#reaching breaking points at least twice a day

[sincerelybubbles]

the team noticing how comfortable shy bau reader has gotten with hotch and they all find it very sweet

Slipping Into the Light warnings: brief mentions of cannon typical violence paring: hotch x shy!bau!reader

||||

The bullpen is its usual brand of chaos—agents moving between desks, papers shuffling, the hum of conversation filling the air. It’s comfortable, routine. Nothing out of the ordinary.

At least, until she walks in.

The team barely notices at first, too caught up in their morning tasks, but then—then, something odd happens.

She walks past Hotch’s office, and without a second of hesitation, she reaches out and knocks twice against the open doorframe—light, quick, easy.

Hotch glances up from his paperwork, and instead of his usual curt nod or unreadable gaze, something soft crosses his face. It’s barely there, a flicker of warmth before he schools his expression. But it’s real.

And then—then—she says, “Morning, Hotch,” like it’s nothing. Like it’s normal.

Not Good morning, sir. Not a quiet, hesitant nod in passing. No, just Morning, Hotch, said with the kind of familiarity that suggests it isn’t the first time.

He returns it with a quiet, “Morning,” like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And that’s when the team starts paying attention.

Morgan’s head tilts up first, brows knitting together. Emily, mid-sip of her coffee, pauses with the cup just short of her lips. Reid frowns at the exchange like it’s a puzzle he hasn’t figured out yet. Rossi just smirks.

The door to Hotch’s office closes a moment later, and she moves toward her desk, entirely unaware of the looks being exchanged across the room.

Emily recovers first, setting her coffee down and leaning toward Morgan. “Morning, Hotch?”

Morgan shakes his head, almost in disbelief. “That’s not normal, right? She doesn’t talk to anyone like that. Not even me,” he points out, sounding offended. “And I’ve been workin’ on breaking her out of that shell for years.”

Reid blinks, clearly running through past conversations in his head. “She’s never greeted me like that before, either.”

“Or me,” Emily agrees, before throwing a glance toward Rossi. “You?”

Rossi just takes a slow sip of his coffee, unreadable.

“Something’s up,” Morgan mutters.

Emily hums in agreement. “Something.”

||||

It happens again the next day.

And the next.

And the next.

Each time, it’s something small—something easily overlooked if you aren’t paying attention. But they are paying attention. Because once profilers start noticing something, it’s impossible to stop. It becomes a game between Emily and Morgan, noticing the small ways you've warmed up to Hotch.

Easier smiles, passing him in the plane when you would usually wait for a larger gap, conversations continued when he walks into the room rather than screeching to a halt like before.

It's nothing massive to the untrained eye but, well, they are trained to notice breaks in patterns, to see when things change and how they do.

Like today.

Hotch walks into the bullpen, coffee in hand, heading straight for his office. Nothing unusual there. But as he passes by her desk, she glances up from her file, eyes flicking toward his cup.

“Did you eat?” she asks, casually—too casually.

Hotch slows just a fraction, just enough for the team to catch it. “Not yet.”

She hums, glancing at the time. “Bagel shop’s still open. They have fresh bread until nine.”

“I’ll be fine,” Hotch assures, but he lingers. Just for a second.

She gives him a pointed look before returning to her file. “Mm.”

That’s it. That’s the whole exchange. And yet—

Morgan immediately turns toward Emily. “You seein' this?”

Emily nods, hiding a grin behind her coffee. “Oh, I’m seeing it.”

Reid, who has been diligently pretending not to be part of this entire conspiracy, clears his throat. “I mean, she could just be concerned about his health?”

Morgan gives him a look as Emily snorts. “She’s never told us to eat.”

“She’s never told anyone to eat,” Morgan mutters, shaking his head. “Except Hotch, apparently.”

Spencer frowns slightly, watching as Hotch disappears into his office. Then he looks back at her, catching the way she glances one more time at the closed door before focusing back on her file.

“Okay,” he admits. “That was weird.”

“Thank you,” Emily says, throwing her hands up.

Morgan shakes his head, settling back into his chair. “I’m just saying, that’s not nothing.”

||||

It happens again later that evening, this time in the briefing room.

They’ve wrapped the case, a particularly grueling one, and now it’s the slow process of debriefing, paperwork, and waiting for the jet to be refueled in case they actually need it tomorrow - they've been able to help over the phone today but everyone is certain tomorrow will bring a tragedy the necessitates travel tomorrow or the day after. The team is scattered around the table—some flipping through reports, others making half-hearted attempts at conversation, everyone running on fumes.

She's tucked into the corner of the room, curled over a file, her pen tapping absently against the paper. If she stops moving, she’ll fall asleep. And she doesn’t have the energy to be embarrassed about that.

The door opens, and Hotch steps in. The conversation dulls, but only slightly—it’s always like that when he walks in. Not because they’re afraid of him, but because his presence naturally shifts the atmosphere.

She barely looks up. “Coffee?” she asks, already moving to stand.

Hotch shakes his head. “I got it.”

She pauses, then settles back down, flipping a page. “Okay.”

That’s it. No hesitation, no stammering, no overthinking the fact that she offered in the first place. Just easy.

And that is very interesting.

Morgan narrows his eyes slightly, tilting his head as he watches her. It’s subtle—probably something even she hasn’t noticed—but there’s no way in hell he’s imagining it now.

The old her would’ve never spoken to Hotch without being spoken to first. Would’ve never offered him something so casually, so easily, like it was second nature.

And Hotch—

Hotch, who usually doesn’t acknowledge small gestures like this, doesn’t even bat an eye. Doesn’t make a comment, doesn’t pause, doesn’t do anything other than react without thought.

Which means this isn’t the first time it’s happened.

Emily catches Morgan’s look and raises a brow. You seeing this?

Morgan smirks. Oh, I’m seeing it.

They share a knowing glance, and then—just to test the waters—Emily leans forward, setting her elbows on the table.

“Hey, Hotch,” she says casually. “Since you’re already up, can you grab me one too?”

Hotch glances at her, then at Morgan, who looks far too interested in his answer. He exhales sharply, amused but unamused, and turns toward the door.

“No.”

Morgan barks out a laugh, and Emily grins, triumphant.

And in the corner, she remains blissfully unaware, still flipping through her file, still tapping her pen, still completely oblivious to the way the entire team is slowly piecing this together.

||||

The next moment happens in Rossi’s office.

She hadn’t meant to end up here. It’s late, past the point of pretending she’s being productive, but she told herself she’d finish one more report before heading home. Somewhere along the way, she’d wandered, coffee in hand, and now she’s leaning against Rossi’s doorway, blinking sluggishly at him as he flips through a leather-bound journal.

“Long day?” he asks without looking up.

She nods, then remembers he’s not looking. “Yeah.”

He hums, setting the journal aside. “And yet, you’re still here instead of going home. Or is it that you don’t want to go home?”

“I was going home,” she argues, though they both know she’s lying. “I just… got distracted.”

Rossi leans back, eyeing her with the kind of gaze that makes it impossible to lie. Not that she’s in the habit of lying to him—especially since he’s usually at least five steps ahead of her anyway.

She glances at the clock. 10:42 PM. She exhales through her nose, rolling her lips together.

“You should get some sleep,” he says, but there’s something else in his tone. A lilt. An implication.

She squints at him. “Why do you sound like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you know something.”

Rossi shrugs. “I know a lot of things.”

“Right,” she mutters, narrowing her eyes.

He’s enjoying this. That much is clear. She doesn’t know what he’s enjoying yet, but she’s sure he’ll make her figure it out on her own.

And then—

“Oh.” She blinks. “Wait. No.”

Rossi smirks.

Her stomach flips. “You know?”

He doesn’t answer, just reaches for his glass of scotch, taking a slow, measured sip.

She feels heat creep up her neck, spreading across her cheeks.

He knows.

Which means Hotch told him.

Which means Hotch talked about it.

Which means—

“Relax,” Rossi drawls, interrupting her impending spiral. “It’s not like he gave me a play-by-play. He just mentioned you two had dinner.” He pauses, then grins. “And that it went well.”

She shifts her weight, suddenly too aware of herself. Oh.

It’s not that she thought Hotch would keep it a secret forever, but hearing that he’d told Rossi, that he’d spoken about it in any capacity, makes it feel… real.

More real than the way her heart stuttered when Hotch had smoothed a hand over hers at dinner. More real than the quiet, steady confidence he’d had in their them-ness while she was still fumbling over the weight of it.

Rossi watches her carefully, still amused but softer now. “You okay?”

She nods, pressing her lips together. “Yeah. I just—”

She gestures vaguely, words failing her.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Go home,” he says again, more insistent this time. “And tell Aaron I said you’re welcome.”

She sputters, eyes wide, and Rossi just laughs, already reaching for his journal again.

She doesn’t know if she’s embarrassed or endeared, but as she slips out of his office, warmth tucked into her chest, she thinks maybe it’s a little bit of both.

||||

The moment is small. Blink and you’d miss it.

Hotch is standing by the coffee maker in the break room, pouring himself a cup. She wanders in a moment later, her movements unhurried, her posture looser than usual. The case they’d just wrapped had been rough, but the team was back home, safe, and exhaustion was settling in around all of them like a thick fog.

She steps beside him, reaching for the sugar, only to find his hand already on it.

She blinks up at him.

Hotch smirks, just barely. “You were going to put in two scoops.”

Her eyes narrow. “And?”

He hands her the spoon, ignoring the way the corner of his mouth twitches. “And you always complain that it makes the coffee too sweet.”

She exhales, glaring at him for being right, and scoops one spoonful instead.

“You should get your own coffee if you’re just going to judge mine.”

“I was here first,” he reminds her. "Making my own coffee, not yours."

“I was letting you make mine for me.”

The words are out before she fully registers them, her lips parting slightly at the realization.

Across the room, Morgan and JJ freeze mid-conversation.

Hotch stills, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around the handle of his mug. He watches her, slow and appraising, and then—

He leans in. Not much, but just enough. “You've got me there. Here." Slowly, he places the cup in her hand, a spoonful and a half of sugar poured in, slowly curling her fingers around the mug for her. Pleased at the reaction he so easily brings forth.

And then he walks out, leaving her standing there, fingers curled around her coffee cup, ears burning.

Morgan lets out a low whistle. “Damn.”

JJ, still wide-eyed, elbows him. “Don’t make it a thing.”

“Oh, it’s already a thing,” Morgan mutters, shaking his head in disbelief. “Did you see that? She flirted back.”

JJ presses her lips together, fighting a grin. "Still, not our business." She insists, despite the way warmth curls in her stomach at the thought.

||||

The jet hums beneath them, a steady, soothing vibration. The case had been long and brutal, but it was over, and they were finally on their way home. The team was scattered around the cabin—Morgan and Emily playing cards, JJ half-dozing with her headphones in, and Rossi nursing a glass of something dark.

And her?

She was sitting stiffly in her seat, her arm propped awkwardly against her side, doing a terrible job of pretending she wasn’t in pain.

The gash on her ribs wasn’t deep. She’d already been patched up at the local hospital—stitched, bandaged, and thoroughly instructed to take it easy. But “take it easy” apparently translated to everyone treating her like she was made of glass.

Emily had tried to grab her go-bag for her earlier.

Morgan had asked if she wanted him to get her a drink—when had he ever done that before?

Even Spencer had hovered like a worried sibling, his gaze flicking toward her every few minutes like he was expecting her to keel over.

She could deal with that. What was harder to deal with was the fact that Hotch hadn’t said anything at all.

Not until now.

“You need to rest,” his voice cut through the low hum of conversation, steady, sure.

She looked up from her untouched cup of tea to see him standing in front of her, arms crossed, expression unreadable to anyone who wasn’t her.

She sighed. “I’m fine, Hotch.”

“You’re in pain,” he countered, not unkindly.

“I’m always in pain after a case,” she pointed out, arching a brow.

His lips twitched in a way that was almost—but not quite—a smile. “This is different.”

He knew. Of course, he knew. She should have expected that.

Her shoulders eased just a little. “I just don’t want everyone fussing over me.”

“They’re only fussing because they care.”

She couldn’t argue with that. But still, she rolled her eyes, shifting slightly in her seat—only to wince when the movement tugged at her stitches.

Hotch sighed and sat beside her. “Case in point.”

She huffed, tilting her head back against the headrest, aware of the small, knowing glances being exchanged around the cabin. No one said a word, but she felt it—the way the energy shifted.

Like they were all watching something unfold, something inevitable.

She kept her gaze on Hotch. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance.” His voice softened just enough to make her chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with her injury.

And despite the pain, despite the exhaustion pressing down on her limbs, she found herself... warm.

Because he knew her. Knew when to push and when to step back. Knew how much she hated being coddled, but also knew exactly when she needed to be told to stop pretending she was fine.

It wasn’t suffocating.

It was steady.

It was him.

||||

The bar was too loud, too dimly lit, too full of bodies swaying and pressing together in a way that made her head ache.

She’d never wanted to come, not really. But Morgan had a way of making things sound like a good idea until she was already in them, halfway slumped over a sticky bar top, nursing a drink she barely had the energy to lift.

"You look like you’re about to pass out," Morgan teased, leaning his elbow against the bar beside her.

"Probably," she murmured, not even pretending to refute it.

She was wrecked. The case had been long and grueling, every hour stretching into the next with little more than caffeine and sheer willpower keeping her upright. When Morgan had invited her out, she hadn’t been sure why she said yes—maybe just to avoid thinking too hard about things.

But now, with exhaustion weighing her down and the music pounding too loudly in her ears, she wished she’d just gone home.

Morgan nudged her shoulder. "Alright, lightweight. You eat anything today?"

The question barely registered before she answered, too tired to filter her words. "I had dinner in Hotch's office."

It was out before she could stop it.

Morgan blinked. Then grinned.

"Ohhhh," he drawled, sitting up straighter, eyes lighting up in that way that meant trouble. "That’s why you two have been acting different lately."

She frowned, sluggish. "What?"

"Come on, don’t play coy now. Dinner? With Hotch? In his office? That’s why you’ve been all up in each other’s space. I knew something was up!"

Oh, God.

Her stomach plummeted, warmth flooding her face so fast she thought she might actually faint. "Morgan," she hissed, suddenly far more awake. "I—I didn’t mean—"

"You totally meant," he cut in, smug as hell.

She buried her face in her hands, groaning. "You tricked me into coming here. I’m too tired for this interrogation."

"You’re too tired to lie," he countered, tapping the bar. "And that’s the best time to get the truth."

She let out a long, slow breath, willing herself to cool down, to deflect, to not make this worse. But Morgan was already grinning like he’d won something, like he had all the confirmation he needed.

He leaned in conspiratorially. "So, how was dinner?"

She didn’t even bother answering. Instead, she waved down the bartender. "Two shots, please."

Morgan laughed, clinking his glass against hers when they arrived. "Now that is an answer."

||||

"I'm so sorry," she groans, squeezing her eyes closed against the admission.

Hotch has the nerve to laugh, covering his face with his hand. Red peers up and over his palm where it covers his expression. "I'm not mad," he insists, "just very amused."

"How is this amusing?" She asks, exasperated, turning to pace across his office.

"I've been opening flirting with you for months, almost a year. It's been a running joke, darling. It's amusing because you're only just now getting the heat for it. For reciprocating it."

"Reciprocating!" She exclaims, injust.

"Oh, are you not? Should I clear my calendar for tomorrow, then, cook for just me and Jack?"

She scowls, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. "No," she pouts, voice near a whine. "I just thought you didn't want the team to know anything was up."

"Oh, so something's up between us now?"

Leave it to him to use this moment to tease you, of course. When she first joined the team, Hotch was broody and withdrawn. It hadn't taken long for her to see his exterior crack, the flaws shining beneath.

He appears as a rule follower, a stickler for what's right and just, but he constantly bends for his team, for the victims, for children. And now, for you, he bends so far from that rigid form people perceive him in she has difficulties seeing his stiffness anymore.

Still, moments like these shock her. Aaron Hotchner is a flirt and an expert one at that.

"Maybe!" She concedes, too flustered to wiggle her way out of his trap. "That's not the point."

"I think that's exactly the point." Hotch catches her wrist, halting her pacing. "But it's okay. I don't mind the others knowing that 'something's up' with us."

"Oh my god," she groans, heat in her face nearly as brilliant as her smile.

[andvys]

The edges of your soul (I haven't seen yet) ⭐︎ chapter thirteen

⭐︎ Then this heart would break and fall as twice as far

Warnings: hurt/no comfort? not here, sorry y'all. angst. injuries, mentions of death, blood, gore, not gonna spoil anymore

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: Hope has always been a downfall hasn't it? This time it tears you apart completely.

Word count: 15k

Author's note: I'm cackling as I'm typing this, you guys have no idea what is about to hit you. The next few chapters are gonna be filled with so much evil shit. Someone go and pray for Dingus. @hellfire--cult we're at our favorite part now hehe

series masterlist ⭐︎ previous chapter

☀︎

A miserable expression is lingering on Eddie’s face. He barely keeps his eyes open as he gets hit by waves of nausea every thirty seconds or so. He keeps an arm around his waist as his left elbow rests on the table. He is blinking, staring at you in confusion and awe. You drank more than him, even continued after he passed out, and yet you seem fine, more cheerful than ever. 

Your mouth is moving quickly, and you are waving around with your hands as you ramble about one thing after another. Eddie’s mind can’t even catch up, he is too hungover for this, which is surprising considering he never dealt with those, but the lack of alcohol in the past year, especially in that capacity, turned him into a wuss – at least that’s how he feels about himself watching you. 

You were the first one up, even, filling the generator with gas, just enough for everyone to have a warm shower. You cooked coffee and oatmeal with the supplies from the RV, and now you are sitting here, hair still wet from the shower, a new sweater, and a look of happiness and excitement on your face. 

Eddie thinks that it’s refreshing to see you this way, especially after the difficult days that you had, but his mind just can’t comprehend how you can feel so fine while he is suffering from the amount of whiskey he had last night. 

“How…?” He mumbles, cutting you off mid sentence. 

“Hmm?” You tilt your head to the side. 

“How can you feel so fine… You hadn’t had any alcohol in months, and you drank more than I did… How are you not hungover?” 

You shrug and bring your cup of coffee up to your lips, taking a sip. 

“I’m not a lightweight like you.” 

Eddie snorts at your words, shaking his head. “Nah. I’m not a lightweight usually, besides I had some a few weeks back and I felt fine…”

“Maybe that stuff was too hard for you.” 

Eddie frowns at your words and he shakes his head, “nope.”

“Take another shot and you will feel fine.” 

Eddie’s lips curl up in disgust, and he stares at you, bewildered. 

“I swear!” You exclaim, leaning forward. “My dad used to do barbecues a lot and he invited all his old buddies from High School and one time when they came over I was dealing with a major hangover cause I got drunk the night before for the first time ever… my dad got really mad at me – not the point of the story but his friend, this russian guy told me to take a shot of hard liquor, he said that it’s an instant cure… the thought made me wanna throw up but I tried it and guess what…? It helped!” 

Eddie looks at you like you have gone crazy. He slowly reaches for the coffee you have made him and takes a sip. 

“Yeah, uh… that’s crazy.” 

“But it helps!” 

Eddie chuckles, shaking his head, “I believe you, but god, that thought makes me want to throw up.” 

“I know, I know, but you should try it.” 

Silence fills the room for a moment. You lean back in your chair and look out the window, watching the snow fall just as it did the night before. The wind is still heavy and you know that you might have to stay here for another day or two. 

Eddie sips on his coffee, he keeps watching you, taking in the excitement that keeps flashing in your eyes, the way your lips twitch, wanting to curl into a smile. 

“What’s got you so hyper this morning?” Eddie finally asks. 

You look back at him and you press your lips together, looking around the empty room and out into the hallway to make sure that nobody is coming but Steve must still be in the shower, and Nancy is getting the RV ready. 

Only as you lean forward again and you wrap both hands around your mug, does he notice the slight nervousness. You are tapping against the porcelain, taking a deep breath as you lean closer. 

“I’m gonna kiss Steve.” 

Eddie forgets the nausea he was dealing with just now. He furrows his eyebrows as confusion hits him. 

“Hang on… wait…. you two didn’t kiss last night?” He murmurs, tilting his chin down as he stares at you with wide eyes. 

“Um no…” You shake your head, blushing under his gaze. 

“...But you two flirted all night…”

Your confidence slips away a little as you think about the previous night and how he hadn’t kissed you. You wanted him to, but he didn’t. There have been a few moments when you thought he would. 

“Do you think that maybe I shouldn’t…?” 

Eddie shakes his head wildly, his curls bouncing at the movement. 

“No! You should! Holy fuck, you should!” He almost yells.

You start shushing him, waving your hand at him as your cheeks heat up, “keep it down!” 

“Sorry, sorry!” He winces as he sinks back into his chair. “But I… I think you absolutely should kiss him. I just thought that he’d finally make the move, you know? I saw the way he acted around you last night.” 

The excitement returns in your eyes, he sees it in the way they light up, and the color in them lights up. You straighten up in your seat, your cheeks flushing as you smile. 

“Nothing happened at all?” Eddie whispers, tilting his head to the side. 

You shake your head. Your hair falls in front of your face as you look down. Your heart flutters in your chest as you think of the way he lifted you up to get the cowboy hat or the way he placed it on your head later, how he took your pictures, and how he held you when you lied in bed. You woke up on top of him this morning, his arms wrapped around your waist strongly, snuggling you. 

“No, nothing happened…” 

A smirk appears on Eddie’s lips when he notices just how flustered you are. Something did happen, he knows it, but you won’t tell him, not now at least, because he walks in. His hair is wet, his beard shaved off now, a spitcurl hanging in front of his eye. He is wearing a flannel, a pair of new jeans, and boots he got from the closet. 

Your lips part as you look him up and down, eyes glued to him. His cheeks are a little flushed when his eyes meet yours. He offers you a smile and even a wink, “Sunshine.” He greets you, tipping his head down even though he isn’t wearing the hat. 

“M-Morning.” You smile, huffing under your breath when Eddie kicks you under the table. 

“Morning, Eddie.” Steve greets him next before he walks over to the kitchen counter, reaching for a mug, he pours himself some coffee. 

“Good morning, Cowboy.” Eddie grins, completely forgetting about his hangover as he looks between you and him. “So uh… Nancy is getting the RV ready, but I don’t think that the storm will pass anytime soon.” 

Steve nods as he turns around to face you both. He leans against the counter and takes a sip of his coffee. He takes a moment to look at you, and his stomach flutters when all the pictures from the previous night start flashing in his mind. 

“Hmm.” He hums as he turns to look out the window. “It’s safer to stay here for another day or two.” 

“I think so too.” You nod, trying not to stare at him, but it’s hard not to when he looks this good. His skin looks smoother, although you did like the beard and the subtle mustache he was sporting, but he looks so handsome like this too, clean shaven. He left the buttons at the top of his new flannel unbuttoned. You swallow as you take him in. You wish you could just say ‘fuck it’ and kiss him but this is not the moment, not here, not now. 

“We can get some wood later to make some fire, there’s a shed in the backyard, I’m pretty sure we will find some there.” Steve says, looking at you, his eyes connecting with yours. “You and I, Sunshine.” 

Oh, so he wants to be alone with you too. 

Hope awakens inside of you when he walks towards you and picks out the seat beside you. He flashes you a smile and for a split second, his eyes flicker down to your lips. 

Your breath hitches in your throat, and your heart flutters yet again. 

What if he has the same plans? 

Your eyelashes flutter, and your lips curl into a smile. 

Eddie snorts at your silent interaction, eyes moving back and forth between you two. The moment you both turn to look at him, he covers it up with a cough. 

"Oh, damn." He coughs, patting his chest. “That sip was too big,” he fakes a laugh and looks away, trying to hold back his smirk but failing miserably. 

“Why don’t you go take a shower, Munson?” 

Eddie looks back at Steve, holding his hand to his chest, offended. “Are you saying I smell bad?” 

Steve shakes his head, “No, but the shower is pure luxury, who knows when you’ll get that chance again.” He shrugs. 

Eddie raises his eyebrows, smirking as he looks into his eyes teasingly. 

Steve only shakes his head in response and looks down into his mug. 

“Alright, hot shower here I come.” Eddie chuckles as he gets up. He grabs his coffee and winks at you before he walks away, humming. 

“He was just complaining about his hangover, and now he is humming.” You mumble, confused. 

Steve chuckles as he turns towards you. He ignores the fluttering in his body, that electrifying pull he feels towards you, but it’s hard, even harder when you look into his eyes, when you are this close, when he smells your sweet scent, when he remembers how it felt to touch your bare skin. 

“That’s how he is.” Steve chuckles, his eyes lingering on your lips for a tad too long. 

“Yeah…” You whisper, noticing the way he looks at you. 

Your hope continues to rise, to build up, to spread inside of you.

Friends don’t look at each other like that, right? 

Friends don’t stare at each other’s lips. 

“Are you feeling okay?” He asks, reaching for your hand. “You’re not hungover, are you?”

You shake your head, looking at him dumbly. You curl your fingers around his hand, holding his. “No… no I’m not, I feel fine… good. And you?”

Steve squeezes your hand back as he lifts his mug to his lips with the other. He gives you a soft smile, “Yeah, I feel good too.”

“Yeah?” You tilt your head at him, your lip curling into a smile.

His breath hitches in his throat. The way you are smiling at him, the way your eyes move across his face, like you are memorizing his features. No one’s ever looked at him like that, and it makes him nervous. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, letting go of your hand, he lifts it up to your face and tucks the loose strand of hair behind your ear before he brushes his knuckles against your cheek, his thumb lingering over the developing scar on your cheekbone. “I had fun last night.”

You lean into his touch. The happiness is trembling inside of you, his touch and his words only fueling your hope. 

“I did too,” you whisper, smiling. 

The tension between you both is just as strong as it was the night before. He looks at you just as he did the night before, nothing changed, except your heart beats even stronger now. 

You look at his lips, wondering if now would be the right time to try, wondering if you can just lean in and do it, but before you can dwell on it any longer, the door opens and Nancy walks in. 

“Hey.” She mumbles, shutting the door, and she rubs her hands together. “I was in the garage, not even outside, but it’s cold as hell out there!” She exclaims and tears her jacket off before she turns to look at you. Her eyes widen when she notices Steve beside you, close beside you. She looks between you both, eying his hand on your cheek, the flustered look on your face, the flustered look on his face. She bites the insides of her cheeks, trying not to smirk. She saw how you both acted around each other last night, how often Steve’s hand landed on your lap, how you kept biting your lip looking at him like you were ready to risk it all, how he kept looking at you like he was about to rip your clothes off and show you what you have missed. 

Nancy doesn’t know how far you have gone last night after her and Eddie passed out in the living room, but by the tension between you, she knows that something must have happened.

Steve pulls his hand away slowly, and you reach for your mug, bringing it up to your lips. You take a sip as you look outside. 

Her blue eyes flash with mischief. She clears her throat and looks at Steve, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware you were about to have your breakfast, Steve.” 

Steve’s eyes widen, and his jaw falls slack at her comment. In all those years he has known her, she has never ever made any jokes or comments like these. If anything, she was always way too serious to even laugh at dirty jokes made by others. 

You start choking beside him, blushing furiously at her words. 

“Nancy!” Steve glares at her before he turns to you, patting your back softly. 

“I’m sorry,” Nancy chuckles, flashing you an apologetic smile when you calm down again. “Didn’t think you would choke so soon.”

Steve sees the way your eyes widen, the way you flip around, staring at her in disbelief, but the girl only hums to herself as she pours herself a coffee. 

Steve closes his eyes and clenches his jaw, shaking his head. 

“Can’t believe Munson is rubbing off on you, Wheeler.” 

Her shoulders shake as she laughs. She turns to face you both, smirking again when she sees how Steve is still rubbing your back. 

“Do you two want me to leave or…?” She points between you two, her eyes glinting as they lock with yours. 

A sigh falls from your lips, and you shake your head at her.

“Nope.” 

Steve stops rubbing your back but he doesn’t remove his hand, his palm slips down to your lower back and you aren’t even sure if he realizes that he did it because he starts talking to Nancy about the weather and about the change of your plans while keeping his hand on you like it’s the most normal thing. He did it last night as well, when you were all sitting in a circle and he was chatting to Eddie, keeping his hand on your knee or your thigh. 

You try to focus on the conversation, but it’s difficult when his touch sends jolts through your body, overwhelming your poor heart and heating up your skin under the layer of clothes. He keeps fueling your hope, pushing you towards the decision you made last night. 

You don’t know how much time passes while you sit there with his hand on your lower back. You don’t even know how much information you have missed on the change of plans they have decided on. 

But when he calls your name two times or so, he pulls you out of your little stupor, making you look at him. 

“Huh?” You ask dumbly, staring at him with burning cheeks. 

“I asked if you wanna go get the wood now?” Steve repeats his question that went over your head. He finds it endearing the way you look at him, eyes big and filled with confusion. “Think it’s best if we do it as soon as we can. The storm might get worse later.” 

“Oh.” You nod, licking your lips as you place your mug down. You avoid Nancy’s eyes, who is staring at you with a smug look on her face. “Yeah. I’m just gonna grab my jacket–”

“I got it.” Steve says, squeezing your shoulder when he gets up from his seat. “Finish your coffee.” 

“O-Okay.” You murmur, giving him a soft smile. 

Steve nods at you, smiling back at you. He leaves the room, leaving you alone with Nancy who is tapping against her mug impatiently. 

“So–”

“Nothing happened!” You whisper before she can even finish her sentence. You lean closer to her, finally looking at her. “Nothing happened last night, we drank more, took pictures with the polaroid camera we found, and then we talked and went to sleep.”

You see the disappointment flashing in her features. Her shoulders slump, and a pout appears on her lips. She leans back in her chair and sighs, “And here I thought he grew some balls, but hey, maybe he was just being a gentleman and didn’t want to make a move because you were drunk!” She shrugs with one shoulder, offering a supportive smile. “I kinda thought something happened though… with the way he acted around you just now…”

Your stomach flutters. He did act differently, more touchy than usual. You liked it, a lot. 

You breathe in and open your mouth to speak, but you quickly close it again when he walks back in, holding both your and his jacket in his hands. 

“Here.” 

You grab your jacket and get up, pushing the chair back into place. You put your jacket on and pull the hood over your head to protect your wet hair. 

“Be careful out there.” Nancy mumbles, looking out the window. 

“We’re just heading down to the shed, it’s like ten steps away.” You chuckle. 

“Still.” She shrugs. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll come back in one piece.” You smile at her, giving a small wave as she gives a thumbs up for good luck.

Once you and Steve are ready to go, you grab your gear and step out into the cold. He shuts the door behind you both. Shivers run down his spine instantly as the cold bites his skin. 

“Holy shit.” He murmurs as he turns around to face the backyard. He squints his eyes when the harsh wind hits him. 

“It’s so cold.” You murmur as you look around. You can barely see anything through the fog and the falling snow. All the trees are white, layer and layers of snow cover the ground you are about to step in. “I think we should have waited with the shower.”

Steve chuckles as he glances down at you. 

“Come on, let’s get this over with.” He reaches for your hand, taking hold of it with a squeeze. 

“Yes, please.” You whisper as you welcome his warm touch in this freezing cold. 

The snow crunches beneath your boots as you both start making your way down to the shed. You look around, making sure that nothing will sneak up on you while you are busy struggling with the cold, but the gated property seems as safe as it did the night before. The gate looks untouched, the wooded area around it looking empty as well, no sign of any unwanted visitors, no footsteps in the snow. 

“Goddamn,” Steve curses under his breath as the icy snow hits his cheeks. “I hate winter.” 

“Yeah, me too.” You nod, sniffling as your nose starts running from the cold. You sigh in relief when you make it to the door of the shed.

Steve pulls out the bundle of keys from his pocket, he found it in one of the drawers in the kitchen. “Alright, let’s figure out which one it is.” He murmurs as he flips through the keys. 

You cover his back, keeping your hand on your gun holster while he tries to unlock the door. 

A little ‘yes’ falls from his lips when it clicks open. 

“Come on, let’s get inside.” He reaches for your hand again, leading you into the shed, he steps in after you. 

It’s not much warmer in here, but at least the walls keep the wind away. You breathe heavily and rub your arms, looking around the darkened shed. Light seeps through the gaps on the ceiling, allowing you to see. 

“Bingo!” Steve snaps his fingers, smiling in triumph as he gestures to the wood in the corner. “See, I knew they kept their wood here.” 

You follow him, pushing the hood of your jacket off slowly. You bite your trembling lip as you keep your eyes on him, watching the way he brushes his hand through his hair before he reaches for the plastic cover on top of the firewood stack.

“Come on,” he looks over his shoulder, flashing you a smile that makes your insides tingle and your knees weak. 

Your heart skips a beat when you realize that this could be the moment. You’re alone with him and you don’t know when you will get that chance again, especially now that you are stuck in this house for another day or two. 

“Maybe we can make a fire for us in the bedroom; that fireplace should be used as well.” 

Your breath hitches in your throat, and heat rushes through you when he indicates that he wants to spend another night in that bed with you. His words from last night echo in your mind, ‘our bed’. 

The bile rises in your throat, and suddenly you feel your heart beating harshly. Your cheeks heat up despite the coldness in the air. You don’t even need any more encouragement, you have made your decision already. 

You never thought that you would even consider that, to try, to make a first move. You were never one to risk anything, let alone anything like this. But you are sure, you are so sure of it, so filled with hope. 

He has to feel the same, right? 

All these signals, all these signs, it can’t be just platonic. 

Even Eddie and Nancy see it, their teasing has to mean something. 

You take a deep breath, and before you can ponder and contemplate, you take a step forward and then another until you are standing next to him. 

His words pushing you to what you’ve wanted to do since last night, you decide to not waste anymore time and just do it now, knowing you might not get him alone again after this. 

“I… I really had fun last night… It’s been a while since I got to feel carefree like that.” You kill the silence between you, bringing back the conversation from the kitchen. 

A smile appears on his face, he takes the plastic cover off and throws it on the ground before he turns to face you, looking down at you. 

“Yeah, me too… and with great company at that.” He murmurs, his voice still raspy so early in the morning.

You bite your lip when his hazel eyes stare into yours. Your heart starts racing, the anticipation mixed with nervousness and vulnerability all crashing over you at once when you take a step closer to him. 

“I had fun spending time like that with you, Steve…” You say, trying not to expose the shakiness in your voice. 

You forget about the cold, not even feeling it on your skin anymore. You don’t hear the howling of the wind anymore either, only the pounding of your heart echoing in your ears. 

Steve notices the different emotions flickering in your eyes, the way your chest starts rising up and down faster, heavier. He senses the change of air, the tension moving into a different direction now. 

“Drunk?” He chuckles nervously when you move closer to him. His lips part, breath getting caught in his throat when you shake your head and reach your hand out to grab his bicep. 

“No… alone.” You whisper, gazing into his eyes now. 

Steve stops breathing, and his heart stops beating too. 

He looks into your eyes, into the eyes he had found so much warmth, so much comfort in. They are shining just for him. Your breathing is heavy, meaning that your heart is racing… just for him. 

He had wondered… He had thought about this so many times, dreamed about it even. His heart beats strongly every time he allows his mind to explore those thoughts. He dreams about how different things would be if you had met in a different world, in one where you would both be safe, in one where he wouldn’t have to fear losing you every second of every goddamn day. 

Things could be different. Things would be different if you weren’t here. 

“What…” He whispers, unable to keep his body from leaning down towards you. 

“I want to spend more time like that with you, Steve…” You whisper, blinking up at him in a way that nearly brings him to his knees when you confess. 

You take in his rosy cheeks, the moles on his skin you want to kiss, that strand of hair that keeps falling in front of his eye that you want to brush back for him so badly. 

With every inch you move towards him, closing the gap between you both, you feel your heart beating stronger, making it feel like it will rip through your bones and your flesh. You close your eyes and you take the leap. 

Steve’s eyes threaten to close when he feels your breath on his lips and your body pressed against his own. Everything he had longed for is in reach. Everything he wanted, you want too. It wasn’t just him. You want it too. You want it. You want him. He feels the brush of your lips against his own, and everything he had already suspected aligns inside of him. Everything inside of him yearned for you, not just his mind, not just his body but his heart and his soul. 

And he wants it so badly. He wants it. But even with the feelings inside of him, with the longing that will burn him alive in the long run, he can’t because this will only make the world a worse place for you both. If you both take this step, if you both give each other your hearts it will only kill you both if something happens to the other. 

So he closes his eyes, going against his own heart, and he softly pushes you away by your shoulders. 

“No, Sunshine.” 

It pains him physically to the point where he can’t even open his eyes to look at you. 

Everything inside of you stops. Your heart. Your lungs. Your mind. Everything. 

“I–I didn’t mean drunk… I meant–” Your voice is shaky, desperate, and yet still hopeful.  

“No, I know what you meant. But it’s not a good idea.” Steve clenches his jaw, hating how much his heart is screaming at him, even more so when he opens his eyes again and looks down at you. 

Your lips are parted, eyes wide and filled with confusion. Not yet registering the pain he had caused. You tilt your head at him. 

“I-I thought…I thought we…” Your voice breaks when he shakes his head at you. The back of your feet touch the ground again, and you take a step back from him, hand falling off his bicep. The back of your eyes start burning as it begins to sink in. The knife in your chest was twisted. 

You misunderstood. You misunderstood again, except this feels worse than anything ever has before because you were so sure. You were so sure. And you misread the lines, you misread everything. 

Steve’s eyes are filled with desperation, and he can’t mask that. He can’t hide that, and if you weren’t so shocked, so hurt, you would see it. 

His heart is aching inside his chest, his stomach is twisting as the fear grips at him, knowing that this just changed everything. 

But it’s for the better. 

It’s for the better for the both of you. 

“No…” He whispers, twisting the knife deeper. “I’m sorry if my actions showed something that wasn’t there.” 

You feel sick. You feel like throwing up. You feel like screaming at yourself for believing, for being so naive again. 

“Oh…” You whisper, unable to look at him, you lower your head and stare at the ground beneath you. “I… okay, I-I understand…” Except that you don’t. You don’t understand because you thought that he gave you all the signs, all the right signals and you thought that you were reading them correctly. It turns out that you didn’t because he never saw you as anything more than a friend while you were slowly falling. 

Steve just stands there, staring at you, watching the way you slowly crumble before him, and it hits him harshly. Guilt, regret, sadness, and anger rush through him, knowing the damage he caused to your heart, knowing that he is responsible for the pain flashing across your face as you wilt before him. 

The urge to grab you, to pull you into his arms, to fix this is so strong, but he can’t, he can’t, and it makes you both ache. 

“I’m sorry…” You whisper. 

You look so small before him, your voice weak and trembling. He broke you. He feels like he broke you, and it tears his heart apart.

He opens his mouth, but no words come out. Nothing will fix this now, nothing. He knows he should tell you the truth but if he does, it will only keep your hopes up so he says nothing and watches with saddened eyes and a pained heart how you turn away from him, your eyes blinking quickly as you reach for the wood, gathering as much as you can carry before you turn around without glancing at him. You walk away from him, and you walk out the door. 

And Steve, he stands there staring at the door you have walked through. He is now left alone with his thoughts, left alone with his aching heart, and it all overwhelms him. He crouches down, clenching his eyes shut as he holds his head tightly. 

“Fuck…” He whispers, pained. 

You don’t feel the snow on your skin, you don’t feel the coldness clinging to your body, you don’t even hear the howling wind as you make your way back towards the house. You don’t even know what you are feeling because you wish this moment wasn’t real, that it didn’t happen, that it was all just a dream. 

But it’s not. 

The door slams shut behind you after you make your way back inside. Your body moves on its own accord, walking into the living room, and you throw the wood down next to the fireplace. 

Your frown deepens as you look down, confused as to where you went off the path, where you had misunderstood. 

Footsteps echo in the hallway, but you don’t register them. 

Eddie comes rushing in, hair wet from the shower he took, a livelier look on his face before. A smile appears on his face when he sees the wood on the ground. He claps his hands together, rubbing his palms, “oh yeah, let’s get some warm stew started with this–” His smile slips when he notices the dissociated look on your face, “Sunshine?” He whispers. 

You snap out of your thoughts and turn to look at him. 

Eddie frowns when he notices the lost look in your eyes. He takes a step closer, worriedly placing a hand on your shoulder. 

“I-I uh… what?”

“Are you alright?” 

You open your mouth but flinch when the door opens and Steve’s footsteps fill the silent hallway. 

Eddie notices the way you duck your head, nodding at his question. 

“Yeah… Yeah.” You mumble softly before you walk away, practically rushing out of the room and up the stairs, leaving him standing in the middle of the room. 

Eddie stares at the doorway for a moment. His eyebrows are furrowed, and the confusion is evident on his face. 

“Huh…?” 

You are not okay. It isn’t hard to figure that out when you were cheerful and excited this morning. He follows you out, walking through the doorway, and he doesn’t even notice Steve standing by the door with a hollow look on his face and glassy eyes when Eddie follows you up the stairs. 

Steve doesn’t even know what to do with himself now, knowing that this just changed everything. He looks down at the wood he carried inside. Blinking away the tears, he doesn’t allow himself to cry. He carries the wood into the living room, dropping it next to where you had placed it. 

It overcomes him suddenly, the anger – the anger towards himself, the anger towards this world, the anger towards you. You did something he wanted to do for so long, but he kept holding back, he kept pulling back because this just can’t happen for so many reasons. He pulled back by making himself believe that you aren’t on the same page as he is, but you are, clearly you are, and now there is no denying left to do anymore, and it angers him. 

Steve clenches his fists as he stares into the fireplace, not yet lit. Irritation sparks in him as the boy inside of him, who once begged for love, is yelling at him; ‘why why why!’ 

He feels it so deeply inside his chest, as though someone is pounding against his ribcage from inside, letting him know that he just made the biggest mistake of his life, that he is gonna feel regret and guilt. 

And he will, it’s close by, all those emotions are waiting right around to corner, waiting for the perfect moment to land the strongest blow to his heart. 

And you, you shut and lock the door in the first room you could find privacy in. You press your back against it and slide down until you are sitting on the floor. You prop your elbows on your knees and close your eyes, taking deep breaths. 

You ignore the pounding on the door and Eddie’s concerned calls; you are too focused on your breathing, on calming down. 

Unwanted tears well up in your eyes. The rejection stings deeply in your chest, spreading like a virus inside of you, infecting your heart and all your organs with a sickening sadness. 

For once in your life, you thought that you could try, that you had a chance, that the hope you felt wasn’t born from silly delusions. You thought there was something. You really thought he wanted you. 

You were so sure that he wanted you. 

But he didn’t, of course he didn’t, how could he? No one ever did; he was no exception. 

A soft sob falls from your lips as the first tear cascades down your cheek. You bring your hand up to your lips, cupping it to muffle your cries as you can no longer hold it in. 

The realization begins to sink in that you have ruined something special, that you didn’t only lose this delusion you had of him, but that you also lost a friend because you couldn’t control your feelings. 

He won’t ever look at you the same again. 

And you won’t either. 

-

The wood crackles in the fireplace, the flames paint the room golden, the wind is still howling outside, no sign of it stopping any time soon. 

There is an awkward silence hanging over the room. Nobody is speaking, Eddie isn’t rambling, Nancy isn’t asking questions, Steve is staring into his bowl, not feeling the appetite to eat at all. And you aren’t there, you haven’t come out of your room since you locked yourself in there after coming back. 

Nancy’s blue eyes move across Steve’s face curiously. His expression is stoic, his jaw is clenched, and if she didn’t look into his pain filled eyes, she would have believed that the old Steve made a comeback. The angry, hateful one he was before you came along. 

It isn’t hard to figure out that something happened between you two because this morning you both looked like you came back from your honeymoon and now you are hauled up in your room while he is glaring at his soup like he is trying to make it explode with his mind. 

Nancy glances at Eddie, who is already looking at her. He knows as much as she does; nothing. He tried to make you talk, he tried knocking on your door a few times, but you kept lying to him, telling him that you had a headache and that you wanted to be alone. 

Nancy tried as well, but she had no luck either. 

And neither of them want to push him, not when he looks like this. 

When the time is right, he will speak up for himself. 

And he does, when he and Eddie are the only ones left awake. The two couches in the living room are occupied by them. Eddie is staring into the small flame in the fireplace, hand behind his head, and the other tapping against his chest. 

Steve is lying on the opposite couch, staring up at the ceiling. He is wide awake, exhaustion somewhere far away. He feels empty and cold without you in his arms. He doesn’t remember the last time he had slept without you. He had become so used to it, it turned into something normal. 

Is this his new normal again?

His eyes burn, and the coil grows in his throat as the sadness spreads inside of him. 

“She wanted to kiss me.”

Eddie freezes at Steve’s words. 

His hand freezes too as he stops tapping. His dark eyes move away from the fire, and he turns to his side to look at the brunette. He doesn’t speak, waiting for him to continue. 

“I pushed her away.” 

Steve’s voice is pained, Eddie can tell that much but it’s confusion that ripples through him. His eyebrows crease together as he pushes himself up on his elbow, staring at him intently. 

“What?” Eddie whispers, shaking his head. “W-Why?” 

Eddie knows how he feels about you, without having talked much about it, he knows. It’s in the way he looks at you, it’s in the way he smiles around you the most, it’s in the way he only allows you to get so close, it’s in all his actions that have to do with you. 

Steve is silent for the longest time, just staring up at the ceiling, blinking. He can’t hide his tears, not when he keeps sniffling as he thinks about you. 

“I don’t understand, Steve–”

“It just can’t happen.” He says bluntly. 

Eddie stares at him, eyebrows still pulled together, lips parted in confusion. His chest aches a little as he thinks about you and how you must have felt when he pushed you away. Guilt sparks inside of him as well because he had encouraged you. 

His eyes saddened, knowing the heartbreak you are feeling now. 

“But you…” Eddie murmurs, not understanding him. 

Steve turns to his side, turning his back on him. 

“It’s better if we stay friends and if we keep our distance.” Steve mumbles, like his own words don’t break his heart more. 

Like that’s possible after everything you have been through. 

Eddie feels a sliver of anger for him, but also pity because something is clearly holding him back. 

“But you can’t… you can’t sleep without each other.” Eddie whispers, knowing that this is the least of the problems, but it is a fact that Steve cannot deny. 

“Well, I have to get used to it, don’t I?” Steve snaps and pulls his blanket closer to his chin, sinking deeper into the couch as the first tear rolls down his cheek and soaks the pillow beneath his head. 

Eddie stares at him for a while, not knowing what else to do or say. All he feels is confusion and sadness for both of you, but especially you. 

A sigh falls from his lips, and he falls back on the couch, staring into the fire again. 

He knows that things are about to get messy. 

At that point, he just didn’t know how messy. 

-

By the time you walk into the kitchen the next morning, Nancy and Eddie have already eaten their breakfast. The latter is flipping through a magazine he found somewhere in the house while she is cleaning her gun. Steve is standing by the window, looking out with one hand on his hip and the other holding a freshly brewed cup of coffee. 

He is standing with his back to you, not yet noticing you. 

Your heart freezes still at the sight of him. You knew he would be here, of course you did, where else would he be? Yet you can’t stop yourself from feeling this way. 

Almost as though his body can sense your presence, his heart starts aching more painfully than before. He knows you are there before he even turns around to look. 

“Morning!” Nancy smiles at you, though it quickly fades when she notices how red your eyes are and how tired you look. 

“Morning, Sunshine.” Eddie says softly, eyes filled with pity as he looks you up and down. 

You braided your hair and showered, you made sure you looked fine, but you can’t hide the hours of tears you have shed, because your eyes are still puffy and red. 

“Morning,” you force a smile, which comes out looking like a grimace. You keep your eyes away from him and make your way over to the pot of coffee; at least the smell of it is welcoming. 

You can feel their eyes on you, Nancy’s confusing stares, and Eddie’s pitiful, sad ones. 

He feels guilty, you know he does. You don’t blame him for anything, though. He was just being a good friend, trying to encourage you to go after something your mind was already set on. 

The steam rises from your mug as you pour the coffee in. 

The silence is almost deafening, and you tense up a little when you feel him watching you too. 

The sadness is still deep inside of you, your chest still aching in pain, but there is also something else now that it all settled in. You feel humiliated and embarrassed and that feels worse somehow because you can’t avoid him. You can’t keep your distance the way you would be able to if the world weren’t like this, but then again, if the world hadn’t changed, you would have never met him, and maybe for the better, even if the thought breaks your heart. 

Nancy opens her mouth as her concerned eyes stay stuck on you, but before she can even ask if you are okay, Eddie kicks her under the table, shaking his head at her with big eyes. 

She presses her lips together, shutting her mouth. Her eyebrows furrow as she reads his eyes. It isn’t difficult to figure it out, especially when she takes a look at Steve who is standing there with tense shoulders and a look of guilt and desperation on his face as he watches you. 

Oh.

“I’m gonna check out the basement, see if they’ve got a secret armory somewhere.” Eddie murmurs, pushing back his chair as he gets up. His eyes are still on Nancy, motioning for her to come with him. 

“Yeah…” Nancy mumbles, eyes flickering back to you. Without even having to see your face, she can sense your sadness. “I’ll go with you.” 

Eddie looks over at Steve before he leaves, trying to make the man come to his senses, to fix this mess. He knows it’s probably too late but he won’t stop, not until Steve pushes his worries aside and goes for what he wants. 

You look down into your mug after pouring some sugar in. You are alone with him now, their footsteps echo down the hallway. You want nothing more than to turn heel and run, you don’t want to have to look at him, you don’t want to talk to him either; you need time. 

Time he won’t give you. 

He starts moving towards you, and you tense with each step that he comes closer. You are frozen in place by the time he is next to you. 

“Sunshine…” 

Steve is looking down at you. The guilt inside of him is eating him alive, seeing the pain etched into your features, the puffy red eyes that indicate the hours you have spent crying last night. His fingers curl into his palms, nails digging into his skin as he fights the urge to pull you into his arms the way he normally would, but he can’t, not now. 

He sees the tears that well up in your eyes because of him.

If only you looked at him, you would see the pain in his hazel eyes. The sadness, the aching, the yearning. 

“I’m–”

“It’s okay, Steve.” You whisper and turn away from him, not wanting him to see the tears in your eyes. “Please just… I need time, okay?”

Time. You need time to move on from him. 

Steve swallows the painful lump in his throat. The thought sickens him even though he knows that this is what’s best for you. 

He should shake his head. He should apologize for being such an idiot. He should tell you what worries him, what is holding him back. He should pull you into his arms. He should hug you. He should hold you. He should…

“Okay.” 

He should’ve. 

The silence becomes too loud when he leaves you standing there alone. 

Everything becomes too loud again. 

-

The days that follow after this are filled with a heavy tension that Eddie nor Nancy can explain. You avoid Steve, you avoid him as much as you can in the cramped up place once you are back inside the RV after four long days in the mansion. 

You steal Eddie’s spot in the passenger seat. He doesn’t mind it, but it is a little obvious, considering you never cared for it before. You want to avoid him at all cost, and everyone notices it, even the man ignored. 

Your cold shoulder begins to frustrate Steve after another two days pass. Almost a week of your silence now and it begins to drive him crazy. All you do is spare him glances, answer with ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to any of his questions. 

You asked for time, and he understands it; he gives it to you, but he starts getting irritated. He feels tired, he feels angry, and the guilt lingers in him when he begins to snap at Eddie and Nancy, sparing you because you don’t even pay attention to him, and that begins to sting. Your cold shoulder hurts, the stoic tone in your voice hurts too, when all he’s used to is your warmth and the smile you greeted him with every morning. 

He is tired, so tired now that you don’t sleep in his arms anymore. Every time he closes his eyes now horrifying pictures flash in his mind, and every time he falls asleep, he wakes up minutes later, plagued by nightmares he hasn’t dealt with in so long. It’s just like before you, except now the nightmares are even worse because it’s not Robin getting ripped away from him anymore, it’s you now. All he can do is watch how you get torn apart while screaming his name,. He is frozen in place every time, watching the life drain from your eyes, but never looking away from him. He wakes up in cold sweat every time, heart pounding and chest heaving, and even though he knows it’s only a nightmare, he still has to get up to check on you.

He wonders if you are on the same page, if you struggle just as much as he does now that you don’t share a bed with him anymore. The tired look in your pretty features tells him that you do. 

The more days pass, the more distance grows between you. You are right there, and yet it feels like you are far away. You refuse to get paired up with him, asking for Nancy or Eddie instead whenever a run into a town is planned. 

He is being punished, he tells himself. 

It’s not you needing time anymore, it’s you punishing him, he is sure of it. That’s what the anger is telling him, at least. 

“I think you should talk to her.” 

Nancy’s voice sounds irritated, her face looks like it too. 

Eddie narrows his eyes at him, getting fed up with the both of you too but especially with Steve, knowing that things could have been different if he hadn’t been such an idiot. 

“Not like she’s gonna talk to me,” Steve murmurs as he runs a hand through his messy hair. “She’s just gonna stare and scoff as always.” 

Nancy rolls her eyes at him. You filled her in on everything, told him how he rejected you, how he told you that he doesn’t feel that way for you. And she would have understood it, if he told the truth, but he lied to you and now he is acting like a dick after tripping over his own mistake. 

“Can’t blame her, you’re an idiot.” She mumbles under her breath as she turns around to check on you. You are sitting on a bench, enjoying the lake view. 

Eddie asked for a break from driving, in need of fresh air and a cigarette. 

“What did you just say?” Steve glares at her, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“You heard me.” Nancy challenges him, crossing her arms over her chest as well. Her protectiveness over you fueling her anger towards him. 

“Okay, okay.” Eddie takes one last drag of his cigarette before he throws it into the snow. He takes a step towards Steve, holding both hands out. “Not you two as well now. I’ve got enough of you and her,” he points his fingers to where you are sitting. “I don’t need any more drama, that RV is too small for that.” 

Steve takes a deep breath, opening his mouth to speak, but Eddie shakes his head at him and holds his palm up higher. 

“Nah, I’m speaking. You go and figure this shit out. You go and talk to her even if she doesn’t talk back, just go and fucking talk to her, it’s been a week and I can’t take this shit anymore.” Eddie exclaims, his eyes burning with despair. “I am not leaving until this tension is cut, alright!?”

Steve draws his eyes down, staring at the ground instead. He clenches his jaw and nods. 

“Alright.” He murmurs softly. 

“And you,” Eddie turns around to face Nancy, “you sit your ass down on this camping chair and eat your goddamn oatmeal.” 

Nancy raises her eyebrows at him, huffing as she uncrosses her arms. She takes another moment before she sits down, not without giving him another eye roll. 

Steve takes a deep breath, not even needing any encouragement from Eddie. His frustration is strong and the need to talk to you too. He glances at the metalhead, sighing before he starts walking away from him and towards you. 

He walks down the little hill, careful not to slip on the snow. He glances over his shoulder to see Eddie watching him, and this time he can’t help but roll his eyes. 

You hear the footsteps, the crunching snow beneath boots. You don’t turn around to look who it is but your heart senses him and you instantly tense up, unable to continue enjoying the sun shining down on you. 

Steve stops before you, looking down at you with hints of despair and anger in his hazel eyes. 

“Sunshine.” 

The tone in his voice makes your eyes snap open. You furrow your eyebrows, irritation building up in you already. 

You look up at him, raising your eyebrows in question when you find him glaring at you. 

“What?”

His throat bobs and his eyebrows crease together, lips curling into a frown. It feels so foreign to hear you snapping at him, to see you glaring at him. It makes him feel small and vulnerable, yet also angry. 

“I gave you time, it’s been a week… and we… we still don’t talk.” He starts, voice sounding tense. 

You push yourself up from the bench, standing before him now. 

“I don’t want to talk, Steve.” You mumble, ready to step around him and walk away, but he steps before you, blocking your way. 

The exhaustion in him, the irritation and the anger is only fueled by your words. He is desperate to go back to normal – as if that could ever be. 

“You don’t want to talk to me, is that it?” Steve asks, tilting his head down as he glares into your eyes. “Because I see you talking to them.” He throws his arm up in the direction of the RV. “And you seem fine when you talk to them.” 

You open your mouth but close it again when you can’t find the right words to say. Your throat tightens the longer you look at him. 

Humiliation runs deep inside you; that is the reason why you can’t talk to him, why you can’t even look at him. Because, how embarrassing and pitiful is the thought of him knowing how you feel about him yet not feeling the same? 

You shake your head, taking a deep breath. 

“Steve… That’s different–” 

“Different?” He scoffs and takes another step back, bringing his hand up to his hair, running his fingers through it. “I didn’t think that a stupid mistake like this would ruin our friendship.”

Stupid mistake. 

Another blow. Another slap in your face. 

A stupid mistake? 

By now, you know that you got all these signals from him wrong, that you saw something that wasn’t there, that you mistook his affection for something more, something you would never share with just a friend. 

Your shoulders slump as you blink, staring up at him, only now really taking a close look at him, enough to see the tiredness in his eyes, the exhaustion in his features. 

“That’s not fair.” You mumble, frowning at him. 

Steve nods, clenching his jaw as his eyes flash with anger. 

“You’re right, it’s not fair, Sunshine. We’re adults, and you can’t just act like a pouty brat because things didn’t go like you planned! I gave you time, I did as you asked. I want to keep being friends, I want to go back to how things were before because you mean something to me, but you are completely ignoring my feelings, acting childish!” His words are guided by all those negative emotions that boiled up inside of him, caused by the frustrations, the lack of sleep, and the anger that grew within himself. 

You drew back, like you had actually been slapped in the face. Your eyes flash with disbelief. The sadness that spread inside your whole body already was now burning but especially in your eyes. 

Your lips curl downwards, and tears well up in your eyes. You wish you felt anger instead; it would make things easier. 

Steve blinks, seeing clearer now after the anger wore off with the words he just threw at you. He takes a deep, shaky breath. The guilt punches him in his gut when he notices how hurt you look, and he wants nothing more than to slap himself. 

“I– Sunshine, fuck… I-I didn’t…” He pauses when you draw back further after he takes a step forward. 

You nod, blinking rapidly as you try to get rid of the tears in your eyes. 

“I see how you feel about me now…” You whisper, understanding now why he didn’t want you. 

Just like you had once suspected, he would never want someone like you. He made sure you knew beforehand, and yet you still fell. He called you immature before, more than once. And he was right, because maybe if you weren’t such a naive, childish woman, you would have taken a step back a long time ago and seen things for what they were, but instead you relied on your hopes and dreams, the way a child would. 

Steve shakes his head, his hazel eyes flashing with the need to explain, but you aren’t even looking at him anymore. 

“No, Sunshine… Please–”

A bone chilling scream cuts him off, echoing through the trees around you both, followed by a gunshot that you know is loud enough to lure anything close by in. 

“Eddie!” Nancy’s scream leaves shivers running down your spine. 

Your head snaps up, eyes locking with Steve’s in horror. Both of you push the fight aside, forgetting everything for a moment as you both turn around and start running up the hill, back to your friends. You reach for the gun in your holster, clicking the safety off. 

Your heart begins to pound in your chest, ringing in your ear, and tightening your throat as the shots keep going off. This moment reminds you too much of the attack not too long ago, and you aren’t ready, you aren’t ready to kill again. 

But it’s not people being a threat this time, no, it’s monsters, too many at that. The dog-like creatures that Eddie calls demodogs. Nancy keeps reloading her rifle, shooting the ones charging at her as her panicked eyes keep flashing back to Eddie who is swinging the axe around. 

There is so much blood, red blood in the white snow, both from the demodogs and from Eddie. You don’t have the time to look at where his blood is actually coming from because a demodog charges right at Steve, not even giving him the time to react as he reaches for his bat, which he left leaning against the RV. 

You raise your arms up, aiming at the demodogs’ head, taking the shot before it gets the chance to jump at him.

Steve flinches, turning around with wide eyes as he looks down at the twitching demodog at his feet. His eyes meet yours for a brief second, nodding at you. 

“Eddie, watch out!” Nancy screams. 

It all goes too fast, before you can even move, before you can even blink, you watch Eddie getting tackled to the ground, his head crashing against a tree root. 

Steve’s eyes are wide with horror, just like your own. He charges forward, swinging his bat against the demodog, who was ready to turn Eddie into its lunch. 

You start shooting at every demodog charging at you and your friends. The adrenaline kicks off inside of you. 

“Where are they fucking coming from!?” Nancy yells as her rifle clicks empty. You cover her back, aiming at the creatures coming from behind the trees. For the first time, you regret stopping by the forest. You don’t know where to look, where to aim at, too many for your liking, emerging from the woods. 

“Eddie! Eddie, don’t do this, man!” Steve’s desperate voice echoes as he crouches before his friend, who is fighting his consciousness. His eyes were opening and closing. Blood is oozing from his head and his leg. Dead creatures lie around him. 

Your heart drops when you see Steve shaking him, slapping his cheek as he tries to keep him awake.

Your breath gets caught in your throat first, Eddie’s name falling from your lips as you stare in horror. And then… the wind suddenly gets knocked out of you, the gun drops from your hand and into the snow, claws digging through your thick jacket as your body hits the cold ground. 

Your hand falls into the icy snow, your head hitting the harsh ground beneath it. You blink in pain as the world becomes blurry before you for a split second. You breathe in deeply, hand patting the ground in search of the gun that slipped from your hands. 

You hear your name being called. His voice calling out to you. 

And as you come to your senses again, your eyes widen in fear when you see the opening head, charging down at you, ready to feast on your flesh. 

For a split second, you see death welcoming you. The darkness ready to claim you, ready to take you into its cold embrace, to take your soul sooner than it was meant to. 

Everything flashes before your eyes. He flashes before your eyes. 

And then… it’s gone again, just like that. 

You scrunch your eyes shut as the body flies off you, slammed away with the nailed bat. You hear the flesh being teared open, the squelching as the bat repeatedly slams into the body. You open your eyes again, turning to your side as you try to catch your breath, watching Steve kill the creature that attacked you. 

Blood drips from his bat, and he only steps away once the body stops moving. His chest is moving up and down heavily, his dark eyes flashing with concern as he looks back down at you. He steps towards you, eyes moving up and down your body, fear flashing across his face. 

He almost forgets your surroundings, ready to drop to his knees before you and pull you into his arms but Nancy’s scream pulls him back onto the field and you both turn towards her, her rifle aimed at the demodog charging at her as she covers Eddie’s body with her own, but before she can even pull the trigger, a loud shot goes off, taken from a different direction, its head blown off and blood splattered across her jacket now. 

You look around, eyes wide and heart jumping to your throat when you see the men, four of them on horses, heavily armed. 

Nancy looks down at herself, watching wide eyed as the blood runs down her jacket. She glances only briefly at the men, before she drops her rifle on the ground beside her and crawls towards Eddie. 

“Eddie…Eddie!” Her panicked voice echoes. 

You push yourself up, searching for your gun in the snow as your hands begin to shake. The moment oh too familiar, the panic rises inside of you, stinging in your throat as breathing becomes a struggle. 

You find your gun and pick it up, holding it tightly as you step in front of Steve. 

“Sunshine…” He murmurs from behind you, taking a step closer, and he curls his hand around your wrist. His eyes flicker back and forth between his unconscious friend and the men moving closer to all of you, noticing how the demodogs start retreating, running back into the woods. 

“Steve! He is losing blood!” Nancy’s panicked voice finally gets to you. 

You blink, forcing your eyes away from the group moving towards you. You keep your finger on the trigger, ready to shoot if anything goes sideways again. You step over the dead bodies, stepping over the blood as you and Steve rush over to Eddie. 

Concern rushes through you when you take in the sight of him. He is out, unconscious, and barely breathing. Blood is coating his cheek and his ear, oozing from the wound on his head. You forget about the panic inside of you, about the group of strangers coming closer, about everything. Your heart is pounding strongly, and the despair inside of you is growing. 

“Oh my god,” you whisper as the paralyzing fear takes hold of your body. “Eddie…”

Nancy already tended to the wound on his leg, but she looks a little helpless as she stares at the wound on his head – it’s not that she doesn’t know what to do, it’s the fact that the panic inside of her makes her unable to work. The logical part of her brain is shut off, the emotional part stronger now as she cries for her best friend. Her hands shake terribly as she stares at him, her blue eyes filled with tears as she keeps repeating his name. 

Steve stares down in horror, frozen and paralyzed. The sight before him reminding him too much of the day he lost her. He doesn’t know what to do, he doesn’t know how to move. 

He wishes it were only one of his nightmares. 

“Hey.” The stranger's voice makes your head snap up, hand holding onto the gun tightly. The man holds his hands up after he gets down from his horse. He takes no step forward yet, trying to show you that he means no harm. His blue eyes move across your little group before they settle on Eddie. “Mind if I take a look? I can help.” 

Nancy looks up before you can say anything. She nods, without even taking a look around first, without making sure that they aren’t bad people, and it only shows you just how desperate she is to save her friend, not caring about the potential danger. 

And you know that you can’t care about it either right now, not when Eddie is bleeding out in the snow. 

The man crouches down before Eddie, eyebrows furrowing as he leans down and carefully picks his head up. 

He eyes the wound, touching around it before he checks for a pulse. “Weak pulse, but it’s there.” He looks up, eyes moving back and forth between Nancy’s panicked ones and Steve’s frozen ones, finally they lock with yours. “He needs medical attention… immediately. He’s got a concussion and an open wound,” he pauses, glancing at Eddie’s leg, at the makeshift bandage around it, blood oozing through it too. “He definitely needs stitches, maybe even surgery.” 

You look back and forth between him and his men who are still on the horses, watching out for any incoming threat.

“We got a little community down the road, we got doctors and all medical supplies necessary–”

“Okay, okay!” Nancy nods, wiping away her tears. “Take us there!” 

Under any other circumstance, she would have never reacted this way, neither would Steve or even you, but you have no choice at this moment. All you can do is get up and take a step back, watching the strangers carry Eddie into the RV after wrapping up his head. 

Nancy follows inside right away, taking a seat beside Eddie. 

Steve is staring at the blood in the snow, Eddie’s blood. He is barely blinking, barely breathing. His body is frozen. 

“Steve!!!” Her voice echoed in his head as if she were there on the floor again, getting dragged, her hand reaching out for him desperately.

Your chest aches, eyes softening as you see the state he is in. The fear of losing another friend set so deeply inside of him. You take a step towards him after putting your gun back into your holster, reaching out to take his hand, “Steve?”

The touch of your hand, the softness in your voice calling out his name, instantly grounds him, pulling him back to here. He blinks as he stares into your eyes. 

“Come on…” You whisper, squeezing his hand. 

He curls his hand around your own, holding on tightly, like he is scared you were gonna let go again. His heart warms at your touch, at the caring look in your eyes. 

“Eddie’s gonna be okay.” You mumble softly. “But we need to go now…”

You try to let go of his hand as you guide him towards the RV, but his grip on your hand only tightens, not letting you let go. 

“Okay.” You whisper, taking one last look around before you step inside the RV, pulling him in with you. 

The man tending to Eddie’s wound, steps away when you walk in. The guy beside him, looking no older than seventeen, gives you a nod before he walks past you and out of the RV. 

“I’ll stay with you, guys. Either of you wanna drive, or do you want me to?” The man who took care of Eddie asks, looking between you both. 

You glance at Steve, who drops the bloody bat on the ground. He fishes out the keys from his pocket, handing them to the man, “you can drive, doesn’t matter anymore.” 

The man gives him a curt nod, understanding what he means by that. He grabs the keys, wasting no time to get into the driver's seat. 

You close the door behind you and lead Steve towards the bench, sitting down with him, you glance at Nancy, who is sitting beside Eddie, holding his hand. 

“I know it ain’t mean much in this world, but I promise we’re good people.” The stranger you have yet to learn the name of speaks. 

Steve nods, not saying anything but squeezing your hand – a silent promise to protect you if it comes down to it. 

For a moment, whatever happened between you two before all this, vanished. You keep holding his hand, and he keeps caressing your knuckles the way he did before, when things were still okay between you. 

Steve’s eyes move back and forth between his friend and you, while you look out the window, preparing for whatever is about to come. 

You shift in your seat, eyes flicking back and forth between the window and the man driving the RV. He has a gun in his holster, a belt around his waist, knives, and an axe secured in it. His clothes are clean, cleaner than those of the people who attacked you on the street. 

You don’t know how long it took you to get there, but it felt like hours, the more you looked at Eddie, just laying there without any movement. Steve’s hand tightens around you, and his back straightens when he sees the gates that keep the community safe from the outer world. 

The man opens the window, waving at the guard on one of the towers who is holding a rifle, looking down at the RV with a skeptical look on his face. 

The sudden crackling noise of a walkie startles you a bit. 

“Open the gate, it’s me.” The man grumbles into his walkie. “Tell Charlie to be ready, we've got a code one.” 

“Copy.” The man on the tower nods, signaling with his arm towards someone standing on the other side of the gate. 

You lean forward as you watch the gate open, you keep holding onto Steve’s hand as the RV starts driving again slowly. Your body is restless, heart pounding in your chest, nerves running high as your eyes take in the sight before you. 

There are guards, four of them, two on each tower, two by the gate. They nod at the driver once the RV passed the gates, all of them are armed with rifles. They all look like military minus the attire. 

As you drive further into the community that looks like a small town, you notice people walking down the street, others standing by a building that looks like an old bakery, chatting and laughing with each other. You see a playground and children playing there, throwing snowballs at each other. 

This place looks like it has been untouched by the outer world – it looks odd compared to what you have seen all these months. 

You and Steve turn to look at each other, your eyes sharing the same emotions. 

Once the RV stops in front of what you assume is the infirmary, you and Steve get up. You let go of his hand, placing it over your gun instead, just in case. 

The man driving the RV, kills the ignition and removes the keys, handing them back to Steve with a nod. 

“I’ll get some help, y’all stay here.” He mumbles before he brushes past Steve and opens the door, leaving it open as he makes his way into the building. 

Your heart is still pounding both in fear for Eddie and in anxiety of being stuck in a place you know nothing about. You just hope that you didn’t walk right into a trap. 

Eddie’s unmoving body makes you feel sick, the thought of losing him crossing your mind when you see just how much blood he has lost. You aren’t sure if and how you would keep going if it happened – let alone how they would keep going. 

Steve can’t even find it in himself to care about the potential danger you are all in. He is staring at Eddie, still frozen in place, hand searching for yours again. You won’t deny or reject him now, you slip your fingers through his and give his hand a squeeze that says ‘I’m here, no matter what, I’m here.’ 

“Howdy.” A man wearing a white coat greets you, clearly the doctor. He offers you a kind smile as he brushes past you and Steve, already having noticed Eddie on the bed. “Let me take a look.”

You and Steve step aside when two other men walk in, carrying a stretcher. 

“Alright, let’s get him inside.” The doctor orders. 

Everything moves quickly after, a blur thanks to the adrenaline and worry. The men carry Eddie outside of the RV and into the infirmary. Nancy follows first, her panicked look never fading. You and Steve follow, his hand still clinging to yours as you step into the unfamiliar place. 

The smell of disinfection hangs heavy in the air. The place looks clean, spotless. You pass by a few rooms, noticing the medical equipment in all of them. 

“You guys can wait here, Aaron will be right with y’all.” The doctor explains, looking mostly at Nancy, who doesn’t want to step away from Eddie. 

She nods, blinking away tears that still linger in her eyes. 

“Here.” The doctor gestures to the chair behind her, “take a seat, I’ll update you in a minute, alright?”

“Alright… Alright.” Nancy murmurs and sits down, breathing shakily. 

The doctor looks up from her, glancing between you both, “you too.”

“Yeah, okay.” You nod at him, assuming that Aaron must be the guy who drove the RV. 

The doctor walks into the room where Eddie was carried into. He closes the door behind him, leaving you all in the quiet hallway. You take a deep breath, noticing how much your heart is still pounding, how much your hands are shaking, even with the touch of his hand. 

You turn to look at him, his eyes are so hollow, and he looks so lost. It hurts to see him like this. 

“Come on,” you whisper as your eyes trace his features. “Let’s sit.” 

Steve nods, agreeing almost robotically. He sits down, and you follow, taking the seat between him and Nancy. You glance at her, your heart clenches in your chest. You reach your hand out and squeeze her forearm. 

She nods at you, trying to smile, but you can see how much she is struggling to, how scared she is. 

You want to assure her, to tell her that he will be alright, but your words are caught in your throat. You don’t know how much time passes as you sit there, but it feels like forever. The clock on the wall across from you is ticking. Nancy is bouncing her knee beside you, unable to find rest. You are on the same page, and Steve is too, but his eyes are frozen, stuck on the ground. 

It seemed as if the people here knew not to offer anything until you all had a bit more trust in them. Maybe waiting for the leader or the head of the community to have a word with you all first, which made sense. 

The door at the end of the hallway opens, making you all straighten your backs. The man who brought you here, Aaron, you assume, steps in. He closes the door and makes his way over to you. 

“Hey guys.” He nods at you all, rubs his hands together, and leans against the wall across from you, crossing his feet. “Charlie’s a good doctor, your friend will be alright.” He starts, assuring you. 

Nobody speaks. No one even knows what to say. 

“Are y’all looking for a place to stay or just passing through?” He asks, looking between all of you. 

“Passing through.” Steve mumbles from beside you, eyes hard as he looks at the man. 

“Where’s your destination?” 

Steve falls silent again, clearly not trusting the man despite the help he’s provided so far. 

And you might not be the best judge, but you can tell that he is harmless, at least if he wants to be. His stance and his body tells you that he is trained, years of military experience probably. Even with the thick jacket on, you can tell that he is muscular. He surely doesn’t need the weapons on him to do some damage. Besides, this place wouldn’t be filled with people and children if they had ill intentions. 

“California.” Nancy says, surprising both you and Steve, earning a glare from the latter. 

“Oh?” He pushes himself off the wall, eyes sparking with interest. “The beach?” 

“Yeah.” She nods. 

He hums, nodding as he looks between you all, eyes lingering on you for a moment. 

“You guys from Hawkins?” 

Steve tenses up beside you, eyebrows creasing together as his lips part. 

“We had a little group passin’ through a while back, probably a year back by now,” he explains. “They were from Hawkins, heading to California as well.”

Nancy and Steve share a look before they look back at him, eyes sparkling with interest now. He straightens up beside you, still holding your hand. 

“One of the teens got sick, so they had to stay here for a week. We gave them medicine and recipes in case of any sicknesses in the future–”

“Teens?” Steve asks, leaning forward. “Which one?” He asks, hope rising up inside of him. 

The man before you furrows his eyebrows, “curly hair, lisp, he uh had cleidocranial dysplasia–”

“Dustin.” Steve sighs, worriedly to find out that he dealt with a sickness, but relieved to know that he is alright. 

Nancy sighs beside you, her eyes widening in relief. 

“Yeah, that was his name. We’re still in contact with them, if you want to, I’ll take y’all to the radio station tomorrow morning. I’m assuming your friend will need to stay in the infirmary tonight, maybe tomorrow too. You guys will get a place to stay–”

“I don’t wanna leave Eddie.” Nancy shakes her head. 

“I understand. You can move into one of our cabins tomorrow morning, after you talk to your friends.” 

You and Nancy nod, feeling more comfortable with that. 

Steve doesn’t seem fond of the idea, but he doesn’t argue against it, knowing that Dustin and the others were here shows him that he can put aside his distrust. 

The door opens before any of you can speak up again. The doctor walks out, causing all of you to tense up, Nancy especially. 

“He’s got a mild concussion, head injury looked worse than it actually was, but he lost a lot of blood on his leg. The cut was pretty deep. We stitched it up, but needs a blood transfusion.” He explains, looking down at Nancy. “You know his blood type?” 

“He’s a type B.” She says, voice filled with anxiety because she can’t help.

Steve huffs beside you, worriedly. 

“I’m type B too.” You speak up, letting go of Steve’s hand, you waste no time getting up and take off your jacket. “You can take my blood.” 

Steve leans forward, looking up at you with wide eyes. 

The doctor nods, he opens the door to the operating room, and gestures for you to step inside. You do, stepping forward and towards the room, you look back at him one more time. He is staring at you, eyes filled with emotions that could have fooled you. Soft and filled with something that you swore wasn’t just platonic. 

Were you really so far off? 

Or was he just giving the wrong signs? 

A soft touch on your hand pulls you back, and you look down, meeting Nancy’s eyes and her sad smile, “thank you,” she whispers, squeezing your hand. 

“Of course.” You squeeze her hand back before you let go and walk into the room. Eyes falling on Eddie’s body on the bed right away. Your heart clenches in your chest at the sight of him, face falling. The machines are beeping loudly beside him, his body still unmoving. 

“Aaron.” The doctor calls for the blue eyed man, motioning for him to follow inside. “Set the IV will ya?”

Steve tenses up, not wanting to be without you, not wanting you to be left alone with a stranger. He refuses to move away from his spot, refusing to walk into any other room and further away from you. 

The door closes behind you, and the man, Aaron, takes his jacket off, hanging it on the hook on the door. He walks over to the sink and washes his hands, glancing at you. 

“Take a seat, ma’am.” He gestures to the chair beside Eddie’s bed. 

You nod, making your way towards Eddie. You eye him, your eyes filling with sadness as you take his state in. 

You sit down without tearing your eyes away from him. The thought that you couldn’t protect him, that this happened again, sickens you. Guilt sparks up inside of you. If you hadn’t been so busy arguing with Steve, this wouldn’t have happened. 

Oh, Eddie. 

“You okay?” The man asks as he steps up before you, two needles and an IV line in his hand. 

“Yeah.”

“You’re not afraid of needles, are you?”

“No,” you shake your head. 

“Alright,” he nods, smiling softly at you. “Take your sweater off, please.”

You reach for the hem of your sweater, feeling glad for the tank top you have on underneath. You throw the sweater over the chair and lean back. 

“I’m Aaron, by the way.” 

You raise your eyebrows and look up to find him looking at you already, getting the IV line ready after injecting the needle into Eddie’s arm. He leans down before you, moving closer, and he sprays some disinfectant on your arm before he checks for a vein. 

You give him your name, offering a kind smile when his eyes meet yours.

“Nice to meet you,” he smiles, tilting his chin down. “You’re from Hawkins too?” He asks, distracting you from the needle he injects into your skin. 

“No,” you shake your head, ignoring the sting. “I’m from Nevada.”

“Oh, you’re a long way from home then.” 

You nod, eyes following the tattoos on his skin that disappear under the sleeve of his shirt. 

“Yeah, I was in New York for college when all this started…” 

He raises his eyebrow, not looking away from the IV until it starts drawing blood and flooding through the line. 

“You found your way to Indiana?” Aaron asks, eyes meeting yours again. 

“Yeah, stumbled right into Hawkins,” you say, smiling at the memory. 

“You were on your own before?” 

You nod, avoiding his eyes as he stares at you, his blue eyes moving across your face. It isn’t difficult to see how handsome he is, even in this state you are in, troubled by worry and anxiety, you still see it, you would have to be blind not to.

“Brave girl.”

You cast your eyes on the ground, blushing. 

He smiles to himself when he notices your reaction, and he takes a step back, checking on Eddie. 

“Alright, I’m gonna get you something to eat, you’ll need it after.”

“Okay,” you nod, giving him a small smile before you look over at Eddie. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, ma’am.” 

You are left alone with silence and your own thoughts after he leaves the room. You sink into the chair, keeping your eyes locked on your friend. The exhaustion of this day is catching up to you slowly, tiredness taking over you, and sleep envelopes you quickly, welcoming you with open arms. 

-

“Psst.” 

You feel something poking your arm, shaking you. 

“Sunshine.” 

Your eyebrows crease, your mind still hazy, feeling far away somewhere.

“Don’t die, you’re still a virgin.”

You open your eyes, frowning in confusion, needing a moment to take in your surroundings. Eddie’s kind eyes meet yours, a loopy smile on his face. 

You look down at his arm, the needle and the IV gone, a bandaid covering the spot the needle poked through. 

“There she is,” he grins. 

A groan falls from your lips, your back hurting from falling asleep on the uncomfortable chair. You don’t even register the comment he made. You blink, needing a moment to fully wake.

“I was kinda hoping the pain meds would get me high but I don’t feel shit.” Eddie frowns, pouting as he looks at you. 

You eye him up and down, moving closer, something falls off your shoulders and you look down, frowning when you notice a blanket that wasn’t there before. You glance at the bedside table, a chocolate bar and a glass of orange juice standing there for you. 

“Can’t believe you gave me your blood, we’re blood sisters now.” Eddie grins, trying to make you smile. 

You look up, shaking your head at him. Is he really not high?

“Come on, I’m trying to make you smile.”

“I appreciate that,” you mumble, tilting your head to the side. “I’m happy you’re back. Are you okay?” 

Eddie’s smile curls into a softer one, his brown eyes flashing with sympathy, knowing you feel guilt for not getting to him sooner. “I’m okay. Can’t believe they got me twice.” He murmurs. “Also, can’t believe I got Nancy Wheeler crying over me, she was full on sobbing when she and Steve came in before.” He chuckles, like they aren’t best friends. 

Was Steve the one who put the blanket around you? 

“I’m sorry, Eddie…” You whisper, reaching for his hand as you eye the bandage around his head, the bruise forming on the side of his head. 

The anxiety, the anger from the day before has passed and left your body. All that is left now is the sadness and heartbreak, mixed with guilt from not being able to protect him. 

His painful screams echo in your mind just like Steve’s hurtful words dawn on you again, repeating themselves in your brain over and over again. 

You rarely cried before, you never cried when you were on your own, you found it hard to. But now tears well up in your eyes, and you can’t push them away. 

“Hey…” Eddie whispers, his smile falling when he notices your face crumbling. “Sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper weakly as the first tears begin to fall, rolling down your cheek before you can even stop it. “If I hadn’t done anything, or tried anything at all with him, I wouldn’t have asked to stop for some air because the RV suffocated me with him in there and–”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Eddie shakes his head, grabbing your hand and pulling you closer, trying to hug you. You welcome it, lying your head on his chest carefully. 

He knew it was bound to happen, he knew you were gonna break down sooner or later after Steve’s rejection. 

“I got you.” He whispers, running his fingers through your hair as cry softly. “Please tell me that idiot apologized.” He mumbles, remembering how he sent him to talk to you. He didn’t have the chance to ask him before, one of the male nurses came in and asked them to follow him for a general checkup. 

You shake your head, keeping your eyes closed. 

He looks down at you, and the pain is written across your face. 

“What happened…?” He whispers, frowning. 

You shrug, not wanting to tell him. 

“Sweetheart–”

The door opens, and someone steps in, making you pull away from Eddie. You quickly wipe your tears and turn around. 

“You alright, Honey?” Aaron asks, looking at you. 

Eddie raises his eyebrows as he eyes the man, head tilting to the side in curiosity when he notices the way he looks at you. 

“Yeah,” you nod, sniffling as you glance at Eddie. “I’m just happy this moron is awake.” 

“Hey, I have feelings!” Eddie gasps, acting offended. 

Aaron chuckles as he walks over to him, checking the vital signs on the monitor. 

“You’ll be fine in a week or so. Gotta keep the injury in check, Doc had to give you some stitches.” He explains. 

“Oh man, a scar no one can see?” Eddie whines.

You giggle at him, shaking your head. 

Aaron looks at you, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Eddie. The man clears his throat and steps back, “alright, whenever you are feeling like you are ready to walk again, I’ll show you to your cabin.” He explains, nodding at you. “And you should eat something, you gave a lot of blood.” 

You nod, casting your eyes down shyly. 

“I’ll come check on you in a few hours again, but for now, you should rest some more, Eddie.” Aaron says as he makes his way to the door. “Your friends are outside, I’ll send them in.” 

Eddie nods at him, waiting until he is gone. He clears his throat, a smirk tugging at his lips as he looks down at you. 

“Sweetheart.”

“Yeah?” You mumble as you take a sip of the orange juice. 

“Found you a Cowboy.” 

You almost spit out your juice, coughing loudly as you punch your chest in order to push the rest down. Eddie chuckled but winced as the action made the stitches move slightly. 

“I’m– Not interested.” You say, and Eddie sighs, shaking his head at you.

“Have you seen that man? I’ll be forever pissed at you if he makes a move and you don’t take it.” You blink a few times, surprised by Eddie’s words and– You have seen him.

You took notice before of his features, his eyes, his beard, his clothes, and the roughness of his voice. It was hard not to, even in the situation you were all in. Yet–

“Eddie?” Nancy rushed in, a smile on her face as Steve breathed heavily, right behind her. They both rushed to Eddie’s side, and you could only see the brown haired guy that was smiling with relief, as he hugged his friend after Nancy had her share.

Your heartstrings tugged at you, painfully so. Your fingers wrapped around the blanket again as you felt a shiver run down your spine. Yeah, Aaron was handsome, as Eddie put it. 

But those blue eyes had nothing against hazel ones.

Not even close.

☀︎

welp I am sorry. here is Aaron for y'all (face claim. not the actual actor, they just happen to have the same name lmao)

taglist: @prettyboyeddiemunson @pretentious-blonde @thecreelhouse @tvserie-s-world @thesickestqrmydcll @crispystarfishhottub @sophal22 @definitionwanderlust @talkativecarnation @mysticalwoolenfroglegs @ariesandwolves @mortqlprojections @sattlersquarry @sherrylyn0628 @purpleeyeswithgoldensparkles @micheledawn1975 @keepingitlokiii @littleromanoff2005 @sunshine-mrk @xxladymjxx @bananasplits-world @myharrington

[hoshifighting]

Workaholic!Joshua

— Synopsis: Joshua consistently skips happy hours or works overtime. You've tried to warn your friend countless times, but he didn't listen to you. As a result, it's no surprise that Joshua experienced a burnout on the office floor. — WC: 5.3k — WARNINGS: Smut, fluff, angst, office setting, fingering (f. receiving), clit stimulation, handjob, penetrative sex, a little bit of car sex, protected sex, dirty talk, flirty Joshua.

[Please be aware that the following text includes mentions of burn-out, collapse, fainting out, which may be a sensitive topic for some]

[Issue Club Serie]

You remember when you heard your manager talking about a job vacancy in the recruitment and selection sector. The name immediately stood out to you—Joshua. You studied with him in college, and you knew he would be perfect for the role.

The manager loved him. Joshua was charismatic, empathetic, and dedicated—everything the recruitment team needed. Every morning, he would thank you profusely, and at least twice a week, he would insist on buying you an overpriced coffee. It took some time for you to convince him that he didn't need to do this.

But there was something else you couldn't help but notice. The sheer number of job interviews Joshua had to lead, the late nights you'd see him at his desk with tired eyes, and how he always seemed a little lonely, even though the team welcomed him with open arms.

Joshua would rarely show up to the department's happy hours on Fridays or the company parties, and even then, he would only talk about work. There was no relief, no relaxation. You found yourself listening to him until the end of the night, as the rest of the team started to ask if he would even bother coming anymore, knowing he probably wouldn't.

You couldn't help but feel for Joshua. He was clearly passionate about his work, but at what cost? You watched as he isolated himself, unable to find that work-life balance that so many of us strive for. It made you wonder, what was driving him to push himself so hard, and at what point would the stress and loneliness become too much to bear?

As his friend, you couldn't help but worry about his well-being. You'd seen him cancel plans, skip social events, and even miss out on family gatherings, all in the name of his career. It was admirable, sure, but also concerning. 

You could consider reaching out, inviting him for a coffee or a quick chat. Maybe he just needed someone to listen and remind him that there was more to life than just work. 

But then again, who were you to judge? 

Everyone has their own path, their own motivations. Still, you couldn't shake the feeling that Joshua was heading for a burnout. You wondered if there was a way to help him find a better balance without undermining his ambitions. It was a tricky situation, and you weren't sure how to approach it.

As you glance at the clock, the hands indicate it's already 3:35 pm. Your stomach growls, reminding you that you've been so absorbed in your work that you've skipped lunch. Deciding it's time for a much-needed break, you gather your phone and wallet, heading towards the exit of the department.

But just as you're about to leave, you spot Joshua, his fingers dancing across the keyboard in a blur of movement. You can't help but let out a small sigh, knowing he's likely putting in extra hours again. Turning around, you make your way over to his desk, standing beside him.

"Joshua, it's past 3:30. Don't you think it's time for a break?" you say, your voice laced with concern.

Joshua looks up, blinking a few times as he registers your presence. "Oh, hey Y/N. I'm just trying to get this report finished before the end of the day," he explains, his brow furrowed in concentration.

You can't help but smile at his dedication. "Come on, you've been working non-stop. Let's go grab a bite to eat across the street. My treat," you offer, hoping to coax him away from his desk.

Joshua hesitates for a moment, glancing back at his computer screen. "I don't know, Y/N. I really need to get this done..."

"It can wait, Joshua. You need to take a break and recharge," you insist, your tone gentle but firm.

With a sigh, Joshua nods and starts to gather his things. "Alright, you win. Let's go," he says, shrugging on his blazer.

You can't help but feel a sense of triumph as the two of you head towards the elevator. "So, how are the apprentice interviews going?" you ask. "They're going well, actually. The candidates are all so eager and eager to learn," Joshua replies, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You chuckle, nodding in understanding. "That's the best phase, but I hope they don't overwork themselves in the future, right Josh?" you say, casting him a knowing glance.

Joshua ducks his head, chuckling quietly. "Yeah, yeah, I hear you," he says, the hint of a smile still playing on his face.

As you step out into the bustling street, you feel the sun's warmth on your face, a pleasant contrast to the cold, sterile office. You turn to Joshua, a playful grin spreading across your face.

"Alright, Josh, here's the deal. If you talk about work during this break, you'll owe me an ice cream," you declare, wagging a finger at him.

Joshua laughs, a genuine sound that lightens the mood. "Deal. Though, to be honest, I'd buy you an ice cream anyway," he says, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Don't you forget it. And remember, I'm serious," you say, trying to keep a straight face as you give him a mock-stern look.

Joshua raises his hands in surrender, still chuckling. "Alright, alright, I heard you loud and clear."

As you both find a cozy little café, the smell of freshly baked bread and brewed coffee envelops you. You choose a table by the window, and as you settle in with your meals, the casual chatter of other patrons creates a comforting background hum.

"Did you hear about the latest drama?" you begin, leaning in conspiratorially. "The director's wife found out he was cheating on her because her strawberry jam kept disappearing from the fridge—and the director doesn't even like strawberry jam!"

Joshua's mouth drops open, his eyes wide in disbelief. "No way. Seriously?" he exclaims, staring at you.

You nod, your face a picture of exaggerated exasperation. "Yup. She noticed it was going down way too fast and started putting two and two together."

Joshua shakes his head, still processing the story. "That's wild. You know, during the last interview I led, they actually put some strawberry jam on the table so the candidates would—" He stops abruptly as your glare pierces him. He laughs, holding up his hands again. "Sorry, sorry! No work talk, I remember."

You can't help but smile at his sheepish expression. "Thank you. So, back to the story. After she figured it out, she didn’t just confront him. Oh no, she went all out. She invited him to a romantic dinner, complete with candles and, of course, strawberry jam."

Joshua raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "And then what happened?"

You lean in closer, lowering your voice. "She waited until he took a bite of the dessert she made—some fancy strawberry tart. And then she calmly asked him if he enjoyed it as much as his 'office snacks.'"

Joshua bursts out laughing, nearly choking on his food. "No way! That’s brilliant. What did he do?"

You grin, enjoying his reaction. "He turned beet red and started stammering. She didn’t even wait for an explanation. She just got up, left the table, and moved out the next day. Took the jam with her too, just for good measure."

Joshua laughs so hard tears form in his eyes. "I can't believe it. That's some next-level pettiness. Good for her."

You noticed Joshua seemed more relaxed after your lunch together. He even managed a smile when you passed by his desk later that day. However, during the week, your attempts to repeat the lunch outing were met with resistance. Each time you invited him, he had a different excuse.

"Hey, Josh, want to grab some lunch today?" you asked on Tuesday, hoping to replicate the success of your last outing.

"Sorry, Y/N. I need to lead the apprentice interview," he replied, not looking up from his computer.

On Wednesday, you tried again. "How about lunch today? There is a pasta sale going on at the mall."

Joshua sighed, shaking his head. "I wish I could, but I need to filter the job applications. We're getting so many, and I need to find the best ones."

By Thursday, your frustration was evident, but you kept it in check. "Lunch today, Josh? You deserve a break."

"I'd love to, but I need to solve the issue with the employees' late salaries," he said, sounding genuinely apologetic. "It's causing a lot of stress for everyone."

Joshua was developing into someone who rarely took a break from his work. Today was Friday, and as you were leaving with your coworkers, all you wanted was to taste a cold beer and find some refuge from the rough week. The whole department was eager to hang out together, and the air was filled with energy.

You were refreshing your makeup at your desk as your coworkers trickled out, laughing and chatting. Glancing over, you saw Joshua standing by the printer, watching the curriculums pile up.

"Josh, you coming out with us tonight?" you called over, hoping to finally get him to relax.

He looked up, "I don't know, Y/N. I have these curriculums to go through, and then there's the report I need to finish."

Tired of trying, you sigh in defeat, the weight of your concern for Joshua pressing heavily on your shoulders. He notices, his eyes meeting yours briefly, but you turn away and walk out. You knew you didn't have the responsibility of checking on him every single time—it was his choice to work himself into exhaustion. But how could you not worry? He was a great friend, and the thought of him breaking down alone between the dividers of his desk was unbearable.

As you sip your beer, trying to enjoy the happy hour, the image of Joshua's lost eyes lingers in your mind. The laughter and chatter around you fade into the background as your thoughts drift back to him. After a few hours, the night winds down, and you remember you forgot your keys at the office. Debora, your coworker, offers you a ride back so you can retrieve them before heading home.

The office is dark and silent as you and Debora step inside, your footsteps echoing softly on the tiled floor. Only one light is turned on, casting a dim glow over a single desk. You immediately recognize it—Joshua's desk. But he isn't sitting there.

A sense of dread fills you as you approach, the cubicle dividers blocking your view. As you round the corner, you see him—Joshua, sprawled on the floor.

You gasp, rushing to his side. "Joshua!" you scream out, your voice trembling with panic. You carefully lift his head and place it on your lap, your hands shaking as you check for signs of consciousness. He's unresponsive, his face pale and drawn.

"Debora, call an ambulance!" you shout, your voice tight.

Debora fumbles with her phone, her fingers trembling as she dials. She quickly explains the situation to the operator and then rushes to find building security for additional help.

You gently shake Joshua, trying to rouse him. "Come on, Josh, wake up," you whisper urgently, but he remains still, his breathing shallow.

Minutes later, which feel like an eternity, the sound of sirens pierces the silence. The paramedics arrive, and you reluctantly let go of Joshua as they take over, assessing his condition and preparing to move him. You insist on riding with him to the hospital, unable to leave his side.

As the ambulance speeds through the city streets, you hold Joshua's hand, your heart pounding with worry. Outside the building, a few employees gather, watching the scene unfold with concern. You barely notice them, your focus entirely on Joshua, praying silently that he'll be okay.

You don't know exactly how many hours you've been by Joshua's side as he lies in the hospital bed. You watched the morning light grow brighter through the window, dozed off, woke up to find him still sleeping, went to the bathroom, and grabbed something from the cafeteria. When you return to his room, you see Joshua awake, a nurse measuring his blood pressure. An uncomfortable silence settles in as the nurse finishes up and leaves.

You sigh, walking next to him and turning your back to him.

"Are you mad at me?" Joshua asks, his voice still weak.

You shake your head, the words snapping out before you can stop them. "No, I'm letting you rest, since you don't do it yourself."

He sighs deeply, and you close your eyes, immediately regretting your harsh tone. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to give you this much trouble," he says softly.

You shake your head negatively, looking down. "I found you on the floor, Josh. The only reason I was there was because I forgot my keys. What if I hadn't come back?"

Joshua struggles, but he manages to reach out and catch your hand that is hanging by the bedside. His cold touch makes you glance at him. His eyes are full of exhaustion.

"Please, don't make me this worried again,"

Joshua squeezes your hand weakly. "I'll try, Y/N. I really will. I'm sorry for pushing myself so hard and for pushing you away. I didn't realize how bad it had gotten."

You nod "You don't have to do everything alone, you know. We're all here for you. I'm here for you."

He nods, his eyes glistening. "I know. And I appreciate it more than you know. I just... I need to find a better balance."

"Promise me you'll take it seriously this time," you say.

"I promise," he whispers, his grip on your hand tightening just a bit, weakly. "I'll take better care of myself."

You sit down next to him, your hand still in his. "Good. Because you can't go through that again."

You didn't like the rumors circulating around the office about Joshua while he was away. It bothered you to hear whispers about his collapse, especially since everyone in his department knew how hard he worked and yet pretended everything was fine. 

As the days passed, Joshua's desk slowly filled with Post-it notes and snacks, contributions from you and other departments. Joshua's sudden health scare was a wake-up call, touching more hearts than just yours.

When Joshua returned today, Friday, you watched from your desk as he walked in, his eyes lighting up at the sight of his desk. Messages of encouragement and little treats were piled high. 

His face goes red as he glances around, catching the subtle glances of his coworkers. They quickly return to their tasks, but you see the corners of their mouths twitching with barely concealed smiles.

He worked at his desk, and his department members spared him from taking on too much. As the windows started to show the darkening sky, some people had already left to go home. Unlike regular Fridays, there was no happy hour planned for tonight.

Seungkwan approached Joshua's desk, a concerned look on his face. "Hey, Josh, you should really think about not doing extra hours today."

Joshua shook his head, "I'm going to take it easy for now…" a small smile formed as he looked at you. "Also, I have a happy hour for two tonight, so no extra hours."

As his friends gave you sly glances and teased you with their smiles, you felt your cheeks blush.

"Looks like someone's got a date," Seungkwan said, grinning.

How did you two end up on a date? It started in the hospital. Joshua was still recovering, lying in bed, holding your hand. The room was quiet, the noise from machines was the only sound.

"How can you forgive me?" he asked, his voice soft.

You shook your head, a gentle smile on your face. "I'm not mad at you, Josh. But it would be cool if you took a break every now and then. Maybe we could go to a happy hour someday."

Joshua licked his lips, still holding your hand and giving it a weak squeeze. He looked up at you, all flirty. "Would you be open to having a happy hour with just you and me?"

You blinked, shocked. "What?"

He blushed, looking down for a moment before meeting your eyes again. "Come on, it's so difficult for me to take a break. I'd love to have you as the motive for my breaks."

You scoffed, attempting to conceal the warmth that spread throughout your chest. "You should take breaks for your health and my sanity."

Joshua brushed his thumb against your hand, a playful grin grabbing at his lips. "Don't scold me, Y/N-nie, I'm sick," he teased.

You stared at him, a shocked smirk on your face. "You're taking advantage of me."

"Yes," he said, his smile growing. "Using the advantage, so you accept having an encounter with me."

The memory of that conversation makes you smile as you walk out of the office together, the evening air cool and refreshing. 

"So, where are we going for this happy hour?" you ask, trying to lighten the mood.

Joshua chuckles, his eyes bright with excitement. "I thought we could try that new restaurant around the corner. I've heard good things."

You nod, feeling the tension of the week melt away. "Sounds perfect."

As you both enter the bar, the atmosphere is lively but not unpleasant. You find a cozy corner table and settle in, the soft murmur of conversation and clinking glasses creating a comfortable backdrop.

Joshua looks at you, his eyes filled with gratitude and something else that makes your heart skip a beat. "Thanks for convincing me to take a break."

You smile, raising your glass. "To more breaks and less stress."

He clinks his glass against yours, a genuine smile on his face. "To more happy hours with you."

After dinner, you find yourself sitting in the passenger seat of Joshua's car. The air is filled with a comforting silence, both of you soaking in the cozy warmth of the evening. As he pulls the car up in front of your house, you pause for a moment, your heart quickening in your chest as you struggle to gather the courage to look over at him.

Instead, you direct your gaze out the windshield, staring at the street ahead of you. The dim glow of streetlights paints the night in soft hues of orange, casting shadows on the quiet neighborhood.

"Do you want to come inside?" you ask, your voice hardly above a whisper.

Joshua turns your face toward his, his touch gentle as he lifts your chin with a soft touch. "You want me to go inside?" he enquires, his tone soft.

You nod, your gaze drawn to his mouth. "Yes."

"Then tell me," he teases, "what exactly are we going to do inside?"

You gulp, your mind racing. "We can... we can..." you stutter. You didn't have an answer on the tip of your tongue.

Joshua leans in close to you, his smile growing wider as he whispers against your skin, "I'm going to come inside, but go easy on me," he says, his breath warm and sultry, "I'm not quite recovered yet."

You shiver at his words. "What do you mean?" you ask, your voice still low and quiet as you look up at him.

"What do you think I mean?" he replies with a smirk, his eyes glinting in the dim light. "I mean," he murmurs, his mouth brushing against your ear as he speaks, "that you might have to take it slow with me."

"Slow? How slow?" You're whispering, not because you're afraid of being loud, it's because you're so horny that your voice is strained. 

Joshua's lips curve into a smirk as he sees the effect he's having on you. 

"Slow," he whispers back, his voice low and seductive. "Slow to the point where you feel yourself starting to drip."

He closes the gap between you, his lips hovering just millimeters from yours as his hands slide up your hips.

"Are you sure you want me to come inside?" he asks, his mouth so close to yours that you can feel the heat of his breath on your skin.

Your mind could only focus on the two last words. Mind foggy. "Come inside?" 

Joshua widens his eyes slightly, then a cocky smile spreads across his face as he registers the double meaning of your words. "Hmm look at you, how nasty... I guess we can do this too..."

His lips crash against yours, no longer gentle but filled with urgency. His tongue delves into your mouth, exploring, tasting. You gasp, the wet noises so sultry inside his sleek car. His hands unclasp your seatbelt, and one slide from your knee to your thigh, slipping under your pencil skirt to feel the lacy panties you wore.

"Slowly, like this," he murmurs against your mouth, his voice too sultry.

His hand moves to the front of your panties, and you instinctively raise your hips as he pulls them down, discarding them onto the car's floor. The air inside the car starts to feel foggy, just like your senses, and your breathing becomes more rapid.

Joshua's hand returns to your now bare skin, his fingers teasing and exploring the wet folds of your pussy. You moan softly into his mouth, your body reacting to every touch. And slow, just like he said, he starts to circle your clit with his finger, making you instantly melt against the seat as you spread your legs wider for him.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes dark and intense, filled with fascination as he watches your reactions. Your mouth can't correspond to the wet kisses anymore, your hips roll against his hand, your legs spasm as you try to keep them open, and your skirt rises, revealing your sopping cunt glistening.

You find yourself pushed back against the seat, your body arching as you grow more desperate for him. His eyes never leave yours.

“I can feel how much you want this.” 

You can only nod, your breath coming in ragged gasps as his fingers speed on your swollen bud. 

“So open, so needy.” he murmurs making you feel that sharp stitch in your belly一your horniness growing. 

His words make you moan, and he chuckles, his voice filled with a gloomy promise. “I want to hear more of that,” he says, his fingers teasing your entrance before slipping inside. You cry out, your body responding instantly to his touch, your head thrown back.

“Joshua,” you gasp, your hands clutching at his shirt as you try to ground yourself.

He leans in closer, his breath hot against your neck. “Yes, Y/N? Tell me what you need.”

“More,” you manage to say, your voice trembling, “I need more.”

He pulls back slightly, his eyes meeting yours with a fiery intensity. “More? I can give you more.”

With that, he increases the pace, his fingers moving inside you making the squelching wet songs, louder. He watches you so closely that you feel embarrassed; it is as if he reads everything about you and knows every secret you keep.  

“Every little touch, every little tease… you’re soaking it all up.” He coos, and you feel your orgasm getting closer and closer. 

You can only whimper in response, your body trembling with the need for release. He leans in, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss. The taste of him, the feel of him, it’s all too much, and you can sense that you are nearing collapse.

“Cum for me, sweetheart,” he whispers against your lips. “Let go.”

His words are your undoing. With a cry, you shatter, your body convulsing against his leather seat. Joshua holds you through it, his touch possessive, trying to keep you still so you can feel the waves better. As you come down from the high, you find yourself panting, your body still trembling non-stop.

His fingers are soaked, glistening in the pale light. With a teasing grin, Joshua brings them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a satisfied pop. You immediately turn your face to the window, your cheeks burning with embarrassment as you try to straighten your skirt. His chuckle fills the car, rich and warm.

“Shy now, are we?” he teases, his voice low and playful.

You can’t bring yourself to look at him, your hands fumbling with the fabric of your skirt. But Joshua isn’t done with you yet. He leans in, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, “We can resume this inside. What do you think?”

You nod, finally daring to meet his gaze. He gives you a quick peck on the lips before stepping out of the car. You watch him circle around to your side, suppressing a laugh when he catches the glimpse of your knees trembling as you exit the vehicle.

“Did you get this horny?” he can't hide the amusement in his voice.

The walk to your front door feels like an eternity, your fingers fumbling with the keys as Joshua’s need becomes more apparent. He’s pressing his bulge against you, his hands roaming over your body as he kisses your neck, making it hard to focus on unlocking the door.

Finally, the door swings open, and you grab Joshua by the collar of his white shirt, pulling him inside. Your mouths collide in a desperate kiss, his hands clutching your hips as you stumble toward the bedroom. You don’t care about the noise or the awkward angles; all that matters is the friction among you, the urgent need to be closer.

With outstretched arms, you brace yourself against the wall, your body arching toward his as he presses against you. His hands are everywhere—sliding under your blouse, unhooking your bra, teasing the sensitive skin beneath. You moan into his mouth, your hands clutching at his hair while you're absorbed by the feeling.

“Bedroom,” you manage to gasp, your voice breathless and needy.

Joshua’s response is a low growl, his hands gripping your waist as he guides you through the hallway. You barely make it to the bed before you’re pulling at each other’s clothes, the fabric tearing in your haste to be free of it. His shirt falls to the floor, followed by your skirt, his pants, your blouse—until there’s nothing between you but skin and heat.

He pushes you gently onto the bed, his body covering yours as he kisses you sloppy. His hands continue their search, teasing, caressing, making you frantic with need. You arch against him, your fingers digging into his back as you pull him closer.

His cock lays heavily against your belly, a warm, wet spot forming on your skin from his precum. You grab his throbbing length, feeling it pulse under your touch. Joshua shudders, moaning needily against your mouth, the sound vibrating through you and adding to your own arousal.

Your hand collects the sticky lubrication, spreading it along its entire length. You begin to stroke him, your other hand tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. His eyes flutter open, trying to stay locked on yours as you speed up your strokes. His gasps and whimpers alimented your hunger, making you feel yourself oozing more and more.

At a certain point, he lets out a high-pitched squeak, hiding his face in your neck. "I need to be inside you," he says, his voice strained and desperate.

You close your eyes, the heat of his breath on your skin sending shivers down your spine. "Open this drawer," you murmur, nodding towards the bedside table.

Joshua extends his arm, fumbling slightly as he opens the drawer and finds a couple of condoms. He picks one up, glancing at you with a teasing smile. "Always prepared, huh?" he says, tearing open the shiny packet.

His hands move with such practiced ease that it makes your breath catch when you watch him slide the rubber down his length. His cock looks even more inviting now, sheathed and ready for you.

He positions himself at your entrance, pausing for a moment to look into your eyes. Slowly, he pushes inside, filling you inch by inch. You gasp at the sensation, your pussy stretching to accommodate him. Joshua’s groan is deep and throaty, his hands gripping your hips as he bottoms out.

For a moment, neither of you moves, so you adjust to his side, but thankfully his fingers prepared you well in his car. Then, he begins to thrust, his pace is slow at first, his eyes locked on yours, watching every reaction, his ears alert to your every moan, and every wet sound from your stretched little cunt.

You arch your back, meeting his thrusts, your hands clutching his shoulders. “Faster, Joshua,” 

He complies, his pace quickening, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The room is filled with the sex sounds—the slap of skin against skin, the mingled moans and gasps, the creaking of the bed. You feel yourself climbing higher, the knot on your belly desperately wanting to blossom.

Joshua’s rhythm falters for a moment, his grip on your hips tightening. “I’m close,” he whispers, his voice strained.

“Me too,” you reply, your nails digging into his back.

Joshua takes his cock out of you, positioning himself a little further back before slamming all the way in again. The sudden movement makes you grab his forearm, while his other hand lays on your belly. Each thrust is powerful, hitting that perfect, spongy spot inside you that makes you sob with pleasure. You grow tighter around him with every second, the stimulation driving you both wild.

"You're perfect," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.

"Am I?" you manage to gasp between his thrusts.

"Absolutely," he praises, his words going straight to your core. "You're so tight, so wet. You're perfect for me."

The praise sends a jolt of pleasure through you, making you arch your back and cum for him. Joshua smiles at the sight of you unraveling beneath him—Your legs try to close instinctively, but his hips keep them wide apart. Your eyes roll back, your pussy gushing as your fingers curl around the headboard.

He finds your clit with his thumb, rubbing it just as your orgasm peaks. It shatters you, making you curse.

"Fuck, Joshua! You're so deep... don't stop... please, don't stop. God, you're going to make me cum again."

"You're so fucking tight," he groans, his pace quickening. "I can feel you squeezing me. You're gonna make me cum so hard."

"Keep cumming for me, baby," he whispers, his own voice shaking.

His moans grow louder, his pace more frantic. Your dirty talk pushes him to the brink, and with a final, powerful thrust, he cums hard. His loud moaning, combined with the sensation of his cum filling the condom, makes your head spin.

Joshua leaves you shaking for the second time that evening, fully exhausted and completely satisfied.

Joshua falls on his side beside you, his breaths coming hard and fast. You can't help but tease him, a smirk playing on your lips.

"Are you going to faint here too? Should I call an ambulance? After all, you weren’t as slow as you said you would be."

He laughs, his chest heaving. "I’ve got enough energy to fuck you all night if you want to, leave your bed all drenched," he says, kissing your cheek and playfully slapping your clit, making you shudder.

"All night, huh?" you tease back, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest. "Big talk for someone who just collapsed next to me."

Joshua grins, his eyes sparkling. "You doubt me?"

"I’m just saying," you reply, your tone playful. "Maybe you should pace yourself. I wouldn’t want you passing out on me."

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. "I’m not going anywhere. And if you think that was all I’ve got, you’re in for a surprise."

You chuckle, your fingers dancing down his stomach. "Promises, promises," you whisper, your hand inching closer to his now half-hard cock. "Let’s see if you can keep up."

Joshua groans, his body responding to your touch. "You’re going to regret challenging me," he murmurs.

"Bring it on," you whisper back.

[heich0e]

sakusa is not a fan of babies.

he thinks they're sort of annoying. and loud. and he doesn't understand why their hands are always sticky.

he doesn't feel any real paternal instinct or drive to have kids of his own, and he never has, but when atsumu's baby looks up at him from the stroller you pushed court-side in the MSBY training gym one afternoon, with his big round eyes and a (frankly kind of endearingly dumb) look...

kiyoomi can admit the kid's not totally repulsive.

"omi-omi!" atsumu chirps cheerfully from the other side of the stroller when he notices his teammate approach, leaning over the handle towards him—in response to which kiyoomi recoils slightly on instinct. "isn't he cute? looks just like me, huh?"

kiyoomi opts to ignore atsumu, and turns to you instead—standing at your husband's side with a wry but affectionately exasperated little smile. you shoot kiyoomi an apologetic look for atsumu's antics while the two of you greet each other politely.

truthfully, you're one of the few visitors to the jackals's training gym who kiyoomi is willing to take a break in his practice to greet. though he usually finds these sorts of disruptions troublesome, you rarely visit and never stay long out of respect for the team's time, so he doesn't mind it quite so much. you're here this afternoon just to drop off paperwork your husband left behind at home that morning, even after you reminded him twice not to forget—which you explain with a pointed look at the blonde at your side. (kiyoomi has long-believed you're entirely too good—too sensible—to be married to a guy like miya.)

greetings aside, atsumu jumps right back into his nonsense.

"so, omi—wanna hold him?"

kiyoomi's lips part to immediately decline the offer, but just before he can get the words past his teeth—

"mimi!"

he freezes.

kiyoomi's gaze flickers down to the little boy in the pram again, more in shock than anything, and finds the baby's eyes are still firmly fixed in his direction—a tiny, semi-toothed grin on display now. "mimi!" the child says again, with that same lilt of excitement and a giggle as his little hand reaches out in the outside hitter's direction.

sakusa glances up at miya suspiciously—notably excusing you from the receiving end of his mistrustful gaze.

"what's mimi?" kiyoomi asks him flatly.

"yer mimi!" atsumu laughs, reaching forward and ruffling his son's hair affectionately. "little guy watches the game tapes with me on rest days so mama here can get some rest of her own. he musta heard me complainin' about ya messin' up yer serves one too many times."

"he picked it up a while ago," you add, shoving lightly at atsumu's arm for his rudeness. your eyes twinkle with mirth as you go on to say: "he always cheers when you're on the screen. i think you might be his favourite player."

atsumu guffaws at the suggestion, balking about the indignity—the betrayal—of it all, but kiyoomi largely ignores him (which he's gotten very good at over the years) and looks down at the baby once more instead. the little boy's hand is still outstretched in his direction, waving enthusiastically for his attention. kiyoomi peeks at you as if to translate.

"he just wants to say hi," you explain with an encouraging smile, coming around to the side of the stroller and crouching at your son's side. you press a kiss to his squishy cheek, and he gurgles happily in response with his hand still waving. "you're excited to see mimi, huh?"

and, well, kiyoomi's just as shocked as anyone else when he reaches out and tentatively brushes the tips of his fingers against the little boy's outstretched palm. even more shocked when he doesn't pull away once the baby's little hand wraps itself tightly around his pointer finger with a delighted squeal.

your son's hand is surprisingly soft—and thankfully not sticky.

and for the first time in his life he can't help but think that maybe babies aren't so bad after all.

at least this one isn't.

(the credit for which kiyoomi gives entirely to you and not your obnoxious husband.)

[carmenberzattosgf]

when you and carmy finally decide to start actively trying for kids, it’s like you’ve created this insatiable man. he’s waking up early to fuck you, coming home for breaks to fuck you, then once (or twice) when he gets home. he’s sending pictures from work of his bulge pressing against his jeans, or even a photo of him in the bathroom, jeans unzipped and his cock out, his hand squeezing the base of it, saying: Thinking about you. Gonna fuck you the moment I get home.

so he’s cumming in you at least three times a day (more if he can). sticking pillows beneath you to keep your hips elevated, thrusting into you so hard that his load from the previous round is seeping out. “shh, i know, i know, i got ya. such a good girl.” he coos when he pulls out momentarily just so he can scoop his cum up with his fingers to push it back in you. then he’s lining himself up and fucking into you again so he can give you more -💫

Oh he’s so fucking dedicated to getting you pregnant. Plus he’s getting to fill you up with his cum multiple times a day, which is something that makes his head spin. He already had a thing for seeing his cum drip out of you, but seeing it when he knows you’re not on birth control? And when it’s so much cum? It’s no wonder he’s hard all day.

The waking up early part—yeah I feel like this is when some somno comes into play. You have to beg him to do it though, because he’s terrified of going too far.

“Carm, please it’s okay. If you start while I’m asleep I’ll have an easier time getting back to sleep. I am not made to be awake at four am, baby.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to. I just don’t wanna hurt you.”

“I’m positive, Carmen.”

That next morning he wakes up hard. He debates jacking off in the shower to make the urge go away, but he can’t resist your sleeping frame laying next to him. You’re on your side, back towards him. Carmy carefully kicks off his boxers before he presses up behind you; his chest is flush to your back.

You haven’t moved yet, still deep in sleep. He slips his fingers underneath your shirt, caressing your skin before letting his hand rest flat against your stomach. A quiet, broken moan leaves his lips as his cock grinds into your still covered ass.

Carmen can’t tease himself anymore. He gently pulls down your underwear to your ankles. You shift slightly, but don’t wake up. With his bottom lip in between his teeth, he sinks his cock fully into you with one smooth thrust. He whimpers, feeling the cum he fucked into you last night seep out around him. He starts a slow, deep pace. He wants to savor the feeling of your warm cunt for as long as he can before he has to pull himself out of bed.

The sound of his muffled moans wakes you up. “Carm?” You barely have your bearings. You note darkness in the window of the bedroom, so it must be early.

“Baby—baby, baby, baby—so good. So fucking warm and tight.” Now that you’re awake, he sucks on the skin of your neck, and quickens his pace. He sounds utterly debauched, whining with no shame into your neck. “Love you—love you so much. T-thank you for letting me do this—fuck.”

“Love you, Carm. Feels s’good. So—so full,” you mumble sleepily. You muster enough strength to reach an arm behind you, threading your fingers into Carmy’s hair as he sucks a deep bruise into your pulse point.

“Shit—“ Carmy groans, cock twitching inside of you. “Close— so fucking close, baby. Such a—such a good girl for me.” He moves his finger tips to your bud and circles it in a way that makes your head spin. Carmy knows you inside and out. Every touch of his finger tips is skilled, desperate to bring you pleasure.

“Carm—Carmy. Please. P-please fill me up. Wanna go back to sleep dripping. W-wanna make you a real daddy.”

That one little word brings Carmy to orgasm. He buries himself inside of you, wanting his cum to spill deep in your cunt. Deep enough that it’ll still be there when he gets home from work. The feeling of his cock stuffing you full sends you over the edge, too. You try to keep your eyes open, but as soon as your peak is over, you drift back asleep.

Carmy stays inside of you until his alarm clock goes off. It takes him every ounce of strength he has to pull out of you and get ready for work, but he manages. He makes sure your all covered up with the blankets before he kisses your forehead and heads out the door

He struggles all morning at work. He can’t focus on the dishes in front of him. Instead his mind wanders to you. Your body, your moans, and how your cunt squeezed him replays in his mind over and over again. Eventually, he has to excuse himself to take a break in his office.

His text pings your phone at around 2:00pm. There’s two picture attached. In the first one, the camera is angled to show off the bulge between his legs, prominent in his slacks. He’s in his office chair with his legs spread wide.The next image is taken from the same angle, but his tattooed hand grips his cock through the fabric in this one. Another text comes through a moment later.

See what you’re doing to me? Can’t work one out. I don’t want anything to go to waste. Gotta save it all for you.

The text you send in reply is simple:

Only a few more hours until you get to come home to me. I love you <3

You don’t expect another reply back, but evidently Carmy isn’t finished yet.

I think imma have you sit on my cock while we watch a movie or something. Want to make sure it takes.

When he gets home, he doesn’t pounce on you immediately. In hand, he has your favorite take out. If there’s one thing about Carmy, he always feeds you good before he fucks your brains out.

He gets you to cum twice around his cock before he even thinks about his own high. He read online that the female orgasm increases the chance of implantation.

When he does finally cum inside of you, your brain has already gone a bit fuzzy. Carmy sticks to his word, though. He reaches to the back of the couch to pull a blanket out over your connected bodies. Your back presses up against his chest as you watch what he’s put on the tv.

Carmy is very pleased with his efforts when your next period is late.

[neverthatsirius-jo]

jo!!!!! hey hey hey congrats on 200 that is soooo amazing!!! also i am in love w ur celebration it is so creative!!!!

could i request james potter with evading eye contact / friends to lovers, and my song was 'staying down low' by angie mcmahon (an underrated aussie artist who grew up near me!) everything else is up to u to work ur magic!! <3

thank u and congrats again!!! <333

| STAYING DOWN LOW ⊹₊⟡⋆

“In which you’ve been ignoring James for a few days but he’s dead set on getting you out of the sad haven you’ve made of your apartment.”

pairing: james potter x fem!reader

genre: hurt/comfort

w/c: 2.4k

tags: muggle au, friends to lovers, mentions of depression, reader is falling into a depressive episode again, mentions of not eating (because of depression but there are no mentions of an ed)

jo’s note: for the precious gia!! <3333 i hope you like what i concocted, i had a good time writing it in a not so good time. sort of therapeutic this writing fics thing. also, i don’t??? hate??? this??? fic??? which might be a first for me and the fic being so self-indulgent may have played a part in this. but anyway, the lovers part of the friends to lovers isn’t really here so i'm totally up to do a second part maybe in the future?? if you, gia, want it or anyone else (will probably do it just for myself anyway heh).

Seven knocks in a familiar rhythmic pattern on the door and you don’t need to see out the peephole to know who it is. Usually you would open it without thinking twice about it but today you’re not sure you want to. There are clothes scattered across the floor, dishes from the last couple of days in the kitchen sink, and you can’t remember when was the last time you vacuumed even superficially. You would rather the sight that was your living stay between it and yourself.

And that’s not even talking about your state, which, now that you think about it, could be worse. You had actually managed to get out of bed to take a shower today. Though if you were to be frank, you’d only done it to make up for the hour you were ashamed to admit you had woken up at. That way at least you could at least say you had crossed something off the mental list of things you imagine a functional human being doesn’t have to think twice to do, but for some reason seem damn near impossible to you. 

“I can hear you’re in there!” He calls out from the hall when you accidentally knock out a stack of books with your foot from the sofa when doubling over to reach the remote. “Open up.”

You throw your head back, as you consider leaving him out there for your next-door neighbour to deal with: a grumpy eighty-year old lady who, in her own words, ‘has seen too much shit to have to keep dealing with it at this point of life’.

It’s only a matter of time if he keeps shouting outside your door at nine PM before she comes out to kick him out with a sweeper.

“James, go away before Mrs Thomas kindly sees you out.”

You hear the sound of James messing with the lock. Which is weird, because he doesn’t have a key so you assume he’s trying to jam it, unsuccessfully. 

At least you hope unsuccessfully, otherwise you would be worried about who else could open your door if James does.

“You!” Mrs Thomas yells. You swear you can see the stack of glasses in front of you tremble, cartoon-style.

“Fuck!” You jump from the sofa, throwing the three blankets you had on you behind you, which suddenly you recognize as a bad idea, given the only thing you’ve had to eat today was a few pieces of cereal deep at the bottom of the box from the last time you had gone out to run errands. 

“Mrs Thomas! It’s me!” You hear three bangs against what you hope is the wall and not James’ head in the three seconds it takes you to overcome the dizziness. “You know me!”

“Only thing I know is this is not your flat!”

“It is my friend’s flat!” 

“So why are you trying to break in?!”

“I’m not trying to b—”

You fling open the door and you grab James who was leaning against it by the elbow so he doesn’t crash into you. “Mrs Thomas, it’s alright—”

“This disrespectful young man was trying to break into your home! I don’t know if to rob you, or even murder—”

“Alright, Mrs Thomas—That’s a bit—” You interrupt her passionate monologue when you see her swing her new weapon of choice. A bright yellow umbrella apparently.

“You never know these days!”

James flinches when she absent-mindedly swings the umbrella too close to his leg for comfort.

“I was just taking a nap, I didn’t hear him knocking,” you explain. 

You make yourself small under her scrutinizing gaze. “At this hour?”

“Okay, let’s go inside now.” James leads you inside by your waist, eager to get out of Mrs Thomas' sight and her umbrella.

After the door closes under your neighbours’ gaze, you turn around to shake your head at him, self-consciously trying to flatten the mess that your hair is.

“What the hell, James?”

You walk past him, clenching and unclenching your hands, crunching imaginary peanut shells between them. You’re not mad. You’re embarrassed; but you’d rather he think of the first option.

“Can you blame me?”

“Trying to break into my house?” You hiss out, in fear that Mrs Thomas is listening from outside.

“You didn’t answer your phone, what did you want me to do?”

“Do I break into your house when you don’t answer a text?”

The way he looks at you projects all his worries directly onto you and you wish you hadn’t said what you did. He doesn’t dare speak them out loud, maybe out of respect for you but it stings just the same as if he had because you know he’s right.

“I wanted to be left alone for a while,” you mutter, with the demeanor of a puppy whose owner just yelled at them for gnawing on the carpet.

“I know, and that’s exactly the problem.” 

He laughs but it lacks any of his usual light, matching your living room whose only light source comes from a streetlamp down on your street.

“That I needed some personal space?”

“Last time you needed ‘personal space’ you didn’t come out of this apartment for months. I didn’t hear from you for months. You…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, he seems just as uncomfortable to talk about your last depressive episode as you are to be confronted with it. 

“James, it’s not like that.” You give him half a smile like he’s being the equivalent of a mother asking you to take your jacket when there’s twenty five degrees celsius outside. He’s silly for worrying. 

He gestures in circles to his surroundings. “Well, this is taking me back to a time I’d rather not go back to.”

Your cheeks burn. “You don’t need to worry about that, I—”

“I do worry. I do worry,” his words come out harsher than his intention means them to but you know it’s out of frustration and not personal in a way that matters, “You’re my friend and I worry.”

He’s now prancing around the room, picking up books and random objects and placing them in random spaces. He gets more than half of them surprisingly where they belong, product of the time he spends at your apartment.

“And I appreciate that—”

“You can stay for a bit at my place. You can bring a bag now and we can come for more of your stuff later.” 

“James.”

“Basic stuff. Pyjamas, toothbrush, a couple changes of clothes…” 

“James.”

“I have the pullout couch so that won’t be a problem.”

“James!”

The change in your tone wakes him up from his brainstorming and he stops on his feet.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m fine.”

“Alright, then. I’ll stay here.” He slumps down on the couch. There’s not an ounce of humour in his face.

“You’re not babysitting me.”

“You can always kick me out, but I’ll set up camp outside your door, maybe bring a sleeping bag and I don’t think Mrs Thomas will be a big fan of that so unless you want me arrested… I’m giving you options.”

“I’m an adult.”

“Good for you.”

“So you can go home, drink some tea to calm yourself and we can meet up another day.”

He makes a popping sound with his lips while he shakes his head. His feet are now on your coffee table and he expects you to take that as his answer.

“Get your feet off of there.” You strut over to his side and try to kick them off with your knee. 

He sticks the tip of his tongue in a childish gesture. It gets a laugh out of you and his eyes brighten up as he looks up to see it for himself.

“It’s raining outside, your shoes must be disgusting.”

When he doesn’t budge, you resort to the much more drastic solution of trying to kick him off. 

“I’ve been doing a lot of leg days at the gym. Watch out.” He pulls up the hem of his joggers to show you his calves.

“You look like a chicken.”

“Okay, ouch.” He pokes at his leg with two of your fingers to prove something. “Me, personally, I’ve never seen a chicken with these bad boys.”

“Don’t ever refer to your legs like that again.” You squint your eyes, cringing.

“Don’t ever call me a chicken again and I’ll think about it.”

“Fair, deal.” You sigh.

You slump down on the couch next to him, kicking off your slippers which end up on top of one of the many piles of clothing.

“You’ve eaten today?” he asks, his tone taking a sweeter tone. 

He’s now a man approaching a stray, holding out his hand to earn its trust, ready to jerk it right back in case it decides to bite.

You twiddle with your thumbs. “Yup.” You’re not up for biting, but lying has gotten you quite far before.

“What did you eat?”

You swallow the ‘What is this? An interrogation?’ down and look at the coffee table for an answer. “Ordered some pizza.” You point to the empty greasy box next to his feet. 

He sits up and goes to grab it, when you snatch it immediately.

“It’s okay, I’ll throw it.”

“I wanna see where it’s from.” He knows your habits too well and you know that's not the reason. 

“Alessandro’s.”

You go to get up, slower this time having learnt your lesson earlier, but he grabs your arm and snatches the box from you before you can go throw it in the kitchen bin, and with it the incriminating receipt atop that dates the purchase to a few days ago. 

You fight back, kicking him lightly, nervously laughing your way through it to pretend you’re just playing. He doesn’t laugh until he starts tickling you to make you release the grip you have on the box. He gets it for a second but you lounge at him, sitting on top of his thighs. He grabs your wrists and it is almost tangible the way the air changes around you. 

The fight is over. Neither of you move. 

“Just tell me,” he whispers, his voice as soft as his eyes. He’d rather hear the truth from you, even if he already knows it.

He holds you tighter when you go to move away from him.

“You already know, James.” You smile sadly.

“That’s okay.” He pats the side of your thighs. “Come on.”

He sets you aside on the couch and gets up himself to go to the kitchen. You try to follow him but he holds up a hand without even turning around. 

“Stay there. I got it.”

And you stay. For about two minutes before staring at the ceiling stops being entertaining and your feet take you to his side as if by on their own.

“Hey.” He smiles sideways, stirring the contents of a can of tomato sauce you always had in the pantry in case of emergencies.

“You’re depleting my food supply in case of a zombie apocalypse,” you joke, sinking your chin into his shoulder to look at his cooking, hands intertwined behind your back.

“Don’t worry.” He reaches back to play with your hair; you close your eyes. “I’ll restock.”

You open your mouth to say something but he beats you to it.

“I’m making some for myself too. Hope you don’t mind.” He throws the last sentence nonchalantly, but the truth is he knows you’d rather not eat alone. 

He knows you too well. It’s eerie, or so Sirius is used to saying with a grimace to go along with it, like a child who sticks out their tongue when people kiss in movies.

“Pass me the pasta?” He asks, nodding in its direction.

You reluctantly peel away from him to help and hand him the box. You laugh at the spring-shaped illustration of the pasta.

“I love these. They’re my favourite.”

“I know that.” He turns to look at you, all cocky.

There are quite a few beats of silence, but not the uncomfortable kind. Never with James.

He coughs; he wants to say something. “You know, if you want to talk to me I’m here.”

“I don’t.” For the first time tonight, your answer it’s not defensive, or filled with anger. It just is.

You’re not closed off to talking. Tonight just isn’t the night and James understands.

“Pass me the strainer.”

He finishes serving two plates. One for you because you need it, and one for him which he will push through after having already had dinner.

“I’m letting you pick the film for the second time in a row,” he hisses, skipping to the couch to set down the hot bowl of pasta that’s burning his hands.

“How chivalrous.”

You put your favourite film on, and this time he doesn’t tease about the number of times you have made him watch it with you. You can see his smile tremble with the effort not to.

“Twentieth,” you remind him.

“Thank you.” He taps your bowl with two of his knuckles to remind you of the food, eyes already glued to the screen.

You eat in silence, contrary to your usual movie nights where you can’t seem to shut up and stop making up commentary out of thin air, only the film for ambience and the occasional deep inhale from James before shoving the fork in his mouth.

“You don’t have to eat if you’ve had dinner, James. It’s fine,” you laugh.

He looks at you like you just told him there’s a pink elephant in your bathroom. “I haven’t had dinner. I’m ravenous. Starving. Famished.”

You roll your eyes. “Have it your way.”

The film ends and in part so does the heaviness in your heart.

“We’re going shopping tomorrow. I need a new pair of jeans; my legs are getting too big with all this gym,” he states once he finishes his plate and wipes some sauce off his lip. “And we can’t have you depriving the world of seeing that beautiful face.” He flicks your chin with the napkin, getting some sauce on your face.

“Ugh, I hate you.” You throw your head back, leaning it against the sofa.

“I’m okay with that. You’ll learn to love me in due time,” he says. “Everyone does.”

He smiles. It’s contagious and he traces the reflection of his smile on your lips with his finger; a treasure to be committed to memory.

thank you for reading, reblogs and replies are appreciated <3

back to masterlist

[dramagodesss]

fourteen : climbing through windows

playin' the players

a/n: HE'S BAAAAACCKKKK i know i know I'M SORRY— this is gonna be more of a text kinda chapter but i think we all need it 😔❤️‍🩹

it had been days— too many, for your own taste. it was unfair. the way he was punishing himself, ignoring everyone, isolated from everything and everyone.

but what you hated the most was the way it made you feel. it's not that you wanted to see him, its that you needed to. it pissed you off because of the bet, and because all that you were feeling— it reallly was all a lie.

but it was late afternoon when you made your move.

you tried to move fast before your rational thoughts could pull you away.

'it's all a fucking bet, you idiot!'

and maybe, it was just that. but, at this point, it didn't matter anymore. at least not so much. just for a while. just until you made sure he was okay.

the frat house is quiet, the kind of silence that settles like dust after something breaks. you’re climbing the side fire escape in leggings and a hoodie, one hand gripping a greasy paper bag, the other braced against the freezing railing. inside the bag: two breakfast burritos, a chocolate chip muffin, a bottle of gatorade, and a small tupperware of pasta you made yourself.

because you know he hasn’t been eating. you know.

your fingers find the window ledge, and you hiss through your teeth. the damn thing better still be unlocked.

it is. barely.

you crack it open and hoist yourself up—

—and immediately slip.

“shit—!” your foot catches the edge of the desk and you tumble straight into the room, smacking your hip against the wooden surface as everything in the bag goes thud-thud-crash onto the floor.

pens scatter. the chair topples. a spoon clinks loudly somewhere in the dark.

“what the—?!” rafe’s voice, low and hoarse and wrecked, cuts through the silence.

you groan from the carpet. “good evening to you too.”

there’s rustling. a light flicks on.

he’s on the bed—hoodie on, hair messy, skin pale under the dull yellow lamp. the room looks like it hasn’t been touched in days: blackout curtains drawn, water bottles and protein bar wrappers piled near his nightstand, half a jersey crumpled on the floor like it’s been there since the game.

he blinks at you. once. twice.

“did you just fall through my window?”

you push yourself up on your elbows, scowling. “i brought you food, you ungrateful little rat.”

his eyes flick to the floor, where the bag of offerings lies half-spilled but intact. he doesn’t say anything.

you brush off your knees and look at him properly—he’s got that hollow look again, like everything’s pressing in too close. dark circles. clenched jaw. the kind of stillness that doesn’t look like peace, just… surrender.

“rafe.” your voice is softer now.

nothing.

so you cross the room and sit on the edge of his bed, close enough to touch, but not touching.

“you don’t get to shut down like this,” you murmur. “you don’t get to starve and rot in your man cave over one game.”

his voice is barely audible. “it wasn’t just a game.”

“i know.” you pick up the muffin and press it into his hand. “eat. then feel sorry for yourself. but not the other way around.”

he stares at the muffin like it personally offended him.

you reach for the gatorade and unscrew the cap for him.

“you’re such a pain in the ass,” he mutters finally, taking a slow bite. “you could’ve just texted.”

you raise a brow. “and let you ignore me? again? no thanks. i commit to the bit.”

he swallows, eyes trained on your lap.

“…you really climbed in through the window?”

“and fell. dramatically. i should get an oscar.”

that earns you a small, begrudging smirk.

and when his shoulder brushes yours—just barely—you let it stay there. you stay in the quiet. stay in the mess. and for the first time in days, he lets you.

you take a look at him. his hoodie is draped over his frame like armor. his eyes are tired, rimmed red, lashes low. the half-eaten muffin sits untouched in his hand, the coffee steaming faintly between his knees.

you watch him.

not just look—watch. the slump in his shoulders. the way his jaw tics when he swallows. the silence in him, like he’s trying not to take up too much space.

your voice cuts through it. soft. sure.

“rafe.”

he glances up.

you step closer, fingers clutching the bag of takeout a little tighter. your brows furrow without meaning to.

“you scared me.”

his mouth opens, but nothing comes out for a beat. then—

“…sorry.”

quiet. raw. his eyes drop again, staring at the floor like it might swallow him whole.

“i just… i didn’t want anyone to see me like this,” he adds, voice tight. “felt like if i saw anyone i’d—break something. maybe myself.”

you exhale, shaky. “you should’ve let someone see you. i would’ve come earlier.”

he looks at you then. really looks. something flickers behind his eyes—guilt, maybe. or something that runs even deeper.

and that’s when you move.

slowly, like a tide creeping in—you cross the room and drop the takeout bag on his desk, then sink to your knees in front of him, between his legs.

your hands reach up, fingers brushing the edges of his hoodie, and then slide around his back as you lean forward.

you hug him.

arms wrapping around his torso, head resting gently against his chest.

he freezes.

completely.

for a second you wonder if he’ll pull back—if this is too much, if you’re pushing too hard—but then his hands rise and curl around your shoulders, burying into the fabric of your sweatshirt. he holds you like he’s forgotten how.

like you’re real and warm and here, and maybe that’s more than he thinks he deserves.

“you’re allowed to mess up,” you murmur, voice muffled. “but you don’t get to disappear. not from me.”

he lets out a sound—part breath, part laugh, part ache—and tucks his chin over your head, arms tightening around you like the world’s trying to pry you out of them.

he doesn’t know you know. about the bet. about the challenge he made you into.

and you hold him anyway. just a little longer.

because revenge can wait. but right now?

this is yours. and he’s letting you in.

you stay there for a while. wrapped around him like an anchor, steadying his breath with your own. eventually, he shifts—pulls back slightly, eyes flicking over your face like he’s checking to see if this is real.

you give him a small smile, brushing your thumb over the crease between his brows.

then you wrinkle your nose.

“…when was the last time you showered?”

rafe blinks. “…rude.”

you arch a brow. “not denying it, though.”

he sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “couple days. i guess.”

you point toward the bathroom like a fed-up sitcom mom. “go.”

he hesitates—just for a second—but you level him with a look and he sighs again, dragging himself to his feet. before he disappears into his bathroom, he glances over his shoulder.

“don’t go through my stuff.”

you smile sweetly. “wouldn’t dream of it.”

the second the door shuts and the water starts running, you look around the room like a mission's been assigned.

depression den? not on your watch.

you move on autopilot—straightening the blankets, collecting the mess of takeout containers, laundry, crumpled socks. you empty the trash, crack open a window, light one of the half-burned candles on his shelf. vanilla tobacco.

you even find a rogue pair of boxers under his desk chair and launch them across the room with a disgusted hiss.

twenty minutes later, when the bathroom door creaks open and rafe walks back in—hair wet, towel low on his hips, steam trailing after him—you nearly knock over the now-clean nightstand.

he doesn’t notice.

(you hope.)

he’s digging through a drawer for sweatpants, water dripping down his chest like a fucking cologne commercial. his back is still a little red from the hot water, muscles shifting as he moves.

you look everywhere else.

the ceiling. the window. the existential void.

“you cleaned,” he says, almost surprised.

you shrug from the bed, where you're very casually folding a hoodie like it owes you money. “someone had to. your socks were starting to unionize.”

he huffs a laugh, pulling on a shirt and finally pants. “thanks.”

you toss the hoodie aside, daring to glance up now that he’s decent. “you’re welcome.”

there’s a beat. quiet, but not awkward.

he scratches the back of his neck. “uh… you wanna stay? watch something or whatever?”

you smile. “like a pity movie date?”

“more like a very exclusive, limited-seating premiere of whatever’s not depressing,” he says. “i might even let you pick.”

you fake-gasp. “me? the remote? cameron, are you feeling okay?”

he rolls his eyes, flopping onto the bed beside you with a faint grin. “i’m recovering.”

and yeah, he still looks tired. but at least now—he’s not alone.

you're curled into the far side of rafe’s bed, blanket draped over both your legs, the soft blue glow of the screen lighting the room in shadows.

something vaguely action-y is playing. you’re not really watching.

not because it’s boring—just because rafe’s here. sitting close. his arm brushing yours every now and then, like it’s on purpose. like he needs to keep checking you're real.

you feel him shift beside you. glance over just in time to catch the way his jaw moves as he says—barely above a whisper— “thank you.”

you blink. “what?”

his gaze is still on the screen. but his voice is a little louder this time. a little steadier. “thank you. for coming over. for climbing through my damn window. for bringing me food. and for not… acting weird about all this.”

your heart squeezes.

“you’re welcome,” you murmur, nudging his shoulder with yours. “but next time maybe unlock the door like a normal person.”

he huffs a laugh. turns toward you, then, slowly. his eyes meet yours—dark, warm, careful.

and then he kisses you.

no warning. no rush.

just a soft press of lips, like a secret passed between two hearts that already knew.

you inhale sharply against him, but your hands move without hesitation—curling into the fabric of his hoodie, anchoring him closer. he kisses you again, deeper this time, and you melt into it. his hand slips up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your face.

you pull back eventually, breathless.

his forehead rests against yours. his voice low.

“i missed this.”

you tilt your head, teasing. “what? kissing me?”

he laughs—quiet, soft. it rumbles through his chest. “you,” he says. “i missed you. and kissing you too, yeah.”

your chest aches with something dangerous and sweet.

so you kiss him again. not because you’re trying to prove anything—just because you can. or because you’re not ready to let go of.

rafe’s hands are steady on your waist, but there’s a twitch in his fingers, like he’s holding back something hungrier.

he pulls back just barely, eyes flickering over your face. “you’re dangerous, y’know that?” he mutters.

you raise a brow, breath still shallow. “me?”

he nods, his voice all gravel and softness. “climb through my window, boss me around, clean my whole damn room like you own it—then look at me like that.”

“like what?”

he smirks a little, leaning in again. “like you’d kiss me no matter how fucked up i am.”

you don’t answer—just tug him in by the front of his hoodie and kiss him again, slower this time. and he lets you. like he’s starving. like your mouth’s the only thing that’s tasted like home in weeks.

his hand slips under the blanket, settling over your bare knee. he doesn’t move it—just keeps it there. warm. grounding. you sigh into him, finally letting your hand rest on his chest, feeling the steady beat under your palm.

you speak against his lips, barely a whisper. “i didn’t come here to fix you.”

“i know.” his eyes are heavy-lidded now, his voice rough. “but it still feels like you did.”

you’re quiet for a second. then: “rafe…”

he leans back just a little, eyes searching yours. something in his gaze is raw. unspoken. but he doesn’t say it. instead, he brushes a thumb across your cheek, and the moment sharpens into something softer again.

“stay?” he asks.

you nod.

no hesitation.

fuck.

you tuck into his side, his arm coming around your shoulders, the movie still playing in the background like white noise. and for the first time in days, he breathes easy.

and now you know.

you

are

so

so

so

fucked.

taglist : @beewritess @davinashifts333 @lanasangelsz @littlefreak-liz @drewstarkeyswife0 @lalaloopsieparty @ethanthequeefqueen @wtfisastiles @angelicameron @moth-feeet @drewstarkeyswife-7 @hiphopstar @cokewithcameron @cameronsbabydoll @chillgal135 @ayy1234567 @pogueprincesa @isinpfortvdmen @iheartrosalia @luvrclub @yesshewrites1 @sideboobrry11 @espressh0e @mysticbby2009 @arianagreenblattfanxx10 @hwaaholic @aves05 @thecolorpearl05 @dreamybabbyy @wintercrows @lesbiana2 @chillgal135 @verycherryblossomhideout @daddyrafeslittleslut @pillowprincess4him @xoxobellamy @dylsdaily @at-todds-heart @nonbeliever1

[whumpsday]

Next of Kin

@medwhumpmay Day 10

Medwhump May Masterlist

content: pet whump, caretaker new master, neglect, rescue, avian hybrid whumpee

-

Inheriting an exotic bird from an uncle they barely knew would already be a huge pain if that bird wasn’t also six feet tall with a wingspan twice that.

Caretaker pulled up at their uncle’s house. They knew, most likely, they’d been chosen because they were close enough physically to make the drive comfortable for the bird, but not close enough emotionally to have already said no. They had been given no instructions other than what they could find on the internet, and everyone seemed to have wildly varying opinions on the best way to take care of these things.

At the very least, hybrids were capable of speech. Not mimicking like a regular parrot, but actual understanding. So the bird could probably just tell them what it needed.

They unlocked the door with the key their mom had given them. “Hello?”

“Hello?” a voice called back, a timid mirror of their own.

Caretaker walked toward the sound–it wasn’t hard to spot him.

The man before her couldn’t be described any way but beautiful, but not the way you’d call a human beautiful. He was covered in colorful feathers from head to toe, only his face and hands revealing that he also had skin. Reds, yellows, greens, and blues blended together wondrously, and it looked so incredibly out-of-place in a cage in their uncle’s old house.

He shied back, massive wings folded around him almost like a blanket. “Hello?” he repeated. The cage was large, definitely the largest of any kind Caretaker had seen, even big enough for Whumpee to stand up or lay down. Though they doubted Whumpee could unfurl his wings in there. It was decorated with various toys and enrichment, which he was wholly ignoring at the moment.

“Hi. I’m Caretaker. I’m going to be taking care of you from now on, I guess?” They spoke softly, trying not to spook Whumpee further.

“He’s not coming back?” the bird asked.

“No. He died. I’m sorry,” Caretaker said, awkward and stiff. How were they supposed to break the news of an owner’s death to his pet, who knew him a lot better than they ever did? “He was my uncle.”

Whumpee nodded slowly. He didn’t seem overly sad, at least. They weren’t sure if that was a good thing or not. “I can leave the cage?”

“Yeah. You’re coming to my place. Listen–I’ve never met a hybrid before, let alone taken care of one. So you’re gonna have to help me out here. Can you point out anything we need to take with us?” Caretaker asked.

Whumpee pointed to the opposite wall with an uncomfortably human-looking finger. Hanging there was a key rack, only one key remaining on it.

“Oh. Sure,” they said.

What was the worst that could happen? The bird flies away or something? Honestly, Caretaker half-hoped it would happen. Not their problem and not entirely their fault.

They unlocked the cage, and Whumpee waited for them to step away before cautiously exiting. He shook himself out in the center of the living room, stretching his wings to their full length, managing to touch each wall with the tips of his wings. His arms reached up, reveling in the increase in space.

“Comfy?” Caretaker asked, and Whumpee startled, head whipping around like he’d forgotten they were there.

“Yes.” His wings drooped, brushing the floor, and he hunched over a little, so he almost appeared shorter than Caretaker. “I can take whatever I want?”

“Only your things,” they clarified. “Whatever my uncle got for you specifically. I’ll let you know if it’s something you can’t take.”

“Do I have to take everything?” he asked, head tilted.

Ah.

The cage. It was clear he hated it, and frankly, keeping a depressed man in a cage in their home sounded like the least appealing thing in the world. Not only that, but it definitely wouldn’t fit in their car.

“We can leave the cage,” Caretaker said. “Take everything else, though. Even if you don’t think you’ll need it, better to have it just in case.”

Whumpee didn’t smile, but his eyes widened and gleamed in excitement. “No more cage? Or you have a different one? Is it bigger or smaller?”

“No cage. Just don’t mess with my things and we’ll be fine?” they suggested. Maybe viewing this as a sort of roommate situation would be better. A roommate who doesn’t pay rent and just sits around looking pretty. Something like that.

“I’ll be good,” Whumpee promised. “I don’t pick at things. I don’t take things that don’t belong to me. I’m a good bird.” The way he said it was slightly unnatural, like he was reciting something from memory.

Caretaker gave him two thumbs up. “Awesome. I’ll open the trunk and start throwing in anything that looks obviously yours.”

Together they gathered up bags of food, the toys and water bottle from inside the cage, a large dog bed. “Good bird, good bird,” Whumpee murmured to himself. Whenever he gathered something, he simply left it by the front door while Caretaker carried it to the car.

Guess I don’t have to worry about him running away.

“That’s all of my things.” Whumpee carried the key to the cage, though Caretaker had left it back on the key rack. They didn’t bother to take it from him.

“Alright. Ready to go?” Caretaker asked.

Whumpee tilted his head, gazing out the door. “I’m not allowed outside.”

Caretaker sighed. “I’m allowing you outside.”

Just then, a car drove past. Not even a particularly fast car. Whumpee bristled, scurrying back into the house, eyes wide.

Oh, he was scared.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Caretaker approached him like a frightened animal, which they supposed he was. “It’s safe. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. Just gonna walk to the car, and you can have the whole backseat to yourself, and it’s like twenty minutes to my place. When we get there, you can explore your new home. I’ve got a balcony where you can stretch out as much as you want. I even bought some treats you can have.” Though it sounded a little too patronizing now that they’d met him. They reached out a hand. “How’s that sound?”

He didn’t take it. “What is a balcony?”

“It’s like, a little outside platform connected to an apartment. It’s not super big, but there’s no walls, just a railing, so you don’t have to worry about bumping into anything. And you don’t have to worry about anything outside either, ‘cause it’s a floor up and enclosed,” Caretaker explained patiently. “Wanna come see it?”

Whumpee listened to their explanation like a child learning about Santa Claus for the first time. This time, he did take their hand, small, soft feathers fading down the back of his own. “Yes. I would like that.”

-

EDIT: @what-if-i-just-did is adopting and continuing this story! read about fern and quill's new beginning here!

-

Oneshots taglist:

@icyheart-and-friends

@kira-the-whump-enthusiast

@whuarri

@reborrowing

@paperprinxe

@what-if-i-just-did

Everything taglist:

@lilac-and-lemon-whumps

@t0rture-me

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

@whumpshaped

@pigeonwhumps

@the-scrapegoat

@whumpycries

@lonesome--hunter

@whumpy-wyrms

@all-hail-pigeons

@wolfeyedwitch

@starfields08000

@jumpywhumpywriter

@scoundrelwithboba

[callsign-rogueone]

five thirty

Dain Aetos x reader (Love!)

words: 1.0k

🏷️: no book spoilers, no warnings, set the week before fw begins, I decided to split this up so you’ll get Liam in the next one! I just wanted to post something today.

You don’t recognize the pattern of the knock at the door — it isn’t the specific rhythm your friends use to let you know it’s them. No point in answering, then.

The knocking stops, whoever it is outside seemingly giving up. You can roll back over and sleep until ten minutes before formation, like usual.

Then it starts again, louder.

You groan into your pillow, dragging yourself out of bed and grabbing a knife off of your desk before you unlock the door, pulling at Cosa’s power just in case. “…Dain?”

He wrenches his gaze away from the smooth expanse of your bare thighs as he speaks, his cheeks reddening. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

You bring a hand up to yawn, and the sleepy sigh you let out as you exhale stirs something in his chest. “It’s too damn hot for pants,” you answer finally.

He’ll give you that — it’s the second week of July, and the humidity is killer; he hasn’t been sleeping fully clothed either.

You realize he still hasn’t told you why he’s here. “Do you need something?”

“It’s Tuesday,” he responds, as if that should clear things up. “Leadership run?”

“Huh?”

“Every Tuesday and Thursday at 5:30, all the leadership gets together for a group run. Nobody told you about this?”

You really hope he’s fucking with you, but he’s never seemed like the pranky type, too by the book to do anything like this as a joke. “Five thirty,” you repeat, to confirm. “Five thirty in the morning.”

“Yes. Which is in about…” he peers behind you, looking at the clock on your desk. “three minutes.”

You take a deep breath, considering shutting the door in his face and crawling back into bed, consequences be damned, when Garrick appears behind him, also dressed for a workout.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

It’s definitely not a prank. They’d never team up for something like this.

“Told you she’d be pissed,” Garrick says to Dain, grinning. “Now put some clothes on.”

You give him the finger, shutting the door with a gust of air and moving to go get dressed. Stupid fucking deathtrap military school, fucking morale leadership bullshit. If it wouldn’t get you in trouble with Brennan, you’d ask to be demoted just so you won’t have to do this twice a week.

You open the door again, seeing only Dain waiting for you. Of course Garrick would abandon you with him. He probably thinks this whole thing is hilarious.

You move through the hallway in silence, down the flight of stairs and out to the courtyard. The rest of the leadership is nowhere to be seen, but Dain seems to know where you’re going, motioning for you to follow him as he starts off at a steady jog.

You don’t bother to ask how long this run will be, because you know that the answer, whatever it is, is going to be too long. Thankfully he seems to notice that you need a break, slowing to a stop after a quarter mile or so.

“Remind me again why we’re doing this?” you pant, reaching for your waterskin — it’s only half-full, and a little stale, since you haven’t refilled it in a day, but you’ll take what you can get: you feel like you’re dying.

“It’s tradition,” he answers, as if that’s obvious.

“One that I cannot wait to end next year.”

He bristles. “You can’t just decide to end a hundred year old tradition like that.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time someone did,” you mutter.

You see Dain’s eyes soften, but you pull your gaze away quickly, not wanting to have this conversation right now. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

You swipe at your mouth with the back of your hand, not acknowledging the apology. “Come on. We’re behind.”

After another few minutes, you see a pack of at least a hundred headed toward you, likely on the second half of an out-and-back run. “About time you two joined us,” Garrick says, patting you on the back a little too hard as you fall in next to him and Bodhi.

“You were the one who left us behind,” you rasp. “And not everyone is as freakishly tall as you. You’re impossible to make pace with.” Speaking of freakishly tall… “Hold on. Where’s Xaden?”

“Your brother chose not to join us,” Amber Mavis answers, making it clear in her tone that she hates the pair of you — and that she doesn’t respect your self-described relation to the wingleader. As if you didn’t hate her enough already.

You turn your head in her direction, hoping the look on your face makes it obvious how much you despise everything about her. “You’re telling me this is optional?”

“Not for you, princess,” Garrick answers. “When you’re a wingleader, you can decide how to spend your mornings. Until then, you’re here with us.”

Great.

Another knock.

You scrape yourself off the mattress, not bothering with the knife this time: you know it’s Dain, here to wake you up. You’re still sore from the last run — you hadn’t had time to stretch first, and even though you’d missed part of it by being late, it was still too much for you.

“Gimme a minute,” you mumble in greeting, not bothering to close the door as you turn around to find socks and shoes.

“Did you sleep in your running clothes?” he asks, watching your little wisps of air move through the room, straightening up and making your bed.

“Mm,” you reply. “Saves time.”

“Smart,” he comments idly. His eyes catch on the small brown shape floating down onto your pillow — a stuffed bear.

Your cheeks warm as you realize what he’s looking at. “Yes, I brought him with me. He was one of the only things that survived the fire.”

“I understand,” he reassures. “I had a little green dragon for a while. It got lost when we moved outposts. I was inconsolable for a week, apparently.”

“Aw. Did you find it, or just get another one?”

“Neither,” he answers, still looking at the bear. “I just got over it, I guess.”

[tsxkkis]

# tsukishima kei ‐ better for you

a/n: a request for anon that definitely took me too long to write T-T i'm terribly sorry for the delay .... also this strangely reminds me of my first ever fic on this account (which was also abt tsukki) so it's kinda silly :33

summary: tsukishima is jealous and not exactly good at hiding it.

warnings: none, pure fluff

tsukishima has been awfully quiet since you arrived at the training camp.

it's not like that was an unusual behavior from him - he was naturally a quiet, introverted person, so anyone with a basic knowledge about his personality would assume it's perfectly normal. but you knew better.

he was your boyfriend, after all. even if quiet and rather reserved, he would continuously taunt you with his snarky comments and witty remarks, almost twice as much as he would his teammates. but for the last two days or so, his demeanor changed; there was something that ticked him off, and, contrary to his beliefs, he was not good at hiding his jealousy.

figuring out the reason behind it was a no-brainer.

tsukishima adjusted his glasses as he observed yet another guy walking up to you, and he could already recite the way this conversation was about to go from memory. he stood next to yamaguchi, back resting on the outer wall of the gym, eyes staring daggers into the fukurodani jersey of the boy trying to hit on you. but of course, he didn't do a thing about it, instead opting for a low, annoyed huff.

you could see him from where you stood, and a sigh left your lips as you saw his eyes dart away from yours the moment they met, the blonde boy wasting no time in walking away to a spot where he wouldn't have to see the situation in front of him.

the boy in front of you, whose name you've found out to be komi, fukurodani's libero, kept on babbling about something, but you've stopped listening a while ago, quickly excusing yourself to follow after your boyfriend.

'wait.' you said, voice just loud enough for tsukishima to stop in his tracks, head turning around to face you, waiting for you to continue what you wanted to say. you caught up with him, eyes squinting a little as you looked up because of the sun positioned right behind his head. 'are you really jealous of all these guys?'

'no.' he rolled his eyes, a classic sign of frustration from him, almost as if he intentionally tried to show you that despite his words, he is indeed annoyed with them.

'i can clearly see that you are.' he didn't answer you this time, silence taking over as he avoided eye contact with you, acting more childish than ever. you couldn't help but smile, hand reaching out for his with a gentle squeeze. 'you know that they could never steal me from you, right?'

silence.

'oh, come on, you're sulking like a five year old baby right now.'

'says the one who acts like a baby all the goddamn time.' his remark made you crack a smile, happy that you got him to talk. 'it's annoying. and it's not like i don't trust you either. it's something different.'

'hm?'

he let go of your hand, taking a few steps forward, the setting sun hitting his face as he stared into the magine in front of him; the hill he had to run up and down at least five times that day, barely noticeable roofs of homes situated not far away.

'don't you think that at least one of them could be, you know.' you already knew what point he was trying to make, and yet hearing it from him made your heart break a little. 'better for you?'

a moment of silence passed, the chirping birds being heard from away.

'no.'

he could hear the sound of your shoes hitting the ground with each step you took towards him, your arms gently wrapping around his torso from behind, face nuzzling into his back.

'look at me, tsukki.' hearing your words, he slowly turned his head around, only to be met with your lips already on his in a sweet, short kiss. 'listen carefully, alright?'

'i'm.' kiss. 'not.' kiss. 'going.' kiss. 'anywhere.'

he couldn't help but smile at your actions, breaking out of his aloof persona for a split second, hand searching for yours to hold it tenderly.

'besides,' you added, lips curving up into a sly smile. 'none of them could give me the same level of sarcasm that i love so much.'

you continued smooching his lips, cheeks, forehead, nose, trying to cover his entire face with kisses.

'alright, alright.' he mumbled quietly, pulling you away as he adjusted his hair. 'don't be so touchy here, though. not that i don't like it, it's just-'

'i knew it!' you recognized the voice behind you immediately, and tsukishima's shocked face only confirmed your suspicions.

'let's leave the lovebirds before kei kills us with his death stare, bokuto.' another familiar voice was heard, and as you turned around, you immediately noticed the spikey black hair and kuroo's tall frame.

as they ran away, shouting a familiar rhyme of 'y/n and tsukki sitting on a tree', you couldn't help but laugh, resting your head on your boyfriend's shoulder. he didn't look half as content as you, lips in a straight line as if he just got caught doing something so utterly embarrassing he would never recover from it.

'if they continue this, everyone will know.' he mumbled, back to his usual, annoyed tone.

'look at the positives, kei.' you nudged him on the shoulder, smiling up at him. 'at least now no one will flirt with me anymore. no more frustrations for you.'

and maybe you were right.

or maybe you weren't, as he found out later, when the information of your relationship got to the ears of his overly excited upperclassmen.

taglist: @moonswolfie @wyrcan @kitsune-kita @haechansbbg @luvvrgirll @serotoninbarbz @sugaraddict301

[littlemissaddict]

Simon 'Ghost' Riley

She's sweaty, tired and gasping for breath and yet Simon still continues. She ducks, dodging the incoming blow to the head but she's exhausted so the next blow that he throws hits her in the side, winding her even though they both know he's pulling his punches.

Collapsing to the floor, arms around her middle as she tries to catch her breath, "Enough, I can't, s'not fair fight" she gasps as Simon's stance finally breaks and he holds out a hand to help her up. She gratefully accepts it, letting him haul her to her feet and then makes a beeline for her water bottle, welcoming the refreshing feeling flooding her body as she drinks.

"Ya know if ya wan' go out in ta tha field ya'll hav' ta learn ta take down those twice ya size" he speaks, looking like he's barely broken a sweat despite being covered head to toe including his mask. It makes her a little mad if she's honest.

"Twice my size! You're easily more than twice my size! And I'm not going to be fighting hand to hand combat every single mission" she huffs, slamming the bottle back down on the bench.

"Ya don' know tha', love" he smirks, well she can't see the smirk but she can hear it in his tone, "but think of it this way, ya can take down me, ya can take down any fucker tha' gets in ya way"

He has a point but at this point she's starting to believe that he's unbreakable, that nothing is going to take him down. At least in the field she'll have a weapon that she can use to take out anyone who gets in her way if it comes to it, it's not like she can take out Simon in that way so she's going to have to think outside the box.

They spar another couple of rounds before she gets her chance, somehow she's ended up on her back with Simon between her legs, not an unfamiliar situation for them but this is where she takes her chance. She surprises him by wrapping her legs around his waist and in that moment that he drops his guard she uses all the strength she has to flip them both over until she's the one pinning Simon to the floor. A triumphant grin on her face as she stares down at him.

"S'not a tactic ta use in tha field" he almost growls up at her.

"Aw shush, you're just upset I finally managed to beat you," the grin still present on her face as she taunts him.

"Upset s'not tha word 'd use" he grumbles as she finally registers the lustful look in his eyes.

Let's just say the reward she gets for taking him down is not one she'll easily forget, nor is the ache that leaves her unable to train for a couple of days afterwards.

John Price

She's doom scrolling. She just hasn't realised it yet, but John has. She'd been asleep when he'd first gotten up to go for his morning run, but somewhere in between him leaving and then coming home and showering, she'd picked up the phone.

At first, he'd thought nothing of it, but when he'd come in the room after showering and started speaking to her, she completely ignored him. Well, not ignored him, so to say, more that she was just so invested in the phone in her hands that she'd not heard a word he'd said. To test the water further, he dropped the towel leaving him stark naked in the middle of the room and still nothing from her which as John knew from their years together was not like her in the slightest.

Deciding enough was enough, he dressed first before coming to her side of the bed and plucking the phone straight from her hands.

"Hey, no fair!" She cried, pathetically reaching for the phone that he was currently holding out of her reach.

"No, it's plenty fair. You've spent your morning rotting in bed, glued to this thing" he waved the phone in front of her which caused her to make a grab for it again only for it to be pulled from her yet again. "And you've ignored me when I've spoken to you so I think it's time you spent some time without" he added, pocketing the phone and exiting the bedroom.

On his way down the stairs, he can hear the grumbling coming from her and meer seconds after he sits on the couch she enters the room with a pout on her face.

Her feet pad softly against the carpet as she makes her way over to him and joining him on the couch, "M'sorry" she professed, sealing her apology with a kiss to his cheek.

"I know sweetheart," he assured, leaning in a pressing a sweet kiss to her lips that wipes the pout from them. "Now c'mon go get dressed and we'll get breakfast at the cafe you like" he encourages, patting her behind lovingly when she stands up from the couch.

He expects her to go running to get ready but instead she stands and stares expectantly down at him. It takes him a second to realise she's after her phone back but he just shakes his head with a chuckle, "Uh-huh sweetheart, I'm gonna hold onto it for a bit longer" he informs her as he sends her off again to get dressed so that he can show her why she doesn't need to be glued to her phone white she's got him.

[yolli-es]

I’m so sorry I loved your yandere jinx headcanons I was just wondering if we could get a alphabet yandere jinx since we both love it

Yandere!Jinx alphabet 💥

Tags: NO spoilers for season 2, mentions of death, mentions of blood, PROBABLY some points were misunderstood by me due to not knowing the language. LET ME KNOW IF I GOT IT WRONG!

Yandere!Jinx was liked by so many people :D

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Physical contact is number one on her list of "how to show people you're not disgusted by them." She certainly showers you with attention before the relationship begins, but you will notice a dramatic difference once it's official. Jinx tried to keep her boundaries and stay away from you for at least a couple of hours. But why would she do it now? You always hold hands, even when it's awkward and uncomfortable. Even if you're in the middle of a shootout right now, don't worry; she has a gun that she can use with one hand. 

Most of the time, Jinx's hands reach out to you unconsciously. She doesn't worry about it much. 

Another way Jinx speaks is by suddenly becoming talkative. She is usually not eager to tell anyone anything about herself, even if it's something insignificant like her favorite food or what she did that day. But with you, she can't shut up, she wants to tell you everything, preferably twice. You'll notice that at some point she'll stop talking right in the middle of her story, awkwardly looking down. After the question "What next?" she starts to beam and continue as if nothing happened. She likes it when you really listen. 

Over time, Jinx will become greedier about this, and if you tell her "no," she will get angry. 

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Not really much messy. Jinx definitely won't just watch someone try to beat the crap out of you, but she won't destroy anyone who looks at you the wrong way either. More often than not, it ends with just one shot to the shoulder or knee. That was, is, and always will be the most clear explanation of why you shouldn't be killed.

She won't let them repeat what they started if one warning wasn't enough.

However, sometimes the voices get loud, and in a fit of rage, Jinx can kill a couple of people. Insecurity and doubts overcome her at such moments, and she sees no better way than to simply remove the threat and competition. She won't be sorry, but it certainly won't be part of her plan or desire.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Find yourself a replacement for Jinx, say you're going to leave, and she will kidnap you. She will never let you go so easily; it will not happen. Jinx will console herself with the fact that you are simply naive and stupid, that the other person took advantage of this, and now she is simply saving you from an irreparable mistake. After all, in reality, you do not want to leave her, and no one except her is really interesting to you, isn't it?

But Jinx isn't stupid after all. She knows what she's doing, and you definitely won't be thrilled by that. Jinx will be patient. As much as Jinx can be, of course. Yell at her, call her names, and try to break free; she will endure all this. Until you say that you will leave her forever, like everyone else before you. Her emotional breakdowns won't take long to come. During this, Jinx may scream, get angry, and even swing at you. But she will never hurt you, even if you are a pain in her ass. Even if you try to fight her, she will patiently endure the blows, simply immobilizing you and not causing additional damage.

Jinx didn't want to resort to it, and she's really worried that she's only made things worse.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Jinx will definitely control your every move and will be aware of everything that happens in your life. She sees nothing wrong with forbidding you to walk alone, communicate with certain people, and do dangerous work.

At first you'll even like it, but later you'll understand how suffocating it is. She won't leave you alone even in the shower, won't let you communicate with your childhood friend, and won't let you do your favorite archery. What once seemed like concern to you turned out to be just the whims of her insecurity.

"All this is too dangerous; you know that I want the best for you, trinkly?" Jinx will say for the thousandth time with the most innocent eyes in consolation, knowing full well that your opinion about this is of no interest to her. You know this, but you still fall for it, unable to escape its trap.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Jinx tells you a lot, but not everything. She finds it hard to be vulnerable with you, even though she knows how warmly you embrace her flaws. Whenever she thinks about telling you about her past, Mylo shuts her down. Jinx can't help but think that her past makes her a weak Powder, and you only need a strong Jinx. And she can't be a disappointment for you, that's what Claggor said to her. 

Only once will she be able to tell you her real name.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Surprise, adrenaline, pride, affection and a strong desire to suppress it.

She appreciates your fighting spirit, but she can't ignore your attempts at resistance, no matter how much she wants to. After all, it could become a problem in the future, and Jinx genuinely doesn't want to confront you in a serious fight. No matter how strong you are and how seriously you attack Jinx, all your attempts will be a joke in her eyes. You will never compare to her sister in this.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

It depends on her mood, the weather, her plans for the day, and the noise level of the voices in her head that day. Jinx is very unpredictable, so one moment she's laughing and counting to ten, and the next she's threatening to amputate your legs. You know these are just threats, so Jinx has to chase you around the building until she catches you.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

That moment when you told her you didn't need her and wanted to leave for the first time. That was when she kidnapped you, and you so desperately wanted freedom.

Jinx had definitely gone crazy, and the echoes of your words still tormented you both. Unfortunately, you said it too confidently, viciously, and sensually. Jinx was silent for a couple of seconds, while her breathing stopped, her pupils became wider, and her face turned pale. After realizing how serious this was, Jinx jumped up from her seat and rushed towards you. But not with the purpose of hitting, but only to put your tied hands on her throat. She didn't even cry while she frustratedly told you to kill her since you didn't need her under your hysterical screams and requests to forget about it. She looked so apathetic, broken, and disappointed that you began to hate yourself for it. Why did you say that? Do you hate this fragile girl so much? You couldn't stop thinking about it while you tearfully begged Jinx to stop strangling herself with your hands.

You apologized more than a hundred times that day, and you will never forget this the scene. It is truly traumatic to watch your beloved girl strangling herself with your hands because of the cruelty of your own words.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Next to her, and the rest is completely unimportant. Jinx never thinks about the future, wanting to live in the present. It is difficult for her to follow the plan in Zaun, so she can only hope.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

She's jealous as hell, and there's no better way to deal with it than to blow something up. Someone, to be precise. She won't be able to do this and will simply shoot them. Jinx is very insecure and thinks that everyone around her is a better option than her. She is afraid that you will also realize this as you become more sociable, so Jinx does everything possible to prevent this.

Jinx herself doesn't realize how jealous she is. Just doesn't want to realize. She won't take responsibility for it, so denying the problem is the best way to survive it.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

If you're here, it means Jinx is nearby and everyone knows it. She'll be back in a few minutes and let everyone see Jinx obsessed, dependent, and loving again. She won't hesitate to hold your hand, body, or even your ass in front of everyone. She doesn't indulge in kissing often, but sometimes Jinx feels the need to do it, even if it's awkward for you while everyone is watching.

She can't stay too far away from you; it physically hurts her.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

What would seem romantic and loving in Zaun? Protection and shelter for free. That's what Jinx did first. It seemed most logical to her to do it in a way you understand and only then resort to the romance she knows. Without saying a word to you, Jinx will sort out your problems as deftly as she creates her weapons. Still, the years with Silko take their toll, and even the most fearsome thugs are just children to her. Don't think too much, and just enjoy caring from Jinx before she gets too much.

Then don't be surprised when you see burning buildings in Piltover with the words "love my trinkly <3" written on them.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Jinx with you and Jinx without you are completely different, strangers to each other.

People who have never dealt with Jinx and see her for the first time with you mistakenly think that she is just a petty idiot and everyone around is afraid of her for nothing. Never shows violence, uses small guns, and is just busy with you most of the time.

And then they meet the real Jinx. She still seems harmless, but her aura is suddenly completely different. You don't know what to expect. Laugh at her, but don't shout too loudly when she jokingly rips your arm off because you weren't paying attention to her instructions. "Oh, it's not fatal; don't whine like that. Shut up and listen," Jinx smiles tightly, making funny faces. She'll give him the shimmer, but not right away; maybe it'll teach him to take life-threatening situations right in front of them more seriously. Only then do they get it.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Not too cruel, something like "no dessert this time." Jinx doesn't see you as particularly dangerous or serious about escaping.

But what if she senses it? Jinx will lock you away somewhere for an indefinite period of time again. If you were close to escaping, be prepared for heavy security measures and possibly no chance of ever getting out. There are no windows, minimal furniture, and belongings; your hands and feet will always be chained to the wall. Don't make her do soft upholstery in the room; don't hit yourself the walls.

Jinx may punish you during sex, but it will be playful and for pleasure.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

It's easier to say that you will be allowed to do basic things like eating food, have a safe hobby, go outside, participate in safe deliveries, attend negotiations, and help Jinx in the workshop. Of course, all this together with Jinx and nothing more.

Remember, she does all this out of caring.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

As I said, as patient as Jinx can be. She forgives you a lot of things. A lot, but not everything.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

No. This will be the end for her.

One can only imagine what she will do. Kill herself? Go completely mad? Blow up all of Piltover? Start a war? Perhaps she will do all of these things in order. Jinx's psyche is cracking every day, and you were the only one who supported her. Someone who would always be there and who she could rely on in difficult times. She did everything she could just to know that you would feel all the love, care, and acceptance from Jinx. If you abandon her like everyone else after all this, then what is left for her to exist for? All the good will be destroyed by her own hands, and she will not be able to forgive for it.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

She let you go when you confessed your love to her, and your relationship became official. Of course, not right away and only after Jinx was convinced of it. Sometimes she even doubts her sensitivity to the emotions and real desires of other people.

She regrets that abducting you, but she'll do it again if she feels the need. Jinx just hopes it doesn't affect you too traumatically and that you understand why she's doing it.

For love and only for love.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Jinx has always had her own peculiarities, and after Vi and Silco left her, they only made the problems she already had worse. Insecurity, a sense of worthlessness, and weakness haunt her every day. She desperately needs to have support, someone she can trust and not be afraid of being abandoned again.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Shit. It's like her soul was turned inside out.

Jinx is very good at understanding people's emotions and their intentions. After spending a lot of time with you, Jinx can tell by just one look that something was wrong with you. And she immediately starts feeling the same way. No matter how good she feels, everything changes if you feel differently. So when you scream, cry, and are completely broken, Jinx feels the same way. It's hard for her to be supportive at that moment because grief has overwhelmed her too. But she still will be there, always. And no matter how shitty or super good you feel, Jinx will always share your feelings.

Only once did she manage to look at you blankly while you cried and screamed, pleading with her to forget your words.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

While other yandere act by the rule "you will be mine!", Jinx is more like "I beg you to be mine".

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

None. Sorry, but she is too smart and sensitive to understand your true intentions. All that remains is to hope for her mercy.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

No, no, and no again. Jinx wants you to stay, not break.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

You are the only one who looks good in her eyes in any state and the only one who attracts her sexually. She will definitely idolize you, although she may not tell about it.

Jinx will also do anything. Tell her to make you president, and she will. Don't be silly about it; Jinx will take your task seriously and will expect love and appreciation in return.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap? (This is the question that I couldn't understand, so the answer is short)

Not for long. Jinx is impatient, and her feelings weigh on her more than most people.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

No matter how carefully Jinx treats you, no matter how loving and patient she tries to be, you will still break. It is impossible to be sane when your entire world is filled with just one person. There will be too much Jinx and too little of the other world. You will also face a lot of manipulation just to stay with her, many of which will be traumatic.

And yet, you love Jinx. You did.

I spent 4 hours of my life on this, and I'm still not happy with the result. It could have been better, but I'm just tired of writing this, and it might be noticeable in the end..

[boymoreliketoy]

BREAK THIS BOY INTO A GOOD TOY

once these goals are reached and seen this toy will have no choice but to do them as soon as possible regardless of wether or not they want too- it will have no choice and must write about the experience at every milestone in high detail, highlighting every way it makes it feel good or bad, and answering every ask no matter the question and obeying strangers commands and demands as allowed by its owner

every 10 notes: edge as much as possible for 1-5 minutes regardless of the circumstances

20 notes: take turns filling its fuckhole with at least 5 different household objects

30 notes: must wear fishnets with every outfit that shows off it legs (PERMANENT)

40 notes: clamp clit and tits until it makes it cums handsfree

every 50 notes: must pinch and squeeze nips for 10 minutes no matter the location or situation

60 notes: forced to go out in public with clothes that show off a lot of skin and dramatic makeup and seem out as much attention as possible (no binding)

70 notes: buy a butt plug and wear it at least twice a week for as long as possible, 4-6 hours is the goal (PERMANENT)

80 notes: write the comments on this post all over my body and then fuck myself in the mirror with no clit stimulation until it cums (no binding)

90 notes: stuffed fuckhole with a vibrator and keep inside until it runs out of battery

every 100 notes: must sleep with at least one of three holes filled

130 notes: do any kind of makeup every time you leave the house (PERMANENT)

150 notes: shave for the first time, getting rid of all the hair in the way of its fuckhole

170 notes: must practice sucking dick and deep throating with the most realistic dildo i have at least once a week (PERMANENT)

200 notes: rub toothpaste into tdick and once its a past the point of unbareable wash it off with minty soap

250 notes: sit on the roof with a nice big dildo stuffed inside during the most busy time of day where everyone can see me but no one would know the truth (no binding)

300 notes: must use trans tape to make tits more pronounced, bigger, more obvious for a day and play dumb to it

350: go for a bus ride dressed unmistakably like a girl for the first time ever: clothing that shows off feminine features, girly makeup, feminized hair maybe even a wig (no binding, and if done in time the toys tits will be taped to be more obvious)

400 notes: start pumping clit and tits weekly (PERMANENT)

450 notes: have my boycunt COMPLETELY bare and then chastise everything with duct tape for as long as possible

every 500 notes: must be airtight for an hour, all three holes filled to the max, asshole plugged, fuckhole filled, mouth gagged in one way or another

550 notes: clamp nipples for a whole day

600 notes: start falling to sleep every other night with sedative drugs and hypnosis files (PERMANENT)

650 notes: clamp pussy for a whole day

700: go out into a busy place with a vibrator in for the first time ever and don’t go leave the public eye until it dies but keep it in until home

750 notes: put as many clothes pins on tits and pussy as possible

800 notes: instead of going to the bathroom first thing in the morning, just drinking more and more liquid until my bladder cant hold it anymore and see what happens

850 notes: spend 12 hours edging, only able to grind on objects, arms and ankles bound, forced to watch porn and listen to hypno

900: buy a bra and panties, a sexy and lacy lingerie set, and wear it bi-weekly and get my fuckholes filled and stretched out in front of a mirror routinely (PERMANENTLY)

1000 notes: there will be a vote of YOUR most recommended of what the corrupted toy must do with itself next

[nausicaaandhermouth]

Quandary & Retribution in F#

masterlist

professor!viktor x violinist!reader [6k] [AO3]

mdni

cw: nsfw, blow-job, piano witnessing oral sex i'm so sorry

summary: being neighbours mean being mindful of the noise you make - though, you'd been set on being a nuisance through violin solos, bringing Viktor to your doorstep to plead for silence. You decide to apologise.

tags: modern au, physics professor viktor, gn!reader, neighbours, nsfw, sexual tension, suggestive physics & music talk, blow job, fat set up beforehand, not betad

a/n never written comedy nor smut but at some point a girl's gotta try (why are both almost equally difficult) - but here ya go (plops down this mess). also, i'm more familiar w music than physics, i 3rd page googled the latter so there's def smth not quite right. if u know physics, no u dont.

and ty to an anon ask for pointing out a mistake in the pronouns. i intend one shots to be gn but i write back and forth from an f!oc fic, resulting in she/her ending up in one shots and they/them on the other :')) entirely on me for not catching those before posting though - but thank you for notifying me, i appreciate you!!

btw requests & taglist are open!

Viktor had repeated it ad nauseam—keep the overtures to a minimum.

His days are a gruelling marathon of lectures and lab work, stretching from the crack of dawn at 6 AM to the academy's closing bell at 10 PM. This self-imposed siege isn't mandated by the university—no, they frown upon such academic masochism.

Rather, it’s Viktor's desperate attempt to squeeze productivity from the fleeting moments of silence. The irony? The moment he shuffles home, key turning in the lock, his apartment transforms into an impromptu concert hall.

Attempting to grade papers? Constructing intricate lesson plans on quantum mechanics? Preparing for the department's annual "Explain Your Research to a Five-Year-Old" challenge? Hah. Another pipe dream of this beleaguered professor.

No, instead, he’s treated to a violin solo that would make Paganini nod approvingly in his grave, some overture to madness waiting to ambush Viktor the instant he dares to sit down and tackle his workload. And the cherry on top? The virtuoso had chosen the room directly behind his study as their personal rehearsal space.

Tonight, Viktor's reaching his breaking point.

One more pluck of that violin string, and he might just snap (hopefully with more panache than his freshman physics students' failed bridge-building projects).

He's hunched over his laptop, a harsh '02:24' glowing on his wall—a neon reminder of how little he's accomplished in far too many hours. And there it is again, that infernal violin leaping across frets, notes ping-ponging between octaves with reckless abandon.

This time, it feels personal. A taunt aimed squarely at his last shred of sanity.

Viktor's fingers rake through his dishevelled hair, tugging in sheer frustration. His other hand thunders against the wall—once, twice, thrice. Stop. Stop. Stop.

For a blissful moment, the last note wavers, then fades.

Silence descends. Relief washes over him.

But his reprieve is short-lived. The melody resumes with a vengeance—louder, closer, more petulant and frenetic. It's as if the laws of acoustics themselves have conspired against him.

God, if you’re there…

Viktor can feel his grip on rationality slipping. Perhaps it's time to conduct an experiment on the effects of sleep deprivation on a physicist's patience. For science.

Your paths had crossed in the hallways, a silent slide of avoidance. You’d exchanged fleeting glances, loaded with unspoken frustration, before hurrying on your separate ways.

Viktor had made the pilgrimage to your door three times, his voice dripping with forced politeness as he implored (bordering begging, not his finest moment) you to relocate your impromptu concerts or, at the very least, reschedule your sonic assaults to more reasonable hours.

You’d exchanged names, plastered on smiles that never reached their eyes—and yet, your solos persist.

In moments of weakness, Viktor's traitorous mind can't help but wonder what camaraderie you might have shared in an alternate universe where you weren’t the bane of his existence.

He finds himself muttering a desperate prayer to the gods of acoustics: "Grant me the strength not to bash my head against this wall." He pauses, another side of his brain kicking in. "Although, the resulting concussion might make for an interesting case study."

A groan escapes him as his forehead meets the desk with a dull thump. (Might you want percussions, he could supply his head banging against his desk)

His mind, addled by sleep deprivation and the constant assault, contemplates the unthinkable—actually standing up for himself. God forbid.

He envisions marching to your door, pride in tatters, ready to beg, plead, perhaps even grovel for a moment's peace.

The image of his students receiving paper feedback that reads like the ravings of a madman flashes before his eyes. No. Nope. This cannot stand. Something must be done.

Then another image invades his mind: your door opens and there you are face to face once again.

He grudgingly admits you’re… aesthetically agreeable. He supposes. Mathematically pleasing. Something about proportion, bone structure, genes, something, something, and—no, there is an undeniable artistry in your relentless dedication. Which he respects.

Even through the wall, he can discern the masterful control of your bow, a testament to hours of practice that simultaneously impresses and infuriates him.

If he could be granted such hours to achieve his own goals, he'd surely rule the world (or at least figure out how to soundproof his apartment).

There'd been one night—one treacherous, sleep-deprived night—when his exhausted mind careened off the rails of rationality into dangerously uncharted territory.

He envisioned himself barging into your apartment, a perfect storm of righteous fury and academic gravity. In this fever dream, he demanded silence with an authority cobbled together from an unlikely triumvirate: his stern Professor alter-ego (complete with imaginary tweed jacket), the ego-inflating gravitas of his hard-earned Ph.D., and the bizarrely suave confidence that only exists in the realm of 3 AM delusions.

But in this warped fantasy, instead of blessed quiet, he encountered something far, far worse—a scenario that defied even the uncertainty principle in its improbability.

Sharp gasps cut through the air. Delicate moans rolling against the nape of his neck that it sent shivers down his spine. And then—oh, sweet laws of thermodynamics—his name. His name in repetition, wearing the throes of... No. Stop. Abort mission.

Viktor's eyes snap open. Heavy breaths. His heart rate approaches escape velocity, threatening to launch his ribcage into orbit.

He shakes his head violently as if the motion could dislodge the inappropriate thoughts from his brain.

"Fuck off," he mutters to the empty room, to his unfaithful imagination, to the persistent violin notes that seem to mock his predicament. Fuck it all. And fuck you. Well… No—(he means yes (no)).

A few times since your initial encounter, Viktor had been subjected to a different kind of midnight sound through the walls. These weren't the familiar strains of a violin, but rather... a more primal composition. Something more akin to pleasure than anything Stradivarius could have conceived. 

The truth was, these… vocalisations had rearranged his synapses, had opened up an entirely new neural pathway in his brain, one he had staunchly refused to acknowledge before. It was a new theorem of attra—intrigue he wasn't quite ready to solve.

Each breath, groan muffled, was a data point on his imaginary graph. To study the patterns, the crescendos, the duration. The other man in him... well, that was a variable he dared not allow to factor into the equation.

He found himself both dreading and anticipating these unintentional (at least he surmised so) performances. He'd catch himself straining to hear, then immediately feel a rush of guilt and self-loathing.

He reaches for his coffee mug, grimacing as he swallows the cold, bitter dregs. Clearly, this is what happens when a brilliant mind is deprived of its required REM cycles. Yes, that's it. Just the cruel tricks of an overworked, under-rested brain. Exactly.

His mind kicks into overdrive, frantically scribbling a mental grant proposal: "The Effects of Sleep Deprivation on Auditory Hallucinations and Improbable Fantasies: A Case Study." Purely for academic purposes, of course. (his mind lingers on improbable)

It's not like he's terrified these forbidden thoughts might return, more vivid and enticing than a perfectly aligned experiment. And it's certainly not because he's afraid he might enjoy—no, no, no. He minds. He minds with the intensity of a supernova. 100%. No, make that 100.1%, just to be safe. Exactly. Precisely. Quantum-mechanically determined.

Now, if only he could convince his subconscious of that irrefutable fact…

His eyes dart to the wall—that infuriating barrier of plaster and wood—separating him from the object of his des... deliberation. No, that's not right. The source of his frustration. Yes, frustration. A frustration so profound it could light up a small city.

He groans, burying his face in his hands.

The things sleep deprivation does to a man. It's enough to make even a rational physicist question the very fabric of reality.

But admiration be fucking damned—his frustration reigns supreme.

Viktor straightens up, a manic glint in his eye. Perhaps it's time for a little experiment in human behaviour. After all, every action has an equal and opposite reaction, right? Let's see how you’d like a taste of your own medicine—played back at 3 AM through a wall of subwoofers tuned to the resonant frequency of your floorboards.

No, no—Viktor, don't stoop. Just knock on their door.

A grin spreads across your face when a comically polite knock interrupts your crescendo. Ah, the sweet sound of success—or is it the dulcet tones of a professor’s patience snapping?

Oh, he's ever so gentle, even when he's one decibel away from a meltdown. You can practically hear his teeth grinding in perfect harmony with your last note.

You settle your violin and bow on the couch like a general laying down arms after a victorious battle. One palm reaches to massage your jaw, soothing the tender spot where your instrument has been resting. Who knew revenge could leave such visible marks?

Note to self: next time, consider a less physically demanding form of payback. Maybe take up the theremin? Start haunting him.

Though you're getting the creeping suspicion he doesn't know what he did—and it's entirely plausible that you just look like a nocturnal nuisance with perfect pitch and an impressive bruise. But hey, what's a little psychological warfare between neighbours?

Besides, it's fun crossing him in the halls, eyes following each other like two notes slowly coming in accordance, like a particularly flirtatious harmony. You're both knowing, sharing a secret thing. Well, as secret as a loud violin solo at 2 AM.

You reach the front door and turn the lock, swinging it open with a dramatic flair.

Leaning on the frame, you plaster on a grin that could outshine the brightest spotlight—and is sure to make the dear professor's blood pressure skyrocket. "Viktor," you greet, your voice a perfect pizzicato of feigned innocence.

As expected, he's the very picture of academic despair: dark under-eyes that could rival a raccoon's, hair ruffled in a way that screams ‘Sleep? What sleep?' (who knew sleep deprivation could be so becoming?), and a brow so furrowed it could host its own mountain range.

Huh. Interesting. Seems like the composed professor facade has taken an unexpected intermission.

You force yourself to keep your eyes on Viktor's face, resisting the urge to conduct a full-body visual scan. Tonight, you're oppositions. Stubborn ostinato. O-ppo-si-tions.

Oppositions don't ogle each other's physiques or linger on sartorial choices. That would be absurd, a complete discord in your carefully orchestrated revenge. Which is why you don’t see that he’s wearing a thin tank top, and why your eyes don’t hopscotch across the vague outlines of his chest.

Viktor grumbles your name with a frown, his accent turning the syllables into something between a growl and a plea. It's music to your ears, really—a different kind of melody, but no less satisfying than your midnight sonatas.

You wonder what else he could do with that voice. No—you don’t wonder. O-ppo-si-tions don’t wonder.

Rather, you flatten your lips, desperately trying to hold back a laugh that threatens to escape.

"Please," he breathes, the word carrying the weight of a thousand sleepless nights.

You cock a brow. "Please?"

He glares, his eyes boring into you with the intensity of a conductor silencing a wayward orchestra. Not finding me funny, you note mentally.

Well, tough crowd. But then again, you didn't take up the violin for the standing ovations, did you?

"How can I help you, Professor?" You smile sweetly, crossing your legs. "You're looking positively... nocturnal," Your eyes dance over his dishevelled appearance, drinking in every delicious detail.

You know that he knows that you know what you're doing. It's a duet of mutual awareness—simple, really—and satisfying.

He squeezes his amber eyes shut, his mouth a taut line of frustration. You half expect his hair to stand on end. Orchestra on their heels after a baton’s click-click-click.

That little mole above his mouth twitches, and you imagine it as a staccato note. There's a twin on his right cheek. You wonder, idly, if they'd dance a jig if you played just the right jaunty tune.

"Why," he begins, his voice a crescendo of exhaustion, "Are you doing this? I can't keep my head in tune with you behind that wall, turning my brain into jelly with your... your..." he gestures wildly at your apartment, as if trying to conduct your imaginary orchestra into silence.

"Oh? And what's wrong with exploring some alternative fingerings now and then?"

His eyes lock onto yours, widening slightly. He blinks, frozen—a maestro who's just realised he's forgotten his baton.

Ah. Are there actual discordant thoughts lurking in that brilliant mind of his?

What's a little push? You lean forward. "Care to demonstrate these unconventional techniques of yours?"

A gulp rides down Viktor's throat. A nervous glissando. A viola quivering. His eyes suddenly find your front door fascinating. "Look, I just want to be able to do my work, finish what needs to be finished, and get some actual sleep. Aren't you tired of this too?"

Your mouth pitches downwards in mock contemplation. "Mm... I get plenty of sleep in the day. Unemployment generally gives you a lot of time. Besides, payback is payback. This is simply the retribu—"

"Payback?" His face contorts into a mask of confusion that would make Picasso proud. Ah. So the maestro doesn't know his own composition. Tsk.

You straighten yourself, arms still crossed sternly. "You—" you sigh, brows pulling together.

"What," he huffs, clearly lost. His mouth slightly gapes open, eyes glancing to the side as if somehow the answer will appear.

lLast month. Seven PM. You're home with what I assume were your students," you gesture at his door. "Don't know what you were doing, none of my business. However, it does become my business when they stay over until four," you hold up four fingers at his face like a metronome gone mad, and he backs away. “In. The. Morning. You try sleeping with rowdy, hormonal young-adults screeching about the universe and quantum-this, quantum-that,"

He brings his hand up and rubs at his neck, looking everywhere but you.

"And I, not having slept in god knows how long at that point, had an audition for an orchestra later that morning," at this point his expression is completely soured, realising where this is leading. "And guess who bombed that and missed a potential orchestral debut?" you point at yourself with both thumbs, "First chair of the Insomniacs Anonymous Symphony,"

He brings his thumb and pointer to the bridge of his nose, worrying at his bottom lip.

You can recall a few times you’d burrowed your teeth in such a manner. Recitals. A particularly tricky passage in a Paganini caprice. On your couch with hand at the crux of your thighs rubbing gently to some fantasy. Nothing specific.

You stare for a moment, mentally composing a scream for the cosmos. How dare he look like a dishevelled maestro when you're trying to channel your inner fury? Not the time, brain. Not. The. Time. File that image away for later...

“I..." he begins, but the words seem to have gone on strike, leaving his mouth hanging open. Forgotten fermata.

A furrow grows on your brow, deep enough to nest a whole string section. His guilt-ridden silence gives you ample time to become distracted. Truly not the fucking time. But your eyes—oh, what rebellious instruments.

But fret not (hah), as you don’t discern much of his arms—not lean, nor precise. Not those fingers either, no. They’re not that long. You didn’t even notice. And not the slow rise and fall of his chest, rhythmic as a metronome in a world where time has suddenly become very, very interesting.

He says your name—it’s a baton raising in the air—and it wrangles your attention. “I truly... I apologise. I do admit... that night was foolish. I'd lost control of my class. I'd invited a few over since they wanted a discussion on quantum entanglement,"

Yeah, I know entanglements. What.

Your brain performs an emergency shutdown and reboot. “Uh-huh," you manage, trying to sound like you absolutely know what that means and aren't at all imagining him demonstrating the finer points of entanglement. Because you aren’t. O-ppo-si-tions.

You shake your head, imagining your thoughts like shaking a tambourine. Focus. Revenge. Missed opportunity. Right. But why does righteous indignation have to be so hard when he's standing there looking like Einstein's hotter, sleep-deprived cousin?

“And the discussion just… I wasn’t careful with the time,” he leans forward, mouth downwards in apology. His fingers tap on his cane, mouth sucking on one side of his bottom lip.

He looks miserable. And worse, genuine. Two things that never sit right with you when they happen at the same time. A string just slightly off tune that it settles as unease in your stomach. It gives you the itch to fine-tune it, put it back how it should be.

You give Viktor a resolute nod, blinking away. “I accept your apology,” you say shortly, gaze lounging on the hallway and making sure they don’t linger on his misery.

But he searches for you eyes first, and by obligation you look back. “And have you, has there been any opportunities after then?” he asks, leaning forward, brows tilted in genuine, apologetic curiosity (your heart decides it’s now a great time to perform an accelerando. 95 bpm, if you’re counting). “Auditions and… orchestral… things? Sorry, I’m not too knowledgeable on these,”

What’s good: he’s genuinely apologetic, which may herald the end of your musical tyranny.

You lean your head backwards, aware of the distance (What’s not good: he seems unaware of the distance he’d taken up). “Uh, no. Well,” you shrug, shoulders bobbing in reminder. “Not since then. But there’s one next week. Piltover Grande Hall,”

His brows raise, seemingly in recognition. “Oh? Highly-esteemed,”

“I know. I’ll probably need a good sleep before then,” you grin, watching his face go from confusion, to apologetic, to relief in mere seconds.

“I also… I assigned some heavy research work last week to my class, which’ll be submitted tomorrow, so I’ll be grading those next week,” he added, now fully leaning on your door frame as if his upper body were trying to slink inside slowly. “We’ll both need much rest before then,”

Your eyes meet his. Face fully facing face. “Mhm,”

Prelude: “An observation of observation of observation”. String section, sweet, curious, and swelling with playful remarks. Interrupted by staccato heartbeats, conflicted by seductive cello whines.

You don’t move. Not an increment. You stay as still as your body allows, suspended in time. So does he. His eyes flicker between your left and right, expressing nothing but obvious observation of you. Your stomach breeds a butterfly when you catch his gaze dropping briefly to your mouth before flicking back to your eyes.

Interesting.

100 bpm.

No. I, “Where The Gaze Lands Will Determine The Night’s Fate”. A languid 4/4. A lone marimba begins—blithe. The chirp of a güiro.

“And what do you propose?” you tilt your head up. Are you challenging him? Depends, you suppose. Depends if he tilts his face down.

But he stays in position. Instead, brings a hand out, palm open. “A truce,” his breath brushes against your chin. Hot. Temperaturally. Temperamentally.

Does he know what he’s doing to you? There are desperate sax whines in your head. Supposedly they sound similar to the human voice.

You take his hand and shake firmly. But you don’t let go. “What are the terms?”

A soft huff of a laugh escapes him, eyes slightly narrowing. “But you’ve already agreed,” his fingers tighten slightly around your hand. Warm. Long.

“Confident in the final piece,” you assert, letting your eyes drape with leisure between his eyes and to the bone of his cheek, the mole, the mouth. And you hope he notices.

The sax is breathy. It’s now a smoky jazz riff, painting dimly lit rooms, whisperings of sweet-nothings, a daring foot hiking up another’s thigh.

Your travelling eyes seem to catch his breath.

No. II: “Where Silence Is Relative”. Strutting 2/4, beginning with a sultry glide of an accordion. A conversation between the cellos and violins.

“Does that mean you’ll rest your little concertos?” his head tilts. “Giving me peace, finally?”

You play up a pout. “Shame, I thought you were a fan,”

“As I am of quantum tunnelling through a brick wall,” he responds, the brief questioning curve of his brow indicating this was not a good thing.

“Surely my playing isn’t that bad?” a smirk.

“Not the quality, no,” he gives a small shake. His thumb softly brushes your hand. “It’s the quantity. And the timing,”

You soften your fingers, letting the tips of them brush at his wrist. “I was trying to be helpful. Heard scientists appreciated background music while working,”

A glint of something playful in his eyes. “We do. Just not at 3AM when we’re trying to grade important papers,”

“Grading?” you quirk your brow and smile. At this point, it’s far from grating to him—he’s even looking at it. “I thought silence was overrated in the pursuit of knowledge,”

“Silence is relative when you’re next door,” he gives back. His hand is now shameless, inching your closer and closer to your wrist.

You wet your lips and hum. “Relative, right. Like, whose is that—like Einstein’s?”

“Like the relative pitch of a jackhammer compared to your violin,” his expression flattens sardonically, still maintaining that disarming smile.

“I’m touched,” you lean your head on the door frame. “You think I’m as powerful?”

“Enough to redefine my understanding of ‘noise cancellation’,” he retorts, eyes rolling. What a pretty expression that is. You wonder how else you can evoke that same reaction in other contexts.

“If you ever want a demonstration…”

He laughs. “I think I’ll stick to my textbooks. Much quieter,”

You feign a mask of disappointment, gaze sharpening and hooking his eyes in for your next few words. “Pity. I was hoping to show you how good I am with my fingers,”

His mouth parts. Surprise? Temptation? But he’s hooked in and it’s all you care for. “I… uh,” he blinks, hand still around your wrist. “That’s…”

His face fills with a slight impassive contemplation, thoughts seeming to run amuck in his head as he looks down at your growing, teasing smile.

“You’ve been hearing me practise, no?” you smirk. And you can tell he knows that you know that he knows what you mean. “The violin’s not an easy instrument. Unless you’re thinking of something e—”

He diminishes the space between you with his lips on yours.

No. III, “A Swing in A#”. 113 bpm. A confident, gritty trumpet reels you in.

The door shuts and is immediately faced by Viktor’s back. His neck bends to accommodate the difference in height, his free hand at the back of your neck to press you closer to himself. Your hands find purchase around his shirt, curling around the fabric, pulling and pulling—but as he’s leaning, only his hips jut forward. Good enough.

Your mouths move in tandem. He’s occupied with your bottom lip in a sort of desperation that speaks of practise—or at least imagined practise.

You nudge upwards, hip bone meeting his in soft collision, which coaxes a filthy, back-of-the-throat grunt from him. You smile. And as you feel his other hand snake around your waist, you hear the metallic thnk of his cane against the floor.

You jerk away to look down at it. Briefly, you assess its importance and his dependence on it. “Your leg,” you breathe, breath barely allowing your real voice to pierce through.

He’s nuzzling at the side of your face, gaping mouth at your cheek as he catches some air. “I’ll manage,”

When you turn to him, your heart jumps at the sight of him. Dishevelment caused by your hands, a slight flush from arousal, eyes rounded and trained on your mouth. You don’t look but can’t help noticing the hardness pressed against your lower belly.

“It doesn’t hurt?” you ask.

He shakes his head and finally draws his eyes back to yours. “A… discomfort. But not pain,” he dips in for a kiss, hand sliding up to tilt your jaw towards him.

A smirk becomes of you. “Mm… about the, uh… retribution. I do admit, I took it too far,”

His eyes widen in mock surprise. “Did you? All those unproductive nights, I truly didn’t notice,”

You roll your eyes at his quip. “But I was thinking of how to properly apologise,”

He quirks a brow, thumb tracing at the border of your lip and chin. “And how will you show your remorse?”

“Ah, well, I’m just like you,” a soft laugh escapes you, and you lean towards him to hide the slight embarrassment rushing to blush your cheeks. “Thinking all about… entanglements,”

“Do, please, demonstrate your version,” his accent noticeably makes ‘demonstrate’ even sharper and more pronounced.

“Only if you talk about yours,”

With a swift kiss, you silence him, lips capturing his words. Your hands grip his body, gently guiding him away from the door. Viktor's eyes, intense and unwavering, remain locked on you as you lead him a few feet to the side to the upright piano.

In one smooth motion, your foot hooks around the piano bench, sliding it out. Your hands, warm and certain, travel up to Viktor's shoulders, guiding him down onto the seat with a gentle and firm pressure. His gaze never falters.

For a breathless moment, you tower over him, drinking in the sight of him. He's even more deliciously undone—hair tousled, shirt askew, lips slightly parted.

The room seems to shrink, the world narrowing to just the two of you. You're minutely aware of every shallow breath, every subtle shift of his body, each time the muscles in his neck form a 'v'.

Something all-consuming takes root in your core, to hear his voice wearing your name—not just spoken, but gasped, moaned, worshipped.

“So?” you prompt. “Begin,”

No. IV, “Viktor’s Recitative”. An accented voice searching for focus. Punctuated by gasps.

“It’s, ehm, quantum entanglement. Imagine two dancers, perfectly in sync no matter how far apart they are. When particles become entangled, they share a quantum state. If you measu—”

With your leg you push his knees apart.

“Uh, if you measure one, you instantly know about the other. As if… as if connected by an invisible thread of… mm, cosmic intimacy,”

You kneel slowly, gaze locked onto his as he searches for his next words. “Rather romantic,” you add.

He swallows. And you take it as a suggestion.

“I think so, too. Two particles, forever intertwined,” his eyes fall to your hand as you palmed one knee, your head resting on his other leg. “Fates… linked across the, the vast…ness of space and t—time,” he jerks forward as your hand pressed a little too near his centre.

The sound makes your breath hitch. More. Your cheek’s brushing against the cotton of his pants, your other hand cradling around his calf. The hand on his knee roams further upwards, thumb applying more pressure on the ins of his thigh.

“Regardless of distance, still they influence each other in ways we can’t f—” he breaks off with a whine as your palm grazes the growing swell beneath his pants. It takes every ounce of self-control not to grasp him fully, to feel the entirety of him at once. “Fully…” his eyes follow where you press harder, your mouth curving into a smile. “Comprehend,” the word falls with more breath.

He leans back against the piano, elbows weighing down keys and sending a jarring, discordant chord alongside his sighs.

You straighten, bringing your other hand to the knot of his waistband. Your finger hooks onto it, thumb caressing the single button. Your gaze travels upward, admiring the sight of him leaning back, his shirt riding up to reveal a tantalising glimpse of hair trailing downward.

His breathing slows, becoming deep and measured as your finger grazes the skin of his stomach, the fine hairs tickling knuckles. For a moment, you imagine yourself above him, watching him squirm as his eyes fixate on the point where your bodies would join. Another day.

With a deft movement, you pop the button free. Leaning in, you catch your lower lip between your teeth as your hands gently guide him from the confines of his boxers.

His form arches slightly to one side, living sculpture of desire. Delicate ridges trace his length, and at the apex, his glans gleams like a ripe cherry. Tempting fruit begging to be tasted.

Deep, methodical breaths, you remind yourself. Deep and methodical. And oh so deep. You wrench your thoughts from this enticing path, lifting gaze to meet his. Your eyes seek permission, finding his half-lidded stare heavy with want.

Your palm, warm and inviting, glides along his length with exquisite slowness. The motion elicits a shudder that ripples through his hips, a breath catching in his throat like a trapped butterfly. His head falls back, unveiling the elegant lines of his neck.

Emboldened, you repeat the caress, this time allowing your grip to ascend until it reaches the pinnacle. There, with deliberate tenderness, you gather the pre-cum with a slight swipe. The touch brings a cluster of stuttered gasps and half-formed words. His body, as if magnetised, curls towards you, hands grasping the edges of the bench, white-knuckled, anchoring himself.

Your name escapes his lips in a plaintive groan, lust renewing his voice with a gravelly quality.

Responding to his unspoken plea, you stretch upward, capturing his mouth with yours. A reward. A prelude. Your lips, soft yet insistent, trail a path down to his chin, then along the sharp line of his jaw. He tilts his head back, an offering, granting you unimpeded access to the column of his neck. You accept the invitation eagerly, pressing a kiss to his bobbing Adam's apple, and leaving a trail of lilac.

Your hand torments him with a slow ride down, grip tightening incrementally with each kiss. But there's a yearning for more, craving something more substantial. Not that this isn't intoxicating—the pulsing in your core is evidence enough.

The moment a more desperate whine unfurls from his lips, a ribbon of pure need, drawing you in. It's the tipping point. As if thanking him for the sinful sound, your lips abandon the canvas of his neck, attention now wholly focused on his full, flushed hardness.

You level with the sight of his arousal, standing eager, tip glistening. Your breath ghosts over his sensitive skin, eliciting a shudder that courses through his entire body. You hear the complaint of squeezed leather beneath his grip.

“Show me how you like it,” you breathe, letting the little puffs of air tickle at his reddened shaft.

Seemingly overwhelmed, he remains answerless, eyes resting on your blushed mouth. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, as if reciting an undeniable truth, akin to the blue of the sky or the firmness of his length. His thumb traces the contours of your mouth with gossamer lightness. “Indulge as you please,”

At that, you smile, gently guiding his hand away and pressing a kiss tender on his knuckles. And with a final, heated glance up at his face—flushed with want, eyes dark with need—you lower your head, lips parting.

With a delicate grace, you envelop him, your lips forming a perfect crescent around his crown. Slowly, deliberately, you welcome him into the warmth of your mouth, one hand gliding to his base with tender precision. The other, seeking purchase, finds his chest, gently urging him backward to grant you greater freedom of movement.

He yields without resistance, acquiescence punctuated by a cascade of desperate, breathy whimpers as he reclines against the piano. The instrument protests beneath his bones, dissonant notes plunking out objections at the sin unfolding before it.

You savour him—heady salt and warmth. His velvet glides across your palette, your lips tightening in counterpoint. Your tongue laps and flattens against him in a rhythm that plucks a brief grunt from him. Curiosity compelling you, you lift your gaze to meet his. In that fleeting moment, his eyebrows arch—whether at the feeling or the sight, you prefer the idea of the latter—a wordless expression of awe at the vision before him.

This silent exchange ignites a fervour in you. You increase your tempo, sound of saliva blending seamlessly with his escalating pants. His voice, once controlled, now tumbles in a torrent of incoherent, keening pleas. His fingers now tangle gently in your hair, curling and uncurling in unconscious rhythm. When you dare to take him deeper, his grip tightens ever so slightly.

A deep groan reverberates from the depths of your throat, setting off a cascade of reactions that ripple through both your bodies. The raw sound triggers an involuntary response in him; his hips stutter and twitch forward with barely restrained urgency, cock brushing dangerously far back in your throat.

This sudden intrusion causes your body to react instinctively. Your grip on him tightens, fingers digging into the soft flesh of his thighs, pliant tongue pressing fully against him, cheeks hollowing with increased suction.

The sensation brings tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over. Yet, you hold them back, your focus entirely consumed by the incoherent, mangled words tumbling from Viktor's lips. His loss of composure only serves to fuel you, ushering more strangled moans from you.

With a deliberate leisure, you pull him out of your mouth, slight, wet ‘pop' punctuating the action. A grin plays across your lips as you lick them slowly, savouring his taste and the way his eyes track the movement of your tongue.

Leaning back in with renewed purpose, you flatten your tongue against the sensitive underside of his length. You drag it upwards, feeling every ridge and vein. As you reach the tip, you linger at the frenulum, that exquisitely sensitive spot just beneath the head. Your tongue dances there, teasing and tantalising, while your hand presses firmly against his abdomen, pushing him back slightly, maintaining control.

This calculated move elicits a pleased hum from him, a sound that vibrates through his body and into yours. Encouraged by his response, you repeat the movement, each pass of your tongue a perfect mirror of the last, building a rhythm that teeters on the edge between pleasure and sweet torment.

You revel—the choked desperation emanating from the back of his throat, the frantic rise and fall of his chest—tempestuous sea. His jaw, slack, burns into your imagination, conjuring tantalising visions of how it might feel nestled between your trembling thighs. Pure masterpiece before you.

A thought dances through your mind: how differently might he approach his little entanglements if it were you sprawled across his desk instead of the mundane paperwork? The notion trails a delicious shiver down you.

The tip of your tongue traces feather-light around his sensitive crown. Slowly, teasingly, you envelop his tip between your lips. Tongue, emboldened, finds its way back to the frenulum and lingers there. Your hands continue to glide in smooth, quickened motions, descending and rising fluidly. His breaths grow increasingly laboured as you continue, his hips jutting and twitching. You apply gentle pressure, guiding him downward.

With a filthy cry that escapes him, you feel the hot release at the roof of your mouth. Encouraging him further, you draw him deeper, welcoming the spill into your throat with a rough hum. His voice breaks as he calls out your name between ragged gasps. It sounds almost like prayer.

Further sinful whines fall out of him as you continue to swallow and lap him from inside.

As you feel his tension finally easing, you slowly withdraw, your tongue tracing the pearlescent spill. His sharp, staccato breaths punctuate the silence, and he brings his hand to your chin, lifting your attention to him.

You smile, swallowing, though proving futile, his release unrelentingly coating the back of your throat.

“Will I get to demonstrate?” he breathes, voice hoarse.

He smirks. The fucker.

You shake your head. “Not tonight. Tonight’s my repentance,”

[thecheshireprincess]

I Promise

A Pre-Borderland One-Shot Set in The Game Itself Universe (AU)

Chishiya x childhood best friend reader (Niragi's sister!) - platonic relationship at this point in time

Content Warning: Mentions of an abusive father, Reader had a tumultuous childhood and is traumatized, atypical/non-nuclear family, maybe a few curse words (you should know that by now if you read my work)

A/N: I've found it a little bit more challenging than I thought I would to write chapters that have Reader's father in them (because of my own bs), so I thought I would break up the pain with a few little fluff bombs like this! As you know, several of these one-shots were already in the works anyway, so if you have an idea or a moment that you'd like to see expanded on in a one-shot like this, please let me know! This promise will come up again in the main story very soon, so it will be fun for you to have some context. Chishiya and Reader are about fourteen or fifteen in this story, making Niragi nineteen or twenty.

Find the main story here.

Monday. Arguably the worst morning of every week. Even the sun seemed to think so today, tucking itself behind the foreboding gray clouds hanging oppressive and angry in the sky over Tokyo. You aren't surprised when they crack open, allowing a slight drizzle of rain to patter against your window as you reach your arms above your head in a silent stretch.

This particular Monday was slated to be even worse than usual, that little fact being the main reason you were delaying the inevitable in getting up. Kaori, your bright-eyed and always impeccably dressed social worker, would be joining you at school today for your annual check-in. Your brother has had full legal custody of you for a year now, and though your visits with Kaori were much fewer than before, this would be an important milestone. Your performance would be everything, the magnitude of this moment weighing on you more heavily than a ton of bricks. Akin to an old rotting building, you could feel yourself crumbling from the inside out under the pressure.

You'd spent the entirety of the past weekend with Niragi breathing down your neck, drilling you with practice questions and reminding you of what behaviors the woman would be scribbling notes on in her leather bound notebook. Of what would be on the line if Kaori didn't think you were "thriving" in his care.

Your anxiety had cast a suffocating blanket of doom across your mind all night, planting sickening thoughts in your head and causing you to toss and turn for hours. Niragi had come in at least twice, straightening the blankets that had fallen to the floor as you squirmed around in the bed, desperately trying to coax you to sleep. Please sleep, Koko. You can't look tired for Kaori, what if she thinks you never get sleep here?

You groan loudly to yourself, knowing that you definitely did look tired. Your burning eyes had finally grown heavy right as the sun was peeking out across the horizon, being afforded just a brief window of slumber before Niragi was gently shaking you awake again. It had felt like you'd rested for mere seconds; you were not prepared at all for what today would bring.

It's been about half an hour since then and you still haven't moved, wanting desperately to take a page out of the sun's book for the entire day. You roll away from your window and the now steady drum of the rain hitting glass, covering your fatigued eyes with the only silky pillow that hasn't escaped the bed and hit the floor. The gloomy weather was just so convincing, today should be a day to stay in bed.

A faint knock on the door downstairs signals that you are running out of time to remain concealed between your tangled sheets; Chishiya is here. It would be only a matter of time before Niragi came up to get you, and you haven't even considered getting dressed. You can hear the man bustling through the lower level of the apartment, the clatter of dishes and occasional click of a drawer closing making it apparent that he's packing lunches and trying to clean up before everyone needs to leave. His movements are more frantic today, allowing the cabinet door to slam shut or setting a silvered utensil down just a little too aggressively - he's on edge too. Not as on edge as he's going to be when he realizes that you haven't even gotten up yet.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Three separate knocks indicate that your best friend is the one standing on the other side of the door. Your time is up.

"Come in," your drowsy voice calls to him, speaking outloud for the first time today. The door creaks open slowly, Chishiya peeking around the door with an arched eyebrow, searching for you around the room. Certainly not expecting to find you still in bed. When his gaze lands on you still ensnared among the lavendar colored sheets, his eyes widen and lips part a little in shock as if silently wondering what the hell are you thinking?

You can sense the weight of his scrutinizing gaze on you, despite having your face still covered with your fluffy pillow. You let out a pathetic whine, "Stop judging me, Shiya. I really can't do this today."

Chishiya pushes the door nearly closed before walking fully into the room and whispering, "Have you lost your mind? You haven't even started getting ready?" The blonde leans casually against the edge of your desk in the corner, crossing his arms over his chest. Analyzing you, always analyzing.

"I'm sick, I can't go to school," you say in a brittle voice, making your friend's lips curl up in a smirk and blink at you in disbelief. "You really think Niragi is going to buy that today? Don't be an idiot," the boy scoffs. Chishiya is, nonetheless, entertained by your pathetic attempt at an excuse. You finally sit up, ready to throw your only remaining pillow at him to disrupt the Cheshire grin that is gracing his annoying face, but are interrupted before you can.

You panic inwardly and shoot an anxious look at your friend as you both register your brother's urgent footsteps rushing up the stairs and stopping outside your door. Chishiya's grin spreads across his face mischievously, knowing that this is about to be quite the show.

"Koko, it's time to go, are you almost ready?" When you don't answer, he pushes the already cracked door open slowly, glancing around anxiously to find you, just as Chishiya had just minutes before. He gasps - obviously stunned - when his eyes meet yours, still sitting with your blankets pooled around your limbs where he'd left you almost forty minutes ago. His jaw clenches in frustration, causing you to instinctively curl in on yourself, making your body smaller. Preparing for him to yell at you the way you know you deserve.

But Niragi has never and would never yell at you. Your brother sees your body's natural response to his irritation and his heart constricts. He refuses to make things worse for you. A deep, exhausted sigh escapes his lips, head slumping forward in concession and shoulders sagging as he comes to sit gently at your side. No matter how annoyed your brother is that you've chosen today to be difficult, he knows that yelling would do nothing but cause a rift in your carefully built relationship. There's a reason you're behaving this way, not generally an openly defiant person, but he has very little time to try to fix it. The man removes his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers. "You're still in bed. Why are you still in bed? We really don't have time for this today," he says in an even tone, peering at you expectantly.

You flop back down onto your pillow, allowing your reddened and fatigued eyes to look up at him. "Niragiiiiii," you whine exaggeratedly, "I think I'm sick. It's really bad." Your brother clicks his tongue, deciding it's easiest to play along with your game. "Really?" he questions, affectionate eyes inspecting you as he gently presses his cool hands against your face, "This is a very well-timed illness." You nod almost emphatically, giving him the most pitiful look that you can muster.

Niragi stifles a laugh, eyes shining now in amusement. "Well if it's that serious, I should probably take you to the doctor. They might even need to give you a shot," he muses, hand rubbing his chin in mock consideration. You stiffen a little, you hate needles. You look pleadingly at your brother, don't do this to me.

He sighs again. "You know on any other day I'd gladly let you play sick, but this is too important," Niragi says, brushing some hair out of your face, "You can either tell me what's really going on so I can help you, or we can talk about it later but I really need you to get up and get ready to go. Please?"

You chew the inside of your cheek, weighing your options. You know you can't tell Niragi the truth because it will just make him feel worse. That he's already under enough stress as it is. It's too much pressure. Your hovering has been stressing me out. I don't want to embarrass you. What if she decides to take me away? What if I have to go back to Dad?

No, you choose instead to keep quiet about your fears and finally push yourself up and out of bed. You pad grumpily across the room towards the bathroom, stopping along the way to yank your meticulously ironed uniform off the hanger.

You survey the dark, angry circles under your eyes in the mirror as you restart the French braid in your still partially tangled hair for what must be the third or fourth time. Your hands are shaky and simply won't move the way you need them to in your hair, and you don't have the patience right now to brush it all the way through. You grumble incoherently in exasperation, slamming your brush down on the granite countertop in front of you.

Chishiya pushes off from his observation point leaning on the doorway to approach you cautiously. "Let me help," he offers offhandedly, having learned how to braid your hair from Niragi just a few months earlier. The blonde picks up the brush that had just offended you, gliding it easily through your sleep-tangled locks.

"You're falling apart," he observes pointedly, causing you to chuckle an empty laugh in response. Of course you're falling apart. This process with Kaori is interesting, to say the least. You've never understood why the system wants to analyze every miniscule detail about your home life now that you're safe and happy with your brother, but were fine with looking the other way when you both were drowning in the depths of your father's abuse. A broken system for an even more broken family.

"The pressure is crushing me. I know I can't mess this up for Niragi; he's sacrificed so much for me and my safety. He's given everything to get us to this place," you finally substantiate your fears with words.

Chishiya continues brushing through your hair, paying cautious attention to the tangles. He hums in response as he listens, knowing there's more to it than that. You recognize the game he's playing here, distracting you by brushing your hair and convincing you to spill your guts without him ever saying a word. He was so good at that.

And so you continue, "I'm afraid they'll take me back to him if I'm not meeting their expectations . . ." you sigh shakily, "I'm not exactly healed, you know? It's not Niragi's fault I'm so broken." Chishiya grimaces at this, dexterous fingers working through a particularly difficult knot with surprising gentleness.

"I hardly think it's fair to expect yourself to be healed from a lifetime of suffering in just three years," he mumbles drily, "Be patient with yourself, it will get better in time." You nod slowly, blinking away the tears that had pooled at your waterline. You were still terrified, all the time. Every night you had nightmares that your father would show up again one day, making his cruel threats and trying to hurt you. Trying to hurt Niragi. Would you ever really be free from him?

Chishiya must have noticed how you still hesitated, curling in on yourself slightly again. "You know I won't let anything bad happen to you, right?" He asks, nonchalant as ever. Your eyes snap to study his face in the mirror, surprised a little bit by his question. No, you certainly did not know that.

"What do you mean?" You ask your friend, certain you misheard him. He was hardly the sentimental type of friend. Though you'd known each other your entire lives, most days you just assumed he stuck with you for the convenience of it. That Chishiya would be fine on his own if something ever happened to you. It didn't really bother you, you still cared about him all the same.

The boy shrugs with one shoulder, starting to move his nimble fingers through your strands as he's finally satisfied that he's gotten all of the tangles out. "I just mean that you don't need to be as afraid when I'm around. I have your back," he says.

You blink once, twice. In shock, because Chishiya rarely talks period, but to make a statement that is intended to comfort you is completely out of his character. And it made your heart soar. "Thank you," you whisper, sincerely. Feeling tears spring up again, but holding it in. The corners of his lips tilt upward slightly, meeting your eyes in the mirror and nodding. A true best friend moment.

Chishiya ties off the braid with an elastic and clips in the emerald velvet bow that matches your school uniform, before moving his hands to squeeze your shoulders lightly once. You got this.

Niragi calls your name from downstairs as you're finishing dotting concealer underneath your eyes, "So help me, Koko! We have to leave, now!" You know he is pacing at the bottom of the stairs, likely wearing a hole in the wood paneled floor. He always does that when he's nervous.

You take one last deep breath in front of the mirror, trying to summon some confidence. Chishiya told you not to worry, that he would keep you safe no matter what. And you really believed him.

You bound down the carpeted stairs, coming face to face and nearly colliding with your grumbling and semi-panicked brother at the bottom. He sighs in short-lived relief, pausing for a moment to brush a wrinkle out of your shirt and hand you your backpack. Niragi scoops up his car keys from the hall table, ushering the three of you out the door to get the day started at long last.

Himari, your next door neighbor, is in the hallway watering the brightly colored begonias she keeps potted outside her door. A radiant smile graces her face upon seeing the three of you, "Good morning! Niragi, when are you going to bring that girl over to have tea and play with the cats?" Niragi smiles lightly as he locks the door to your apartment, "She can come over whenever she wants, except today; unfortunately we're really in a rush this morning." You wave at the older lady, seeing her always brings a smile to your face. You would have to drag Chishiya over there later, Himari always kept his favorite biscuits around. Plus, if you were lucky, you'd be able to find and snuggle with the tabby cat.

The entire ride to school, Niragi peppers you with reminders about how to act and what to say. How to answer the "difficult questions". The interaction does nothing to quell your nerves, honestly making things worse if anything. Chishiya sits quietly in the backseat, watching the Tokyo skyline zoom by while you talk. Your anxious gaze catches his in the rearview mirror and he gives you a tight but reassuring smile. You got this.

You hesitantly wave goodbye to Niragi when he pulls up outside the looming building that was your school, receiving his last minute instructions and assurances before he speeds off. He is definitely late for work now, but you know that is the least of his concerns this morning.

The two of you walk the brightly lit corridor to your classroom, shoes clicking along the freshly waxed tiled floor. Chishiya walks with his hands stuffed deep in his pockets, you nervously fidgeting with your earrings. Just as you approach your homeroom where you knew Kaori was waiting to begin her observation, you grip desperately onto your friend's elbow to pull him back.

"Chishiya, I can't do this," you panic, swirling emotions threatening to drown you right here in the hallway, "Let's leave." The blonde that usually flinches away from any contact shocks you again by pulling both of your hands into his own, trying to keep you from fully panicking.

"Look at me," he demands, a confusing mix of emotions on display on his usually blank face, "It might not be easy, but you can do this. You're going to do this. And regardless of what happens in there today or anywhere else any other time, I will keep you safe." Your breath catches in your throat at the sheer weight of his words.

"You really mean that, Chishiya?" you ask, voice wavering just a little bit. He nods, eyes still meeting yours, soft and tender instead of cold and calculating.

"I promise."

That's good enough for you to take the final steps to the classroom, twisting the brass doorknob to open the door and greet Kaori and your teacher.

You're confident now that no matter what life throws at you, you'll always have your best friend on your side to keep you safe.

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

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[qqueenofhades]

Leaving aside possible reversals, disasters, doom & gloom, can we take a moment to savor the Trump meltdown over Harris/Walz and the momentum that makes a possible blue tsunami seem an entirely plausible outcome? I'd love to give you the space to ramble about it if you'd like, as my current fandom at least for the moment has shifted back to US politics (but not, for the first time in a while, to doom scrolling politics!).

Aha, I feel as I have probably already said most of my current thoughts, but here are a few things that really make me desire a heaping helping of butt-whooping blue wave in November:

The state that has had the most volunteer sign-ups since Harris took over the ticket? Fucking Florida, with over 18,000. The Villages, formerly a hotbed of Trump support (and y'know, probably still is), also had a major pro-Kamala event, and she is allegedly up 15 points in Miami-Dade (after Biden won the county by 7% and lost the state only by 3%). Now, we all know that Obama won Florida twice, but it has become such a symbol of retrograde Trumpian/DeSantisian politics that winning there would be literally seismic. I'm not going so far as saying that it's in PLAY play, but let's just hold onto that happy, happy idea.

Likewise the poll I mentioned the other day, where Trump is struggling to break 50% in Ohio, once a swing state and now also reliably red. The fact that this is Vance's home state and he's dragging the ticket down every single time he opens his mouth, thus offering the smallest sliver of hope that Ohio (which DID legalize abortion and weed by major margins last year) could also go blue? Incredible. Amazing. Showstopping.

Harris is also tied with Trump (46%-46%) in North Carolina and there is a lot of chatter about how the terrible GOP governor candidate could give a boost to Democratic turnout statewide.

The Mormons have apparently announced their intention to abandon (or at least support much less than they usually do) the Republican presidential ticket in 2024. Remember when Obama won Indiana in 2008? In my wildest dreams, I imagine Utah going blue in 2024. It won't but shh.

Basically, where we were braced for another agonizing nail-biting grind-it-out three-day election determined by a few thousand votes in key states (because etc etc the Electoral College sucks) we are now looking at the very real possibility that Harris wins at least one state, and possibly more, that Biden didn't, and which have been seen as out of reach for Democrats since Trump came on the scene. I don't think I need to counsel anyone against complacency, because we're all too damn scared for that, but yeah. Polls, even the good-looking ones that we like, don't vote. They are still skewed and subjective and do not represent the actual reality, whatever that may end up being. The Republicans and the media will be trying their absolute goddamnfuckingest to ratfuck us again in the 80-something days that remain, but:

WE CAN DO THIS, WE WILL DO THIS, WE MUST DO THIS.

WHAT IS THIS.... JOY SCROLLING? FOR AMERICAN POLITICS? IN THE YEAR 2024 WITH DONALD TRUMP ON THE TICKET FOR THE FUCKING THIRD TIME?

UNPOSSIBLE.