#sorry about alluding to being 'put down' it will happen again

[samfordpines]

YES YES and arthur is just so angry, like how dare john, how dare he keep his newfound humanity while his is stripped away from him, why does he lose his grip on his while john's gets to remain intact. Hes supposed to be the more human of the two by default, and look at him. Hes killed and eaten another living human, hes vowed to kill again and its scaring john. He is scaring the LITERAL monster that lives in his head and he despises himself for it.

Yellow was right. He is no better than larson. Perhaps he is something far worse.

And when hes turned another breathing thing into a corpse he shatters, choking on his own breath, tears rolling down his cheeks, wailing about how she was innocent, she didnt know, she trusted you, you failed her, and it finally clicks for john that this isnt about larson anymore. It hits him so hard when john reassures him that he is far from that kind of evil. That he isnt some monster that needs to be put down before he hurts somebody else. He just needs that compassion he extended to so many others returned back to him.

[crystalkitty1220]

Man I wonder where the leader of the fear realm could've gone, it's alMOST LIKE NEVIN HAS AN

[cornerstoreclown]

Workshop Fun

Summary: This is a short one-shot (7021 words) where the Reader (female) has an established relationship with Art the Clown, and has been kiiiind of collaborating with him passively. Reader is wearing a dress for the sole purpose of easy access. Reader has a vulva and breasts. 

Contents: Biting, light spanking, ...phone... sex? Having an unknowing participant on the other line is the only way I can word it, light spanking, lots of making out, clothed sex, BDSM, Art being cruel, p in v penetration, finger sucking and light body worship

Author’s notes: Sorry what took me so long to do this, I’ve been sitting on this for years! Male version will be out in a few days. This is LIGHTLY proofread, so keep your expectations at a level where you won’t be surprised if there’s any mistakes. Also once again I am an Art the Clown front zipper truther for my clothed sex kink.

——————————————————      

You loved him.

Did he kill people? Yes. Did he sometimes allude to killing you as well? Absolutely. Has he acted on it yet? Not fully, but you could tell that sometimes he had that compulsion to go through with it, when he’d get that twinkle in his eye.

 Especially when you were up close and personal with him, your bodies merely inches apart, sometimes with him even holding a weapon in hand. He’s a wild animal. A force of evil locked away in the confines of a corporeal body made of flesh and bone.

And yet, all the same, you loved him. The way that his hands would travel across your flesh and explore the parts of you that you never let anyone else. Sometimes he’d leave bruises, other times scratches. Then there were the bite marks. Each intimate encounter would leave you in a different state of mess. He was the lover who was like a cat. One day he’d be here, gone the next. You couldn’t put a thumb on the patterns.

The waits were long, but you’re loyal, and you’re patient. You didn’t really have much of a choice in the matter. You’d wait until the ends of the earth for him. Sometimes during the months that he wasn’t here, you’d dream of him. All of these little fantasies you’d have in your head would sometimes come to visit you behind your closed lids, where reality had no limitations. It would make the ache feel less. Every time that he’d come back, you made sure to find him as quickly as possible the second you heard whisperings pertaining to sightings of him, or any kind of crime scene that felt like it had his signature on it. Sometimes he’d find you first.

Art wasn’t someone who was very materialistic. And money meant next to nothing to Art—the personification of evil had very little need for the vast kinds of desires that plagued man.

But he wasn’t necessarily immune to the pleasures of the flesh, you learned. Despite how for the most part, he remained heavily uninterested in intimacy, he had a few moments here and there, and you capitalized on them when you could. You had a feeling tonight would be one of those nights.

Or, well, you hoped.

Worst case scenario he’d turn you away or ignore any advances, and he has a few times. And that was okay.

You came into his hideout tonight with confidence instilled in you, but yet the excitement still makes your stomach do flips. It’s been too long, and the fire within your chest is reignited. You feel passion, you feel love so strong that it’s enough to keep you up at night, and it has happened plenty of times before. You wonder if he’s got some sort of spell over you, and you’d believe it if that were the case. You’ve never fallen so madly, deeply, for anyone before like you have him. It could be enough to make you physically ill if you thought about how much you loved him. Such a passion came with such a detriment to you.

Past the damaged doors of a since abandoned fairly abandoned warehouse, you have a smooth descent down the stairs, leading you to a type of basement setting. There’s plenty of water dripping. Rats squeaking as they chitter and skitter along. You catch glimpses of them in the dim lighting, but they don’t bother you. As long as you didn’t see a bunch of them with their tails tied together, you wager you’ll be pretty okay.

You dressed up nicely for him tonight.

You weren’t really a dress kind of person, but tonight you made it an exception. It wasn’t fancy or over the top, and by the love of god, it had pockets. You refused to wear heels however, whatever shoes you had that worked and didn’t give you the possibility of breaking your ankle down these flights of stairs was the option you went with. Art might have found it funny if you hurt yourself, but you aren’t too keen on getting yourself dinged up before he gets the chance to do it himself.

The dress was about one thing–accessibility. Easy to lift up, easy for him to slide in right where he belonged.

You loved when he was inside of you, when you’d feel the heat of his heavy breath against the back of your neck. You run your hands over the spot where you last remember feeling the warmth of his breath. You remember being beneath him and feeling as if the very heat that he quietly exhaled felt as if it were smoldering your skin, burning you like the way the flames of hell were supposed to. If being with this clown meant that you’d be burning in the afterlife, you’d gladly bathe yourself in the inferno.

Your stomach flutters.

You shouldn’t be this excited. He’s a murderer. A killer. A man with no morals, and you’re not even sure if he was a man sometimes at all. Yet, his darkness is what drew you in. He was your safe space, and no one would dare come into that space to try and harm you so long as you were in his arms.

When you reach the bottom of the steps, you see it–a single dangling light, and illuminating this dark space is a double door that is plainly rusted. You see a bloody handprint on it. It’s since dried.

You recognize the size of that hand, and feel slightly lighter, just in the moment.

Placing your own hand in the exact space over Art’s bloodied print, you push the door open. The door is a little on the heavy side, but with enough force, the door opens.

“Art?” You call out, making sure that your presence is acknowledged as friendly and not hostile. The room is a little darkly lit, very heavy on the minimum lighting that’s needed to navigate in the space. It most certainly added to the creepy ambiance. Straight ahead, there sat none other than Art. His back was given to you. He was sitting on a stool, hammering away at something on his workbench. He turns his head upon hearing his name, and you see that he gives you a smile, baring his rotted discolored teeth as his eyes are closed. You can see the wrinkles form a little in the corner of his eyes when he smiles.

You liked that. You liked the details etched into his face. It added character among those otherwise gaunt features of his.

“Hey, buddy.” You call out to him, and he gives you a little wave, before gesturing for you to come closer.

You approach him, and once you’re near the bench with him, you can see when you’re close enough that he gives you a once over, assessing you… Judging you, for what it is you’re wearing tonight.

“Like it?” You ask him, twirling from side to side so that your dress splays out a little. It’s simple. Gets the job done. And if it got ruined? No love loss.

Art’s gaze seems fixed on you, first on your dress, then up at you. For a man who doesn’t speak, his eyes seem to say all that needs to be said, as he reaches for the end of your dress and starts to lift it, until you gently smack the top of his hand. Art draws his hand back to his side immediately, glancing up at you, looking a little like a kid that was chided.

Naughty of him, trying to get a sneak peek beforehand.

“Not yet,” You tell him.

Art looks a little irritated, folding his arms across his chest and pouting. At least he seems interested tonight.

You clear your throat, and Art’s attention is still locked on you. He’s watching you expectantly.

“You’ve settled in quite nicely.” It was just yesterday you surveyed the area on his behalf, and helped him move in properly. Already on his workbench, he has got quite a few improvised weapons he’d been working on. Your eyes go to one weapon in particular, and you point at it.

“What’s that?”

Art turns to look at the weapon you’ve pointed out, and when he lifts it to proudly show it, it’s exactly what it looked like–an improvised flail. Attached to a long metal rod, is a long wire, and when your eyes follow to the end of the wire, you see wrapped around in such an intricate and meticulous way are a variety of knives, serving as what would be the ‘spikes’. You’re impressed. He even hands it to you, to which you take it. It’s got a decent weight to it, too. Not too heavy, but not too light.

“Woah.” You say, as Art watches you, quite proud of how dazzled you are. He’s an artist at heart, you knew this. The knives have some rust on them. One of them looks stained from a previous bloody encounter. He’s clearly working with whatever he’s got on him.

“If anyone survives this, they better pray they don’t get tetanus.” You muse, and Art’s face twists in amusement in a silent laugh. You hand the weapon back to him, and he takes it once he’s done getting in a few silent chuckles at your joke, gently placing it back down on the table.

No one escapes Art with their soul still in their body. Literal or figurative. You were either dead, or you were burdened with his encounter your entire life, both physically and mentally.

You weren’t any different. Your bruises and bites and scars have been out of love. One could argue that you got off easy, but you’d argue otherwise.

Being in love with the Miles County Clown is torture in and of itself. There were nonstop dreams that came with it. It seemed as if every other week he’d plague you in your sleep. Not to mention that you had to be extremely clever to not be caught under affiliation with him–which was even more stress. So far, though, so good.

He’s worth it, you tell yourself. Even if he wasn’t anymore, there’s no way you could leave. He’d kill you. And you have zero doubts that your death wouldn't be painless.

After a few seconds of silence, you sigh.

“I wish you didn’t have to leave all the time.” You begin to tell him. Art’s expression is neutral, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. His teeth are bared, as they often are. Your tone isn’t one of whining, but of yearning. You know that this came with the territory, and you readily accepted his lack of presence at any given time.

But it didn’t hurt to dream. Art tilts his head, watching you from where he sits curiously.

“Maybe one day we can find some place that… Is ours. Separate from… This.” You gesture towards the weapons he’s making. Every so often he hides somewhere different to prepare for the trouble he intends to cause. “A place that maybe once you’re done for the day, we both can be in to unwind. And a permanent place for you that isn’t just my apartment. But like. A place for you. For us.”

Taking him to your apartment kept getting riskier and riskier each time. Also, he made it quite clear he didn’t really care for your decor. Giving him his own place to make his own that he could express himself would be ideal, and it wouldn’t be like a place he’d have to abandon every year. He could actually have and keep stuff… If he wanted to even do that.

The more you think about it, the more you’re starting to think it sounds silly. You see the way that he’s looking at you, and he appears very stern. Sharp.

Your confidence begins to drop, and as you’re about to speak again, you stammer, before laughing nervously.

“Yeah. You’re right. Sorry, that was a silly idea–any long term space we made for you would probably get found out eventually, too. I–”

The stool screams as it’s slid across the ground, back towards the bench when he stands up. It sounded like one of his many victims. You go quiet as he’s hovering over you, and you swallow any words that you might have wanted to tell him.

The silence is heavy. His shoulders are rising and falling, and you feel your heartbeat in your ears.

Seconds tick by and they feel more like minutes, and you can’t stand it any longer. You open your mouth to speak, but you’re swiftly cut off.

Art yanks you by the collar of your dress, and forces his lips against yours.

Your eyes are wide briefly in surprise, but they close as soon as you register what’s happening, and you moan in the kiss. Art’s a bit of a sloppy kisser, but you’ve come to love it. His taste was acrid as well, but you craved the bitterness at this point, no longer gagging like you used to. As he leans forward to kiss you harder, you put more of yourself in it as well, mixing his intensity with your passion and desire that’s been left simmering for months.

Now it’s boiling over.

Art places both of his hands on either side of your face, and it’s like he’s trying to suffocate you with his kisses, barely giving you much time to breathe in between them. You’re getting a little lightheaded.

He pulls away from your lips to kiss you a few times on the cheek, then nuzzling his face against yours. Almost like a cat.

It gives you the chance to catch your breath. His hands reach for yours, and you let him, feeling the way that his fingers interlace with your own. You look down at the way that your fingers intertwined with his dirtied and calloused ones. He was a man who worked with his hands–in more ways than one. Those same fingers belonged to the same hands that would worship you, tear and pull at you without ever breaking you completely in half. Sometimes it’d be close, but never fully. They would sometimes draw blood when the nails would sink into your flesh and leave behind crescent marks. Other times, those hands would strangle you, smack you–slap you, and bring a sting across your body that reminded you just how alive you were. Then those same hands would caress you. Cradle you.

He’d cut you on a few occasions, but they were never lethal. And with every cut, his tongue followed.

You feel reverence. Especially as you press a kiss to the tip of his fingers–you kiss each one, tenderly, making eye contact with him as you do so.

Art watches knowingly. He raises his head a little so that when he watches you, he’s looking down at you, all too aware of how you worship him. And he accepts it. But only from you. Just you. No one else.

After kissing each finger, from pinkie to thumb, you stop back at his index, soft lips pressed against the pad of it. His fingers were stained. Caked in whatever gore and dirt and grime he’d touched earlier.

Not that you cared, nor would you let it stop you. You’re a freak. Not well in the head. You’d lick any and all of his love off of the world's sharpest blade if that’s the only way he gave it. If he wanted you to cut your tongue on it, you would.

Bringing his index finger to your mouth, you wrap your lips around it, and watch him. He tastes exactly how you’d expect—foul and wretched. You catch the faintest hint of iron. A taste that you’ve come to associate pleasantly with him. That part feels right.

Art’s gaze is fixed on you. You can’t read his thoughts, and though he doesn’t speak, you recognize what that look means. Even as he observes you, teeth bared subtly, head still held high, which he inclines just slightly as you take another finger in your mouth–his middle one.

You suck his fingers lewdly, and close your eyes. You imagine it’s his cock, even though you know that his fingers can’t compare to the real deal. You push your tongue through his index and middle as you take more of him in your mouth. Art watches your tongue work around him, until he decides to press down on the muscle, effectively stopping you.

You stare at him.

Seconds linger in silence, and he relinquishes pressure off of your tongue, letting you move it freely again.

And you do. You hold his hand and go back to kissing his fingers before fellating them. Index first. Then the middle. And finally the ring finger–all three at once. The taste of iron is stronger. You sigh a gentle moan as you pull your head back and give him back his hand. You kiss at the tips of his fingers again. As you’re about to take his fingers a third time, he leans forward instead, his lips taking yours. You feel the way that he seizes both of your wrists as he floods your senses all over again, and you let him.

You try to say his name in between the kisses, but each time you get a breath between the barrage of affection that seems to practically swallow you whole, Art steals your voice with another passionate kiss. Again, his taste is bitter, his teeth are damn near rotten, but you’ve gotten so accustomed to the flavor that it doesn’t make you gag. It makes you feel only slightly sickly. But the arousal overrides any lingering discomfort.

It’s disorienting. It’s all so much at once. You feel your body temperature rise. Art gives you back one of your wrists, but in doing so, he places his hand at the small of your back and pulls you in against him, until there’s no space left between you.

That’s when you feel it. You feel the heat of his erection pressed against your thighs. You’ve excited him enough, it being quite clear the effect your mouth had on him.

You smile, but his lips are back at yours again, and the taste of bitterness hits at the back of your tongue—the most sensitive taste receptors lighting up and ripping any smugness you had straight out of you as you close your eyes and sigh softly. His tongue mingles with yours.

He begins to move, forcibly taking you with him as you change where you’re standing, so that he’s no longer the one whose back is facing the workbench–it’s you. You feel the edge of the table bump against your ass. With your positions effectively switched, you don’t mind at all, far too enraptured by the kisses of your clown lover.

This was pure bliss.

He pulls away from your lips, now kissing the corners of your mouth, then going to your jawline, until he’s at your neck, sucking and licking and nibbling, giving you goosebumps. You feel your nipples go hard. You close your eyes and moan softly.

This is the few times of the year that you get this. It was the time that you’d be peppered in kisses, ravaged, and torn asunder in such a way that it would take you almost the remaining however many days, months, or years until you’d see him again to put yourself back together.

“Art…” You laugh a little when his lips tickle a part of your neck. He silences you again with his lips to yours. You feel the way that he nips at your tongue this time and draws a little blood. The endorphins from the pain gives you a pleasant buzz. He bites your bottom lower lip next, taking note of how he’s beginning to use his teeth more and more during this exchange, and you think about how he’s eaten the faces of his victims before.

You could be next.

He pulls away and kisses at the corners of your lips a second time. He’s obsessed with using his mouth. Your eyes finally open, and you gently move your head back a bit, until Art finally stops, the both of you staring into each other's eyes. His teeth are bared all the same as they were before, but there’s a sultry gaze you’re familiar with. Up this close, you can see the more subtle details of him.

Like his lashes, which otherwise, from a distance is obscured by the paint over his face.

How could someone–or… Something, be so monstrous… Yet so… pretty? You could get lost in his gaze. You could drown in it. And he knows that. And he likes that power over you.

Your lips turn upwards into a soft smile, and you feel a desire pool at your groin. It’s an undeniable throbbing in tune with your heartbeat. Nevermind that you can feel his own arousal against you. He’s warmer than you–he feels like he’s practically burning up, compared to you, and the body heat radiating from him only serves to make you hotter in turn. Right to the point where you’re developing a thin sheen of sweat across your brow.

“I love you.”

He watches you, and through his body language and eyes, you understand him through his reaction. You see a slow, smug smile appear on his face.

Very much an, I know. No sign of reciprocation. That would be too heavy of an ask from someone like him. But him being receptive to your love was a testament to how much he liked you.

Not that you expected anything less from a cold killer such as the Miles County Clown. The fact that he hasn’t yet killed you throughout all these years speaks in a kind of love on its own, you’d think.

Maybe not the one that people would refer to as being actually in love, but for him, for Art, it was. Love was tolerance. Love was allowing you to live.

You feel a hand slip up your dress again, and this time, you don’t stop him. You part your legs for him this time, willingly letting him indulge in what you denied him earlier. Through your panties you feel his thick fingers, his index and middle pressing against your clit, sliding down between your cunt and back up again. He threatens to penetrate you with the tips of his fingers through your panties with a gentle prod, but doesn’t follow through on it.

You ache, feeling more empty than ever.

He’s doing this on purpose. All because you told him to wait earlier.

“Art,” You say his name with a weak laugh, and he stops to look at you, knowingly, at that, well aware of what it is he’s doing. His little way of being petty with you, and he continues once more, trailing his fingers up and down between your thighs, waiting for you to continue.

“It’s been months,” You plead for him. His face is still inches from yours, and you lean more of yourself against him, as your voice gets low. He observes you through half lidded eyes, analyzing you, assessing you and sizing you up. He’s no longer smiling, and his lips are downturned ever so slightly. The expression looks more neutral now.

“I wanna have some fun.” You purse your lips. “Put your weapon crafting down for a bit?”

Your tone is pleading. It’s a mix of a command and a request–you’re voicing your thoughts. You try to get a reading on his response through his eyes, but he’s put up a wall that you can’t breach. He’s unreadable. It’s been months upon months since you’ve both done anything together.

“…Please?”

Art’s gaze is still indecipherable. It makes you a little nervous. The hairs on the back of your neck begin to stand up. Did he change his mind suddenly?

Had it been anyone else, you know they’d be dead instantly. There was no wondering about that. Not a speculation or doubt in your mind. You hated when he did this, when he was fucking with you like this, leaving you in silence. It’s in times like these that you’re reminded that you’re with a wild animal, and he could snap at any second if he decided he was hungry. It was part of the risk you took and the bargain you struck.

Maybe he’d just stab you here and now. Slit your throat and call it a fucking day because he decided that, nope, don’t wanna keep doing this anymore! He could. Again, he’s pushed you away before. Other days he’s yanked you in against him. His mood was unpredictable, hard to guess, and as volatile as a storm across an ocean.

Without another word, you’re turned around, and the flat of Art’s palm travels down your spine as he presses the front of your body forward and down onto the workbench. He gives you time to adjust, so that you’re at least able to rest your forearms on the table top. As of right now, your tits are squished against the surface of the table. It’s a little uncomfortable.

This is surprisingly tender, all things considered. You remember one time when he’d been fucking you on his workbench, how he tied your hands together with some zipties and then choked you out by wrapping some rusty metal chains around your neck. And that was only after he’d finished whipping your breasts, thighs and ass until you were a bloody bruised mess barely hanging on. You still have some scars from those times. He loved to twirl you over the line of death like it was all one dance, pulling you back at the last second.

You go from feeling his palm to the fingertips travel down your back. If it weren’t for the fabric of your dress in the way, you know those blood and dirt stained fingertips would have tickled you by now. And he’s done that in the past while fucking you–tickling you mercilessly. He even makes a point to wiggles his fingers a little against your back on the way down playfully. You can’t help but laugh a little as you exhale, letting some of the excitement stirring within you leave your body through your lungs. Your breaths are getting deeper, and in times like this, when he thrills you in such a way, you’re reminded just how much he makes you feel…

Alive.

Because when you’re with him, death is always hot on your heels. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Don’t be gentle,” You tell him. He knows. You know he knows.

You hear the metallic zipper from the front of his suit go down as the teeth on the track separate and reveal the body of a man beneath that clown visage. You steal a glance over your shoulder to admire his pale skin that covered over such a thin frame. Amazing how a build such as his carries such supernatural strength.

Unceremoniously, he gets right to work, giving your ass a firm slap after lifting the back of your dress, letting it crumple up over your hips. You yelp gently as you know that there’s likely already a red spot on your rump. Art rubs the spot on your ass he’d slapped, then gives it a gentle squeeze.

You make the decision to look over your shoulder, right on time to experience watching when the killer clown makes the decision that you no longer are in need of your panties. His dirtied fingers slip within the space between the elastic waistband of your undergarment and your skin. He lets it snap against your flesh once–that’s about the extent of use it gets before he grabs whatever meager fistful he can of that excuse of ‘modesty’ you brought to him and rips it clean off your form.

“Ow!”

You told him to be rough. And he’s planning on taking that quite literally, as he’s taking it for not just the sex, but all of what precedes it apparently. He’s quietly laughing to himself, teeth showing, eyes crinkled.

“Glad you got some entertainment out of it.”

A few more noiseless giggles then he sobers up. Back to the task at hand—fucking your brains out.

He aligns himself right up against your warm dripping cunt, hands gripping your hips so tightly that his filthy fingertips leave stains on your dress. His nails are so sharp you swear that if he tried to sink them in any further, he’d pierce the cloth and right into your flesh. You inhale sharply again, bracing for the moment he sinks in. You feel the tip of his cock press against you and begin to push in, the head barely getting the chance even to get inside you before it slips and glides between the crack of your ass as he misses. Your excitement stutters for a second, but then ramps back up higher than before, impatience and desire washing over you wholly like a wave.

You’ve been grabbing at the edge of the workbench, hands holding tight and then releasing them of their grip every so often to relax your muscles. You don’t say anything.

He’s annoyed at missing you the first push in.

With a look of disgruntlement he instead opts for one hand reaching to push your head down against the table with such a cruel force that makes you worry for a split second that he was trying to crush your skull. It was his way of trying to steady you as he then uses his other hand to line the head of his cock right against your cunt for the second time.

You shiver as you feel him, hands turning to fists that you clench tightly as inch by agonizing inch, he spreads you and fills you out easily. Your body did the heavy work, and has been prepping for him for the last ten minutes. It’s slick, and he can feel the wetness of your cunt hit against his balls when he bottoms out within you. That’s when you sigh in relief.

He almost pulls all the way out, then rams into you roughly, making you exhale sharply as the table shakes upon impact. The few tools laid out shuddered until they stilled. Give or take a few more times of this, and he finally releases his hand on your head, but you still opt to keep your head down.

The rhythm he has is a little awkward at first, but he is quick to course correct, both hands firmly planted on your hips, keeping you steady. You can’t see his face right now, but you’ve seen it plenty of times when you’ve fucked before. How his mouth would go into that ‘o’ shape, and the way his eyes would go half mast, holding nothing but a glimpse of paradise behind him as you could see that he was as close to heaven as his wicked self could get. You were beautiful to him, as far as sacks of flesh and blood went. And you could tell the times that he looked at you in such a predatory manner that there was restraint behind it.

You feel the pressure build up within you at a steady rate as he leans over you, chest pressed against your back, sucking on your neck, marking you. Then he nips. Then kisses, then sucks so goddamn hard on the same spot that you swear that he’s trying to suction your flesh right off your body.

It doesn’t take long for you to be so close. He’s so warm. The sound of his body slapping against yours, mixed with the creak of the workbench that’s forced to undergo the assault of you being rammed into it, a few quiet moans slip past your lips to join along.

You’re unbearably close, feeling yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, just a little more and—

Your phone goes off.

You forgot to silence it.

You feel it vibrating in the pocket of your dress. The ringtone scares the shit out of you and Art, who abruptly jumps a little while still on top of you.

“Of course.” You say sarcastically. “Of course! Who the fuck is calling me?!” You’re irritated now, mood under threat of being ruined. The excitement you felt shrivels up.

Reaching inside your hiked up dress pocket, you pull out your phone and check to see who had the audacity to try and get a hold of you in your time of undoing.

Your friend. Sort of. He was like a close acquaintance? If you could call him that. You met him when you were out and about one night. He’s an okay dude, hasn’t done anything wrong.

If only he didn’t harbor a romantic interest in you when you were already spoken for. But how could you begin to tell someone that you’re involved with a psychopathic killer clown? Specifically the Miles County Clown?

You’re ready to send him right to voicemail, until the phone is seized right out of your hand from over your shoulder.

“Hey!”

Your protest is in vain, as Art too, looks at who is calling you right now. You had HOPED he’d take a look at it, have his curiosity sated, maybe turn the phone off or better yet, you’d even forgive him if he tossed it over his shoulder, just this once!

But the look he’s giving you, then the phone, makes your heart sink as you realize.

“Art, don’t do it—“

His expression turns wicked, mouth upturned into the most shiteating grin you’ve ever seen.

“Art, I swear to god—“

But god’s not here, nowhere to be found in this workshop. God’s forsaken you. Doing the devils tango with a demon can do that.

Giggling silently to himself, in an act of deliberate defiance against you as well as likely for his very own amusement, he accepts the phone call for you and places it right to your ear.

What a gentleman. Truly.

You’re going to fucking kill him. You try to take the phone away from him, but he merely pulls it back out of your reach.

“Hello?”

You can hear the voice on the other end of the line. Art brings it down to your ear again and you try to make a reach for it a second time, only for him to do the exact same thing as before, silently cackling all the while. It’s become apparent that he’s not going to let you have it.

“Hellooooo?”

With a resigned sigh, you don’t fight him any further. Art puts the phone to your ear for the third time.

“Hey.” You answer wearily.

“Hey!” His voice on the other end of the line is suddenly lighter, filled with levity. You can hear the way that his breath is hitched in the back of his throat. Static tinges at the edges of his words.  Must be a shoddy connection down here.

“How are you?”

“I’m–” You start to answer, but are interrupted by Art going back to rocking his hips into you while still over you. Once again, you look over your shoulder to give him the stink eye.

“I’m good, just uh, you know. Hanging out.” You respond, exhaling deeply as Art stirs the fire within you again after it had just begun to cool down.

“Nice, me too.” He says, and lets the silence between you both sink in for a few seconds. “You doing anything tomorrow?”

This would all be so much easier if you weren’t getting dicked down.

“I… I’m uh–”

He’s pounding into you from behind now, still leaning over you, holding the phone for you in one hand and keeping the other on the workbench for stability. Each fluid roll of his hips is equally tantalizing as the previous, his body connecting with yours in such a familiar way you craved. The table shakes, and you’re gripping the edges of it for dear life. You can hear his heavy breath from behind you, excitement building in each time he fills and empties his lungs.

“Art–” You say his name through grit teeth like a warning, with annoyance in your tone, but the excitement you feel, the rush and the thrill of it all has you coming close to release. Why does this feel so good? This man, this sweet man, who has done nothing wrong to you, interested in you, blissfully unaware that your heart belongs to someone else, being fooled like this. It’s wrong. This is wrong. Art knew about this man. He knew about him for some time. Art made it clear that he hated him. The only reason he’s still breathing is because you asked Art not to put this man’s head on a pike, but you fear it’s only a matter of time until your clown lover eviscerates this trespasser for encroaching on what he perceives as his territory–you.

“Art?" He repeats.

This is all an act of revenge done on the Art’s part. His pettiness knew no bounds.

“Yeah, art. You know–Mhn–” Your nails dig into the edge of the workbench as if that’ll somehow make a difference in the fact that he’s pounding into your cunt with such an aggressive force that begins to make you ache.

“You know, p-painting? Drawing. That sort of thing.”

You can only pray the ungodly sinful noises of his skin slapping against yours can’t be heard over the line.

“Ohhh… Well, hey, you wanna hangout sometime soon? It’s been a bit. Wanted to catch up with you if that’s fine.”

You’re not paying attention to a damn thing this dude is saying. It’s just words, in one ear, straight out the other.

“Uhuh.” You say without thinking. You’re close. You’re unbearably close as Art angles himself in such a way that hits just right. He knows how you work all too well. He knows how to unwind you and how to pull you apart piece by piece like it’s second nature to him.

Art’s pushing you towards the cliff, and there’s no stopping it. Your vision starts to blur a little. Your breathing deepens, and Art knows what’s about to come next, which only seems to spur him on as well, exciting him to the point where now he’s going fast not just for you, but for himself, chasing his own orgasm hot on its heels.

“How’s about next Thursday, at 7pm? There’s a new restaurant across the street from where we both met—“

The phone becomes nothing short of white noise. This shouldn’t feel so right, it shouldn’t. But it does. Gods above, it does.

You feel yourself lose sense of the world around you. There’s nothing but ringing in your ears, and you realize how little time you have to prepare before it’s too late.

Your orgasm crashes into you and is ripped out of you all within seconds. You try to keep quiet, your voice strangled and choked out in the process. Your release is violent as it tears you between what feels like the state of life and death. Your cunt tightens around his cock, squeezing him in contractions that trigger him in turn. Art hisses like a serpent, feeling his muscles lock up and knowing that he only has a few seconds to bury himself to the hilt within you, and he does. His face twists into an ugly and horrid expression as he comes inside you, dropping the phone on the workbench in the process while filling you with all the pent up energy he had been keeping away from you for months.

All of what he’d been denying you was now yours.

“Hello?”

You’re finally coming back into your own body a few meager seconds later when you register the voice, and hurriedly grab the phone before Art gets the chance.

“Can I call you back?” You ask, holding the phone to your mouth, but you weren’t really asking. Your friend had no real say in it, and before he even gets the chance to respond, you hang up. And then you lower your head and sigh. All the while, Art has since recovered, but his legs are shaky. You shove him off of you, and he stumbles back with an uneven balance, post orgasm weakened. Goofily he fumbles past the stool from earlier, which he tries to grab but fails in doing so. Instead, he lands right on his ass.

You’re sure to follow that up by throwing your phone at his head, which it does, but it lands with a clack right beside him. The only reason you felt remotely confident in doing that is because you’re both that close. Well, that and irritation made you a bold motherfucker sometimes. Yet despite all of that, he sits there, a wickedly amused smile on his face.

You pull your dress back down. Your legs tingle and you swear you feel some of his come dripping down your thigh, but you’re not sure.

“Proud of yourself, huh?” You ask, leaning against the bench for balance until you get your footing.

Yes. Yes he was proud of himself!

The rest of the night was spent at Art’s temporary hideaway space, lamenting the loss of your panties and calling back your guy friend who had unknowingly been part of something much more than he knew. And you’d never tell him. Not that you would ever have the chance to tell him really anything at all anymore in the future.

You had no idea at the time that Art would meet your friend the day you were both set to reconvene. But you should have known better, and a part of you already did. The reason you know he was dead was because he ended up on the local news the next day missing.

That, and Art had saved the man’s heart specifically for you when you came to visit him again.

[oneforthemunny]

what we do in the shadows |familiar!eddie munson x vampire!reader|

prompt: eddie is your familiar, but sometimes, he can be more than just your supernatural servant.

based off the fx show, what we do in the shadows. a little au version with eddie and the gang from hawkins :)

contains: au. familiar!eddie, vampire!reader. mentions of murder. vampire things. blood. types of vampires (energy vampire lol). mean! bitchy! reader. alludes to smut?? sorta smut but not really but slight dom!reader x sub!eddie. language. minors dni.

“Eddie!” 

The muffled screech jolted Eddie from his mundane dusting, the feathered duster falling with a heavy thud onto the dark carpet, dust flying in a cloud at his feet. “Son of a bitch,” Eddie huffed, chains of his belt rattling when he bent, snatching the duster off the rug. 

“Eddie! Can you not hear me?” The piercing scream echoed through the hallway, echoing off the dark, wallpapered walls. Eddie knew he needed to hurry, that the banging on the coffin’s lid would come next, your fury following for the rest of the day. 

“I’m coming, Mistress!” Eddie’s teeth gritted, sliding down the dim, candlelit halls. How this place had managed to not burn down yet, Eddie wasn’t sure. The three of you were careless enough with the candles, always leaving them burning without a care. He supposed it was his job. 

“Eddie! Where the fuck is he?” Your muffled tone came from the coffin, black and dramatic in the middle of the room. 

“I’m here, I’m here.” Eddie huffed, pushing his bangs back out of his eyes. He needed a haircut, desperately, but with his new career, he supposed that wouldn’t happen anytime soon. 

“Finally,” You growled. Eddie was met with your glowing amber eyes narrowing in predatory rage when he lifted the coffin’s heavy lid. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting?” You snapped. 

“I’m sorry.” Eddie nodded, swallowing back a snapping comment. “I was dusting down the hall, and I lost track of-” 

“-Nevermind.” You snapped, rising quickly into a standing position. “Help me down. I have much to do today.” 

“Yes, Mistress.” Eddie stood to the side, offering his hand for you to take as you climbed down. He always wondered why you insisted on being helped out, as if you couldn’t fly out, snap your fingers and be wherever you wanted to be. It was symbolic, he decided, a way to ensure that he knew his place. 

Your hand slid into his. His skin tickled when you brushed your long, claw-like nails that were freshly painted every Tuesday. He’d gotten very good at it, Eddie thought. A hiss fell through the room, your hand pulled back with a sizzling burn, teeth bared towards him in threat. 

“What- Eddie! What have I told you about those rings?” You pointed accusingly at his rings- silver. It was a habit, to slip them on in the morning, one he hadn’t broken yet. “Are you trying to hurt me?” 

“No, no.” Eddie shook his head frantically, tugging the rings off, shoving them in his pocket. “I’m sorry. I-I forgot-” 

“-I’m sure you did.” You rolled your eyes, lips pursed in displeasure. “Don’t let it happen again. I burn myself again on those cursed things, and you’ll not have a hand to put them on anymore. Understand?” You clipped, nose in the air as you climbed down, nails digging into his skin just enough to solidify the threat. 

“Yes, Mistress.” Eddie swallowed, following the commanding sway of your hips. “I won’t let it happen again.” 

“Good.” You chirped. There it was. The whirlwind that was your emotions. Mood swings, Eddie never understood why they called them that until he met you. How you would go from raging to sweet in the bat of an eye. Maybe it came with being a vampire. 

“Get my dress.” You waved your hand, the heavy mahogany closet door flinging open with ease. 

“Which one were you wanting today?” Eddie swallowed his agitated sigh. 

It had been a rough couple of days, the three- fuck, four, of his new found ‘roommates’ had been on a bender of sorts. A bender that would put the rockstars he idolized in high school to shame, much more metal than them. It was fun, Eddie would admit, but it was tiresome. Especially when he was still very much human, and so very exhausted. 

“The black one.” You hummed, looking into a mirror you couldn’t see yourself in. Habit, of course, even after all these years. 

“They’re all black, Mistress.” Eddie gritted, eyes pinching closed. 

“The one with the long sleeves.” You waved him off. “You know the one I like.” 

And he did. Eddie knew most everything about you at this point. Which dress you liked, your preference of food source, how many candles you liked lit at a time. 

Eddie pushed through the racks, stopping when he saw the velvet garment. It was what you were wearing when he first met you. At the Hideout, where he was still bussing tables, hoping to finally get a weekend gig. You strolled in, magnetic from the moment his eyes laid eyes on you. So… intriguing in your tight velvet dress, fastened with a corset that held you up and in beautifully. Initially, he’d went to try and ask you out, and you’d humored his attempts because you were hungry. Then, after a few hours of conversation, you both decided he’d be a better Familiar than a meal.

“Eddie,” You hissed, breath whistling through your fangs. The sound never failed to make Eddie’s spine tingle, hair raising on the back of his neck in fear. “Have you hit your head? Is that it?” 

“No,” Eddie grumbled, pushing the wooden hangers. 

“Then what is it? Hm? Why are you dragging your feet today?” You snapped, hands curling around your hips. 

“My apologies, Mistress.” Eddie huffed. “I’m just- nevermind. Here. I found it.” Eddie pulled the lacy material, hanging sleeves and bouts of black fabric out of the closet, hanging it on the door for you. 

“No, finish what you were going to say.” Your eyes narrowed into his, commanding, but lacking the usual tone of challenge and threat. “You’re what?” 

“It’s nothing. I’m fine. Do you need help zipping up this one-” 

“-No, answer me, Eddie.” You lifted a finger towards him. “Do not make me use compulsion. I know how groggy and moody you get after it, and I have many plans for today. I’d rather not, but if you’re not going to comply, then I will be forced to-” 

“-You don’t have to- Fuck, I’m just tired.” Eddie’s shoulders slumped in defeat, running a hand over his face. “I didn’t sleep much last night.” 

“Why?” Your head tilted, lips pursed in curiosity, reaching for the dress before sliding behind the dressing curtain. 

“Because,” Eddie tried to focus on the carpet, on the candle wax that dripped off the table, anywhere but the curtain you were behind though he ached for even a silhouetted sliver of your frame. “I just couldn’t sleep.” 

“Maybe you should get a coffee?” You peaked over the bamboo wood, a brow lifting in… playfulness? 

“I think Robin has the lock box in her room. Ask her for it and go get yourself one.” As if draining a victim of their blood wasn’t enough, Eddie’s career consisted of stealing from them too. It always left him feeling a little uneasy, guilty, robbing the deceased. 

“I’m alright. I just need a second to wake up.” Eddie muttered, heel of his palm pressing to his eyes, rubbing so hard he saw stars. 

“Fine, but I better not hear one yawn during the house meeting.” You glared, stepping out from behind the dressing curtain. “You know how that irks me. Zip me.” 

Eddie stood, one hand holding the top together, pulling the zipper slowly up your spine, finger brushing over your spine. Your skin was cold, like ice, a chilling reminder of what you truly were. 

“Last chance.” You turned, swiping your shoes from the floor, discarded from the night before. “Before I go and wake the others.” 

“I’m fine.” Eddie nodded softly, lips curling with the hinting of a smile. “Thank you.” 

Your lips pursed, shifting at the sudden gratitude. He knew you were about to say something mean, put him down to establish your own dominance, you were predictable that way. “Don’t thank me,” You scoffed. “It’s not for you. I don’t want to hear your yawning.” You scoffed, eyes rolling hard towards him, before you were stomping down the creaking wooden planks of the hall. 

The Creel Mansion was still standing strong, despite its abandoned looking exterior. It had been your refuge for years, decades even, since Victor had first brought you there. It was his house before, but now all that remained of him was a portrait at the end of the hall, half covered by a black veil you refused to let Eddie move. 

“Robin!” Your shrill tone made Eddie wince, ears ringing at the pitch. “Nancy!” 

“What?” Robin groaned, her voice muffled with sleep from the door of her coffin, which you pulled open, uncaring of disrupting her slumber. “What- Why?” 

“House meeting. Hurry, before he gets home.” You muttered, turning over your shoulder towards Eddie. “Eddie, go check downstairs. Make sure he didn’t slip in early.” 

Eddie nodded, grabbing a small handheld lantern- a gift from you. He kept burning himself with the candle opera you’d gifted him, and when he wasn’t searing his skin off with the flame, he was turning to quickly and extinguishing all the flames. You told him it was because he’d wake you up with his fumbling in the dark. When you’d included the batteries with the small lantern, Eddie was convinced it was because you were growing a soft spot for him. 

A creaking of a door had Eddie jumping, looking through the flickering flames with his bright plastic lantern. “Uh, hey,” Eddie stepped closer. “Anyone there?” 

The silence was an eerie answer, Eddie swinging the lantern around. It was times like this, he really wished that the electricity still worked, that he could flick a light on, and see what was lurking in the shadows. The dining room appeared empty, a few spider webs and lots of dust, but lack of any danger Eddie could see. 

“Looking for something?” 

“Jesus Christ! What the fuck-” Eddie jumped, nearly dropping his lantern, tripping over his own feet to scatter away from the figure in front of him. 

“Did I scare ya?” Jonathan’s lips curled in a half smile, standing rigidly in the doorway. “You know, they say if you get scared easily, you’re not living right. That’s a saying that’s been repeated and found all throughout history. In Christianity, oddly enough, is where they-” 

“-Alright, Jonathan. I got it.” Eddie lifted a hand, his heart still hammering. He could feel his lids beginning to droop, eyes starting to gloss over the way they always did when Jonathan ‘fed’. A shitty excuse for a vampire, Eddie thought, What the fuck even is a psychic vampire? 

“Oh,” Your face fell, contorting into a grimace when you came down the steps. “Jonathan, you are home early today.” 

“Yes, I decided to come home early today.” Jonathan droned in a painful monotone that had your shoulders tensing. “I didn’t want to miss the house meeting.” 

“Wonderful.” You grimaced, looking at Eddie with an annoyed sneer. He fought back a snicker, turning to the bat down a cobweb that he missed. You could be funny at times, when you wanted. 

“I know you three tried to hide it from me, but you always talk too loud. You forget the walls are thin. Which reminds me, did you know that back in the early nineteen-hundreds when this house was first built, that architects of that time used-” 

“-Yes, Jonathan. Please, shut the fuck up.” Robin groaned, falling into the leather armchair. 

“Jonathan, I really can’t humor you today.” Nancy glared at him lightly. “You know the rules, if you’re going to be in a house meeting with us, you can’t feed off of us.” 

“I know.” Jonathan lifted his hands. “Sorry, I can’t help myself.” He turned to Eddie with a grin. “Guess it’s just you I’ll be feeding from.” 

“Not from my Familiar either, Jonathan.” You snapped, teeth baring in territorial threat. “Eddie is off limits.” Eddie’s chest swelled with pride, chin tipping towards the floor, hoping it would hide his blush. 

“Why are we even having a house meeting?” Robin rolled her eyes, the bags under her eyes especially prominent from lack of slumber. 

“Because,” You hissed, shoulders tight with annoyance. “You three need to get your own familiar.” 

Robin scoffed, Nancy rolling her eyes in agreement. “What?” 

“You three always call for Eddie to do everything, and it distracts him from me.” You jabbed a sharp nail into your chest. “I need him to be attentive to my needs, not yours. Go get your own familiar.” 

“Oh, please-” 

“-We only ask him to do a few things that should already be done-” 

“-I have to agree with Rob and Nance on this one.” Jonathan lifted a finger. 

“Do not call me that.” Nancy hissed, her teeth baring in the dull light of the room. 

“Nan?” Jonathan turned, eyes lighting up though his expression stayed neutral, the way it always did when he was feeding. 

“Ok,” You lifted your hands, stopping the attack Nancy was about to launch. “Find your own familiar. Eddie is my familiar, and is to attend to me exclusively.” 

“I’m sure he does.” Robin muttered, Nancy’s snicker making your ears burn- well, it would, if they still could. Eddie’s cheeks did burn a bright red, shifting at the innuendo. 

Your eyes narrowed, a threatening glare that neither of your roommates seemed phased by, only furthering your irritation. A sharp snap of your fingers, heavy soled steps clicking down the hall, and Eddie was following you.  

“Idiots,” You hissed, flinging the door open. “All of them. I should’ve told them no, that they’d have to find their own nest, but oh no. I had to feel fucking generous and kind that day.” 

Eddie stood in your doorway, hands rubbing down the material of his jeans, unsure of what to say, what to do. His eyes on you, waiting for your next command, for you to tell him what you were wanting, what you were thinking. 

“Are you just going to stand there?” You huffed, a lashing tone that had Eddie jumping. 

“No, wha-what do you need me to do?” Eddie stammered, uneasy with the glare you were giving him, so menacing. He knew better, or at least he thought he did, that you wouldn’t hurt him. You’d chosen him to be your Familiar for a reason… right?

“I don’t know, something?” You scoffed, eyes rolling back over his frame. “Maybe start with changing your clothes. We’re going out tonight and I’m not being seen with you in that.” 

Eddie’s lips pursed, jaw grinding tight. He’d blame the lack of sleep on his agitation. “What do you want me to wear then, Mistress?” Eddie’s tone was bitter, toying on the edge of annoyance. 

“Who are you speaking to-” 

“-You.” Eddie snapped, shocking both of you. There was a pause, realization washing over the two of you. “I just- I like what I have on, ok?” Eddie’s tone was softer, looking down at his ripped jeans and holey band tee. “It’s what people from this century wear.” 

Your lips rolled, flattening into a furious line. For a moment, Eddie thought you might pounce- fully preparing himself for the hiss, the baring of teeth, to feel his throat being ripped from his neck. Instead, you simply huffed, turning on your foot. 

“Fine.” A quipping, positively moody huff of a reply came. In that moment, you sounded petulant, human. 

“If you insist on wearing mauled clothing, then so be it.” You shrugged, a snarl still pulling on the edge of your lips. 

“Thank you.” Eddie nodded, swallowing down the tremble in his throat. “And, uh, thank you for before, too.” You turned, brow lifted in intrigue. “For- During the meeting.” 

“I didn’t do that for you.” Your reply was quick, teetering on defensive. “I did that for myself. I can’t wait for you because they’re too lazy to go out and compel their own Familiar.” 

“Right.” Eddie’s shoulders slumped in defeat. He gave up, ready to throw the towel in. Clearly, you were set on your mood and there would be no changing it. No swaying it with charming kindness today. 

“I’m going to go.” Eddie stepped towards the door. “I’ll go dust or something. Just let me know when you’re ready to go-” 

“-No.” Your voice echoed through the halls, bouncing off the walls, a sense of urgency that had Eddie freezing. 

You wrung your hands in front of you, anxiously. “No, just- stay in here.” 

Eddie frowned. “You just told me to go do something.” 

“I know,” You huffed. “But, just stay in here with me. Robin and Nancy won’t be ready for hours, and… and if you go down there Jonathan will try to feed and drain you, and-” 

Eddie recognized the ramble in your tone, a sliver of humanity breaking through the cracks of your cold, monstrous exterior. It was rare, you to turn soft like this- needy, but Eddie knew why you did it. He knew what you wanted. 

“Fine.” Eddie nodded, stepping into your bedroom, shutting the door carefully so the candles didn’t blow out. 

A lingering pause fell between the two of you, thick with an uncomfortable but familiar tension. Routine but an oddity all the same. 

“What do you want me to do in here, hm?” Eddie’s voice dropped, slow steps across the hardwood towards you. “Just sit here and stare at you.” 

“No,” Your chest tightened. It had been years since your heart had beat, but you swore Eddie could make it skip. “Surely, there’s something better that we could do to pass the time.” You declared, voice a little shaky with desperation to regain your control. 

“Yeah? What do you have in mind?” Eddie’s lips curled in a smirk, his face near inches from yours. “I’m at your service, Mistress.” 

Your body tingled with heat, the only warmth you craved, the only warmth you needed. You were shocked, when you first transitioned to your undead state, that this feeling didn’t go away. If anything, it grew stronger. 

“I think you know what I have in mind.” You glared at him, half heartedly. “Don’t make me beg, or I’ll make you beg later.” 

“I would never, Mistress.” Your thighs twitched, Eddie’s hands sliding over the lacy material of your dress, the swell of your hips. “I’m your faithful servant. You just tell me what you want- whatever you need.” 

“Hm,” You breathed slowly, your body closing in with him, chest to chest. Your nails raked over the etched skin of his forearms, dragging a sharp nail up his neck, to his jaw. Eddie shuddered, fingers sinking into your waist 

Your lip grazed over his, mouth parting just barely, your fangs hovering over his bottom lip teasingly. Eddie swallowed back a moan that you didn’t miss. Your eyes met his, darker now- nearly black, the way they always darkened when you got like this. Aroused and needy, entirely hungry for something. 

“You’ve got to be quiet this time.” You gave him a pointed look. “They heard last time. They’re starting to catch on.” 

“Sorry.” Eddie swallowed, nose brushing over yours. He wanted to press his hand to the back of your head, kiss you with an urgency, but he knew better. That wasn’t how you liked it. Oh no, you liked the anticipation, the adrenaline filled excitement that came with teasing. 

“Who cares if they know anyways?” Eddie muttered brainlessly, eyes glossing when they met yours. “What’s so wrong with it?” 

“It’s unnatural.” You whispered. “Complicated.” 

“What’s so complicated about it?” Eddie scoffed lightly, hand sliding up your spine, towards your zipper. “You’re turning me into a vampire anyways, right? Why’s it matter?” 

You hesitated, breath hitching and ghosting over his lip, chilling him. “It’s just- it makes things difficult now.” You stammered, fingers sliding through his hair. “I don’t want to talk about that now.” Your thumbs pressed lightly to his temples, his eyes meeting yours. 

“For now,” You purred, lips curling in a small grin. “I think you should thank me again, but this time,” Your nose brushed over his. “By letting me sit on your face. That seems fair, right? You thank me, I keep you quiet- a win-win.” 

Eddie blushed, lips spreading in a wide grin. “Yes, Mistress.”

[mactavishsgfandwife]

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley Comforts You

i’m on my period atm and it’s that mental state where you just want to curl up forever and you forget to take care of yourself and i wish i had a big sexy military man to look after me :(

simon comforts a sick reader who’s been struggling to care of herself 💞

not proofread - comfort, angst, alluding to bad mental health but simon is so sweet

Coming home from a week away, working, Simon quietly unlocks the door. His heavy duffel bag weighs him down, and his dark mask and military boots make him seem almost terrifying, the humanity in him hidden behind cloth and eye black - but under his mask, his thin lips smile softly, already imagining how you’re going to greet him… how you’ll be waiting by the door, like you always are, like some sweet puppy waiting for her master to come home. Maybe you’ve baked cookies, or lit candles… maybe you’re asleep in bed, the only thing covering you being the duvet cover… all these thoughts run through his head, and he smiles to himself. God, he’s lucky.

The 4am winter cold slows his movements, but eventually the house key clicks into place, and he’s finally home. He places his kit on the floor, locking the door behind him, and switches on the light…

Only to be met with a messy house. No girlfriend, no cookies, no candles, no wet panties… just some papers, strewn about the floor. A pile of coats on the table, ibuprofen on the kitchen counter and dirty cups littered on the floor around the sofa. He almost doesn’t recognise the flat, but those are your coats by the door, and that’s your childhood teddy on the sofa. The one you only get out when you’re really, really sad.

"Oh… oh, baby," he sighs softly. Ashamedly, he’s a little disappointed, a little annoyed. He risks his ass in the field, so you don’t have to work, provides for you… and this is the welcome he gets? A dirty kitchen? Are you a pig?

But he knows you better than that. He knows you’re his good girl, you wouldn’t disrespect him like that, you want nothing more than to make him happy. He can tell by the medicine and the throat lozenges strewn everywhere, and by the fluffy comfort teddy (not so fluffy after all these years) on the sofa, that something is wrong.

He gently opens the door to your shared bedroom, moving softly and taking care not to disturb you as you slept. The room was similarly disorganised - piles of clothes, random things that needed putting back, endless cups of camomile tea on the side. And in the middle, was his girl. In his tshirt, and an unsexy pair of your comfy underwear, lying curled up into a tense ball under at least 2 blankets. A little tear wobbled on your puffy cheeks as you slept, and there was a little blood stain by your thighs.

Without a word, he removes his mask, taking away that element of separation completely so that it’s just you and him. Not Ghost and his bird, but Simon and his little girl. And his girl needed him. Tenderly, he lifted the covers and slipped into bed at your side, wrapping his strong, sore arms around you and holding you to him. He was tired and aching from training, but he would always have the energy to hold you tight. His rough, wide hands traced up and down your back in small steps and his chapped lips met your soft forehead, as he pulled you close into his chest. His body was like a blanket, shielding you from the world, keeping you cosy with your cheek against his heart, that beat behind his muscles that were so soft, and so warm…

"I’m home, love…" he coos softly into your ear, his typically rough manchester accent sounding unusually tender against your temple as he kissed it.

As his warm arms encircle you, your eyes softly start to flutter open, not quite understanding what is happening.

"Simon…"

"That’s right."

"You’re…" you look away, ashamed, as you remember the house that he had to come home to. As you remember what a bad girlfriend you’ve been.

"I’m sorry," is all you can manage to say as the tears start to fall again. Your boyfriend realises as your arms relax that you had been curled up so tightly around a little teddy… a bear, in a military uniform, that he’d bought you for fun when you were out one day and had seen it in a shop window. That bear had become your comfort when Simon was away.

"Oh, baby…" he whispers, "don’t be sorry, darlin’, m’just glad to see you."

"But the flat’s a mess… i’m a mess…"

"I’ve got it, sweetheart, we’ll get you cleaned up. Don’t worry that pretty head. Love ya too much t’let you worry about anything," he whispers softly, noticing the hot water bottle at your side, "you got cramps..?"

His thumb strokes your hair behind your ear as you nod weakly, appreciatively.

"Mhm…" you whisper, "bad’uns."

"S’alright," he smiles, pulling you face down onto his chest, and placing a firm hand on your lower back as the other holds you tight, "I can be your hot water bottle for the night."

thank you for reading lovelies :)

[ereardon]

Before I Knew [Jake Seresin x Reader] Chapter Three

A Jake Seresin unexpected pregnancy fic

Overview: On your first night after moving to San Diego to spend more time with your brother Bob, you unknowingly have a one night stand with his teammate Jake Seresin. For the first time in his whole life, Bob has a closely knit friend group and you’re desperate not to rock the boat. But an unexpected and unplanned pregnancy upends your world, forcing you and Jake closer together, against Bob’s wishes. What will happen when you find yourself actually falling for the father of your unborn child? 

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader; Bob Floyd x Sister!Reader 

Warnings: Pregnancy, cursing, eventual smut, alcohol

Chapter summary: Y/N grapples with her pregnancy; Phoenix alludes to a previous relationship with Jake; Jake is shocked to find out he's going to be a father

Masterlist here; previous chapter here

Your first thought when the test turned positive was what Bobby was going to do to Jake. 

Your second thought was how sorry you felt for Jake to pull him into your disaster of a life. 

Because that’s what you were. A disaster. Bob said it in not so many words and always with a compliment attached because the two of you were Southern and you didn’t outright flaunt people’s flaws to their faces. But it was no longer cute to be out of work and aimless. 

Especially since you were about to be pregnant on top of all of it. 

***

“Can I borrow your truck again tomorrow?” you asked, swirling a piece of spaghetti around your plate. The smell of the tomatoes was making you sick, but you refused to show it. 

Bob nodded. “Sure. What for?” 

“Job interview.” 

“For what?” 

“Librarian.” 

Bob frowned, chewing his garlic bread thoughtfully. Then, “Is that what you want to do?” 

You sighed, putting your elbows on the small dining room table. “I don’t know. I need a job. I like books. How bad can it be?” 

He paused. “I can float you for a while,” Bob said quietly. “You don’t have to take a random job. I’d rather you find something you’re passionate about.” 

“I don’t want to be your burden.” 

“You’re my sister,” Bob said. “And I love you and I want what’s best for you.” 

“I’m a big girl, Bobby,” you whispered, a tear springing to your eye. “I need to figure out how to take care of myself?” 

“Why?” 

You shook your head. “I just do.” 

***

“Floyd!” Bradley clapped Bob on the back as the two of them headed back toward the training room. “You coming out tonight?” 

Bob shrugged. “Not sure. Y/N is acting a bit odd. I don’t know if she’ll want to go out.” 

“Odd?” Phoenix popped out of the corner door, shaking out her hair from her helmet. “How so?” 

“I don’t know. She’s normally pretty bubbly, happy. She’s been sad almost. I think she’s stressed about finding a job.” 

“Didn’t she go to Sewanee?” 

“Yeah. But she got a history degree. And it’s more than that.” Bob poured himself a cup of tea and sat down on one of the nearby couches. “She’s aimless. It’s not that she doesn’t have a job. It’s that she doesn’t know what she wants to do or who she wants to be.” 

“Do any of us?” Phoenix asked. 

Bob frowned. “I’ve wanted to be in the Navy since I was six.” 

Bradley nodded. “Same here, but younger than that. The first time I remember seeing my dad in his flight suit.” 

From across the room, Jake added, “I’ve wanted to be an aviator my whole life.” 

Phoenix rolled her eyes. “You three are so cliché I want to throw up.” Bradley laughed. “She’s twenty three. Don’t you meatheads remember what it was like being twenty three?” 

“She’s different,” Bob said quietly. “She acts tough, but she’s still just a little girl.” 

“Maybe you just see her like that because you’re her brother,” Jake interjected. Bob shot him a dark look. “What? I have sisters, I know how it is.” 

“You have no idea,” Bob replied. 

Phoenix raised her eyebrows. “How about I take her out,” she said. “Girls night or whatever.” 

“That'd be great.” 

She smiled at Bob, before shooting Jake a glare. “It’s a date.” 

***

“So, what made you move to San Diego?” 

You and Phoenix had exhausted the usual questions within the first twenty minutes of your friend date. What your favorite color was and if you liked Taylor Swift and whether or not Bob snored when he slept. You tapped your fingers against the table as the two of you waited for your drinks to come. The waiter shot you an impatient glance over his shoulder as he delivered a dish of calamari to the table three down from yours. “Spend more time with Bob,” you replied. “Change of pace.” 

“What’s Tennessee like?” she asked. “Bob doesn’t talk about it too much. He talks about you, but that’s it.” 

That felt like a loaded question from the way Natasha was looking at you. There were two ways to answer her question. You could talk about the mild weather, the hordes of bachelorette parties in Nashville, Graceland, how good hot chicken was, what it felt like to drive through the mountains. 

Or you could tell her what she actually was curious about. Why Bob was the way he was. The fact that he had practically raised you as his own child, while being a child himself. That your mother was a single mom, an ER nurse by day, and sometimes by night. That more than once, Bob had been the person to go out to the store to buy mac and cheese and stir it for you while you finished your homework at the chipped kitchen table. How the two of you had become a team, united, from a young age. 

“What do you really want to know?” you asked, leaning across the table. 

Her gaze softened as she said, “How you’re doing.” 

How were you doing? You were twenty three and pregnant out of wedlock, a secret that no one yet knew. Usually, Bob was the first person you told your secrets to. But this one was too big to burden him with. 

Instead, the secret was weighing you down. A small, egg-shaped secret buried within your center. “Tell me about Jake,” you said.

Phoenix leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest. “I told you, you don’t want to go there.” 

“Humor me.” 

She sighed. “Jake is Jake. He’s cocky. He’s confident in himself. Too confident. He’s a bit of a jackass.” 

You heard something in her voice. “But?” 

“But underneath it all, there’s a guy who wants people to like him. Who is desperate for it. That’s what you don’t see at first. It’s why he gets dismissed or boxed up as simply an asshole.” 

“Did you love him?” you asked. 

Her gaze found yours. “No. But I probably could have.” 

You nodded. “What’s the story between him and Bobby?” 

“That I don’t know,” she said as your food arrived. “You’ll have to ask your brother.” 

“He won’t tell me. He’s weirdly coy about that kind of thing.” 

“Then maybe it’s best you don’t know.” 

“Maybe.” The smell of the chicken in front of you, which had sounded delicious on the menu when you ordered it twenty minutes before, made your stomach churn. You felt a wave of sickness running through your stomach, up your throat. “Excuse me.” 

You dashed out of your seat, Phoenix’s voice trailing after you as you practically jogged toward the bathroom, bursting through the open stall and emptying your stomach into the basin. The wave of nausea subsided and you leaned back against your heels, wiping at your mouth. Thankfully, the bathroom was empty and you rested your head against your arms, breathing in for a moment, collecting yourself. 

Back in the dining room, Phoenix looked up, eyes wide with concern, her veggie pasta cooling in front of her, uneaten. 

“Are you alright?” she asked. 

You nodded, sitting back down, draping your napkin over your lap, hoping to God that you didn’t smell like vomit. “Yeah, totally. Just really had to pee.” 

Phoenix’s eyes were laser sharp as they scanned your face, searching for the lie. But instead of calling you on it, she turned her gaze to the plate in front of her and started eating. 

Keeping this secret was going to be harder than you thought.

***

“Sure you don’t want to come?”  

You looked up from where you were sitting on the couch wearing a pair of sweats, a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table in front of you. “Yup.” 

Bob stood in the doorway, frowning. He had on a button up shirt and a pair of jeans and boots, hair combed neatly, glasses crooked on his nose as always. You took a mental photo of him in that moment. Once he found out about the baby, nothing would ever be the same. 

“I’m fine,” you assured him. “Go, please. Meet some girl, buy her a drink. Enjoy being a cute Navy guy for once.” 

Bob rolled his eyes. “Text me if you want me to come home early, OK?” 

“Go have fun.” You waited for the sound of the front door shutting softly before melting into the couch in an exhausted heap. You were tired all the time. And nauseous. 

27 Dresses played in the background as you dozed in and out of consciousness on the soft couch. It wasn’t until the scene in the bar when you heard the doorbell ring, waking you from your light slumber. 

“Fuck off!” you groaned, closing your eyes but the ringing picked up and you grunted, pausing the movie and pushing yourself upright toward the door. “What?” you exclaimed, tossing open the door. 

Jake stood in the doorway, eyes wide. “God, you’re crabby.” 

You stepped back. “Oh, it’s you.” 

“It’s me,” he replied. “Can I come in?” 

You frowned. “I guess.” Stepping back, you let Jake in before closing the door. Your hips pressed against the kitchen counter as you crossed your arms over your chest. “Well?” 

“You really don’t like me, do you?” he asked. 

“Like has nothing to do with it.” 

“Then what is it?” Jake demanded. 

“What are you doing here?” “I came to check on you,” he replied and you felt your heart leap in your chest. “Bob was worried. But he also was talking to some girl and hitting it off, so I said I'd save him the trip home.” 

“And he let you?” 

“She was pretty hot.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Well I’m fine. So neither of you has to babysit me.” 

“You know what?” Jake ran one hand through his golden hair before pulling it down over his face, massaging his temples with his eyes closed. “You’re fucking hot, too. But you’re absolutely insane. You sleep with me. You tell me to pretend it never happened. Then you jump me in the Hard Deck bathroom before running away. Now you act like you can’t stand the sight of me. I don’t even know what I’m doing here to be honest.”

Jake turned, putting one hand on the door. Your voice stopped him. “I’m pregnant.” 

He turned, slowly, green eyes wide. Terror filled every inch of his beautiful face. “Is it?” 

“Yes.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“I’m not a slut,” you snapped. “You’re the only person I’ve been with in six months.” 

Jake was as frozen as a statue. You watched the color drain from his face. “I have to go,” he said, grabbing for the door handle, yanking it open. “I’m sorry.” 

And then he was gone, disappearing into the California night. Your breath in your chest felt heavy. And that’s when you realized you were going to do this alone. 

Please follow my library page @ereardonlibrary as that will largely serve as my tag list. Anyone I previous promised to tag is here:

@bobfloydsbabe @blue-aconite @wkndwlff @mamachasesmayhem @mandylove1000 @djs8891 @clancycucumber230 @rosiahills22 @buckysteveloki-me  @kmc1989 @gigisimsonmars @eloquentdreamer @mjisbby @shanimallina87 @seresinslady @seresinhangmanjake @blackwidownat2814 @yanna-banana @bbyvanessaa  @mrsjobarnes @midnightmagpiemama @ingoaliesitrust @rockbottomphilosophies-blog @iangiemae @joaquinwhorres @boiolay @sometimesanalice @spinning-away @mycobrakai1972 @xomrsalliej4787xo

[chimimon]

No One Noticed

College AU - Shigaraki X f!Reader

Disclaimer! What you are about to read contains the following: graphic descriptions of mental illnesses (anxiety/panic attacks), alluded stalking (if you squint really really hard), suggestive material, mentions on a sharps/knifes (it is NOT what you think), biting <- :), & kissing ♡

& what I have to say is… This first ever aired fic was written in front of a live studio audience. All of the kicking, squealing, and giggling was recorded in real time during the creating of this fic. We also sincerely apologize as one member in the audience asked that the studio put the piece into chatgpt and ask it to quote, “make it gayer”. We unfortunately had them escorted off the premises.

October took you dazed and no one noticed.

The party stopped feeling like a party as you wandered within the rib cage of the house. At the heart of it some kid pumping the room full of bass so heavy, that you could feel it sink into your chest. It was too loud to hear yourself think while also being too loud to hold onto whatever was playing. All you could hold onto was that you needed to find a bathroom, fast before the anxiety unwinds itself in front of everything and everyone; but the bathrooms on the bottom floor were locked, the closet was occupied with people and everyone you got near kept asking you to raise your cup. Part of the crowd was too into beer pong, trying to pull you in as you tried to push your way out. You aimlessly fought your mind’s grasp on empty devastation while one of those faces reached out to pat your shoulder in excitement, loosely trying to bring you in. It made you sick.

Upstairs was where all the magic was found. Some arguments were happening at a volume that rivaled the music, but even louder than that was some love making. It was just your luck that bathroom would be locked too. With your fight wearing thin, you began wildly trying every door again. At the very end of the hall, past the balcony that overlooked the party and, you swam through another crowd of people within the houses throat. Finally, there was a room. You found your green light in a door that was a hair open. The drop in volume made it noticeably quieter, and you slipped in despite sudden convince.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered to the room. I’ll head out soon- I just need a moment you thought to yourself as you pushed the door closed, moving toward a wall.

There was no point in you showing up. There were no friends to see here, and certainly no invitation to the drunken festivities. This was just the house on campus. Touya was known for throwing parties and wasn’t like they stopped anyone who tried to enter. The soul center of these parties were to have good time. That’s all you came here for. A. Good. Time. It didn’t take long before cup in your hand looked off, before the faces stopped looking like acquaintances and more like strangers. The third sip was the charm that brought forward the sudden but still realization that you don’t know anyone at this party. Not really. So, why get drunk with strangers? Why did you come at all?

Lying on the floor with your eyes closed was the highlight of the night so far. The vibrations pushing through the carpeted floor kneaded your back, slowly calming you down. As the anxiety left it felt like your senses were coming back to life. You were finally making your way back to the moment. No more daze, no more paranoia, you could finally be someone lying on the bedroom floor of someone else’s house party.

“Woah,” a voice cut in, “Um.”

You shot up onto your knees petrified. When did someone come in?

“I-” you faltered and looked up.

It was too dark to make out the figure towering over you as your eyes hadn’t adjusted to glow of the night.

“I was just leaving.” you said despite doing nothing to stand.

The moonshine was finally enough to see with. Looking the man square in the face brought you to the notion that you not only (sorta) know him, but that you’ve done most of your partnered class work together. Shigaraki was cordial and quiet. He was pleasant to work with as it was always nice to work with someone competent on anything school related. Shigaraki would actually try to look into each bit of poetry, any excerpt assigned, and every novel you would finish in English. But thinking back on the last couple of months, the realization hit that you have never looked Shigaraki in the face, ever. And if you did it was with little to no need to take in his features.

It could have been whatever likely strong concoction was in your cup earlier, but the moon sat especially pretty on his features. Shigaraki’s dark circles looked a little deeper, the red of his eyes looked blood soaked within his powdery white mess of hair.

It was bewitching. Or maybe it was just the angle at which you sat.

Maybe it was time for you to get off your knees.

Shigaraki maintained eye contact as he dropped down to on his heels, “Did you need a hand?” He tilted his head with a lopsided grin.

“Oh,” you snapped out of it. “Yeah, no that’s-” not necessary, you were going to say. But Shigaraki wordlessly interrupted you as he took both of your hands into his before hoisting you up.

The sudden and full movement of the act pushed you into him. Within your loss of balance you could feel yourself slipping onto his shoulder, but he further pulled you in by the nape of your neck, “You okay?” He readjusted your position back to face you. “Is something up?” Shigaraki asked with wide eyes and furrowed brows. It kind of looked like he was concerned.

It had to be the moon.

You took a couple steps back, fidgeting with the sides of your top as you pulled it down. “I’m fine, just” you smiled, “I’m just a light weight.” you said soberly.

“I see.” Shigaraki raised an eyebrow in search of anything to be read in your face.

Within the bounds he found you, he decided against keeping you in. Shigaraki walked toward his door and waited for you with a reminder about a Shakespearean assignment that’s to be started Monday.

“Did you need my number or anything?” He kept trying to read you. “I know I can be bad with emails.” Shigaraki smiled.

“Are you?” You smiled with a knowing tone. “Just email me your number then.” You finally stepped out of his room.

-

An email was sent Sunday night saying that class would resume Wednesday because of some personal emergency the English professor was having, but that had clearly left your mind until you stood outside of the Education building Monday morning. Having already made it that far, (as far away as you could be from your dorm), you decided that it would not be time wasted. That time was going to be spent in the library alone, going over Lady Macbeths drive to insanity.

The building was dimly lit and warm with four of those old, green glass shaded lamps on every table. You headed to the only unoccupied table that was tucked away in a corner near some stand alone seating. With the gradually growing crowd in mind, you sat at the edge to leave room for inevitable overflow in the library. Your laptop was brought out but remained closed as you scanned over your borrowed copy of Macbeth atop it.

Just as expected, some students joined your table on the opposite side. They would type things out, wait, and then giggle to themselves with just enough space in-between that it hadn’t disrupted your train of thought. What did get under your skin was the person who seated themselves right next to you. With a couple chairs beside you and on the row across from you open, you wondered why anyone would have to seat themselves as close as possible to you. Moving your book closer to your face, you tried to ignore their presence, but it was your ruminating annoyance that kept you from comprehending anything Lady Macbeth was crying to her husband about.

“Did you get my email?” Shigarakis raspy and curious whisper was coated in sugar.

There was sharp inhale at recognition. “What email?” You tilted your head his direction with your eyes still on the page.

He remained quiet, waiting for you to go on.

“Ah, well no-” you got the hint. “I’ve been here for nearly an hour without opening my laptop.” You continued while closing your book. “Or my phone for that matter.” You finally faced him.

Shigaraki’s elbow was sprawled out on the surface, cupping his face while drumming his fingers on the edge of the table. He was lazily watching you meet his gaze. In this light Shigaraki looked blurry, his dark circles from before were cancelled out by the low, orange light. His dull, and dry skin were similarly muted, but in a noticeably different way than Shigaraki had looked under moonlight of his bedroom. It was that comparison and thought which straightened your shoulders and neck. The thought that last time you spoke to him was on your knees in his room. A thought he held onto, that clearly didn’t bother him.

“No need to get stiff,” he teased. “I had just asked if you wanted to meet up here since class was cancelled.”

Shiagraki tore away his gaze as he dove into his backpack, grabbing his copy of Macbeth and a notebook. He began to go over his notes which included highlighted, and annotated passages in his book, often asking if you would like to copy anything down. He was patient as you looked through and noted his findings and took whatever stuck out to you. Then he asked to look over your own notes. You handed the laptop over his way, now self-conscious about your eloquence on screen. He complimented your findings, seeming drawn to the washing of Lady Macbeths hands and how it was married to her husband's growing confidence in murder.

Shigaraki’s voice was smoothing itself out as the conversation continued, the sugar coating being reduced to a powder. His whispers grew softer as you two went back in forth in studious banter. Every few pages his voice would get quieter, and every few pages you kept having to lean in. With the lack of distance, you felt yourself melting into his scent of sweet lavender. How many inches would it take for your temple to touch his shoulder? Your attention moved from Macbeth to him. It was hard to recall when you last heard him say anything but for the small moment you both had been quiet, you realized that Shigaraki’s attention had been placed on your mouth; and you wanted to ask for how long he had been staring. An even better the question appeared in your mind.

How much further would I need to lean in for our lips to meet?

A muffled buzz emitted from his bag, snapping you both into your starting positions. He pulled out his phone and rolled his eyes. “Sorry to cut this short.” He groaned.

Shigaraki quickly hit enter a couple times, tapped a bit on the keypad and finally slid the laptop back to you. He hurried off before you could properly part ways, making you feel a little crazy about the moment you both seemed to share; but just as you were coming out of this sickly soft spell casted by the library, you were curious to see what he had left for you at the bottom of your notes.

It was two words, followed by his number.

-

Shigaraki was too kind. The moment you texted him, asking if you could call about class and everything you might’ve missed, he answered without a minute to spare, seeming very prepared to get you caught up.

“I really appreciate you going through all of that with me.” You tried to sound as thankful as one could between light coughing fits and pure exhaustion.

A head cold kept you from going to two English classes in a row, a six days after meeting him in the library. The anxiety of missing a weeks' worth of information was the only thing that pushed you to finally text him. You put it off after feeling silly over the blatant, longing desire you let bleed from your eyes before he left from the library. A desire that he noticed but returned as hunger.

The conversation died as Shigaraki wrapped up six hours of class time in two. “I don’t want to keep you on the phone any longer,” you lied.

“It’s not like you’re not interrupting anything. Besides,” you could hear the air leave his chest as he plopped onto his bed. “This is keeping me from having to be with Touya, and his hellions.” He said matter of fact-ly.

“So,” he dragged out. “About the party-”

“Are you still on the phone with that sick chick, Shiggy?” Touya’s voice cut in the background of the call, and you thanked every lucky star ever placed in your sky.

“Sick chick has a name, and yeah, why?” Shigaraki had no issue saying into the call.

“Because I’m fucking bored.” Touya whined

“Not my problem.”

“Yeah, it is. Toga wants to do my nails because Spinner doesn’t want her to do his, so I let her know I would grab you to so she can do your nails.”

“What does me having my nails done have to do with you being bored?” You could hear him shuffle off his bed, Touya's voice getting louder as Shigaraki approached him.

They continued their effortlessly, snippy banter which pulled a dry and weak laugh from you. Shigaraki smiled, “Oh?” He said with sarcasm. “So this is funny?”

It could have been the fever but his question and syrupy tone gave you butterflies. If you weren’t already in bed, you were sure you would have had to sit on the floor. “Yes sir, it is.” You hummed. “Well, just a little bit, Shiggy.” You bit your knuckle after quietly singing his nickname.

Shigaraki was blatantly ignoring Touya’s pestering, and had started talking over him. “And now I’m Shiggy?”

You could hear his door slam, and you froze.

“I’m kidding,” he sung back. “You can call me that.” He said with warmth.

“Can I?” You grinned at your pillow.

“Yes ma’am.” He hummed knowingly.

“Shigaraki,” you said pouting at his tone.

“What happened to Shiggy?” He teased some more, enjoying your weak whining from the other side of the call. “Kidding, but back to what I was saying.” His voice coolly transitioned back to normal.

The party, his room, and the dizzy feeling that memory brought.

“About texting?” You reached for the wheel of the conversation.

“No- Well,” Shigaraki said thoughtfully. “Yeah actually, why didn’t you text me sooner?” He let you steer.

It may not be a better of direction of conversation but you carried on anyway. “I just,” you smiled at your pillow. “It just seemed that you were doing emails better than you gave yourself credit for.”

“You got me there,” he gave up with an airy laugh.

“So,” you flipped onto your stomach. “Why do they get to call you Shiggy, Shiggy?”

“I never said you couldn’t. Besides, it sounds better when you say it.” He moved the mic closer to his mouth. “Maybe you could try saying my first name.” The gravel in his tone tickled your ears.

“Ahm,” you huffed, embarrassed at how casually he’d suggest that. “Would you prefer that?” You acted innocent.

“I don’t know yet,” he purred, “I haven’t heard you say it.”

Shigaraki had been back in bed, on his side as he spoke to you facing the bedroom door. You excused yourself to grab some water as in as a strong coughing fit occurred. As you stepped away from the phone, he became enamored with the spot you sat in. No, that wasn’t right. You were kneeling when he found you. Recreation pulled him off bed to back where he stood when he found you at the party. “Pretty thing,” he whispered to the spot on the floor.

“Sorry?” you can back, hearing only the second word.

“Nothing,” he scratched the back of his neck. “Ah,” He dryly laughed out. “Did you want to try and do something this weekend?”

You shyly laughed and it made him falter. “It’s fine if -” He stretched away the tension, “I’m sure you’ll need more time to rest.“

“No!” You answered too quickly. “I mean, I think I’m at the tail end of this head cold.” A warmth beyond fever reached your neck, shoulders, and ears. “What does something mean anyway?”

“It can mean food, or it can mean the library. We can talk about our newly assigned excerpt in Macbeth.” He was testing the waters.

“Oh,” you said aloud. “Okay yeah, maybe a cafe then, so we can really talk.”

“What does “oh” mean?” Shigaraki felt pleased to hear the disappointment in your voice.

“Nothing. I just thought,” you stalled. “I just think that’d be nice.” You felt whiplashed.

“I see.” He sat back on his ankles again, “You can come to my place after if you’d like. We can work on Macbeth and get something after.”

“Don’t trick me with an innocent invitation to study in your room.” You mocked.

“Did I say anything about you coming up to my room?” Again? He kept from saying.

“I think the café is just fine, Shigaraki.”

He frowned at the sound of his last name. “Bring your laptop then. Coffees on me.” He sighed.

-

On Friday, English was fizzling out. You were on act 4 of Macbeth, and as the Professor read the witches warning you were becoming deaf. The room grew large and it felt like she, the professor, was staring at you. It felt like Shigaraki was too.

It was more than a feeling, because they both were, and your professor was headed your way.

“Hun,” she warmly placed her hand on your shoulder. “You’re good to step out if you need a minute, okay?” She whispered as not to draw any more attention than she already had.

Before you knew it, tears began to run down your cheeks, only noticing as you saw them land on the table. For the small moment you looked forward you could see Shigaraki completely turned to you, from behind the professor, with wide eyes. You avoided making eye contact with either of them as your eyes darted to your bag, packing up to leave. Wordlessly you made your way from the second row of seats, across the classroom and out the door.

The clock above the double door exit read 9:47, it wasn’t even 10 in the morning before you fell apart. You couldn’t get your heart rate down. You couldn’t stop the tears. You couldn’t feel the tips of your fingers and your lips were going numb. This terror was stronger than the one at the party and it would not wait for solitude before taking hold.

It was like striking gold when you spotted a single restroom. With cold water, you splashed your face before warming the tap to get back any feeling in your fingertips. As soon as your body could register the water was in fact not warm, but scalding hot, you began to calm down. The heat sunk into your skin like ice even with the water cold again. The bright red, throbbing irritation in your hands was the only thing you could face. The person in the mirror looked pathetic and facing them meant having to accept their apology.

The party was the first time it had ever felt that horrible, but it apparently was not going to be the last.

The restroom wall’s started closing in as you tried to catch your breathe, the hyperventilating only shrunk it further. Like a knife, a soft but rapid vibration cut through your panic.

You answered the incoming call without looking and without greeting.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.” You said lowly. “It was nothing,” You tried to convince yourself.

“Where are you?”

“No where.” The response was automatic and cold.

“No,” Shigaraki cut in.

He called without a second thought and didn’t think about what he was going to say past those first two questions. “I mean, God. How about I take you somewhere?” Shigaraki groaned at how stupid that suggestion was.

You shook your head. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not?” He sounded annoyed. He was, with you and himself.

“I said I’m fine.” You snipped.

Shigaraki groaned and it made you feel guilty for being difficult. “I’m going to be outside the main office.” You gave in.

“Okay.” With that, Shigaraki hung up before he could say anything stupid, and you weren’t sure if you should wait for him.

The front facing camera showed just apparent it was that you had been crying; with swollen lips and doe-like wet eye lashes. Even patting your eyes dry proved to be a painfully raw task.

The dorm, you did not want to go back to your dorm. You were second guessing Shigaraki but knew no one was going to be there. You didn’t have any roommates and you didn’t talk to anyone on your hall. Even if you settled for cheaper student housing, going back to a roommate looking and feeling the way you do was not an option.

The morning autumn air bit your nose as you idly stood around. Every minute felt like ten and it made you desperate to figure out where to go. Staying in place, unsure if you were waiting on anyone made you tear up again like a lost little kid. You found yourself starting at your reflection again on the black screen.

It was embarrassing to think that he looked so concerned and you wouldn’t be able to tell him how to fix it.

The screen woke up, and before the phone could be unlocked, you saw the stack of missed calls from him. Six of them.

You unlocked your phone to stare his contact information, realizing that you hadn’t reached out to him for anything besides school work since you were ill. With that in mind, it made you insecure about whether you should still see him this weekend.

Another few minutes passed as you talked yourself to keep a look out for Shigaraki. You backed up against the main office and slid down onto the floor, tucking your knees up to your chest. Before you returned to scrolling, you scanned upward one more time only to let yourself down. You figured if you were not waiting for anyone, you were going to at least try and catch your breath.

Meanwhile, Shigaraki had called Toga to ask where she took his car.

“I was grabbing us both lunch,” she said. “I got out of class early, and thought that my favorite roomie wanted a little something to eat.” Toga exclaimed, clearly proud of herself.

“I need to pick someone up. And when did you even take my keys?” He patted his pockets with furrowed brows and before settling to scratch his neck. “Never fucking mind, are you close.”

“Hey, lose the tone. I got you food so be nice!”

“Are you close?” He said with the tone in tact.

“Yes~uh! Jerk!” As soon as she hung up, he could hear his tires swerve into the parking lot a block away from where he wanted to be.

“Out of the driver's seat.” He said to her through the window. “Since I’m picking someone up you gotta get in the back.”

“Shouldn’t I just stay up here and drive you two?” Toga shimmied her eyebrows.

“No. Because you answered the phone while driving and I’m gonna get sick with you behind the wheel.”

“I’m doing better.” she unbuckled her belt, folding her arms.

“I won’t let you do my nails.” he threatened.

Toga put it in park and dove into the back seat, folding her arms, huffing, and puffing. “I won’t let you do my nails,” she mocked his low tone.

“And be quiet and when I get her-“

“Her?!” She interrupted with excitement. “Can I do her nails instead?”

“Yeah,” she squealed despite his lack of enthusiasm. “But that’s only if you get out and walk home.” She hit the back of his seat.

“You’re no fun, Shiggy.”

As you pretended to be doing something important on your phone, a text dropped down saying “here.”

You stood up to look around, seeing that a crowd of students were bleeding into different directions but not one of those people was Shigaraki. Another text appeared. “Main office parking lot.”

A car, you thought. You didn’t think he would have a car and somehow that was felt intimidating in your overthoughtful state, but there it was. In front of the main office, behind the faculties parked cars, was a navy blue car that looked gray under all the dirt. Approaching the passenger door, you noticed it was slightly open with Shigaraki leaning over to push it open further. As you climbed into the passenger seat you caught sight of the small blonde in back, and the scent of burgers as you sat down.

Shigaraki drove off as soon as you closed the door, ensuring you wouldn’t back out when you saw his roommate. “Sorry. She had my car.” His used his chin to motion back as turned onto the main road.

“Hi!” She was leaning on middle console, putting her hand out to shake yours. “I’m Toga Himiko.”

You thoughtlessly took her hand and introduced yourself. Her amber eye and fang filled smile was meant to be warm, but returning the smile felt unnatural. As soon as your hands connected, she pulled you in closer to her to examine your nails. Shigaraki heard the hitch in your breath as you adjusted yourself to face her more.

“Toga.”

“What?” She was using both her hands to analyze your nail beds and palms. Muttering something about them being soft.

“She’s not a doll.”

“She’s as cute as one.” she dragged out that last word.

“But that’s a terrible excuse?”

You turned to face him, unsure if the heat in your face was from her compliment or him not denying it. Shigaraki shot an insecure smile at you before turning back to face Toga at the red light.

“Let go of her hand.” He snapped.

“Did you want me to do your nails?” She ignored him and beamed at you.

“I said let go,” he grabbed your wrist and pulled it from Toga's grasp, turning back to face what was still a red light.

“Don’t be a brute.” She pushed herself into her seat. “I was being gentle.” She whispered to herself.

“You were being persistent.” He said loud enough only you could hear. “I’m sorry she’s just- like that I guess.” She kicked his seat, and he rolled his eyes.

You coughed to suppress nervous laughter. The light turned green, and you turned to stare out the window, wiping the whole scene from your mind.

“We’re not far, we’ll be home soon.” Shigaraki shot a dirty look at Toga in the rear view as he turned into the block.

“To your house?”

Toga theatrically gasped. “You didn’t even tell her where you were taking her? You slut.”

“Shit,” he hadn’t realize that he completely skipped over that. “I can turn around, I’ll just take you home.”

No- “It’s fine,” your voice rode up. “It’s really okay.”

Shigaraki nodded although didn’t believe you.

The sidewalk looked funny from the passenger window. If you closed your eyes, you could imagine yourself walking up the driveway as Shigaraki pulled in.

Toga was the first out of the car, and into the house. Taking the smell of fast food with her, she placed one bag on the counter and kept the other to take to her room. “You’re welcome. It’s a combo, you dick.” She made a face and stormed off. “If I knew you had a friend, I would’ve bought an extra meal!” Toga’s voice faded as she headed down the hallway. “It’s nice to meet you by the way, he’s a dick though so… sorry!” and her door shut.

Shigaraki shook his head, and spun around his keys. “I can still take you home.”

“I don’t want to be alone right now.” You nearly interrupted him.

He nodded without pressing further, dropping his keys and taking his bag of food off the counter. “Hungry?”

When you looked up, he was studying you the same why he did that night. You watched his eyes scan your face, and neck.

“I can take the fries.” You figured.

Anxiety brought in nervousness before dissipating. Being back into that house was not making anything better, but it was not making anything worse, you were simply surrendering to the structure. It was too clean inside; the staircase was not how you remembered it to be, and the balcony looked naked without bodies peering over. The comparison was taking you out of the noonday sun, and placing under the midnight moon, it was like you could feel its heart beating again.

Shigaraki noticed you weren’t focused on anything you had been looking at, you still looked lost. He started knocking on the wall a couple times to get your attention and when that didn’t work he decided to take your hand in his, smoothing his thumb over yours. “Are you okay if we head into my room?”

Your eyes trailed down at your intertwined fingers and then back up at him.

“You can say no.” He was hoping you wouldn’t, but he meant it.

You nodded with one side of your mouth curled.

“We can head to the living room.”

You thought about it, looking down into the unfamiliar space before shaking your head. “No actually.” One side of your mouth curled up. “I want to go to your room, Shigaraki.” The power in your voice died as you said his name.

He raised his brows at your shy tone. “Well,” the door opened and he let go of your hand, “After you.”

Without a second thought you reached for his hand, then you dropped his hand after catching his index and middle finger.

“Ah,” you shyly laughed. “Sorry I wasn’t thinking.”

Shigaraki snorted as he closed the door behind you and walked over to his desk.

You were melting into his room again, finding familiarity in the air as you made your way to sit on his bed. “Am I okay right here?”

“You’re perfectly fine there.” He booted up his PC, grinning at the screen.

The wall facing the foot of his bed displayed sizable TV on a mount with pictures and posters of movies and illustrated characters surrounding it. Below that stood a pale wooden entertainment center. On the surface were a couple figures of women in burlesque lingerie, and a game console. In the shelves were comics and even more figures in poses to match some of the comic covers. As you looked around the rest of the room there were floating shelves beside his desk with more comics, thin magazine backings and novels in-between. The whole room smelled of him, of a sweet lavender, something woody and human. Especially his bedding.

Curling in on your side, you turned to face the wall opposite of Shigaraki. Upon first glance it looked empty, but in the center was a single frame with a dry preserved, needled moth inside. The longer you stared at the trapped insect, the more it looked like it was shrinking, or like the blank space around it was becoming larger.

You knew what was coming and quickly dropped your gaze to the sheets. They were light grey, his pillows were white, and the mattress was firm. The fight with anxiety was getting easier, finally heading down hill as you focused on feeling the way his sheets hugged your body. Everything looked chaotically organized when you closed your eyes, pushing you nerves to the ground as you recalled what you saw. A clean, lived in mess with a hurriedly made bed to match.

With open eyes, your stare hit the short haired carpet, and for a moment it didn’t mean anything.

Until suddenly it did.

The nerves jumped into action, lunging at your gut. Dodging it was to frantically shove the memory in a paper box, and sealing it shut with painter's tape. The hope that it would hold was easier to stomach as you rolled over to face Shigaraki, who has been caught watching you from the corner of his eye.

“How’s my bed?” he paused whatever he was doing, moving his headphones off his ears and around his neck. Facing you, he leaned his arms forward onto his thighs. “You haven't taken your fries yet.”

Shigaraki was close. “I guess I’m not as hungry as I thought I was.” you said self-consciously. With your hands you pushed yourself back and moved higher up the bed, settling once you were against the headboard.

“But how are you feeling?” His voice gave concern that his face lacked.

“Better.”

Shigaraki leaned back, placing his headphones on his desk, and moved to sit beside you. Before he got comfortable, he waited for your approval. You shimmied away and made room for him to scoot in, propping a knee up to your chest. You leaned in and watched as he laid on his side, propping his head up with his elbow.

“Can I ask you something?” he said to your hip, pulling his gaze to your neck. It felt like Shigaraki was inching near the box.

“That depends,” you said honestly, watching as his eyes found yours. “Is this about tomorrow?”

“Hmm?” Shigaraki 's attention fell again as he thought. “Oh, no, but I might touch on that later.”

“Did you forget about tomorrow?” You feigned offense, trying to get him away from that night.

“Well,” he rolled his eyes. “When you look as empty and lost as you have today, everything else becomes a blur.” He said obviously.

It was supposed to be sweet, you thought, but it didn’t land. Without knowing what to say you asked what he wanted to know. Shigaraki was taken aback by your gloss over his concern and pulled out a box cutter to test the water.

“So,” he pointed to the door and drew a line from there to the floor. “What was that about?”

You were feeling brave and followed the line he made with slight exaggeration. “What was what?”

“The party?” His focus sharpened. “You know. The one that happened in this house.”

“Oh! That party.”

“Yeah, that one.”

The contemplative face he made wasn’t enough to draw out an explanation so you shrugged as you relaxed down into the bed.

Shigaraki got up from his side to move onto you. One hand planted beside your hip, and the rested in the space between your legs. “I think you know what I’m talking about,” He teased.

“Oh,” he said coyly, watching your eyes on the hand between your legs as he readjusted it at your other side. “My bad.”

Shigaraki watched the tension that formed with him a leg shy of being between yours. He held you in place as the painter's tape curled itself back, that knee was a hair away from touching you as his hands made way to the sides of your neck

“Why were you in my room?” His head hung as he stalked your answer.

The lavender was intoxicating, creating a fog that carefully encircled you. The daylight through the blinds painted strips of shadow on his face and shoulders. One line of the noonday sun landed on his eyes and it was like being hypnotized. They glowed like a warning, already catching fire in the warmth he emitted. It drew you in, and you were shamelessly staring at his mouth again.

“Ah, ah-uh. No,” He recoiled. “Answers first.”

You bit your tongue in light of being teased. Oh, how it both bothered and excited you. “Shigaraki, I told you I can't handle my ale.”

“I feel like that’s not it,” he raised a brow and himself from you. “I know that’s not it. You seemed sober and scared even with my warmest grin.” The tone in his voice was no longer playful as the fire went out.

Shigaraki moved off of you, threatening to shift off the bed. The sudden shift in scene casted something over you. You brought the box to him as you reached for his arm, landing on the hem of his sleeve. “I just needed a place to hide.” You opened up.

Honesty looked small in comparison to box it was thrown in.

“I don’t know what came over me, Shigaraki.” Verbal acknowledgment felt embarrassing, but not as much as holding onto his sleeve did; so you finally let go.

Shigaraki made his way back onto the bed, stiff as you sat back with your legs in w-position. “Why hide?” He said after a beat. “Was it from someone? Or, actually- who brought you?” his demeanor softened.

“No,” You shook your head. “No one. And, and I don’t know why.” You thought about how to word it, but looking at him made it hard to think so you turned you attention to the cluttered wall.

“Lately, I just can’t figure it out. It’s like my body is fine, everything is cool, and normal. But then my mind makes my heart race and my stomach drop like something bad is happening. Or more like something is about to happen. Sometimes it’s a slow build, and I can feel that I’m off but lately it’s like someone’s flipping every switch at once.”

With the hope that you don’t sound silly, you also hoped that sharing this might help you feel seen, and Shigaraki seemed like he was listening. When you faced him in-between thought, his eyes were planted on his hands as he hummed in observation.

To him, it didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. What happened in English reflected what happened before he caught you in his room. Shigaraki turned back to you, patiently waiting for you to continue.

“So far, it has started with me not hearing what people are saying, or,” Recalling the events threw you onto the fine line of retelling and reliving, making you stammer. “Or I have trouble recognizing faces.” Your voice shrank.

Shigaraki watched as you swallowed something down and before you could turn away again, he caught your chin with his thumb and index finger. “Go on.” he tilted his head and let go.

“It traveled to the tips of my fingers, and today, I couldn’t feel my lips.” You said thoughtful of his distance again.

Actually, it wasn’t distance, it was closeness with him.

At that time, Shigaraki didn’t actually know what to make of your position when he found you on the floor. He had grown used to finding at least two people in his room. Normally they were in his bed, partially clothed, and too in the moment to snap out of their hot and drunk state. Because of that, it became rare that his door would be left unlocked on the weekends he joined the party, or that he would leave his room at all on the nights he stayed in. Catching you in his space was a weird mix of worry and pleasant surprise.

Well, catch is not the right word.

What Shigaraki had caught was glimpse of you from the balcony and wasn’t sure if he wanted to approach you or spend the night watching you. Approaching you meant meeting whoever brought you to the party, and even thinking about that felt like a chore. What he also didn’t want was to find you wrapped around someone else’s arm. Shigaraki had his eye on you for a while and at first was not planning on it moving past distant admiration, but as time in class passed, the more you two talked, and the more you two talked he found himself reading your body language in toothsome passages. Then everything about you began to tempt him. He would look for reasons to be near you, just see you and keep reading. So, the one time he looked up from the page was the one time you sat on a platter, staring up at him as you did now.

Mixing in what you shared, he was trying to play the scenario in his head, switching his point of view. He was realizing that hadn’t seen you speak to anyone. No one seemed to be looking for you in living room, or trying to stop you for idle conversation; you simply showed up alone and stayed that way. Shigaraki had thought that you maybe got bored of whatever was happening in the kitchen, and couldn’t be bothered to watch beer pong, so when he lost sight of you, he headed to the restroom. He also knew that he had felt something like that before, the panic, but he couldn’t put a finger on when or even how often that might have been.

But then he asked himself, if he had just approached you, would you have just asked to go into his room? Could he have at least kept you company?

“Shigaraki?” The question was asked with you head tilted and up. You leaned on your hands as you got closer to him.

The closing space and locked in eyes was tugging on a loose string.

“I-” he breathed. Can I kiss you? He thought. “Or would that be inappropriate?”

“Would what be?” Your brows stitched themselves together.

Shigaraki shoved impulse aside and questioned his method of drawing out answers. “God,” he said to himself.

“What?” You couldn’t tell whether to be bothered or confused. “God, what?”

“Nothing,” he sighed. “It’s not anything you said.”

“Then what is it?”

“Nothing.” A thin smile said.

“Oh, come on.” you quietly groaned. “I have to be honest and you don’t?” You said semi-playful disbelief.

Shigaraki rolled his eyes as he began to turn away, and you decided to play the same card he did, taking his chin with your thumb and pointer. In dragging his attention back, you saw his eyes narrow like he was stalking again and that sharp edge forced you to let go.

"I mean,” You sat up onto your heels. “I guess I am the guest in your room. Again.” You waited to see what he would say, and when nothing came out you sighed. “I’m sorry for intruding when I was last here.”

“Don’t be.”

“But I am. Things would be, I don’t know, better if I just didn’t hide here in the first place.”

“It’s fine.” Shigaraki didn’t really know what he wanted, but he didn’t to make you regret coming to his room a second time. You probably already did.

“I think I'm going to, uh,” you stuck out a knee to slide off his bed. “I think I should go.”

“Let me drive you.” He sat up.

“No, I can walk. I did last time. Besides it’s only like two.” You weakly smiled. “So, thank you for listening, Shiggy.”

No wait.

Your back was flat on his bed before Shigaraki could register his own movement; he was looming over you, between your legs with his hands clasped around your wrists. Shigaraki studied the surprise in your eyes as it transform into something half lidded and dreamy.

“Tomura?”

That had torn the string. Whatever tied him down in self-discipline had snapped as the sound of his first name thinly spilled out.

His right hand let go of your wrist and darted to the base of your head as his lips met yours with eager force. You kissed him back with just as much enthusiasm, angling your head to let him sink in deeper. Tomura’s lips were dry, but you could taste some sort-of vanilla balm as you caught his lower lip between your teeth. Wordlessly you asked him to let you in while your free hand snaked up to cup his jaw, drawing from him a desperate whine as he opened his mouth for your entry.

With his right hand again, he dragged his fingers down to pull your waist into his, his left hand pulling your wrist to the side of your head. As your tongue snaked into his mouth, his thumb opened your palm to then intertwine with all of his fingers. Tomura held onto your tongue as he pulled away from soft and messy kisses.

“God, you’re sweet.” he trembled downward.

With closed eyes you focused on the feeling of everything soft and messy was peppered onto your cheek and chin. Then Tomura licked the contour of your jaw to the bottom of your ear. He bit your ear lobe and laughed into shell-shaped part of it when you whimpered.

“You’re so soft too.” His hot breathing trailing down your neck. “You even sound soft.”

He played with the hem of your shirt, “May I?”

You nodded and watched as he hands slipped down latching onto your hips. The attention was embarrassing as he took in your tummy. Leaning in and trailing kisses toward your waistband before sinking his teeth into your hip.

“Tomura!” You winced, your hips raising in pain.

You gasped when he forced your hips back down.

“I’m sorry.” He feigned worry.

You bit your lip as his tongue that outlined the marks of his teeth before planting a kiss at the center. The tender feeling grabbed your attention.

“Does that feel better?”

Tomura looked like a hungry animal leering at you through his lashes. He was humming up your waist and didn’t waste a second to resume the trail of marks he was going to leave.

Something tickled. Tomura was just about to slip your shirt up your chest before loud knocking snapped you both out of the moment. “Damn it.” he hissed just under your breast, placing one last kiss before getting off the bed.

As Tomura opened the door Toga looked ready to rip him a new one. “Do you even know what time it is?”

“Apparently not.”

“Check your phone!” She snapped at him, following after Tomura as he made it to his desk. “And you better be behaving.” She said to the back of his head.

Toga then turned to you. “Is he being good to you?”

You sheepishly smiled. “So far.”

“Good. I’m glad.” She smiled warmly, before making a face at the back of his head. “He barely knows how to act so I’m actually kinda surprised.”

“I am right here, Toga.”

“Yeah, so hurry up!”

Tomura scrunched his nose before turning to her. “That was today-”

“Today? Yeah exactly, how else am I supposed to get my own car if no one it gonna take me to check it out?”

“Why didn’t you ask Spinner?”

“How often do you see him on his phone?”

“And Touya?” He retorted.

“Was he really gonna take me, Shiggy?”

Tomura knew Touya didn’t do anything unless it would immediately benefit him and Spinner had his own weird quirks so he got why Toga looked to him.

He looked sad in his own pouty way, and sighed, “Go on.” Tomura pushed forward both his hands.

Toga was jumping with glee as he wiggled his fingers and at first you couldn’t tell what was going on until Tomura gave her the green light to pick whatever color she wanted. As soon as he said that Toga bolted out of the room to grab anything (and everything) she needed to do his nails and as soon she was out, Tomura hopped back onto the bed to kiss you ravenously before his roommate returned.

Toga walked in right as he hopped, but before you could lean back again. Slowly blinking, Toga ignored it and grinned at you, presenting a small selection of polish at the foot of the bed.

“I think you should pick.” She giggled.

“Hmm,” You crawled toward her, shifting around until you were comfortable to carefully examine each color. “What do you think, Tomura?”

Toga’s brows raised when you said his first name, intently staring at him who flashed a modest smile.

“I think the clear one is good.”

“I think so too.” You in spite of having three colors in your hand. “We can put that on top. Toga,” You beamed her way. “Are you comfortable with designs?”

They were facing each other, sitting crisscross on the floor as you watched from the bed. Toga was in her element as she painted each nail but Tomura kept sighing as she alternated between the three colors. “I’m almost done. I just have to do a top coat after this.” She sang after dipping a thin brush into the black polish.

Toga instructed Tomura to mimic her hand fanning in order for polish dry faster, but she warned him it wouldn’t be dry for at least 15 minutes.

“I swear” Toga stood up with her thing. “If you mess with the design or try to wipe the paint off, the universe will tell me and I will break down this door.”

“Got it, girl.” Tomura groaned while unenthusiastically wiggling his freshly painted nails at her.

As soon as Toga left you joined him on the ground, picking up his hand to look at Toga’s work. “She did a really nice job.” you said in awe. “I might have her come back to do my nails too.”

“Don’t call her back up here, please.” Tomura dropped his head before bringing you forward to peck you. “She actually does not need to come back up here.” He said with disdain.

You laughed but returned to looking at his hands. “I think my choice in colors worked out well.”

“Yeah, well” He flipped his wrist to catch yours, pulling you into his lap. “I’d like you pick where we left off.”

Before you could jokingly bring up his nails, Tomura dipped his head into your neck.

© 2024 chimimon

[punkshort]

look what we've become - ch.3

Chapter Summary: Joel joins Tommy to meet the Fireflies and set up a trade agreement. They come back to Jackson with more than they expected.

Chapter Warnings: language, angst, mentions of slavery

WC: 5.4K

Series masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N: a reminder this story follows a slightly different timeline. Ellie was born pre-outbreak, but she was little when it happened.

Joel couldn't believe the past day and a half really happened. The rollercoaster of emotions you put him through left him stunned and shaken, wondering how he could read everything so fucking wrong. He found himself questioning everything now, replaying conversations, wondering if you had ever alluded to your feelings about marriage and a family that maybe he misread, misconstrued. Twisted and built up in his mind to fit into his stupid fantasy. One, he acknowledged, wasn't even in the forefront of his mind until his brother brought it back up to the surface. And suddenly, he wanted it, too. Like some resentful child who saw another playing with a toy he hadn't paid attention to in months, then demanded it for himself.

But he had thought about it, well before Tommy decided to man up first. He had the ring, but he never did anything with it. Why? Deep down, had he known you wouldn't want that? Was he subconsciously protecting himself by never acting on it? Or was he truly just waiting for the right time?

Even with Tommy's news, he still hadn't come up with a plan to actually ask you to marry him. He just allowed the fantasy to play out between your legs while he continued to make up excuses as to why he was holding off. Maybe it just turned him on to have a secret. Maybe he just wanted to have you, mark you, claim you. He knew he had a bad jealous streak, but would he have let his possessiveness lead him this far off track?

No. There were real reasons why he wanted you to be his wife. You made him want to be a better man. The way you made him feel was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. You brought out sides of him that others, including himself, never knew existed. Good things. You made him believe in happiness again, after his heart had been stomped on, making him treat everyone around him so poorly, even his own family. At a time when he felt so undeserving, you made him feel like the only person in the world. Even back then, he had a hard time believing you could actually care for him, but you saw through his bullshit to the man he was underneath, and you loved him for being him.

You had this way of looking at him like he was capable of anything. And with you by his side, he felt like he really was capable of anything. He did things he never thought possible to keep you both safe, as did you. You killed for each other. Not many people can say that. That meant something. The trauma and pain you both endured for one another had to mean something more. There was no doubt you both had proven what you were willing to do for the other, so it was only natural he wanted to commit himself to you. Say the words, vow to you in front of everyone you knew and loved that he would happily devote himself to you for the rest of his life.

So why didn't you want the same?

Ages ago, when the pair of you stumbled into the hellscape that was Kansas City, his ex, Amy, had mentioned offhandedly that you were only with him for protection. At the time, he shrugged it off, knowing full well it was bullshit just to get under his skin. But now, against his better judgement, he was rethinking those words. Rolling them around in his head, wondering if there was any truth to it.

"You been real quiet," Tommy said, pulling Joel out of his misery, surprised to suddenly find his brother next to him as they made their way on horseback down the mountains. Joel shrugged, averting his gaze ahead to the three other men leading the way.

"You mad at me for puttin' you on patrol yesterday? I'm sorry, Carl got sick and I didn't have anyone else," Tommy continued.

"Nah, it's not that," Joel replied, still staring straight ahead. "Didn't sleep well, is all."

"Ah," Tommy said, a playful smile pulling across his lips. "She send you off with somethin' to remember her by?"

Joel huffed and rolled his shoulders, his anger bubbling below the surface as he thought once again about the night before.

"Not exactly," Joel responded, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice.

Tommy hummed in response but remained quiet, trying to read his brother from the corner of his eye.

"Everythin' alright at home?" he asked, unknowingly hitting the nail on the head, causing Joel to clench the muscles in his stomach, like he was bracing for a punch to the gut.

"It's fine. What's the plan for when we get to this place?" Joel asked, quickly sidestepping the subject, something that was certainly not lost on his younger brother, but Tommy allowed for the change in conversation, anyway.

"We're gonna meet up with their leader, woman named Marlene. They're lookin' mostly for weapons, but they need other stuff, too. They got lots of medicine and first aid to swap. Bill's been runnin' real low on antibiotics, considerin' how fast the town is growin'," Tommy said with a sigh, readjusting in his saddle. "Girls sent me with a list of inventory, highlighted all the stuff we have a surplus of and all the stuff we could use more of. Remind me to thank her for helpin' when we get home," he said, keeping a close eye on Joel's reaction when he referred to you.

"Sure," was all Joel said in response, refusing to let him drudge up the topic. The wound was still too fresh, and he needed time. For the first time in a long time, he had no idea what was going through your head, and it scared the shit out of him.

Was it marriage and kids in general you didn't want, or was it marriage and kids with him?

He should have asked. He should have stayed instead of storming out that night. Instead, he let his emotions get the better of him and left you all alone, likely crying until you fell asleep if your swollen eyes the next morning was any indication. When he saw you, saw the distress etched in your perfect features, he wanted to pull you into his arms and never leave for this fucking trip. And he damn near did just that, until you confirmed it was a false alarm, and his heart was torn all over again. It was then he realized he had been hoping you were pregnant with his child, and there would be no choice but to face the next challenge together. Then he would be able to prove to you that it was a good thing, that you could, in fact, do it. And so could he.

Now, instead, he wasn't even sure where you two stood. You had said you still wanted him before he left, and that gave him hope. Hope that maybe not all was lost, that you could repair the damage that was done and come out stronger in the end for it. That maybe he could, in time, prove to you that he would be a good husband, a good father.

But then, Amy's words crept up in the back of his mind since he left. Somehow, years and years later, the woman still managed to torment him, making him believe he wasn't worthy or good enough to possibly have someone like you. The same way she manipulated him into thinking he deserved to be betrayed by her when they were engaged, that he didn't give enough of himself, that she warned him she needed more and he refused.

He shouldn't have gone on this trip.

"Alright, we're losin' daylight, let's set up camp and get an early start tomorrow," Tommy announced, much to Joel's relief. He didn't want to admit that, just a mere few weeks away from his fortieth birthday, his back and knees were aching like he was a much older man. He slid down from his saddle with an audible groan, then tied his reins around a tree trunk before giving his mare a few loving pats along the crooked white blaze that split her face.

He unbuckled his sleeping bag from the saddle and shouldered his backpack, dropping his belongings unceremoniously to the ground before he and Jake headed out with a couple hatchets to collect some firewood.

He didn't mind Jake so much anymore. He was quiet, kept to himself and, fortunately, didn't seem to harbor any resentment towards him from the time Joel put him in the infirmary for kissing you. His bad temper mixed with his jealousy nearly killed the man.

Afterwards, he thought he lost you.

You left him, asking for time to process what happened, upset that he didn't take your word for it when you promised him the kiss was a misunderstanding, that you handled it. You viewed it as distrust, he viewed it as protection. It wasn't until later that he realized he was harboring his own trauma from failing to protect you from a past sexual assault.

As he carried an armful of firewood back, he reflected on everything you had been through together. The outbreak, your parents, the time you were stabbed, the assault, the breakup, the accident that nearly killed him. Not to mention all the infected and raiders that threatened you both at every turn. Was your relationship strong enough to endure one more massive hurdle?

They were deep in the woods, the terrain favorable. The trees hid the fire well, and the vast, empty land kept infected away. Still, each man took a quick turn overnight to keep watch. It hardly mattered when Eugene gently shook his shoulder, alerting him it was his turn to watch. He can never sleep well when he's away from you, anyway.

Joel was almost grateful when they reached the hospital late in the afternoon the next day. It was the first time in two days he was able to stop thinking about you, his mind swirling with images of your trembling lip and your tear stained cheeks. He frequently wondered what you were doing, if you told Maria or Carrie about your argument. Were you packing up your things? Would he come home to an empty house? He wasn't sure his heart could handle it again.

You said you still wanted him.

You said you loved him.

But he didn't say those things back, and he left.

Even if you were fighting, even if it was the most significant disagreement you've ever had, he still wanted you near. He could never silence that driving force inside him since the outbreak that screamed keep her safe.

When they approached the hospital, they were all searched, weapons confiscated, as expected, before being ushered inside to meet the leader of the strange group called the Fireflies.

Marlene was a taller woman, with a firm jaw and eyes that could look right through you. He could tell right away she was not to be trifled with, that she took her role seriously in this little revolution she was spearheading. Although the people they had met since arriving seemed very intense, he didn't feel threatened. And he usually had a good instinct for those things. Usually.

They were in the hospital cafeteria, the five men, Marlene, plus a few others seated around a large, circular table as Tommy and Marlene exchanged pleasantries, both parties trying to make the other more comfortable. Joel hadn't really been listening. He was scanning the room, watching the guards pace by the doors regularly, the sentries standing watch with their hands resting on their rifles as they watched the exchange from a distance.

A small group of women entered from the door behind him, heading towards the kitchen to begin food preparations. Joel's eyes glanced over the group of four, three middle aged looking women who kept their eyes pinned to the ground, and a young girl with brown hair, tied back away from her face. She didn't look to be a day over thirteen, and she was the only one who looked around the room, her eyes locking with Joel's. He stared at her, his brow slightly furrowed as he tried to assess the situation. She continued to hold his gaze as she followed the other women, and although her body language gave nothing away, Joel felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Something seemed off.

"Isn't that right, Joel?" Tommy was saying, snapping his attention away from the girl, who he saw in his peripheral disappear behind a door into the kitchen.

"I'm sorry?" he replied, leaning forward and lacing his fingers together on top of the table, trying to look focused.

"I was just sayin' how we know of a few police stations in some small towns that have barely been touched. Wouldn't be much effort for us to get a group together when we get home and go ransack 'em, take just a few days to hit 'em all," Tommy said, his eyes flicking from Joel to Marlene, then back again.

Another trip. More days away from you.

"Yeah," Joel replied, nodding his head and ignoring the pit in his stomach. "It's not enough for an army, but I reckon any little bit helps."

"In the meantime, lemme show you our inventory list. See if anything jumps out at you, and we can work on gettin' those guns," said Tommy as he pulled the list out of his coat pocket and smoothing it out on the table.

Marlene reviewed the list, her dark eyes flicking over the paper quickly with a few hums here and there as she took notes.

"Looks good, but we mostly need weapons," she said, leaning back in her chair. "I could probably do with some fresh vegetables, I think everyone's getting sick of the canned shit. And shampoo. But that hardly is a match for antibiotics." Her eyes shifted back and forth between Joel and Tommy, and the corner of her mouth turned up as an idea hit her.

"I do have another offer, though," she said, leaning forward. "It's not what we discussed, but if you're willing, I could send you home with half a box of penicillin now, and the other half after."

"After... what?" Tommy asked a little hesitantly.

"I'm lacking manpower at the moment. My guys are stretched thin, we're planning a hit on the soldiers at the Boise QZ. I need you to take someone to the hospital base we have in Salt Lake City. It should only take two days to get there, and I just need you to make sure she gets there alive," Marlene said, pressing her pointer finger into the table on the last word for emphasis.

Tommy glanced at the other four men, clearly not expecting to run errands for these people in exchange for medicine. Joel could see the wheels turning in his brother's head before Tommy spoke.

"Show me the meds first," he said to Marlene, and she quickly lifted two fingers up from the table, blindly addressing someone behind her to exit and do as he asked.

"What's the catch?" Joel asked, his defenses going up.

"No catch. Just need to get her out of here and with my other group, and I don't have the time to do it myself," she said with a shrug, but Joel knew better. She was trying to act casual, but he saw her knee bouncing under the table.

He shouldn't have come on his trip.

Once Tommy laid eyes on the unopened vials of medicine, medicine Jackson could really use since Bill, the town doctor, had been rationing enough as it is, Joel knew his decision was made.

"Done," Tommy said with a nod, extending his arm to shake Marlene's hand, which she eagerly reached out to do.

"Tommy," Joel said quietly, annoyed his brother didn't run the decision by the group first.

"Give me a little bit. I'll go talk to her so you can hit the road right away. John, please give these gentleman half the box of penicillin," Marlene said as she pushed her chair back, the legs making an awful screech against the dirty, linoleum floor. "Dinner is about to be served, please help yourselves as my guests," she added over her shoulder, leaving the dining hall.

"Tommy," Joel tried again, finally pulling his brother's attention. "A word?"

He led Tommy a ways away from the table so their conversation couldn't be overheard.

"What're you thinkin'?" Joel asked him, hands on his hips. "We don't do things like this."

"I know, Joel, but we're already out here, what's the harm? It's just a few more days," he said.

"I can't do a few more days, I need to get home," Joel replied, raking his fingers through his hair anxiously.

"I'll send Jesse and Jake back to let the girls know we'll be a little longer-"

"Goddamnit, Tommy, no!" Joel said, louder than he anticipated, a few heads from the table turning to glance his way.

"Jackson needs this medicine, what the hell's gotten into you?" Tommy asked with a frown, shifting his weight as he tried to read his brother's face.

Before he could reply, Marlene reentered the room alone, motioning for the two brothers to join her back at the table.

"Ellie's working in the kitchen, once dinner is over I'll send her to change and gather her things," Marlene said.

"Not a problem," said Tommy as he sat back down.

"Is that true?" Marlene asked, her lips pressed in a thin line as she held Joel's gaze, waiting for him to answer. He took a deep breath through his nose and crossed his arms.

"Yeah, not a problem," Joel replied bitterly.

Joel ate his meal quickly, desperate to finish this ridiculous task so he could get home. The longer he was away from you, the stronger his paranoia became. With each passing hour, he could almost feel the chasm between you growing, and he was beginning to convince himself there was no repairing the damage that was done. On both sides. Communication had never been his strong suit, but he thought he was getting better at it the past few years. Why did he go on this trip?

His eyes flicked up from his empty plate to see Marlene heading their way with the young girl he saw earlier in tow. His anger flared deep in his belly again, and he elbowed Tommy in the ribs to mutter angrily "she didn't mention it was a fuckin' kid" before Marlene could overhear.

"Ellie, these are the men I told you about. They're going to take you to Salt Lake City like we discussed," Marlene said, her hand resting on the girl's back. Joel eyed her carefully, noticing how tense her shoulders looked as she regarded the five men in front of her. His eyes drifted back to Marlene, wondering why on earth she was willing to leave this young girl with five strange men without a second thought. He decided she either was very desperate, or didn't care much for the girl.

Ellie readjusted her backpack on her shoulders and yanked on the edges of her long sleeved shirt, squaring her jaw as she stared them all down. Marlene crouched down to the girl's level and rested her hands on her shoulders.

"Remember what I told you. Listen to them, and everything will be fine," Marlene said, narrowing her eyes at Ellie. Ellie nodded, nostrils flaring before Marlene stood up to address Tommy.

"You need a map?"

"Nah, we got maps," Tommy said with a shake of his head. "This group know when we get there to give us the rest of the payment?"

"I'll radio the leader over there once you leave, let her know the deal," Marlene replied, stretching her arm out again to shake Tommy's hand.

"Alright, then," said Tommy, looking back down at Ellie and shooting her a small smile, trying to make her feel more comfortable. "You ready?"

"Yeah," she said, taking a deep breath and following Tommy out of the cafeteria.

They collected their weapons at the entrance before heading out, Ellie joining Tommy on the back of his horse. They didn't make it very far before the sun began to dip behind the trees and a quiet place was found to make camp for the night.

After getting a fire going, Tommy sat down in the dirt next to Joel, who had been leaning against a small oak tree, sipping from his flask and staring into the flames. The other three men were quietly playing a game of poker across from them, the occasional laugh or taunt floating in the air, while Ellie busied herself with a worn, paperback book further away from the rest.

"You wanna tell me what's goin' on yet?" Tommy asked, taking out his own flask.

"Nothin's goin' on," Joel replied gruffly, eyes trained on the fire.

"What's makin' you feel like you need to get home so bad?" he pressed. Joel felt that anger swelling inside him again, up his stomach and through his chest, and for a moment he wondered if Tommy knew. That maybe you told Maria and she let something slip.

"I told you, it's nothin'," he snarled, taking another sip from his flask and letting his eyes drift over to the girl. "Just wish I knew you were signin' me up to be a goddamn babysitter before comin' on this fuckin' trip."

"I can hear you, you know," Ellie said, her eyes never leaving the pages of her book.

"Good," Joel said, jutting his chin towards her, finally finding something to take his anger out on. "What's your deal, anyway?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she said, sitting upright and letting her book fall to her lap, a flash of stubbornness not unlike his own reflecting in her eyes.

"Try me," Joel argued, his jaw clenching. Ellie glared at him, silence falling over the camp as everyone waited for her to speak. She opened her mouth, then thought better of it, clamping it shut and casting her eyes down. Joel scoffed, not ready to let the topic go just yet. Angry that this child was keeping him from home, from you. Angry that his brother agreed to it, like a fool.

"C'mon now, let's hear it. What makes you so fuckin' special?"

"Joel," Tommy said under his breath, a warning, reminding him to watch his language, that she was just a kid.

"Why should I bother? You're all the same, anyway! No one ever listens to me, 'cause I'm just some kid, right? No one-" she cut herself off, stopping herself before she said too much.

"Who's all the same?" Tommy asked gently, trying to coax the information out of her. She shrugged and huffed, crossing her arms over her chest defiantly.

"The people Marlene hires. Dragging me all over the country like I'm... whatever," she said, stopping herself yet again.

"So this ain't the first time Marlene sent you off with a bunch of strange men?" Joel asked, the edge still in his tone but he could feel his resolve softening, somehow feeling bad for this little girl despite his own problems.

"No," was all she offered, glaring at Joel again.

"Are you in some sort of trouble, kid?" Eugene's voice asked from across the fire. The silence that followed was deafening, only the crackle from the fire filling the air. Ellie's eyes shot over to Eugene, looking him up and down, trying to keep up her steely resolve before giving up and turning her back on the group, announcing she was going to bed, and burying herself in the sleeping bag that was way too big for her.

Joel stared at the back of her head, trying to connect the dots with the context he had available to him, but he couldn't figure it out. Tommy shifted next to him, clearly lost in his own thoughts, as well. Wondering for the first time if he had gotten them all in over their heads.

The following morning, Tommy sent Jake and Jesse back home to let everyone know they were going to be a few days late. The three remaining men and Ellie packed up their supplies early, hitting the trail as soon as possible, ready to make a dent in the long road ahead. Eugene led the way, followed by Tommy, then Joel brought up the rear, his eyes burning holes in the back of Ellie's head as she clung to Tommy's denim jacket to keep her balance on the back of his horse.

Joel chewed the inside of his cheek, still feeling bitter, about everything. You, Tommy, Ellie. All of it. Since he couldn't get to you, and Tommy already got him in too deep, he chose to direct his energy towards Ellie when they took a break midday.

"Marlene send you with any food, or are you takin' that from us, too?" Joel asked, sitting down on a fallen tree trunk with a groan.

"I have food. And what else could I have possibly taken from you?" Ellie replied curtly, sitting further down the log as she opened her pack to fish out some granola bars.

"Time," Joel snapped. "And we don't even know why we're doin' it."

"Isn't Marlene paying you guys?" she replied with a huff. Tommy's eyes toggled back and forth between Joel and Ellie, becoming exasperated with the constant bickering.

"Can you just drop it, Joel?" Tommy asked. "Who cares? It's an easy gig, and we get meds out of it."

"Oh, she's giving you meds? Wow, she must be really desperate," Ellie chimed in.

"Alright, I've had enough," Joel said, standing up to tower over the girl. "Spit it out. What're we doin' here?"

"Fine, Joel," she said, stretching out each syllable before standing up, fists clenched at her sides. The way she said his name set his teeth on edge. "You wanna know how you're helping slavers move cargo? That the answer you're looking for?"

The three men froze, clearly not expecting that. Tommy stood up now, his head swiveling between Eugene and Joel as he processed the information just dropped on them.

"Wait-" Tommy said, stretching his arm out to Ellie, but she cut him off.

"Yeah, that's right. You still think this is a pain for you?" she snapped, glaring at Joel even though Tommy was the one who spoke.

"Stop!" Joel shouted, holding his hands up in the air as silence fell over the camp. He pointed his finger to Ellie.

"You. Explain. Now."

Joel pinched the bridge of his nose as he silently listened to Ellie tell her story. Her parents were dead. She was taken from her aunt and uncle's house at a young age, forced into slavery for the past few years: laundry, cooking, cleaning. Sometimes for twelve hours a day. Said she's been with the Fireflies a long time, that they keep moving her from base to base but she claimed she didn't know why. Joel had to wonder how much of what she was saying was the truth. There was no doubt something was happening at that hospital, but slaves? Something just didn't add up.

When she finished her story, she nervously glanced around at the men, waiting for one of them to say something. Tommy sighed and motioned to the woods.

"We need to talk about this. Privately," Tommy said, narrowing his eyes at Ellie. "You stay here."

"Fine. Not like I can make it on my own out there, anyway," she said with a snort. She picked up a stick from the ground and began drawing into the loose dirt at her feet.

"We're takin' her back, givin' back the meds, and goin' home," Joel said the moment they were out of earshot. Tommy shook his head.

"Joel-"

"This is enough, Tommy! This ain't our business. Any other option here puts the whole town at risk, puts Maria at risk, puts-" he stopped himself, biting his tongue before saying your name. He hadn't thought about you for the past half hour. A new record.

Tommy wasn't an idiot. He knew something was going on, but he couldn't focus on it, having a much bigger problem to sort out.

"She's a kid. We can't take her back, and we can't take her to Salt Lake City. It ain't right," said Tommy gently, hoping he would make his brother see through whatever was plaguing his mind and look at the bigger picture. Joel frowned and glared at the grass below his boots, clenching and unclenching his jaw as his mind struggled to wrap itself around the situation.

"Eugene?" Tommy said, turning to raise his eyebrows at the older, and suspiciously quiet, man. Eugene sighed, dropping his shoulders like he was carrying an enormous weight.

"I agree with Tommy," he said, and Joel spun on his heel, angrily pacing a few feet away to take some deep breaths.

"So, what? We take her to Jackson? We don't show people where we live for a fuckin' reason," Joel reminded them, his back still turned on the two men.

"We take her back, just a bit, til we can find where her aunt and uncle were livin', and we'll take her back home," Tommy said, the gears in his head turning as he formulated the plan on the spot. "In the meantime, we tell the Fireflies she ran off in the middle of the night. Maybe if we can get those guns to 'em, we can still keep the antibiotics."

Joel scoffed and shook his head, turning around to glare at his younger brother.

"This is stupid and risky. Lyin' to those people don't seem like a good move to me."

"Yeah, well, it's the only move we got, Joel. Otherwise, we're just as bad as them," said Tommy, his eyes drifting through the trees to make sure Ellie was still perched on the log where they left her. "I won't ask you to help take her back to her family."

"Damn right, you won't," Joel muttered, rolling his shoulders angrily. He stared off in the direction of Ellie, his jaw ticking off to the side with his hands on his hips, lost in thought.

He shouldn't have gone on this trip.

"Alright, is it settled, then? Can we hit the road, go back home?" Eugene asked, clearly tired of the bickering. Joel glared at the other two men before stomping back over to Ellie, who stood when she heard the men approaching, eyes flicking to each of their faces. Joel brushed past her to scoop up his bag from the ground and jumped back up on his horse with a grunt. At least he won't have to be away from you any longer. Not that he was sure what to even say, he just knew he needed to see you.

"C'mon, kid. We're takin' you to our town," Tommy said, motioning for her to grab her things and follow him to his horse.

"Really?" she asked excitedly, a small smile playing on her face for the first time.

"'Til we can get you back to your family, yeah," he replied, holding an arm out to help her scramble up the back of his horse.

Joel remained quiet the next day and a half, inwardly brooding about the potential blowback from taking this kid, which then morphed into nerves when he realized he was a few hours away from seeing you again.

When they arrived through the gates of Jackson, he didn't watch Ellie's eyes light up when she first saw the town, the people, the animals, kids her age playing. Maybe if he wasn't so focused on searching for your face in the small crowd that welcomed them back, then he would have seen how happy Ellie was. How, for maybe the first time in years, she felt a spark of hope. Maybe if he wasn't so focused on the ache in his chest when he didn't see you, it wouldn't have come as a surprise when Ellie snuck off the first chance she got, bobbing and weaving down the busy street, eager to see what the town had to offer.

Tag List @nana90azevedo @ninaminaromina @untamedheart81 @taz-97 @nastiasnow @amyispxnk @plz-be-solo - lmk if I missed anyone or if you want to be removed

[keylimeyunho]

hard to ignore: part 3

part 3: "rehearsal"

pairing: reader x fuckboyidol!san genre: smut, fluff word count: 6.3k warning(s): rough making out, dom!san, hate sex, name calling, manhandling, fingering, alludes to sex, talks of virginity

you will admit, the way you acted yesterday was definitely out of hand. but today was a new day.

everything that happened yesterday, you were just going to forget about. forget about your embarrassing decision to stand in front of choi san's infuriating face and tell him off for being the dick he was and probably has always been.

it's now day 2 of the 3 seoul shows that are kicking off ateez's first world tour since the pandemic and today, you were getting to work on not only their makeup, but their outfits. you woke up still in disbelief that this was your job.

and nothing else was going to happen today to risk it again. not choi san, not jeong yunho, not eunchae. you were going to mind your business and grace these boys with the best outfits they've ever seen. and that's all you were going to do.

yet still, you were at their trailer door by the time it rang 8 am on your phone. just as he wanted you to be.

you scratched your arm and straightened yourself, waiting for one of the members to open their door. you could see your hot breath coming out of your mouth into the morning chill. you were somehow more nervous on day 2 than you were on the first day- but you're pretty sure you knew why.

the door opens and the sound echoes through the trailer lot, as you were the only ones up at this hour. yunho stood at the door with a warm smile, letting all the cold over your arms and in your body melt away. however, the smile quickly changed to a gaping mouth in shock.

"oh my god, did we leave you out here too long?" he reaches his arm out and grabbed the makeup bag out of your shaking hands and gently pulled you inside their heated trailer. "i'm sorry..usually hongjoong is awake but i think after the adrenaline of last night, we all crashed." he scratches his neck and looks down at his feet.

you walk into their trailer to find that the director had brought their day 2 outfits already, each carefully zipped in their costume bags, for you to sew to your hearts content and tether perfectly to all eight bodies of ateez. you felt a smile creep across your face.

you turn back to face yunho who was still looking down, ashamed he left their poor stylist outside for too long.

"don't sweat it," you reassure him with your now beaming smile. "right now, i'm itching to see what outfits they're giving us to work with!"

you place your bags down and run over to the bag labeled "SEONGHWA," giving into the temptation and running your hands over the zipper.

you turn back to yunho, whose soft smile had returned to his face and he tilted his head at you with endearment of curiosity. you beamed at him. "can I please open this now? seonghwa always has my favorite look...and I might die if I don't get to see it right now."

the coffee machine behind yunho chimes and he jumps out of the trance your eyes had put him in.

"shit! my coffee!" he scurries over before his coffee spills over the mug. "y/n, of course you can," he reassures you as he lifts the mug carefully over to the fridge for creamer. "you're our stylist. and i think you should get a good look at the outfits before we put them on."

you bite your lip nervously. "alright....fuck it. you're right." you tear into the bag (carefully, of course) and reach your hand in to pull out seonghwa's suit.

you gasp. a red vest with a plunging neckline wrapped in a formidable black coat that was as long as his pants hanging off the hanger. the sides of the jacket turned to the deep blood red of the vest. you could smell the scent of fresh fabric and feel the softness of the fabric between your fingers. a very seonghwa outfit indeed.

"did you see mine?" yunho says behind you. you turn you heard to see him grinning from behind his coffee mug, sipping carefully with one arm leaning on the counter. "i think it's my favorite of all of our outfits this tour. maybe even ever."

you roll your eyes at him. "now that has to be a stretch. your outfit yesterday was amazing." you remember the black velvet and gold trim jacket you saw him in yesterday as he was performing the ring, remembering the way he became a different person, one much different than the sweet, gentle guy you were talking to right now.

yunho takes another sip of his coffee and sighs. "i mean, i loved it, don't get me wrong. but it's just...something about outfits that show off my body shape." he shrugs and puts his coffee cup down. "let me show you."

he walks over to where you are near the couch and takes the bag labeled "YUNHO." he unzips it and carefully takes out the outfit

in the same deep shape of red, yunho's outfit is much different yet just as elegant as seonghwa's. it's half red-half black with a black, floral decal on the right shoulder. no jacket or baggy pants. just a glorious button-down, perfect for a performer like yunho. and definitely better than yesterday's outfit.

your mouth hangs open in shock. "wow, you were right about one thing. it's definitely much more form-fitting."

you reach your hand out to take the bag from him and your fingers brush for a second. yunho probably doesn't notice, but you do. you try to ignore the fact his fingers were soft, maybe freshly moisturized. he smelled good, too. you wonder how long he's been-

"the rest of them will be ready soon, they're all awake- i'm just the only one who remembered you were coming, i guess." he beamed at you and offers a hand to pull you up. "and since i'm all ready to be prepped, i'll take one for the team and go first." he winks at you and puts his hand to his heart, in honor. "i'll sacrifice my sleep to give the guys some time to recoup and actually eat something."

you smile softly at him. today was already looking better than yesterday.

-

once all the boys finished getting ready, you were able to start rotations for fitting them for their outfits. they were generally well-fitted on them, but you did some last-minute tailoring.

you could tell the boys were probably not completely comfortable with their outfits. wooyoung kept pulling at the shirt under his red blazer and seonghwa clearly wasn't comfortable with the length of his coat. so you opted for wooyoung to just remove the button down completely.

wooyoung checked himself out in the mirror and got shy when he saw the way his chest was more exposed with the shirt removed. you hid your smile; you could not deny seeing the evident mercedez benz logo on his chest more clearly this way.

he turned back to you with his hands together, thanking you. "this is much better. lord knows what i would've done if i had to dance in that shirt."

and for seonghwa, you squatted below him, taking scissors and trimming the fabric to a little below his knees, giving him enough leg room that would make it easier to perform the first set of songs. you hadn't realized that performing answer in such a long coat would probably be easier said than done.

but you could tell seonghwa felt infinitely more confident in a shorter coat than a longer one. he spun around in the mirror like a little girl playing dress up for the first time, his eyes glowing and a smile lighting up.

seeing the members feel good in their outfits made you finally feel useful today; not like a klutz. or someone getting in their way.

you better stay away from me if you know what's good for you-

"y/n, this is just- wow."

seonghwa's voice shakes you from that memory, one that felt so vivid but so distant. but you smile at him, forgetting all about it.

"you look stunning. regal, even." you put your hands on his coat again, unbuttoning the coat and revealing more of his neckline and deep red vest. you looked up seonghwa, who was looking down at you, with that intimidating glare and sharp cheekbones.

but his gaze transformed into a big smile with his eyes squeezed shut the way it always does. "only the second day and you already are proving to be our best stylist yet."

you roll your eyes at his comment. "oh please, you're just saying that." you nod to his coat, "it was a simple cut and sew, easy. it wasn't that special.”

seonghwa punches your shoulder playfully. "hey, don't put yourself down like that. we all are thankful you came to kq."

you scratch your arm awkwardly, looking away from seonghwa's genuine, caring expression. you knew he meant well, but you have trouble believing everyone at kq wanted you here. especially after-

"hey, don't let whatever happened between you and san get to you. please." seonghwa looks at you with sympathy and pleading. you can tell he means what he's saying.

"man's an ass. we all know it. i don't even need to know what he said to know that he's already getting to your head." he turns back to the mirror to straighten his coat. "you just gotta put him in his place and he'll get off you. only time he ever gets his way is when you let him walk over you."

you look at seonghwa's face in the mirror and he raises an eyebrow at you. "so don't let him. just tell him to fuck off."

that was the first time you had a genuine laugh for the first two days.

now that was funny. telling your superior to go f himself. yeah, that would end up better than yesterday.

you in san's face backstage. san staring daggers into your eyes. san barging into your trailer. you can't stand the way he's starting to consume your mind.

you stop laughing to look at seonghwa. "yeah, like that'll end well." you scoff.

but seonghwa's face remains indifferent. suddenly, he turns around and heads towards the door. "thank you for everything, y/n. and im serious. someone should really just tell him that one day." he shoots you one last stern look, almost like something of an older brother, who cares about you. "and its certainly not gonna be me." he walks out.

you look at the clock. it's currently 9:06 AM.

be ready by 8 am. you shake the thought of your head, shaking the sound of his degrading, scratching voice out of your head.

while waiting for him, you head over to the bag labeled "SAN" to get his suit ready.

just by taking the jacket out by the hanger, you can already tell this was definitely choi san's. the shoulders of his jacket made the plastic hanger look like it was a child's one. the difference between the broad shoulders and tiny waistline was evident. and not to mention the deep neckline on the jacket, similar to mingi's and seonghwa's. but if you can remember choi san's build, when you looked up at him towering over you last night, you wouldn’t be surprised if more than just his neck would be visible when he put this on.

"personally, i think it's not enough. how am i supposed to dance in that thing?"

you whip around to see him leaning on the door frame with his arms crossed. he was wearing the same frown he had when he was at your trailer door.

you put the jacket down, turning back around and refusing to make eye contact with him. "do you even know how to knock? stop sneaking up on me."

he walks over to you and the jacket. he takes it from you, feeling the frabic under his fingers. "no, i don't think i will. i think it's payback for the way you spoke to me yesterday."

you grip on the chair next you so he can't see the anger fuming in you again. can he just shut up and be normal like the rest of the members?

you force a smile and you walk away from him, trying to keep a healthy distance between the two of you. “can you please just put this on so we can get this over with it?"

he clutches it to his chest and tilts his head, pouting. "i just walked in here, goddamn. you want me gone already?" he clicks his tongue.

you move back to the table to grab your measuring tape. you weren’t putting him. "i would prefer to speak to you as little as possible." you turn back to him. "since you said you never want to see me-"

you stop in your tracks when you come face to face with back muscles. san's back. you're staring right into his bare skin as he had already started to take his clothes off to try on the jacket.

he turns around holding the shirt he was wearing ten second ago and you come face to face with his bare chest now. you felt a little overhwelmed. he wasn't even in makeup or any clothes. just his plaid pants and no shirt. you could see the hint of the temporary tattoo of an 'A' peaking out of his pants on his lower abdomen. he was toned. really toned. there were ridges over his chest and you could clearly see the shape of muscle in his upper chest. his nipples were hard. maybe he was cold. or maybe he-

"don't stop on my accord. what were you saying? since i said what?" he threw his shirt on the ground and started taking off his pants.

you shielded your eyes. "you don't need to get undressed here, san." you point to the closet, still putting your head in your elbow. "the members just got changed in there.

san just rolls his eyes as he takes his pants off. "c'mon. you're telling me you've never seen a guy's body before? i don't mind" he put his hand over his heart. "honest to god. and besides. you should get a good look at me before. you know, to make sure this jacket will fit." he shakes it in front of your face.

you look at him now over your fingers, shielding your eyes from below his abdomen. the way your body reacted to just seeing his chest, there's no telling what you would do if you saw anything below his waist.

"i think i'm good for now, just...." you stare at the way his back muscles tighten as he lifts his arms up to get the jacket over his head. the ends of his black hair brushing his shoulders and his biceps flexing. he turns back around at you once the jacket is through both of his arms and he starts pulling the buttons through the loops. but you can tell he's clearly struggling. probably just to get you to help him.

"it won't- go in," he grunts, trying to pull the little button through. you roll your eyes at his feigned anger. you groan under your breath and grab his jacket, realigning it and slipping each button into the holes. he was like a helpless child that wanted your attention.

you try your hardest to not look straight ahead at the grooves of muscle on his chest and the shadow of his pecks near the opening of the jacket.

god, it was not this difficult with any of the members. they were so easy to work with and did not make your job more difficult, more distracting. something about san just made you so infuriated, so tense. but you could also feel something pooling your stomach when you looked at the way the jacket hugged his waist.

"there," you assert, stepping back to admire how he fits the jacket. and so you can get away from his intoxicating presence.

san does a 360 in the mirror, flexing his arms and moving around in different directions to test the movement within the jacket. it fit very well. but you could tell by the concerned look on his face, it wasn't quite right.

"there's too much.." he starts, pulling at the neck and trying to make more space in the jacket. "i need more freedom to move, this thing just has too much...everywhere. and it's tight."

looking from behind, you can tell san's jacket was about to bust open. his back and shoulders were so big it made it hard to find a suit jacket that could fit a body like his. clearly, whoever made this still could not do him justice.

however, you remembered one of san's stage outfits having a slit between his shoulder blades to give him more leg (or shoulder) room. while san continues to pull at his shirt, you grab the scissors.

"hold still," you tell him and grab onto his shoulders from the back to keep him from moving. taking the black fabric on his back and pinching it, you cut about a half foot size slit right in between his shoulder blades.

when you finished, you struggled to want to let go of his shoulder's. you felt a sort of security feeling shorter than san and you kind of enjoyed holding on to the muscles under his jacket.

but he did the work for you, stepping out from your hands and looking at himself in the mirror again. this time he was able to move his arms and back muscles much more comfortably. he gave you a big grin from the mirror.

"much better. just a small tweak, but i feel better about this already." he turned to you. "is there anything else you need then? because i feel pretty good as of now."

he looked down at you with his brown eyes. compared to last night, the stone face he wore as his lips twitched at you, san looked almost...cute. or something like that. you almost felt glad you could make him this happy.

“that’s something he’s never wanted.”

yunho's voice reminds you; now, san's pout looks more like a manipulation tactic.

you point the scissors in san's face, "my only request, choi san, is to let me know how that jacket holds up. and don't wear it to rehearsal. i don't want to run the risk of you ruining it before show."

"damn, okay." he holds his hands up like you just pointed a loaded gun and not fabric scissors. "but put those things down. im not gonna hurt you, baby."

you roll your eyes and slam the scissors on the table. "see? this is what i'm talking about. stop calling me...names. or anything other than y/n."

he rolls his eyes with a shit-eating grin, "i'm just trying to be nice for once."

your gaze is locked into that shit grin you want to wipe off his face. it's a shame he was such an ass because he looked really fucking good at this moment.

your grip tightened and curled on the scissors on the table. "after last night, i have trouble believing you even know what that word means."

san crosses his arms, his neckline opening and showing more of his chest. you keep eye contact with him.

"last night? you mean when i came close to touching your-"

"hello?" a voice at the door. yunho's.

god bless for all the interruptions today.

you shoot san one more stern look and he's silently laughing to himself, ignoring you.

"i think that means its my time to go." he put's two fingers to his brow and then points to you. "see ya, baby"

he opens the door to see yunho straightening his shirt. he freezes when he realizes it's san at the door.

san pats his shoulder. "keep her warm for me." and he walks out.

-

it was finally time for the boys rehearsal and you decided to watch today. scared of seeing san yesterday, you decided to not let him get to you again today.

you sat behind the stage mix, right across from the extended stage. you had a perfect view of everything and it almost felt like you were getting a private concert.

you crossed your legs and laid back in your arena chair. it reminded you of the feeling of being a k-pop fan before this, before you were offered this job. screaming in these seats at the men on stage flashing their smiles and dancing, losing your voice to your own screams, your heart beating out of your chest from the adrenaline.

but now you're sitting in this arena as someone who knows these boys like colleagues. even might have a toxic flirtationship with one...

"cmon, no one will care," yunho had said to you as you checked the fit of his button-down a couple hours prior. "you deserve a vip view of an ateez concert- one without any of the fans competing for our attention."

you rolled your eyes and shrugged your shoulders. "i know someone who might care if i'm there."

yunho grabbed both your shoulders and bent down to match your eye level. "y/n, please don't tell me you're letting him get to you again. just ignore him. he's an ass."

you look into yunho's big brown eyes. yunho was so thoughtful and caring and you had only just met these boys. how could he be so sweet, touching your shoulder and looking into your eyes? but his bandmate didn't even know how to hold a conversation that didn't poke at the insufferable sexual tension hanging between the two of you whenever you had to be alone with san.

you pouted, slightly. "i'm trying, but he just finds new ways to get under my skin and be a piece of shit when he talks to me."

a really fucking hot piece of shit. but you digress.

yunho grips your shoulder harder. "you're going to come down to our rehearsal and have some fun. you deserve it."

suddenly, the lights turned off. the beginning chimes of hala hala could be heard throughout the arena. it finally hits you you're getting a front-row view of one of ateez's most powerful songs since debut.

you stuck your head a little higher up to get a better look over the stage mix. you could see eight silhouettes walking out from the main stage and you tried to make out the shape of each one.

from the left, seonghwa had on a white shirt and black pants barely covering his ankles, already donning the pointy dress shoes he was probably going to wear during tonight's show.

yeosang had on a grey compression shirt that really hugged everything in. and matched it with his black dress pants.

hongjoong donned a bare face with black baggy basketball shorts and high top jordans with brown socks. his hair could be seen peeking out from his hoodie.

yunho had on a baggy black t shirt, but wore light grey joggers. when he saw you in the crowd, his eyes lit up, breaking the trance hala hala had placed him under in order to wave an awkward hi to you. you grinned and waved your fingers back.

jongho had on a dark blue flannel and black joggers and running sneakers, holding his deep purple microphone in his left hand.

mingi had on his off white beanie, almost covering his eyes and all his hair, also donning a hoodie with a beige flannel over it. very boyfriend-esque; a striking juxtaposition to his onstage persona that he would release tonight.

wooyoung's hair was wet from a shower and slicked back by the water, therefore he was wearing his black windbreaker that reached almost to his knees with grey sweatpants.

and then at the end, you could see san wearing-

you froze.

san was not wearing his normal dancewear. anything could be better than this. even seeing him totally shirtless again from a couple feet away.

anything was better than the fact he was wearing exactly what you told him not to.

he walked out in his black and red jacket you just cut for him, the one you specifically told him to avoid wearing before the show.

but since when did choi san ever listen to something you asked of him?

you're jaw locked and you squinted your eyes at him. his gaze went from hala hala intimidating to another shit-eating grin and a silent laugh, right in your face.

oh, you were going to fucking kill him.

the members started dancing together in unison as the pre-chorus hit. but you only watched him carefully.

as it built to the chorus, san's part came up where he pumped his fist down to make the members shake behind him.

he looked directly at you as he pumped his arms down on each beat, tongue peaking out his lips and his eyebrows raising. you kept looking at him. don't fucking try anything.

unfortunately, the song continues with san performing like he's never wanted to impress someone more. he flung his body on the stage floor and kicked high enough his pants almost ripped. you just crossed your fingers he didn't mess up the jacket you fixed for him before the show even started.

if the jacket ripped during the show, it wouldn't matter as much. the fans might even swoon at the thought of seeing san's jacket rip from the sheer width of his shoulders.

but as his stylist, you didn't want san to get on that platform during their first song with a ruined outfit.

but san couldn't give less of a fuck about that. as long as he was getting under your skin, that's all that mattered to him.

finally, as the bridge built to its climax, you watched san growl something inhumane before the dance break.

outside of the seething anger you felt towards san, you couldn't deny the presence that oozed off of him while he was on stage. even in an empty arena, he was performing his hardest and pushing himself to an extent that the average human body couldn't reach. and no matter how much you wanted to ignore him, no matter how much you wanted him to get off stage, your eyes couldn't help but be entranced by his face the whole song.

finally, the music cuts and you look at the members lying on the ground, huffing thick air into their mics and holding their hands on their chests to catch their breath.

on the front stage, you see san laying on his back his arm over his head, nipples peaking out from under the jacket he so carelessly wore.

crossing your finger, he finally uses his arms as leverage to stand up. he sits up and turns his back to you, revealing what was left of the slit you gave him.

to your dismay, the slit of fabric no longer existed, but the entire jacket was split down the center.

the fabric was curling down out of the jacket, the skin on his back on display for you to stare at as you could even see the sweat dripping down, down, down-

"san!" you stood up. you stared him down from where you were sitting fifty feet away from the stage.

san turned to face you, his hair dripping sweat and covering his eyes. he blew a bang out of his face and blew you a kiss

-

"you're so fucking dense," you growl under your breath as san closes the door to the dressing room, his jacket in two pieces and sweat soaking his body.

"you're just so fucking arrogant, idiotic, stupid, so-"

"i get it!" he yells back, running his fingers through his hair. "can you shut up? oh my god. you really are annoying, sometimes, do you know that?"

not this again. you rolled your eyes at his comment. "i swear to god, san. if you don't stop berating me for every little thing i say-"

"maybe you should unclench a little, y/n. it's just a jacket, jesus christ." he scoffs.

you clench your first. you've just about had it with him.

"maybe you don't care because either way you're getting paid after this, but it's my job to take care of your clothes." you cross your arms at him. "and i gave you a specific order not to wear that before the show. was it really that hard to follow?”

san sits back in the dressing room chair, putting his hands behind his head, now unfazed as ever. he laughs.

"yeah, i heard. but i didn't care." he sighs and a smile grows over his face.

you scream from inside your throat. you wanted nothing more than to punch that grin right off his face and show him how you really feel.

"well, now your concert jacket is destroyed because you wanted to make an absolute fool of yourself as a sick way to," you take a deep breath to control your anger. "i don't know- get back at me for telling you off yesterday?"

he leans back in the chair, biceps showing through the tight jacket an he tilts his head back to show the way his adams apple bobs out of his throat. a deep chuckle leaves his mout.

"yeah you could say that." he sits back up and this time, he spreads his legs open, leaning forward and putting his head into his right hand. "but i also wanted to see your reaction to seeing me like that on stage."

you crossed your arms. "like what?"

he stands up and walks over to you. slowly, he turns around to show you a xclose up his jacket.

the rip was infinitely bigger in person, but damn you could see every muscle in his back. sweat from rehearsal was still dripping down his back. he smelled sweaty but with a hint of a sharp, clean cologne that made you want to grab him and bury your nose right into his skin.

you pretended you didn't like seeing his back like that. "what am i supposed to be looking at?" you poke.

he turns back around and faces you, his grin making an appearance in front of you again. his hand reaches to your hair and brushes it out of your face.

"i need you to stop pretending you don't feel what i'm feeling right now."

your mouth gapes open. you couldn't believe he was saying this right now, in a situation so serious. however, something about the way his fingers felt brushing your forehead, you can't deny, that familiar heat was pooling in your stomach. part of you wanted to vomit, but also have san touch your skin one more time to bring it back.

you set your jaw. "i dont know what you're talking about. you really need to learn when to shut up and listen-"

"ohmygod, y/n." he grabs your chin this time and tilts it up, looking down at you. "i saw the way you were eye fucking me on stage earlier. cut the bullshit."

you slit your eyes and push him off you and he stumbles back, slightly in shock you actually fought back.

you stand still. staring at him, covered in sweat, hair over his eyes, plunging neckline putting his nipples back on display. it was really hard to want to punch him across the face when he looked like that, when he smelled like that, when he talked like that.

you stare at each other for a little longer. finally, san walks closer once more. this time he puts his hand on the wall over your head, looking down at you.

you stare daggers into his forehead. he just smirks and cracks his neck.

"no snappy response this time, huh?"

you stare back up at him.

"fuck you, choi san."

he grins, his eyes closing and he breathes in through his teeth sharply. he reopens them.

"fuck you, too."

his lips were on yours before you could even register that he pushed you against the wall with that much force.

the kiss was sloppy, desperate. you weren't even sure if there were any feelings in it. but you both knew it stemmed from the unbearable sexual attraction you felt to one another in this moment.

his hands traveled from the wall to your waist, squeezing them and twirling his fingers in the ends of your shirt. your hand curled under his arm and you squeezed the skin on his back to hold on as he kept his lips glued to yours, not even separating them to breathe.

you didn't know what you were doing. but you didn't care

"fuck, baby," he finally breathes into your mouths, "you're so-"

"just shut the fuck up and kiss me," you breathe back, putting your lips back on his and wrapping your arms around his neck.

he takes his hands off your waist and puts his hand under your thighs. he lifts you up, your ankles locking around his waist in return. your lips never separate from his as his mouth opens to accept your tongue in return.

he puts you on the dressing table, pulling at the waistband of your jeans.

his fingers brush your lower abdomen, just below your bellybutton and you clench at the feeling of someone being so close to you, so close to your core.

you smile into his lips and laugh a little. "san, i swear to god,"

"what?" he says, smiling back and dipping his hands past the waistband this time. "i'm not doing anything."

"i don't want you anywhere near my-" you cut yourself with a breathy moan out of your lips.

"hm? what were you saying?" his hands were now past the band of your underwear, cupping the shape of your heat and pressing slowly. "you don't me anywhere near your...."

another moan, louder this time, escapes you. you tilt your head back. "san, just shut the fuck up please. i don't wanna hear your voice."

san dips one finger little farther than the others as he leans into your ear. "yeah, but baby, i wanna hear yours."

you bite your lip and hold back a third moan, not trying to stroke san's ego already more than it has, considering he got his hands far as they've gone. but the feeling of his finger dipping inside you like that made it hard to keep your morals.

"san, san, san, please, i-" you stutter. he looks back down at you now. he removes his other hand from your waist to fist your hair, tilting your head back so all he could see was your bare neck.

"use your words, princess. or i'm gonna make it harder this time." you felt a second finger make it's way to your entrance.

san breathes into your neck and starts leaving open-mouth kisses all over your collarbone, his grip on your hair still strong as ever.

"san, please, i need- fuck!" you stutter again, this time with a whince of pain from your hair pulling out of your head by his grip on it.

"can't believe i got you to fall apart like this so fast. maybe i should just fuck you right here for being such a whore." he kisses your neck once more. " i didn't know you had this in you, but fuck. i'm not complaining."

your legs were still wrapped around his waist so you started to feel a bulge pushing through his pants. but you could not say anything with the way your nipples were piercing through your white t-shirt.

"is that what you are?" san puts his lips to your ear. "a whore? hm? letting a man you just met touch you like-" he inserts his second finger to meet the other one. "-this."

you shut your eyes tight, breathing heavily, trying to hold back your moans once again. you didn't want san to stop, butt he thought of admitting it to him made you want to vomit.

you breathed out once more and looked into his eyes.

"n-no." you choked out.

san raises an eyebrow. "hm? oh really?" his fingers start pumping faster.

you nod fast, biting your lip. don't stop, please don't stop.

"so you're a fucking virgin, huh?" he says, louder this time. his hand releases on your hair and throws your head forward.

"makes sense," he says, his fingers still pumping at the same, delicious speed. "i've never felt a pussy this tight, fuck. i bet i'm the first one to be this far inside you"

you suck in another breath. "san, oh my god, please, stop talking."

his knuckles curl in you the moment you let that out your mouth. god fuck, how did he get so deep that fast?

san laughs in your ear again "i think i should just stick my cock in this pussy already, that'd stretch you out faster, hm?"

you can feel a third finger making its way. you're not sure if you're ready to cross that bridge.

san inches the tip of his third finger to your clit "just admit you want my cock right here-"

"y/n? are you in there?"

the voice outside shakes you both and you jump right off the table. san pulls his fingers out of you and tucks them behind his back.

"hello?" yunho.

you look at yourselves in the mirror. your nipples were hard and visible through your shirt.

san's jacket was wrinkled and his cock was hard in his pants.

you put your hoodie on to cover your nipples and the wet stain in your jeans. san sits on the chair to cover himself.

"coming!" you say to yunho outside.

you turn to look at san one more time before opening the door. but instead of wearing the same mortified face you couldn't get off your face from the last ten minutes, san wore the biggest smile you ever saw, looking more content than ever.

part 4: fri july 29th

series masterlist | previous chapter

tags: @mulletjoonsupremacy @sakura777chan @lemonhongjoong @moonsangie @kitten4sannie @sanasstrawberry @baguette-atiny @ka-ni-ma @wooyoungsbestie @choisansnotsolegalwife @s10an @atinytinaa @nonclassyparty @kwanisms @timeofwave @sangiluvem @sanstreasure0305 @starcrossedsan @kha0sblossom @diorwoo

[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 45)

“Sooo Hal, what exactly do I do here?” N asked nervously, twiddling his thumbs as they walked through the halls.

“I’ll be giving you a shortrange frequency that you’ll monitor, our office takes reports from concerned citizens, and Khan, Dale and I take the ones most suited for our respective teams.”

“Crime here is usually pretty tame, petty theft, b and e’s, vandalism. Occasionally we’ll get more serious calls, domestic violence, occasional homicide, though that’s gotten rare thankfully, or an odd “crime of passion”. Hal continued, N listening intently, he understood most of that, but “crime of passion” seemed to escape him.

“Crime of passion?”

“Couples getting too frisky and damaging one or both of them. Usually young ones who dunno what their doing. Most of the time they just dunno how to disconnect and panic, not too big a deal.”

Except N was still lost, he knew what all those words meant separately, but together they made little sense in his processors. He blinked. He wanted to ask what he meant by “disconnect” but at the same time it felt like a private question, not one he should be asking to his boss on his first day of work. Maybe he’d ask Uzi, or Thad, whichever was less embarrassing.

“How’s your daughter doing by the way? Khan mentioned she was having mobility problems when she was first transferred.” Hal asked turning yet another corner to go down yet another hallway, it always surprised him how large the bunker actually was, even if over half the rooms seemed to be empty. A pang of guilt entered his core, how many of these empty rooms were his fault? Or V’s?

“She’s fine now, she was just a little stiff, now she’s clinging to Uzi like a little monkey.” N gave a soft laugh thinking about his family at home, he always missed the both of them even if he wasn’t gone for very long, he supposed that just came with having a job though.

“Ah, yeah, sometimes that happens… when my son was printed into his toddler body we had to take him to the medical wing and they had to do surgery on his neck for him to start moving.”

“I didn’t know you had a son, I’m sorry, I’m sure that scared you both.”

Hal seemed to slow down for a moment, like he just caught himself doing something he shouldn’t before sighing.

“I did have a son. He’s… agh, nevermind that, we’re here.”

He banged his fist on the steel door, sending the grating noise through the hall, they waited for a few moments, only for nothing to reply back.

“She probably has her damn hearing aid turned off again.” Hal grumbled, before knocking as hard as he could, enough to send a vibration through the floor that N could feel through his feet.

“I heard you the first time! Go away!” A croaky, static filled voice called back, sounding irate and just a little bit scared. Hal rolled his eyes.

“It’s Hal, Mrs. Hopkins, you called us in to check out a break in.” Hal put on a very practiced customer service smile, N felt a minuscule shiver go up his spine, being reminded slightly of J, before it dissipated, here, it actually made sense for someone to have that kind of forced smile, and it wasn’t being used exclusively to make him uncomfortable.

The door opened quickly, the drone responsible being so old her casing had started to yellow, her eyelights were white, behind a thick pair of glasses. And she leaned on a cane, she shook with just the effort it took to stand and she adjusted her glasses as she looked at them.

“Good morning Mrs. Hopkins, what seems to be the problem today?” The way Hal asked the question alluded to his multitude of visits, she didn’t immediately answer, instead looking up at N squinting.

“You’re a tall one. Are you new?” She asked, prodding him in the stomach with her cane, he grunted, still trying to keep his polite smile even as he glanced over at Hal for assistance.

“She can’t see very well” He whispered up into N’s audio receptors, covering his mouth with his hand. “Probably a good thing, don’t give yourself away.”

N nodded and smiled again, extending his hand to shake the old woman’s hand, having to crouch down slightly to do so as she was hunched over her cane. She took it, her casing was freezing and felt like sandpaper, N made a internal note to not live this long.

“Hello Mrs. Hopkins, I’m N, it’s nice to meet you ma’am.” He said, and the ancient drone looked at him again, before her face grew into a kindly smile.

“How polite! And such a handsome young man. I hope Hal here doesn’t ruin you.”

The man in question’s eye twitched, before the moment was gone and he cleared his throat, clearly wanting to be done with this as soon as possible.

“You called us in for a break in?”

“Hmm? Oh yes! I was woken up last night by some footsteps. Above me! Someone was clearly trying to steal my fortune!”

N looked around her apartment, the couch was antique, plush and covered in so many blankets and throw pillows that it was hard to see the color of the actual seating underneath, the coffee table was decorated with a lattice of lace, making using it as an actual coffee table near impossible. The same could be said for most the the apartment, nothing here screamed “valuable”.

“Right, okay.” Hal replied, tense but still playing nice, N decided to help him out, he may have been tired of dealing with this lady, but N wanted to make a good impression, to both his superior and this lady.

“Where did you hear the footsteps Mrs. Hopkins? I could go and check for any signs of forced entry.”

“In my bedroom of course, how else would I hear it?” She answered, and N nodded, turning to Hal who seemed to be asking what he was doing, N gave him a smile before leaning over to whisper at him.

“Even if nothing happened, she believes something did, let me just check out her bedroom and the vents, then we can tell her that nothing was there.”

Hal nodded, seemingly agreeing with this plan, he sighed, before adjusting his posture.

“Well we take every report seriously, may we investigate?”

“Be my guest, and if you find the little hoodlum, tell them to get lost!”

Both officers made their way to the bedroom, which at first glance, had nothing amiss. Aside from the abundance of rather creepy porcelain dolls, all staring at them from various angles, N felt unease, and also the need to voice it.

“Whyyyyyy….” He whispered under his breath, just loud enough for Hal to hear it and he snorted in response, giving him an amused smile.

“I’d be paranoid too with all these eyes on me while I slept.” Hal whispered back, sighing and scanning the room, running his hand over one of the only clear spaces on the large wardrobe that held the vast majority of the dolls.

“Seems clear to me, any difference on your end son?”

N scanned the room in both infrared and thermal, but neither showed anything out of the ordinary, but even still his eyes locked to large vent in the corner of the ceiling, he didn’t know why something felt off with it, but it was giving him some weird vibes.

“Lemme check the ventilation, she did say she heard it above her.”

Hal nodded, looked into the doorway to ensure Mrs. Hopkins hadn’t entered the room and have a thumbs up to N, who let loose his wings and zipped up the shaft after carefully removing the grate in his way.

He had always hated climbing through the vents, not only was it dusty and he’d have to spend an hour cleaning out his olfactory and audio receptors later, but it was a tight squeeze, even without his wings, his shoulders scraped the sides of the ventilation shaft uncomfortably.

It was almost impossible for a normal drone to get up in here unless they had a ladder or also had the ability to fly, so he doubted he’d find anything accept a colony of robo-roaches.

When he got further in however, that feeling of unease watched over him again, like something or someone was aware of his presence and he was disturbing them, but rationality still won out, the chances of somebody being in these vents were astronomically low.

Then, the vent opened up a little, allowing him to crouch instead of crawl, to his left was a slowly rotating fan, his front the vents continued forward, but to his right, there was indeed something out of the ordinary. Caught on one of the seams of the welded metal was a ripped piece of red cloth, stained with multiple layers of oil, the freshest layer though, smelled of iron, and seemed to create a glaze of crimson on top of the multiple layers of dried oil. Blood.

He plucked it from its resting place, dread mixing in with confusion, the oil made some sense, maybe whoever had been here had been injured and using this scrap as a bandage, but the blood made less sense. The only time he’d seen blood recently was when that weird fleshy thing under Doll’s bed bled when he poked it, well, and Uzi’s… head… injury.

He looked back down at the red strip, before he remembered what Doll usually wore, that red cheerleading outfit.

His dread grew, becoming a cold weight around his core, Doll was here? In the bunker? Sneaking around the vents doing who knows what and clearly some type of organic based on this blood. What did he do? V was here, she wouldn’t be expecting Doll if she just dropped down from the ceiling one night and tried to off her. And what about Uzi? She was home alone most of the day, taking care of Tera. Oh Robo-God, Tera, she’d be completely defenseless if the Russian decided to come after her as well.

You must go home, your family is in danger!

He wanted to, his worry sinking it's claws deep into him, but he couldn't just leave, Hal was still waiting for him, and he was on the job.

Who cares? Their safety is more important!

The voice was loud and demanding, far more then it had ever been before, it caused ringing in his ears, but still he had to control himself.

Then he got an idea.

He simply called his girlfriend, he was a phone. And even though his hands were shaking and the urge to go home was strong, the voice ceased, seemingly content with his choice.

“N? Why are you calling me through my system? Are you okay?” At the sound of her voice his worry lessened and his core soared, she was okay, Doll hadn't already come for them.

“I-I found a scrap of cloth in the vents. It's Doll's. S-she's somewhere in the vents, please warn V.”

There was silence on the other end, enough of it that he could hear his daughters light giggling through the other side.

“I fucking hate it here!”

Next ->

[primreaperstuff]

I just had a thought: Everybody seems to be assuming that the Society of the Blind Eye (SBE) Dippers and Mabels in the Book of Bill were created during that summer. But what if they actually were what happened had Dipper taken that internship with Ford? I got the idea because the guys in the hoods look a good deal taller than the other Dippers and Mabels. I mean, it could just be the perspective, but I thought they looked like they might've gotten the chance to grow a bit more than the others. If you assume Left Hood is Mabel, (based off of their nose possibly being the same color as the rest of their face), it's also possible that she's lasted long enough in one timeline to get her braces off.

Alex Hirsch has said that Ford would've made the same mistakes with Dipper that he did with Fiddleford McGucket, so Dipper the Intern would've eventually ended up going insane like McGucket did. And McGucket originally founded the SBE as a direct consequence of Ford's bullshit. (Sorry Ford baby, I do love you-- but you are completely unfit to raise a technically-teenage boy full-time!)

I wouldn't put it past a traumatized older Dipper to figure out how to rebuild the memory gun (or maybe it never got destroyed in the first place?). At first he was just hoping to be able to sleep again but it takes its toll on his mind after awhile and he unwittingly ends up recreating the SBE (perhaps because he doesn't remember it-- or doesn't remember how bad it really was for people). Or alternatively, Ford, having been enabled for years by somebody who either can't or won't tell him no, proposes a truly horrible idea that even Dipper can't go along with. Dipper resorts to trying to wipe Ford's memory of the idea to ensure he never acts on it, but it fails and permanently ruins the relationship. Dipper is ashamed, alone, and afraid, so he uses the gun on himself so those bad memories of failure don't stop him from stopping Ford. It snowballs into repeated uses of the gun (turns out that forgetting what you're afraid of means forgetting why you don't use the gun more often!) until the poor guy can't bring himself to do anything in public without it. Dipper has enough perfectionist tendencies that, if something caused him to go off the rails, I could see him constantly using the memory gun to redo his interactions with people until they go exactly the way he's decided they're supposed to.

The dark path for Mabel would be worse in some ways. Imagine that this is a world where Mabel encouraged Dipper to take the internship instead of getting upset about it. Maybe she even unwittingly pressured him into accepting it when he was going to turn it down, because she thought it would be awesome for him, only to get hit with the horrible reality when the next summer rolls around and he's obviously Not Okay. She feels partially responsible and wishes he never had to experience any of the terrible stuff he alludes to, and that leads her to remaking/refinding the memory gun as the next best thing to making the bad things unhappen. Of course Ford figures out what she's done quickly, so she tried to use it on him to make him forget that internships and memory guns exist. It doesn't work and they get into a big nasty fight. Later Soos pops in to ask how things are going after some horrible event that Dipper no longer remembers, causing Dipper to regain his memory of the incident, so Mabel uses the gun on Soos and Dipper. Ford is angry, so Mabel bolts and hides from him, using the gun to prevent other people from reporting her whereabouts to him (and later McGucket, because you can bet Ford told him all about this).

It all spirals from there-- the key being that Mabel never uses the gun on herself because she's fully aware of how bad it is for people. She knows the SBE was bad, but reasons that it was bad because it was lead astray by the selfishness of people like Bud Gleeful rather than the fact that it existed to control people and dodge taking responsibility for anything. She self-rationalizes that PTSD and people actively seeking out monsters would be worse than the effects of the gun. Later she adds the rationalization that she's done it so often that there's no point in stopping because it would only mean that her targets would have to deal with both their trauma and the bad effects of the gun.

Either way, Gravity Falls ends up becoming like Lovecraft town where it's all nice-looking and stuff but you don't linger, go off the beaten path, or ask questions, lest you end up getting stuck there permanently like the Pines family. Just deliver the packages and go the fuck home before the sun comes down.

(Fuck, I forgot about the metal plate in Ford's head. Edited to account for that.)

[e-102]

SORRY LONG POST, scroll for atsv spoilers

thinkin about spiderverse movie and it’s soooo smart the way hobie acts and talks. when he realizes who miles is he’s already formulating how to work the entire situation out in miles favor. it’s not just the palms trick, hobie tries to get miles out of spider society IMMEDIATELY.

when jess drew says they’re all coming with her hobie says “i don’t follow orders, neither does he” which is funny! and you don’t initially understand why he would say that other than the fact that hobie has demonstrated he’s a non conformist for even the silliest things, so of course he would say that right? but after miles goes along anyways hobie puts his head in his hands because he was giving miles AN OUT.

hobie knows who miles IS he knows why miles is being called in and he’s already planning to get miles out.

he then subtly hints that things are a little less cool under the surface. hobie warns miles when no one else does, when he’s stealing parts for gwen’s watch (because once again, he already knows what’s about to go down) “bet you’ve got a nice set up, nice parents” Hobie KNOWS what canon events are and knows miles is before the big ones. miles says he’s in a fight with his parents and hobie says “that’s a bloody shame, cus you’re not ready for everybody else”

all of this while he knicks tech out of the wall and flaunts it to miles. once again it’s funny, an audiences first reaction is most likely to pick up that hobie is alluding to something, but be distracted by the comedy of his charismatic personality. it’s so smart, because even while he’s taking things he says “bet this doesn’t even do anything” (HES TALKING ABOUT DISRUPTING CANON EVENTS) miles replies talking about the tech “maybe it did before you ripped it out of the wall” to which hobie says “it’s propaganda bro”

and it IS. spider society as a whole is propagandized as a necessity to the stability of the multi-verse. they push that canon events MUST HAPPEN, but hobie doesn’t believe it or care. he’s purely looking out for miles, who is the little guy in this situation and an ‘anomaly’ from the moment they met hobie was looking out for him.

all of this culminates before the chase where hobie gives him the means to escape, visibly calms miles down and holds up his palms to remind him how to break out. then quits and disappears to wait for gwen so they can group back up. so good.

and anyways i have more misc thoughts about why hobie is in spider society anyways but that’s based on speculation so it’s going under the cut

okay the more you see that hobie is truly an anarchist punk who opposes authority and authority structures you have to think, why the hell would he join up with a spider society????

i think that’s it’s probably because of gwen. in the same way that hobie recognizes miles is at a disadvantage, he would definitely recognize that gwen is in a bind.

gwen has a trans narrative in this movie, she’s essentially been kicked out even if it wasn’t explicit, because she’s spiderwoman. she was taken in by jess drew and miguel and i assume she mostly stays on earth 928 with them or with hobie on his earth. that’s why her toothbrush and her sweater are at his place, because he lets her crash there since she’s essentially homeless.

i have to add that gwen’s position in spider societal is shaky. jess drew may have let her join up, but it’s shown many times that jess is unwilling to defend gwen to miguel. gwen KNOWS this, when she answers to jess drew she begs her not to tell miguel when she’s messing up and jess is largely unsympathetic.

gwen’s last interaction with her father ended with him pointing a gun at her. it’s not a stretch to say that gwen is really unsure of whether or not her father would’ve hurt her. she desperately does not want to go home because of that, and also because she doesn’t want to trigger the canon event that she KNOWS will end in his death.

gwen desperately, desperately, does not want to go home.

as for hobie, hes clearly shown to be someone gwen likes a lot, her inflection when she talks about him and the fact that she stays so often makes me believe that hobie has clearly taken gwen under his wing. i think he’s done the same for pavitr as well!

pavitr opens up his intro by saying being spider man is easy. once again the truth of the statement and it’s meaning is somewhat obscured by comedy, considering being spider-man is really difficult for the protagonist, miles, who we’ve seen struggle with his parents for most of the movie until then.

but pavitr says this because it IS easy for him, he hasn’t gone through any canon events. he’s been spider man FOR 6 MONTHS ONLY!

hobie is shown to really love pavitr, they have a brotherly and playful friendship and play fight excitedly when they see each other. i don’t think it’s a stretch to say that hobie has taken both gwen who is balancing on a tight rope, and pavitr who is ignorant to the larger system that will soon press him down, under his wings.

so why would hobie join spider society? probably to look after kids like gwen and pavitr!

and this is also more speculation that gets looser as i go on, but i wouldn’t be surprised if hobie was waiting for miles specifically to cause some chaos in spider society.

i don’t have the exact line but when he realizes which spider-man miles is, he refers to him by his dimension number of 1610. (this line is the basis of my belief that hobie planned to help miles out from before the beginning) but anyways, doesn’t it follow that if hobie doesn’t believe in spider society, doesn’t believe in canon events, and is allied with them anyways that he is looking for the opportunity to oppose them?

it’s his ideological code to oppose oppressive power structures, and he clearly likes miles as a person and what miles represents.

[bivwifeybunny]

I here by request Foolish fluff that can allude to smut!

Maybe reader has a headache and Foolish ends stream early to comfort her and she starts feeling better and then things lead into the bedroom..

(Also may I have permission to write the smut part? Like you put out the fluff and then I give the part 2 that’s smut 👀)

My Special Girl

Pairing(s): Foolish x reader

Warning(s): Cursing, alluded smut (actual smut in the part 2 hehehe 🤭), mostly just fluff tho

A/N: RAHHH I'm finally posting a fic after.... uhhh idk but a LONG time. haha... yeah sorry about that. but HEY it's a foolish fic and that's something new. shrimpy here convinced me to start writing for him (it wasn't hard since i cant say no to shrimpy lmao) but yeah, this is a little collab I did with her. so as said in the ask, she wrote part 2 with the actual smut. I loved writing this and working with her honestly. she helped with a couple questions I had and was really patient with me (i took 11 days to finish this lol rip) so would def do again. also my first collab? im so excited for y'all to read this. anyways this is getting long, enjoy and the link for part two is at the end.

You already felt it coming on. The tension building behind your eyes and the strain forming at your temples. But you’d be cruel to deny him when he looked at you with that cute pout. So you walked off, popped an ibuprofen and came back, sitting next to him as you watched him play some Minecraft.

However, the ibuprofen was definitely not enough. Thanks to his bright ass lights, the less than cozy screaming and yelling, and the eye strain from staring at the monitors, your headache began to worsen.

“I thought Minecraft was supposed to be a relaxing game.” You groaned, eyes squinted as you struggled to keep up with the pvp he was doing.

“Maybe it could be, if Richarlyson wasn’t being such a little bITCH!” Foolish screamed, resulting in another wince from you. His fingers darted around, clicking away as he chased after the little pixelated egg.

And then came the barking.

The back and forth, screaming, barking, with the added touch of his way too bright lights and the blue light from the monitors made you groan again. You leaned your head down, your hand covering your eyes, trying to find some relief. He was so excited to show you his progress on the titan, and you promised you’d at least stay long enough to see it, but you weren’t sure how much longer you could take this.

Luckily though, most of the screaming and barking stopped when Richas made a strategic retreat and teleported away. So you were able to look back at the monitor when he called your name.

“Okay, finally. Alright, alright, look.” Foolish grinned as he warped over to his titan build and began to glide over to it. “Now, I’m obviously not completely done but I’m so close, and I only really have- No, no, nO, NO!” He whined as a creeper dropped down next to him and exploded, ruining a part of the hand.

And unfortunately for you, that note struck the wrong cord and the pounding in your head grew past your limit. “Foolish, I’m gonna go lay down, okay?” You whispered, not only because of the throbbing in your head but also so his chat wouldn’t hear. You hurried off screen, heading back into his bedroom and crawling into bed after ensuring all the lights were off. You tossed the blankets over your head and buried your face into the cool pillow, hoping it’d ease the pain.

Meanwhile, as soon as you left, the doozers were all spamming things like “what happened to ___?”, “i dont think they were feeling well”, “they had their head down earlier”, “are they okay?” and so on.

Foolish, however, didn’t even glance at chat as he hurried off of Minecraft. “I think I’m gonna call it a day, guys. Sorry this was a shorter stream than usual.” He apologized for his 3 hour stream before quickly ending.

As soon as he was sure he ended, he rushed over to his room. He frowned at the dark room and the faint outline of your body curled up under the blankets. “Baby?” He called out quietly, climbing onto the bed next to you. He leaned over, propped up on his elbow and gently drew back the blankets. “What’s wrong?”

“Head hurts.” You muttered, eyes still shut tightly, jaw clenched.

“Aw, I’m sorry, honey.” He whispered softly, turning you to face him before rubbing his thumbs over your eyebrows, a silent instruction to relax from your tense position. “Should’ve told me. I wouldn’t have asked you to come on stream if I’d known you weren’t feeling good. Did you take anything to help it?”

“Just ibuprofen but’s not working.” You answered, leaning into his touch with a soft sigh, making him smile.

“Well, here. Why don't we try a bit of this?” Foolish mumbled, pulling you on top of him. “Where does it hurt?” He asked, to which you muttered, “My temples ‘nd behind my eyes,” snuggling into his warmth. He nodded, moving his hands to your head and beginning to massage your temples gently, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You sighed in relief, relaxing your stiff position even more as he rubbed away all the tension, humming in a soothing, soft tone. You stayed like that for a while, letting Foolish work his magic while you cuddled him close.

After a little while he kissed your head again and moved his hands away, hugging you instead. “Feel any better?”

“Mhm.”

“Good.” He smiled softly. “And I hope you know I’m going to absolutely clowned on by chat tomorrow and it’s all your fault.” He teased with a playful smirk.

“I say it’s worth it. They already get to spend way too much time with you as is. It’s about time I stole you away from them for a little while.” You laughed, lifting your head to look up at him before smirking. “But if you really want me to make it up to you, I have an idea in mind I’m sure you’d like.”

“Oh ho ho ho.” Foolish giggled excitedly, meeting you halfway when you leaned up to kiss him. “Don’t mind if I do…” He smirked into the kiss, flipping you over. “But since my baby was hurting, why don’t you let me take care of you?”

Part 2 :D by @mentallyillcrustacean

Taglist: @jordyncandy @foxilia @lacunaanonymoused @remiwastaken

Foolish taglist: none yet :)

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

hello again everyone i'm putting on my tinfoil jester hat & passing out Hefty grains of salt. its batshit theory time!

in short: i think Julie is gonna get violent & might end up killing someone - or she'll at least try. and i'm pretty sure something terrible is gonna happen to her.

in long: hoo boy. strap in

first off, i'd like to say that i love womens' wrongs And rights! all of this is said with utmost affection & respect for Julie. i love it when characters do terrible things, its interesting and so tasty for the story and their development <3

second disclaimer: most of this is just based off of what we have / know as of now. which is, admittedly, not much! so despite having short arms, i may be reaching very far! i'll get the based-on-knowledge part of my thoughts out of the way before getting into the more abstract I'm Just Making Shit Up At This Point part (educated guessing, yk yk!)

not sure where to start so i'll begin with what starting this line of thinking - flower symbolism. I've gone a little bit into it in a previous post from a while back (where i just made observations about the neighborhood map), but i'll restate the relevant parts. there are two flowers in the neighborhood with greek myths attached, and similar ones at that: the hyacinths outside of the Post Office, and the sunflowers outside of Frank's house.

most people know the hyacinth myth! Apollo, while playing metal frizbee with his (male) mortal lover Hyacinthus, Apollo's thrown discus bounced off of the ground and accidentally hit Hyacinthus in the head, killing him - then Apollo turned the spilled blood into the hyacinth flower. in another - popular - version of the myth, the wind god Zephyrus was jealous and blew the discus off course to kill Hyacinthus. as for sunflowers: Clytie, a nymph, was in love with Apollo and grew jealous of his relationship with a princess, Leucothoe. Clytie informed Leucothoe's father of the relationship, and he buried Leucothoe alive as punishment. Apollo turned his murdered lover into a sunflower. two flowers attached to greek myths about Apollo falling for a mortal, and that mortal gets murdered by a jealous non-mortal.

next, I would like to bring attention to This Concept Artwork from 2021. now i'm not gonna use this as a definitive "oh this exists so it must mean-" but there are always elements of concept work, especially Canon concept work, that sticks or can allude to themes or information that will be revealed later in the story. concepts are concepts for a reason - it means there's a solid idea that's being explored in depth, most times for use (especially that deep into the story crafting).

specifically, right now i'd like to look at the type of flower Julie is holding. pansies. normal ones + the primary fucked up pansy. pansies are symbols of love - both romantic and platonic, but predominantly platonic. it can also symbolize nostalgia, thought, admiration, remembrance, and can even be used as an "i'm sorry" flower. in victorian times, it was often used to represent forbidden/secret love.

stick with me, i'm getting to the point i promise

now, another thing is how much of Julie's character (meta-wise & in regards to the WH show as a production) is centered around love. her house is the "cutest" or most feminine one in the neighborhood, and it's downright infested with hearts, from the windows to the bushes to the chimney. she exists as Frank's foil, and it's almost definitive that she was meant to be Frank's love interest (there's just. so much evidence that there's no way that's not it). and just look at her! she looks like a love interest! if WH was a real show that i sat down to watch, i'd see her and immediately go "oh, ok, that's her base role"

this contradicts with what we know of her character - Julie seems big on platonic love, loving her friends, but other than that? she very much steps around what her house/character design is trying to say. she's hopscotching right over what the production wants from her. the only thing she kinda sticks with is the whole flower thing

but. but but but. i wonder! after the update, I'm pretty confident that the neighbors are influenced by the "script" and the workshop, even if they're not aware of it. see: the difference in how they act in the "recovered media" (where they behave more like they're characters playing out a bit, their dialogue has no natural lulls and it just sounds like a (really good) script) vs the 14 audios & the phone calls (natural dialogue, they seem more layered & like actual people instead of just characters, there's no set shenanigan - they're just doing their own things). and we can assume that the latter audios are from the neighbors off-script off-the-air.

despite this, they still somewhat try to fill their roles. the question is: how much of that is authentic, and how much is them still feeling that pressure to perform? just like how We as people feel pressure and expectation from societal rules/norms, even if we're not conscious of it. like, say... kids growing up thinking being queer is wrong, even if they've never been directly exposed to / made aware of homophobia/transphobia. We fill in the absence of being told "this is right" with "it must be wrong", and We act accordingly

so apply that to sapient puppets who were (again, most likely) made with set relationships, dynamics, and character details in mind. they're meant to be This Way, even if they want to be That Way, and that internal "programming" has to conflict, at least a little. like how I've seen Clown mention that homophobia will/may be a theme, and the only way i can see that happening among puppets who have never been directly exposed to it is if the above happens: they feel pressure from something they're unaware of. expectation from a "higher" plane of existence. as above, so below.

OKAY NOW WE'RE GETTING TO IT I PROMISE! blend this all together into Frank & Eddie catching feelings. they weren't meant to fall in love. they're not supposed to be together. it's - from the perspective of Playfellow & society (in the time period WH was active/created) - wrong.

Julie is supposed to be with Frank. Frank is supposed to be with Julie. in a way, they are together - they're best friends. they're foils. they were created to compliment each other and click. in the media audios, they're almost always together. if one of them is in a scene, so is the other.

so what happens if Frank starts to pull away? if he starts to spend more time with Eddie - what if Julie feels like she's being pushed out? what if she asks Frank to come play, only to be told he already has plans with Eddie, and if Julie tries to join in, what if Frank tells her no?

if it were me in this situation, I think I'd start to panic a little. everything has always been the same - it's always been Frank and Julie. that's how it's supposed to be. Frank and Eddie, well that's just - that's just wrong! and if, at this hypothetical point in the story, things are tangibly starting to degrade/go wrong, Julie might cling even harder, panic even more.

you see where I'm going with this? what i meant with the flower symbolism and what it could point to?

their world is falling apart, and Julie's one constant - Frank, her best friend, her grumpy rock - is pulling away. for Eddie. the mailman. and so what if the jealous "lover" takes action? Julie can make things go back to normal. she needs Frank, and in her mind she's losing him, but she can't lose him. she can't. and maybe that little whisper of expectation that she can't hear but feels nonetheless, fuels this fire. it makes her feel justified, makes her feel the need to act and "correct" this. maybe if she gets rid of the distraction, Frank's love and attention will be hers once more.

i mean, people do insane things when they're under that much pressure. from current probably-horrible events, a loss of control in their own life, their closest person seemingly distancing themselves, subconscious pressure from societal expectation. especially when it comes to love - platonic or romantic. w/ Julie, i'm pretty sure it's platonic in regards to Frank. though she is bi, so you never know! could be both!

and maybe it won't be about Frank & Eddie, if any of this turns out to even a little right. maybe there's a factor I'm not considering or haven't seen yet. but i really do think that there are things pointing to it.

like yeah, the Concept Art linked above. the caption saying "liar", the specific species of flower, Julie holding it over her mouth as if keeping a secret, the hammer. not sure if the person standing over her is her primary puppeteer, an abstract, or something else (it seems cracked?) but that's not what this theory is about!

then there's the flower patch - both behind her in the concept art, and the one behind her house on the map. it's striking me now that the two look very similar. they have mostly the same flowers, even. blue/yellow/white/orange "daisies", some daffodils, what i think are roses (it's hard to tell specifics on the map). an odd choice to make them so similar (unless it's coincidence!).

when I first saw the patch, my immediate thought was "holy shit is that a body dump?!" bc it's oddly green compared to the rest of the map, it's placed at a noticeable distance behind Julie's house - as if it's supposed to be "hidden", and it's the lushest spot in the neighborhood. now, to provide a counterargument to my own claim: it could be very green because that's how things are shaded, it looks like it's at a distance from the house bc the map is 2D, and its the lushest spot bc Julie's all about flowers - also, i doubt flowers would spontaneously grow since we can assume none of them are real. it's a puppet world of props. but who knows.

(and okay this might or might not be relevant but we can assume Julie is the one who made the chalk drawings on the path, right? i think there's a spiral in front of her house. just making a note of it.)

and there's just how much "pressure" seems to be on Julie compared to the others. she doesn't match her house. she doesn't fit her "role" the way she's meant to. AND OH AND I ALMOST FORGOT - by the swingset, there's now a bowling ball and what looks like red scissors. idk about you guys but i associate scissors with Eddie. he's all about crafts, after all! now i'm really reaching but hey? murder weapon? Julie does seem fond of bowling balls... that's a perfect bludgeoning weapon to have on hand (in abundance!)

in conclusion, i just think Julie has major potential to do some deliciously fucked up stuff. in fact, i hope she does! it could be handled/done in an absolutely fascinating way, and could have intriguing consequences.

who knows, maybe i'm right about her trying to get rid of Eddie (not out of malice or anything, just fear & pressure), and there'll be a whole thing where he keeps on coming back, completely unaware that she tried to off him, bc he's a puppet and it's probably really tough to kill something that wasn't really alive in the first place. i mean, in This Observation post i made about some new map secrets, there's a strange window shine on the Post Office door that could be spelling out either "nexus" or "new us". that plus the apparent extra hands/faces behind the door... Eddie is quite accident prone. who's to say he's not used to being replaced by himself? it's not like he'd remember. or is that the reason his memory is bad? holy shit wait - no wait this is a tangent. sorry. this post is about Julie lmao maybe i'll make a different post for this Eddie Thought i just had bc ough. ough...

and also, before anyone tries to come at me - because there's always people who twist words to Start Shit or misinterpret/miss the point - i'm not saying that Julie is like... homophobic. or hates Eddie. or is a "jealous crazy-" just. yk? and if you think that, maybe reread the post. or take a reading comprehension class &lt;3

AS FOR THE SOMETHING TERRIBLE HAPPENING TO JULIE. this is based on Two things and also Vibes. this section will be mercifully short compared to the rest of this clusterfuck of a post

so in the Livestream Trivia doc compiled by @/theneighborhood watch, yes i'm referencing this again sorry, there's this tidbit:

that, plus This Artwork, which features Julie (they're her shoes!) standing at the edge of an apparent chasm (the edge of the set, i assume) paints an interesting hypothetical picture. maybe she wanders a little too far and falls off the edge of her world. maybe she discovers something and Wally has to do something he doesn't want to do, but "needs" to. hey, who knows. maybe she is gonna hurt / try to hurt someone, and in an attempt to save them / stop her, Wally pushes her - either accidentally or on purpose, either way the end result would be the same. now I'm just pulling things out of my ass so lets move on lmao

then there's the Unknown Record in the website's media section. i actually recorded the audio and sped it up - i'll post that video later - and it seems to be an excerpt from Alice in Wonderland. the only part of it i've been able to clearly pick out is "Alice found herself falling down.... down... down..." followed by, presumably Alice speaking - who's high pitched voice reminds me of Julie's. so that's another point in the Julie Goes Bye-Bye Via Rapid Descent theory. or just goes temporarily missing! it could be that the only relevant part of the above trivia tidbit is the "falling down a cavern", and not the "never seen again" part. but it could. be. both.

though! though. Clown has stated that if all the neighbors were to take on roles in Alice in Wonderland, Wally is the one who would be Alice. which follows his direct connection to the spiral/eye pit, and the phrase "down the rabbit hole". so it could be either or. it could be both! it could be neither! this is all speculation, which brings us to....

the end! we made it! i hope you're still carrying your Hefty grains of salt! soon you'll be able to fill a large chicken-shaped shaker with it all!

[autisticlalna]

Stuck in Limbo, or "You don't really leave super hell."

okay. let's go over what happened last night in the Skyblock Kingdoms Community Discord.

that sounds ominous. it's not anything bad! what happened is that in the lead-up to releasing his new song, Limbo, Avid decided to drop some story info that he's already been hinting at. a few things have been confirmed and a few things have been debunked.

i consider my job to be "lore archivist", and seeing as this all happened on discord i want to make sure anybody not in the discord is able to at least get the gist of it. SO: what exactly did Avid confirm and debunk?

let's start with this: Avid isn't getting out of Limbo.

okay, no, sorry, that's clickbait, that's not actually what we're starting with because i'm scrolling back in the lore-discussion channel and we get a different reveal first. so let's talk about the Nameless King of Incendium real fast first.

ive been speculating for a bit that the Nameless King is Avid's boss, and that he's responsible for Avid getting fished up out of Limbo. Avid has alluded to it before, but we now have confirmation on who the Nameless King is: they're Olm, the main antagonist of his adventure map Avid Adventures.

so... what is Olm doing here?

oh. that'd do it. (side note: Xaleem is another antagonist in Avid Adventures that's stuck in a dimension called Otherside. they're beefing.)

this means that Olm was using Avid to get rid of the Dark Lord / Demon of Darkness, and then presumably dunked Avid into Limbo for fun-- they have a history of tormenting Avids.

Avid also confirmed that Olm isn't the other person in the song that's helping Avid escape Limbo (...okay, yeah, i'm getting why the "cc!name" thing caught on) and that it's someone else, and followed that up with...

again, context: Trog bungee jumped down into the Void as part of a ritual, but while down there they spotted a shadowy figure calling out for help and sobbing. before they could reach out to it and try to help, they were hit by the research station's beam and dragged back up out of the Void.

so where is Limbo?

there's a risk every time you fall into the Void that you could fall all the way and end up in Limbo.

and now we get to the bombshell that sparked this post:

the chat, uh, exploded. Avid didn't say anything else on this topic besides "More to come", but the song dropped not long after and has added fuel to several fires. WE HAVE ENTERED A NEW ERA OF WILD MASS GUESSING.

im going to avoid putting my own theories in here, because this is supposed to be informative instead of another "Leo loses their mind" moment. but i will pull up another quote, from back at the start of the discord being open:

wait no actually not that one but im keeping that in here anyways because "STUCK, HUH? I SEE." anyway:

You don't really leave super hell.

[fushiglow]

Here's the anon that talked about a limiter in music and it's connection to Gojo's story a couple of days ago. Firstly, I'm really glad that you found such joy in that previous ask and I'm really really glad that you followed your instinct and implemented into the story so artfully.

'In music, counterpoint is the relationship between two (or more) musical lines which are harmonically interdependent yet independent in rhythm and melodic contour.'

Once again, you did the unthinkable and produced a chapter that so beautifully wevaes the title of the chapter into it. Had me stopping several times to think things over and even throwing my phone across the room.

For me the summary of the chapter and the definition set in it showcased how they both may be brilliant on their own, both distinguished in their own work and dedicated, yet when they come together they create something more beautiful, an harmony that's so characteristically them that it's unique. How 'me' and 'you' becomes 'us' (because of course they'd be the only ones capable of making a lead single from scratch within days). Also what really struck me was the comparison of them to binary stars and how even that connects to the definition of counterpoint, since the stars may from far away appear as one, yet upon closer look they are distinguished, independent, but still caught in an everlasting dance, dependent upon each other's gravitational pull to continue it.

In regards to that, i absolutely loved how when Suguru almost played into the restraining role of the industry by deciding to morph 'blue' into something that was unrecognisable, yet easy to enjoy by the public, he immediately backtracked and comforted him, highlighting exactly why he's just far too perfect of a counterpart for the singer. He doesn't limit him, instead he helps him reach his limits, even broadening those limits, until they literally are limitless. And I just love how this is shown with how Suguru pushes Satoru for the perfect recording, even if he doesn't get it. He's willing to ruffle Satoru's feathers if it means getting him to be even better, more perfect than he already is. And the way Satoru's love for Suguru and the literally fiery passion between them seems to reawaken the passion for music within Suguru? (I'm far too curious about what had happened to the dear producer 7 years ago)

And gods...them being all domestic and soft? Sweet to one another and Suguru giving Satoru the love he had been given by his mother so generously, openly and earnestly, as if it came naturally. I'm not tearing up, not at all..

Generally, this whole chapter is a work of art and it just cements how they're meant for each other.

Thank you and sorry for rambling!

COME OFF ANON AND BE MY FRIEND PLEASE 🙏 I am obviously kidding, I entirely respect your choice to remain anonymous but god... I want to kiss your brain!

Once again, you had me screaming the place down because you interpreted this exactly the way I intended, even making the connection to the binary stars. I literally want to shout this analysis from the rooftops, because it's spot on!

I always knew I wanted to bring the idea of counterpoint into play at this point and wondered how I could signpost the theme to readers without putting it in the text itself. Honestly, shout out to @bunnieshoneys for the chapter title idea! I love how their choice of title in coanda effect sets the tone for the chapter ahead so, realising that I'd already set some precedent with limiting in the introduction, it seemed like the obvious choice (side note: I'm damn proud of 'prosody' for chapter six 👀). I didn't even set out to marry counterpoint to the binary stars; they were two separate metaphors that naturally evolved together over time — and isn't that just perfect?

~insert unwieldy thoughts about subtext being subconscious to some degree for both writer and reader~

I alluded to this before, but it's difficult to find the balance between being too heavy-handed and too hands-off with my metaphors. In the end, I try to trust my gut and trust the reader — and you continually bolster my faith in my instincts! I assume you did this on purpose, but I got extremely excited by the fact that you described Suguru as the perfect 'counterpart', literally personifying him as a musical line that complements Satoru's. God, this means everything!

You're probably my ideal reader, so please NEVER apologise for rambling! I'm incredibly grateful to have you along for the ride ♥️ If you pop into my inbox again (god, I hope you do!), I'd love to know if you have any kind of background in music yourself because your grasp of counterpoint in particular intrigues me! I hope that's not rude, it's one of those things where I'm too familiar with these concepts to imagine how easy or difficult they are to grasp from scratch... I just want to know your brain, anon!

By the way, the part about Suguru's mother was such a lovely change of pace for me, so I'm really glad you enjoyed that. Actually, I'm just really glad you're enjoying the fic in general, thank you so much again for everything!