasp before you could react. Their argument faded into the distance, leaving you behind with the two oldest while Alfred watched, clearly frustrated.

— Have they been like this all week, or has it been longer? — Even though Dick knew better than anyone that the two had a tense relationship, they’d set aside their differences years ago… at least enough to be in the same room without fighting.

— It’s recent, — Alfred replied, never taking his eyes off the warring teens. — Since the young lady’s episode.

— Oh, right. Tim mentioned it on a call. How bad was it? — Dick didn’t avert his gaze from the pair either, but he did glance at you out of the corner of his eye.

— Probably worse than we know. Master Tim didn’t want to leave her alone, and slept in her room that night.

The tension rose suddenly. Alfred stopped watching Damian and Tim argue in the distance. There wasn't much change in his sudden silence, just a slight tension in his fingers, gripping nothing until he spoke again, in a tone that tried to sound casual.

— All night?

— Until dawn — Alfred replied, simple and direct, but knowing full well what was causing it. —Apparently, that's what put young Damian in a bad mood. As far as I know, brothers argue about sharing toys, not custody.

Dick inhaled and exhaled. You and Mr. Wayne had witnessed everything. You don't know what he thought about it. You never knew him well enough, but what you do know is that Dick probably thought about the fact that you were very childish for staying with Tim. Not that you've heard anything from him, but the others said something similar. He probably had the same idea about you.

You wanted to leave quickly; being among them was suffocating. You were about to start walking past him, but Dick stood in front of you, blocking your way.

— If you need anything, anything at all, you can call me, I mean, call us. Okay?— He bent down to your level. He hesitated a little, but slowly placed his hand on your shoulder. It caused a slight shiver to run through your body.

—I don't have a phone. — Your answer came out colder than you intended. You knew you'd grown colder since that day. You'd noticed it unintentionally when you abruptly kicked Tim out of your class. You didn't mean to; you didn't want to be like that. You hated being like that, that's why you flushed the pills down the toilet at night. You loved laughing and running, but you just didn't have the energy these days. You hoped that distancing yourself, even with Tim around, would calm you down, like the doctor had said.

— Oh… — Dick knew you didn’t have a phone, you never had one, even so, right now I would prefer that you did have one, so as not to have an intermediary between the two of you and be just you. — …Ask Tim to call me then, don’t worry.

You just nodded. Dick stood there, staring at you as if he were imprinting your every feature into his memory. His hand felt heavier on your shoulder. You coughed a little, waiting for him to react. He did. It was just a slight movement of his eyebrows. He sighed and let go of you, moving away from you and standing up. His gaze shifted to Bruce, along with Alfred, a silent way of telling him that he should say something, also perhaps with a small hint of reprimand for having gotten them into this situation in the first place.

Bruce had remained at a distance from everyone, close enough to hear and see everything, but far enough not to be included. He doesn’t care, surely, you know that.

You don’t know, Dick and Alfred know Bruce well, they know it’s not like that.

In a few steps he was in front of you, his large figure overshadowing your much smaller one of a twelve year-old girl. He didn’t touch you,  just stared at you, which you were not able to understand.

— Have a good time — he said at last, his voice low and firm, without hesitation, with the same tone you expected from this man. — I hope that… you get better.

— Thank you — you answered, without thinking, without feeling anything. Only out of politeness. And before silence could take the room again Damian returned alone. Tim had stayed in the car waiting for you and Alfred.

Damian stood between both of you, separating your father from you, his annoyed gaze ran over you in the same way that Dick’s had before.

— It’s unnecessary for you to leave — He let out with the same dry tone that sometimes threatened to resemble Bruce’s. Deep down you wonder if Serelith would also speak that way… He extended a hand, showing you a small box, which you took with hesitation and, before you could ask him, he turned around and left.

How strange. If it weren’t because you know him you would think he went towards your room.

Still with the weird interaction in your mind, Alfred placed a hand on your back.

 — Young lady, it’s time to go.

You just nodded, letting yourself be guided to the car, sitting in the back with the box in your hand, Alfred settled in the driver’s seat next to Tim, fastened his seatbelt and started the car. Heading to Tim’s apartment, moving away from the mansion.

Bruce and Dick watched the car drive away, without moving from the entrance.

— Dick … You know what I meant by treating her as if she was dead.

— …I know.

Weeeeeeeeeell, another three weeks surviving solely thanks to Hamilton, Kpop demon hunters, and Shakira songs. I'm this close to putting this on hiatus—mainly because, like I said the first time I delayed the schedule, I like to have everything planned out before writing. And there’s one specific thing in the story that has no direction yet. It’s not important right now, but it’s bugging me a little.

On the other hand, once again I’m not totally happy with the result... But here it goes, I hope you all enjoy it at least. While we’re at it, someone on Tumblr asked if there would be a love interest. Honestly, I’m not really sure about adding one, even though the original manhwa has one. It could be useful, but I don’t know if they’d have a big role in the story. Still, I’ve been thinking a lot about it—especially after getting obsessed with a song that makes me want to base a romantic relationship around it. I have one or two people in mind, but I’d love to know if you have someone in mind or if you'd like one of the boys to shift from platonic to romantic later on. It wouldn’t change much of the plot aside from a few scenes, but suggestions are welcome! Now that I think about it, it's always a guy... but hey, if you’d rather it be a girl—or both—that’s totally valid too.

As always, thank you to everyone who leaves hearts, sweet messages, or comments about the story—you know I read them all even if I don’t reply... I think this is the first time my Tumblr note is the same as the one I posted on Ao3—well, not sure if you knew, but actually, the Ao3 chapter comes out a few hours earlier than the English one. Anyway.

Taglist (1/3)

@lettucel0ver @sirenetheblogger @mourart7 @yhin-gg @cssammyyarts @pearlyribbons @ottjhe @devils-blackrose @mindscape123 @rad4bean @cruzerforce4256 @allycat4458 @passingthroughlegume @bunbunbread @aaaashiiii @wizzerreblogs @ratterpatter @cluelessteam @kore-of-the-underworld @simpingpandas @rosy-myhouse34 @shqyou @kitkatq05 @charlenexoxo1 @astrid-ash @nisararelle @teamintwithice @bluepanda08 @k-anaru @totired0-0 @niamcarlin ​ @iwannaflyaway @overlyobsessivefangirl @mikusamsan @wishiwaswritingrn @random4137 @mallowryblog @darkmoka @starslightzz @hearts4mica @justonerandomreader @zhentheraven @lystaaae @oliviaewl @cynniee @burningkittenprince @gurllss @exactlynumberonekryptonite @jungkooks-tiny-waist

[arbitrarykiwi]

Needa Fix?

Nam-Gyu (Player 124) x DrugDealer!Fem!Reader

Summary: in desperate need of a drug fix and no money to pay for it, Nam-Gyu shows up at the pretty girl dealers house hoping she’d be kind enough to help him out.

Warnings: smut (18+) , p in v sex , oral (f receiving) , nam-gyu begging , drug use , drug dealing , withdrawal , talk about sex for drugs , spit , cum play , drugs like lots of drugs , creampie , probably more , read at your own risk

He was not particularly sure why he came here. He had other dealers that sold harder shit that would even deliver. Maybe it was the fact he knew they wouldn’t spare him a second of their day if they knew Nam-Gyu hadn’t a cent to spare. You however? The sweet lil’ dealer that was like a princess? Maybe you could help him.

Bi-weekly pay had gotten to him. Week one of his lavish expenditures had left him eating sleep for dinner on week two. He had run through his supply of drugs the other night at one of Thanos’ party and with literally no fucking money to buy the drugs he thrived on, Nam-Gyu was not well off.

He tried to get through it, he really did! But the shakes, the brain fog, the migraines, body aches and every other symptom in between have gotten worse. So that led him to walk the 3 miles to your cozy apartment in hopes that you would be kind enough to help him out.

He doesn’t remember the journey, he really just remembers coming face to face with your front door and the brightly colored door mat. Lifting a shaky arm, Nam-Gyu knocks on the door, hoping that you wouldn’t kill him for showing up unannounced at 12am.

“H-heeeyy..”

You look at the jittery man on your doorstep, hand scratching at the back of his neck and heart practically beating out of his throat, “I needa buy.” He’s the picture image of withdrawal. Sheen of sweat, jaw clenched and you can tell the way his body is locking up to try and stop the violent jitters that wrack his body.

“Nam-Gyu?!” You say adjusting your eyes to the backlit Nam-Gyu standing on your porch. It had to be at least midnight. “Fucking hell…” you groan, “I told you to text before coming here.” You’re irritated, blocking the door opening with your body. You give him a once over, eyebrows knitting together, “what the fuck happened to you.”

“Look I-I know you told me to text before I came around but I really need something right now. You always have the best shit- fuck please- I sold the rest of my shit for rent, I-I don’t have anything it’s been days-“

He’s raising his voice, desperately pleading with you to give him a moment of your day despite him turning up out of nowhere. The last thing you need is one of your neighbors getting suspicious of some odd man on your doorstep. You already have people uneasy with how many people come and leave from your house in quick intervals.

You’re groaning, reaching out and gripping his shirt, “Get the fuck in here. You’re acting a mess on my porch.” You’re practically throwing him into your house and slamming the door shut behind Nam-Gyu.

“Fuck thank you, you have no idea how much I need this- I-i mean I really did try to find something else, didn’t want to bother you- but no one fucking answered!” He’s practically pulling his hair out, hands sliding up his face to grip at his hair in a state you could only describe as anguish. You can hear how dry his throat is, each syllable coming out in a creaky broken rasp.

It’s times like these that really make you with that you didn’t deal drugs. Sure, you dealt pills, shit harder than weed- but a good dealer always tests her product and none of your product would do that to someone. Nam-Gyu was coming down off some harder shit.

You feel bad in a way, he’s not a horrible guy and seeing him like this is upsetting. He’s definitely a sarcastic asshole, but, many a time he’s been the one to actually talk to you while picking up, ask you about your day, albeit in a disinterested voice and a slight eye roll. He’d maybe compliment you here and there- he didn’t just toss you money and bolt off your porch.

Your knitted eyebrows relax themselves as you witness his state, “Jeez…‘s okay…” you mutter, trying to calm him down some. “I’ll…uhh get you somethin.” You say pointing behind you in the general direction of your product. He was in a pitiful state, sweaty and gnawing on his inner cheek so hard you’re sure he’s going to bite through his skin. You almost didn’t want to leave him like that just in the middle of your living room

You knew he normally did shit harder than what you were dealing. You were wondering why he even came to you. There had to have been someone else who would have answered. Guess that just means you’re good at your job?

Nam-Gyu watches as you shuffle off awkwardly down the hall. If he didn’t feel like his whole body was on fire he probably would have laughed at what you were wearing- a nightgown with some cutsey designs and fuzzy slippers (bunny ears included). This was who he was getting his drugs from?!

You come back with a few bags in your hands, tired eyes counting over your inventory. “I mean, I got whatever you need…” you say, trying to get this over with as fast as possible, you want to go back to bed.

Nam-Gyu nearly drops to his knees when you come back with all the drugs he could only hope to do. “Fuck yes! I- uh…y-yeah, yeah. Uhm I don’t know, fucking pills of some sort.” He’s tugging at the collar of his shirt and huffing out a shuddering breath, blown out pupils fixated on the bag of colorful pills.

You’re walking over to a chair in your living room, sitting down and popping open one of the small baggies you got, you’re dumping the pills into your hand and examining them- you’re really not sure what you want to give him (you really don’t want to give him anything but it’s not your place to deny him as his dealer if the dude was gonna pay).

You don’t realize it, but Nam-Gyu sure does. When you dump the pills into the cupped hand that’s raised over your lap, excess powder falls through the gaps of your fingers and onto your exposed thighs. He’s raising his hands back to his hair, gripping at the strands and pacing.

Blown out pupils latch onto the dust, he can only imagine the relief that would come if he just had that small amount- just the sprinkling of dust from the pills he knows are good as fuck, would help with the body shakes, the tense jaw, the racing heart and the ungodly amount of sweat, surely!

His body moves on its own accord, Nam-Gyu is dropping to his knees in your living room and crawling towards you, towards that sweet powder he needs.

Lifting your head up you just look at him, dumbly. You’re rightfully confused, this is insane. Nam-Gyu, out of all people on all fours in your living room, crawling towards you. You can’t speak, you’re just genuinely too dumbfounded, watching him come closer and closer.

It’s genuinely jarring, seeing him reduced to what he is right now, hair stuck to his face by the sweat that coats his forehead. His eyes are hollowed, ringed by dark circles that emphasize the pleading, desperate look he has in his eyes as he shakily crawls towards you.

Chin practically over your knees, you can see each breath he takes. “What the fuck are you-“ your voice dies into a surprised gasp when Nam-Gyu’s mouth drops open and his tongue lolls out, diving towards your thighs. You still don’t even realize the powder ecstasy that litters your thighs, all you can think to do is cup the pills into your fist and raise your other arm up to press your palm against his damp forehead.

He’s surprised how strong you are, you’re stiff arming him away from his goal and keeping your elbow locked, looking down at him incredulously. Nam-Gyu looks up at you from his position on the floor, on all fours, eyebrows upturned in a silent plea.

“What the fuck…” you repeat, looking down at him with a look of ‘are you fucking serious?!’.

And Nam-Gyu whines.

“Y-you’re going to fucking waste it.” He’s fighting against your hand, pushing towards your thighs and the multi colored power that dusts your skin. You finally follow his line of view, realizing how much you dropped. And he was right, you would have just dusted off the powder anyway, it was such a microscopic amount that you didn’t even pay it any mind to begin with, why would you save it?!

It’s a moment of silence, so quiet you can hear Nam-Gyu’s breath and your own. He’s not just breathing heavy though, he’s panting. Like a dog begging at your heel for a treat he’s been deprived of for far too long.

You don’t know why, but you’re slowly easing your arm up. Maybe it’s to see the lengths he would actually go to, to get his fix? Maybe it’s because you think your idea of what he was going to do was so far out of his character, he was going to do something different than what it looked like it.

Nam-Gyu is instantly pushing against you, crawling towards you and lowering his head to your thighs. He does exactly what you thought he was going to do.

You’re pulling your hand away from his forehead and you’re gripping the armrest of your chair, drawing in a sharp breath. Nam-Gyu sits up on his knees, placing large hands on your legs and ghosting his lips against your thighs. What the fuck were you even doing?! Letting this client of yours lick fucking powdered ecstasy off your bare thighs?!

But you don’t stop him.

You jump a little when you feel the warmth of his tongue lathe up your left thigh, tracing a wet line through the powder up your leg. He’s slow at first, licking one long stripe and pulling back. His mouth closes, tongue rolling around in his mouth to savor the bitter flavor of the mini dosage. The second he feels the slightest bit of a rush, he’s diving back down and running his tongue along your other thigh.

You just watch, you can’t do much else. Heart thrumming in your throat you watch as his tongue licks up and down your thighs, coating the pink muscle in the powder you weren’t even going to think twice about. Every little bit of ecstasy that begins to coarse through his veins just makes him want more. He becomes sloppy, tongue licking over spots he most certainly has been already.

Each lick eases Nam-Gyu’s symptoms little by little. It’s still not enough though. How could it be?! He is a connoisseur of drugs far harder than yours, a little powdered ecstasy isn’t going to give him the relief he needs or the high he desperately craves.

Gravity works wonders though. As he pulls away the slightest bit, trying to see if there’s any spot he’s missed, he sees what he believes to be the jackpot- the small pile of powder that has collected between your thighs. He can see it, just under the hem of that stupid pink nightgown you’re wearing.

It’s calling to him like a siren calls a sailor- he’d be going into treacherous waters to get it, he knows you well enough to know there’s a 50/50 chance you might snap his neck for even trying to get at the pile of white happiness.

Withdrawl overtakes rationality and he’s going for it. His hands tighten their grip on your knees, beginning to push them apart so he could lick along the insides of your thighs.

You jolt upright, hand flying to his hair and pulling at it, pulling his face up from your thighs. Hrs practically drooling, tongue still stuck out and fighting against your hand to get more.

“I have actual pills Nam-Gyu!” You say, rattling the pills in your hand, “quit licking at the powder like a fucking dog.” The fact he’s doing all of this for so little makes your clothes feel tighter than they are. And the way you’re speaking to him, looking down at him like he’s some freak makes his pants way tighter than he’s ever going to admit.

He seems to snap out of it a bit, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and sitting back on his heels. If he had a tail, you’re pretty sure it would be wagging. “‘M sorry.” He mumbles, wide eyes looking at you with the most desperate look you think you’ve ever seen. “I want the actual pills.” He nods frantically, hands still gripping your knees.

“Yeah…okay..” you say, finally uncurling your fist that holds the pills but not the fist that holds his hair. You try to tell yourself the wetness that’s between your thighs is from Nam-Gyu’s tongue although you know you pulled him away before he could even get up that far. You rub your eyes with your free hand, you can’t believe this is what you night turned too.

“I’ll do the normal 25 for two.” You say simply, looking down at him. You get a front row seat to the way his face falls. His eyes dart around, trying to look anywhere but at you. The sheen of sweat that lines his forehead thickens, beading faster and faster. “Y-yeah, no, yeah, of course…” he nods as best as he can given your hand still in his hair.

Looking at him a bit skeptically, you release the hold you have on his hair and look to the three pills in your hand. Not wanting to get up to get another bag you say fuck it and pop one in your mouth, holding it under your tongue and dropping the other two pills into the small baggie and zip it closed.

Nam-Gyu doesn’t even move. He could put on a whole show of getting out his wallet and looking into the empty money slot but he doesn’t. He knows he doesn’t have the money, he wouldn’t be on his knees licking off ecstasy scraps off your thighs if he had the money to pay you for drugs.

And you were smart, you’ve done this long enough and sold to Nam-Gyu for long enough to know there’s no way he’d be looking at you like a desperate puppy on his knees if he the means to pay you for the pills. But, when you look back from the bag of pills to Nam-Gyu, seeing his eyebrows upturned and bottom lip quivering like he was about to cry seeing you take the full pill so easily- not having to worry about paying some dealer- you keep the charade going.

You hold the bag up in front of his face, “you want them or not?”

He nods, reaching for the bag. You’re snatching it away, watching as he fumbles and nearly falls over trying to chase after the two measly pills. Catching himself by planting both his hands on your thighs, he’s looking back up to you and panting, the minimal high from the small dose off your thighs now dwindling. He needs more.

“Payment.”

“I-I I can pay you next time! I swear I’m good for it! W-with interest too!”

You scoff, laughing in his face, “I’m not a bank or a loan company.” Your fingers are curling over the bag of pills and pulling it away from him.

Nam-Gyu can see the way your tongue rolls the pill around in your mouth. He can see the way your pupils begin to dilate and cover your irises, he fucking needs that. He always thought you were interesting for that- you’d let it melt, slowly dissolve into your bloodstream rather chewing it like he did.

He’s frowning, realizing he’s not getting far with that proposal. His eyes dart around, hands tightening their hold on your thighs. He’s trying to think of anything!

“Let me eat you out.”

“What?!”

He’s looking directly into your eyes, desperate and completely serious. He’s shaking so hard at this point, being so close yet so far from the thing he needs most right now. Those sweet fucking pills.

“I’m good at it! I’ll- I’ll make it worth your while! However long you want!” He says, wide, wild smile on his face. Nam-Gyu sees your very obvious confusion- eyebrows scrunched and face flushed. “F-for the pills! O-of course!” He laughs nervously. Fuck, did he just fuck up his relationship with, arguably, his favorite plug??

“You’re….” Your voice trails off as you try to think of what to say or even how to say it, “You’re trying to… whore yourself out for drugs?” Nam-Gyu can feel his dick twitch in his pants when you word it like that, your words sort of slurred with the pill you keep tucked under your tongue.

You cannot believe this. Nam-Gyu reduced to a begging mess willing to sell his body for some pathetic pills. Though the thought of him eating you out makes the wet spot between your legs, that you will swear was from Nam-Gyu licking your thighs, grow wetter, you don’t want him to only do it for pills.

“Yeah.” Nam-Gyu responds simply, hands sliding up your thighs, “I don’t have money but I can give you that at least!”

You scoff, “That’s a little pathetic.”

Nam-Gyu’s eyes flutter shut, he’s drawing in a shaky breath and he’s canting his hips upwards, trying to ease the strain his pants put on his growing erection. Though he fucking loved the sound of you calling him pathetic, he knew where the idea came from. He knew what you thought and he thought it was stupid you even assumed this was only for drugs, like he wouldn’t be down to eat you out any other time.

He would. Oh, he absolutely would but the time never arose. You two lived different lives that only intersected at a small intersection. Nam-Gyu knew your life wasn’t all about drug dealing- you had a degree on your wall for fucks sake- drug dealer or not you were far better than him. Too good for him.

“F-fuck I-I’m not just saying this because I want the drugs…well I want the Fuc-fucking drugs but I wouldn’t j-just whore myself out like this to anyone!” He’s rambling, every other word cut off by a shuddering hiccup.

You raise an accusatory eyebrow, a grin now beginning to spread across your face, “so, you’d just whore yourself out to me?” You bite your lip, resolve crumbling the longer you watch him on his knees, fingertips absentmindedly digging into your thighs as his need for the high he had for a split second ago heightens once more.

Nam-Gyu’s eyes widen, realizing exactly what he said, what he was implying. His heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest, he’s so fucking hot he feels like he’s burning from the inside out. Fuck, is he going to vomit? He literally just begged you to let him eat you out for two fucking pills. What has he come to.

You can see the way his eyes literally can’t meet yours anymore, the way his breath is quickening in pace becoming short, rapid pants as he tries to think of anyway to remedy a situation only he saw as a failure.

Too out of it, too far into withdrawal and teased by the slight nirvana the minuscule amount of ecstasy he got off your thighs, he doesn’t even realize how you’ve shifted. You’re tossing the two bagged pills across the way and onto the couch of your living room and lean down.

One of your hands captures his chin, fixing your hold so your thumb is on his bottom lip and your pointer finger is hooked under his chin, forcing his gaze back to you. “Beg for it.”

His eyebrows scrunch, lip almost instinctively rolling into a defiant snarl, “huh?!”

“You want your fix right?” Nam-gyu’s breath hiccups once more as you roll your tongue in your mouth and push the bright purple pill in between your teeth, holding it there- showing him that the pill in your mouth was the one he was about to get.

“Y-yeah, I want it. F-fuck please, it’s been fucking days since I’ve been fucked up.” He’s pulling his hands off your thighs and clawing at the fabric of his pants.

You push back off the chair and slowly stand. When Nam-Gyu teeters on his knees placing a hand on the ground like he’s about to push himself up to stand with you, you strengthen your grip on his chin, putting his focus back on you. You can see the way he struggles- he’s not used to this.

“I didn’t say you could stand.”

He looks up at you, eyebrows scrunching like he’s angry- yet he doesn’t move. He’s bigger than you, he can easily overpower you and stop you at anytime but he doesn’t. He’s just keeps his chin tilted up at you and lets you continue.

“Now beg for it.” Your words are spoken through clenched teeth as you keep holding the pill to be visible.

“Y-you want me to beg for a pill, that’s..that’s been in your fucking mouth a-already?!” He shudders out, almost in a hiss if it wasn’t for his ragged breathing that just wouldn’t cease.

You’re sucking the pill back into your mouth, “You have the money to pay for a pill that hasn’t been in my mouth?”

The way you say it in such a mocking tone, the way you tilt your head ever so slightly and squint your eyes for emphasis- just rubbing in the fact he has no room to complain.

Nam-gyu opens his mouth to protest, to call you a bitch even- but that wouldn’t get him the high he desperately needs- he’s closing his mouth and pouting. He needs something, anything at this point. It’s a deep, almost engraved need that has his mind spiraling at the sanctity that even that pill, the one that was a third of the way dissolved in your mouth by now, would give him.

He’s swallowing thickly, fidgeting awkwardly on the floor in his kneeling position, “P-Please.” It’s soft, like he’s testing it out, seeing if that’s all he needs to do.

It’s not.

When he realizes that you don’t even flinch, you just continue to look down at him with a twisted grin, he lifts his hands to his hair, scratching at his scalp and moaning, it’s an exasperated, needy groan that just proves how bad he needs this small fix. His eyes are rolling back and screwing shut like he’s battling with himself (he absolutely is).

He doesn’t even get the solace of looking away to gather himself, your hold on his chin keeps him looking up at you. “F-fuck…holy shit, a-alright, fuck!” Nam-Gyu is nearly yelling now, face flushed and taking on a new sheen of sweat that begins to come back full force. “Please! I fucking need it. Y-you have no..no fucking idea!”

There it is again, the upturned eyebrows and quivering lip that makes your cunt throb in ways you didn’t think was possible. Oh, you could get used to this. Your grin widens, “You gonna text before showing up again? Like I’ve told you a thousand times before?”

He nods erratically, falling forwards placing his hands back over your thighs as he shakes his head free from the hold you had on his chin. He’s surging forward, chin resting on your stomach and hands sliding upwards from your thighs to your waist.

Now he’s pulling you closer, keeping your gaze. You could swear he’s nearly crying now, eyelashes becoming matted with the way his eyes well up in pure desperation.

“Yes- ohmygod yes! I promise! I-I’ll text you, I’ll even call when I’m 5 minutes away when I’m heading to you! I-I fuck! I’m so s-sorry I showed up out of..out of fucking nowhere I just need something! P-please! You’re…you’re the only person I could think to go to.”

It’s full on rambling now, it didn’t take much for his resolve to fully break. You honestly miss half of what he says because you can’t stop staring that the outline of his erection that strains against his pants.

You nod, hand coming to cup his cheek and push him away from you the slightest bit. Fingertips ghosting lightly over his cheek and down to his chin, holding him much how you were moments ago, you only respond with one word, “Open”

And Nam-Gyu does. His mouth drops open before the word even falls from your lips completely. Tugging him forward slightly, you’re leaning directly over him. He lolls his tongue out eagerly, he’s not dumb- he knows exactly what you’re about to do and he couldn’t be happier.

You’re bending down slightly before you purse your lips and suck your teeth. In a slow, thick, glistening trail, you’re spitting the pill onto Nam-Gyu’s tongue.

The second the pill hits his tastebuds, surrounded by the taste of your spit- something he never imagined he would ever taste- he’s practically keeling over, cock becoming painfully hard. Snapping his mouth shut, he’s chewing the pill and sighing deeply.

You pull back, dropping your hand from his chin and smiling slightly. Nam-Gyu visibly relaxes, straightening his back and rolling his neck from shoulder to shoulder with a groan as the high slowly but surely begins to take over his body. You’re backing up and sitting back down to watch the show, how his chest heaves and now sweat beads down his neck. As much as you want to not be, you’re also focused on the outline of his dick.

You’re positive he’d stand and bid you farewell. Nam-Gyu only hung around you sometimes and sure you’ve had decent conversations with the guy but it’s always been under the same pretense- Nam-Gyu stopping by to buy drugs from you. Once he got that fix, after the stunt you just pulled- you’re certain he’d be fucking gone the second he got his bearings. The erection was just a symptom of his withdrawal desperation. You did erotically spit a pill into his mouth…But he also wasn’t exactly in the right mind.

Nam-gyu leans back on his hands, tipping his head to the ceiling and letting out a soft hum, the effects beginning to wash over his body. Assuming he’s gotten what he’s wanted and getting ready to leave, you go to speak,

“I can see you out-“

“Can I still eat your pussy?”

“Oh-“ your voice cuts off into a surprised squeak as you realize you two had very different ideas. Your wide eyes look over to Nam-Gyu like you’ve misheard him, his head still tipped back and eyes still closed. “Look- I don’t feel right having you whore yourself out for some pills…I’ll just give you one for the road if it’s that bad. You don’t have to-“

“I fucking want to” he’s cutting you off. “This isn’t about the pills anymore.” Nam-Gyu is snapping his head back forward to look at you and then down to his very obvious erection.

Once again, much like the beginning of the night, you’re looking at him incredulously, like he’s not even speaking the same language as you. Now you’re the one left with your mouth hanging open trying to find something to say.

“Fuck..” Nam-Gyu says breathlessly and exasperated much like he was before- like eating you out is something he needs, “Do I have to beg for that too?! I-I will.”

He’s crawling again, dear fucking god, he might kill you at this rate. You’ve seen his man get into rages that scared you when you’ve seen him working at Club Pentagon. You know all too well he’s a ticking time bomb of an erratic nature that freaks most people out. That terrifying image is whittled down to a pathetic, desperate man that crawls to you. He’s looking at you with wide eyes as he moves back into the same position when he was licking ecstasy off your thighs.

Ringed hands splay themselves over your thighs, gripping the flesh as he kneels before you. “C’mon, fuck, please, just lemme get a taste. I c-could fucking, ohmygod, i could fucking smell you when I was licking your thighs clean.” as he rambles, he’s staring down at your lap like he could see through the bunched fabric of your night gown that hides your pussy from his view.

“I…” He scrunches his face like he’s debating on saying something and it seems like the courage his high gives him wins over whatever battle he was going through, “I fuckin’ dreamt about eating you out. W-wanna know what you sound like when I suck on your clit…” his hands are sliding up your thighs, “Y-You made the cutest little squeal this…this one time when you got tickled by your best friend when I was here to pick up a-a month ago…been thinking, fuck..” he’s squeezing your thighs as he rambles on, “been thinking about if-if you make that same sound when you cum.”

You hardly remember the time he’s talking about- you know you had your best friend staying over a while ago- maybe they had scared you and tickled your sides and he had been waiting in the living room?! You didn’t know but his words made your mind fill with too much static to even try to dig the memory up.

He takes your silence as he needs to do more. Need to beg more. Be it the increasing intensity of the high he’s feeling or just the sheer need he’s been bottling up for a fix of drugs and a fix of you, he’s rambling on without you even telling him to.

“I jerk off thinking of you! The first time I came to buy from you after Thanos sent me your number I-I fucking went home and fisted my dick raw to the thought of you giving me head.” Nam-Gyu’s blown pupils bounce around as he looks around, trying to think of anything else to plead his case like he’s talking to his old parole officer when he broke his probation.

You let him speak, shifting under his hold as he rambles. The high makes his mind spin in ways that when he’s focused on talking, begging you to let him eat you out, he doesn’t even feel the way you throw his hands off of you. Hell he doesn’t even see how you flip your nightgown up, revealing your bare pussy- his head is tipped up to the sky as he begins to list nearly everytime he’s gone home hard just become he’s come over to pick up from you.

“Nam-Gyu.”

He finally snaps his head back to your eyes and looks at you, only when your eyes drop down to your cunt- directing his gaze- does he follow.

“O-oh fucking hell.”

He’s moving forward eagerly, throwing all caution to the wind. The only idea, the only thought he has is diving tongue deep into your cunt.

“Aht!”

Your hand is flying to the top of his head and pulling at his hair, scolding him like a dog. You’re pulling him back and closing your legs, shielding his direct view of your sticky cunt. “I didn’t say you could touch.”

He looks up to you, eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip jutted out in a pout, “Wa-wait no please! I promise I’ll make it worth your while. F-fuck you have such a pretty fucking pussy.” Nam-Gyu is so fixated on the fact he’s seen your bare pussy, the fact you haven’t been wearing underwear the whole time, he’s forgetting what he’s trying to ask.

Part of Nam-Gyu is so overtly aware that he would never be in this position sober. On his knees and begging?! That wasn’t in his personality. The high of the drugs you deal, the drugs that you spit in his mouth, have completely melted any inhibition he’s had.

“You said you jerked off to me?”

The fact you don’t even address his rambling directly makes him leak pathetically, he’s nodding in response.

“Tell me about it. What did you think about?” Your voice comes out in a soft purr, legs falling open once more. With your heels tucked up on the seat you sit on and your knees falling outward, you’re spread open for him once again. Still holding him by the hair, you tighten your grip to make sure he still remembers what you said. No touching.

“I- uhh…oh fuck…” his eyes are darting around as he’s trying to think of the last time he thought about you with his hands around his cock, it’s hard to even think about something in the past when his face is level with your pussy. “Last m-month.” He pants out, eyes back on your cunt.

He’s pausing, mouth watering as he watches your hand trail down your stomach and to your inner thighs, “Go on…” you’re urging.

“I came to fucking get some weed. You- oh fuck.” Nam-Gyu chokes on his words as your hand run back upwards, sitting against your pubic bone, fingers sliding down the sides of your cunt and spreading yourself wide.

“Come on ‘Gyu, don’t tell me you haven’t seen a pussy before.”

“Not one this pretty, no.”

His response catches you off guard, no sarcastic remark, no angry glare, just the truth about what he was thinking. Something he hardly ever spoke outwardly. Nam-Gyu was closed off, everyone knew that. His inner most feelings were anyone’s guess- but right now, he seems like he’s spouting off exactly how he feels no problem.

“You- ohmygod- you were getting ready to go to the club with your friends…with the- the fuck, the VIP thing I gave you.”

“You mean the wristband?”

“Yes, fuck, the wristband. Oh my god, you’re gonna kill me.” Nam-Gyu groans, all sense of proper thinking going out the window when he watches two of your fingers pet at your clit. Light circles, barely any pressure, but with each complete circle around the pulsing bud, he watches as more of your creamy arousal leaks from your entrance. The worst part? He can’t even lick it up, you won’t let him, your other hand is still latched onto his hair, holding him an arms length away.

“You had this fucking outfit on- the black dress, the one that was far too fucking short and some heels.” Every word is an expletive at this point, “You fucking bent down to pick something up and I-I saw your fucking thong, pink with bows. And fuck your ass…I just-”

“You perv.” You scold with a teasing grin, “looking up my dress like that~” your fingers move lower, tracing around your entrance, “So then what? You went back home and fisted your cock to the thought of my thong?”

“If I say yes can I eat you out?”

“You’re so impatient. You want it that bad?” You can hear the way his breath hitches when you sink two fingers into your pussy, curling them upwards a few times. He’s fixated on how you writhe on the chair when your fingers sink deeper into you.

“Fuck yes I do…” he mumbles. He can get over how he’s actually in the position he’s in. The year or so he’s bought drugs from you he’s thought about fucking you stupid plenty of times. Nam-Gyu has fantasized about the day he actually got to see your cunt after getting to see the silhouette of it the time he just rambled on about- puffy lips hugging the frilly fabric of your thong, practically swallowing the fabric to the point of making the damn thing useless.

You slowly take your fingers from your cunt, shuddering at the feeling of your fingers dragging along your walls. Every feeling is heightened to the point of lighting up every nerve with a liquid heat that only makes your pussy leak more. You let the pill Nam-Gyu begged for melt in your mouth, you’re just as high as Nam-Gyu was now.

“Open”

You don’t have to tell Nam-Gyu twice. He’s leaning forward and grabbing your wrist with his hand, pulling your fingers towards his mouth. His lips wrap around your digits and he’s sucking, hard. His tongue is lathing in between your fingers and cleaning any sort of remnant of your juices off of your fingers.

Nam-Gyu decides then and there that your pussy might just be better than any drug he’s ever done. Even from the second-hand taste he’s getting, he’s already addicted. Who would have thought his plugs pussy could be so fucking sweet?!

You remove your fingers from his mouth slowly. Letting out a shuddering breath of your own when you see Nam-Gyu chase after your fingers the best he can. Fingers fully removed, you’re bringing the digits up between you two and admiring how they’re covered in his spit instead of your own wetness. Bringing your fingers to your own mouth, you’re wrapping your pink lips around them and moaning softly when the taste of him coats your tongue.

The high seems to hit Nam-Gyu all at once, the steady climb of the trip has reached its peak. Face level with your puffy cunt and eyes watching how you suck his spit off your fingers like you’ve thought about this exact moment before- the symptoms of his withdrawal are completely eased for the time being and forgotten about.

The symptoms of his withdrawal gone, he realizes just how depraved you’ve made him. He was on his knees licking at your thighs like a dog and begging for a pill that you’ve already sucked on. You’re withholding the cunt he’s dreamt about eating and gripping at his hair while he kneels before you- this isn’t him.

Confidence boosted and chemical courage running through his veins, you can see the shift that happens in him. Nam-Gyu’s eyes drop, becoming dark and hooded. His pout that he once wore turns into a wicked grin and his hands that he was being so nice about keeping in his lap? Oh, he’s putting them to use.

He moves quick, he’s not letting you get away now that he has you like this. He fights against your hand that holds him by his hair and loosens your grip. His hands grip at the back of your thighs, folding you in on yourself and pushing you deeper into the cushion of your chair. Nam-Gyu is lowering his face towards your cunt, so close that you can feel the tip of his nose ghost over your drenched folds.

He gives you no time to prepare, he doesn’t want you to have the opportunity to pull away and keep trying this shit you were doing. Mouth engulfing your pussy, he’s prodding his tongue into your entrance and sucking. The taste he got from your fingers? He needs more of it and straight from the source.

You’re jolting off the chair, squealing out his name and trying to close your legs around his head. It’s futile, his hands stop your legs from closing and even when he feels them begin to twitch shut- he’s pressing on your thighs harder.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Nam-Gyu huffs against your pussy. He’s looking up at you with a warning glare, blown out pupils fixated on keeping your gaze. He’s dropping open his jaw wide, laying his tongue flat and licking a devastating stripe up the entirety of your pussy. Reaching his destination, he’s flicking his tongue against your clit.

“Fucking bitch making me beg.” He’s talking to himself more than you, like he’s trying to tell himself to be mad and act as if he wasn’t turned on by being in such a pathetic situation. With every word he speaks he’s making sure his lips dance along your throbbing bud. He licks at it one more time, pulling away to examine you.

One of his hands releases your thigh, coming up to rest on your lower stomach as his thumb and pointer finger caress the sides of your clit, “You just wanted to hear me talk about jerking off to you like some fucking cock addicted slut..” he points out his eyes narrowed and his words laced with a mocking laugh-but he’s still panting, tongue practically lolled out of his mouth and licking at his lips pathetically trying to get any bit of your taste he can.

“Wanted to act all big and bad, making me beg like a dog in heat…fuck you’ve wanted this all along haven’t you?” Nam-Gyu’s eyes flick from your dripping cunt back up to you, expecting a response. You try to respond but he keeps petting at your clit making nothing but whimpers fall from your lips. He chuckles, “You nasty f-fucking bitch, you-you did want this.” He has a glint in his eye and a wicked grin.

He’s lolling his mouth open wide, dropping his tongue out of his mouth and letting a thick, warm glob of his spit pool at the tip of his tongue and drop down onto your pussy with a wet plap! Nam-Gyu is staring as his spit slowly follows the contours of your cunt, tracing over your clit and dropping lower to dribble down to pool at the edge of your quivering entrance. Fingers still playing with your throbbing clit.

“O-oh, f-fuck, Nam-Gyu~.” You pant out gripping at the fabric of your nightgown to hike it up further, eyebrows up turned in a desperate expression waiting for him to continue his ministrations. “Fuck- yes, needa hear you say my name, keep fuckin saying it- sound so pretty.” and he’s wrapping his lips around your clit once more and trying to get you to cry out his name more and more.

When you’re pressing your hips up into his face, greedily wanting more. Nam-gyu finally has the realization that the attraction was mutual, he can’t take it anymore, he’s removing his fingers from your clit and diving nose deep back into your pussy. Keeping his mouth on you, he drops both hands to shimmy out of his pants and underwear, pulling them down just enough to get his cock out.

He’s leaking at this point, as much as he’s trying to turn the tables and make you seem pathetic- the way his lower abdomen is covered in his mess, his thick cock is coated in sticky precum, more leaking out of the red and throbbing tip and adding to the mess that traces down each pulsing vein- now that’s pathetic.

You can’t pick where to look- where he’s slobbering all over your pussy, driving his tongue deep into you or where he’s frantically fisting his cock. Nam-Gyu is fucking his own hand with a vigor that has him groaning out into your sweet cunt.

“T-this is wha-what you should be dealing.” He grunts, “this pussy’s better than- oh fuck- better than any drug out there.”

“I should fuckin’ ruin you for- mmmph fuck, so good- for keepin’ this from me.” Nam-Gyu is whining against your puffy lips now, taking deep inhales of your scent like he’s trying to engrave it into his nose for days to come. “This sweet…” he’s pulling back to ogle at the mess he’s made of you before wrapping his lips around your clit and giving a harsh suck, “sweet.” Suck! “Fucking.” Suck! “Cunt.”

With a cry of his name, your head is flopping back bonelessly onto the chair. He has no real technique, his tongue feels like it’s everywhere at once and yet, it feels so fucking good. Your hand is scratching at his scalp and your hips are lifting up off the chair to grind on his face, babbling out phrases of praise and his name. Each time he hears the syllables of your name fall from your drool soaked lips, he’s fisting his cock harder.

The worst part? He won’t stop looking at you. His hooded eyes are locked on to every little reaction he drags out of you. How your breath squeaks when he tenses is tongue and flicks your clit, how your hold on his hair tightens when he sucks on your labia, and how sweet your lips look calling his name.

He’s watching you as he’s furiously stroking his cock. He’s staring while he’s dropping open his maw and giving your wide flat licks, making sure you see the way your creamy mess coats his tongue only for him to greedily swallow it down and do it again.

Nam-Gyu wants sure if it was the trip of the pill you gave him or just his pent up need for you but he cannot be satisfied. He’s thinking of every time he’s come to buy from you- your cute little self handing him some pill that was some shit Jehovah hasn’t even witnessed packed in a pink little baggie with hearts- he’s thinking of every time he’s been here and just thought about doing this exact thing- he has to make up for lost time.

“Na- oh my god- fuck!” You’re squealing and trying to shut your legs, everything he does feels so heightened- you took the same pill he did, after all!

He’s laughing into your poor cunt, dropping his cock in favor of pinning your plush thighs open. “Keep- mmm shit, so wet- keep your fucking legs open.” His voice is laced with a tone that commands your compliance, his eyes narrowing slightly like if you were to deny him of his feast he might go wild.

His thumbs dip inward, tracing the outside of your cunt before prodding their way into your weeping hole. Nam-Gyu nearly blows his load all over his own hand when he feels how tight you are, how fucking soft and warm and wet- just taking his two thumbs so easily, your cunt swallowing the digits greedily.

He needs to be inside you. He needs to feel you cum on his cock.

You’re far too gone to even get a chance to realize he’s moved, completely pulled off of you and has stood up. The mix of your high and the onslaught of his needy mouth has you blissed out beyond comprehension. He’s yanking you up off the chair and picking you up.

“F-fuckin makin- making me wait a year to fuck you….” He’s grumbling hands holding you up by your ass, fingers practically bruising you with an iron grip. He’s maneuvering you the best he can given the pants and underwear around his ankles. Your hands thread themselves in his long hair, tugging at the raven strands as you grind down on his cock that’s pressed between the two of you.

Nam-Gyu fumbles a bit as he turns around and drops himself to the couch. With you straddling his legs, hot cunt ghosting the underside of his cock, Nam-Gyu swears this is exactly how one of his wet dreams of you played out.

You’re looking down too, mouth hung open as you admire his weeping cock. He’s created such a mess of himself just by eating you out. He’s so hard you’re sure it has to hurt at this point. The tip is red and angry, leaking glob after glob of pearly pre-cum down his veiny shaft. Every so often it twitches against you, bumping against your needy clit.

“S-see what you do to me?” Nam-Gyu asks, fingers gripping harder into your ass. “Fucking leaking jus’ from eating you out.” He’s huffing, said his hands to shift your hips and grind your warm, wet cunt across his dick. “Dreamt of this…”

You’re removing your hands from his hair and placing them on his shoulders, letting soft whimpers fall from your lips anytime the thick vein on the underside of his cock drags against your clit. “Always wondered how you ride cock- mmmpf fuck- know you’d take it so well.”

He’s bucking his hips up into you as he rambles on and on about every single time he’s imagined fucking you exactly how you were now. Running his cock through your folds, coating himself in the cream that leaks from your abused pussy.

Nails digging into his shoulders you’re leaning forwards and colliding your lips with his to shut him up. It’s hot and heavy, messy with spit and tongue. Nam-Gyu is whining into your mouth, hips picking up the pace of humping against your sweet cunt. He’s never going to get over the feeling of your lips on his.

Pulling away from the kiss breathless You’re lifting yourself up the best you can with your thighs still shaking, one of your hands grabbing the base of his dick. As soon as your hand squeezes around his cock, more pre-cum oozes out and flows down over your knuckles.

“You’re rambling.” You huff against his lips, resting your forehead on his as you look down between you two. Dragging his thick cock head through your folds, you’re tucking your legs behind you. Hooking your feet over his thighs you’re slowly sinking down on him.

When Nam-Gyu realizes how you’re positioning yourself he’s sucking in a shuddering breath, fucking hell you’re going to kill him.

“I-oh fuck-“ you want to say more but you’re choked up. The second the mushroom tip is pushing into you, splitting you apart, you can’t even remember what you were going to say. The high you’re both experiencing is reaching a peak, you can feel every little bit of him in ways you never thought was possible.

Your mouth is already watering at how much the girth of his dick is gaping your walls. With a sickening, wet pop, Nam-Gyu’s cock-head sinks into you. It’s no where near all of him and yet you’re feeling the delicious dull throb between your thighs that tells you how wrecked you’re about to be.

“Oh- shit-“ he’s hissing out, gripping at your hips and preventing you from sinking down further, “g-gotta fuckin’ relax, squeezing me so tight.” You fight his hold and sink yourself down further. Nam-Gyu is falling back bonelessly on the couch, a whiney moan falling from his spit soaked lips as he feels more and more of his cock be swallowed by your hot cunt.

“‘M gonna fucking bust qu-quick” he’s whining, “wanna savor it, yeah? S-slow…or yer gonna kill me.”

“Y-you’re so biiig…” you’re whining out, one hand still guiding his cock into you the other holding up your cute little nightgown, bunching it up under your tits.

“D-don’t fucking tal- oh god- talk like that.” Nam-Gyu hisses. His voice is rugged and choked, he’s snarling trying to hold himself together- canine teeth clenched and eyes screwing shut. “You are going to make me blow my load so fucking quick.” It’s coming out in a breathless laugh, not a single one of his dreams of fucking hey could compare to the real thing.

He’s already mindless just by the way your walls were trying to suck him deeper even with his hands holding you up- your words are only making the shiver that runs up the base of his spine tighten, he feels like he can’t fucking take it.

“Mmmm, fuck, please~” you whine out, fighting against his hold and stuffing yourself with even more of his cock, “wan’ it inside…so fuckin’ bad…” you’re babbling on mindlessly, dropping your hips down. Nam-Gyu’s cock is prying your gummy walls apart, destroying your sopping pussy.

Blissed out beyond belief, Nam-Gyu lets you drop down. With a wet slap, your ass is connecting with his thighs and you can feel his heavy balls slap against your ass. The second you’re sinking all the way down you can feel his throbbing cockhead press on that sweet, sweet, spot that has you seeing stars.

“O-oh fucking hell.” Nam-Gyu gasps, head picking up off the back of the couch to look down where you connect. The way the circumference of his veiny length splits your puffy folds apart has him twitching deep inside you. Your poor pussy looks absolutely wrecked, gaped open and leaking- covering his pelvis in the sticky sheen of your wetness.

“I-I fucking dreamt about this pussy..” he’s nearly shaking, his hands on your hips are vibrating, digging into the fat of your hips. Now that he’s gotten the sweet taste of your saccharine cunt wrapped so tightly around him like a vice he never wants to pull out of. “Sooooo fucking wet….” He’s drawling on, lifting a shaking hand to put it in between you, thumbing over your clit.

You’re keeling over, falling forward so your chest is flush with his, swiveling your hips both into his touch and down on his cock. “You-hah- you fucking wanted this. Wanted me to whore myself out for- shitttt~”

You’re cutting him off by lifting yourself up then dropping back down with a wet smack! ass rippling against his thighs. When Nam-Gyu feels the tight, wet glide of your cunt up and down his cock and the fat of your ass jiggling against you, a switch is flipped.

He’s pulling both his hands away from you and shifting lower on the couch. Ringed hands come back with a vengeance, grabbing handfuls of your ass and pulling you to him. “Ri-ride me, fucking use my cock.”

With a wanton cry of his name you’re rocking your hips up and down his length. It’s devastating, sliding up and down his fat cock feels like you’re destroying your insides in the best way. “Mmpfh- shit- so, so fuckin’ good.” Nam-Gyu huffs from below you, not able to keep his eyes on one place for too long. Your face, your pretty tits bouncing in his face, your dripping cunt that’s creaming around him?! He can’t pick!!

“Nam-Gyuuu…” you huff, arms wrapping around his neck and gripping at the black hairs that sit at the nape of his neck. Your head is falling to his shoulder, nosing along his jugular.

Hearing his name fall from your mouth in the pathetic, needy cry it was he can feel his balls tighten. Everything you do makes his cock twitch deep insure you- and you can feel every fucking bit of it. “So fucking warm…” he sighs, more to himself than you. He’s positive he could completely lose himself in the ecstasy that was your tight, wet cunt.

He can hear every soft whimper and moan right neck to his ear, your breath tickling his skin. “Y-you’re so fucking deep.” You coo, your eyes fluttering shut and rolling to the back of your skull when you begin to roll your hips against him, grinding his cock deep inside you.

“Ye-yeah?” He chokes out with a breathless laugh, trying to keep any sense of composure he can. Nam-Gyu is not a virgin by any means but this secret crush, no, obsession, he’s had with you for the year you’ve been his dealer has bubbled up for so long and he had NEVER thought he would get to this point.

To him you were untouchable, so far out of his league that it was pathetic of him to even try with you. You were nothing like the sleazy bimbos he found himself hanging around during his shifts at the club. You were cunning, funny, so fucking smart that it pissed him off but yet, you were one of the largest dealers in the area with the best reviews. You were a walking fucking dream.

“You like it?” He hums, nudging your face with his cheek, you lift yourself back up with a moan, feeling his cock rock deep inside you with every minuscule movement. Leaning back a bit, you’re both looking down at how your swollen pussy is spread wide around him, puffy lips swallowing him greedily and stretched open so wide your clit is on perfect display.

Folds gaped obscenely to take in every inch he so graciously gives you, throbbing but visibly pulsating. “feeling how f-fucking deep I am…I’m ruining your poor cunt..” he gasps, mouth going slack and watering at the sight.

You whine, both at his words and the sight itself. Your dragging on hand off his shoulder and sliding it down your stomach and to your leaking pussy. Pointer and middle fingers tracing the edges of your cunt and the sides of his cock- you’re clenching when you feel with your own hands how your pussy is accommodating Nam-Gyu’s girth.

“Don’t f-fucking do that- oh my god…” Nam-Gyu chokes, he can’t even describe the things seeing you touch yourself does to him. He watches on as you trace the pads of your fingers around your clit, the sound of your wetness sloshing with each circle you make. You’re jolting against him, eyebrows upturned, biting your lip, moaning so sweetly and you’re oh so fixated on the same view. Nam-Gyu looks back up to you, sees how you’re just as wrecked about it as him he’s releasing your ass and bringing his hands up to his face.

Veiny hands drag down his face, he’s laughing in disbelief that he’s even gotten to this point, but he knows it’s inevitable…the high of those pretty colorful pill you spit into his mouth is making him feel everything 10x more.

“Yeah, I’m gonna cum quick.” It’s said like it was the conclusion of a whole conversation he had inside his head.

You look back up to him, finally, broken out of the trance you were in when you hear him, you have no time to ask him what he even meant- he’s planting his feet flat on the carpeted floor of your living room and snaking his arms around your back, caging you to him completely.

It’s an instant onslaught of rapid, depraved thrusts as Nam-Gyu pistons his hips up into your cunt. Wet squelches and slaps fill your ears and you’re digging your nails so hard into his shoulders that you’re breaking skin through the fabric of his shirt.

“O-oh! F-fuck!!!” You’re sobbing out. His cock has a down right evil curve that makes him hit your g-spot every single time. “Nam-Gyu!” You feel like you’re about to explode.

“Mhm….’s it..you take it so fuckin’ well.” He slurs, manipulating you up and down his cock like you were a fuck doll, “c-could fuckin stay in you forever.” Nam-Gyu is biting his bottom lip, turning his head to nuzzle himself into the junction of your neck and shoulder.

Hands running up and down your back, he’s trying to touch anywhere he can. Nam-Gyu can feel his cock throb, pulse after pulse he’s chasing after the orgasm that he’s been holding back since the second he got a taste of your pretty pussy.

It’s so fucking good. It’s messy, sloppy, and desperate. You can feel the bloom of your orgasm deep within your cunt. You’re sobbing out, “yesyesyes! Jus’ like that- oh my godddd” you slur, completely cockdrunk at this point. You can’t remember the last time

You were fucked like this. Your head now falling to his shoulder and your fingers tugging at his hair Nam-Gyu is letting out a low hum of approval.

This is how he needed you. Fucked dumb. Fucked dumb by him.

“Uh-huh ‘s it….jus’ take it…” he’s sushing you, the idea of you using him is out the window. He knows he’s going to be a goner for sure, he’s going to busting quick in your gooey walls, he needs to feel you cum before he does. “needa- fuck you’re so wet..” he growls, nails scratching at your back and waist, “needa feel you cream around my cock.”

He’s shifting once more, nudging you to sit back upright as hard as it was, “touch y’self f’me again…wanna watch.” He pleads, eyes trailing downwards to look at the mess you’ve both made, “Fuck you’re so messy…” another groan.

Placing one hand on his knee and leaning back, your other hand goes straight to your engorged bud, tracing frantic circles that make your pussy spasm around him. He doesn’t let up, he’s jackhammering his cock into you, your sticky wetness spraying his abdomen with every thrust.

“It-it feels so fucking good~” you sob out, the wet noises of your sloppy pussy drowns out by Nam-Gyu’s whiny moans and praises. “I-oh shit- Nam-Gyu you’re gonna make m-me cum.” You pant, your orgasm imminent at this point.

He never thought he would hear those words in person. He would have accepted the fact that what you just said was something he conjured up in a fantasy he imagined while he was fisting his cock- but no, you’re saying it. You. Are really saying it.

“Ohhhh fuck me..” Nam-Gyu groans, he can feel the way his balls tighten he’s about to cum so fucking hard, “You close?” He says running one hand up your spine to grab at the back of your neck forcing your eyes back up. Making you look at him, he has to know what a pretty face like yours looks like when you cum.

“I can- fuck mmpfh- I can feel you clenching around me.” You nod in response at his words, the only possible way you can respond. You can feel him pulse and throb inside you, his hand on your neck grabs tighter, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Gonna let me c-cum inside? Needa fill you up so bad.” He’s looking up from your messy cunt to you, giving you a look that’s akin to a pleading puppy.

“Y-yes! Please, fuck- ohmygod! Just like that!” Your words are slurred and almost impossible to decipher. You’re body is locking up it feels so fucking good. All you can do is take it, your hips moving in tiny sporadic jerking motions as you let him use you while you rub your fingers against your clit.

“Fuck you’re not real…” Nam-Gyu gasps out, nose touching yours, breath fanning your lips. “Gonna cum so- fucking shit!- gonna cum so deep in your tight cunt….” His voice is turning to a snarl, his teeth clenched and you can feel the way his nose scrunches.

“Mhm!!!” You bite your lip hard enough to draw blood nodding your head, getting closer and closer to that sweet release.

“An’ your sloppy pussy’s gonna take it all…” he punctuates his words with a particularly harsh thrust, “A-and I’m gonna….” He’s grunting, he’s so fucking close, “gonna cum in you over and over until your leaking my cum for days-“

“Cum f’me, pretty. Fuck- please…please I wanna feel it.” Thrusts now sloppy and erratic, he was so, so fucking close. Rhythmic, lewd wet slaps fill your ears, you can hear the sloshing sound your cunt makes with each drive of his cock deep into you.

“O-oh! Fuck! Yesyesyesyes!!” Words slurred and creaky, you’re meeting his thrusts with equally depraved and sloppy swivels of your hips and your fingers work harder against your clit. Your orgasm gushes out of you in a thick stream that splashes against his pelvis, cunt clamping down on his cock.

“I-oh fuck! You can squirt?!” Nam-Gyu says, somewhat pulled back into reality when he realizes somehow you just got better. Like all the lewd porn videos he’s watched, your cum is streaming out of you, splashing with every thrust he uses to prolong it. Your moans are practically squeals at this point, fingers still working against your clit fervently.

“Oh god- fuck- ‘m gonna cum- so fucking tight!” He’s growling, fingers gripping the back of your neck so tight you know you’re going to have an imprint of his hand there tomorrow. With a couple more brutal thrusts he’s slamming himself deep within you and cumming. It’s so much. Rope after rope, you can feel every gooey strand paint your insides in a warm white coating.

“‘M cuummminggg..” it’s a low, choked rasp that has your pussy clenching even harder around him. Much like he fucked you through your orgasm, you do it for him. Continuously slamming your hips down and milking his cock for all he has.

Nam-Gyu is whining, pathetic attempts at your name and praises of your pussy. Hips pathetically jerking into your cunt as he cums buckets into your cunt like a virgin who just fucked for the first time. And you just continue to fuck him- he’s in heaven. Every slide of your cum filled cunt up and down his length has Nam-Gyu vibrating with overstimulation.

He’s the one who has to stop you- adjusting his hold to your hips to still your movement. A soft whimper comes from your lips, the trip of the pill and the feeling of his cum leaking from you- already making you want to go again.

“E-easy- fucking shit- you fuckin’ milked me dry, baby- I-i needa minute…” leaning back on the couch and releasing his hold on the back of your neck, Nam-Gyu looks down at his lap.

He’s covered in a debauched mixture of his own cum and yours. He can see as it still leaks from you, creaming around his cock and adding to the milky white ring around his base.

“It’s so much…” your soft whine makes him look back to you. Face flushed, hair a mess, cute little nightgown still bunched in your hand- god you’re a dream. You pull your hand away from your clit with a jerk of your body.

“Mhm…” Nam-Gyu hums, “couldn’t help it…your pussy is crazy good.” He says teasingly with a soft laugh.

“Better than my drugs?” You question, equally as breathless, your smile matching his.

“If you were selling this pussy like you were selling drugs…..” Nam-Gyu murmurs, his thumb suddenly brushing against your cunt, tracing your swollen folds and collecting the mess between the two of you on his finger.

“Well for one I’d be upset becuase this….” He says, thumb tapping at your clit, “this pussy is priceless….” He laughs breathlessly.

You cringe at the joke and playfully slap his shoulder. Even with him still deep inside you, cock pressed up against your cervix, you banter like best friends.

“But, fuck yeah…’s better than any high I’ve ever had. And I’ve shot up designer shit in the back of Club Pentagon…” Nam-Gyu grabs your hips, shifting a bit- just trying to get more comfy on the couch. He doesn’t mean anything by it truly- his cock is so overstimulated that it hurts but he cannot bring himself to leave the warmth of your tight cunt.

When he sees how more of his cum is forced out of you, pouring out of your gaped cunt and around his cock?! Yeah…suddenly he’s ready to go again.

Taglist: @namsgyu @nuttybeans @namgyucat @g1rlonthe3internet @reilapse @yuuumeee @thanosspills @thequeenbmulan @infinetlyforgotten @gothinlove @seaweef @lov3lycosmos

((Lmk if you wanna be on my tag list or lmk if I missed ya so I can put you on the next one!))

[therogueflame]

Me Rehúso

hi lmfao,

here is my first ever joaquin torres x reader i have been wanting to write him for such a long time and lowkey knew i was never gonna get a request for him and like idk i just love him and i love danny ramirez like so much okay bye this is so long and i actually edited it before posting and me rehuso has been on repeat i dont speak a lick of spanish i did my best i love you all sm sm sm sm sm

📖 masterlist

🖊 ao3

🗒 wip list

🔥 discord server

WC: 8.0k

Summary: It was just a drink. Just catching up. Just a little too late to call it nothing.

Warnings: 18+, soft smut, sex (p in v), oral (f!recieving, bc danny joaquin is a munch) hurt/comfort, angst, yearning, exes to something, unresolved tension, literally who can resist a man in uniform especially when he looks like THAT?

Joaquin Torres x Fem!Reader

It’s been a while since you were back in D.C., long enough that the city feels both familiar and hollow. The air still clings the same way in summer, heavy and wet and full of car exhaust and carryout, and your body still remembers how to move through it without thinking. Your favorite coffee place is now a nail salon. Your old apartment has new curtains in the window. Everything’s a little different, just enough to remind you that you’re not supposed to be here.

You told yourself it was just a work trip. Nothing more. The kind of thing that comes with a company-paid hotel and a packed schedule and no time for nostalgia. In and out. A few handshakes, a few slide decks, then gone. That was the plan. But then Carla texted. Just a backyard thing, she said. Nothing fancy. Some old friends, some new ones, grill’s at six. You almost said no. You typed out the whole excuse before deleting it. Then you said sure. Maybe. Let me see how I feel.

You didn’t ask who’d be there. You didn’t have to.

Now the sun’s starting to dip and you’re still standing in front of the mirror in your hotel bathroom, brushing your fingers through your hair like it’ll make a difference. You’ve changed twice. You’re not dressed up, not really, but you still keep looking at yourself like you’re trying to find a version of you that won’t care if he shows up.

It ended quietly, the two of you. No real goodbye. Just a slow fade, a handful of unanswered texts, and too much space that neither of you tried hard enough to close. Maybe you were scared. Maybe he was. Maybe you thought you were doing him a favor. You told yourself if you let it go, he’d be free to move on. You told yourself it was kind.

But then the wrong song comes on in an Uber, or someone laughs like he used to, and the kindness feels like a lie. You still think about texting him sometimes. Just to see. Just to know.

You don’t know if he’ll be there tonight. You’re not sure what you’ll do if he is.

The Uber drops you two houses too early and you walk the rest of the way just to shake off the nerves. You tell yourself it’s because you need the steps, that you want to smell the jasmine creeping up the fences, not because your stomach’s doing that thing where it folds in on itself every time you think about seeing him again.

Carla’s backyard is already alive when you push open the side gate. Laughter spilling over the fence. A bluetooth speaker tucked into the windowsill playing something rhythmic and low. You step in and it’s like falling into an old dream—plastic cups, half-melted ice in coolers, the smoke of something charred and probably edible curling up into the trees. You recognize a few faces. You smile like it’s easy.

Carla pulls you into a hug almost immediately, smelling like sunscreen and perfume, a drink in one hand and her phone in the other. She says you look good. Says she missed you. Says she’s glad you came. She doesn’t mention Joaquin, which means she’s definitely thinking about it. You don’t ask. You just smile and say thanks and let yourself be folded into the scene.

Someone hands you a drink. Someone else asks where you’ve been hiding. You give vague answers. Keep it light. You stay by the edge of things, near the folding table with the snacks and the half-full bottle of tequila. You sip slowly and pretend you’re not listening for his voice. You’re fine. You’re just here for a little while. You’re not hoping for anything.

It’s easy to pretend when he isn’t there.

For now, you settle into the kind of easy conversation that doesn’t ask too much. You laugh when someone tells a bad joke. You flip through the playlist on your phone when the music hiccups. You don’t check the gate. You don’t look toward the street. You’re not waiting.

Except you are. Obviously you are.

You hear him before you see him.

Just a burst of conversation over the music, his voice cutting through in that same warm, slightly-too-loud way. There’s a laugh, too, familiar and unfiltered, like nothing’s changed, like he’s still the kind of person who laughs with his whole chest and doesn’t care who hears it.

Your spine locks. You don’t even think—just set your cup down and slip through the sliding door into the house like you’re looking for something, like you had any reason to be inside at all.

You find the bathroom at the end of the hall and close the door behind you, pressing your palms to the sink. The light overhead hums a little. The faucet drips once. Twice. Your reflection doesn’t look panicked, but your chest feels tight in that old way it used to, back when things were still fragile and good and you kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.

You don’t know what you thought would happen. That he wouldn’t come? That you could handle it if he did? You breathe in. Out. Again.

There’s a little window cracked above the mirror, and the sounds of the party filter in through the screen—muffled chatter, a cheer over something, the tail end of a beat you half-recognize. You think you hear his voice again, but it’s hard to tell. You don’t know what he looks like right now. You don’t know if he’s alone. You don’t know if he’s happy.

You press your fingertips to your lips. They’re dry. You should leave. You should walk out the front door and call another ride and go back to your hotel and tell Carla you weren’t feeling well. That it was nice to see everyone. That it had nothing to do with him. But you don’t.

Instead, you run cold water over your hands. You shake them off. You adjust yourself in the mirror, like that’s going to fix anything. You open the bathroom door and step back into the hallway, heartbeat loud in your ears. The house is empty, quiet in that way people’s homes get when everyone’s outside. You linger by the kitchen counter for a second, pretending to look for a napkin or something else stupid and delaying. Your hands feel weird. Too cold. Too warm. You’re not thinking, just moving.

The sliding door is half-open when you return to the backyard. You step through without looking, eyes on the ground, on the uneven concrete, on anything but what’s ahead of you. The sounds of the party rush back in all at once—music, laughter, someone yelling about overcooked burgers. You take one deep breath, steady and careful, and look up.

And he’s right there. Close. Too close. You barely register it before your shoulder brushes his chest and you jolt back a step, instinctively.

“Shit—sorry,” you say.

He blinks, startled. Then his eyes focus on you, and something flickers across his face. Recognition. Surprise. Something else behind it that you can’t name.

You haven’t seen him in six months but it still hits you like a punch how easy it is to remember everything about him in half a second. His curls are longer. He’s tanner. His shirt fits like it always did, too well. And his eyes—those eyes—are still just as warm and dangerous and annoyingly kind.

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. He beats you to it.

“Hey,” he says, soft. Careful.

There’s a plastic cup in his hand and a backwards snapback on his head and he looks so much like the last summer you spent together it makes your stomach twist.

You nod once, shallow. “Hey.”

A beat passes. Then another. He doesn’t smile like he used to.  You step aside to let him through. He steps in the same direction. You both pause.

You laugh under your breath. It’s not funny.

“Sorry,” you say again, quieter.

He just shakes his head. “You don’t have to be.”

But you are. Not just for bumping into him. For all of it. 

You move to step around him again but he doesn’t quite move and you both end up doing that dumb side-to-side shuffle that makes you want to crawl into the grass and disappear. His hand brushes your arm and he pulls it back like it burned him.

“Wow,” he says. “We’re still great at this.”

You huff out something that might be a laugh. “Some things never change.”

He nods, a little too eagerly. “Yeah. Like my ability to embarrass myself instantly.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Pretty sure that was me.”

He makes a face like he’s weighing it out. “Okay, yeah, but I leaned into it with the whole—” He gestures vaguely, reenacting the world’s worst sidestep. “You know. That.”

You almost smile. He looks the same and not the same, older in a way you can’t quite define. Tired around the edges. But his voice is still warm and clumsy in the way you remember, like every word came out just a little faster than he meant it to.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” you say finally.

“Yeah, me neither. Carla sent me like three texts with a lot of emojis. Felt like a trap but I came anyway.” He takes a sip from his cup, then adds, “Did not realize I was walking into a... potential ex reunion arc.”

You glance down at your shoes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says too quickly. “It’s cool. I mean, I— I’m cool. Are you cool? You look... like you’re doing good.”

You look up. He’s watching you too closely, but when you meet his eyes, he glances away like he got caught.

“I’m fine,” you say. “You?”

He shrugs. “Still breathing. Still bad at parties. Still get sunburned even if I wear SPF 50, which feels like a personal attack from the sun. So. Yeah. Nothing new.”

You snort, and his eyes flick back to yours like he wants to hold onto the sound.

Another beat passes. He shifts his weight. You can tell he doesn’t know whether to keep talking or bail.

“So,” he says, tilting his cup a little. “You just visiting?”

You nod. “Work thing.”

“Ah.” He nods too, like that’s a safe word. “Short trip?”

“Four days.”

“That’s... not long.”

“Nope.”

Silence again. Not cold, just full.

He taps the side of his cup. “Cool. Well. I’ll, uh—” He gestures vaguely toward the grill. “Go stand somewhere else and say more dumb things over there now.”

You nod, but don’t move.

He takes a step back, then pauses. “It’s good to see you, by the way.”

You open your mouth, but he’s already turning.

You stay where you are for a minute after he walks away, half-wondering if you imagined the whole thing. Your hand finds your drink again. The condensation soaks into your palm and gives you something to focus on. He’s good at that, still — coming in like a wave and leaving you standing in the shallows, blinking at the water in your lungs.

The party goes on. Carla brings out skewers and people cheer like she just cured a disease. The music skips to something poppy and too fast. You sink into a patch of lawn chair conversation about travel plans and bad dates, your laugh coming a beat late every time. It’s not that you’re not present. It’s just that you know exactly where he is.

You don’t look for him, not really. But your eyes still flick to the side yard when the wind shifts. You still notice when someone tosses a beer in his direction. You still feel it when he laughs again across the lawn — quieter this time, like he’s trying not to be obvious.

He doesn’t come back over, but he doesn’t stay far either. At one point, he ends up helping someone carry drinks from the kitchen and passes right behind you. You feel the shape of him before you see him, tall and warm and barely there. You don’t turn, but your skin lights up anyway.

A while later, Carla corners you with her signature third-drink grin and a plastic cup of mystery juice.

“I’m so glad you came,” she says, and it sounds a little too loaded.

You raise an eyebrow. “It’s nice. Really.”

She hums, unconvinced. “You doing okay?”

“I’m fine.”

She glances across the yard. You don’t follow her gaze.

“Right,” she says. “Well. If you’re not fine later, extra tequila’s under the table.”

Someone pulls her away before she can say anything else. You take a sip of your drink and immediately regret it. It tastes like melted candy and mistakes.

The sun sinks a little lower. The bugs start to swarm the citronella candles. There’s a soft hum of maybe-it’s-time-to-go from a few corners of the yard, but no one’s actually moving. You think about leaving. You also think about staying. You think about the way he looked at you like he didn’t know whether to smile or break. You think about that little pause before he walked away.

You don’t notice the memory at first. It just edges in under your skin, like heat from the sun you didn’t realize was still there. It’s the smell of the grill and citronella, the sound of someone laughing in a way that’s too full, too familiar, too much like then. You blink, and you’re not in Carla’s backyard anymore.

You’re back in his apartment. The lights are off except for the one over the stove, casting this soft yellow wash across the living room. It’s too warm, too quiet. The kind of quiet that’s only possible when you know someone down to their breathing.

He’s on the floor, leaning back against the couch with his legs stretched out and a bowl of half-eaten popcorn next to him. You’re stretched out behind him, sideways on the couch, one leg draped over his shoulder, the other tucked under you. He’s warm against your thigh and keeps muttering that your toes are freezing.

“You look cozy,” he said, with that dopey half-smile that made you want to hit him and kiss him at the same time.

“This is my tired hoodie.”

“You should be tired more often, then.”

He reached up and grabbed your ankle, pulling it into his lap like it belonged there. Like you belonged there.

You remember that something was playing on the tv, but not what it was. You remember his fingers absentmindedly tracing the bone of your shin while he half-watched it, more focused on whatever quiet thought was drifting through his head. You remember the shape of his knuckles, the scratch of his callus when he ran his hand along the top of your foot. You remember not needing to fill the silence.

He said, “Don’t go next weekend,” voice soft, a little joking, like it wasn’t a request.

You said, “I have to,” like it didn’t cost you anything.

He nodded. Didn’t argue. Didn’t try to guilt you or convince you or say anything dramatic. Just tilted his head back against your leg, looking up at you upside down, hair flopped over his forehead, cheeks pink from whatever he was drinking.

You said, “It’s just a trip.”

He said, “Right.”

Then he pulled your foot into his chest, pressed a kiss to your ankle like it was a habit, like it was nothing. Like he’d done it a hundred times before. But he hadn’t. That was the first time.

You remember feeling it in your throat. That awful, beautiful ache. Like if you opened your mouth, something would spill out you couldn’t take back. But you didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

Later, you’d press your face into his neck, and he’d whisper something that wasn’t quite Spanish, wasn’t quite words, and you’d fall asleep wondering if maybe it could be this easy forever. But it wasn’t.

The next weekend, you got on the plane. You told yourself it wasn’t a big deal. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. But that was the last night that felt simple. That was the last time you let him hold you without guilt.

The memory lingers longer than it should. You feel it settle like heat behind your ribs. When you blink again, you’re back at the cookout, standing off to the side while someone fiddles with the speaker and two people argue about salsa. You’ve been staring at your drink for too long.

Across the yard, Joaquin’s still perched on the edge of the deck. He’s talking to someone but not really looking at them, like his brain’s somewhere else entirely. Like maybe it’s still in that apartment too.

He glances up. Your eyes meet.  Neither of you looks away this time.

It happens gradually. The party thins out—people trickle off in twos and threes, hugging Carla goodbye, grabbing last slices of watermelon or half-frozen drinks from the cooler. The sky fades into that soft blue-gray that means the streetlights will flicker on soon. Someone starts collecting trash bags, and someone else is curled up in a chair scrolling through their phone with the dazed expression of someone who’s emotionally tapped out.

You drift toward the steps of the deck at some point without thinking. The music’s low now, something mellow. Joaquin’s nearby again, close enough to feel, but he doesn’t say anything.. Just stands beside you in a kind of companionable silence, the two of you watching someone struggle to relight a citronella candle like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

Eventually, he speaks. Quietly. “I forgot how weird parties get when they start ending.”

You hum. “Everything smells like charcoal and sweat and regret.”

“That’s the real summer scent,” he says, grinning. “Should bottle it.”

You finally look at him. His hair’s a little messier now. There’s a smudge of something—maybe dirt, maybe barbecue sauce—near the collar of his shirt. His cup’s empty. He’s rolling it between his palms like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

You tilt your head. “You always this awkward or is it just me?”

He laughs under his breath. “Oh, I’m always awkward. You’re just the one I can’t pretend around.”

You don’t answer right away. He shifts beside you, then gestures vaguely toward the house.

“You heading out soon?” he asks. “Or...?”

You shrug. “Hotel’s not far. I’ll probably order bad room service and pass out.”

“Solid plan.”

You glance at him. “You?”

He shrugs too. “Thought about going home. Then I remembered I live alone and my fridge is sad.”

You smile, tired but real. “So what’re you gonna do instead?”

He hesitates, just a second too long. Then—

“I mean... if you wanted...” He clears his throat. Starts again. “We could grab a drink or something. Like... like old friends catching up. No pressure.”

You raise an eyebrow. “At ten thirty at night?”

He scratches the back of his neck, sheepish. “The best friend catch-up hour. You know. When the truth comes out and everything tastes like cheap whiskey.”

You study him, and he looks nervous in that familiar way he used to get right before saying something too honest. You can tell he’s trying to play it off like nothing. You can also tell it isn’t nothing. You take a breath.

“I’m at the Selwyn,” you say.

He perks up, like he didn’t expect that to work. “Oh, they have a bar, right?”

You nod. “Until midnight.”

He smiles, bright and crooked. “Plenty of time for bad decisions.”

You roll your eyes. “We’re just catching up.”

“Right,” he says, bumping your shoulder gently as you both turn toward the gate. “That’s exactly what I meant.”

“I’ll drive you,” he says before you can even open the app. Like it’s nothing. Like you didn’t used to sit in his passenger seat with your bare feet on the dash, arguing over playlists and sharing fries out of a greasy paper bag. His keys are already in his hand.

You hesitate, just a second too long. “Sure,” you say.

He grins, trying to play it cool. “Besides, I cleaned my car recently. Well. I threw out the empty protein bar wrappers. Same difference.”

You follow him down the driveway. His car is exactly the same—black Honda, scuffed on the side, faintly dented from something he once swore wasn’t his fault. You slide into the passenger seat and feel your body instinctively relax into old muscle memory. The door shuts. The quiet settles in.

Then he starts the engine. And the universe laughs in your face.

The first few notes hit—clean, unmistakable, loud enough to be cruel.

Me Rehúso.

Your heart jumps into your throat. His hand freezes halfway to the volume knob. His thumb hovers like he’s going to skip it. He doesn’t. You stare out the window.

“I swear I wasn’t trying to be dramatic,” he mumbles.

You keep your voice even. “Didn’t say you were.”

The song keeps playing. You don’t speak. Neither of you move to turn it off.

That chorus hits like a sucker punch. ”Me rehúso a darte un último beso,” I refuse to give you one last kiss... The kind of lyric that would’ve made you both laugh six months ago. Now it just sits there in the air, crackling. He drums his fingers against the wheel, trying to be casual. You sit stiff in your seat and wonder if he feels it too—that pull in your chest like something snapping back into place and tearing a little as it does. You wonder if he skipped this song on purpose for weeks after you left.

By the time it fades, neither of you has said a word. But it’s louder than anything either of you could’ve said out loud. Joaquin clears his throat, glancing sideways like he wants to break the silence.

“Well,” he says, aiming for levity. “That wasn’t emotionally catastrophic or anything.”

You breathe out a quiet laugh. “Your playlist’s still ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but it slaps, unfortunately.”

You fall into silence again. This one is easier. Not light, but... familiar. Like slipping back into clothes you’d left behind, still warm from the last time you wore them. The drive isn’t long, but it feels like a hundred miles and no time at all. When he pulls into the parking lot of your hotel, he parks without asking. Turns the key. Lets the quiet settle again.

“You sure you’re up for this?” you ask, your hand on the door handle.

He shrugs. “Only panicking a little.”

You look at him. He looks at you. That same crooked grin.

“Let’s go,” you say.

He nods. “Catching up. Strictly platonic.”

“Totally.”

The Selwyn’s lobby is quiet, sleek in that generic boutique hotel way. Modern art you don’t understand on the walls. A bowl of apples no one’s touched. The bar’s tucked just off to the right, low-lit and mostly empty, a few couples nursing nightcaps and a lone businessman half-asleep over a bourbon. You lead the way without speaking.

He follows, hands shoved in his pockets, doing that nervous scan of the room like he’s checking for exits but not planning to use them. You pick a booth near the back. Leather seat, warm lamp overhead. It’s too intimate to be neutral. Neither of you moves to sit across from the other. You both slide into the same side, a little too close. Neither of you comments on it.

The bartender comes over, eyes flicking between you both like he’s trying to figure out what kind of night this is.

“Two whiskeys,” Joaquin says, before you can answer. Then he glances at you. “That okay?”

You nod. “Perfect.”

The moment he walks away, Joaquin exhales like he’s been holding it in since the car. “Well. Here we are.”

You smile. “Just two old friends. At a hotel. At eleven o’clock at night.”

He grins. “Nothing suspicious about that.”

You both look straight ahead for a second, not speaking. The tension has shifted—it’s quieter now. Less sharp. More like gravity.

“I missed this,” he says eventually.

You turn to him. “What part?”

He shrugs. “All of it. You. Talking. Sitting next to you and saying dumb shit until you laugh.”

You look down at your hands. “I didn’t think you’d want to talk to me again.”

“I didn’t either.”

You glance up.

“I was pissed,” he says, not hiding it. “You just disappeared. No warning. Just—gone. I didn’t know if I did something or if it was just easier that way for you.”

“It wasn’t easy,” you say. “I just didn’t know how to say goodbye.”

He nods. “Yeah. Well. Guess we’re both great at that.”

The drinks arrive. You each take one, clink glasses without ceremony.

“To bad decisions,” he says.

You raise your eyebrows. “This is a bad decision?”

He smirks. “I think it might be.”

You both drink.

The whiskey burns a little. Just enough.

You settle into the silence again, but this one’s warmer. You can feel the heat of his thigh pressed against yours. He hasn’t moved. Neither have you.

“I thought about texting you,” he says, voice lower now.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t want to be a maybe.”

That lands. It sinks in and sits heavy in your stomach. You set your glass down. Turn toward him fully.

“We were never a maybe.”

He looks at you then, really looks, and something shifts in his expression. Like he’s trying not to hope and failing miserably at it. “Okay,” he says softly. “So what are we now?”

You don’t answer. Instead, your knee bumps his, and you leave it there.

He glances at your mouth, just for a second. It’s quick, but you both notice.

The second drink comes faster than the first. Neither of you says anything, but the meaning is clear. Just one more. Just an excuse to keep sitting here a little longer.

The bar’s quiet around you, some indie playlist humming overhead, glasses clinking behind the counter, but none of it really registers. It’s just the booth, the shared warmth between you, and the way the whiskey makes your skin feel too soft for your bones.

You’re both leaned in now, legs angled toward each other. His arm is stretched behind you across the booth, not quite touching you but close enough to feel. His knee keeps bumping yours. It’s not accidental anymore.

He’s talking with his hands. Always has. One of them knocks his glass a little too hard and he mutters a low “shit” before catching it. You laugh and he grins, sheepish.

“Okay, so maybe I’m a little drunk,” he says.

You raise an eyebrow. “Little?”

“Tipsy,” he corrects, lifting his hand in mock defense. “Buzzed. Whiskey-charmed. Still within the range of plausible deniability.”

You tip your glass toward him. “Sure.”

“You?”

You sip. “Comfortably reckless.”

He laughs, and it’s that real laugh, the one that fills his chest. The one you haven’t heard in too long. He tips his head back, curls falling over his forehead, and for a second you forget how to breathe.

“You always did drink whiskey too fast,” you say.

“You always stole mine when you thought I wasn’t looking.”

“I wasn’t trying to hide it.”

The words slip out before you can stop them. He goes quiet, eyes settling on you with a different kind of focus now. He’s still smiling, but it’s softer, smaller.

“I remember that,” he says. “All of it.”

You don’t move. The air between you is tight.

“You used to do this thing,” he continues, “where you’d swirl the ice in my glass with your finger and act like it wasn’t the most distracting thing in the world.”

“I don’t remember doing that.”

“You definitely did. And it worked. Every time.”

You lean in a little, just enough to make him feel it. “You’re easy to distract.”

“I was in love with you,” he says, too fast, too loose.

It lands between you like a dropped glass.

He blinks. “Shit. That sounded cooler in my head.”

You swallow. “Was?”

He opens his mouth, closes it. Looks down at the table. When he speaks again, it’s quieter. “You didn’t give me a lot of space to keep saying it.”

You look at him, really look. He’s flushed from the whiskey, eyes a little glassy, but his expression is wide open. Honest in the way only tipsy people get when they’ve been waiting too long to say something. You don’t reach for your glass this time. You reach for his hand. You brush your fingers over the back of it, slow. Gentle. He doesn’t pull away.

“You know,” you say, “I still think about that night. The one before I left.”

His eyes flick to yours. “The peanut butter dinner?”

“The one where you kissed my ankle like it meant something.”

“It did.”

“I know.”

The silence now is thick. Not awkward. Not empty. Just full. He turns his hand over beneath yours, lets your fingers slide together. His palm is warm and steady.

“So,” he says, barely above a whisper. “What are we doing right now?”

You shake your head, half-laughing, half-something else. “Catching up, remember?”

He leans in, slow and careful. His shoulder brushes yours. His voice is right at your ear now.

“This doesn’t feel like catching up.”

You don’t pull away. You press your leg against his under the table. You feel his breath stutter.

“It’s not,” you say.

He shifts toward you, hand tightening in yours. There’s a question in his eyes. You could stop this. You could pull back.

You’re so close you can feel the moment tipping forward. One more second and his mouth will be on yours. You know exactly how it’ll feel — warm and familiar, a little clumsy, a little desperate. You want it. God, you want it. But it’s too much, too fast, too easy to fall back into something that once shattered you so quietly it didn’t even make a sound.

You pull your hand away. Slow. Gentle.

He freezes. You don’t look at him right away. You take a breath instead. Your voice is soft when it comes.

“I can’t.”

It’s not sharp. It’s not final. It’s just honest.

His face shifts — not hurt, exactly. Just something quieter. A flicker of understanding. Maybe disappointment. Maybe relief. Maybe both.

He nods, slowly. “Okay.”

You glance around the bar like you’ve just remembered where you are. The lights feel too low. The space too small.

“I should go up,” you say.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

You stand, and he follows without question. Neither of you says much as you cross the lobby. You’re sobering up, not from the drinks but from the tension, from the weight of how close you came to doing something you wouldn’t be able to take back.

The elevator ride is quiet. The kind of quiet that hums under your skin, thick with all the things you didn’t say downstairs and the weight of the moment you pulled away. He didn’t argue. He didn’t push. He just nodded, like he understood. But you can feel him beside you now — his body still turned slightly toward yours, hands in his pockets like they’re keeping him grounded.

You reach your floor and step into the hallway, carpet soft under your shoes, air humming faintly with recycled chill. You walk ahead, both of you a little unsteady, a little too aware of each other. He stays close but doesn’t touch you. Not once.

When you stop outside your door, you turn toward him and smile, barely.

“You didn’t have to walk me all the way.”

“Old habits,” he says.

There’s a pause. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. You know that move. You remember him doing it when he wasn’t sure if he should kiss you that first time. He looked just like this. Nervous. Hopeful. A little in over his head.

And still, you don’t move.

“I should go in,” you say softly.

“Yeah,” he says. “You probably should.”

You look at him.

He looks at you.

It’s nothing and everything all at once. That ache that’s been stretching all night tightens until you can’t take it anymore.

And then you kiss him. You don’t think. You just lean in and grab the front of his jacket and pull him down to you and his mouth meets yours like it’s still been waiting this whole time. It’s not soft. It’s not neat. It’s relief. All heat and breath and too much all at once, like if you stop it’ll disappear again. His hands find your waist and you stumble back into the door. He laughs against your mouth, breathless.

“You said you couldn’t.”

“I lied,” you murmur, kissing him again.

It’s messy. Familiar. A little dizzying. His thumb traces the edge of your jaw like he forgot what your skin felt like. Your hands are in his hair before you realize it, tugging him closer, closer.

He breaks the kiss long enough to whisper, “Tell me to go.”

You don’t. You just kiss him harder.

He makes this low sound against your mouth that you remember too well, and suddenly you're fumbling with the keycard, trying to get the door open while he's still kissing you, his hands braced against the wall on either side of your head. The card reader beeps angrily. You try again, breathless, and he's laughing into your neck.

"You're shaking," he says, not teasing. Just noticing.

"Shut up," you breathe, and the door finally gives.

You stumble backward into the room, pulling him with you. The door swings shut behind him with a soft click that sounds too loud in the sudden quiet. The only light comes from the city through the window, casting everything in amber and shadow. You can see his face now, flushed and a little stunned, like he can't quite believe this is happening either.

"Are you sure?" he asks, voice rough.

You don't answer with words. Instead, you step closer, close enough that your chest brushes his, and reach up to trace the line of his jaw with your fingertip. His eyes flutter closed at the touch.

"I missed you," you whisper. "I missed this."

He opens his eyes, searching your face in the dim light. "I never stopped missing you."

This time when you kiss him, it's slower. Deeper. Like you're both trying to memorize something you lost. His hands slide up your back, pulling you against him, and you can feel his heartbeat through his shirt. Fast. Unsteady. Like yours.

You walk him backward toward the bed, lips still locked, hands roaming over familiar territory that feels both foreign and like coming home. When the backs of his knees hit the mattress, he sits down hard, pulling you with him so you're straddling his lap, your dress riding up your thighs. His hands find your hips, steadying you, and you can feel the heat of his palms through the thin fabric.

"God," he breathes, looking up at you like he's seeing something he thought he'd lost forever. "You're so beautiful."

You lean down to kiss him again, slower this time, savoring the taste of whiskey on his tongue and the way his breath catches when you bite his lower lip gently. His hands slide up your sides, thumbs tracing the curve of your ribs, and you arch into his touch.

His fingers find the zipper at the back of your dress, hovering there in silent question. You nod against his mouth, and he slowly pulls it down, the sound cutting through the quiet room. The cool air hits your skin, raising goosebumps along your spine. You shiver, and he pulls back to look at you, his eyes dark and serious.

"We don't have to—"

You press your finger to his lips. "I want to."

The words hang between you, heavy with meaning beyond this moment. You're not just talking about tonight. You both know it.

He kisses your fingertip, then your palm, then your wrist, his eyes never leaving yours. You feel something unravel inside you—that tight knot of regret and longing you've been carrying for months.

Your dress slips from your shoulders, and his breath catches. His hands are reverent as they trace your skin, like he's relearning a map he once knew by heart. You tug at his shirt, impatient now, and he helps you pull it over his head. His chest is familiar—that same constellation of freckles, that same scar near his collarbone from when he fell off his bike at twelve. You touch it, remembering the story he told you once, laughing in bed on a Sunday morning.

"You remember?" he asks, watching your fingers.

"Everything," you whisper.

He pulls you closer, his mouth finding the hollow of your throat, and you close your eyes against the rush of sensation. It's too much and not enough all at once. His hands slide up your back, unhooking your bra with practiced ease, and you laugh softly against his hair.

"Still got it," he murmurs, grinning against your skin.

"Some skills never fade," you whisper back, and then his mouth is on your breast and you can't think anymore, just feel—his tongue, his teeth, the scrape of his stubble against your sensitive skin. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, and he groans against you.

You rock against him, feeling him hard beneath you, and his hands tighten on your hips. There's an urgency building between you now, months of distance collapsing into this single point of contact. He flips you suddenly, pressing you into the mattress, his weight a welcome anchor. His lips trace a path down your stomach, and you arch up, wanting more, wanting everything.

"Joaquin," you breathe, and he looks up at you, eyes dark and hungry.

"Otra vez," he whispers.

You say his name once more, quieter this time, like a secret you’re not ready to share with the world. His eyes fall shut as though he’s holding the sound within himself, letting it resonate in the hollow spaces where loneliness used to cling. As his hands find their way to the waistband of your underwear, they tremble, a delicate dance of anticipation and reverence. You lift your hips slightly, a silent invitation for him to continue, to explore uncharted territories that still remember the map of his touch. The fabric is gone in a heartbeat, lost somewhere in the chaos of desire that swirls around you both.

His lips trace a slow pilgrimage along your skin, starting at the curve of your hip bone before journeying inward to the sensitive haven of your inner thigh. Each kiss is deliberate, an act of devotion that speaks volumes louder than words ever could. You’re quivering beneath him now, every nerve alive with sensation, and your hands clutch the hotel sheets as though grounding yourself against an oncoming storm.

When his mouth finally finds its destination, it’s like a homecoming. You arch off the bed with a breathy gasp that breaks through the room’s stillness and wraps itself around you both. He moves with an intimate knowledge of you, every motion recalling memories of nights past when only the moon bore witness to passion unfolding between whispered promises and dreams half-spoken.

The rhythm he adopts is one learned long ago but never forgotten, seamless in its execution as though no time has passed since last he worshipped at this altar. His touch is gentle yet insistent—the perfect paradox—exactly as you need it. Your fingers entwine into his hair once more for anchor and connection both; he hums against you—a low sound that vibrates through your core and ignites every part of you all over again.

The sense of nearing completion builds inside you rapidly—too rapidly—as if months apart have condensed into this singular moment of intensity threatening to spill over without warning. Waves crest within your belly, hot and urgent in their sweep toward release.

"Wait," you breathe out urgently, yet soft enough not to break what threads hold this tapestry together just yet. Tugging at his shoulders slightly with desperate urgency tinged by longing unspoken but always present there beneath everything else clouding these precious moments shared tonight after too long apart. "Come here."

He kisses his way back up your body, mouth finding yours again. You can taste yourself on his lips, and it makes you dizzy with want. Your hands fumble with his belt, and he helps you, kicking off his jeans until there's nothing between you but skin and heat and six months of longing. He hovers above you, braced on his forearms, looking down at your face like he's searching for something.

"You okay?" he whispers.

You nod, reaching up to brush his hair from his forehead. "More than okay."

In the soft shadows of the room, he enters you, and you both exhale sharply, as though surfacing from the depths of an ocean where breath had been a distant memory. The sensation is one of rediscovery, a familiar yet long-forgotten dance. Stillness enfolds you as he pauses, his forehead resting gently against yours. You can feel the ragged ebb and flow of his breath matching your own. This dance—this intimate choreography—is etched into your bodies, even if time and distance tried to erase it from your minds.

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you draw him deeper into the space that feels both foreign and unmistakably home. His groan reverberates through the stillness, your name a sacred chant murmured against the warmth of your neck. His movements begin in slow, deliberate strokes, each one held with the weight of potential farewells lingering in unspoken words. It’s cautious yet intense—a savoring of moments that feel fleeting.

Your fingers dig into the solid expanse of his shoulders, an encouragement driven by urgency that pulses under your skin. As he hones his rhythm, it transforms gradually—a measured tempo building to something more urgent and alive. The room captures the symphony created by your intermingled breaths and soft exclamations of pleasure; tender whispers punctuate every shared heartbeat.

“Mírame.” he murmurs softly, and you oblige by opening your eyes. What you find in his gaze transcends physical intimacy—a vulnerability laid bare beneath the depth of those dark irises. There’s something exchanged between you in that shared look; a silent acknowledgment binding hearts entwined not just by touch but by something deeper—a promise unspoken yet understood.

As he moves within you with growing intensity, everything coalesces into a crescendo orchestrated by longing rekindled after months apart. This moment stretches beyond time—each motion weaving threads back together until they form one seamless tapestry, rich with color and meaning.

You unravel beneath him then, as pleasure overwhelms your senses like waves crashing upon the shore—leaving you trembling in its aftermath—a mosaic remade anew with each crescendo reached. It's only heartbeats later that he too succumbs; whispers woven with devotion spill from his lips—your name uttered like prayerful benediction—as he collapses against you under comforting weight rather than burdened heaviness reminding once distant souls they are home again.

For a long time, neither of you speaks. The only sound is your breathing gradually slowing, his heart pounding against yours. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your shoulder, and you press your face into his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him—soap and something distinctly warm that you could never quite name but always recognized. 

The sheets are tangled beneath you and one of your legs is still hooked loosely around his, the weight of him grounding you in a way nothing else ever really has. He shifts just enough to ease some of the pressure from your ribs, but he doesn’t pull away. He just rests his forehead against your temple and exhales, long and shaky.

You could fall asleep like this. You think maybe you will. His fingers keep moving, slow and aimless, brushing the slope of your shoulder like he’s memorizing it all over again. Your name leaves his lips again, softer now, like it doesn’t have to be anything more than sound.

You whisper, “You okay?”

He nods. Doesn’t speak for a moment. Then, “Yeah. I just… missed this.”

You close your eyes. That ache settles in your chest again, but it’s quieter now. Less sharp. He missed you. You missed him. Maybe that’s enough for tonight.

You shift just enough to look at him. His eyes are already on you, sleep-soft and open in that way only Joaquin can be when he’s let his guard down completely. You brush his hair back from his forehead. He leans into the touch without thinking.

“I don’t want to leave,” he says, barely above a whisper.

“You don’t have to.”

That’s it. No big promises. No next steps.

He nods again, relief flickering through his features so fast it almost doesn’t register. Then he dips his head and presses a kiss to your collarbone—slow, tender, like punctuation. He pulls the blanket up over both of you and shifts to lie beside you properly, one arm curling beneath your neck, the other resting across your stomach. You curl into him like you never left.

Outside, the city keeps humming, but in here it’s still.

Eventually, his breathing evens out. You listen to it until yours matches. He’s heavy against you, solid and warm, and you feel the weight of everything that just passed between you start to settle. You let your eyes fall shut, just for a moment.

Sleep takes you slowly. Quietly. With him still holding you.

You wake before the sun’s fully up, the room washed in a soft, blue-grey hush. For a second, you don’t know what stirred you—until Joaquin shifts beside you, mumbling something half-asleep into the pillow. His leg slides against yours, warm and lazy, and he tucks his face into the curve of your neck like he never left it.

You smile before you can stop yourself.

“Your hair’s in my mouth,” he mumbles, voice gravelly and ridiculous.

You laugh, quiet and raspy. “You drooled on my arm.”

He lifts his head, barely squinting at you with a slow, stupid grin. “Worth it.”

You hum, brushing your fingertips along his side. His skin is warm, soft in places and still humming with leftover heat. You could stay like this for hours, wrapped up in his breath and that dopey smile, but he glances at the clock and winces.

“I have to go soon,” he says, voice soft. “Work.”

You nod, even though you want to pretend this room doesn’t exist outside of this moment. He leans in and kisses your shoulder. Then your jaw. Then your mouth—slow, unhurried, like he’s still not ready to leave either.

When he finally pulls back, he gives you this look. Gentle. Unspoken.

He doesn’t say thank you, or I’ll call you, or what happens now?

He just says, “You made last night feel like home again.”

And somehow, that’s the thing that gets you. You swallow around the ache building in your throat and try to smile. He kisses you one more time, then slips out of bed and pulls his shirt back on in the grey morning light. You stay where you are, curled in warm sheets, watching him tie his shoes with one knee on the floor like he’s done this in a hundred quiet mornings—only he hasn’t. Not like this. Not since you left.

He glances over his shoulder before opening the door. “Sleep a little more,” he says. “I’ll see you.”

You nod. He doesn’t push it further. He just gives you one last, crooked smile and slips out into the hallway. The door clicks shut behind him. And you’re left sitting up in bed, hair a mess, covers pooled around your waist, staring at the door like it might open again.

You don’t know what happens next. But for the first time in a long time, it doesn’t scare you.

[revelboo]

Could we get various IDW characters with their human in a senario where they're watching a firework show? I'm really craving fluff so sweet it rottening my teeth rn.

Sure! Got the Roddy pin!

Celebration

IDW/G1 Bots

• “It’s criminal to not have any beer or a grill.” You hear someone whining as you bend to spread out your blanket on the ground. And you glance at where Wheeljack, Inferno, Red Alert, and Perceptor are working to set up the homemade fireworks a hopefully safe distance from where everyone’s getting comfortable to watch the show. And you love Wheeljack, but when he’d said he and Perceptor had been asked to make fireworks, you’d been worried. Still are as you see the shadowy shape of Waspinator’s person trying to coax him into lying down and your skin prickles as the bot flops down in his giant wasp form.

• “Think he’s going to blow himself up?” Sideswipe asks, stretching out on the blanket beside you and shifting so his upper body is caging you. ‘Sides!’ You whisper, sounding delighted and scandalized even as Sunny shoots him a warning look, because even if the little humans can’t see well in the dark, everyone else can. Venting he hooks an arm around you and rolls so you’re sprawled on top of him. “Think anyone wants to place bets?” And Sunny rolls his optics with a growl before stretching out beside him.

• “What exactly are we celebrating?” Hound asks, watching the humans chattering excitedly around him while the other mass displaced mechs laugh and talk. ‘No more shitty, minimum wage job?’ You suggest with a shrug. ‘New beginnings?’ You add with a shy smile that leaves him warm. And laugh when someone almost trips over you, Bumblbee’s optics bright as he catches his human and apologizes for them.

• “Not stripping for cash!” You toss out there with a laugh overhearing the conversation from the next blanket over. And you hear what you’re pretty sure is Red Alert’s person yell an ‘amen’ as Optimus just vents with a small smile at you. ‘Hey, you still okay with teaching pole dancing?’ Someone asks and it’s hard to tell who it is in the growing dark. “Sure, hun,” you say with a shrug, grabbing Optimus’s chassis to pull yourself into his lap. More than happy to teach all your skills to the rest of the Ark’s human population.

• Relaxing as the humans call out what they’re celebrating, Trailbreaker glances at you as you toss back a bottle of water. Unable to see out here as well as they can, so hopefully unaware that he’s staring at you, though his visor glowing is probably giving him away. “Second chances,” he calls out softly. But he’s heard and you smile up at him, leaning into his frame. Hears other bots calling out their own answers, emboldened that they’re allowed to voice their desires. Goals and hopes.

• “A future.” Head lifting to look up at the shadowy form of your mate, you smile and duck your head. Because sooner or later it’s going to come out anyway. It might as well be tonight. Letting him pull you into his lap, you startle when the first firework screams into the air and you hear Waspinator hissing, wings buzzing as his person tries to calm him. Watching the glittering, colorful lights in the sky, you feel your mate interlace his servos with your fingers and you lean back into him. Hear a second rocket launch as you cup your hands over your mouth. “I’m sparked!” You yell in the silence right before the firework explodes.

[blacktofade]

Gemtho Fortnight Day 6

prompt: Rpf gemtho fake dating?

cw: rpf, street harassment by stranger

It takes Gem longer than it should to realize she’s being followed.

She blames it on being somewhere unfamiliar, somewhere close enough to her hotel to feel relatively safe, but the footsteps get louder, gaining on her.

“Hey, sweetheart,” the man drawls, crowding so close that Gem startles sideways a step. “Can I ask you something real quick?”

“I’m sorry,” Gem answers automatically, “I can’t stop.”

She tries to move around him, knowing to keep her tone neutral, to make herself as ignorable as possible, but the man puts an arm out, blocking her path.

“It’ll only take a second, I promise.”

Gem panics, glancing around him for any sign of help.

She doesn’t hold much hope — in a best case scenario, she’d spot Skizz or Impulse and they’d be able to whisk her away, back to their hotel. But there’s no one she recognizes, just a man at the end of the block, tapping at his phone.

It’s a risk, but it’s still better than being stuck with a man who casually slides his hand around her — a clear attempt to try to grab her ass.

“I’m meeting my boyfriend,” she tells the stranger, gesturing with one hand as she moves out of his reach. “He’s just over there.”

It’s apparently enough to disarm him, because he turns to look, giving Gem the out she’s been looking for.

She dodges around him, breaking into a jog as she heads in the direction of the man she’d seen.

He’s tall enough to hopefully be intimidating to anyone else, and she just has to hope that the odds of running into two sleazebags in a row are low.

“Hey!” she calls out, forcing a smile onto her face. “Where have you been?”

The man looks up, freezing for a moment before he glances over his shoulder, as though expecting her to be talking to someone else. When he looks back at her, his expression is uncertain, maybe a little terrified, which Gem thinks is fair since she’s a strange woman currently running at him.

But without thinking, she shoves her way into his space, one arm wrapping around his waist as she tucks her face against his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers as quickly as she can. “Can you play along? I don’t know this guy. I’m just trying to get back to my hotel.”

She has no idea if it’s going to work, if the guy is going to shake her off and tell her to deal with it herself.

But after a beat, his hand comes up, resting securely in the middle of her back as he holds her close.

“Thank you,” she exhales, almost wanting to cry with relief as the man squeezes her gently, and she can’t believe a stranger on the street can make her feel so safe without a word.

She carefully draws back, catching the man’s eyes, and he stares down at her as though he has no idea what to do.

“You don’t have to walk me all the way back, but can you stay with me for a bit? Until he leaves?”

Carefully, the man nods, turning her in his hold. He keeps his arm around her, hand resting politely on her waist, and she finds herself clutching at his jacket as they start to head back in the direction she’d been going.

The creep doesn’t follow, apparently losing interest now Gem has company, but he calls her a bitch as a parting gift.

“I’m so sorry,” Gem says again, starting to shake from the adrenaline, and the man doesn’t reply, but his grip on her tightens.

“This isn’t how I thought my night would go,” she says after a moment before laughing. “Probably not how you thought your night would go either.”

“Definitely not,” the man finally says, and Gem hesitates, almost tripping on the sidewalk as she turns to stare at him.

There's something about his voice that has her on edge.

He doesn’t react, but he also doesn’t blink, as though fully aware that he’s being watched.

She takes in his appearance — his dark hair and heavy brow, his mouth that seems a little too tense — and for just a second, he glances over at her.

He looks caught.

“I'm sorry,” he says abruptly, and Gem's whole body tenses. “I cant — I didn't want it to be this way.”

“Oh my god,” Gem whispers, and she still can't seem to loosen her grip on the man, even as the realization hits. “Etho?”

He stares down at her, his dark eyes too expressive for their own good because he doesn't even need to answer for her to know.

“Oh my god.”

“I was visiting Bdubs,” he says quickly. “He lives near here — I wasn't stalking — ”

He doesn't finish the thought and Gem finally finds the strength to let him go, slipping out from under his arm. He doesn't try to stop her, and for a long moment, they stare at each other.

“This has officially been the weirdest night of my life,” Gem admits, needing to deflect with humor before she loses her mind completely.

It feels bizarre for Etho to laugh. It feels disconnected from this guy — a stranger who's standing in front of her — when she recognizes it so clearly.

“The thing I'm most upset about is that I can never tell anyone about this.”

“You could tell Bdubs,” Etho suggests with a smile that pulls at Gem's insides.

“I could,” she agrees, “but he'll never let you live it down. EthosLab, the knight in shining armor.”

The realization hits his expression at the same time a flush spreads across his cheeks.

“That's not — ” he starts, floundering, and Gem grins.

“I dunno,” she says, “I kind of like it.”

He stares, wide eyed, like he never thought she'd have the same sense of humor as she does online, and she finds herself laughing.

“Don't worry, I won't hold it over you forever,” she jokes. “Only most of the time.”

He blows out a slow breath, seeming to finally take her in, exactly as she is.

“It's nice to meet you, too, Gem,” he says and Gem laughs again.

[cosycryptid]

A Soft Place to Land

Steve Harrington never expected to become a father at twenty. But when a little girl is left on his doorstep with nothing but a note and a stuffed bunny, he does the only thing he can—he holds her close and goes to a place he knows they’ll be safe. Sometimes, family isn’t something you’re born into. Sometimes, it’s the people who show up when everything falls apart. AO3 Link Content warning for mention of past incident involving non-consent. It's not graphic, only hinted at, but please stay safe and don't read if that will have a negative impact on your wellbeing.

Joyce Byers may not have been the biological mother of every child who went through the horrors of the Upside Down, but she damn well thought of them all as her own. She prided herself on being a safe place—somewhere they could always run to when they needed it. And if any one of them were in danger, she wouldn’t hesitate to lay her life on the line.

Hopper wasn’t as overt about it, but she knew he felt the same. He displayed it in his own quiet way. When Joyce and Hopper had decided to move in together and unite their families, he’d made sure to look for a place with an extra room in case anyone wanted to stay or to have a quiet space to go exist in for a while. It also wasn’t uncommon to see him offering advice to one of the kids or giving them a comforting—if slightly awkward—pat on the shoulder while handing over a box of tissues.

For all intents and purposes, any child who had been through hell with them over the past few years was one of their own.

Steve Harrington also seemed to share that outlook, even if Joyce still thought of him as one of the kids himself. He had only just turned twenty, but she’d witnessed more than a few instances where he cared for the younger members of their odd little found family like they were his. Honestly, he was probably a better parental figure than most of the kids’ actual parents sometimes. It was sweet, the way he worried over them, always putting their needs before his own. But Joyce often found herself wondering: who was looking after him?

That’s why, when she opened the door at 6 p.m. on a Friday and found him standing with a duffle bag at his feet and a small child on his hip, her heart plummeted like she just missed a step on a step staircase.

“Hello, Ms. Byers,” he said softly, polite almost to a fault even though he looked completely lost. “Can we come in for a while? I’m sorry. I didn’t know where else to go.”

His voice was quiet, careful not to wake the little girl sleeping on his shoulder. She was wrapped in his jacket for warmth, her tiny hand clutching a stuffed bunny. A bright pink backpack hung from one of Steve’s shoulders so the little girl could rest her head against the other. The image would’ve been adorable if Steve didn’t look so utterly drained and disoriented.

For just a moment, Joyce stared at him and wondered if this was some kind of prank, but Steve looked genuinely distressed. Her mind raced. What happened? Who is the child? But instinct overrode confusion.

“Come in, sweetheart,” she said, stepping aside. “You don’t even have to ask.” She brushed some hair from his face and hissed at the icy chill of his skin. “Oh God, you’re freezing!”

“Sorry,” Steve murmured. “I don’t have a car anymore. I had to walk.”

“No apologies. Just get in here and get warm.” Joyce grabbed the duffle bag, hauled it inside, and shut the door behind them.

“I’m fine, don’t worry abou—”

“Go sit on the couch,” she said firmly, cutting him off. “I’ll get you some blankets and a hot drink.”

Before he could protest, she was already moving. She flitted around the house, gathering the softest blankets she could find. She draped them over the arm of the couch on the way to the kitchen and went to boil some water. Steve looked awkward, like he didn’t quite know what to do with someone fussing over him. He perched stiffly on the edge of the couch, still holding the toddler tightly in his arms, as if afraid to let go.

He looked like he might not handle too much attention at that moment. So, Joyce tried her best not to crowd him too much or ask any of the questions she was dying to know the answers to. Thankfully, Will and El were sleeping over at the Wheelers’. The kids tended to crowd Steve, and he clearly wasn’t in the mood for that tonight.

Joyce reached the living room doorway.

She stopped dead in her tracks.

In the time it had taken her to make the drinks, Steve had sunk into the couch a little more naturally. The girl was still fast asleep on his chest, her tiny fingers gripping his sweater like a lifeline. Steve was running his fingers gently through her hair, his eyes fixed on her with a look so soft, so full of wonder, it made Joyce’s heart ache.

It was a look any parent would recognise.

“Oh, Steve,” she said gently.

He jumped, startled. Joyce crossed the room and set the hot chocolate she’d made on the table beside him. She sat down next to him and placed a hand on his arm.

“She’s yours, isn’t she?”

Steve nodded slowly. “Yeah. I didn’t even know she existed until today, but I’ve already decided I want to keep her. Is that stupid? Do you think I’m throwing my future away or something?”

Joyce looked at him—really looked—and saw the love in his eyes. She had a feeling those questions weren’t his own. They were echoes of something someone else had said to him. She had a sneaking suspicion she knew who from the way Steve had told her he didn’t have anywhere else to go.

It made her blood boil.

“Steve, honey. You know what’s best for your future better than anyone else. And it’s okay to choose something different. You don’t have to follow anyone else’s expectations. That’s a load of crap.”

She gave his arm a gentle squeeze.

“You’re responsible. You’re resourceful. And you’ve got a lot of people who care about you and would help you in a heartbeat. If you want to be a parent, you can make it work.”

“Oh,” Steve said, surprised. “You’re not disappointed in me?”

He sounded so small.

Joyce had half a mind to drive to the Harringtons’ and key every car in their driveway. Hopper might not love the paperwork, but she could probably talk him around.

“No, I’m not disappointed in you. Not one little bit. And I never will be,” she said firmly. “It’d be hypocritical of me to judge. I was young when I had Jonathan. And you know what? I never regretted it. Not for a second.”

The front door opened and closed with a bang.

“I’m home!” Hopper’s voice boomed.

Joyce winced at the volume of his voice, the sound of boots thudding and keys clattering. He appeared in the doorway and froze. Joyce pressed a finger to her lips, but it was too late.

The little girl stirred. Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked at Joyce before shrinking further into Steve’s chest. She made a small, frightened noise and clutched her bunny tighter.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Steve whispered, rocking her gently. “I’m here. I got you. You’re safe.”

“Hey there, sweetie,” Joyce said softly, her chest aching. Up close, the resemblance to Steve was even stronger. Those big brown eyes were unmistakable, and she even had little moles on her face just like he did.

The little girl shifted upright, just enough to peek around. Her curious eyes flicked between Joyce and Hopper. “Who’s this?” she asked, looking to Steve for answers.

“These are my friends, Olivia,” Steve said gently, her name slipping out of his mouth for the first time since he arrived.

“Olivia?” Hopper repeated, slowly taking a seat, his expression tinged with surprise. Joyce wondered if he’d caught on yet, if he’d noticed the striking resemblance.

Olivia nodded.

“That’s a pretty name,” Hopper said.

“Thanks,” Olivia murmured.

Steve gave her a warm smile. “This is Joyce, and that’s Hopper, but sometimes people just call him Hop.”

“Like a bunny!” Olivia gasped.

“Yeah, just like what a bunny does,” Steve replied, his voice soft and encouraging. “Bunnies are your favourite, aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” she nodded with a bright smile. Then she turned to Hopper and held up her teddy. “This is my bunny, Daisy.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you Daisy,” Hopper said, shaking the toy’s hand. Joyce loved this man.

“How old are you, Olivia?” Joyce asked in an attempt to keep her talking and settle her into her new surroundings.

“I’m three!” Olivia responded, holding up three fingers proudly.

Joyce did the math in her head. Three years ago, Steve was around seventeen years old, which means he was that age if not sixteen when Olivia was conceived. The thought of how young he was sunk like a stone in her stomach, but she tried her best to ignore it.

Hop exhaled sharply next to her, and she glanced over at him to see a series of complicated emotions pass over his face. Joyce understood. Their youngest kids were around the same age now that Steve would have been back then, and that’s a difficult thing to process because they still seemed like babies themselves sometimes.

“Your faces are funny,” Olivia giggled, drawing their attention back to her. It was such an innocent way of interpreting the concern that must be showing on their features.

“They probably do look a little funny, don’t they?” Joyce agreed with a smile, trying her best not to look so worried in front of the kid.

“I bet they don’t look as funny as this.” Hopper started pulling silly faces, Olivia’s giggles grew louder until she was full-on cackling. It was such an infectious sound that the three of them were soon laughing along with her.

“You’re silly,” she told Hopper happily.

“Hey mom?” Jonathan’s voice called out. “I was just wondering if you’d seen my-” He stood frozen in the doorway. His eyes were locked on the small child sitting in Steve’s lap and smiling at Joyce and Hopper. His mouth opened, then closed again, like he wasn’t sure what to say.

Steve blinked like he’d just been pulled out of a fog. His gaze flicked to the clock on the wall, and his face fell.

“Oh, I forgot,” he muttered.

Jonathan stepped into the room, brow furrowed, fully distracted. “Forgot what?”

“We had plans tonight, right? With Robin, Eddie and Nancy? I completely forgot.”

Jonathan’s expression softened. “It’s okay, man. Seriously. Who’s the—uh—whose kid is that?”

“Just a second,” Steve said, then he turned to his daughter. “Hey, Olivia, do you want to sit down by the table and do some colouring or maybe some drawing?” he asked, trying his best to sell the idea.

Olivia nodded enthusiastically. “Can I make you a picture?”

“Of course you can, sweetheart,” Steve beamed. “I can’t wait to see it!”

He very gently lifted her off his lap and placed her down on the floor next to the coffee table. Then he reached into the pink backpack and drew out some paper and crayons to neatly set on the table in front of her.

“I think you just answered my question for me,” Jonathan commented, stunned as Steve sat back down. “But I have so many more now. Like, how did this happen for starters?”

“There was a note,” Steve said, hesitant. “Left with her on my parents’ doorstep. Said she’s mine. Her mom couldn’t take care of her anymore.”

He reached into the pocket of his jeans with one hand and pulled out a folded piece of paper. His fingers held it tightly and handed it over slowly, like it weighed a hundred pounds.

Jonathan took the note, gently unfolding it. By the time he finished reading he was glaring at the page like he was trying to set it on fire with his mind. Steve already knew how it sounded, how it made him look.

The words were almost etched into his brain:

Steve,

Congratulations. You’re a father.

Her name is Olivia. She’s three. You probably don’t remember the night she was conceived — not that I’m surprised. Actions have consequences, even if you were too out of it to realise what was happening.

I’ve done what I can, but I’m done now. She’s your burden now. Don’t bother trying to find me — I’ve moved on.

She likes crayons and cartoons and she’s a little brat when she doesn’t get her way. I don’t have high hopes but try not to screw her up too badly.

“Jesus, Steve.” Jonathan sat down slowly on the arm of the couch, his face pale. “This is just cruel. How could someone write this garbage?”

Hopper asked if he and Joyce could see it too. Steve agreed but grew nervous as their reactions were unreadable at first. The further they read, the darker Joyce’s facial expression grew, and Hopper’s jaw clenched so tightly Steve could practically hear his teeth grinding.

“She just left her there all on her own in the cold, waiting for someone to open the front door and find her, called her a burden.” He spat out the last word like it was poison.

He took a deep, shaking breath, trying to calm himself down.

“I know how it makes me look. My parents lost it as soon as they saw it. Said I was an idiot, and I’d embarrassed them. Told me to get out. Took my car keys. I didn’t know what else to do, so I walked here.”

“How it makes you look?” Joyce said in disbelief. She handed the note back to Steve like it might burn her fingers. Steve folded it back up. “Steve, it makes it look like you were a kid, and you were taken advantage of.”

“You know that you can talk to us, right?” Hopper said, looking at Steve like he already had all the pieces put together. “If anything happened to you, if anyone... did anything to you. You can tell us.”

Steve flinched, just barely, but enough for everyone to notice. His eyes stayed fixed on the folded note in his hands, knuckles white around the edges.

“It’s fine, I’m fine,” he said quickly, too quickly. “It’s not… I remember some things. Some details are... fuzzy. I can’t really talk about it right now. Not when she can hear.”

Joyce exchanged a glance with Hopper, her expression softening. “Okay,” she said gently. “You don’t have to. Not until you’re ready. And not at all if you don’t want to.”

Hopper nodded, his voice low but steady. “Just know we’re here. No judgment. No pressure.”

Steve gave a small nod. “Thanks.”

There was a long pause, filled only by the soft scratch of crayon on paper and Olivia’s quiet humming. Then Steve finally looked up, his voice clearer when he started to speak.

“She’s what matters now. That’s all I care about.” Steve looked at each of them, his eyes glassy. “I’m really sorry to just dump all of this on you guys.”

Joyce moved to sit beside him, placing a hand on his back. “You did the right thing. You brought her somewhere safe. And you’re not alone, Steve. You’ve got us.”

“We’ve got your back. Whatever you need.” Hopper said, his voice low but steady. “And you’re staying. I don’t care how long, stay forever if you want. No arguments. This is your home now too.”

“Are you all okay with that?” Steve asked, looking at Joyce and Jonathan for confirmation.

“Absolutely,” Joyce said with a firm nod.

“Are you kidding me?” Jonathan added. “Will and El will be over the moon. Of course I’m okay with it.”

“Could you tell the others I’m not coming tonight? I don’t mind if you tell them about everything or if you let them come to me to find out.” Steve said to Jonathan. “I just need the others to know that I’m not ditching them. I can’t leave her. Not now.”

Jonathan nodded immediately. “Don’t even worry about it. I’ll explain everything.”

“Thanks,” Steve whispered. “I owe you.”

Jonathan headed out, casting one last glance at Steve and Olivia before slipping out the door.

“Steve!” Olivia called brightly, waving him over. “I finished my picture! You gotta come see!”

Hopper and Joyce immediately took notice of the fact that she didn’t call him ‘dad’ but didn’t draw attention to it just yet.

“You did?” he said with a smile, kneeling beside her at the coffee table.

“Yep!” she said proudly, sliding the paper toward him. She leaned against his arm, her little fingers gripping his sleeve as she pointed. “That’s me on the horsey, and that’s you with the big sword! You’re fightin’ the bad wolves so they don’t get me.”

Stick figures were never something Steve thought would make him cry, but he was dangerously close as he took in the details of her drawing—tiny hearts, stars, and a very lopsided sun smiling down on them.

“This is amazing, Liv,” Steve said, his voice warm. “It’s like you’re a princess and I’m the knight.”

“I am a princess,” she said matter-of-factly. “And you kept me safe today. That’s what knights do.”

Steve put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “I love it,” he said, his voice tight with emotion. “I think this might be my most favourite picture ever.”

“Really?” Olivia asked, tilting her head up to look at him, eyes wide and hopeful. “You’re not just sayin’ that?”

“I mean it,” Steve said. “I’m gonna keep it safe forever. Maybe even put it in a frame.”

“Even when you’re old?” she asked. “Like... thirty?”

Hopper made an affronted noise from behind them. Steve couldn’t hold back his laughter at her bluntness.

“Yes, even when I’m thirty.” Steve nodded.

Olivia beamed, oblivious to the existential crisis she’d caused the Chief of Police. “I can make more! Like, a whole bunch.”

“That would make me very happy,” Steve replied, smiling.

She paused, then looked up at him again. “Will you draw for me too? Like, maybe one with a dragon? But a nice dragon. Not a scary one.”

“Of course I will,” Steve said, already imagining how terrible his dragon would look, but knowing he’d do it anyway.

Jonathan stood on the Wheelers’ porch for a moment, the cold air biting at his skin. He rubbed his hands together, trying to shake off the weight of the information he now carried and Steve’s trust in him to deliver it. Inside, he could hear Eddie’s dramatic ranting voice, joined by Robin and Nancy’s amused interjections.

They would be cool and supportive about it just like he was, he already knew that. Steve had been their rock, picked things up for them when they couldn’t. They wouldn't hesitate to do the same for him. It was just a lot, and Jonathan wasn’t sure if he’d do a good job imparting all the details. He didn’t want Steve to have to tell his story repeatedly because he was clearly exhausted and stressed out.

After collecting his thoughts for a few beats, he let himself inside.

The group was gathered around the living room, a half-played board game between them. Eddie and Robin were bickering, something about Robin cheating on her last move. Nancy looked up first, her smile faltering when she saw Jonathan’s face.

“Hey,” she said. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Jonathan said, not moving to take a seat. He eyed the door to the basement, knowing that the younger members of their group would be down there. Luckily the door was closed, and their voices were too loud for them to overhear anything anyway. Especially if the chaotic sounds of two different conversations and an argument taking place simultaneously that could be heard from behind the solid wood were anything to go by.

That was good, Jonathan was pretty certain that Steve would want to be the one to tell them when he was ready.

“Steve’s not coming,” he announced, deciding to get right to the point.

Robin’s expression shifted from playful to concerned in an instant. “Is something going on? I couldn’t get hold of him at his house earlier. His parents were... weird on the phone, like they couldn’t wait to hang up on me.”

Not knowing how to start, Jonathan hesitated.

Nancy raised an eyebrow. “Is everything alright?”

Jonathan exhaled slowly. “Not really. Something kind of big happened.”

All three of them visibly stiffened, their nerves palpable.

“Like... ‘code red’ big?” Robin asked slowly.

Jonathan felt like kicking himself. Of course they would immediately think something Upside Down related was going on. He looked at each of them, trying to find the right words.

“Steve’s been kicked out of his house,” he said. “Also, he has a daughter he didn’t know about.”

That could’ve been handled more delicately, he probably should have led with the daughter thing.

Robin blinked. “What?”

“Yeah, he turned up at my house earlier with a little girl. Three years old. He said he found her on his doorstep with a note. His parents kicked him out, took his car and he didn’t know where else to go so he went straight to my mom and Hopper.”

“Are they both okay?” Eddie asked.

“Olivia -Steve’s daughter- seems fine. She was smiling and drawing a picture with crayons when I left.”

“And Steve?” Eddie pressed.

“He’s seemed exhausted, but he was holding it together. As much as someone can in that situation.” Jonathan answered. “He asked me to tell you guys he’s not coming tonight,” Jonathan added. “He didn’t want to leave her. Not even for a minute.”

Robin stood up, pacing. “Of course he didn’t. That’s so Steve. God, he must be freaking out.”

“I think he is, but he’s trying to act normal for Olivia. I mean, she’s basically been left with someone who’s a complete stranger to her. He probably wants to make her feel safe.” Jonathan said quietly. “You should’ve seen the way he looked at her. Like she was the most important thing in the world.”

The group sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the news settling over them. The board game was forgotten.

Nancy leaned forward, equal parts suspicious and concerned. “Why are you doing that thing with your face?”

“What thing?”

“The thing you do when there’s something you’re not saying,” she accused.

Suddenly, Jonathan had three pairs of eyes on him, analysing him like he was under a microscope. Jonathan sighed, checked the basement door again, and moved further into the room. He dropped into a chair like a string that was holding him up had been cut.

“So, I saw the note, and it’s awful. There’s something in there that Steve doesn’t want to talk about with Olivia around, but it sounds like,” he took a calming breath. “It sounds like someone did something to him when he was barely conscious.”

The information hit the room like a gunshot, silence ringing in its wake as the others tried to make sense of what they’d just heard.

Eddie didn’t say anything at first. He just stared at the carpet, his jaw tight. Then, quietly, he got up and started gathering the snacks.

“What the hell are we still doing here?” He asked the group without looking. “Get your things together and get in my van, we’re taking this show on the road.”

Robin already had her coat halfway on and Nancy was putting the board game back in the box and tucking it away neatly before he even finished speaking.

The sight the group were greeted with as they filed into the Byers house and peered through the living room door was really quite adorable. Steve with a little girl on his lap, both of them drawing with crayons, the girls’ purple and Steve’s pink. She said something to Steve, and he laughed.

He paused for a second to tickle her in the side and she giggled, pushing him away with her little hands and complaining at him loudly, but a bright smile was on both of their faces the entire time.

Steve seemed to sense that there were eyes on him and looked up, freezing when he spotted his friends in the doorway.

“Hey,” Robin said, her voice full of emotion. “We figured you could use some company.”

“Oh.” Steve replied, surprised, like he had expected them to just have fun without him. “You really didn’t have to-”

“We know,” Eddie interrupted. “We wanted to.”

Steve gave a small, nervous smile. “This is Olivia,” he said, an anxious edge to his words, worried about what they were thinking.

Olivia, who had been watching them curiously since they started talking, patted Steve on the arm and asked, “Are those friends too?”

“They’re my very best friends,” Steve said, smiling. Eddie’s chest, honest to God, fluttered at the words—like it was full of butterflies all trying to escape at once. “That’s Robin, Eddie, and Nancy, and you’ve already met Jonathan,” he added, pointing them out one by one.

“Hi, Steve’s friends!” Olivia chirped, giving a cheerful little wave. Then she pointed directly at Eddie and said with complete sincerity, “You have pretty hair. Like a real-life princess.”

Robin and Nancy let out surprised laughs, and Eddie blinked, momentarily stunned. His heart felt like it had melted into a warm puddle. It was such a Steve-like thing to say—complimenting someone’s hair before anything else—and now here was this tiny version of him doing the same thing.

“Why thank you, Lady Olivia,” he said with a dramatic flourish, bowing slightly as he walked over and sat beside them on the carpet. “May I see what a great artist like you has been working on?”

“Sure!” Olivia said brightly, handing him a piece of paper.

There were two stick figures. One was on what appeared to be a horse, the other holding what looked like a sword, facing off against scribbly grey shapes that were probably dogs or maybe wolves. In messy, oversized handwriting, the figure on the horse had been labelled ‘me’ and the one with the sword was labelled ‘Steeb’.

“This is awesome, Olivia!” Eddie grinned. “Is this Steve saving you from a pack of wolves?”

“Uh huh,” Olivia nodded. “He’s a hero.” Then she leaned in and whispered loudly, “But don’t worry, it’s not real wolves. They’re just pretend.”

Eddie looked up at Steve, who was watching her with that soft, proud look in his eyes. He thought back to the day Steve had thrown a Demobat around by its tail like it weighed nothing, the stories the kids told about him, and the moment he’d woken up in the hospital to hear Steve had carried him there, yelling for help.

“Yeah,” Eddie said quietly. “That he is.”

Steve met his eyes for a second, wearing that same half-surprised, half-confused expression he always had when Eddie leaned in too close or called him a sweet, ridiculous nickname. The moment was broken when Robin plopped down on Steve’s other side.

“Can I draw too?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Olivia said enthusiastically, passing her a blank sheet of paper.

“Hmm,” Robin hummed, pretending to think for a second. “What should I draw?”

“You should draw a mermaid.”

“A mermaid?”

“Yep,” Olivia said. “Mermaids are pretty and you’re pretty.”

“I think I like you already, kid.” Robin smiled. “Okay, one mermaid coming right up.”

Olivia turned to Eddie. “You wanna draw, Eddie?”

“I would love to,” Eddie nodded.

Soon Olivia had all five of them squeezed in around the table, drawing pictures in crayon and asking and answering questions about things like their favourite animals and what things they like to do.

At some point, Eddie reached out to grab the red crayon nearest to him but was intercepted when Olivia suddenly took hold of his hand and dragged it in front of her face. She ran her fingers over his silver rings and examined each one with intrigue.

“I like your rings,” she smiled, a small dimple appearing in her cheek. “This one looks like a treasure. Did you find it in a dragon cave?”

Eddie chuckled. “Not quite, but I like that story better.”

“Olivia,” Steve said gently, “remember to ask before you touch someone, okay? Some people might not like it.”

“Oh,” Olivia responded, letting go of Eddie’s hand. “Is it okay?”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind.” Eddie said, putting his paper down and turning to face her so he could hold out his other hand for her to look at too. “But thank you for asking.”

As she inspected the jewellery, Olivia noticed the trail of bat tattoos just poking out from under his sleeve. “There’s a drawing on your arm!” she exclaimed.

Eddie looked at Steve sheepishly and tugged on his sleeve to try and cover it.

“It’s okay, Eddie,” Steve said with an amused huff, reaching over to push the sleeve back up. “Kids are curious, so she’s going to find out about tattoos eventually. No harm done.”

“What’s a tattoo?” Olivia asked.

“It’s like a special kind of drawing that grown-ups can put on their skin.” Steve informed her. “It's made with tiny little needles and special ink, and it stays there for a very long time. Sometimes people get tattoos to show something they love and sometimes people just get them because it looks cool."

Olivia gently touched the artwork on Eddie’s arm. “The bats are so cute,” she said. Then, after a pause: “Do they fly away at night?”

Eddie blinked. “What?”

“The bats,” she said seriously. “Do they fly away when you sleep?”

Robin snorted. Steve bit his lip to keep from laughing.

“No,” Eddie said, grinning. “They stay right here on my arm. All night.”

“Oh,” Olivia nodded, clearly disappointed. “Do you have a tattoo, Steve?”

“No, I don’t have any,” Steve answered.

“Why not?” she asked, the full force of her curiosity trained on him.

“Hmm,” Steve paused to think about it before giving her a shrug. “I guess I don’t really know.”

“You want one?”

Eddie fully expected Steve to say no. But then, as he should’ve learned by now, Steve surprised him.

“Maybe one day,” Steve muses. “Maybe you could draw something for me, and I’ll get that as a tattoo.”

“That’s a good idea,” Olivia says. “I like it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Olivia said, but this time it came out more yawn than word.

“You tired, sweetheart?” Steve asked. He just received a nod in response. “Okay, let’s get you to bed.”

“Can you read me a story?” she requested.

Steve froze, looking a little lost. “Sure,” he agreed, picking up a pink backpack from the ground as he lifted her.

Eddie was on his feet before he even realized he’d moved. Steve looked at him, startled.

“Uh, you want some help?” Eddie offered, still not even knowing where he was going with this but wanting to spend more time with the two of them. “You can read, and I’ll do the voices.”

Steve exhaled, his shoulders sagging in relief. “Thanks, man. That would be a really big help,” he said softly. “I’m not sure I’m cut out for character voices.”

Eddie gave him a small smile, something warm flickering behind his eyes. “Don’t worry, Steve,” he said, voice a little softer than usual. “I’ve got enough voices for the both of us.”

Olivia, half-asleep on Steve’s shoulder, mumbled, “Eddie has to do the dragon voice.”

Eddie blinked. “Okay. I’ll do the dragon voice.”

“Make it grumpy,” she added, eyes already closing a little.

Steve looked down at her, then back at Eddie, his expression somewhere between amused and overwhelmed. “You sure you’re up for this?”

Eddie nodded, reaching out to take hold of the pink backpack so Steve had both arms free to support Olivia. “Absolutely. Let’s go read about dragons.”

Steve left the room, followed by Eddie.

The other three sat in silence for a moment or two, then Jonathan nudged Nancy and whispered, “I give it a fortnight before one of them confesses.”

Nancy smiled. “I give it a week.”

“Four days,” Robin grinned devilishly. “Wanna make this interesting?”

[just-some-cat]

Theory time!

deltarune chapter 3+4 spoilers

What/who is Ralsei? So far there's a few possible options:

1. Ralsei is an item like the rest of darkners (which one?)

2. Ralsei is a dead lightner like Gerson (who?)

3. Ralsei is an alive lightner

4. Ralsei is simply something the lore hasn't explained yet

There's a poll after the explanations, I'd love to know what you think!

---

1. Ralsei is an item:

If we assume Ralsei works by normal darkner's rules, with just possibly more power than the other Darkners so that he can be in any world without turning to stone, the question is which item?

We could assume it needs to be an item that has to stay consistently present in every location a dark world has been opened up in: easiest answer to this would be something that either Kris or Susie are always carrying around as those two are the only certain reoccurrences between the worlds, with Kris being a bit more likely on the count that Ralsei probably has some ties to their brother. There isn't much that we know for sure that Kris or Susie are always carrying around other than their clothing, Kris's cellphone, or most interestingly Kris's *knife*.

If Ralsei were Kris's knife it would feel... ill-fitting, but in a way that I could see Toby Fox pulling for the dark irony of it. Ralsei does have sharp horns at least, even if the rest of him is all soft and cuddly.

We don't actually have to assume Ralsei is something Kris/Susie are carrying though, because there is another reoccurring character in Rouxls Kaard that appears in multiple worlds (but not all), a card that... well, we don't actually know if Kris would take him with them in their pocket. Maybe. Maybe not. So him appearing in the dark world in Kris's house doesn't have an explanation yet. (Lancer meanwhile, was picked up by Kris to their pocket so his appearances are already explained). Outside of that, it seems like Ralsei lives in the school closet even when Kris and Susie aren't there. I think I remember a scene where Susie took Tenna to the school and met Ralsei there without Kris present - but I could be wrong. So maybe we can instead assume that darkners, or some specific darkners like Ralsei, can move outside of their own dark worlds without being physically carried there as objects. That'll lead us to believe Ralsei is simply an object in the school closet as that's where he lives, and that could be pretty much anything. A popular theory of course is that he's a drawing of Asriel or something else either depicting Asriel or owned by him. Or even a drawing of Kris's monstersona.

2. Ralsei is a dead lightner:

Gerson appears in chapter 4 as "not really a darkner", but also someone who cannot appear in the light world due to being dead. A dead lightner. Ralsei has told us that he can't come to the light world due to being a darkner - but we could assume that while "can't come to light world" was true, "because he is a darkner" was not.

Believing this theory you would have to assume that either Ralsei is lying or genuinely unaware of his true origins.

You would also need to look critically at his statement about "souls of dead loved ones will only appear in very specific dark worlds"; the statement seems to apply to Gerson, but it would not apply to Ralsei for whichever reason, as he has been seen in every dark world so far. This again alludes to him having special powers (because of his prince-hood?) or to him giving you incorrect information.

In any case, if we believe this theory, *who* would Ralsei be?

A dark answer could be that he *is* indeed Asriel, who had died while in college, without his family knowing about it. There are some difficulties to this theory however because Kris as his sibling has already shown to think they look very different from each other (Ralsei and Asriel) as well as how he would appear in town if he had died somewhere else.

An answer I would be more willing to believe is that he was an ancestor of the Dreemurr family. Perhaps someone buried under the school. With that, there would be a lot of reasons for him to resemble Asriel and have ties to him, while also being a different enough person that Asriel's sibling would know they're not the same at all. Perhaps he is a boy in their family who died young, and like Toriel, was devoted to the religion of "Deltarune", therefore knowing all about it.

I'm personally more willing to believe that in this case, Ralsei would have forgotten his past life as a lightner rather than lying about it. He does keep information from Kris and Susie - but he's never outright lied about something, rather just not said some things when he could have.

3. Ralsei is an alive lightner

Meaning Ralsei would be keeping his lightner-hood a secret.

This theory to me is the least likely because as I mentioned, I don't really believe Ralsei would outright lie to Kris/Susie especially to this extend, and if he were alive instead of a dead lightner, "not knowing about it" wouldn't really be possible. But that is based on my personal opinion of Ralsei's personality, so this should be explored anyway.

Being an alive lightner would solve some of the things that seem mysterious about Ralsei, such as him being extremely alike to a real a lightner (Asriel and the Dreemurrs in general) unlike the others darkners who's designs take inspiration from the objects they are in the light world. It would also let Ralsei move to any dark world without trouble - he wouldn't need special powers, he wouldn't need to be carried, he wouldn't turn to stone. The only thing he would need to do... is just be sneaky enough about it. Follow Kris/Susie in the light world to where the dark worlds are. Very un-Ralsei like behaviours tbh, as far as we know him.

Who could he be in this case? Again "Asriel" jumps up as a possibility and again, it's challenged by Kris's perception of Ralsei as different from Asriel. It could be... a secret brother that we were never told of and never saw? Who knows. Trying to ask the question of "who" makes this theory all the more unlikely to me as it would need to be a lightner who kept himself totally hidden from the others. Well, I guess the knight is another example of that...

4. Ralsei is something not yet explained

Half of the story in, there's still so much we don't know yet, that maybe whatever Ralsei is just hasn't been explained or showed to us yet.

One possibility could be a darkner that has no light-world item counterpart. But the possibilities are endless.

In which case... better luck next chapter?

---

Poll time!

I appreciate reblogs to get better results ^^

[rrayaton]

(black rabbit brotherhood) Youngest x reader headcanons

I'm trying to write for characters that I wouldn't normally write for (before I go into a writing block because we wouldn't want that 😭) Please someone request something before I go back into the shadows lurking instead of posting

It is truly a mystery on how her brother's haven't killed you yet

Honestly, how did you manage to date her without being killed??

Anyways, she'll be all over you. Hugging you, kissing you, dragging you away to dance with you, ect.

You're her new dress up toy, every time you see her, she'll have a new dress, shirt, stalker's outfit for you to try

Now she definitely isn't a gold digger or anything BUT she might expect some sort of gift from time to time. Like jewellery, trinkets, ornaments, a new piece of clothing. Things like that.

She would love to dance with you, all the time. If you can waltz her around the room then she'd be beaming from ear to ear

She has all the nicknames for you: handsome/beautiful, cutie, darling, sweetie, and if you're annoying her, weirdo, idiot, meanie, douchebag

She loves pranking you! Even gets her brothers (especially Eccentric) to help out (also probably payback for dating their sister)

If you were to prank her back though.. oh gosh don't let her brothers find out

She'll do her best to not let her brothers kill you, mainly because she doesn't want to get rid of her lover

Once you get past the hatred that the brothers have against you then you'll fit right in! If the eldest likes you, then the rest will like you. (Or more they'll feel obligated to like you)

If the brothers do see you treating their sister right, then nope! They didn't see it at all. They really can't see anyone being good enough for their sister 😭

If you were to break her heart then you aren't seeing daylight ever again, even if you let her down gently. Her brothers will be out for blood

She'll show you around Malum District and be very proud of it (so you better like it)

You gift her flowers, she'll keep them forever, even when they start to wilt

She is very very clingy, she never wants to leave your side (she will give you space don't worry)

She doesn't want to screw up this relationship, she knows she comes across as possessive and clingy but she is so afraid of losing you, she hopes she can be the best girlfriend you've ever had so you won't ever find someone else

Her love languages are definitely gift giving (receiving), physical touch and quality time

She gives you gifts too! Like a teddy bear that lost an eye or arm, or a matching necklace, a cute little ornament

Your room is now her room, if you have any cute things in your room, they're now hers, that cute little cat ornament you have? That's hers now. And no you can't have it back (unless it's a family heirloom)

If you ever sleep in the same bed then expect to be cuddled till you can't breathe, too bad if you need to go to the toilet, she ain't letting go!

In saying that, at least she doesn't hog the blankets and she has hundreds of blankets so you won't ever get cold. But you will be sleeping with a bunch on plushies that she WON'T let you push off

She will sometimes make a dance with you to show to her brothers, and she will be taking the lead

Her brothers do come off as harsh but they just care about their sister, they don't want to see her getting hurt by an asshole, deep down I have a feeling that they know you'll be an amazing partner for her but they're too stubborn, so it'll take a lot of time to get on their good sides

She loves doing you hair and she loves it when you do her hair. She puts matching bows in both of your hair and shows her brothers

Wherever you sit, she's sits. You sit on a chair? Then she's sitting on your lap, you sit at the table, then she's putting a chair right next to you.

If you guys are cuddled up on the couch then I see her brothers squeezing in between the two of you. You've got Eccentric in the middle of you two, the Eldest by the Youngest and Maniac next to you, most definitely sending daggers your way

Her brothers will crash your dates together. They'll start sitting at your table and order the most EXPENSIVE food in Krat and expect YOU to pay for it all. And will make comments if you even TRY and start talking about the price

One of her brothers: "So you take OUR sister out and can't even AFFORD to PAY for HER MEAL!"

Like it totally wasn't them that made you go broke 🙄

So if you ever strike her fancy then either run far far away or accept it and never let her go. Whatever you choose is up to you

I just find it funny that I had to keep adding her brothers into the mix, I really don't see them being happy if she were to EVER get a partner. They'll have to be up to their standards (which you'll never be able to reach, I'm so sorry.)

There's so much to write for her, I just can't seem to find the right ways to write it well so this is definitely not the end of her. I hope you enjoyed this piece of writing :)

[wonderful-calalini]

– It's just one evening, Hans. You used to get along just fine without me.

– I used to just drink wine at those boring noblemen's parties. After Raborsh, I swore to myself never to do that again. I'll get into trouble again! – Capon howled, tightening the garters on his stockings. He hadn't wanted to go to this upcoming meeting at Jobst's in the first place.

– It'll be me and Samuel this time, and your uncle won't be there, – Henry reassured him, crouching down to help.

– That's the problem! Your brother will drag you into a corner, and I'll stand there alone like a fool!

– We don't see each other that often. And you could have a chat with John. He'll probably be lonely without Sam, too.

– That rat Jobst's and I have nothing in common! We're not even friends. He'll find out all my dirty secrets! What am I supposed to talk to him about? Gossip?

– He already knows all your dirty secrets, just as you know his. You're on the same side, and you need friends. And isn't that what nobles do every time they meet?

In response, Henry only received an offended look from above.

***

As Hans expected, this was not at all like an important military meeting and was just another feast. Capon, frankly bored, drank his wine for an unusually long time. Looking around, he noticed his lover and Samuel in the corner, laughing and telling each other something. His soul became even sadder. And although it was stupid to be jealous of the page for his half-brother now, he still could not get used to the fact that he would have to be shared with someone.

After Samuel learned about their relationship with Henry, and they, in turn, learned from him about his connection with John, their conversations became less tense, but more awkward.

Hans glanced around the room and saw a man in blue clothes on the balcony, who also seemed to be avoiding company. This was unusual for him, and so the lord, remembering Henry's words, approached the lonely figure.

"And what should I talk to him about? He is not interested in hunting, archery, or women. ... Should I talk about men?"

– I see that I am not the only one without an escort today, – John grinned, sipping white wine from his mug.

– Indeed. It is very strange to see you without company. Shouldn't a spy sniff out traitors all the time?

– Sometimes even a good hound needs a rest. This is a common drinking bout. You will not find any useful information here. I am not interested in hearing about who cheated on whom or who has a rash on their ass, – Liechtenstein's voice sounded tired, which made Hans feel guilty.

– What else interests a spy besides gossip?

– Well... I like poetry. You know, Lord Capon, sometimes it's very nice to read something light and unobtrusive. Sometimes I make Sam read plays with me by roles.

Hans immediately imagined this and burst out laughing.

– It must be very fun. Henry likes to read, too. Ever since he learned, he's been robbing my library. He especially likes my poetry, - Capon immediately regretted blurting it out, because the eyes opposite him lit up with curiosity.

– Do you write poetry?

– Hm... Sometimes. Nothing special, but I suppose it could be called "light poetry". ... If you like, I can give you some to read later.

Liechtenstein smiled charmingly, nodding at such a generous offer.

"He is the only nobleman who could appreciate poetry of such content!" – Hans mentally justified his impulse, leaning on the railing, – “And it’s definitely not because I want to be friends with him!”

[storytimewithanonwriter]

🕸️ The Best Love Story Ever Written

TASM! Peter x Wife!Reader

Hello! Found another draft… this one has a lot. I what happens after this moment. I could make it a series. Just not sure if there is a want for it. Let me know if y’all want the rest. There’s an injury and hospital in this fic as well…. I guess I was in my Grey’s Anatomy era lol

- K

His voice was hoarse. He’d been speaking so long he wasn’t sure he could stop even if he wanted to.

Maybe he didn’t want to.

Because once he stopped, he’d have to think about how close he’d come to losing everything.

He cleared his throat, rubbing his thumb over his palm like he could ground himself in the rhythm of it.

“I guess…I should start at the beginning,” he said, voice low.

The very beginning.

It was pouring.

Not the gentle kind of rain that made the city look pretty, but the relentless, sideways sheets that turned umbrellas inside out and flooded every gutter.

He was late. Again.

And he knew, without even checking the clock, that she’d have something to say about that.

Peter swung down from a fire escape, landing in a puddle that soaked his ankles straight through his beat-up sneakers. His mask was still tucked in his pocket, and he probably looked like he’d been mugged.

He caught sight of her standing under a tiny awning, glaring at her phone like it had personally betrayed her.

Her friend Maven , the one with the bright pink streak in her raven hair and the louder mouth, was beside her, rambling something about online dating.

“…I’m just saying,” Maven was insisting, “if he doesn’t show up in five minutes, you’re letting me set you up with that EMT.”

She shoved her phone deeper into her coat pocket, rain dripping off her eyelashes.

“Mav , I swear, if you try to—”

And then she looked up.

Right at him.

And even in the rain, with her hair plastered to her cheeks and her friend in mid-rant, she smiled.

Like she was relieved.

Like maybe she’d been waiting for him all along.

⸻

His hand flexed where it rested on something soft—something small.

He kept going.

“She always said I’m dramatic,” he murmured. “But you have to understand—when she smiled like that…everything else just stopped.”

He let out a breath that trembled a little.

“She looked at me and asked, ‘What happened to you?’ And I said—”

⸻

“What happened to you?” she demanded, eyebrows lifting.

Peter ran a hand through his soaked hair.

“Uh…rain?”

Maven made a strangled noise.

“Rain?” she repeated. “Did the rain beat you up and steal your wallet?”

He felt heat creep up his neck.

“…Sort of.”

Her mouth twitched, trying not to laugh.

“You’re late.”

“I know,” he admitted, feeling sheepish. “But I’m here now.”

And even though Maven rolled her eyes so hard it looked painful, she stepped away leaving them space to short out whatever was happening between them.

⸻

He swallowed, fighting the tightness in his chest.

“She had every reason to walk away,” he said. “She could’ve gone home. Let someone else in. But she didn’t.”

His voice softened.

“That’s the first thing you should know about her. She never gives up. Not on people . Not when things look tough . She keeps going. She keeps trying.”

⸻

A week later, he was early. Ridiculously early. He sat in a cracked red booth, bouncing his leg and checking the door every thirty seconds.

When she finally walked in, she looked nervous in a way that made something warm bloom in his chest.

She slid into the booth across from him, pushing her hair behind her ear.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” he breathed.

“You look…less drowned.”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I clean up okay.”

The waitress came by. She ordered pancakes and hot chocolate. He ordered coffee . He was too nervous for anything else.

For the first twenty minutes, they were both so awkward that she knocked over her water glass twice, and he forgot what day it was when she asked.

But by the time the plates were empty, he felt something settle in his chest. Something he hadn’t let himself feel since Uncle Ben died.

Hope.

⸻

A little movement beside him made his breath hitch.

He paused, feeling the soft rise and fall under his hand.

“You know,” he whispered, “I almost didn’t call her after that night. I thought she deserved someone normal. Someone who didn’t have… baggage. ”

His throat tightened.

“But I’m selfish. I wanted more time with her. And every day since then, I’ve been glad I was.”

⸻

He came through her window at 3 a.m., bleeding.

It was closer than his place. He’d meant to leave again before she woke up. He’d meant to keep her out of this part of his life.

But he tripped on her bookshelf.

And she bolted upright, flipped on the light, and stared at him—half in costume, mask pulled back, trying to look casual as he dripped blood on her rug.

“…Peter?” she croaked.

He froze.

“…Hi.”

“Hi?” she echoed, voice climbing an octave. “Hi? You are Spider-Man? ….all those times you were late or missing or distracted? My…My Birthday?”

He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again.

“Peter, you’re bleeding.”

She did blink an eye . Got out of bed and began to bandage him up. Made him hot tea , handed much needed Advil, and lead him to bed . She curled in to bed next to him , placed a delicate kiss to his brow , and placed a hand on his chest as she drifted back to sleep.

⸻

He laughed softly at the memory, the sound a little watery.

“She didn’t scream,” he said, shaking his head. “She just started swearing and helped me”

His smile faded.

“She has never looked at me like I was a monster. Not once.”

His voice grew softer.

“She makes everything feel…possible,” he whispered. “Even the parts that scared me.”

He finally looked down.

At the two tiny faces wrapped in soft blankets.

At her still form in the hospital bed, monitors beeping steady and reassuring.

“I guess…I should tell you,” he whispered to them. “Your mom…she’s the bravest person I’ve ever known. And she’s fighting to come back to us right now.”

His thumb brushed a tiny cheek.

“So while we wait…I’m going to keep telling you how it all began.”

He looked at her, voice breaking but full of quiet faith.

“Because this is the best love story ever written. And it’s not over.”

[st4rofeden]

hey so how do you think Boothill would deal with a s/o where he’s worried he won’t be comfy for them to lay their head on his shoulder or cuddle with. And s/o is like “:) don’t you remember me complaining about other people’s beds being too soft that I can’t sleep. I ended up not sleeping cuz i was very annoyed about it. I like my bed hard. You’ll actually be very comfortable for me”?

it would be a VERY wholesome and sweet dynamic, for someone who’s all metal and grit on the outside but probably a lil soft and unsure when it comes to these things, you'll have to keep assuring him until his doubts melts away

warnings: none! thumbnail isn't mine. here

it starts when you're both sitting down to rest— sunset painting the horizon red, the heat of the day finally easing off. you scoot closer, eyes fluttering half-shut, clearly ready to use his shoulder like a pillow. But right as you're about to lean in—

"wait— uh, you sure y'wanna do that...?" he stiffens. as if he's not stiff enough already.

you pause, just stare at him.

"do what?"

“lean on me. I mean— I ain't exactly a feather bed. steel plates, no give. ain’t soft like a proper pillow.” he awkwardly looks away, scratching the back of his neck.

a moment of silence before he chuckles nervously, clearly trying to brush it off, but there’s an edge of self consciousnes there he can’t quite hide. as if the thought of not being “comfortable enough” for you bugs him more than he’d ever admit.

so you just smile — soft, knowing. and he smiles back sheepishly—

"dont you remember what I said about soft beds?" you teased gently.

he didn't immediately respond. you lean your chin into your palm, gazing him with warm eyes.

"Every time I stay somewhere else, I complain about the bed being too soft. Like I’m sinking into a marshmallow and I can’t get up. I didn’t sleep for two days because the pillows swallowed my head."

he just stares, words fumbled between surprised and concern. you took his hand, slowly leaning to him again. slowly.

"You? mister no-nonsense-with-a-six-shooter? you’re perfect for me. you’re like the firmest, most supportive mattress ever. yep. you’re definitely my ideal bed."

Boothill short-circuits for a full five seconds. poor man. lucky man. he looks at you with a deadpan.

"darlin', did you just call me a mattress?"

you giggled. "the best one I've ever had."

you lean against him again — firmly this time. He stays rigid for a moment, then slowly relaxes, warmth rising in his cheeks, arms settling around you like he’s still unsure he deserves it.

me mutters quietly. “well. reckon I can live with bein’ your favorite place to nap.”

he eventually realize.

you're soft enough for both of you.

[taragreenfield]

Adding to this post because I remembered something else.

During their conversation over the meal, Alina asks Aleksander how old he is. He says "120, give or take", and while it's considerably less than his actual age, it makes Alina aware of their giant age difference.

Then Alina mentions him being a living amplifier and asks him if it worries him that Grisha might use his bones to make themselves more powerful. That would be a good opportunity to milk some sympathy out of Alina and say that it does indeed worry him and hint at related trauma. That's what a manipulator or groomer would do. Trauma-baiting, self-pity, that's where they thrive. What does our boy do? He says no and changes the topic. (Missed opportunity 1)

He asks what kinds of stories Alina heard about him. Alina mentions him "gathering Grisha from over the world" and he contradicts her, saying that he doesn't need to gather them - they come on their own, because the rest of the world is even worse for them. Sadly, it wasn't a lie.

Then Alina mentions that he's considered the strongest Darkling in generations. Another opportunity to play on Alina's feelings and accept this compliment in a favorable way and maybe flirt a little? What does Aleksander say? "I didn't ask for flattery". He didn't ask for flattery, guys. Imagine telling a girl you are allegedly trying to seduce "I didn't ask for flattery" when she says something complimentary about you. (Missed opportunity 2)

Then Alina tells him that one of the serfs said Darklings are born without souls; he doesn't react much, just says "I doubt that serf is the only one who thinks so". A good manipulator would have acted hurt and probably asked Alina if she also thinks so, forcing her to confront her perception, making her feel bad for him, and allowing a little vulnerability, but he doesn't. (Missed opportunity 3)

As you can see, the chances to manipulate Alina's feelings were coming right into his hands, and he managed to drop every single one of them. He seems like the kind of guy who has no idea how to deal with the emotions and shuts down every time the conversation gets a little too close to uncomfortable emotional stuff. For someone who is supposed to be a good manipulator, Aleksander can be used as an example of how NOT to manipulate someone. The pattern of his behavior is not manipulation—it's avoidance. He rejects any opportunity to become closer to someone he's allegedly "seducing" or "grooming".

[finnjareau-prentiss]

Boredom Baking

This is my second time ever writing fanfiction and honestly I don't love this one cuz of how fast it goes but I'm hoping someone else will. If you have any feedback please feel free to share and if you have and prompts you want to see then please let me know, I write jj x reader, emily x reader, and jemily x reader

Jennifer Jareau x Reader fic:

Also not enough people write jj x reader so i'm hoping I can fill that

Summary: reader is home alone and bakes a ton, jj is their lovable idiot girlfriend, she ends up feeling bad and decides to take r out on a date to make it al up to her

1225 Words

Implied smut, baking, Jennifer Jareau is a lovable idiot, minimal use of y/n, minimal use of pronouns for the reader

It was quiet, too quiet. It was Saturday so you didn’t have to go to work but your girlfriend has been on a consult in New York for the past 2 days leaving you alone in your shared apartment. Sure this isn’t the first time one of you has been gone and it definitely won’t be the last time but that doesn’t stop you from missing her all the same. Since you joined the BAU you and JJ had been joined at the hip, sharing hotel rooms, sitting together on the jet, movie nights on your rare nights off, and when you started dating all that really changed was instead of just dreaming of kissing her you actually did it. Waking up without her though became harder when you moved in together, meaning your last few mornings were missing the sunshine you desperately craved.

Yesterday you talked to Garcia at lunch since JJ was busy and couldn’t call you like she normally did, and she was telling you about a friend of hers who baked whenever she was bored and ended up starting a small baking business out of it. You took her advice and decided that baking while your girlfriend was away might cure your boredom or atleast give your hands something to do for the next few hours.

Which is how you ended up with 4 dozen cookies, 2 trays of brownies, 3 cakes of all different flavours, and Shawn Mendes blasting in the background. ‘I may have made a few too many everythings’ you think to yourself, realizing that 1 you could not possibly eat all of this before it goes bad. After a small google search you got the idea to make small packages with some of everything to deliver to your coworkers.

Packing all of the sweets up into containers and getting into your car you set off to Reid’s apartment first, “Hey Y/n! What are you doing here?” he said confused but still happy to see you. After explaining your day to him he gladly took the numerous desserts you had made, and the rest of your ‘deliveries’ as you dubbed them in your head went similarly. You stayed to hang out with Jack for a bit when you stopped by Hotch’s apartment and did the same with Sergio when you went to Emily’s apartment who did laugh with you about your “new hobby” as she called it.

Your last stop was the one and only Penelope Garcia’s home who was the cause of your activities. “Y/n Hey! I wasn’t expecting you!” she ushered you in with a smile. Once you yet again explained your day she invited you to stay at her place for dinner which surprised you because you barely even realized when 6 pm came around but you stayed and ate with her before playing an ungodly amount of UNO. With a laugh at her brand new rule that she totally didn’t just make up “Ok ok I guess baking myself into a hole wasn’t the worst idea!” you said, “See! I always have good ideas!” “Now that's a questionable statement but I’ll let it slide” you teased back. “I should probably get going,” you said, preparing to go back to your silence. “Alrightttt fine but tomorrow you are coming out with me and Derek and we are going to have a fun night out!” she said with slight joking threats, and you happily agreed.

Once you left her apartment Garcia immediately called her best friend, “Jennifer Jareau I know you are doing important work right now but you still have an amazing girlfriend waiting for you at home who needs some love!”. While Penelope loved JJ she could be a bit slow sometimes, and seeing how much you missed her and the small hurt you felt over the fact that JJ wasn’t calling as often gave her the push she needed to talk some sense into the love of your life. “Pen what are you talking about? I love her so much.” “And when was the last time you told her that or even spoke to her?” before JJ could answer she continued “Do you know what she did today? Boredom Baking. She felt lonely so she spent her day baking then going to all our friends' houses giving away those treats cause it has been 2 days since you talked to her! And you didn’t even know that! Go talk to your girl and make it up to her!”.

After JJ finished her call with Garcia she quickly reached her hotel and called you. “Hey baby” she said a bit nervously, worried you’d be mad at her even though she knew you well enough to know you wouldn’t be. “Hey Jayje! I missed you” you said finally back at your apartment, “I missed you too, i’m so sorry i haven't called you in a bit, things have just been so hectic and i’m trying to get done as soon as I can so I can come home to you” “Oh yeah that's fine, I don’t mind as long as your being safe baby” “I promise i’m being safe and i’m still sorry, I should have called you but i’m gonna make it up to you when I get home” she said trying to making sure you got her sincerity. “Oh yeah? How exactly are you gonna make it up to me Agent Jareau?” you teased with a voice sweet as honey. “Well, for starters I'm gonna take you out on a really fancy date, dresses and all” “And then?” “And then, I was thinking maybe you’d like to go home for dessert?” “And what would that dessert entail?” you said with a slight rasp to your voice that you knew made her go crazy, and that it did because the next thing you heard was a small groan and “You know exactly what, you little tease” she responded and you could practically hear the smile on her face.

It's safe to say that call went to some very happy places.

~~~~~~ The Next Day - 7 pm

You had just finished getting ready to go out with Morgan and Garcia like you’d promised when you heard a knock at the door. You expected it to be Morgan who was picking you up but when you opened the door, there stood your stunning girlfriend in a gorgeous navy blue dress, and a bouquet of flowers for you. “Ready for that date?” she said with a smile and all you could do was jump into her arms. “I thought you wouldn’t be back till tomorrow?” “Well I finished up sooner than I thought so I got the first flight out I could find and here I am. So about that date?” with a small laugh you responded “Yes! But wait I was supposed to go out with Derek and Penelope tonight " "It’s all taken care of my love, I already talked to them” “Well then I believe someone needs to get walking” you said taking her hand and already slipping back into your usual banter with her.

True to her word, that night she took you to a nice restaurant and later had you screaming her name for ages. The next day you walked into work with shaky legs and your lovely girlfriend next to you.

*quick side note: if you wanna see the date then lmk and ill write it but otherwise i probably won't

also im a big marvel fan so if you wanna see some Natasha Romanoff x reader then lmk

[lunarruled]

The look on Magna's face was more than enough to let Kyleigh know she still wasn't trusted, and all she could do was sigh loudly. After they had been able to get out of that prison and gotten this far in the new world she couldn't let down those walls? Alright fine. In a way the half lycan understood, but this partnership between them was never going to work if that woman didn't give up just a little bit. Deciding that now was not the time to start a fight over some dumb shit Kyleigh simply agreed that she would be the one to open the door and got down out of the truck. Why she was the one that had to put her trust out there that Magna wouldn't fire the damn thing up and take off as soon as that door was opened was beyond her and a bit insulting. But given the way the world was now she tried not to take it too hard.

Instead Kyleigh walked over to the door and gave it a good look over. Since they were inside this time it would be easier to open, her fingers small enough to reach in and open the lock manually. Once she heard it click she reached down and grabbed the handle, giving it a good tug for it to come up. Her arms went up as far as they could before she just pushed it hard, happy that it went up the rest of the way without any issue.

Running back to the truck because she didn't want to take any chances that the sound of the door going up attracted the wrong kind of attention, Kyleigh hopped back up in the driver's seat and smiled when she was finally given the keys. She had to admit she was a bit scared as she put the key in the ignition, but the engine fired up as soon as she turned it over. Listening carefully there were no bad knocks or rattles that she could hear, a little squeak but that was most likely because the truck hadn't been used for some time. Nothing that some lubricating spray couldn't fix, if they were able to find some somewhere along the road.

"Yeah I agree, let's just head on back."

Shifting from park to drive the truck began to roll forward, a lot more smoothly than Kyleigh had thought. It actually was wonderful to smell exhaust and gasoline for once as she rolled her window down a bit. As soon as they were out onto the street she gave the vehicle a bit more gas, sitting up taller as the sun began to shine on them.

As tempting as it was to see if the radio still worked Kyleigh didn't dare touch it, too afraid that one of those dead things might hear and come towards them. Older cars like this one were built a lot tougher than most and could probably handle running over a few of the dead. For now she simply kept going forward, shifting when she heard that familiar rumble from the engine.

"When we get back to our spot we should find a way to hide this thing. Not many people know how to drive stick but we can't take any chances. Maybe hide it behind some bushes, cover it up with whatever we can find." Now that the two of them were safe from danger for awhile Kyleigh knew there wasn't much more to do other than talk. And if there was one thing she hated more than anything was attempting to make small talk with someone else.

"Yeah, it's time to get the hell out," the brunette agreed, yet she was pondering the wisdom of just handing Kyleigh the car keys like that. Paranoid as ever, Magna couldn't ignore that feeling nagging at her that Kyleigh could turn on her now that she had gotten what she needed, a car and some supplies. What if Magna opened that garage door again, only for Kyleigh to drive off immediately, figuring that having Magna with her wasn't worth the trouble? The other woman had every reason to distrust her. If she didn't take off now, she probably would the moment she found out why Magna had gotten into prison.

Or maybe it wouldn't be about that. Some people didn't like to share supplies. Her time in the prison had fucked with her head enough that a vivid image of Kyleigh running her over popped up in her mind's eye. Kill or disable to take their shit and run. For some survivors, it was a strategy.

"It's your turn to play with the fishing line. I think you're much better at that than I will ever be."

Yeah, Kyleigh had already prepared to start the car, but Magna wasn't gonna risk anything even if something within her told her that her suspicions were over the top. She wouldn't open the door, unless Kyleigh had a good reason to convince her to.

After the door was opened, Magna wasted no time to climb into the passenger's seat and hand Kyleigh the car keys. Finally dropping that bag to rest by her feet, she felt a weight drop off her that only then she realized she had been carrying for so long. Not just the weight of the bag, but that of hopelessness. For the first time, it felt like they had a chance.

She wasn't going to delude herself into thinking the ride would be smooth, but a car offered some damn good protection against the dead and as long as you had gas, you could always drive away from them. The closest you could probably get to having some kind of control. Maybe she should ask Kyleigh if she could try to drive that thing at some point. It would probably feel too tempting to run some sickos over for her own good, though.

"I don't really give a rat's ass about the bike," she clarified, letting her head rest against the seat comfortably for a moment. They were definitely going to find another one unless they died anytime soon - unlike with food, you didn't run out of bikes so quickly. But people were an entirely different matter. "Someone could still be out there," she spoke, her gaze focused on what she could see through the windshield.

Magna herself didn't even know what point she was trying to make. Was she more lamenting the fact that there was someone in need out there, someone who might die without their help? Like that person they'd seen being torn apart through the camera screens in the surveillance room? Or the many people she'd seen die at the prison because no one had gotten to them?

Or was she more worried that there could be more of them? Sure as hell they couldn't be the only people out there, or was that wishful thinking?

[bisquitly]

Love you Jere but... that Oddly good tastes aaaawful...

[tryingahandinholdingapen]

I kind of want to either write or read a time travel fix-it fic where it's Tobirama who travels back in time - BUT it's not Tobirama's POV. He's only a side character. It's mainly focused on Madara and Hashirama. Occasionally Mito, Izuna, Touka

This post got real fucking long so here's a read more

Just a really funny fic where you never quite get to see what Tobirama is doing, because he's not the POV character and the other characters don't know/don't pay attention to what he's up to. But like he is doing important stuff yk he's taking advantage of that future knowledge

For example:

Madara and Hashirama meeting at the river. They've figured out/confessed to their respective clans and are discussing peace and who in their clan might or might not support them

Madara asks about Tobirama and Hashirama is like "Hm? Tobirama? Honestly I don't think he cares about the Senju-Uchiha war at all. He's far too occupied with his own war against the mold youkai."

"....The what?"

(It's not too obvious from Hashirama's POV that Tobirama keeps sneakily fucking up Zetsu's machinations, but what's significantly more difficult to ignore is that Tobirama is increasingly getting ambushed by White Zetsu drones ('mold youkai') - that he eliminates with extreme prejudice and alarming fury)

Just, stuff like that. Main plot is making peace, focused on most of the main family EXCEPT Tobirama (who is otherwise occupied and is thus rarely focused on much) and possibly Izuna. So it's all stuff about battles between the Senju and Uchiha, probably having to deal with internal issues as well (Butsuma/Tajima? Elders? Coup/assassination attempts?) and plotting how they could possibly get peace, it's stuff like negotiating with the Uzumaki + Mito's marriage to Hashirama, it's the Uchiha having to deal with one of their allied clans turning on them (barely noticed sub-plot during this where Tobirama is trying to prevent/rectify the sabotage Zetsu did to the Uchiha's fancy tablet), it's about planning for their eventual village (Hashirama finds notes on plumbing on his desk, written in Tobirama's hand - when the fuck did he have time for that? where did he even learn about plumbing?), it's about trying to get the Daimyo on side, it's about all the politics of trying to get other clans to move into the village too, it's about ah fuck bloodline thieves discovered there were plans for a shinobi village in the works and are doing a frantic attempt to kidnap/'harvest' as much as possible before the bloodline clans are too protected in the planned village so now we have to deal with this fucking trafficking ring...

The sub-plot is an Tobiizu fic where Izuna is (correctly) CONVINCED that Tobirama is Up To Something, and (incorrectly) decided it's malicious to the Uchiha et al, and has taken it upon himself to investigate and Stop Tobirama's Evil Plans At All Costs

Longsuffering Tobirama is far too busy for Izuna's bullshit. He's attempting to prevent/stop/counteract Zetsu's machinations, he's trying to kill Zetsu, he's trying to destroy the big old statue (yk the one I mean, idk what it's called, if it has a name), he's trying to make sure the bijuu are all safe and Won't get sealed into jinchuuruki OR the aforementioned statue...

(he gets distracted for a bit with a side project wherein he decides actually it would be really funny for him to convert the cave the big statue was in, into a place for the kyuubi to hang out. that takes him quite a while since he has to run Zetsu out (so many White Zetsu drones...), destroy the statue, alter the place accordingly, and then find and convince the kyuubi that actually this is a great idea - without the kyuubi just fucking eating him)

...he's trying to make life easier for Madara and Hashirama (oh, Butsuma died from a mysterious illness right before he could enact his incredibly stupid plan against the Uchiha? damn. what a shame. anyway-), he's having to reinvent everything he remembers from last time he lived through this shit because whilst some of those jutsus/techniques/inventions (cough, Edo Tensei, cough) aren't strictly necessary, some of them are VERY MUCH NEEDED

That takes. So much time. Luckily Tobirama doesn't have to do all the research over again, since he remembers it and it's incredibly unlikely anyone will call him out on it (....except Mito with regards to certain seals. he very begrudgingly does research and writes notes and invents plausible-mistakes-that-could-have-been-a-first-attempt) so for the most part he can skip straight to inventing or writing out the final project/knowledge

Some of Zetsu's machinations are incredibly annoying to counter, actually. Like at some point the blasted weed installed/had nearly installed a puppet ruler in Land of Water which, what? Why? Urgh

(Please imagine the absolutely incredible amounts of suspicion and incredulous disbelief and paranoia etc that Izuna is aiming Tobirama's way once he (eventually) discovers that the 'White Demon' is seemingly MESSING WITH POLITICS RE: WHO RULES A FOREIGN NATION?!?!?! is nobody else seeing this!! Izuna is NOT CRAZY look at this bullshit somebody needs to stop him-!)

So long story short Tobirama has a LOT on his plate and he is so so incredibly stressed. Somebody help this man. None of this shit is helped by the fact that

a) Zetsu realised very rapidly that someone was fucking with his plans, and promptly started trying to kill Tobirama off, or failing that, sabotage Tobirama's plans in turn

(thus the years long and increasingly violent 'war against mold youkai' that starts when Tobirama is like, ridiculously young, and Hashirama casually mentions to Madara)

b) Izuna. Just, Izuna. He's fucking obsessed with Tobirama (why) and also the most paranoid person ALIVE it sometimes seems, and he just, won't stop, sticking his nose in Tobirama's business, how does he seem to be fucking EVERYWHERE doesn't he have anything else to do it's not like Izuna even knows the shadow clone jutsu how is he doing this why-

(Izuna like. What could possibly be more important to my rival than ME. And anyway he can't possibly be doing anything GOOD so it's for the best I intervene really this is entirely altruistic-)

c) amongst all this, Tobirama still has to somehow maintain at least a vague, plausibly deniable, belief that he's like. A regular person, involved in only normal things. Because if anyone finds out what he's really doing, or what Zetsu really is, or that he's from the future (IZUNA GET YOUR NOSE OUT OF-), then that introduces just. SO MANY new moving parts and this is already fucking complicated enough as it is, alright? Yeah yeah yeah teamwork makes the dream work, two heads are better than one, etc, but this is essentially a war of information and manipulation between Zetsu and Tobirama and when your main power is info+manipulation the fucking LAST thing you want is more moving parts + more people who could leak info/know your info/unintentionally fuck up your (future) knowledge. No. As much as possible he has to do this on his own. Which means he needs to act like he's doing nothing at all. Actually spend time with his family, be seen running normal missions sometimes, help in clan matters, attend the Senju-Uchiha battles when relevant...

Which is all really really hard when there's only so much time in the day. And Zetsu doesn't have to worry about 'spending time with family' or anything so any time Tobirama spends doing that instead of working towards destroying Zetsu's shit is-

(thank fuck Tobirama still remembers how he invented shadow clones, is all he can say. thank fuck for that)

Over time Tobirama increasingly gets a handle on his terrifyingly long to-do list, which means that 'Izuna is being really annoying and following me almost all the time' moves up his priority list. Eventually Tobirama figures out that the easiest way to get Izuna to stop GETTING IN THE GODDAMN WAY is to just. Humour him. Give him attention. Yes yes you are the most important person in my life and all this inconvenient shit is just stopping me from devoting my energy to fighting you now if you could just put that lady over there under a genjutsu and- (Tobirama trying to get Izuna to help un-fuck Land of Water, it only sort of works)

At some point they fuck because Tobirama's stress levels are at an all-time high and he needs SOME sort of outlet. (Could be entirely sane+consensual (relatively. given who we're talking about) or it could be dubcon) and Izuna actually chills the fuck out for an entire ten hours afterwards. Amazing. Clearly they'll have to do this again

So they do

(yandere4yandere tobiizu for the win. Tobirama starts out normal (again, relatively, considering who we're talking about) whilst Izuna approached everything about Tobirama in a completely sideways obsessive way from the start, but Tobirama gradually starts to also get more obsessive/possessive over time. Like what do you mean the one person who has followed me unquestioningly for years and wants to kill me and kissed me yesterday and volunteered to help me fight a bijuu might LEAVE?? no. fuck you)

(Izuna with a hiraishin marker tattoo-)

anyway back to 'things even further complicating Tobirama's life':

optional letter d) Tobirama is trying so hard to seem normal and not like he's from the future or fighting an evil mold-plant-creature that wants to revive his mom from the moon. So, so hard. But alas, facts work against him

Like, I mean, imagine from an in-universe perspective. There's this guy with really weird colouring, he's known as the 'White Demon', he's better at suiton than anyone else alive and if you've seen him even SLIGHTLY try it's terrifying (think: drowning on dry land, sudden rain/storm/tsunami, blood ripped from a dozen bodies in half as many seconds-), there's? more than one of him? HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE and he's so fucking hard to kill but even when you kill him he just. doesn't. die. (friendly reminder that Tobirama is abusing shadow clones like nobody's business in an attempt to stay on top of his insane amount of work to do -> yk, the jutsu he invented, that doesn't work like any other clone jutsu, and that in this timeline he has thus far told nobody about. someone destroys a shadow clone and is incredibly alarmed that theres 1) no corpse 2) the White Demon is STILL ALIVE after they KNOW they killed him?!)

There's also rumours about him fighting/negotiating with bijuu, and quite a few witnesses to his ongoing war with 'mold youkai'

The majority of people (excepting like, people he's close to in his own clan, plus Izuna and possibly a few others) aren't sure he ever sleeps or eats or drinks, and wounds don't seem to last long (healing jutsu from the future + whilst he's sleeping/eating his shadow clone(s) are still out and about)

Then there's the insane amount of knowledge and jutsu and inventions he offers-

Long story short on top of everything else, Tobirama doesn't have to deal with people knowing he's from the future or about the whole issue with Zetsu

....He DOES have to deal with basically svery person in existence being 100% convinced he's not human, though