#speaking of i really need to get the fourth chapter out-

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Or Someone Finds The Lid.

Pairing: Yandere!Gojo x Reader x Yandere!Geto (JJK).

Word Count: 8.0k.

Commissioned by the very lovely @elsecrytt.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Prolonged Captivity, Severe Infantilization, Forced Deepthroating, Double Penetration, Wildly Unhealthy Dynamics, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Geto Suguru has an Oral Fixation, Gojo Satou has a Mommy Kink, and Nonconsensual Drug Use. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

[Part One]

“I just don’t understand why you’re doing this.”

It had to be close to the hundredth time you’d in the past week, in the days since you woke up in a distressingly pastel bedroom, hostage to your two always worryingly possessive, but only recently deranged boyfriends. You knew, more concretely, that it was around the eleventh time you’d spouted that exact line today and the fourth time in the past hour, and as always, you were answered with a sympathetic glance, a patronizingly sweet smile. You could only be thankful it was coming from Satoru, this time. Suguru would’ve been much more condescending.

“Because we love you.” Another common sentiment, purred with just as much enthusiasm as it had been the first time you’d heard it, or the twelfth, or the forty-seventh. “And because you look good in pink.”

You sighed audibly, and Satoru pretended not to notice – only pulling you that much closer and resting his head on your shoulder. You were quickly learning that personal space, like many prior luxuries you hadn’t known to enjoy, was a right that Satoru and Suguru could revoke at will. Currently, your body was folded against Satoru’s – your back slotted against his chest and his legs spread on either side of you, the chain still attached to your ankle spread out over the mattress and the handheld console he was only partially focused on balanced on your lap. You tried to treasure the opportunity to stare mindlessly at a screen (a special privilege, considering your usual means of entertainment consisted of crayons, elementary-grade chapter books, and a plastic tea set), but for whatever reason, watching Satoru play Animal Crossing for three consecutive hours was just as under stimulating as it had been pre-kidnapping.

“That’s not a real answer.” You nudged your elbow into his chest, and when that didn’t work, pushed at his arm, just trying to get his attention. Yet another perk of your newly assigned position in this relationship – Satoru and Suguru had never made an exceptional effort to listen to you before, but now, you might as well have been speaking another language. “This is just—It’s just been so much, and it’s all so frustrating, and I don’t—”

And, just like that, you were tearing up – your vision going foggy as you struggled to hold back tears, to swallow down the whine building at the base of your throat. It was less that you’d been crying more easily and more than you were always on the verge of tears; your anger and frustration and confusion constantly at their peaks, just waiting for an excuse to spill over and leak out. Immediately, Satoru dropped his console, cooing softly as he scooped you up and turned you around. You moved to hide your face, but he was faster, more determined – his hands cupping your cheeks before you could swat him away. You weren’t crying yet, not really, but he took pains to hum and kiss away the few tears that escaped despite your best efforts. It was alarming, that crying was the only thing that consistently got them to hear you out. You tried not to think about the implications of that when paired with the pastel-pink aesthetic and the overall toddler-adjacent treatment.

“I’m really frustrated, ‘toru,” you repeated, melting into his hands. There was another coo, another peck to your forehead, before you went on. “I just— I need to know why you’re doing this. You can tell me that much, can’t you?”

“I’ve already told you, baby. It’s because we—” You cut in with a miserable, heart-breakingly pathetic sniffle, and Satoru pouted, shaking his head. Still, he broke quickly enough. “Look, you know that Suguru and I had it kinda rough before we met you, right? When we were growing up, I mean.”

Vaguely. You knew that Suguru’s parents died while he was in high school, that it’d been some kind of freak accident, but he didn’t like to talk about it. You’d met Satoru’s family once, but ‘met’ might’ve been the wrong word for it. Really, you’d sat in the antechamber of an estate the side of a small shopping mall for a little over an hour, answering questions asked by a woman who hadn’t introduced herself before being informed that, while you were not deemed a suitable partner for Satoru, you also weren’t dangerous enough to be worth the effort it would take to actively keep you away from him. Most of the time, you just tried to pretend that neither of your former partners, current captors had any immediate family.

Reluctantly, you nodded, and Satoru rewarded you with another kiss – this one to the corner of your jaw. “I know you probably don’t get it, but me and Suguru – we care about you, we care about you a lot. And the world’s a really, really dangerous place. If something happened to you out there…” He trailed off, laughing airily. An arm looped around your waist, pulling you into his lap, his chest. Instead of trying to resist, you curled against him, burying your face in his shirt as he rubbed slow, small circles into the small of your back. “You’re better off here. Getting to keep you all to ourselves is just a bonus.”

You wanted to scream, to bash your fists against his chest, to point out that they were the only people who’d ever isolated, assaulted, or kidnapped you, but he was doing what you asked him to, and the worst thing you could’ve done was give him a reason not to be as generous in the future. “…I don’t understand why you had to do—” You nodded towards your clothes – a set of bright pink cotton pajamas dotted with strawberries – then the rest of the room. “—this, though, if you’re trying to keep me safe. Couldn’t you have just… not?”

Another laugh, this one more sincere. “That part’s just for us.” This time, when he squeezed you against his chest, he didn’t let go until you were squirming against him, struggling to breathe. “Suguru does tend to let the roleplay get a little out-of-hand, but it really does help. There’s just something about seeing you all sweet n’ dressed up, surrounded by cute, soft things...” He trailed off with an airy laugh. “Makes me feel… secure, y’know? Like we’re keeping you safe.”

Something thick and jagged caught in your throat. “…this was Suguru’s idea?”

If he heard you, then that was a question he wasn’t interested in answering. “I meant the other part, too.” And then, with a slightly longer, more lingering kiss to the apex of your throat. “You look really good in pink.”

You felt it a second later – a familiar shape pressing into your ass, already worryingly stiff. You pulled away from him, your disgust too reflexive to hide. “…it gets you hard to see adult women dressed like first-graders?”

“No, princess.” A pause, a sudden nip to the side of your neck. “It gets me hard when you dress like a first-grader.”

Thankfully, before you had time to start to unpack that, you heard the bedroom door open and glanced over your shoulder to find Suguru leaning against the frame. Concern was written clearly across his expression, but it dulled to affectionate exasperation when he saw Satoru wiping away your non-existent tears. “I thought I heard a struggle,” he explained, unprompted. You hadn’t put up much of a physical fight yet, but they were both clearly concerned you would – the literal chain around your ankle was evidence enough of that. “Is it time for the little princess to take her medicine?”

You seized up at the mention of your ‘medicine’ – sedatives administered in the form of tiny, heart-shaped pills that left you exhausted and disoriented for hours at a time, if they didn’t knock you out entirely. It was what they’d used the night they’d taken you, and Suguru seemed to like to pull them out whenever you cried, or screamed, or did anything they should’ve known to expect from an acclimating victim.

To his credit, Satoru didn’t jump at the opportunity to drug you into oblivion. Not this time, at least. “She got a little overwhelmed. I took care of it.”  You slumped against him, letting yourself relax. That was your mistake, really. Maybe you should’ve had more realistic expectations, too. “But,” he went on, pushing another, sloppier kiss into your neck. “She’s still pretty fragile. A few hours off probably wouldn’t hurt.”

It was awful – how easily they could talk about you like some distant, abstract subject, how quickly they seemed to forget you were capable of listening when not addressed directly. With a smile, Suguru moved forward, resting one knee on the edge of your mattress while Satoru held you in place – keeping you from scrambling back as far as your chain would allow. You tried to grit your teeth, to keep your mouth shut, but Suguru only clicked his tongue, cupping your face with one hand while pressing something small and chalky against your pursed lips with the other. “Darling,” he drawled, infusing as much syrupy condescension into the pet name as was humanly possible. “You remember what happens to bad girls who don’t do what they’re told, don’t you?”

Instantly, your heart dropped. You remembered.

Driving your nails into your palms, you unlocked your jaw and hesitantly opened your mouth. Suguru barely waited for your lips to part before shoving the pill past your teeth and down your throat, keeping two lingers lodged in your airway even as you sputtered and gagged around him. It was less that you swallowed his pill and more that you would’ve had to choke down anything he all-but force-fed you, but whatever you called it, Suguru was satisfied – drawing back with a pleased hum only to tap his saliva-coated fingers against Satoru’s lips, instead. You shut your eyes, but it wasn’t enough.

The last thing you heard were the wet, stomach-turning noises of Satoru’s affection before everything went fuzzy.

~

You only really acted out once – about three weeks in, when the initial adrenaline was starting to fade and the slow, vicious dread of prolonged captivity had just begun to set in. You weren’t allowed to leave your windowless, ambiently lit bedroom, and by end of the first week, time had turned into something viscous and unforgiving, the endless hours only broken up by visits from Satoru and Suguru. It was hard not to be constantly on edge – unsure if you’d been alone for hours and minutes, simultaneously dying to see them again and hoping you never would. It was hard to tell what they were thinking, when you were so caught in in your own spiraling thoughts to try and guess at theirs.

Speaking of – their dynamic had become a little clearer, even if how things had spiraled out of control so quickly was still lost on you. You and Satoru had always been the dominant personalities in your relationship, with Suguru as the calming presence that leveled the two of you out, setting arguments and keeping you from tearing out each other’s throats. Now, though, the roles were reversed. Satoru was happy enough to spend most of his time treating you like an oversized, particularly uncooperative stuffed animal; something to cuddle and coo over, but not necessarily train or expect to reciprocate. Suguru, though…

Suguru had expectations.

“I need you to hold still, love.”

Suguru’s fingers brushed over your spine as he fiddled with the complex array of buttons lining the back of tonight’s nightgown. You’d seen your closest, knew they must’ve spent a small fortune on dresses and shoes and accessories, but Suguru still seemed to prefer you in sheer, cotton nightgowns and lacey lingerie and humiliatingly childish loungewear – nothing you would’ve been able to wear outside of home, even if you’d put it on willingly. It was a blessing that Suguru and Satoru were as busy as they were – Satoru with his classes and Suguru with his religious group. Most of the time, you’d find Suguru’s chosen outfit on the foot of your bed and be trusted to dress yourself. Most of the time.

Just not tonight.

“Someone’s a little antsy.” It was Satoru, this time, as unhelpful as ever. He was sprawled across your bed, toying idly with your chain while you sat in front of a vanity on the other side of the room, deliberately avoiding your reflection in the tri-fold mirror. “You should’ve let me play with her in the tub. Then, she wouldn’t have the energy to squirm.”

You felt your face burn. As if being forced to drink out of sippy cups and color with crayons wasn’t enough, bathtime was quickly becoming one of your most unbearable daily trails. Suguru always made sure things stayed above-board, but having to watch Satoru fuck his own fist while Suguru lovingly dictated where, when, and how roughly to clean yourself wasn’t much better than the alternative.

“Absolutely not. You’re too rough, and the last thing we want is for our princess to get bruised because you can’t wait another half an hour.” Fenagling the last button into place, Suguru straightened his back, sighing contentedly. “Can you turn around for me?”

Biting down on the side of your tongue, you shifted on the velvet-cushioned stool, your back pressing into the edge of the vanity’s counter as you faced Suguru. You’d made a point of not looking at yourself, but you could imagine what he saw – a thin nightgown clinging to your damp skin, your posture shrunken and your eyes downcast, every part of you made to seem small and helpless. If the feeling of his gaze burning into you wasn’t telling enough, the overwhelming delight audible in his voice would’ve given him away in a heartbeat. “Satoru, you have your phone, right? I want a picture. And—oh.” Your eyes darted in his direction just in time to see him pull a stuffed animal from one of the larger stacks; a large, white rabbit teddy, its button eyes an overly familiar shade of blue. He held it by its ears as he handed it to you. “Hold onto this for a second, love.”

You felt something tighten in your chest. You were in a bad position. You were in a bad place. You needed to be careful, and yet, when you finally managed to say something, you could only seem to spit out the one thing you knew he wouldn’t want to hear. “I… I really don’t want to take a picture right now, if that’s alright.”

To his credit, Suguru’s didn’t falter, his grin only wavering slightly. “Love,” He paused, sighed. “I didn’t ask if you wanted to.”

“I know, but—” Your breath hitched in your throat. Really, it was a miracle you weren’t already crying. “Please, Suguru. Not right now.”

His expression darkened, and yet, the gentle sigh that slipped past his lips was nothing short of tender. Still holding the rabbit, he reached out – catching the lace of your nightgown’s collar with two fingers. For a second, he just played with the delicate fabric, careful not to damage it.

Then, before you could think to react, his fist was around your neck and you were being slammed into the vanity.

There was enough force behind the collision to splinter the wood upon impact, to knock the air out of your lungs and seed an awful knot of blinding pain in the back of your head. You gasped, but it was too late – his fist tightened around your throat and you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t move save what it took for your hands to find his and dig your nails into his wrist, his forearm, his knuckles, whatever you could reach. You never would’ve been able to pry him off, but you didn’t need to. He released you as abruptly as he’d lunged, and without his support, your body dropped off of the vanity’s now-dented desk and onto the carpeted floor, your dress falling into a limp heap around you. You were too shocked to cry, to sob, to scream. Suguru and Satoru had kidnapped you, dehumanized you, isolated you, but neither of them had ever hurt you. They’d never—

Except, that wasn’t true, was it? They had hurt you. The first thing Suguru ever didwas hurt you, bending you over his knee the second you disobeyed him, and Satoru helped.

For your own sake, you decided to consider this an escalation, a new development. Something neither of them would’ve been capable of, back when you still considered them your Suguru and your Satoru.

 You also decided, still for your own sake, that you couldn’t afford to think about this any longer. Suguru was already moving on, lowering himself to your height, pouting as he raked his fingers through your now-disheveled hair and evaluated your newly wrinkled dress. “I’m sorry, princess. I must’ve lost my temper. I know you must be upset – having your pretty outfit ruined and all.”

He waited a beat, then asked, “Don’t you have something to say to me?”

If you hadn’t been so scared, you might’ve slapped him. Instead, you just bit down on your bottom lip and mumbled an unsure “I… I’m sorry?”

“For what, exactly?”

“For—For talking back, and making you angry. I didn’t mean to.”

“I know, love, I know. You would never mean to do anything like that.” He was still holding onto that fucking rabbit. You felt its velvet-soft material brush against your leg as he placed it, almost carefully, on the floor next to you. “I’ll tell you what – there don’t have to be any pictures. Why don’t you take your medicine, and we can allgo to bed?”

“No!” It was a purely automatic response, as reflexive as lashing out and latching onto his arm. When you realized what you were doing, you pulled away with a jolt, forcing your hands back into your lap and staring wide-eyed at the floor. “I mean, I’m sorry, I just—” You swallowed harshly. “Isn’t there… uh, another option? Please?”

Suguru opened his mouth, but Satoru cut in before he had the chance to answer. “Think it’s time to break out her pacifier, Suguru?”

You perked up. No part of you wanted to suck on a piece of plastic for the entertainment of your captors, sure, but it was better than the alternative. Fuck, you were having trouble of thinking of something that wasn’t.

Suguru seemed to like the idea, too. He shot Satoru an appreciative smile before pushing himself to his feet, before turning his attention back to you, eagerly waiting for your next bout of psychological torture.

It was only when he reached for the waistband of his sweatpants that you realized your mistake.

You might’ve protested – or, whined, at least – but the back of your skull still ached, and you could still see Satoru smirking in your peripheral, and he was already forcing his boxers below his hips, already curling a hand around the shaft of his cock. Disgustingly, terrifyingly, he was half-hard; his bloated tip flushed a darker shade of red, beads of arousal leaking from his blunt head and dripping down his shaft. Your thoughts seemed to waver, then fry, then blot out altogether – like a video game glitching in the middle of a cut scene. Maybe you should’ve just sat still for the fucking picture after all.

“The poor thing looks so startled,” Suguru cooed, glancing to Satoru. “Why don’t you lend her a hand?”

You were vaguely aware of Satoru moving, shifting, pushing himself off of your bed and crouching behind you. His thumb pushed past your lips and hooked your lower jaw easing your mouth open with as little grace as you had remaining dignity. You tried to bite down, obviously, but Suguru took hold of your hair and pulled – the sharp spike of pain immediately dispelling any thoughts of disobedience. “He’s helping you,” Suguru chimed, his voice taking on a cloying overtone. “You’ll have to thank him properly later on. When your mouth isn’t full, I mean.”

It wasn’t, but that changed quickly. Suguru was kind enough (or cruel enough) to move slowly, easing the head of his cock past your lips first, letting it sit on your tongue as you fought not to cringe against the bitter, musky taste. Satoru pulled his hand away as Suguru eased another inch into your mouth, then another, then another – letting out a rough groan as his tip hit the back of your throat with more than half of his shaft to spare. You fought the urge to gag, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You’d given him head before, but it’d always been on your own terms, with Satoru waiting on the sidelines to bail you out if you ever got tired of choking on your boyfriend’s stupidly big dick. Now, though, Satoru didn’t seem to want to do anything but breathe down your neck, and you doubted your consent was a factor either of them would stop to genuinely consider.

Ultimately, your enthusiastic cooperation proved unnecessary. Suguru kept his fingers tangled in your hair, his blunt nails biting into your scalp as he manually bobbed your head – slowly, at first, then faster, with enough force to leave your jaw sore after less than a minute of being split around his shaft. Saliva and pre-cum drooled from the corner of your mouth, dripping down your chest and onto your nightgown, but if Suguru cared, the feeling of your throat convulsing around him was enough to warrant a momentary lapse in decency. “T-that’s it,” he muttered, mostly under his breath. “Good, good girl. See what happens when you’re well-behaved?”

You felt Satoru shift behind you, his hands skirting over your back as he skillfully undid the buttons Suguru had spent so much time fussing over. A pair of large, velvet-soft hands grazed over your waist, then your sides, before reaching your chest and cupping your tits – kneading the soft tissue like a pair twin stress balls fitted perfectly to his palms. “She looks better already,” Satoru laughed, thumbs swiping over your nipples. “You’re gonna thank mommy for being so nice with you, right?”

Suguru snorted. “I’m mommy?”

“Mhm. ‘cause you’re so pretty and you take such good care of our little princess.” He nudged you, propping his chin on your shoulder. “Go on, baby. Tell mommy how much you love him.”

You choked something out – more of a desperate whine than anything coherent – and Suguru threw his head back, cursing silently as his pace turned from sloppy to erratic. His cock battered into your throat with every thrust, your air supply constantly somewhere between minimal and nonexistent. It was only as the outskirts of your vision started to fade that Suguru hissed, gritting his teeth as he dragged your head into his hips, your nose pressing into his pubic bone and his cock so far down your throat, you could practically feel him in your lungs. A sudden twitch, a groaned exhale was all the warning you received before you felt something hot and thick fill your throat, your mouth, your diaphragm. He held you there for a moment, then another – savoring the sound of your fractured whimpering all-but drowned by his cum – before letting you go, watching through half-lidded eyes as you collapsed into Satoru’s waiting arms.

You lurched forward, moving to spit, to get him out of you, but Satoru’s hand was already covering your mouth – determined to keep Suguru’s taste on your tongue for that much longer. At the same time, you felt something small and soft being dropped onto your thighs, heard the shutter of a camera above you. Rather than trying to look at Suguru, you let your gaze fall to your lap.

Or, rather, the perfectly white, perfectly posed rabbit now resting peacefully on top of it.

~

It was two months before the chain came off – meaning, before Suguru and Satoru were happy enough with either your behavior or their security to let you roam freely (with heavy supervision, of course). It went without saying that you were ecstatic. You could barely sit still while Satoru undid the shackle, barely listen while Suguru told you their plans for the night – dinner and a movie marathon, not totally dissimilar to something you might’ve suggested when you still had the authority to be making suggestions. It didn’t matter. You were just happy to be doing anything, especially if it meant you got to leave that godawful room.

You only realized that you’d still been picturing your old apartment when you stepped out of the bedroom an abruptly realized you weren’t in an apartment at all, but a house – two stories with every window looking out onto a fence so tall, you would’ve had to be on the roof to see over it. It was decorated sparely, with what few shelves there were littered sporadically with Satoru’s gundams or parts of Suguru’s ongoing trinket collection, but minimalism was an appreciated change compared to the ongoing sensory nightmare that was your bedroom. You gawked at every empty surface, every plain white wall as Suguru herded you to the kitchen, where Satoru was busy plating what looked like udon. The seating arrangement was strange – there were only two chairs at the dining room table, but you were too caught up in your own euphoria to care. You grabbed a bowl and a pair of chopsticks, fell into a seat, and—

“Sweetheart,” Suguru started, his voice somewhat strained. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Uh,” You glanced at your bowl, abruptly confused. “Eating? I think?”

“Almost, but not quite. I guess I can’t blame you for not knowing.” He rounded the table, coming to stand at your side. You tried to get up, but it only took a hand on your shoulder to stop you. “Even something as simple as using utensils can be dangerous for little ones like you. Me and Satoru will be feeding you by hand, from now on.”

It was strange, really – how many little deaths you could die before going numb to it. It was terrible, how many times you could hear one of the two men you loved most in the world say you were more incapable than a literal child before it all just turned to static.

You wondered, distantly, if Suguru was offended that you didn’t engage with this part of him more willingly. It was clearly sincere, if fucked-up, and if he’d ever bothered to ask, you probably would’ve agreed to try it – not that you would’ve had much of a choice, in the later stages of your relationship. It was different for Satoru – as long as you were trapped and at his mercy, he’d be happy. Suguru wanted something… different, more complex. Suguru wanted reliance.

Suguru wanted to break you down.

“If you say so.” You heard your voice, felt your mouth moving, but you weren’t talking. “Can I… um, would it be alright if I asked for something, first?”

Suguru’s satisfaction was almost palpable. “Of course. Anything for you.”

“I think I’d like to take my medicine, now.”

Suguru answered quickly, but not quickly enough. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Satoru reach for the cabinet above the stove before thinking better of it and glancing over his shoulder, as if to make sure you hadn’t seen. It took everything you had not to react as Suguru responded.

“Of course,” he said with an airy laugh, nearly purring. “Not right now, though – we’ll wait until it’s closer to your bedtime. Try to focus on dinner.”

You only nodded eagerly, smiling sincerely for the first time in weeks.

~

It took two weeks for you to get your hands on their pills (you stole two, just in case), and three more to convince Satoru that a field trip – his description, not yours – wouldn’t be that big of a deal, not if you kept it short, not if Suguru didn’t find out. He’d always been ecstatic when you visited him at his university (a historic private school, so unlike the local community college you’d gone to, the one you missed with all your heart), and besides, what was worst that could happen? He wasn’t going to let you out of his sight, and the students were still on winter break. You could even wear your old clothes, just to make sure you didn’t attract attention. It’d just be the two of you, all alone in his office, with hours and hours and hours to kill. Really, how could it possibly go wrong?

You waited until you reached his office to slip both stolen pills into his coffee. He’d barely gotten his belt off before the effects kicked-in, but still, you waited until he’d been reduced to a drooling, half-conscious shell of himself before making your escape.

You’d been right – his campus really was deserted. You hurried past dark lecture halls and empty offices as you rushed in a direction you hoped would lead to an exit, glanced out of windows that looked onto lifeless courtyards as you thought about what to do next. The police weren’t an option. They hadn’t hurt you, not in any way you’d be able to prove, and even if you had the evidence, Satoru was rich, and to the law, there was no greater proof of innocence. You tried to think of phone numbers, of addresses, but you hadn’t had many friends before meeting Satoru and Suguru, and they’d made sure to whittle that unimpressive number down to zero over the course of your relationship. You cursed under your breath, even though there was no one around to hear you. You should’ve taken Satoru’s wallet after he passed out. You wouldn’t have been able to use to his cards, but it would’ve been nice to—

You rounded the next corner, then froze.

At the end of the hall, like an omen of death granted human form, stood Suguru.

You took a faltering step backward before breaking into a full, heart-pounding sprint. Suguru wasn’t close, but he was close enough. He let you get all of three steps away before fist curled around the back of your shirt, his muscular arm wrapping around your midriff, trapping you with as much effort as it might’ve taken to lift a kitten by its scruff. Still, you thrashed, struggled, fought – throwing your elbow into his stomach and kicking at his legs as he lifted you off the ground entirely, pinning your body against his chest. He wasn’t supposed to be here. You were told he’d be at his shrine today, all day, with a thousand little things to do that’d keep him distracted until you got away. This wasn’t fair. He wasn’t supposed to be—

“Calm down,” he muttered, his voice distant, cold. “You’ll only make this worse for yourself.”

Immediately, you went still. It was a vague threat, but it was a threat, and Suguru had never threatened you before.

Or, you didn’t think he had, at least. It was getting so hard to tell, after everything they’d done to you.

He didn’t sigh, or shake his head, or speak again. He only lowered you back to the ground and, after taking your hand in his, led you back down the vacant halls, past the abandoned classrooms, and to the door of Satoru’s office. He paused outside of it, his dark eyes falling to you in a way you could only describe as void-like. You had to wonder why you every thought you knew him.

“You were trying to…?”

He didn’t say it, but he didn’t have to. Reluctantly, you nodded, and Suguru turned away from you, shouldering open the office door.

Satoru was on his feet, but only barely. He was supporting himself on the corner of his desk, his pale face flushed red and his clothes noticeably disheveled. At some point, he’d lost his sunglasses, and you watched his sky-blue eyes go wide as Suguru crossed the threshold with you following shortly after. “Suguru, princess.” His voice was weak, breathy. You could only imagine how you’d sounded strung out on their sedatives. “How far did she get? She caught me off-guard, but—”

Suguru let go of your hand and closed the distance between him and Satoru. You heard the sharp crack before you could process what he was doing – saw Suguru raise his hand and Satoru’s head snap to the side without ever linking either action with the other. Even Satoru, always so resilient, took a moment to recover, his expression going blank as Suguru spoke, unphased. “If you ever leave me, I’ll break your legs so badly, you’ll never be able to walk again.” You didn’t have to wonder if he meant it. It didn’t matter if he meant it. The words alone left shaking too violently to move, let alone run. “And if you do anything to help her, I’ll gut you alive.”

Your eyes darted to Satoru, to his visibly swollen cheek. Somehow, he seemed even more flushed than he had seconds before, his eyes half-lidded and his lips slightly parted. If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve thought he looked—

Oh, god.

You should’ve gotten away when you had the chance.

Of course, things only got worse when he opened his mouth. “Yes, mommy.”

“Get on the couch and lay down. It’s not like you’re good for anything else, right now.”

“I will, mommy.”

He obeyed mechanically, collapsing onto the well-worn sofa that sat against the far wall. You’d always thought it was too big, too bulky, especially in such a confined state. When you asked Satoru why he bothered to keep it, he’d just laughed and claimed he liked to keep his guests comfortable.

You doubted you counted as a guest. Then again, you doubted you were going to be very comfortable, either.

Suguru glanced over his shoulder, his lifeless stare boring into you. “Straddle his waist and help him undress. You did this, so you’ll be taking responsibility.”

Fear was a surprisingly strong motivation. You were scrambling onto the sofa before you had a chance to think, planting a knee on either side of Satoru’s hips as you fumbled clumsily with his shirt. For his part, Satoru was either incapable of or unwilling to help you – a distant, careless smile soon painting itself across his lips as he watched you struggle. When he did move, it was only to bring a hand to the back of your neck and drag you downward, his mouth crashing into yours. It was less of a kiss and more of a sloppy attempt to choke you to death with his tongue, but Satoru still groaned as you separated, his face immediately finding the crook of your neck. “So glad Suguru got you back,” he slurred, nuzzling into you. “He’s so hot when he gets all jealous like that.”

You were only half-listening to him, already distracted. Suguru had moved, too – kneeling behind you, his hands finding your hips and dragging them into the air. Your skirt was pushed up to your waist, your panties to the side, and just as abruptly, three of Suguru’s broad fingers were pushed into your cunt. You whimpered at the sudden, borderline painful intrusion, but Suguru only scoffed. “Be grateful you’re getting this much prep. It’s already more than you deserve.”

That didn’t do anything to stop the pain, though. Suguru was merciless – sheathing his digits to the knuckle, spreading his fingers apart, making it clear that he wasn’t doing this for your pleasure, even if he didn’t seem to be getting much out of it, either. You tried to shut your eyes, to grit your teeth and bare it, but any attempts to ignore reality were swiftly cut short by the feeling of his unoccupied hand coming down on your ass with enough force to bruise. “Did I say could stop?”

He hadn’t, but Satoru was making things difficult – keeping you slotted against him as closely as you could. As Suguru’s fingers fucked into you, you managed to get an arm between your body and his, for the waistband of his jeans down just far enough to earn a satisfied grunt from Suguru. Strangely, the worst part wasn’t the strain in your cunt, or the heat of Satoru’s cock pressing into your stomach, but the feeling of Satoru’s wide, toothy grin pressing into the side of your neck – tangible proof of his euphoria. It was awful – just how clearly he was enjoying this. At least Suguru had the decency to go blank.

It was too much too suddenly with too little build up, but Suguru knew your body and, more damningly, your body knew him. Barely a minute had passed before you felt arousal stain the inside of your thighs, before the sound of his digits plunging into you took on a distinctive wet quality. You let your head lull into Satoru’s chest and dig your teeth into your tongue, willing away any embarrassing noises that would’ve added to your ongoing degradation, but if Suguru cared, you couldn’t tell. He soldiered on with that brutal, unyielding pace, ignoring your clit entirely in favor of beating his frustration directly into your pussy. Really, it was a miracle you felt anything at all. Well, anything beyond pain, anyway.

It was only when you tensed against Satoru, when you finally let a single, fractured moan slip past your haphazardly sealed lips, that Suguru abruptly stopped; pulling out of you before you could fully process what was happening. You glanced over your shoulder, misplaced disappointment softening the harsher edges of your fear, but Satoru was quick to catch your chin – redirecting your attention back to him. “Where do you think you’re going, princess?” he asked, rocking his hips into yours. “You’ve gotta stay on my good side too, remembered?”

As if you could forget.

Behind you, Suguru glowered. “I’ll deal with you when we get home.” To Satoru, and then, to you, “Do it. Make sure he doesn’t cum.”

Your instructions were clear, albeit unappreciated. Satoru let you straighten your back, his hands kneading at your thighs as you picked yourself up and, as mindlessly as you could, aligned the head of his cock with your entrance. You wanted to move slowly, to give your abused cunt time to adjust, but Suguru proved uncharacteristically impatient; taking you by the shoulders and spearing you on Satoru’s cock before you could so much as consider protesting. You went stiff, your brain too busy trying to make sense of your sudden fullness to order your body to move, but Satoru didn’t seem to mind – only tightening his vice-like hold and bucking into you from below, his cock battering into the deepest, most vulnerable part of you without the slightest trace of concern.

You were too startled to make noise, but Satoru had always been so much louder than you, so much more eager to pour out his every little thought. “She’s so fucking tight,” he breathed, grinding into you. “Been ages since I had her on top of me, too. Almost forgot how—” A slight gasp, a pitchy whine, “Almost forgot how pretty she could get, sitting on her daddy’s lap.”

Your sight blurred, and a few seconds later, you realized you were crying. Suguru didn’t respond, but you heard fabric shifting, felt one of his hands disappear for a moment before returning, now on the center of your back. With more force than he really had to use, he shoved you back down, pressing you flat against Satoru as he maneuvered himself behind you. Space was limited, availability even more so, but still, it wasn’t until you felt the head of his cock press against your stuffed slit that you realized what he was doing.

“N—no,” It was almost impressive, just how quickly you abandoned what was left of your pride. You tried to pick yourself back up, but Satoru was a snare – an arm looking around your waist while the other found your hip, holding you still for Suguru. “Please, you can’t, it’s not—It won’t fit, and—”

And, just like that, Suguru was pushing into you, bottoming out in a single thrust. As his hips pressed into your ass and he let out a quiet, almost inaudible groan, you could only wonder if either of them had ever really loved you.

There was a lapse – more for their sakes than yours – before Satoru started moving, already acclimated. “Such a good girl,” he drawled, grinding into you, seemingly unhappy unless he and Suguru were both fully planted inside of you. “See? It’s not that bad, right? I knew you’d be able to handle it.”

But you couldn’t. Tears streamed down your cheeks uncontrollably, hitched sobbed and agonized moans trickling past your lips every time either of them moved. Suguru sucked in a shuddering breath, then planted a hand on the small of your back, thrusting into you sharp and deep – his movements a stark contrast to Satoru’s. The stretch along was unbearable. Even on your best days, you’d struggle to take either of them to the hilt. Taking both seemed fantastical, implausible, fatal. It was genuinely surprising that you weren’t already dead.

It was doubly as surprising, then, that it felt so good.

 Most of it had to be your own fried nerves trying to make the best of it, to get you through this as quickly and as painlessly as was possible. You weren’t in control of anything; not your hands as they clawed blindly at Satoru’s chest, not your hips as you bucked pitifully into Suguru, and certainly not your cunt as it clenched even tighter around the cocks splitting it open. Satoru let out an airy laugh, two fingers dropping to your neglected clit. “It’s okay, baby, you deserve to feel good too,” he gushed, pushing lazy circles into the small bundle of nerves, drawing out yet another miserable sob. “Told you she’d like it.”

“She’s not supposed to,” Suguru grunted, digging his nails into your waist. Still, that didn’t stop him from burying himself inside of you, his cock twitching against the walls of your cunt. You couldn’t be sure what it was – the fullness, maybe, or the overstimulation, or your own desperation to just get this over with – but your vision burnt white, your body convulsing against Satoru’s as you came undone around them. Satoru followed shortly after, digging his teeth into the curve of your neck as he pumped something searing and vileinto you. Suguru let out a rough, throaty growl – throwing his head forward and hilting himself entirely inside of you. You shook your head, pleading silently, but he didn’t seem to care, didn’t seem to notice, and even if he had, you doubted it would’ve been enough to stop him from cumming inside of you, from ensuring that no part of you was left uncorrupted.

There was a short period of numb, thoughtless stillness – filled only by Suguru’s panting, Satoru’s mindless cooing, and the absence of your voice. Suguru shifted, and for a second, you panicked, convincing yourself that there was more, that he wasn’t done – but he only pulled out of you, fixing his clothes with his eyes focused pointedly on the point where your cunt was still stretched around Satoru’s cock, where it leaked and drooled onto Satoru’s lap. You weren’t so resilient, letting your eyes fall shut and slumping against Satoru.

For the very first time, as you lost consciousness, you felt the smallest, tiniest, most microscopic spec of relief that, at the very least, you wouldn’t be responsible for cleaning yourself up.

~

“Stay in the car. I’ll call when it’s time for you to bring her in.”

The ride had been near-silent, only occasionally interrupted by an odd comment from Satoru or a hissed warning from Suguru. Suguru drove while Satoru held onto you in the back seat, keeping you gathered in his arms, his jacket draped loosely over your shoulders. Satoru only nodded as Suguru let himself out, making no move to follow. Whatever this was, they must’ve already talked about it while you were blacked out.

You waited until Suguru had disappeared into the house before speaking, your voice hoarse and unsteady. “He hit you.”

“Mhm. You did a number on my chest, too.”

“But—” You cut yourself off and started over. “He hit you.”

He flashed you a smile, as careless as it was dismissive. “What do you want me to say, baby?”

“That this insane. That he’s insane.” You crossed your arms over your chest, curling into yourself. “You can leave, Satoru – we can leave together. All we’d have to do is—” The air hitched in your throat, but you managed to snarl something out. “—fucking go.”

“And why would we want to do that, exactly?”

“Why wouldn’t we?”

Satoru laughed, the sound breathy and light. “Because,” he said, nuzzling into your hair, “Suguru loves me. He loves us. You should know that – after today, especially.”

You opened your mouth, but shut it just as quickly.

This time, you had a feeling that he’d given you the only answer he was going to.

The next few minutes passed slowly. Satoru kept himself occupied, pushing slow, lingering kisses into your cheek and neck, while you stared mindlessly out of the window, trying to savor the last minutes of sunlight that you’d have for a long, long time. Eventually, Satoru’s phone buzzed. He didn’t even bother to check it before gathering you up in his arms and carrying you inside. You expected him to take you back to your bedroom, with its stuffed-animal lined shelves and bright pink walls and polished silver chain, but instead, he turned down a hallway you’d never seen before, into a bedroom that was distinctly not yours. Suguru was waiting for him, standing in the doorway to a dark closet. The edges of his lips quirked upward when he saw you. It wasn’t quite a smile, but it was the closest thing you’d gotten to one from him all day.

Satoru placed you next to him, and your attention turned back to the closet. Any clothes or shoes had been cleared out to make room for a single, silver dog crate, nearly big enough to stretch from one wall to the other. The bottom was padded with a light pink blanket that you recognized from your bed, and a white rabbit plush had been left in the far right corner. A deadbolt hung, undone, from the open kennel door.

You might’ve broken down entirely, if you hadn’t been so devastated.

Suguru’s voice was deafening and serene, as beautifully composed as it was unspeakably terrible. “Get in, love.”

“I’m not—”

“You should probably listen to him,” Satoru cut in, placing a hand on your shoulder. “This is just about the nicest thing he suggested.”

You swallowed, your heart failing to beat. Out of some ancient, primal, preservatory instinct, your body moved towards the crate, falling to its knees and bowing its head to fit inside. The kennel was big for a dog, not for a person. You had just enough room to huddle against the farthest wall as Suguru slid the door into place, the deadbolt locking with a sadistic click.

“It really is a shame,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I was hoping you could be our darling princess for a little longer, but I’m sure you’ll make a much better bitch.”

Satoru helped him back to his feet, and together, they retreated back to the closet door, Satoru casting one more lovesick smile over his shoulder as he shut the door behind them, leaving you in total, endless, solitary darkness.

Your wretched sobs echoed off the barren walls as you finally started to cry.

[taexual]

sleepwalking ● 1 | jjk

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers / fluff / angst / smut (in later chapters)

warnings: explicit language, suggestive themes, SLOW BURN

words: 7.5k

chapter 1 ► when i open my eyes to the future, i can hear you say my name

There was virtually not a single person left on the entire fourth floor of the company building, despite it being a Monday afternoon. Normally, two other managers worked in offices adjacent to yours, so the noise in the hallways never settled below a pleasant hum: producers, promoters, and publicists – the three cursed Ps – shuffled in and out, heels clicking urgently against the marble floor.

This funeral silence was unusual, but you knew it was only a calm before the storm.

Rated Riot were going on their first-ever European tour in two days to promote their sophomore album – named aptly, “ready, set, RIOT” – and today was the final day of meetings. Evidently, the executives at Jett Records assumed that the band deserved to have a whole floor to themselves, so everyone else got a half-day, leaving you and the Floor Administrator, Rue, all by yourselves until the band got here.

This unsettling silence was exactly why you heard them arrive as soon as the door of the building opened four floors below. Rated Riot lived up to their name by making themselves heard before they were seen.

As soon as the sharp ding! of the elevator reached you in your office—your door was always open on meeting days, because the four members of one of the most promising rock bands in the world at the moment lacked any sense of direction—you could immediately feel the atmosphere lighten, the previous silence long gone.

“Rue! The apple of my eye!” Hoseok, the drummer and the de facto mood setter of Rated Riot, exclaimed as you listened to the familiar sounds of the band as they exited the elevator and, based on the repeated clicking of shoes in the lobby, momentarily got disoriented.

“Always looking good, Rue!” Jungkook, the vocalist, as well as the new Golden Boy of Jett Records followed after.

“Good to see you again,” Taehyung, the always well-mannered bassist, said. Silence followed and you assumed he shook Rue’s hand.

“Hello,” Yoongi, who was, technically, the guitarist of the band, but, really, played any instrument he could get his hands on, was the last to speak. He’d always been very well-spoken in songwriting, but quieter and more careful in most everyday conversations.

“Welcome, guys,” Rue greeted them. You couldn’t see any of them from where your office was located, but you’ve been in a similar situation countless times before and you could imagine what was happening without needing to witness it first-hand.

Rue would stand up from her seat and point her right hand down the hallway, reminding them—yet again—that they needed to walk down the hall and take a right turn. The members of Rated Riot, in turn, would walk down the hall. At least one of the four of them would turn left instead, causing a pause as the group gathered back together, exchanging confused glances. Then, they would turn back to Rue—who would still be standing there, her right hand extended like a helpful Statue of Liberty. They’d laugh at themselves, nod at Rue, and take the correct turn.

If things were going well, they’d find your office on first try—they’d just need to find the open door and peer inside; your desk was right in front. More often than not, however, they stumbled around, knocking and chuckling to themselves as they continuously interrupted the offices of everyone else, but you.

They were special. Not just because they looked like loose ducklings, separated from the Mother Duck, whenever they entered the company building, but also because, in spite of their own lack of coordination, they still managed to get things done.

And they brightened the day of everyone they came across. Which was almost ironic—as you realised by watching the four of them enter your office—considering the effortless rockstar aura that surrounded them.

Jungkook walked in first. That was typical because he usually did: sometimes because he was the only one who remembered where your office was, but usually because the other members offered him as a sacrificial lamb when they went knocking around every office on the floor in search of yours.

He was dressed in all-black—always—adorned with silver chains and necklaces that often gave you a start when you looked up, because he had a very specific way of entering the room: he seemed to make sure to position himself in just a way that the light, coming in from the window behind you, always reflected off his jewellery and momentarily blinded you.

Sure enough, you blinked, cringing into yourself as the brightness hit your eyes, and when you opened them again, he was already grinning.

“Hi,” he said and the rest of the members followed in after him—a brighter palette of colours.

Even Yoongi, who was the only one who could have given Jungkook a run for his money if you had to count which one had more black items of clothing in their closet, was wearing a beige, loosely buttoned shirt.

Despite that, however, you could tell they were rock artists as soon as you looked at them—all tattoos, piercings, intense eye make-up behind sunglasses, and old band tees—and you stood up, excited to let them know that, finally, every last loose thread had been found and tightened. They’d get to introduce their artistry on a different continent, and you’d make sure it’d go smoothly.

“We’re leaving for Prague tomorrow morning,” you told them once the five of you settled down at the round table in the back of your office. “So, if you were planning a going away party, I strongly advise against it.”

“We weren’t,” Yoongi said, lifting his glass of lemon water—there was a jug on the table—and giving you a reassuring look. “This is the strongest drink I’m having tonight.”

“Thanks,” you said paradoxically enough, but being grateful when the members of the band you managed didn’t get drunk before an important day was part of the job. “I’d also appreciate it if—”

“Hold on a second, though,” Jungkook interrupted—you’d been anticipating it. “I’m going to a gig tonight, Reconnaissance are in town again. And there’s obviously an after-party—”

Despite Reconnaissance being, arguably, one of the most popular rock bands in the world right now, you were definite when you cut him off, “No.”

“—so, I—wait. No?” he paused. “I never miss their shows, you know that. And I don’t get drunk easily. You know that, too.”

“That’s why you drink so much,” you rebutted. The rest of the band members got their phones out, knowing well enough at this point that this would take a while. “And then I have to come get you out of trouble.”

“You absolutely do not have to do that,” Jungkook insisted. “We’ve been through this.”

“Have we?” you argued. “Because I keep telling you it’s my job to keep you from passing out in a dirty bar bathroom, but you don’t care enough to hear me.”

“Well, you’re not very convincing. What’s the worst that can happen? I’ll wake up again.”

You were used to having this conversation with him—you’ve argued about this way before he became a singer and you ended up as his manager. And yet, the lax way he said this made you clench your fists.

Despite being mostly introverted, Jungkook did enjoy getting drinks with friends: even if said friends enjoyed his celebrity status more than they enjoyed the drinks.

“And if you don’t?” you threatened. “Rated Riot’s vocalist gets his stomach pumped. A catchy headline.”

“Yeah, man,” Hoseok interjected, putting his phone screen down on the table and crossing his arms. “Doesn’t go well with the vibe we’re going for. Don’t get your stomach pumped.”

“Fine, I—”

“What he meant was, don’t drink so much that you’d need your stomach pumped,” you clarified because Jungkook moonlighted as a Loophole Finder.

“I never have!” he insisted. “Seriously, you treat me like I’m still nineteen. Have some faith.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the other members of the group look up from their phones. The band had only formed a few years ago, so you were the only person in this room who knew what Jungkook was like when he was nineteen. You never spoke about it – that was likely why everyone was so curious.

In any case, Jungkook was wrong. You did have faith—that’s why you spent so many of your off-duty nights driving down deserted streets to pick him up after his asshole friends convinced him it was a good idea to try the biker bar on the outskirts of town, and he’d gotten in an altercation with a burly redneck that was twice his size.

There was no time for that now, not when he was supposed to be on stage in Prague in three days.

“Well,” Taehyung spoke up. “I was thinking of going to the show as well. Not so much the after-party, I have better plans. But, uh, I could come, after all.”

You appreciated the offer, but you knew that these better plans involved him spending time with his girlfriend, Luna, who was going to join him for a few weeks of the European tour, but after that, the two of them were going to be apart for several months.

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” you said, not trying very much to hide the hopeful undertones in your voice. Jungkook’s friends felt intimidated by all the members of Rated Riot; they’d be on their best behaviour if Taehyung was there.

“No, I think it might be fun,” Taehyung said. You exhaled quietly and he could sense your gratitude without words. He turned to his younger bandmate. “Should we go together?”

Jungkook groaned and mumbled under his breath, “not if I have to third-wheel again.”

“When have you ever third-wheeled anyone?” you asked rhetorically, but he was already opening his mouth to reply. Quickly, you added, “be careful, is what I’m saying, okay? I am complaining about having to pick you up from all kinds of holes, but if you need me to bring NDAs, I will bring them. So, ask.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, but chose to stay quiet. He knew better now – the one time he did not make anyone sign a non-disclosure agreement after an impromptu, drunken busking session in New York, pictures of him, half-dressed and giving a lap dance to a random, equally as drunk, groupie, were on every rock page on Instagram. Accompanied with detailed retellings of how it came to happen, of course; all of them more ridiculous than the next. Your personal favourite story was that he was recruiting members for a sex cult.

“We’ll call you,” Taehyung gave you a nod, “if we have to.”

“Perfect,” you said, glancing at Jungkook again, even though expecting him to confirm that he, too, would call you if he had to, was wishful thinking.

Every time you reminded him how he needed to start going out with a less destructive crowd, he’d treat his phone like a poisonous snake – and he’d been doing that even before you became his manager. His friends seemed to get their pleasure fix from watching you arrive and rip him a new one, so they were the ones who called you most of the time, always laughing into their phones like true accomplices.

It was funny how Jungkook was the only one who passed out or got so wasted, he ended up on a ferry to Martha’s Vineyard. His friends always walked away unscathed and, usually, only called you by the time they were back in their bedrooms – “when we left, he was ordering mint and honey daiquiris, you should probably go over there and check up on him.”

It was like they loved pushing him into danger and purposefully bringing the two of you together again, and Jungkook either didn’t realise or didn’t care anymore. It’s been a while, after all.

You and Jungkook had been broken up for almost two years when you got the unbelievable offer to manage an up-and-coming rock band. This was over two years ago now and you were only twenty-four back then. Up until that point, you had worked as an assistant manager for various indie artists, so that offer was massive.

You figured the downside that your ex-boyfriend happened to be in this particular band was worth it, considering the huge leap in your career you’d make by accepting this job.

And, for the most part (excluding the first two months that were pure chaos of repressed feelings), you and Jungkook both made this work, drawing a strict line between your relationship before Rated Riot (back when he still had your phone number saved as “❌”) and after he met you again as Rated Riot’s new manager (ironically, now your name on his phone was “❌❌❌”).

You’ve managed Rated Riot for almost exactly two years now, and if you’d asked the band – which you wouldn’t, partially out of humbleness, but also because you were scared – you’d know that they loved working with you as much as you loved working with them. So, in the end, it all really had been worth it.

“Check your emails for the descriptive itineraries,” you continued smoothly enough. The guys at the table put their phones down and returned their attention to you. “Now, who else is coming with us?”

Technically, the band wasn’t supposed to bring anyone – the label was explicitly clear about that. They wanted the first European tour to go “without a hitch” (meaning, without distractions), but you held a more liberal view here.

You didn’t think loved ones coming on the road were a distraction; if anything, they were a firm support mechanism that made touring easier for the artists.

“I know Luna’s staying until the Barcelona show, yeah?” you asked, double-checking the notes on your laptop.

Taehyung nodded, a small smile on his lips at the mention of the girl. “She flies out the next day, yeah.”

“Okay. Who else?”

“Well, Sid and Jude are coming,” Jungkook spoke up and, after seeing your eyes roll back, added, quieter, “and Minjun isn’t sure.”

The three musketeer-wannabes – Sid, Jude, and Minjun – were on speed dial on your work and personal phones, because if Rated Riot had a performance and the vocalist wasn’t there, it was likely those three who were to blame. They were the only ones who knew Jungkook longer than you did, and they seemed to take pride in the fact that they had successfully been causing you headaches for seven years now.

“Sid and Jude,” you repeated, “aren’t worried they’ll lose their jobs if they travel to Europe abruptly?”

“No, they’re cool,” Jungkook shrugged, not catching the mockery in your voice—both Sid and Jude worked for their families, which really meant that they got paid to occasionally show up at the shareholders’ meetings on behalf of their parents. “I’ll text Minjun right now. Maybe he’ll come when we’re in Poland…”

“I needed confirmation by last week,” you reminded him. “At the latest.”

He glanced at you from his phone and then went back to texting. “So, why’d you ask now?”

“To double-check,” you said. “They’re going to have to book the hotels themselves. Or sleep on the street. Honestly, I don’t really—”

“So, uh,” Yoongi interrupted before another argument could begin, “how many hotels this time?”

“Prague, Amsterdam, and Paris. And some nights in London, depending on our flight time,” you said with an apologetic smile. “Bring your favourite blankets. We’re living on buses for the next three months.”

None of them minded – if anything, you could see a little glitter in their eyes as they listened to you. Being on the road and having to sleep on the tour bus every night was an experience they’d missed. They hadn’t gone on an actual tour in almost a year – as someone who thrived on live performances, they had obviously missed this.

Really, you’ve missed it, too. Rated Riot may have been a riot to look after as their manager – pun fully intended – especially on tour, but they were your riot to deal with.

You liked your job and the challenges that came with it, because, in the end, you overcame most of them: starting with your previous relationship with Jungkook (no one in the band had a problem with it, and the label miraculously seemed not to know about it) and ending with your relatively young age (Jungkook was the only one who had a problem with you being his age, but he had a problem with almost everything).

Hopefully, one day you’d manage to overcome the challenge that was getting Jungkook to open his eyes and realise that the people he surrounded himself with were more groupies than his friends. But all in due time.

“If you have questions,” you said as the meeting approached its’ conclusion, “go right ahead.”

“Wake-up calls,” Yoongi said. “Any possibility of arranging those?”

You smiled – this had been traditional practice ever since you started to work with them.

“I’ll call,” you said and then remembered a particularly frustrating way in which this had backfired. You added, “and keep you on the phone until you’re out of bed.”

Back when you were an assistant manager to a different band, this had been your main task. And, you supposed, if Rated Riot had assistant managers, they’d be the ones making wake-up calls, too – however, the band had only started to live up to their potential now. Before you booked the European tour for them, Jett Records thought they barely needed one manager to begin with.

You’ve made it this far. If the tour went well, maybe you’d get to expand your team as the band gained popularity.

Jungkook felt giddy the whole night. The Reconnaissance show with Taehyung and Luna was a lot of fun, as expected—he’d seen the band five times before tonight, and they never failed to let him down.

When he arrived at the after-party, he was nearly vibrating with excitement—on top of everything, he was going on tour tomorrow and he knew he might lose his mind over it—and this was usually the time when he tended to get reckless.

He did drink a little too much to retain a completely sober mind, but he stayed true to his word and did not wander anywhere or caused any—serious—trouble. You would have said that’s because Sid and Jude weren’t with him, but Jungkook was convinced it was because he simply had great self-control when he put his mind to it.

The only place he went to after the party was his family’s house, so he could say goodbye to his grandma. She probably wouldn’t even hear him—and if she would, then she probably wouldn’t recognise him—but he couldn’t leave to Europe without saying goodbye to her.

He thought he’d take his Katana to the house, but then remembered immediately the last time he got on his motorcycle drunk – his grandma had, literally, smacked him on the back with a rolling pin, yelling about how careless he was. She didn’t say that she hit him out of concern for his safety—that was obvious—and, instead, she focused on how hard he’d worked on restoring the bike after he’d bought it; his first purchase with the money that he made off Rated Riot’s music.

“Don’t you want it to last?” she had said then. She’d been the only person who believed he could bring the bike to life, despite it not having a single properly functioning part, least of all the engine. “You worked so hard on it. Do you want to wreck it in one night?”

Tonight, however, everyone in the house was asleep when he arrived. It was quiet, so he tried to be silent as he went up the stairs to her room—and then knocked over a picture frame after his feet fumbled on the carpet in the hallway. But no one went out to check who was making the noise—which was dangerous, he realised for a brief, semi-sober second; but the house had security, so he figured they were safe from outsiders—and he gently lowered the handle on his grandma’s door, peering inside.

The room was painted in blue hues from the night light next to the bed where his grandma was sleeping. He approached—really trying to be quiet this time—and carefully pulled her comforter up, so she wouldn’t get cold, even though the room felt warm.

It was always warm here and Jungkook had to bite his lip when he realised how much he missed sitting here as a child while dozens of his cousins ran around the house and wreaked loud, childish havoc. How much he missed his grandma reading him books—never children’s stories, he always insisted she read him the thickest, most boring books he could find on her shelves, just so he could stay in her room longer, listening to her soothing voice and feeling her comforting warmth.

Sniffling quietly, he leaned closer to her and brushed a strand of white hair from her face, listening to her soft breathing as she slept, unaware of his presence.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promised in a whisper as he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. She didn’t wake. “We will talk again then.”

He knew he’d keep this promise even if she didn’t hear it, even if she didn’t remember. But leaving her room felt painful and he was far less excited now. The alcohol had begun to wear off and heaviness settled in his chest instead. This happened sometimes when he was left alone with his thoughts, especially after he visited his grandma.

He'd come back, he knew he would. But as he glanced at his grandma’s sleeping frame one more time—remembering how she hadn’t called him by his name in months; not one glint of recognition in her eyes when she’d see him—he wondered if he’d have anyone to come back to.

Surprising exactly no one, Jungkook was the only one who did not answer your wake-up call the next morning. Having foreseen this, you’d already called Hoseok, Yoongi and Taehyung – in that order, because the first two took the longest to wake up, and by that time, Taehyung was already awake on his own – and only then attempted to reach the one remaining member.

Fifteen minutes later, you were already dressed and ready to drive over to his house and personally wake him up with an icy bath in bed. And just then, your phone rang – his name as the caller’s ID.

“Look who—”

“Okay, okay,” Jungkook’s groggy voice cut you off before you could greet him with the appropriate sarcastic remark. “I’m awake. Halfway in the shower.”

“I don’t hear running water.”

He responded with a groan first, then shuffling. You waited patiently, balancing the phone on your shoulder as you unlocked the door of your apartment. Finally, you could hear the water start running on the other end of the call.

“Happy?” Jungkook asked, always the brightest of all rays of sunshine in the morning.

“Ecstatic,” you replied, equally as enthusiastically. “Sending a car to pick you up in half an hour. Don’t be late.”

“I can drive myself—”

“No driving when you’re hungover,” you said, not for the first time. “In fact, don’t even go near your Katana.”

He considered several ways to respond to you; first and foremost, defending his beloved, navy-coloured Suzuki Katana with a matte coating, custom-made leather seat covers, golden rims, purring engine, and—anyway. He ended up choosing to respond with a question, “how do you know I’m hungover?”

“I’ve known you for almost ten years,” you replied. “If you go out drinking the night before, you’ll wake up hungover.”

“Well, how do you know I drank that much last ni—?”

“Listen,” you cut him off, hoisting your suitcases over the threshold of your front door. You fixed your phone against your cheek and continued, “how about you take that shower, and we’ll resume this nice little Q&A at the airport?”

“No,” he replied and, in a purposefully exaggerated breathy voice said, “I simply can’t stop talking to you.”

“Hanging up now.”

Jungkook laughed as he listened to the beep, indicating the end of the call. Putting his phone on the side of the sink, he took his shirt off and was about to continue undressing when his phone vibrated and nearly fell off the sink.

Scrambling to catch it, he smacked it against the cupboard and exhaled in relief when he saw that the screen hadn’t cracked. He was expecting a text from you – a threat, in case he’d go back to bed – but it was actually Sid, asking for the time of his flight.

His friends were taking a separate flight out to Prague – they weren’t happy about it and neither was he, but at least they’d get to hang out in Europe eventually – and, obviously, they wanted to know what time they’d meet up and where.

He double-checked the itinerary you’d emailed him, got confused about the time zone difference and texted Sid back.

“Gonna be there the day before the show,” his text said, “jetlag. Sleep. Maybe beer? Catch u there.”

Sid was, of course, delighted to hear the mention of beer and Jungkook snickered to himself before he resumed undressing for his shower—knowing from experience that you wouldn’t be above shipping him to Prague in the cargo section on the plane if he was late to the airport.

As it turned out, for the first time in his life, Jungkook was so terribly jet-lagged, that he did not feel like doing anything – not even drinking with friends – but sleeping.

He slept through the whole layover in Paris – and, consequently, through Taehyung and Luna’s stories about the 5 minutes they got to spend in front of the Eiffel Tower before rushing back to the airport (never mind that it was about 2 AM) – as well as the flight to Prague.

He only woke up on the bus ride to the hotel when he felt something nudging his lips and opened his eyes to find an open bottle of Coca-Cola in your hands as you held it by his face.

“Did you just—” he started to say, but his voice sounded brittle, more a croak than a voice, really. He cleared his throat and tried again, “did you just wake me up by making me sniff soda?”

“It worked,” you replied, nudging the bottle at him again. “Drink. You need sugar. You didn’t eat anything on the plane here.”

“I had that bagel on the flight to Paris,” he mumbled, but sat up properly and took the bottle from you.

“That was a croissant,” you clarified. It was almost cute to see him barely awake. “And I warned you about flying with a hangover. You did this to yourself.”

“I’m fine,” he replied after taking a big gulp of coke. “Not sure which day it is, but other than that, I’m perfect. Do you have anything for headaches?”

Snickering, you nodded. “Yeah, give me a second.”

You went to fetch your carry-on bag and returned with ibuprofen, which allowed him to go back to sleep until you arrived at the hotel. The other members were also in and out of slumber, but that was their own fault. You and the other girls on this tour, which, really, only meant Luna— Taehyung’s girlfriend—and Maggie—the tour photographer—had planned ahead and taken sleeping pills as soon as the plane took off. Meanwhile, every man on this trip thought too much of himself.

By the time you arrived to the hotel and checked in, it was already lunchtime. If this had been your first time travelling with Rated Riot, you would have been beyond surprised to see what effect food had on them: they looked like they'd just returned from the most refreshing vacation in the Caribbean. Lively conversation and cheerful laughter echoed around the table – no one would have guessed that they’d just spent over 13 hours on airplanes. Their recovery was nearly always miraculous.

And, naturally, since they were feeling better, they wanted to do something as soon as the first rehearsal was over. You had far too many things to do before the show tomorrow, so you couldn’t babysit them – again, an assistant manager would have been life-saving – but you knew you’d still have to keep an eye on them.

Taehyung and Luna went sightseeing, but they were the sort who kept you updated on their adventures through pictures, which you were endlessly grateful for. There was never a reason to worry here; if you were a teacher who had to pretend not to have a favourite student, Taehyung would be the student you were pretending about.

Yoongi and Hoseok, initially, went to a record store together, but then split up – one of them returned to the hotel for a nap, and the other one went café-hopping. Those two were also fine – they usually took some members of the crew with them anyway, so you knew that in the worst-case scenario, you’d still have several people you could call to reach them.

Now Jungkook was going to meet up with Sid and Jude, both of whom had, most unfortunately, successfully landed in Prague. The Diabolical Duo would take him out drinking, you had no doubt about it – and this was where you’d have to step in with another warning. You weren’t the angry mother, dragging her children by their ears, but you felt it necessary to remind Jungkook of what was at stake if he allowed his friends to be their usual, obnoxious selves tonight.

However, you didn’t want to ask, so you had to figure out where to find them yourself. You didn’t even have to use the seven years that you’ve known them to deduce two logical, universal-for-all-assholes things: one, Jungkook’s friends wouldn’t be nearly tired enough not to want to drink. Two, they’d be too jet-lagged to look for their usual hole-in-the-wall spot that sold drinks. Therefore, they’d have to settle for the bar of the hotel.

And when you exited the elevator on the ground floor later that night, your assumption was confirmed – you could hear their laughter from where you were standing in the lobby.

You’d texted Jungkook as you arrived, hoping he’d leave his friends and come see you at the back of the bar for a minute, but unfortunately, Sid and Jude noticed you and waved you over with loud cheers.

Embarrassed as the people in booths around you began to turn to look, you swallowed and walked towards the front where Jungkook and his friends were sitting by the bar.

“Wow, it’s been so long!” Jude exclaimed as you approached. In your opinion, it wasn’t nearly long enough, but you only lifted the corners of your lips and did not comment.

“Jungkook, a moment?” you said instead.

“Let’s get you a drink!” Sid suggested as though you hadn’t spoken and extended a hand, clicking his fingers to get the bartender’s attention. “Hey! Can we get some Margaritas here?”

You cringed watching this, but, again, restrained yourself. They could behave like pricks all they wanted; it wasn’t their reputation that you had to protect. Someone else would, hopefully, teach them a lesson.

“Sure,” Jungkook said to you, sliding off the stool. He seemed sober enough to walk without any sort of waddling or stand without swaying, but you could tell by the relaxation behind his eyes, that he was already tipsy.

His friends patted him on the back and whistled as he followed you to a quieter spot in the back of the bar. He shook his head at them—but had a grin on his face, and for that alone you wanted to punch him.

“Can I count on you to take it easy?” you asked, once the two of you were out of earshot. “Not because you’ll make my job much harder if you don’t, but because you have a rehearsal tomorrow at eight, and that’s hard with the jet lag alone, but add a hangover into the mix, and—”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, but you’ve heard this song many times before. It was one of his top hits. “I’m actually tired, so I might have a few and then go straight to bed.”

“Okay,” you said, choosing to believe him, because that was easier than making him sign a contract, swearing not to wake up in a dumpster. “Can you text me when you’re back in your room? So I know you’re not lost somewhere in Prague with Dumb and Dumber.”

His lip twitched in an almost-smile at the nickname, but he resisted – a loyal friend, even if they didn’t deserve it – and gave you a nod.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll text you. And I won’t get lost.”

“Okay—” you started to say and then squinted your eyes at him, realizing. “I meant don’t go wandering the city streets while drunk.”

He snorted and placed a hand on your left shoulder. Gazing into your eyes, he enunciated very dramatically, “I will not get into trouble. Promise.”

You pursed your lips. “You’d better not.”

“I realise what that would mean, believe it or not,” he said, straightening. “Tomorrow is an important day. I’d never do anything to ruin it.”

“I know,” you said. “I trust you to make smart choices. I don’t trust them.”

You pointed at the twosome by the bar – both of them watching you like you were the entertainment of the night – and Jungkook turned to look. Sid and Jude both immediately waved at him. Jungkook waved back and, when he looked at you again, he was smiling softly.

Clearly, he genuinely enjoyed hanging out with those two. You’d never believe that there was anything about them that was bearable—let alone enjoyable—so Jungkook’s weird attachment to them had to come from some sort of weird destructive force inside of him.

“I’ll keep them in check,” he said and then, possibly prompted by the skeptical frown on your face, he felt the need to explain, “they help me relax. If it weren’t for them, I’d probably be shaking from anxiety all the time. Kind of like you are.”

He winked as he said that last part, grinning at his own wit, but you rolled your eyes in response.

“Goodnight,” you said then. “Don’t forget to text me.”

“Are you going to stay up late waiting for my text?” his tone was humorous and it stopped you from leaving.

“Hopefully not,” you said, ignoring the flirty comment that was obviously meant to rattle your composure. “But it’d do you well to remember that I can make life very difficult for you if you disobey me.”

He lifted his eyebrows at this, but did not lose the grin. “Oh? Will I get punished if I—”

“Goodnight, Jungkook,” you said again—louder—and turned away.

You glanced over your shoulder when you reached the archway leading to the lobby and caught him watching you leave—he was still beaming, but he composed himself and nodded when he caught your eye. You nodded back.

Maybe he really would be fine tonight.

And, truly, Jungkook had meant what he’d said – he couldn’t wait for tomorrow and there was nothing he’d do to ruin that. Not even if the smirking faces of his friends prompted him to laugh as soon as he returned to his seat by the bar.

“What do you want, assholes?” he asked, punching Jude on the shoulder as he walked past his friends. As soon as he sat down, leaving Sid in the middle, he took a big gulp of the beer he’d left waiting; only his third one tonight.

“We don’t want anything,” Jude said, still smirking. “What did she want? Another moral how you’re not being a good boy?”

Jungkook rolled his eyes. “No—”

“I was always curious,” Sid interrupted. “Was she like that when you dated, too? You know, always in charge?”

Even before you and Jungkook had settled into a steady enough rhythm of working with each other, neither of you spoke to others about your relationship. Not while you were dating, and not after you broke up. So, all your friends—real friends and whoever the hell Sid and Jude were—essentially knew nothing of your relationship.

And there was nothing he’d tell them now.

It’s been four years since you broke up—plenty of time to move on. Not to mention, you were both (trying to be) professionals. There was no point to bring back the past; there never had been.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Jungkook teased, managing to keep the banter going without revealing how the question irked something inside him.

“I would. That’s why I asked,” Sid replied, laughing haughtily. A few heads turned his way. Sid sounded very much like an entitled heir—or an elephant high on helium—when he laughed, especially when there was nothing funny going on. “I mean, you never talked about her to us. Was it getting rid of her that made you who you are today?”

Jude snorted, slapping Sid on the back in a half-supportive, half-warning manner. Jungkook knew that the level of your patience for his friends ranged from Sid (no patience) to Jude (case-by-case), to Minjun (bearable)—and he could see why.

“I didn’t get rid of her,” he said, an edge to his voice. “We broke up and moved on. Did you hear from Minjun?”

Sid laughed again—even louder than before; the glasses behind the bar seemed to clatter.

“Look at him, trying to change the topic!” he wheezed, looking at Jude over his shoulder.

“Leave him be, man,” Jude said and nodded at Jungkook. “So many girls around us and this dumbass is still hung up on your ex, huh?”

Jungkook finished his beer and held the liquid behind his cheeks for a second before swallowing. He caught the bartender’s eye and lifted his empty glass, indicating a refill.

“I don’t think I’m the one who’s hung up,” Sid said with a very knowing look in his eye.

Jungkook looked at him and raised his eyebrows—surprised and momentarily distracted from his drink. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you come to her as soon as she calls, like a puppy,” Sid replied. “So, you tell me.”

“I have to come when she calls,” Jungkook defended. “She’s my manager.”

“Yeah, dumbass,” Jude said, slapping Sid on the back of the head this time. “She’s his manager.”

Jungkook suddenly found himself smiling when he realised that you’d probably consider this the reason why Sid acted the way he did sometimes – permanent brain damage from Jude’s incessant slaps.

“Well, then someone,” Sid said, angrily accentuating the word—the anger was clearly directed at Jude, but the pronoun at Jungkook, “has a fucking crush on their manager.”

“I don’t have a crush—”

Sid spoke over him, “I bet you could never get her to go out with you again.”

Jungkook saw the bartender approach to pour him a drink and he heard Jude scoffing, but he could only blink, taken aback by what sounded like an accusation.  “Why—why would I even—why—”

“Oh, see, see?!” Sid screeched, turning to Jude with a triumphant expression. Jude gave him a pitiful look—and looked about ready to give him a black eye, too. “He knows I’m right, it’s why he’s stuttering!”

“Dude,” Jude said slowly. “You are yelling.”

Jungkook cleared his throat, nodding at the bartender as a thank-you and then bringing his refilled glass to his lips. “And I’m not stuttering.”

“You so are, my man,” Sid taunted, patting Jungkook on the shoulder with so much force, the beer nearly spilled from the glass and from his mouth. “Your ass is so whipped, you’re going to be singing at her wedding to some random producer.”

Suddenly hyper-aware that there were several producers on tour with them right now, Jungkook put his drink down and straightened in his seat.

“I’m not fucking singing at weddings,” he said.

“Not yet,” Sid pointed out, grinning. He knew he'd gotten under his skin.

“Okay, come on now,” Jude interjected, leaning back in his seat to be able to see Jungkook. “You promised you’d sing at my wedding.”

“As if anyone would ever marry you,” came Sid’s snide.

“You shut the fuck up,” Jude snarled, but there was no malice behind his bark. “I have more chances of marrying someone than he has of marrying his manager.”

“He—oh, fuck!” Sid was about to argue, but then burst into laughter—so loud and thunderous again, that the bartender was forced to glance over at the security guards by the entrance to the bar. “That’s good! You’re so right!”

“Both of you are fucking idiots,” Jungkook spoke. The edges of his vision were red. “I could get her to go out with me again if I wanted to.”

“Oh, sure, sure,” Sid nodded, wiping invisible tears from his eyes. “Big talk.”

“Jungkook, no offense, my dude,” Jude said, leaning forwards this time. “Let him have this one. Sid may be dumber than box of rocks, but he’s got a point here. Forget about her.”

Another insinuation that had Jungkook throwing his head back in frustration.

“There’s nothing to forget!” he groaned. “What the fuck are you even talking about? I just fucking told you I moved on.”

“So why are you getting all riled up, then?” Sid smirked, more and more satisfied with each curse that he provoked out of him.

Jungkook felt even angrier, because he was getting riled up, but he had a good reason for it. He enjoyed banter as much as the next person, but he did not enjoy mockery at his own expense—especially not the kind that involved you.

He snapped back, “because you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

His friends snickered at this – convinced that his irritation only proved the point they were both making – and Jungkook clenched his jaw, annoyed.

“If anything,” he added sharply as he picked his beer up—as if that could somehow distance him from this conversation, “it’s her who’s still hung up on me.”

That was a cheap, childish defence, and everyone by the bar knew it.

“Yeah, right!” Sid cried out, but resisted from laughing again. “We’ve heard her yell at you more times than we can count. You fucking wish she was still hung up on you.”

“Okay, to be fair, Sid can probably only count to five,” Jude added—Sid finally punched him on the shoulder—as he toyed with the paper umbrella on his fourth cocktail; the Margaritas they’d ordered were long gone. “But he’s right, you know? You’d never get her to go out with you again.”

There was pity in Jude’s voice—as if he felt sorry that Jungkook lived in denial, chasing after you and convincing himself that it was only a matter of time before you’d come back to him.

This made Jungkook’s temper vile, his face red, hot, and angry. He slammed his beer back on the table, forcing some of it to spill. “Yes, I fucking would!”

Sid was hiccupping as he laughed.

“Okay, okay, listen—let’s make a proper bet,” he managed. He picked up a napkin from the bar top, then looked around for something to write on it with—not finding anything, he stood up from his seat and leaned over the bar, grabbing a pen before the bartender could notice. “$1000 says you can’t get her to go on a date with you again.”

He glanced at Jude for approval—Jude shrugged.

“I’d suggest $500,” he said. “We don’t want to rob him blind.”

Jungkook’s face remained stoic, prideful.

“Fine with me. But you have no idea what you’re getting yourselves into,” he bit.

“Oh, that’s right, he’s been awfully cocky about the whole thing, hasn’t he?” Sid spoke, addressing his rhetorical question at the bar. He wrote something on the napkin and then lifted it to show the number “4000” to Jungkook. “How about this: Jude and I each pay you $2000 if you win. But if you lose, you give us your Katana.”

Jungkook lifted his eyebrows, the sudden mention of his bike catching him off-guard. Sid came from old money, he could afford fifteen brand-new motorcycles with the change he found in his suitcase, probably.

“How is that fair?” he asked. “Do you even know how much a Suzuki costs these days? It’s not $4000, I can tell you that much.”

“Why should you care?” Sid asked, his eyes glinting with mischief. “You were so confident about winning the bet just a second ago. Scared you’ll lose after all?”

In his defence, Jungkook did hesitate for half a moment. But there was a shit-eating grin on Sid’s mouth that he wanted to wipe off more than anything else, and he downed the rest of his beer in one big gulp—a showcase of his determination.

“Not at all,” he said then. He wasn’t sure if he was lying as he said this, but he had no time to figure that out. He extended his hand at Sid. “Get your money ready.”

Here, he was putting up a front – this wasn’t about the money at all. It was more a thing of pride; they were teasing him, purposefully making fun of him—and he wanted to prove them wrong, regardless if they were actually wrong.

Smirking, Sid shook his hand—cementing the bet between all three of them, as Jude was busy finishing off his cocktail—and was about to say something when Jungkook jumped off his stool.

“Have to go now,” he said, always a show-off with his overly creative comebacks when he was tipsy. “My horoscope predicts a date and a big fortune in my near future. Got to prepare.”

chapter title credits: sleep token, “rain”

special shout-out & thank you to @eleni-cherie who delivered the much-appreciated kicks in the ass, so that i would keep writing. the odds were really against me, so if it weren't for you & our in-depth fanfic discussions, i definitely wouldn't even be writing this note right now, let alone finally starting this story 💜

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[pepperonijem]

I. i wish that you and i lived in the sims || to.you

"... but instead we're both at some trashy halloween party downtown.''

summary: When your friend Eren invites (bribes) you to come watch his band play at a stupid frat party, you're surprised to see that Levi Ackerman from your social psychology class is the lead singer. pairing: Levi Ackerman x gn!reader content: alcohol consumption, frat parties songs mentioned: about last night - monsta x, sims - lauv

A/N: I'm so excited for you all to read this story! I recommend listening to the songs as you read the chapter, and enjoy!

let me know if you'd like to be tagged! comments and rb's are appreciated :)

masterlist || next chapter

“Eren, why the hell are you dragging us out to this party?” you complained to your friend as he sat on your couch with his feet on your coffee table. You shot him a glare and almost immediately he swung his legs off. 

He simply shrugged in response, the movement of his shoulders barely recognizable under the giant pumpkin costume he wore. “The band’s playing at some pre-Halloween party, Hange told me to invite all my friends.”

A scoff came from the other side of the room, where Jean, in his “sexy cowboy” costume, was leaning against the wall. “Do they know that you only have two of those?” You heard a laugh beside him as Eren glared at him.

“You’re here too, aren’t you?” Armin chuckled at Jean. “That makes four at least.” He put up each finger on one hand as he listed off everyone present: himself, you, Jean, and Mikasa.

“I’m not his friend,” Jean rolled his eyes before looking away. “And Mikasa’s his girlfriend, she doesn’t count. So yeah, smart-ass. Two friends.”

He pointed at you and Armin, who were dressed in matching pumpkin costumes with Eren. Mikasa , who was dressed as Morticia Addams, nodded in agreement. Jean, to some extent, was right. He sat by Eren in the psychology class you two shared (often asking if the two of you could share your notes with him) and Mikasa comes to Eren’s shows all the time.

“Hey,” you pointed out. “The pumpkin costumes were not my idea. I wanted to be Pitbull.” You attempted to cross your arms over the orange felt encasing your body, to no avail.

“Not fair,” Armin countered. “We’ve been matching pumpkins since the fourth grade.” 

“Why is Mikasa exempt this year then?” You huffed.

“I told you guys I’d be a pumpkin on Halloween,” she shrugged. “It’s October 17th.”

You rolled your eyes. She had a point. And it was far too late for you to find a different costume now. Jean scoffed at your playful bickering. “At least you’re a hot pumpkin,” he joked. You were used to Jean’s flirtatious comments by now, but you never really took them too seriously. He seemed like he only did it to get a rise out of Eren, who’d come to fill some sort of brotherly role in your life since you were kids.

“Yeah?” Eren spoke with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Glad you think I’m hot.” He and Armin exchanged a laugh as Armin walked to comfort a sulking Jean.

“Not you,” Jean turned away, swatting an arm out at Armin who pat him on the back pitifully. “Ugh I don’t even know why I agreed to come along.”

“Because you needed my notes to pass class, dumbass,” Eren retorted.

Remembering your psych class, you cleared your throat before speaking. “Anyway,” you began. “The point was that we have a psych exam tomorrow and Halloween is still well over a week away.”

Eren mumbled something about the frat wanting to beat all the other frat parties happening and promising free coffee for you tomorrow in exchange for coming out tonight. You rolled your eyes in response. You couldn’t be begged to come, but you could be bribed, apparently.

With that, three pumpkins, a sexy vampire-esque housewife, and a not-as-sexy cowboy made their way to the local frat house. It felt pretty ridiculous really, to see the five of you (especially the pumpkins) all pile into Eren’s beat up Camry on a random Sunday in October. 

The blue and white house that sat at the end of Greek row still seemed relatively untrashed, save for the (decorative?) shopping cart filled with empty cans of beers and seltzers on the front lawn. The party had yet to hit its full swing and you internally groaned at the thought of being here all night. Upon entering, the four of you followed Eren to where his band was beginning to set up. Somehow, they had managed to set up a stage in the cramped first floor of the house. 

Eren’s band, No Name, consisted of him, and three seniors from various departments of the school who were all also somehow academic weapons: Hange, a rather eccentric pre-med biology major on keyboard; Miche, a finance major on drums; and Levi, a biomedical engineering major, was their lead guitarist and lead singer. Eren himself played bass, and was a junior in music education.

He started in the band around the end of the spring semester when Erwin, the previous bassist for the band, and the others came up to him after one of his recitals to invite him into the band. Eren talked about his band members a lot, but this was the first time you were going to meet them in person. 

The rest of the band was already on stage, tuning their instruments and messing with the amps and wires that were scattered around. They looked up at Eren as he hopped onto the platform to join them. Hange gave him an excited wave as they played a few test notes on the keyboard. Miche gave him an acknowledging nod, before turning his attention back to his drums.

The third member, Levi, looked up and nodded at Eren before glancing at the rest of you. He seemed surprised to see you there because you watched his gray eyes flicker back to you. His gaze was intense, but cautious. You turned your head in confusion until you realized you’d seen him in class before. You hadn’t really spoken to him before, but you gave him a light wave anyway and he returned with the same nod he gave Eren. 

“Mikasa,” Hange greeted her excitedly. “I love your costume, you are so cute.” Mikasa blushed at the compliment and thanked them in response. Miche was not in costume, but Hange and Levi seemed to have a matching motif – They were wearing all white with a halo headband atop their head, and Levi in all black with devil horns on his head. Hange turned their attention to the rest of you and hopped off the stage to meet you. “Armin, you’ll have to introduce me to your friends.”

“Right,” Armin started. He introduced you and Jean to Hange and to Miche and Levi who were listening while finishing up. Jean nodded to Levi who looked at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“Hey bro,” Jean greeted. Levi scoffed in return.

“Not your bro,” he replied curtly. Hange raised an eyebrow at him in amusement. “This is that idiot who sits in front of me and watches Fortnite streams during class.” Hange hummed in recognition as Levi explained. You couldn’t help but let out a chuckle at Levi’s dry response and he turned his slate gray eyes to you.

“He’s right Jean,” you agreed. “You are a bit of an idiot.” Levi’s lips twitched at your agreement.

“And you’re the one who shares notes with the idiot so he passes,” he turned to you.

“Yup,” you affirmed with a grin. “His savior, if anything.”

Jean opened his mouth to retort before a voice caught everyone’s attention. Connie, the president of the frat called out to Levi. He was dressed as a minion. “Hey Levi,” he greeted. “Are you guys ready? More people are starting to show up, so I figured I’d ask if you guys were ready to start your set.” Levi nodded and Connie turned to the rest of you. “There’s snacks and drinks in the kitchen.” He leaned over and lowered his voice conspiratorially before adding, “I’d go ahead and dig into the charcuterie before Sasha gets here and gets a whiff of the prosciutto.”

The group of you moved away from the amps by the stage and towards the kitchen where, sure enough, enough alcohol and snacks for an army were haphazardly layed out. A strum from the guitar and a tap on the mic caught your attention as Levi introduced the band. “Hey everyone, we’re No Name. Enjoy, I guess.” Without any more fanfare, he turned to Miche and nodded as they began their first song, a rather upbeat song about partying. The cheers from the now crowded living area spurred them on. With a fresh drink in your red cup, you made your way back towards the stage to watch the group.

Honestly they were pretty good, and you wondered why it had taken you so long to actually see one of their shows. Hange had an upbeat and charismatic aura on stage, constantly bouncing on their feet and even sending an occasional flirty wink to people in the crowd. Miche seemed to get lost in the music and you watched as his eyes shut and he seemed to be in his own world. Even Eren, who looked stoic enough nodded his head along to the music and you could recognize his voice ever so often in a high harmony. 

And there was Levi.

 Although he didn’t look it… or particularly sound like it from his cold and short manner of speaking, had a melodic tone to his low voice. He was much different on stage than what you had gleaned from him in the short interaction you had with him. Then, he felt intense and closed off, as if he had already placed himself at an emotional distance from those around him. His stage presence however, was magnetic – the way he leaned into his microphone and would turn to face the band every so often to give cues, he seemed so in command, The way he’d smirk every so often or scan around the audience, it made you want to be the object of his gaze. it was impossible not to stare. 

“About last night, I was undone God it feels right, being so wrong And I realized, all the blurry nights are when I feel alive.”

You looked around at your friends as you began to dance. Mikasa gently bobbed along as she watched Eren with adoration in her eyes. Armin nodded along to the song while he took a sip from his red cup. Jean was talking to a girl who was quietly giggling at whatever he had just whispered in her ear. This was fun, you concluded.

Back on stage, Hange hit a high note that caught your attention and the fanfare told you the song was coming to an end. You watched mesmerized as Levi stepped away from the microphone to strum down on his guitar, head nodding along to the music before returning to the mic and gripping it with both hands. “About last night…” he trailed off and ran his hands through his jet black hair. The rest of the band continued on with the last measures of the song, Eren’s fingers flying up and down the neck of his bass and Miche running through the end of a drum solo. 

You found yourself grinning as you clapped and cheered along with the crowd. After a brief pause, Eren’s bass kicked off the next song and you scurried off to the kitchen to top off your drink and grab a snack. With the light buzz of alcohol in your head, you began to realize you didn’t seem to particularly mind the growing crowd dancing alongside you. Time seemed to pass quickly as you found yourself eagerly waiting for each new song the band played. The energy on stage felt electric and contagious, and you found yourself locked in on one member in particular – Levi.

There was something about how he sang each lyric with a raw rasp in his voice and the way his fingers slid down his fretboard with ease that made him so good to look at. The music they played was fun and upbeat, but when they slowed down for a final song, it surprised you enough to snap you out of your trance as Levi spoke in the mic again, leaning in enough that his lips touched the cold metal.

“It’s our last song of the night,” he began with a sigh, catching his breath from the last song. He grabbed his water bottle that was by his mic stand and took a quick sip before wiping some sweat off his brow and continuing. “Let’s chill the fuck out and slow things down. For the last time, we’re No Name.” 

Levi’s voice came out over a smooth melody on the keyboard. As people began to gather in pairs or move away from the dance floor, you found yourself close to the stage once again. Levi seemed to catch your eye as he continued to sing and strum gently. His voice had a gentle vibrato to it and it was mesmerizing.

It wasn’t till you felt a tap on your shoulder and you saw Levi’s eyes flicker to a figure beside you that you turned to see Jean offering his hand out to you. “Wanna dance?” he asked casually. You shrugged as you slipped your hands around the back of his neck. His hands awkwardly found your waist, squishing your pumpkin costume in the middle so you looked a little bit more like a squash instead.

“What happened to that girl you were with earlier?” you asked Jean curiously. You had hung out with him a couple of times outside of class, mostly to study, but Jean never seemed very interested in you past being a study buddy turned friend.

“She was definitely more interested in other girls than she was in me,” Jean chuckled quietly. “Plus you looked kinda silly, a giant pumpkin standing by itself in front of the stage.” You turned around, eyes wide, to realize that you were in fact the only person who was on the dance floor alone. Mikasa had gone off to the kitchen to find Sasha and Armin was dancing softly with the girl he’d been talking to lately. Jean must have noticed your embarrassment because he was quick to continue speaking. 

“Don’t worry,” Jean continued. “I too would be transfixed if it seemed like a hot singer was singing right at me.” You felt yourself blush at his comment. 

“Shut up Jean,” you chastised. “Or else I’ll tell Levi you think he’s hot.” “Game respects game,” Jean chuckled with a shake of his head and leaned in to whisper near your ear. You could hear the smirk in his voice. “Don’t believe me?” You shook your head no in response. “His eyes haven’t left you since we started dancing.”

Sure enough, Levi was still watching the pair of you as you gently swayed to the melody. The song came to a close soon after and Jean jokingly twirled you away from him before whispering “Go get ‘em tiger.”

You found yourself stunned as he walked away and turned back to the stage just in time to see Levi set his guitar in its case before hopping down in front of you. Without his guitar slung in front of him, you could see his outfit better. He wore a black turtleneck that clung nicely to his toned chest and arms and black slacks. The only Halloween-y part of his outfit were the devil horns that sat on his head… which he promptly removed. Even with his hair disheveled and the glow of sweat on his skin, he looked good. He ran his hands through his hair and took a sip of his water, not once breaking eye contact with you. It felt a little intense, really, and even more so when you realized you couldn’t read anything from it.

“You guys are really good,” you offered with a grin. “I really liked that last song.”

“Thanks,” Levi nodded. He let the silence sit for a beat before continuing to talk. “You’re in my psych class, right?”

“Yeah I am,” you confirmed. “I sit next to the dumbass.” Levi’s lips turned upwards in amusement and he nodded.

“Cool,” he said simply. He didn’t say anything else, but he made no move to leave either, so you tried your best to continue the conversation.

“When–”

“We–” 

Levi finally let out an amused scoff. You figured that’s the closest you’d get to a genuine laugh, and it was enough to put your nerves at ease for the time being. “Go ahead,” you said.

“We’re playing at another party in two weeks if you want to come,” he said cooly, but the way his fingers fidgeted around the plastic water bottle as if it was the neck of his guitar made you think he might be thinking about this conversation as hard as you. 

“Sure, I–” you paused as you thought about the date. “Wouldn’t that be November already?”

A scoff escaped his lips again. “Yeah, some stupid shit about a post-Halloween soiree leading into no-nut-November. A gig is a gig, I guess.” He sounded less than amused about the theme of the party but shrugged it off.

You laughed at the stupidity of it all. “Sure, yeah, I’ll try to come by.” 

You smiled at him. He smiled back at you, well, smirked more like. “Cool,” was all he said.

A buzz from your wrist caught your attention, reminding you that it was nearing 1 a.m. and that you had told yourself to go home to study for your exam. You looked back up at Levi apologetically. “Sorry,” you began. “I have to get home, I want to study before tomorrow.”

Levi hummed in acknowledgement and you wondered when he found time to study for his own classes. He nodded towards the door, offering to walk you out. He didn’t really say much until you were both at the front porch of the house, with the cool autumn breeze seeping through the felt of your costume. “I’ll see you around?” he asked.

You nodded in response. “See you around.”

“Cool,” he said again. You moved to begin walking home but turned back with a smile and a two finger salute when you heard him say “Nice costume, by the way.” You had a feeling he wasn’t going to say that to Armin or Eren.

Sure enough, the next time you saw Levi was after your psychology exam the next morning. 

You had woken up at your desk after falling asleep studying with only 20 minutes until class began. With no other options, you quickly brushed your teeth and washed your face but ran out of your apartment without bothering to change clothes. You arrived just in time for the test to begin, but too late to sit in your usual seat by Eren and Jean. 

Last night after coming home from the party, you found it difficult to focus on your notes. All you could think about was Levi and his piercing stare. You’d definitely seen his gray eyes before, but being the subject of their gaze was something else entirely. You recalled the feeling in the pit of your stomach the first time he looked at you. It wasn’t until your phone buzzed with a text from Mikasa stating that she made it home safely that you snapped out of your daze enough to begin studying. 

When the exam was finally over, you met the two of them outside of the classroom.

“No, you idiot,” Jean argued. “You’re thinking of the halo effect, the answer was the reciprocal liking effect.” They were in the middle of arguing about what the correct answer on a part of the exam was and you watched Eren scramble to pull his messy notebook out of his backpack to find it in his notes. Before you could interrupt and correct them, a low voice beat you to it.

“It’s the mere exposure effect, you dumbasses,” You turned around with a chuckle, stepping aside to give space for Levi to stand with the three of you. He wore a crisp white t-shirt and black sweatpants and you felt slightly embarrassed at your own pajama pants-hoodie-bedhead combo.

“Huh?” Eren asked as he tried to skim through his notes. “But isn’t that–”

“Mere exposure suggests that the more times we encounter someone or something, the more we tend to like it,” you explained. Levi nodded in agreement.

“Looks like the studying paid off,” he commented, turning to face you.

“Sure did,” you replied before a yawn escaped your lips.

“Take a nap,” Levi suggested, looking you up and down. “You look like shit.” You turned to him with a sharp eye before you realized that was his attempt at witty banter. Instead of a scowl, you rolled your eyes instead.

“I’ll nap after this one buys me a coffee.” You gestured to Eren who had now turned back to Jean to argue about a different question. Levi nodded back before turning to the voice that called his name from behind. It was Hange and Miche.

“See you around,” he said before heading in their direction.

You didn’t see Levi much after that day. Or Eren for that matter. 

For the next few classes, Eren and Levi left rather promptly to have band practice in preparation for their early November gig. So those days, you found yourself walking to the library with Jean.

“I haven’t seen Eren have to go to practice this often since the summer,” you had noted to him as you walked. The party was tomorrow night, and Eren and Levi skipped class altogether for rehearsal so you promised to send Eren your notes.

“Yeah,” Jean agreed as he brushed a fallen leaf off the top of his hair, ruffling it in the process. “But apparently they have a new song on their setlist, so I guess that’s why.”

You were surprised to learn that Jean had a conversation with Eren past arguing over class notes, and you noted the shade of red that dusted the tops of his ears when he saw you look at him inquisitively. “Oh? Did Eren tell you that?”

“Yeah,” he scoffed. “And what about it?”

“Nothing,” you replied coyly. “Just glad to see you guys are friends now.” Jean rolled his eyes and you shoved him playfully. He shook his head with a soft laugh.

“I guess if I have to see him every day, we might as well be friends,” Jean admitted. “Mere exposure effect or whatever.”

“Aw, you are learning, Jeanny boy.” 

The next evening you found yourself at yet another frat house in front of another stage. At least this time you weren’t in a pumpkin costume, but rather in an actual outfit that you felt good about (One that wasn’t picked out by any of your friends).

You managed to arrive in time to catch the band setting up, wanting to offer help, but not really knowing how. Instead you sat on the couch beside a bored looking Mikasa as she fiddled with the cup in her hands. 

“Most people don’t show up to parties until they’re actually parties,” Mikasa sighed as she rested her chin in her hands. She watched as Eren fiddled with the tuning pegs of his bass in front of Levi who played him his pitches. You chuckled in agreement. There really wasn’t much going on quite yet as the party had yet to truly begin.

“We could have come by later in the evening,” you replied.

“Nah,” Mikasa countered. “I’m bored, but I’d rather be bored here with Eren than bored alone at home. Plus this way everyone knows I’m ‘with the band’ or whatever. Keeps weirdos away from Eren.” As if to prove her point, she sent a glare towards the poor girl who walked up and offered Eren a water bottle. She had a point. She had a reason to be here early, but did you?

You could say that Mikasa dragged you here with her, but she didn’t really. You weren’t really “with the band” either. You looked back over at the stage and caught Levi’s eye. He gave you a single wave before turning his attention to his microphone stand. Maybe, you thought, it was reason enough that you liked seeing the band set up.

By the time No Name got to the middle of their set, you were having a great time dancing with Mikasa who was more than buzzed. You also felt a little tipsy, but you were nowhere near Mikasa’s level. One of you had to be sober enough to care for the other. Levi cleared his throat into the mic before speaking. “This is a new song. Happy Halloween and no-nut-November.” Although his face remained passive, you could tell Levi was poking fun at the drunk frat boys that were scattered about and cheering loudly.

Mikasa leaned over to you as a keyboard melody began to play. “Eren said you’d probably like this one,” she slurred into your ear.

"I wish that you and I lived in The Sims We could build a house and plant some flowers and have kids But we’re both at some trashy Halloween party downtown”

Levi let his guitar hang around his neck as he wrapped both of his hands around his microphone and leaned in close, as if his proximity to the microphone could fill the room with a sense of intimacy.

"I wish that we lived on a VHS I'd erase the things I said and that I'll probably say again Hit rewind on all the times I got lost in my head”

Mikasa was right, and you were pleased to know that your many years of knowing Eren paid off in him knowing your taste in music. You wondered if he had any influence in writing it and you made a mental note to ask him about it some other time. It was a different vibe than some of the songs the band played last time you saw them, but the crowd seemed to enjoy it and so did you.

The rest of the set was filled with songs that were familiar to you – songs you heard at the last show, and songs that you’d heard Eren practice when you came to visit him and Mikasa at their apartment. Same as last time, the set closed with a slower song, but with no dance partners in sight, you and Mikasa stumbled out to the backyard instead, opting for some fresh air. In the moonlight, you could see the red glow that rose in her cheeks, a side effect of the alcohol. Knowing her, she was on the verge of falling asleep and you were thankful that Eren would be finished with his set soon and could deal with her instead. As much as you loved your friend, Mikasa became a deadweight when she was drunk, as if all her muscles became laced with actual iron.

As if on cue, the final strum of the song rang out and soon after, Eren plopped down between you and a sleeping Mikasa. He scoffed at the sight, but the red in his ears betrayed his attempt at a cool demeanor. He pulled out his phone to take a photo of her in her peaceful state and you laughed softly.

“You know she’ll kill you tomorrow morning once she sees that,” you warned him. Eren chuckled and shook his head as he reached under Mikasa’s back to pull her into his chest and she hummed at the familiar warmth. It was hard to believe that in any other square inch of this party there were frat boys throwing up on the grass when a scene as soft and gentle was playing out right in front of you.

“Eh,” Eren shrugged carefully, looking at her adoringly. “I think I can take her.” He smiled as he pressed his lips against the crown of her head before looking back towards you. “Did you drink tonight?” Eren asked.

You nodded and reached your hand up to feel how warm your cheeks had gotten from the alcohol. “Not nearly as much as Misa,” you answered.

“Do you have a ride?” Eren asked. “I didn’t drive today.”

“I was just planning on walking back,” you shrugged your shoulders. Eren’s brows furrowed together in concern.

“If Armin’s around, you should ask him to walk with you,” Eren suggested. “Or I guess that horse-faced dumbass. He’s fine, I guess.” You laughed at Eren’s mention of Jean.

“I didn’t even know they came,” you admitted.

“They showed up kinda late,” Eren explained. “I saw them show up towards the end of the set.” You hummed in response.

“I’ll keep an eye out then,” you promised as you turned away. “You sure you don’t need my help?” You glanced at Mikasa as Eren waved you away.

“Text me when you get home!”

Back inside the house, the sounds of the band had been replaced with someone’s playlist blasting over the speakers. After doing a lap around the house, your two other friends were nowhere to be found. You knew you were hitting the end of your own social battery as you approached the kitchen in search for a water bottle to take with you before heading out. Although you didn’t drink as much as Mikasa did, the warmth in your throat reminded you that it would be a smart idea to start hydrating. You immediately headed for the cooler that was propped on the counter and dug through the ice and cans of beer until you found what you needed. You wiped your hand against the fabric of your top, trying to regain feeling in your cold fingers before you heard a familiar voice call your name.

“Levi,” you smiled at him in greeting. Today he wore a simple gray sweater with black jeans, and you wondered if he owned anything colorful in his closet. “You guys killed it today.”

Levi’s eyes lit up ever so slightly at the compliment. “Thanks,” he began, and you wondered if that’s all he’d say. “We practiced it a lot.”

“And it paid off,” you agreed, opening your water to take a sip. “I really liked that new song.”

You noted how Levi’s mouth twitched into a small smile. “Really?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you nodded enthusiastically. “It’s right up my alley, and I liked the lyrics too.”

That answer seemed to please Levi who turned his head to hide a gentle blush that crept up his cheeks before clearing his throat to change the subject. “Not drinking tonight?” Levi nodded at the water bottle in your hands.

“I drank plenty,” you chuckled. “It’s for my walk home.”

“You’re walking home?” Levi repeated. “Where’s that brat you’re friends with?”

“Eren?” you asked as Levi nodded. “He’s dealing with a drunk sleeping Mikasa. I told him I'd go with Armin or Jean, but I can’t seem to find either of them.”

Levi hummed as you explained. A beat of silence fell between the two of you as Levi looked around, lost in his own thoughts. “I’ll help you find them,” he offered before nodding towards the stairs. You followed close behind him struggling to shove your way through the crowd until you realized Levi had stretched his hand out to grab hold of your wrist. “Stay close,” he called to you. It was a pleasant surprise that he had offered to help you at all. Half of you expected him to just reply with a simple “cool,” as what seemed to be his default response, and be done with it. Instead, he was dragging you up the stairs and shoving people out of the way on your behalf. You blushed as you realized what this might look like to the random onlooker.

Before you could relish the idea any longer, Levi dropped your hand as he found a clearing by the railing at the upstairs landing where there was a decent view of the party going on downstairs. “It’s easier to find someone when you have a bird’s-eye view,” he explained as his eyes seemed to scan the sea of partygoers.

You turned your attention to where he was looking before spotting Armin’s golden blonde hair and Jean’s sandy brown, both unmistakable from your point of view. “There they are,” you noted excitedly. Levi scoffed in amusement at how a simple observation got you so excited. “It looks like Armin’s… occupied,” you chuckled to yourself. Armin was locked deep in a passionate kiss with Annie, his now-girlfriend. You decided you’d best not bother him and sighed in relief when you saw Jean was just chatting idly with Connie near the door. 

Levi walked with you back down the stairs until you found Jean, who smiled and greeted you with a hug. “Hey, stranger.” He looked at Levi with a wave. “Hey b-” he cleared his throat. “Hey Levi.”

A scoff escaped Levi’s lips as they formed into a smirk. “Hey, Jeanbo.” Jean’s face immediately fell into a frown. 

“Only my mom– how do you even know about that?” Jean ran a hand down his face as Connie laughed beside him.

“You leave your brightness all the way up when you text your mom from your laptop in class,” Levi explained, much to Jean’s dismay. “And you have the default font size of a billboard ad.” 

Connie put a hand on Jean’s shoulder and shook his head in laughter. “I’m gonna go ahead, Jeanbo. See you around.” He waved goodbye at the three of you before disappearing into the crowd.

“On that note, I think I’m gonna go too,” Jean pouted as he watched you laugh along. 

Levi watched your hand as it flew up to grab Jean’s elbow as he turned away. “Wait,” you sighed as your laughter died down. “I was gonna ask if you could walk me home, since Eren and Armin are… otherwise occupied.”

Jean’s eyebrow shot up as his eyes moved between your hand that tugged at his sleeve and the steely gray eyes that seemed to be intensely boring down on his. He paused for a second before finally answering you. “I don’t mind but–”

“I’m Hange’s designated driver, and they live an hour away,” Levi seemed to answer Jean’s question before it even came out. You turned to look at Levi, still unreadable as ever, and wondered why he answered so quickly.

“I see,” Jean replied skeptically before turning to you with a shrug. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

You nodded to Jean and the three of you walked towards the door where Levi hung back and leaned against the door frame as you moved past him. You weren’t sure if you were on hugging terms with Levi yet (or if he even had hugging terms for that matter), so you opted to give him a wave instead.

“See you around?” you smiled at Levi warmly. Maybe his stare wasn’t as icy as you originally thought because his eyes seemed to soften. Maybe it was just in your head, but that would’ve been fine too.

“See you around.” 

Nope, his eyes definitely softened.

a/n: i think i might add like random facts i have about this universe. so here's a couple! 1) i have a playlist of songs that i think the band would play and i know which ones are written by each member of the band lol 2) everything i mention about psychology in this fic is taken directly from my own class notes from my academic weapon era.

[ganjas-shit]

Oh, You’re Breaking My Heart

Warnings: 18+ content, dry humping?, sexual language, cursing, angst, inexperienced reader, virgin reader.

Authors note: Hi everyone! Sorry it took so long for the update I was studying for exams and what not but I hope you guys enjoy sorry if it seems a little rushed this is my first series so I’m slowly learning! Feel free to inbox me for whatever! <3 this was also a little Lana inspired I just love her so much and I feel like her music matches Billy’s vibe so well.

Chapter 3: Just Ride.

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He gradually emerged from the depths of unconsciousness, his senses assaulted by the incessant beeping of machines, the sterile brightness of the overhead lights, and the icy tendrils of cold air wrapping around him. With a heavy groan, he blinked his eyes open, adjusting to the unfamiliar surroundings.

A strong smell of disinfectant lingered in the air.

The hospital?

As he tried to rise, a sharp twinge from his lower ribs forced a hiss of pain from his lips, halting his movement abruptly. And a strong pounding in his head distracted him from moving any further.

"Hey, Billy, I'm Nurse Janet," a woman in pink scrubs greeted him. "How are you feeling? Any discomfort?"

Is she blind?

"Fuck yeah, my head's killing me, and I can't sit up," Billy muttered bluntly, causing the older woman to cringe at his choice of language.

Billy shut his eyes against the glare of the lights and massaged his temples, trying to dull the throbbing pain in his head.

“You have a concussion and a few broken ribs, can you recall what happened tonight?” She asked.

Yeah, Neil really fucked up.

"Not really, no," he lied. Despite his hatred for his father, a small part of him still felt the need to protect him. The nurse looked at him sympathetically. "The doctor will be here shortly. For now, just try to relax," she said, giving him a warm smile before exiting the room.

You’re gonna be okay.

He remembered hearing a voice, he was probably hallucinating but the voice was sweet, soft, and comforting. Maybe it was his guardian angel, but he wasn't about to confess that to the nurses; they'd likely send him in for a psych evaluation.

Bits and pieces of tonight's events flashed through his mind. He recalled finally standing up to Neil, but his memory of the confrontation was hazy at best. All he can hear echoing back and fourth in his head was the fear in max’s voice.

“Get off of him!”

His gut churned at the thought, for he had once experienced that same fear when it was his mother at the mercy of Neil's hands.

Guilt consumed him once again, he looked up at the ceiling tears pricking the inner corner of his blue eyes.

God, what an aggravating feeling.

He was exhausted from the weight of guilt, he was tired of feeling. Maybe if his mom would’ve took him with her, maybe if he stayed in California, maybe he would be different.

Maybe.

The door of his hospital room opened, creaking slightly. A man in a white coat, presumably his doctor, entered, accompanied by two police officers.

Billy felt a slight panic, although he hadn't done anything wrong. His heart rate started to pick up through the monitors.

"Billy, it's all right. This is Chief Jim Hopper," the doctor reassured, motioning towards the tall man. "He's one of the best officers I know and he wants to talk about tonight,”

"Hey kid, I’m J—" Billy cut him off before he could finish, "I know who you are. I have a concussion, not a mental impairment," he snapped defensively. "You can't speak to me unless an adult is present."

Jim swallowed back whatever sarcastic remark was about to spill out of him and took a deep breath,

"You're 18, kid. I'm allowed to speak to you. I just wanted to ask you a few questions," Jim sighed carefully, hoping to gain the boy's trust with his measured tone.

The doctor left the room allowing them space to talk.

“Had some really rough sex, mind was hazy after it and I ran into a door” Billy spat, blatantly lying through his teeth. It was a terrible lie but it was the first thing that came to his brain, his concussion was preventing him from coming up with a better one.

Jim let out a chuckle, his amusement evident, while the other officer couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Running into a door isn't going to give you a grade two concussion and broken ribs," he remarked, with a tone that conveyed both skepticism and exasperation at Billy's attempt to deceive them.

"It was a really hard door," Billy retorted, annoyance creeping into his voice at the one going conversation. “And it was really rough sex, you’d think I was killing her with the noises she was making but I promise, she was enjoying every inch of me,” Billy’s said voice dripping with arrogance.

Jim and officer Callahan exchanged a glance before returning their attention to him.

"Just ask my neighbor; she had front-row seats. She'll tell you," Billy said, his voice smug with confidence.

Although Jim felt for the boy, his patience was wearing thin. "Oh, you mean Y/N? Yeah, she's right outside with your sister, scared half to death. I heard she was screaming at the nurses to be careful with you. Poor girl almost lost her mind seeing you like this," Jim said, his tone tinged with slight frustration.

"She's the one who brought you here, you know. You were knocked out cold in her embrace," Jim said, studying the way Billy's features fell.

His smug expression vanished instantly, replaced by guilt. But he quickly scoffed, putting up his usual dickhead facade to cover it up.

“Listen, kid, we already got statements from your stepmother and your sister. I know your father’s been putting his hands on you for years. We need to know if you have any idea where he might be,” he said with a serious tone.

“You’re arresting him!?” Billy asked in disbelief,

"Should we not?" Officer Callahan said, more as a statement than a question.

Billy looked down at his bruised hands, the same ones that collided with his father's face a little while ago, and started to contemplate life without Neil, life without another parent. He could no longer maintain his facade, he’s felt too much, been through too much, it was cracking. The lonely little boy he’d been his whole life was slipping through the cracks.

"I'll have no one," Billy said, a knot forming in his throat, the weight of loneliness settling heavily upon him.

Jim walked over to the side of his bed and kneeled, “You have three women in that waiting room worried sick about you, I know two of those women personally and they are fighters, they love with every fiber in their body,” Jim said looking at the California boy who reminded him of himself at his age.

He knew you? And max? Surely he wasn’t talking about Susan.

"You have them, and you have me whenever you need it, kid... you just need to try," Jim added, encouraging Billy to lean on their support and make an effort to move forward.

Billy hardly knew you. But the glances, seeing you every morning, watching you in the halls at school, you watching him, he felt a strong pull from you, excitement, a connection, one that scared him. This feeling, this thing was only something he’d see in cheesy movies, shitty romcoms.

“He might be somewhere in the city, but he’ll be back. He’s not leaving without his shit… or maybe he will, who knows.”

Jim nodded, stood up, and patted his shoulder. “We’ll be on the lookout. For now, I’ll have an officer parked outside your house just in case he comes back.”

.

Hop exited the room and headed towards you and Max. Susan left to lock up both your house and hers, since you both forgot to do so earlier, given the circumstances

"He's a smart ass," Hop muttered. "But he's going to be okay physically. He might need a little time to adjust to what's going to happen from here on out, but he has you two, and I made it clear that he had me to talk to as well.

"Yeah, sounds like Billy," Max said, rolling her eyes. “Thanks Hop.” Despite it all, she felt content; her brother was going to be okay, even if it took time. With Neil out of the picture, she held onto hope—for Billy, for their relationship.

He was definitely shitty to her, but Billy did care for her, and she cared for him, at least a part of him. There were times when Neil and her mom argued, and Billy would offer her solace in his own way. He’d take her to the arcade, for burgers, but they never really talked. It was evident they struggled to bond with each other. He was angry that his father met Susan, which was the reason he left California; he blamed her and her mother. However, what Billy didn’t know was she resented him for that same reason.

Max thought that in California, they’d both be safe. She wouldn’t have to face the trauma of encountering interdimensional monsters or deal with Neil’s presence. She wouldn’t witness her mother losing herself to him, or observe Billy’s escalating anger day by day. It felt like everyone was losing themselves in that house. Neil was like Vecna, sucking the life out of people, but not swiftly—rather, in an agonizingly slow manner.

“Can we see him yet?” Max asked.

Hop nodded. “Yeah, I’ll catch up with you two later. I’ve got an asshole to catch.”

.

You and Max slowly entered the room, Billy was staring up at the ceiling lost in thought, his head snapped towards you two when he realized you both came in, he tried sitting up again but the pain he felt was a reminder of the condition he was in.

Max walked towards the front of his bed and you followed right behind her.

“Hey,” Max greeted slowly, “How are you feeling?” Billy looked at her with annoyance as if it wasn’t obvious, “Oh I’m just great Max, feeling like a million bucks,” he said sarcastically.

Max rolled her eyes huffing in annoyance.

“You know you should be thanking us, asshole, we’re the ones who practically carried your ass here,” you spat chiming in, “And you’re not exactly light.” Max added.

Billy’s features softened, and for the first time in a long time, he set his pride aside. “Thank you, Max… I’m sorry you had to see that,” Billy spoke, his voice filled with sympathy.

Your heart broke for them both. Max was such a compassionate soul, and despite whatever barrier Billy had built around his heart, he climbed out of it from time to time for her.

Max nodded and smiled. “I’m just glad you’re okay, shit head. You scared the shit out of me, out of us,” she said, looking over at you.

“It’s gonna take a lot more than Neil Hargrove to take me out,” he replied, his tone smug.

Billy then glanced at you, feeling his heart start to race. God, you were breathtaking. Despite the fatigue evident in your appearance, it only added to your beauty.

Max noticed the way you two looked at each other, and felt as if she was interrupting something.

“Yeah…” max trailed, “I’m gonna go get snacks from the food court, I’ll be back later.” And with that she left, leaving both you and him alone for the first time in what felt like a long time.

You looked at him the same way he looked at you—admiring his beauty, his tough exterior, which only made him more intriguing. Despite his bruised eye and cut lip, he remained mesmerizing. On the way to the hospital, in the back seat of his car, you gently brushed aside the single curls of hair that fell on his face, wishing you could do the same now.

Wait. Back seat of his car? Oh my god the backseat of his car!

You then twisted your face in disgust, “God!” You said in realization, “I sat in the back seat of your car, where you fucked Tina!

Billy struggled to contain his laughter, knowing that doing so would only increase his pain.

“You’re such an asshole!” you shouted angrily. “Ugh, I need to drown myself in disinfectant tonight, damn the consequences,” you huffed.

You glared at him, but a giggle escaped your lips when you noticed him wincing in pain. "Yeah, keep laughing, Hargrove. I'll be right here," you said as you pulled a chair next to his bed, "enjoying every ounce of pain that laughter gives you."

Billy rolls his eyes, the playfulness leaving them before being placed with seriousness.

“I, um,” Billy struggled to get the words out, “T-thank you for helping Max and getting me here.” Before you could respond, he continued, “A-and I’m sorry for being a dick. You didn’t deserve that. I was just…” He took a deep breath before continuing, “My dad, he’s an asshole. He seemed to like you, or at least acted like he did. He’s a damn narcissist, probably did it just to piss me off... Anyway, I lashed out and took it out on you and him. I guess I wanted to piss you both off.”

Billy kept taking deep breaths, you can tell he was struggling, like he wasn’t used to explaining himself or even apologizing. Before he could speak again, you placed your hand over his bruised one gently.

“Billy it’s okay, I understand. I have a pretty clear idea of what goes on in your house, what’s been going on with your father, I’ve been through it too once…” you sighed as his blue ocean eyes bore into your saddened expression, “My mom… she was a bully. She would strip me of my humanity with her words. I was a bitch for a while... I was like a exactly like her, God, I was so awful Billy,” you said as you looked at him through teary eyes, “So I understand.” Billy looked at you with love, understanding now why he felt so drawn to you. You reminded him of himself, but he saw the good within you—the good he hoped to find within himself. Even if it meant putting in the work to mend his heart, he was willing to do it. He needed to do it, for Max, Susan, and for himself. After all they were his only family.

You and Billy sat like that for a while, eventually ending up intertwining your hands. You felt flustered by him, despite him being in a hospital bed. Together, you shared laughs and occasional smiles, enjoying each other’s company. Max eventually came back munching loudly on her snacks, gagging at the two of you, irritating Billy with her sarcasm and with how loud she was chewing. You couldn’t help but laugh, realizing she’d gotten her sarcasm from him. You could get used to this and the warmth that spread through your body filled you with hope.

A few weeks later…

Hawkins Sheriff’s Department focused their efforts on finding Neil, especially since Hawkins was a small town and there seemed to be little else happening besides neighborhood complaints about trivial matters.

Neil returned a few days after Billy was released from the hospital. An undercover car, hidden on his street, swooped in and arrested him just before he could set foot on the porch. That night, you, Max, and Susan comforted Billy, reminding him that he still had a family.

Billy was introduced to the gang the following night to get his mind off things. You threw a little get together at your house. They were all wary, given their past interactions with him, especially Steve. Throughout the night, they exchanged glances. Billy felt sorry; he just couldn’t find the words for Steve. However, he grabbed him a beer, attempting to find some common ground, and Steve accepted. Surprisingly, he and Eddie clicked over their common taste in music. If Eddie could accept that Steve and he had become friends, there was room for one more. Meanwhile, Robin and Nancy chuckled at how smitten you and Billy were, teasing you both about it. Jonathan was cool about it like he was about everything, I think given everything that’s happened this year he had no room for judgments or criticism; he was over it and extremely high out of his mind.

Despite everything, Billy was healing emotionally. He had already recovered swiftly from the injuries he endured from his father, and now everything was slowly falling into place.

Now.

“Y/n let’s go! We’re losing light!” Billy screamed from the driver seat of his car repeatedly honking his door. You huffed loudly and slammed the front door of your house locking the door behind you, “I’m coming GOD!” You yelled back, stomping towards the passenger seat.

You threw your bag of sunscreen and spare clothes through the passenger window, not caring whether it hit him or not, and settled into the passenger seat of his car. You couldn’t stand when he rushed you; it was the most annoying thing. “Jesus, are you ever patient?” you asked rhetorically. Billy was about to respond with a sarcastic comment until he saw what you were wearing. You reminded him of California sometimes. You were wearing a red bikini top with nothing covering the rest of your body, and some blue denim shorts. He tried so hard to keep from lunging at you and devouring every bit of your body.

He’d been doing this for the past few weeks, and it was flustering you more and more each day. You remembered one time you did his laundry. He was gawking at you as you picked up his clothes that were scattered all over his room, making things easier for him since he couldn’t really move given his injuries. He thought you looked like a housewife, his housewife, and it aroused him profoundly.

He teased you about it, and he was very blunt about how he felt. It was infuriating because you actually enjoyed it.

Billy was glad he had planned today just for the two of you. The sun was shining brightly, and Lovers Lake seemed like the perfect place to cool off and relax. Recently, you two had only been around friends—Max, or Max and Susan. He hadn’t been able to spend time alone with you since that night.

After settling in and buckling up, you noticed the car still wasn’t moving. Glancing at Billy, you found him staring at you with an intense gaze, as if he was about to devour you. Your face flushed a deep red as you crossed your legs. “We’re losing light,” you mumbled, attempting to tease him, but you failed miserably. However, you successfully snapped him out of his trance. He licked his lips and chuckled, putting the car in drive and taking off.

You couldn’t help but stare either. Billy was wearing a muscle shirt, showcasing his buff arms, along with some swim shorts. His hair was styled perfectly, as usual, with a single curl falling onto his forehead against his beautiful tan skin. As he held a cigarette in his mouth and drove, butterflies fluttered in your belly.

Metallica blared through the radio as you two drove with the windows down, feeling the warm air on your skin. You closed your eyes and enjoyed the feeling, savoring the moment. It almost felt surreal that you were sitting in his car right now, like something out of one of your romance novels.

“Dammit!” Billy groaned in frustration. “Forgot my fucking lighter.” You rolled your eyes and assured him he’d survive a couple of hours without a lighter. With Billy’s frustration, you noticed the vehicle starting to accelerate more, getting faster and faster. Your belly started to jump with the increasing speed, and you couldn’t help but giggle.

Adrenaline pumped through your veins as Billy’s car felt like a roller coaster. He looked over at you with admiration, recognizing that same feeling, prompting him to go faster on the empty road. You stuck your body out the window, relishing the speed of the car and the harsh wind hitting your face. You felt free, out of this world free. Not a care in the world, just you and a beautiful boy speeding down a ghost town, or rather, a hell town, you might say.

“Fuck you, Hawkins!” you screamed, with Billy joining you in whooping with excitement at the top of his lungs.

You sat back in your seat and looked over to Billy, who was smiling with his foot still pressing on the gas. He started to slow the car down, but you couldn’t help but continue staring. He looked over to you, “You liked that, huh?” he asked, glancing at the tightening of your thighs. The adrenaline rush of it all was enough to get you excited down there, and his presence only intensified the feeling.

You bit your lip and looked over at his. He placed a hand on your thigh, causing your breath to hitch. “Is this okay?” he asked. “Y-yeah, s’fine,” you responded, taking a deep breath.

Billy took pride in the nervousness he caused in you; it excited him.

He kept driving, but his hand now started moving up and down your thigh. Your heart started to race, and the warmth between your legs began to spread. You weren’t being dramatic; you were touch-deprived for God’s sake, and you’ve never made it past second base with anyone.

He then moved his hand higher up your thigh and squeezed tightly, eliciting a slight moan from you. You looked over at Billy, his face filled with awe, while yours was flustered, as if you were in discomfort, eagerly awaiting his touch to ease the pressure building inside you.

“Stop the car,” you said, out of breath, face hotter than the sun.

“But we’re 3 minutes away—” Billy began, but you cut him off.

“Billy, I don’t give a shit, stop the car!”

With that, he pulled off to the side of the road, removing his hand from your thigh as he put the vehicle in park.

Before he could turn to ask what was wrong, you lunged over the center console at him, unable to contain yourself any longer, and kissed him. You grabbed the sides of his face, and it was a passionate kiss that you held for a moment. Then, as you were about to pull away, he took advantage of the slight opening of your mouth and shoved his tongue inside, grabbing the back of your head and adding incredible pressure and pleasure to the kiss. You both fought for dominance, but he won every time. You were in heaven, and the warmth between your legs was becoming harder to contain.

He stopped the kiss for a moment,

“Climb in my lap,” he said through the clashing of your tongues, slightly out of breath, and you obliged, legs going over the center console as you straddled his lap. It wasn’t as uncomfortable as you thought, and you felt some of the pressure down there relieved as you settled.

Your eyes then went wide as you felt something poking at the denim of your shorts causing Billy to chuckle. You then looked down and seen the outline of his hard cock that was straining in his swim shorts.

He bucked his hips slightly into yours, eliciting a hiss of pleasure from both of you. “Can we keep doing that?” you asked shyly, not wanting him to stop.

“Before we dive into this, there’s something I gotta ask.”

You nodded your head, signaling him to ask his question, while both your hands rested on his face.

“You ever been touched, pretty girl?” Billy asked, his voice rough, as he brushed the hair falling over your face behind your ear.

“I—” you sighed nervously. You felt embarrassed. Everyone your age seemed to be having sex or had some type of experience. Robin and Nancy always talked about their experiences, you loved hearing their stories and always hoped you’d experience the same one day. But, the boys you made out with never did it for you, so second base, making out, was all you knew. They’d try to touch you, but you’d never budge. It wasn’t exciting, thrilling, or intimate; it was just plain boring.

You weren’t an idiot you knew what happened during sex and everything that led up to it you’ve just never taken it to the next level.

“S’okay, baby. You can tell me; I won’t judge,” he spoke, now caressing your face, which was hot to the touch.

“No. I’ve only ever made out with a few people but I’ve never made it past that,” you said looking away,

“Hey, look at me,” Billy said. “Look at me, Y/N… I’m gonna show you everything you’ve been missing if you let me.” His hands moved down your sides. “We can take it slow, and then we’ll build our way up. How does that sound?” Billy’s asked voice smooth like honey.

You nodded furiously, excitement building in your belly.

“Good. Now take these off,” he said unbuttoning your denim shorts, “I need you in just your bikini bottoms.” You obliged opening the drivers door quickly hopping out to take off your shorts, then hopped right back in straddling Billy’s lap once again.

The pressure felt different this time, you almost moaned at the contact because it was much more intense as you felt the outline of his cock on your pussy.

You let out shaky breaths as he put his hands on your hips, pushing you down to apply pressure on his throbbing cock. “I’m assuming you’ve never had your big O either, hmm?” he asked. You furrowed your eyes in confusion at his question and tilted your head to the side.

“An orgasm?” Billy spoke again. Your eyes lit up at the familiar word. Robin had told you all about the extraordinary feeling, but you’ve never come close to experiencing it.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, finally understanding what he was talking about, but your expression shifted to a frown. “No, never,” you mumbled.

“Oh, you’re breaking my heart, baby,” he said as he guided your hips to grind up, then down his clothed length. “Ah, shit,” you cursed as you grabbed at his muscle shirt, almost tearing it off with how hard you were gripping. “That’s okay,” he cooed. “I’m gonna have so much fun with you, darling,” he rasped against your ear, licking at it.

A big part of him found comfort in the fact that no one else’s hands had touched you but his own, knowing that no one else could make you feel the way he did. The mere thought of anyone else touching you drove him to the edge of insanity. He was possessive, and he couldn’t help it.

The sensation you felt was otherworldly. It felt as though your body was craving this, yearning for this level of attention. Each touch sent shivers down your spine, like tiny electric shocks. Billy locked his deep blue eyes with yours, his mouth slightly agape. You couldn’t fathom how he was finding pleasure in this, but he did. His face flushed slightly, and he emitted small grunts as you took charge of your movements. Unable to resist any longer, you leaned in and shared a sloppy, passionate kiss with him. The mutual fervor intensified your arousal, and you found yourself moaning into his mouth as he guided your pace.

“That feel good, sweetheart? You like that?” He grunted through the sloppy kiss. You kept going like that for a few seconds, then Billy slipped his hands down, ghosting your clit with his fingers, and pulled your bikini to the side roughly. Your bare pussy was now grinding on his clothed member. “Fuck, you’re killing me, Y/N. You’re dripping through my shorts,” he said in a low grunt.

“Ah, feels so good, Billy, feels amazing,” you whined, your eyes half-lidded, lost in the sensation. It was incredible. Your wet folds were soaking through Billy’s shorts.

“You’re almost there, sweetheart. You’re doing so well,” Billy groaned into your mouth. Both your tongues explored eagerly, creating an intense heat. Drool dripped from your mouth, mingling with his, and you savored each other’s taste, lost in the moment.

Billy was on the edge, trying hard to control himself. You were driving him wild, completely absorbed in your own pleasure as you kissed him passionately. It was a new experience for him, seeing you like this, and he knew he would never forget it.

It was difficult for him to restrain himself from touching you, from speeding up the process and bringing you to orgasm faster. But he resisted, wanting you to explore and discover on your own, to use him as you pleased. He desired to corrupt you, to be the one to show you the way, to introduce you to pleasure. It felt selfish and sinful, but he wanted to be the one, and he always would be.

“Billy, I think… oh, fuck, I think I’m coming,” you whimpered as the knot tightened at your core. It was overwhelming, your movements becoming erratic, and Billy gripping your hips roughly as if he was about to burst too.

Billy then released one hand from your hip, cupping both cheeks with it, and forced you to look into his eyes as you unraveled. Your eyes screwed shut, and your hips stuttered with pleasure, drawing out a stream of curses from Billy’s mouth.

“Fuck, fuck,” Billy groaned as he shot a load into his swim shorts.

Your moans grew louder, and then the knot snapped. Your mind went black as waves of pleasure took over your body, riding out your first orgasm. Billy’s intense groans and moans added to the overwhelming sensation.

You collapsed onto his heaving chest, both of you needing to catch your breath.

There was a moment of silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Instead, it was filled with joy and hope. You both were still shocked that this had happened.

“Can we have sex now?” you said, out of breath, lifting your head a little from his chest and batting your lashes at him.

Billy chuckled, “Easy there, tiger. Remember, we’re taking it slow. Don’t want to overwhelm you,” he said, gently brushing the back of your soft hair with his hand.

“Is it always like that?” you asked curiously. “Do you feel like this with other people? Is it always this intense and earth-shattering?”

Billy pondered for a moment. He knew the answer; he just couldn’t believe it. He had came in his pants from just your grinding. It was unbelievable.

“Nah,” Billy responded. “It’s never like this. It’s us. It’s you.”

You blushed and buried your face into the crook of his neck, feeling warm inside. You were excited to explore this world of pleasure together.

“Looks like we’ve lost light,” you giggled, poking his chest, your gaze drifting to the darkness outside.

“Yeah,” he smiled, remembering how he had hurried you out of the house. “We sure did.”

Taglist:

@jennapancake @writethrough @callsignwidow @strlightfilms @empathyroad @moneyy-21 @fossface @t3n1 @learninglinesintherainn

Tags:

[benispunk]

Who's that girl?

Chapter 4: Before We Speak

Logan always has to be the strong figure, even when everything wants to fall apart.

logan howlett x reader

TW: language, D&W, mentions of dark backgrounds.

A/N: hello lovelies!! fourth chapter is up whoop whoop🎉. this one is entirely focused on Logan because why not? this is a day in our little honey badger's life and I'm not sorry for anything. it could have been way worse. thanks for all the support on this series!! enjoy this part <3

→ this fic is inspired by the TV Show New Girl, Wade and Logan aren't Deadpool and Wolverine (no powers/mutant gene etc) but I did take most of their character traits and storyline!!

Masterlist / Previous Part

Beep Beep Beep Be—

Sometimes Logan wondered how he still hadn’t destroyed that damn alarm clock. He woke up slowly, his body heavy from the comfort of sleep. Finally glancing at his worst enemy of his every morning, he read: 5:30 AM. Time to start the day.

He got up and opened the blinds, though the sun wasn’t up yet, and except for some other people in other buildings, nobody was up yet either. 

After a quick shower and pulling on some shirt and jeans, Logan grabbed his keys and backpack, trying not to make too much noise for his roommates that were probably still sleeping deeply.

You’ll sleep later, Logan.

As he stepped outside of the building, the cool morning air hit his face, waking him up fully.

Logan was the one in charge of opening the center and he preferred going there way earlier than everyone else just to get a moment of peace and calm before the chaos started. He checked every room and classes, making sure everything was ready for the day and once this was done, he sat down and served himself one well-deserved cup of (disgusting) coffee.

The center was a large, well-worn building. It wasn't much to look at from the outside—just a faded brick structure with narrow windows—but inside, it was full of life. Colorful posters lined the walls, some painted by the kids themselves, and inspirational quotes were scattered around, the kind that Logan never really cared for but knew meant something to someone.

The lounge area where he sat was small but cozy, with mismatched chairs and a sagging couch that had seen better days. A few shelves were filled with books and board games, and the corner had a coffee station that barely worked. Yet, this was his place— a refuge in the chaos.

Beyond the lounge, the rest of the center sprawled out: classrooms where kids of all ages learned in their own ways, sensory rooms with soft lights and calming music, a large gym where activities were held, and a garden out back where they often took the kids for fresh air. It was more than just a special school; it was a sanctuary for those who needed it.

As Logan scanned the room, his thoughts drifted. He wasn’t one to reflect much, but opening the center every day before anyone else arrived had become his ritual, a moment to prepare for the storm of the day ahead. Today would be like any other— he’d make sure the supplies were ready, the classrooms set, and his mind focused.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by the hum of the automatic doors opening.

“Good morning, Logan.”

Logan’s daydream was interrupted by the familiar voice of Charles. The older man entered the lounge in his wheelchair, his presence as steady as ever. Charles had been the head of the center for as long as Logan could remember.

Logan nodded, setting down his coffee. “Morning, Charles.”

Charles wheeled himself closer, pausing just in front of Logan. “Early, as always. You know, you don’t have to get here before the sun’s up every day.”

Logan grunted in response, though there was a faint smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “Old habits die hard.”

Charles chuckled. “Well, I appreciate it. Keeps the place running smoothly.” He paused, glancing around the lounge, his expression softening. “How’s everything looking for today?”

Logan leaned back, arms crossed over his chest. “Classes are prepped, gym’s ready. Couple new kids starting this week, so I’ll be keeping an eye on them. Should be a normal day.”

Charles nodded thoughtfully, though there was something in his eyes that made Logan pause. “What?” Logan asked.

“Just thinking,” Charles said, his voice dropping a bit. “It’s a shame, isn’t it? All this work, and now…” He trailed off, and Logan knew exactly what he meant. The center was struggling. Funding cuts, low enrollment— there had been rumors for months now that they might not last much longer. It wasn’t the first time Charles had hinted at it, but hearing it out loud still hit Logan in the gut every time.

“We’ll figure it out,” Logan said, though even he wasn’t sure how much he believed it.

Charles nodded again, but there was a heaviness to the gesture. “I hope you’re right, Logan. For their sake.” he said, gesturing vaguely towards the classrooms, where the kids would soon arrive, full of energy and life.

Logan didn’t respond. He wasn’t one for long conversations, especially not ones that reminded him of things he couldn’t fix. Instead, he stood up and grabbed his coffee, raising it towards Charles in a silent gesture. “I’ll be in the gym.”

Charles watched him go, his expression unreadable.

The gym was Logan’s favorite part of the center. High ceilings, wide-open spaces, and the kind of place where he could let the kids run wild. He liked the controlled chaos of it all—kids bouncing off the walls, their laughter echoing, and the satisfaction of seeing them engage in a world that often felt too overwhelming for them. Here, they were free. Here, they were just kids.

As he stepped inside, Logan could already hear the hum of the day beginning. Soon the first teachers would trickle in. He checked the schedule on the clipboard hanging by the door, making mental notes of the day’s activities. But even as he planned, his thoughts lingered on Charles' words.

What if the center shut down? What would happen to the kids? What would he do?

He shoved the thought away for now, focusing on the present. There were kids to be taken care of today, and that's what mattered.

A sharp sound of footsteps echoed through the hallway, pulling Logan's attention to the door. The first wave of staff was arriving.

The first few kids arrived not long after them. Logan could hear their familiar voices echoing down the hallway, some excited, some grumpy from early wake-ups, but all of them ready to start their day. As they trickled in, Logan stood by the entrance to greet them.

"Morning, Bobby," Logan said as a boy with dark, tousled hair bounded through the door, his backpack almost as big as he was.

"Morning, Mr. Howlett!" Bobby called back with a wide grin, not slowing down as he headed straight for the gym.

Next was Kitty, one of the quieter students, who gave him a shy wave as she walked in, hugging her notebook to her chest.

"Morning, Kitty," Logan said softly, offering her a small smile. She nodded without a word, as always, but Logan could see the relief in her eyes. She always felt safe here.

The rest of the group trickled in—about a dozen kids in all, each with their own unique personalities and quirks. Logan knew them well, better than most. He could read their moods just by the way they walked in, and today seemed to be a good day. No tantrums, no meltdowns. Yet.

Once everyone was inside, Logan led them to the first class of the day. History wasn’t always the easiest subject to teach, but Logan had a way of making it work. He kept things simple, focusing on the stories behind the facts— because that’s what kids understood best, the stories.

As they settled into their seats, Logan stood at the front of the small classroom, a whiteboard behind him and a map of the world pinned to the wall.

"Alright, who remembers what we talked about last week?" Logan asked, his deep voice quiet but commanding enough to capture the attention of the room.

A few hands shot up— Bobby’s was the first, as always.

Logan nodded to him. "Go ahead, Bobby."

"We talked about Ancient Egypt! You said they had these huge tombs for their kings and queens, and they put all their treasures inside."

"That’s right," Logan said, crossing his arms and leaning against his desk. "The pyramids. But they didn’t just put treasures inside. What else?"

Kitty, who was usually too shy to speak up, raised her hand cautiously. Logan gave her an encouraging nod.

"Um, they put their pets inside too?" she said softly.

"Exactly. Sometimes pets, sometimes even servants." Logan smiled at her, watching her shoulders relax slightly. "Why do you think they did that?"

Bobby’s hand shot up again, but Logan pointed to a girl in the back who rarely spoke— Laura. The girl was staring at the map, lost in thought, but when Logan called her name, she blinked and looked around.

"Uh… because they thought they’d need them in the afterlife?" Laura said hesitantly.

"Right again," Logan replied. "They believed the afterlife was just another version of this life, so they wanted to bring everything with them that they’d need. It’s like packing for a trip, but instead of clothes, you’re bringing your pets and gold." He gave a small smile, which earned a few giggles from the class.

Logan continued the lesson, writing down some words on the board and telling stories of ancient rulers and their grand tombs. He kept the pace slow, knowing some of the kids needed extra time to process, and he made sure to check in with everyone throughout the lesson, gauging their engagement.

As the lesson wrapped up, the bell rang for the morning break, and the kids shuffled out of the classroom, excited to stretch their legs. Logan watched them go, making a mental note of who seemed engaged and who might need extra help later.

He was about to head out for a quick break himself when he noticed someone lingering by the door— Laura, the girl from earlier. She stood there, clutching the straps of her backpack, staring at the floor.

She had joined the center about a year ago, a girl with sharp eyes and a sharper tongue, quick to push people away before they could get too close. Her file said she’d been in and out of foster homes, and she had a history of acting out, of disappearing for days at a time. But Logan saw through it. She wasn’t just acting out for the sake of rebellion. It was survival for her. Trust didn’t come easy.

Each of these kids had been through so much stuff, things they didn’t deserve, things they weren’t even supposed to know at their age, and yet here they were, because the regular system wouldn’t take the risk of taking them in. That’s why this center existed, to help those kids and teenagers society had already rejected. 

They were only children. It broke his heart every single day.

Laura was always on edge, always watching. Logan noticed the way she sized people up, the way her eyes darted around the room like she was waiting for something bad to happen.

When she first started at the center, they had clashed. Logan’s patience and calm demeanor only seemed to irritate her more. She didn’t talk unless she had to, and even then, it was usually a one-word answer.

Today, Laura had been quiet. Too quiet.

Logan had learned to read her tells, and something was off.

As the bell rang for the break, she didn’t move. The other kids bolted out of the classroom like they always did, but Laura stayed behind, her eyes still fixed on the window, her jaw clenched.

Logan leaned against his desk, waiting until the room was empty before speaking. "You’re gonna miss your break if you sit there all day."

She didn’t respond. Typical Laura.

Logan watched her for a moment before crossing the room and sitting down in the chair next to her, his body turned toward her but giving her space.

"You alright, kid?" he asked, his voice low and calm, like he was talking to a wild animal he didn’t want to spook.

Laura’s gaze didn’t shift, but her grip on the edge of her chair tightened.

"I know you," she muttered after a long silence, her voice rough. "You’re just waiting for me to screw up again."

Logan sighed softly, shaking his head. "Not here to wait for you to screw up. I’m here to help you."

Laura scoffed. "Yeah, right."

Logan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You think I’m doing this for fun? Waking up at 5:30 every morning to come here because I got nothing better to do?"

She finally turned her head to look at him, her eyes narrowing like she was trying to figure out his angle.

"You don’t get it," she said, her voice harsh. "You don’t know what it’s like."

Logan met her gaze, unflinching. "Maybe I don’t know your exact story, but I’ve seen enough, and I know enough to get the picture. And I know you’re not alone, even if it feels like it."

Her eyes flickered for a second, something passing over her face before the hardened mask came back. She looked away, her jaw tightening again, and for a moment, Logan thought the conversation was over. But then she spoke again, quieter this time.

"I don’t wanna be here anymore," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Logan frowned. "What do you mean?"

Laura’s shoulders tensed, and she gripped the chair so hard her knuckles went white. "This place. This... stupid center. I don’t belong here. I can’t—" She cut herself off, shaking her head in frustration, as if the words were too much to get out.

Logan let out a slow breath. He’d seen this before— the tipping point where a kid was ready to run, because staying still felt too risky.

"You don’t have to do this alone," Logan said gently. "If it feels like too much, we can work on that. Together. But you gotta tell me what's really going on, Laura. Or Professor Xavier.  Anybody, really.»

For the first time, Laura’s mask cracked. Her eyes filled with frustration, but behind it, Logan could see the fear. The vulnerability she never let anyone see.

"I don’t belong anywhere," she muttered, her voice shaking. "No one gives a damn. Everyone leaves."

Logan stayed silent for a beat, letting her words sink into the space between them.

"That’s not true," Logan said softly. "You’re here. You’re fighting. You show up every day, even when it’s hard. That says a lot about you, more than you think."

Laura’s eyes flickered toward him, suspicious, but something about his tone made her stay.

"You know what I think?" Logan continued. "I think you’re stronger than you think. And if you want to talk, if you want to work through this... We’re all here. You don’t have to run."

Laura didn’t respond right away, but her shoulders slumped just a bit. The tension that had been coiling inside her all day seemed to ease, if only slightly.

"I don’t know if I can," she muttered.

Logan nodded, standing up slowly and giving her space. "You don’t have to decide today. Just know that the door’s open whenever you’re ready."

He started walking toward the door, expecting her to stay where she was, but then he heard her voice again, small and uncertain.

"Logan?" she asked, and for the first time, she used his name instead of calling him "Mr. Howlett."

"My name is Logan but for some legal reason you have to call me Mr.Howlett," he would say on the first day of school every year.

He turned around, his brows raised.

"Thanks," she said quietly, her gaze dropping back to her hands.

Logan nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Anytime, kid."

As he left the room, he felt a familiar heaviness settle in his chest, one that always came after a conversation like that. The weight of seeing a kid like Laura— someone who was so close to falling through the cracks, struggling to keep her head above water.

But for now, at least, she was still fighting. And Logan would be there to help her keep going, one step at a time.

As Logan left the classroom, the conversation with Laura replayed in his mind, lingering like a heavy weight on his chest. It was the kind of talk that always stuck with him, reminders of the pain these kids carried, the damage they fought to keep hidden.

He walked down the empty hallway, each step feeling slower, heavier. His usual routine of checking on classrooms and prepping for the next lesson seemed far away. All he could think about was Laura’s words, her quiet admission that she didn’t think she belonged anywhere, and how familiar that feeling was.

Logan knew that weight all too well.

He pushed open the door to the staff lounge, needing a moment to collect himself. The clock on the wall told him there were still ten minutes before the next class. It wasn’t enough time to shake this feeling, but he’d take what he could get.

Sinking into one of the chairs, Logan rubbed his hands over his face, trying to push the conversation out of his mind. But it wouldn’t leave him. It never did. It wasn’t just Laura. Every kid at the center carried a similar burden. They all had their demons, their scars. And each one of those conversations weighed him down, little by little.

It was part of the job, but that didn’t make it any easier.

The faint sound of a bell rang out in the hallway, signaling the start of the next class. Logan stood up slowly, taking a deep breath before heading out to meet his students. He had to pull it together. For them.

But as he walked back into the classroom, the weight of the conversation with Laura still clung to him like a dark cloud.

The day dragged on, and no matter how hard Logan tried to focus, his mind kept drifting back to the look on Laura’s face— the fear and vulnerability hidden beneath her tough exterior. He kept thinking about how much these kids reminded him of his own past, his own battles.

By the time the final bell rang, Logan was exhausted. Not from the physical strain, but from the emotional toll the day had taken on him. 

Just as he was packing up to leave, he spotted Wade through the classroom window. He was standing there with a goofy grin on his face, holding up a small box of donuts and a coffee.

But something felt... off. Wade’s smile didn’t reach his eyes like it usually did. He looked tense, distracted. Logan frowned but said nothing at first.

Wade sauntered into the classroom, his usual bravado on full display. “Hey, I come bearing gifts. You looked like you could use a sugar rush.”

Logan took the coffee, eyeing Wade carefully. “Thanks, man. You okay?”

Wade waved off the question with a laugh that sounded a little too loud. “Me? Of course! I’m always okay. What’re you talking about?”

Logan didn’t press further, but he wasn’t convinced. Wade’s humor had always been a shield, something to hide behind when things got too real. He knew that well enough by now.

"Alright," Logan said quietly, breaking off a piece of the donut and offering it to Wade. "If you say so."

Wade took the donut with a shrug, as if nothing was wrong, but Logan could see the tension in his shoulders. They sat there in silence for a while, chewing slowly. Wade broke the silence first, launching into one of his stories—something about a weird couple at last night’s gig and how he had to improvise a joke to get out of an awkward heckling situation.

Logan just nodded along, smirking occasionally at Wade’s antics. He wasn’t much of a talker, especially compared to Wade, but they had their dynamic down by now. Wade talked, Logan listened. That was how it worked. It wasn’t until Wade’s voice grew a little more strained that Logan felt the crack in his friend’s usual confidence.

As they walked out of the center, Wade was still rattling off his story, his words slightly more rushed than usual.

“I swear, man, if this one guy hadn’t backed off, I would’ve—"

“You sure you’re okay?” Logan asked again, cutting him off, his voice quieter this time, more concerned.

Wade immediately put his mask back on, laughing a little too loudly again. “Of course! Stop worrying about me, peanut. You’ve got your own crap to deal with. Speaking of which, how’s it going with Y/N, huh? Been hanging out together without me, yet?”

Logan rolled his eyes, though Wade’s obvious attempt to change the subject didn’t go unnoticed. “She’s our roommate, Wade.”

“Sure, sure,” Wade said with a wink. “Got it.”

Logan let it go. Pushing Wade wouldn’t get him anywhere. They’d been through this before. He’d talk when he was ready, and when that time came, Logan would be there.

Back at the apartment, the scent of something delicious greeted them as soon as they walked in the door. Y/N was in the kitchen, apron on, stirring a pot of what looked like some kind of stew.

“Hey, perfect timing,” she called over her shoulder. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

Logan grunted a small thank you, setting his bag down by the door, but Wade was, as always, much more dramatic.

“Y/N, you absolute angel,” Wade gushed, dramatically placing a hand over his heart. “I don’t deserve this! But I’ll take it.”

Y/N chuckled, glancing up at them both. “Long day?”

“You could say that,” Wade replied, but his usual humor seemed thinner, more like a front than ever before. He shot Logan a quick look, as if daring him to say anything. Logan just gave a subtle shake of his head and headed into the living room.

The shadows of the day lingered, tightening around him. He settled onto the couch, his mind racing back to Laura’s quiet admission. It was hard to shake the feeling that he was somehow failing her, as if his own past could offer her a lifeline he wasn’t made to provide.

Wade followed him in, his usual bravado on display but lacking its usual spark. “Hey, did you hear me? I was talking about the heckler,” Wade said, attempting to recapture the lightness that had slipped away from him.

“Yeah, I heard you,” Logan replied, trying to match Wade's tone. He could feel the edges of his own thoughts creeping in, threatening to overshadow their banter. “Sounds like you handled it well.”

“Of course! I’m the best,” Wade said with a grin, though it faltered slightly as he caught Logan’s gaze. “Seriously though, what’s up? You’ve been quiet. Did your kids hit you with one of those heavy questions again?”

Logan opened his mouth to respond, but the words stuck in his throat. He didn’t want to drag Wade into his emotional turmoil, especially when his friend was clearly wrestling with something of his own. Instead, he forced a small smile. “Just a long day.”

Wade nodded, his gaze scrutinizing. “You know, you could talk about it, right? We’re here for you.”

Logan shrugged, the weight of Wade’s words hitting harder than expected. He appreciated Wade’s willingness to listen, but he also felt that familiar instinct to shield his friend from the darkness that came with his memories. “I’m good, really.”

Just then, Y/N emerged from the kitchen, carrying a pot. “Dinner’s ready!” she announced, her smile brightening the room. It smelled delicious. He loved that she was settling so well into their dynamic.

“Thanks, Y/N. You’re the best,” Logan said, feeling a warmth spread through him at her kindness.

Wade leaned back on the couch, crossing his arms with a playful smirk. “You’re amazing,” he gushed, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “You might be my favorite roommate I’ve ever had.”

Y/N chuckled, glancing between them. “Just trying to make something nice. Hope it’s okay!”

“Looks great,” Logan assured her, though he could see the uncertainty flickering in her eyes. She was still getting used to their routine, just as he was getting used to having her around.

As they gathered around the table, Logan focused on the meal, the rich aromas helping to distract him from his thoughts. Wade filled the silence with jokes and stories. Logan nodded along, trying to engage, but he could feel the tension in Wade’s shoulders, just as he sensed it in his own.

After dinner, as Y/N began to clear the table, Logan stood up to help her. “Let me take those,” he offered, reaching for the plates.

“Thanks,” she replied, her eyes meeting his briefly. He appreciated her easy smile, the way she brought a sense of warmth to their home, but he was still aware of how new everything felt.

Wade lingered at the table, looking at both of them with an unreadable expression. “You two sure seem cozy over there,” he teased, but there was a hint of something more serious in his tone.

Logan glared at him from the kitchen as the man just winked.

Bastard.

Once the table was cleared, they settled onto the couch. Logan leaned back, taking a moment to breathe. He felt the weight of the day settle in once more, but he was grateful for the distraction of Y/N and Wade. No matter how heavy the conversations, he knew he wasn’t alone in this.

“Alright, what’s next? Movie night?” Wade suggested, a little too brightly.

“Sounds good to me,” Y/N replied.

Logan nodded, grateful for the opportunity to escape, even if just for a little while. They flicked through the channels, laughter and light banter filling the room, but a part of Logan couldn’t shake the feeling that the shadows were still lurking just beyond the surface. Still, for now, he had this moment— this family —and it was enough.

XXX

[saerins]

⋆୨ prologue ୧˚ all see through, just like glass

⋆୨ if not for you (masterlist) ⋆୨ next: chapter one - thorns without flowers, bars with no drinks ୧˚

⋆୨ synopsis ୧˚ neither of you want this. both you and sae reluctantly agree to this marriage, although sae’s dissatisfaction far outweighs your own. with hidden agendas and old flames, will this ever work out between the two of you, or will your forced spark be doomed to fail?

ೀ series: sae x f!reader | wc 1.6k | ೀ content warnings: modern au, rich!reader & rich!sae, fluff/angst, swearing, somewhat boys being boys, manipulation/gaslighting, bad parents, yn has a sister here but won’t be mentioned too much !

i. y/n

“Don’t be so overly emotional, sweetheart. Isn’t this absolutely perfect for you?”

“You’re saying no? Can’t believe you’d say that… you know if you don’t do this you’re only damning your little sister instead, right?”

“Sweetie, we are listening to you. But don’t you think we would know what’s best for you? We’re only criticising you because we love you.”

Marriage; a concept you’d been familiar with since young, way back when you had a dream to marry your one and only Prince Charming—someone who’d appear one day and completely sweep you off your feet. Five year olds are silly like that. You’d believe in Prince Charming and fairytale endings and that two people in love would always work things out.

Being the daughter of a very successful businessman, a lot of things were given to you as a child. You never had to ask for toys, or books, or anything at all. Your father would ensure your material needs were well taken care of, and your mother would ensure you’re pampered from head to toe, buying you designer assets and making sure you look the best you can at each instance.

Life in the upper echelon is mostly desirable; the privileges are apparent, the favouritism rampant. You’re grateful for what you have, but there’s a small ball of thought inside you that wishes for your parents not to see you as a product, but as their child. Most of the people you had met had absolutely zero problems with their upbringing, perfectly content with being handed everything on a silver plate.

Most people except Mikage Reo, your best friend since the fourth grade. He hated having his life dictated for him too, and you both found common ground in that. Ever since then, you’d both been close as ever.

“Wait wait wait,” he nearly chokes on his rice, the disbelief in his tone overwhelming, an eyebrow cocked as his fringe falls over his left eye. “Repeat that again.”

A small sigh escapes your lips, your fork poking against the rice in your bowl, any form of appetite you had earlier being sucked out just by revisiting the topic. “It’s an arranged marriage.”

Reo appears unamused, but he restrains himself from commenting too much negativity. “And… what did you say?”

That’s why he’s a good friend—he feels you out first before filtering what he needs to say. He’ll still speak his mind, but depending on your decision, he’ll choose his words carefully.

You’ve always been eternally grateful for his presence. It calms you down, that sense of comfort irreplaceable. You know that if you ever really screw anything up that bad, you’ll have him—and really, that’s enough for you. Out of everything you have, you think this friendship’s probably the most precious one.

“The wedding’s in a couple months,” you half-answer, deciding to stop playing with your food and putting your fork down. The clang of the metal hitting the marble-top table is the last sound you hear for a while before Reo clears his throat.

Before Reo can get any words out, you interject. “The guy said yes too, apparently.”

Now he chokes on his rice.

You slide the glass of water across the table and Reo chugs it down, water trickling down the sides of his lips at his urgency. “How the fuck did your parents get Itoshi Sae of all people to say yes?”

Itoshi Sae. The name of your to-be husband. You know him as much as what you can search online. Twenty-five this year. No hobbies but it’s rumoured he’s good in soccer. He’s a lot like you when it comes to status and standing in the business world—the kid of successful self-made parents who everyone in your immediate circle automatically expects good things from. The pressure to perform and become someone of note since birth is probably something you both share. Except, maybe, Itoshi Sae looks like he’s a lot less obedient than you are. He looks like he’s more rebellious than not, and that’s why you wonder if he has any hidden agendas by agreeing to this business arrangement.

You know why you’re agreeing.

“Seriously, we raised this child and yet she’s so ungrateful!”

“Y/N, you know if you don’t do this then he’s just going to force this on your little sister, right?”

How can you let that slide as a big sister? Especially when your little sister is perfectly happy in a long-term relationship? Unfortunately, threatening their children isn’t below your parents.

Even when you revisit the conversation in your head, your mother’s faux concern is nauseating. She’s always been that way; everything your father says goes and she doesn’t offer much else other than what he expects of her. Maybe that’s why you grew up to be this way.

Shrugging, you turn your attention back to Reo, a small pout forming on your lips. “You know my dad. He’s always been good at talking.”

“What about you though? Are you really okay with this?”

At this point, Reo’s the only one who’s genuinely concerned for you. Maybe because he knows about all your childish dreams about finding The One. While you appreciate his concern, you brush it off.

“Yeah, I mean, how bad could things possibly get with Sae?”

Reo’s eyebrows show he’s not convinced, but he doesn’t say more.

“I’ll be fine, Reo, promise.”

You’ll just have to win Itoshi Sae over. Even if it’s hard, you’re determined to try and make the most of it. It won’t be that bad if you work hard on it… right?

ii. itoshi sae

“Either do this, or I’ll get Rin instead. It’ll be a pain, but don’t think I won’t do it.”

“Honey! Stop speaking like that… Sae, please try to understand, this will be a huge opportunity. It’s the least you owe us, hm?”

“You lost your shot, do you want Rin to lose his too?”

“If you don’t want her, I'll take her.”

“Go ahead.”

Sae’s completely tuned out of the conversation, the thoughts of his upcoming wedding filling his head. Now that everything’s settled between yours and his parents, it’s really kicking in that fuck, did he really let them dictate his love life like that?

“She’s pretty hot, though. I think she’s just a year younger than you?” Oliver’s scrolling through your Instagram—typical behaviour from his end. The moment Sae told them your name, it took only half a minute for Oliver and Otoya to find your online presence.

L/N Y/N. He’s always heard of you. Your name constantly leaves his parents’ mouths, ever since he was a kid. Apparently, your parents and his have been tight since high school. Sae is sceptical about the relationship, though. Nothing is ever that plain and simple between rich families. There must be a reason Sae’s never personally seen you, after all, despite his parents claiming to have a good relationship with yours.

“What the fuck’s going through their heads?”

And by that, Sae assumes that Otoya means his parents. If that’s the case, Sae has long decided he’s given up trying to understand what goes on in their heads—but if he had to guess, it’s probably all because of a simple business deal.

Having their kids wed each other would mean that one of them is absorbing the other. A little side knowledge that Sae doesn’t care for, so he only shrugs in response.

“Aw, little Sae is growing up,” Oliver sneers, earning a snicker from Otoya and a middle finger from Sae himself.

Otoya eggs him on, adding to the fire. “Yeah, to think that the guy who only ever dated once in his whole fucking life is the one getting married first,” he comments, eyes gazing to the side in deep thought, “what was her name again? Mirin?”

“Oh fuck, yeah I forgot about her,” Oliver exclaims, smirking at Sae. “First love type shit, right?”

Sae rolls his eyes, ignoring him, forcing him to change the subject.

“Shit, didn’t think you were the kind to ever say yes though,” Oliver remarks, eyes still glued onto the screen, likely still scrolling through your posts.

Oliver’s standards are quite high. Are you really that pretty? Sae’s never actually seen what you look like.

“I’m not fucking marrying her. I don’t even know her.”

“Maybe we should just pull Rin out then, get him to come back here and handle all this.”

“Sae, be a good boy and listen to us, okay? How about this—if it ever gets too bad, we’ll look into a divorce in the future, hm?”

As if he believes that. His parents are insufferable. There’s no point in ranting to this group though, so Sae brushes it off.

“Not like I care about this marriage shit,” he leans back, an air of nonchalance around him. “I’ll just shut my parents up and wait for the right time to leave.”

Otoya scoffs, smirking. “Lucky girl.” Sarcasm is his forté.

Oliver laughs, finally putting his phone down. “Okay you do that, and then I’ll pop up and be her Prince Charming and sweep her off her feet.”

Sae inwardly sighs to himself. His friends are insufferable as well, though he’d argue whether that’s the correct term for them. They’re only a group because their families happened to meet often. Somehow, Sae had been dragged into this weird association one day, and the rest is history.

“Do whatever the fuck you want.”

The rest of the night, Sae drowns out their conversation, choosing to ignore whatever shit they’re talking about. In his head, he’s only thinking about how long it’ll take before he can safely absolve himself from you without his parents threatening his younger brother’s career. More importantly, he’s wondering how the fuck he’s going to tell you he’s thinking of a divorce even before you get married.

Surely, you don’t really expect anything to come out of this either, do you?

If you do, you’ve got a rude awakening coming.

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[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

Part 1 | . . . | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12

Just then Eddie walks in, raising his brows at the veritable mountain of food Steve and Eleven are putting together. “What’s all this?”

Steve smiles warmly at him. “Hey, Eds,” he says, which is certainly an experience. He’s spoken roughly twice with the guy—in his memory—but Steve’s three chapters—nay, three books ahead. Eddie is Frodo, about to embark on his first journey, and Steve is Bilbo, or even Gandalf: someone who’s done this all before, whose eyes carry the weight of worlds.

Speaking of, Steve’s eyes dim slightly the longer Eddie takes to answer, so he waves his fingers at Steve, trying to ignore the swoop in his stomach when Steve’s smile brightens again. “So… what’s this?”

“Dinner,” Eleven answers. “We are making sandwiches.”

Eddie nods, because sure. Why not. “Okay.”

“How’s the song coming?” Steve asks, and the swoop returns, because not only is Steve asking, but he’s asking about Metallica, and Eddie’s gay, metal little heart can’t take it.

“Holy shit,” he breathes out, grinning. “It’s so good, oh my god. I mean, it’s gonna take a bit to learn, but it’s gonna be the most metal solo I’ve ever done.”

Steve’s smile dims again. Probably because he’s remembering what happened last time, i.e., Eddie’s death. Eddie pushes down the queasy feeling.

“Eddie,” Eleven says.

“Yeah?”

She turns to face him. Her eyes are more serious than any twelve-year-old’s eyes have any right to be. “You will be okay,” she says. Then, apropos of nothing, “And I can move things with my mind.”

Eddie blinks at that. Apparently his face is doing something, because Steve chimes in. “She can.”

“I can show you,” she volunteers.

“Anything but the utensils,” Steve says in a distracted voice, like this isn’t the first time he’s had this conversation. Eddie wants to laugh hysterically, or maybe cry. Smoking a joint seems like the best third option, except all his stuff is at home. Fuck.

Then she does, lifts a whole cutting board—complete with tomatoes— and moves it over to him. He resists the impulse to snatch a piece and eat it. He doesn’t even like tomatoes, what the fuck, brain.

Steve’s watching with an amused little smile, like he can somehow read Eddie’s mind. That legitimately wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to happen today, so Eddie does his best to stop thinking about it, because he doesn’t think he can deal with more than one real-life superpower right now.

“I need that back, El,” Steve murmurs, and she grins at him before zipping it back over, stopping it just before it hits his face. He nods, brows raised, impressed. “Nice control. Put it down and go wipe your nose, please.”

She does, Steve watching her as she goes, fond little grin on his face. “She’s a good kid.”

“She can move things with her mind.”

“Yeah. Honestly, that’s one of the easier things to get used to. Y’know one of the craziest things, to me?”

“Do I want to know?” Eddie asks hesitantly.

Steve just grins at him. “Jonathan Byers has this baseball bat that he sticks a bunch of nails in.”

Eddie blinks at him. “What the actual fuck.”

Steve nods. “I took it, sometime back during the first year. Actually,” he thinks about it, “what month are we in?”

“Um. October.”

Steve winces. “Great. October…”

“Um. Twenty-fourth.”

Steve hums and thinks. “In about… less than a week, actually, I think—I don’t really know, the concussion messed up my days—oh, hey!” He suddenly says excitedly, then raises his voice. “Rob!”

Robin pops her head in a moment later. “What’s up?”

He grins at her. “No concussions!”

She stares. Slowly, a grin spreads across her face. “Holy shit!” She says. “No concussions!”

“No memory loss!”

“No hearing loss!”

“No eyesight problems!”

She freezes. “Steve. You were having vision issues?”

“Um. Not anymore?”

She groans. “Since when?”

“Um…” he thinks, tilting his head toward the ceiling. “Billy, I think. At least that’s the first time I really noticed it.”

She sighs. “I’m going to murder you.”

“Are not.”

“In cold blood.”

“Are not.”

“Nancy’ll help.”

Steve considers this. “She might. She’d be good at it.”

They both pause for a moment, then Robin turns to leave. “I’m gonna go make sure Jon doesn’t give you a concussion this time.”

“Have him make the nail bat, too!” Steve calls as she leaves.

“What,” Eddie says desperately, “the fuck.”

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[anna-scribbles]

aroace adrien fic chapter 2!!! and we all cheered

summary:

Kagami fixes her eyes intensely on his face, and Adrien smiles. He scoops peas onto his fork nonchalantly, trying to shake the cloud of guilt that always seems to follow him these days. He always feels see-through when Kagami looks at him like that. When she speaks, it’s matter-of-fact. “Something is bothering you.”

excerpt:

Kagami is a good girlfriend. A really, really good girlfriend.

She makes sure that they go on at least 2 dates per week, and schedules them far in advance. She texts him good morning and goodnight like clockwork. She’s even proactive about cute nicknames, sending him vetted lists of options which they can debate the merits of. If dating was a sport, Kagami would be a gold medalist.

And she kisses him. A lot.

“Good morning, sunshine,” she’ll tell him with a peck on the cheek, catching him on the steps before he goes into school. He’ll grin and she’ll tilt his chin closer, planting one right on his lips.

“Come here,” she’ll coax, swiping away their homework with one hand and tugging at his shirt collar with the other. He’ll look up at her through his lashes and part his mouth just so, letting her press their lips together again and again.

“You’re perfect,” she’ll whisper, pulling him close in the locker room after practice. She’ll run her hand through his sweaty hair and lift her face to his until all his senses go dark.

Kagami is great. Kagami is really great.

And Adrien… Adrien is…

He’s curled around a pillow on his bed for the fourth time this week, caught somewhere between nausea and dread. His homework is unfinished, piano pieces unrehearsed. A lock of hair is irritating his eye but he feels too detached from his body to do anything about it. He hates when he gets like this for a multitude of reasons, but mostly because it doesn’t make sense.

He’s been depressed before. He’s been dissociated before.

But this?

He thinks of Kagami’s lips, warm and sticky with lip gloss, moving against his mouth. He feels her mouth open, tilting to meet him at an angle, and her tongue—

Adrien’s whole body shudders involuntarily and he curls up tighter around the pillow, squeezing it for dear life. Awful. Awful. What’s wrong with him? It’s kissing his girlfriend, the most natural thing in the world. Why does it feel like—why does he feel like he’s dying?

When Adrien closes his eyes, he’s right back there again. Kagami’s firm hands on the back of his neck, holding onto him. Her spit warm in his mouth, the small noises in the back of her throat, the pit carved out like a chasm in his stomach—

“You look terrible.”

Plagg’s nasal voice jars him back to the present. When Adrien looks up, bright green eyes are squinting just centimeters from his face.

Plagg frowns. “Are you still sick? Wait, did you eat some of my moldy brie? You know I said not to touch it until May!”

Plagg zips away, into the cabinet under the trophy case. Adrien takes a shaky breath.

“I didn’t touch your cheese, Plagg.” He forces his fingers to unclench from the pillow and stashes the memory of Kagami’s lips under some rug in his brain. He’s fine. Everything’s fine.

Plagg phases back into view, breathing a sigh of relief. “Phew! That could’ve been disastrous!”

“Yeah.” Adrien sits up and clenches his fists hard, enough for his fingernails to dig into the skin of his palms. The pain wakes him up, brings him back. (It’s penance too, maybe. He needs to be better than this.)

“Maybe you really are sick, then.” Plagg flits around him, poking his nose into Adrien’s belly and armpit and hair and even trying to look in his ears. He pulls back and frowns, cocking his little head. “Geez, it’s been on and off like this for, like, a month. Shouldn’t you go to a doctor or something?”

Adrien adverts his eyes. “I don’t think a doctor would help.”

Not with… whatever this is.

“All I’m saying is, you look really bad. Like, really bad—”

“Thank you. Thanks.”

Adrien painstakingly swings his legs over the bed and puts his feet on the ground, manually shifting weight to each leg. Muscle by muscle, reminding his body how to stand. It’s easier once he’s up. Fog filters through his mind, and then he doesn’t think as much.

The sickness burns off in the shower, seared from his skin. Adrien emerges clean and good and normal and he puts on new clothes and blow-dries his hair. Ready for anything. Ready for—

Nathalie knocks twice on his bedroom door before opening it.

“Kagami is here,” she tells him. “Your dinner will be served shortly.”

read on ao3

[comikadraws]

sasuke was going to genuinely plan out a genocide and it wasn't something he said in a fit of rage, right?

Was Sasuke Uchiha genocidal?

(2k words of analysis, manga screenshots, and other resources)

To refresh everybody's memory, Sasuke's plan was to destroy Konoha and everybody in it. Not that he actually did but those were his own words.

Now we can interpret this in two ways

Sasuke is blinded by rage and would, in a hypothetical scenario, act on his words (Sasuke is genocidal)

Sasuke is being dramatic and/or would get cold feet when confronted with the scenario (Sasuke is not genocidal)

In my opinion, the first scenario is far more likely to occur and the second lacks sufficient evidence to reasonably rule out that Sasuke is genocidal.

>>Analysis under the cut<<

Let's establish a few things before we begin. But feel free to skip to the next headline.

First, I will judge attempted crime as harshly as committed crime. Since this is not real life, there is no need to reward incompetence or luck. Either way, the focus of this discussion is Sasuke's intent and resolve.

Second, fictional characters don't exist in flesh and blood but as part of a narrative. This means that a character's decisions and psychology heavily depend on the author's intent.

Third, I love Sasuke's character. Do not misunderstand this as hate. This is an analysis of Sasuke's psychology and actions. He has been wronged in horrific ways and deserved better, but that won't make me sanitize his character.

Fourth, the red links are context links, linking back to my own posts. I highly recommend reading them.

The Sincerity of Sasuke's Death Threats

As per the two options I provided in the beginning, Sasuke's declaration of "destroying Konoha" must have either been sincere or not - the latter implying that Sasuke is being dramatic and/or hasn't considered the weight of his words yet, making him want to take them back. But in my opinion, that does not align with Sasuke's character.

Sasuke rarely (if at all) jokes around or speaks from a place of uncertainty or dramatics. He says he'll kill Danzo? You bet he does. He says he'll kill Itachi? He does. He says he'll kill Naruto? He tries that as well. Granted, two of these deserved to die (from Sasuke's POV) but what matters here is that Sasuke's threats are meant to be interpreted as sincerity rather than hyperbole. At the moment that Sasuke speaks them, he also means them. He is neither a liar nor a performer.

But Sasuke does go back on his words, doesn't he? During the ending, for example (although it is arguably a character inconsistency). Or during numerous other instances. Why wouldn't it be the same this time as well?

Let's take a look at a few.

One of the few other times that Sasuke takes back a threat is when he threatens to kill everybody Kakashi ever loved (chapter 177). But it is not exactly a threat - it is a hypothetical or an implied threat at best with no actual motivation or desire to drive it. Back then, Sasuke ends up reconsidering his words - though does he really?

Chapter 416 seems to be paralleling this scene. 3-4 years have passed for Sasuke to take a deep look inside himself and judge whether or not he meant those words back then and whether he means them now. And yet, he returns to the exact same logic: I will rob you of your loved ones as punishment for disapproving of my bloodlust.

After he had so much time to reconsider and reflect, Sasuke's readiness to induce harm to innocents does not appear to be spontaneous or ill-considered.

Noticeably, while Sasuke very often actually ends up executing his threats, he generally also hesitates every now and then. Like when he ends up sparing Naruto after knocking him unconscious. Or sparing Dosu because Sakura begs Sasuke to stop. How can we explain this? Perhaps Sasuke is not as committed to his words after all.

The problem is that those moments occurred at an entirely different point in Sasuke's character arc at which he is still rapidly bouncing back and forth between cruelty and mercy. While yes, Sasuke is known for hesitating on his path, this hesitance slowly but surely disappears from his decision-making later on. The cause of this change is the decay of Sasuke's morals and ensures that pre-truth reveal Sasuke and post-truth reveal Sasuke are two different people.

The Decline of Sasuke's Morals

Sasuke acts entirely differently after the truth reveal. His morals have visibly changed for the worse. Perhaps it becomes the most apparent when comparing chapter 8 to chapter 481. Whereas Genin Sasuke would once help and support his teammates if they could not keep up on their own, a teenage Sasuke disposes of them.

This kind of development first occurs as early on as chapter 56 when Sasuke decides that growing stronger (ends) justifies carrying a curse mark (means). He is on a steady moral decline afterward, first willing to sacrifice his loyalties (Orochimaru), then uninvolved bystanders (Killer B, the other Kage, other shinobi, and samurai), and finally, a friend (Karin) all in pursuit of his goals. It is utilitarian in nature.

Also, please let's not discuss the validity of killing soldiers. We have already dealt with this question during Waves Arc and later when Itachi died. From Sasuke's and other characters' POV (and as evidenced by chapter 343), dehumanizing and discarding a person just for being a soldier on the wrong side is wrong. Understood? Good.

What happened to Sasuke over time is, of course, a character arc. A corruption arc, to be specific. Let's take a quick look at some writing mechanics.

A character arc is always initiated by some sort of trigger event. If said event lies between a version A and B of a character, chances are that their sympathy, competence, or proactivity have become incomparable to each other. This is why a 13-year-old version of Sasuke (pre-truth reveal, which is his trigger event for this specific arc) does not inform us about the workings of a 17-year-old version.

Before this triggering event, Sasuke is also in the midst of a turning point in his arc, hence the indecisiveness about killing Naruto. You can view this in parallel to the Hero's Journey's "Refusal of the Call" during which Sasuke is still hesitant about the road he is taking until the triggering event makes the decision for him.

Now, back to Sasuke's morals. Personally, I believe what stands at the helm of Sasuke's corruption arc is a decrease in self-awareness and a growing lack of empathy.

There's a certain hypocrisy to Sasuke's decision-making. Sasuke is grieving a brother but then attacks somebody else's brother. He is enraged about Konoha discarding Itachi as a tool but will then proceed to abandon his own comrades (Team Taka). He condemns the genocide committed against the Uchiha but then plans a genocide of his own. Injustice is only injustice if inflicted on Sasuke but not if caused by Sasuke.

This does not compare to a younger Sasuke, who uses his own trauma to understand and connect with others and to discern right from wrong. Sasuke is capable of empathizing with Naruto because he is lonely (like himself) and Sasuke finds Orochimaru "disgusting" for viewing humans as mere tools (like a genocidal Itachi). But, over the course of his arc, his trauma instead turns into a weapon to distance himself from others.

The in-universe reason for this change is likely that Sasuke's mind is fully occupied with his own grief and rage. He is blinded by it, so much so that he no longer has the mental space to accommodate other people's pain and suffering.

There is also a narrative device to this, usually applied in the "darkest hour", such as "Batman Grabs a Gun". The purpose is to draw attention to the severity of the situation while also providing more depth to a character by giving them an underlying layer (their emotions/struggles/etc.) beneath their facade (their morals/reputation/etc.).

In Sasuke's case, this is used to highlight his grief for Itachi which is greater than any moral principle Sasuke has. Whatever allows or aids Sasuke in expressing his grief is fair game.

Intensity and Duration

So, Sasuke is definitely blinded by his rage. But is it a "fit"? I suppose that this is a matter of definition.

Sasuke's hatred for Konoha appears to be a constant. It doesn't change. It doesn't lessen. Not after a couple of hours and not after a couple of days.

To me personally, due to its duration, this is no longer a fit of rage but a mindset - one that Sasuke seems to wholeheartedly believe in.

Regardless of this, we have no indication that Sasuke's rage would lessen anytime soon. On the contrary, actually. Sasuke claims that his hatred has only grown since then.

The question we now have to ask is whether or not Sasuke would be able to rein in his rage in time to spare innocent lives. Alternatively, and combined with Sasuke's willingness to kill his own teammates, it is entirely possible that Sasuke's rage would power through, as it did for approximately 300 chapters in canon already.

The Attempts

Now, the most damning argument I have to offer is that Sasuke was already intending to make his genocide plans a reality (or take steps to do so) on three occasions. Twice during the Summit Arc and once during the War Arc.

On all three occasions, the reason why his plans don't come to fruition is because Sasuke gets sidetracked or stopped outright.

In addition, there are three other problems slowing him down. Right in chapter 416, Kisame explains that Sasuke is not strong enough to fight the entire village - even with Taka's help but even more so without them. This conflicts with Sasuke's belief that Taka likely won't approve of his genocide plans or should not be involved for other reasons (which is why Sasuke pretends in front of them). He both needs Taka and has to get rid of them.

Later on, Naruto declares that he will always be there to defend Konoha against Sasuke. My interpretation of this is that Sasuke not only honors his bond with Naruto but also recognizes that fighting Konoha and Naruto simultaneously is not strategically wise - hence he needs to defeat Naruto beforehand.

First Attempt

Sasuke takes Team Taka with him, believing them to be necessary backup. Then Obito intervenes who both threatens Sasuke and gives him the wrong impression that Konoha is "no more" - either fully eradicated or too weak to defend itself.

This might erase the need for Taka as Konoha is weakened significantly and Danzo can be targeted separately from the village.

Second Attempt

In the meantime, Sasuke kills Danzo. As explained by Kisame, a greater conflict with the entirety of Konoha is inevitable if you aim at major political leaders.

On his second attempt, he has coincidentally already managed to abandon the entirety of Team Taka, just as planned in chapter 416. But this time, before he can go to Konoha, his eyes suffer extensive damage and he instead encounters Team 7. As explained previously, Sasuke soon realizes that he cannot destroy Konoha before killing Naruto. And before that, he needs to get his eyes fixed. This results in Sasuke's withdrawal from the fight.

Third Attempt

On his third try, the one in which he decides to target Naruto first, he instead gets sidetracked by the appearance of Itachi on the battlefield.

"Sidetracked" doesn't mean "giving up" or "displaying disinterest" in a different goal. Otherwise, Sasuke's training under Orochimaru for 3-4 years would be proof of his disinterest in killing Itachi. Sasuke is simply prioritizing urgent matters and acting strategically.

Now, all of this "getting sidetracked" might sound a little convenient. But the question is "convenient for who?"

It is of course possible that Sasuke is openly searching for excuses because he doesn't truly want to eradicate Konoha, making him a harmless villain. The other explanation is that Kishimoto was the one looking for excuses.

In a conversation, @theheirofthesharingan pointed out that Sasuke is being "saved by the narrative" ie. plot armor. Though not in the sense that he is being protected from harm but rather that he is being protected from inflicting harm, probably as an extension of Konoha's own plot armor. This also ensures that Sasuke remains "redeemable" and likable to the audience so that Naruto can fulfill his goal of bringing him back to Konoha.

Conclusion

As I said in the beginning, there is a huge mountain of evidence suggesting that Sasuke not only fantasized but would've acted on his revenge plans against Konoha. This is because

We know Sasuke to be a non-dramatic character who doesn't easily back away from his own words.

Sasuke is on a corruption arc, his morals declining far enough to kill a friend. It seems unlikely that he'd draw the line at a stranger.

From a writing point of view, continuing Sasuke's corruption arc makes more logical sense unless he experiences another trigger event. It also further highlights Sasuke's pain.

Sasuke has repeated his goal multiple times over, leading me to believe that his mood wouldn't change soon enough for Sasuke to second-guess himself.

Sasuke has taken steps towards the fulfillment of his goal. It is entirely possible that, if Konoha didn't have plot armor, Sasuke would've found the right time to destroy the village eventually.

Of course, Sasuke's morals are not entirely gone, as we can see when he refuses to join Kabuto (though potentially just because Kabuto antagonizes Itachi). It is still entirely possible that Sasuke would've gotten cold feet when physically confronted with the task of killing innocent civilians. But this possibility is hardly entertained by any of the characters and Sasuke himself doesn't seem conflicted about his plans. It seems like Kishimoto intended for Sasuke to be genocidal, most evidence pointing toward this reading of his character.

I certainly have my opinions on this matter but, like always, this is a matter of interpretation.

Debating me is fine. I like to discuss my favorite characters. But screenshotting, blocking me, and then attacking me behind my back (and without having ever interacted with me) in a new post is a no-go for obvious reasons.

[stellar-constellations]

Star Patient: Chapter 2 (FINISHED SERIES)

WARNING: This series will include; possible inaccurate medical procedures and medical setting, gore, toxic relationships that should NOT be replicated in real life, murder, yanderes, cursing, suicide mentions, implications of misandry (male misogyny), and possibly more.

Inaccurate canon-timeline (this is before Ashley and Andrew murdered their parents).

Reader has a small fear of adult men/rape and has a history of suicide attempts.

Incest is not Wincest.

Amnesiac! Obsessive! Patient! Andrew Graves x Yandere! Nurse! Reader:

Wordcount: 4,625 words

Chapters: Chapter 1, current chapter, Chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6, chapter 7, chapter 8, final chapter.

Want to listen to music while reading? Check out the Star Patient's Official Playlists! Multiple different playlists and genres!

        (Y/N) adjusted the name tag on her shirt as she walked to the hospital's entrance, her other hand holding some books and a DS. 

        Rachael's appointment should be starting soon. I need to hurry so I don't be late. She thought as she sped up.

        A security guard was outside guarding the hospital doors but once noticing (Y/N), he stopped her.

        "You need to go to the psychiatric branch immediately." They spoke.

        "...Huh?" She muttered audibly. "Oh... No, sir. I work in the pediatric branch with Doctor Ryan, he's my superior. You're mistaking me for someone else."

        "No, miss. Andrew Graves from room 402 wants to see you now." The security guard reaffirmed. 

        "...H-he does? That's just... great!" she smiled nervously, a terrified expression on her face.

        HE KNOWS I KNOW ABOUT HIM! She screamed in her head.

        "Get going before he breaks any more staff equipment." The security guard pressed on.

        "Okay, okay!" (Y/N) sighed, rushing into the hospital and to the elevators.

        She pressed the button and waited for the elevator to come down, walking into it and pressing the fourth floor button. She waited impatiently for the doors to open and rushed out when they finally did, heading towards the staff room. She unlocked the staff door and filled her bag with medical supplies: a mediscope, a stethoscope, a bottle of water and a bag of pretzels.

        She clocked in and sped-walked to Andrew's door, room 402, and hesitated before knocking on the door.

        "Go away!" Andrew shouted.

        "Hey there! It's me! (Y/N)? From last night?" she called out, her nervousness evident in her voice.

        "You can come in." Andrew spoke almost too quickly.

        Damn it... She thought to herself, before taking a deep breath and entering the room.

        He never corrected me last night when I gave him pet names, so they worked with calming him down. She noted.

        "Hi, star! I heard you've been causing some trouble." (Y/N) smiled, her smile twitching slightly, her voiced sounding a little muffled to him.

        Andrew opened his mouth to speak, but then paused. Why did he need to see her so badly? 

        "M... My head." He muttered. "It hurts. I need you to look at it." 

        (Y/N) couldn't help the chuckle that escaped her throat as she walked over to him. Her nerves were still on fire, but not as much as they were earlier seeing how quiet and flustered he'd gotten.

        "Did you do anything strenuous?" she questioned.

        "Ashley and I started arguing, then she grabbed my hair and shook my head back and forth." Andrew explained.

        (Y/N) wanted so badly to coddle him. To hold him in her arms and dote over him. It’s a bad habit she really needs to break, but the weird part is that she only acted towards that to people she really really liked—romantically. Anyone else she’d feel extremely annoyed and angry (unless it was children, they’re her soft spot). 

        She wants to have him laying on her body with his head in her chest as she petted his hair, cooing soft sweet reassurances into his ears so that he’d feel better.

        What the hell is wrong with me?! she thought, her face and body heating up, a bright red forming.

        I’m only thinking this because he’s obviously being treated like shit by his sister. Poor Andrew can’t even stand up for himself against her (literally). She thought.

        “Oh, Andrew. I’m so sorry. I don’t know why anybody would do that to you.” She pouted, her body acting on its own as her hands went up and gently grabbing his face, caressing the sides delicately as she looked into his eyes.

        His eyes were wide and green, laced with surprise as his face was red, looking as if he was a Christmas decoration with the bright festive colors.

        “W-what are you doing?!” he exclaimed, grabbing her arms and pulling away from her, his heart beating rapidly in his chest.

        “Oh! I’m so sorry! Did I hurt you?” she questioned worriedly.

        “N-no! You… you were really close..” Andrew claimed, covering his face with his hands.

        Aw! He’s so cute when he’s flustered! (Y/N) thought to herself, a smile breaking out onto her face.

        WHAT AM I THINKING? HE’S A WANTED MAN (by the cops and me, it seems)! HE’S MY PATIENT TOO! I SHOULDN’T BE DOING THIS WITH HIM! she screeched in here head.

        “I’m sorry! I got too carried away…” She chuckled nervously, her nails digging into her palms as punishment. "I usually work with children as you know, and they appreciate the action. I acted on impulse.

        “W-whatever…” Andrew muttered, his face still not completely cooled off.

        “Let’s try this again.” She smiled awkwardly.

        She tilted Andrews’s chin up (causing wave of red to hit his face just before the other one subsided) and reached into her medical bag, pulling out her mediscope.

        “Keep your eyes open.” She instructed, following the same procedures as she did yesterday. “Now open wide.” She directed, pointing the light into his mouth. “Stay still.” She spoke as she looked into his ears.

        She noticed blood in them and sighed.

        “Either your sister ruptured your eardrums with all her yelling, or she caused the internal bleeding in your head to get worse. You’re going to need surgery for that.” She explained. 

        “Aw… damn it…” Andrew muttered.

        No wonder his hearing was a little muffled.

        “I mean, it was about time for the surgeons to get your legs done! They only got your ankles bandaged up, but they haven’t had surgery on your legs yet.” (Y/N) explained. 

        “I really can’t afford it...” Andrew muttered softly to himself, but (Y/N) heard it.

        He can’t afford it? Makes sense since he said he doesn’t have anywhere to go, so I doubt he has a home. She thought to herself before a stupid idea flashed in her mind. What if I… have him stay with me after he’s well enough to leave? she quickly shook the idea out of her head. 

        No way! He’s a wanted man! But… I haven’t called the cops on him yet, so I’m already committing a crime. Who cares if I get more years to my sentence for housing this man under my roof, feeding, sheltering, and spending time (loving) with him? she thought. 

        “Don’t worry about it, I feel we’ll find a way!” (Y/N) beamed. “Now, here’s the deal. I’m going to get the doctors to get surgery done on you, then when your head is all better and dandy, I’ll show you the collection of books and video games I specifically picked out for you~” she spoke, dragging her tone out to make the deal appeal more tempting.

        Specially picked out? Andrew thought.

        His interest was piqued instantly.

        “Yeah, whatever…” Andrew huffed, crossing his arms and adverting his head to the side.

        “Great! You’ll behave and listen to what they say, right?” She questioned a little sternly, her hands on her hips.

        “…Yes…” Andrew hissed through his teeth reluctantly.

        “Alright. I’ll be right back.” She smiled, walking out of the room.

        A few minutes later she came in rolling a wheelchair and a security guard. 

        “Careful with him now.” She instructed to the guard. 

        The guard picked up Andrew and placed him on the wheelchair, dropping him a little carelessly and causing him to wince.

        “Oi! I said careful!” (Y/N) snapped, resisting the urge to hit the guard in the back of the head.

        “Sorry, ma’am…” the guard muttered. 

        The guard rolled Andrew out of the room and followed as (Y/N) walked around the hospital aimlessly, forgetting where the neurologic branch was.

        “Ma’am… are you lost?” the guard asked.

        “No!” she quickly declared before looking around. “I’m testing you to know if you’re paying attention.”

        “I’ve been here for five years.” He deadpanned.

        “…I have to keep your mind sharp.” She claimed weakly. “But lead the way please, since you’re so confident.” 

        She followed the guard and Andrew as they headed to the correct branch. She knocked on the staff’s door then unlocked it with her key.

        “Hello!” she smiled.

        “It’s lunch break for us. What?” one of the surgeons questioned rudely.

        “Be nice! There’s a patient.” A younger surgeon spoke, peeking from over the surgeon's shoulder. “How can we help?”

        “Andrew here has internal bleeding in his brain and we need surgery done pronto.” She ordered.

        “Lunch break~” the older surgeon sang, taking a bite out of his food.

        “Pink slip~” she sung back. “I’ll get you fired for rejecting care to a patient in need. He’s your top priority right now, so get him on that operating table.” She ordered. "Please."

        What’s with all the nurses and doctors here? Andrew thought to himself, not exactly believing the healthcare here is the safest.

        Well, that should be expected considering his old town's doctors had ads recommending euthanasia for suicidal people.

        “Fine.” They sighed.

        “I’ll be back in three hours okay? By then your surgery should be done. You listen to their instructions, okay?” she spoke, patting Andrew on the shoulder before leaving.

        I’m left with these guys? Andrew thought, watching (Y/N) leave him alone.

        While Andrew got prepped for his surgery, (Y/N) had other matters to attend to. She checked her watch.

        Rachael’s appointment is just about done and Joseph’s will be on in ten minutes. I can make it in time for Joesph. She thought, racing to the elevator and hopping in.

        She hit the second button and watched as the doors closed, waiting impatiently for them to open up. She ran out and to Doctor Ryan’s office, room 213. 

        She knocked on the door and waited a few seconds for the affirmative. 

        “Come in.” Doctor Ryan called out.

        (Y/N) opened the door and saw it was only Doctor Ryan.

        So I missed the lesson… she thought, letting out a groan.

        “I’m sorry, sir. I had to attend to patient 402.” She sighed.

        “I heard about it. Seems like you got a secret admirer.” Doctor Ryan teased as he cleaned the seats in the room with a Clorox wipe. 

        “Har har har…” She laughed sarcastically. “But I do apologize about it. I wasn’t expecting to go to him until after my shift.”

        “Yeah, I heard he has quite a temper with anyone but you.” Doctor smiled.

        “Don’t start it.” I sighed, ignoring the sudden increase of my heartbeat. “Anything planned for Joseph? Or is it a typical check-up?” 

        “After his check-up you’re going to give him a flu shot.” Doctor explained.

        “Oh… no thanks…” She smiled nervously. “I don’t do good with needles.”

        I almost puked when I had to give a shot to a test dummy back in my college test room… She thought, the memory making her queasy already.

        “You’ll do fine. Now go get him.” Doctor Ryan smiled.

        (Y/N) sighed and grabbed a clipboard and pen Doctor Ryan readied for her and walked out of the room, making her way to the waiting room. She opened the door and cleared her throat.

        “Joseph Stall?” she called out.

        A set of adults and their son stood up, walking towards her and into the hallway.

        “Hey there! Turn right and go to the scale.” She smiled politely as she closed the door being him.

        She followed them to the scale and readied her clipboard.

        “Alright, take off your shoes and step on the scale, please.” (Y/N) requested.

        Joesph complied and took off his blue crocs, standing on the scale. She wrote down his weight.

        52 pounds, in the average zone. 

        “Now step off the scale and stand up straight.” She instructed.

        Joesph fixed his posture and stood up straight in front of the wall’s ruler.

        3’9” feet, also average height for his age. She noted, writing it down. 

        “Alright. Let’s go to our room. Follow me, please.” (Y/N) spoke.

        She guided them to Doctor Ryan’s room, 214, and opened the door.

        “Hey! Come take a seat.” Doctor Ryan beamed.

        Joesph used a step stool to get up on the terribly cushioned bed and waited for the doctors instructions.

        “(Y/N), do your thing.” Doctor Ryan nodded.

        “Alrighty. Let’s start by checking your eyes.” She smiled, pulling out her mediscope.

        She got close and looked at his eyes, seeing no trouble whatsoever.

        “And your mouth. Say ‘aaaah’” She spoke, giving an example.

        “Aaaah.” Joesph voiced. 

        “And your ears.” She spoke, getting to his side and looking into them.

        Nothing. All dandy.

        “Looks good.” She smiled, putting her mediscope back into her bag.

        She grabbed a reflex hammer from Doctor Ryan’s hand and moved to Joesph’s side so she wasn’t in front of him. She gave him a gentle tap on his knee, causing his knee to kick slightly.

        “Good. Now your heart.” She gave the hammer back to the doctor and grabbed her stethoscope, bringing it to Joesph’s chest and listening to his heart.

        She stared at the clock as she waited 15 seconds and counted the beats, multiplying it by four.

        96 beats per minute. That’s in the normal range. 

        “Alright, now take a big deep breath in.” She instructed, bringing her stethoscope to his lung.

        She listened to the his inhaling and his lungs.

        “Now exhale.” She instructed, listening. “Inhale again… now exhale.” She spoke. “Alright. You’re perfectly fine. Is there any health concerns you’re worrying about?” (Y/N) questioned, looking at his parents.

        “Nope.” His mother spoke. 

        “And all we’re doing is the flu shot, correct?” she questioned.

        “Yep.” His mother agreed.

        “Great.” She smiled, resisting the urge to frown. 

        I hate hurting kids like this. She thought.

        She walked to the tray Doctor Ryan prepared for her, taking a small package and ripping out the alcohol wipe. 

        “Left or right arm?” she questioned.

        “Left.” Joesph spoke.

        “Okay…” She muttered, mentally preparing herself for the kid’s tears.

        She wiped his shoulder with the alcohol wipe and grabbed the needle, removing the safety cap and checking for any air bubbles.

        “Ready?” she questioned.

        “Yep.” The kid replied, looking at the needle.

        She stuck the needle into his shoulder and injected the vaccine by pressing down the thumb press, then pulled away. 

        “All done!” she beamed with a smile, exaggerating her voice to let the kid know he was okay.

        The kid stared blankly before nodding.

        Wow, kid took it better than I do. What a champ… She thought to herself. 

        “Spiderman or my little pony?” She questioned, grabbing a box of bandages.

        “My little pony.” The kid responded.

        “Great choice. One of my favorites.” (Y/N) smiled, opening the band-aid and lined the cotton with his small wound, gently pressing it down. “And here’s a sticker for being my star patient today!” she smiled, reaching into her bag and pulling out a pink star sticker.

        “Thank you.” The kid smiled, taking the sticker.

        “You’re free to go. Reception is on the left, they'll schedule your next appointment for you.” She directed. 

        The family walked out and (Y/N) sighed, taking the needle and reattaching the cap, placing it into the sharp objects box. 

        “See? Wasn’t so bad.” Doctor Ryan smiled.

        “I hate needles…” She sighed. 

        “Hey, do you call all your patients that? Star patient?” Doctor Ryan questioned.

        “Yeah? It makes them feel special and happy. It releases a rewarding stimulant into their brains, the pain killer.” She explained.

        “I bet patient 402 sure liked that…” Doctor Ryan snickered. 

        “Oh, we’re still on this topic, huh?” (Y/N) smiled, placing her hands on her hips.

        “I mean, you’re not changing the subject so…” Doctor Ryan laughed as she shook her head.

        “Any other patients you squeezed into today’s schedule? Or just walk-ins from a here?” (Y/N) questioned.

        “Free to do anything until we get alerted.” Doctor Ryan smiled.

        “Ah, great.” She nodded, looking down at her watch.

        It’s only been thirty minutes since I last saw Andrew. And I really hate waiting around and doing nothing, I’ll go visit Hailey. She thought to herself.

        She walked out of the room and out of the walk-in clinic, heading to the room admissions. She made it to room 433 and gently knocked on the door.

        “Come in.” A weak voice exclaimed.

        “Hey there, hails! How are you?” (Y/N) questioned, opening the door and closing it behind them for privacy.

        “Hi, Ms. (Y/N).” Hailey smiled.

        Hailey was a small girl diagnosed with leukemia at seven. It’s been three years now since diagnosed and at the moment she’s in stage 3. (Y/N) finds it heartbreaking to watch the blonde girl’s appearance diminishing; her eyes sinking in, her hair growing wire-like and withered, her skin and cheekbones pale and sullen, and her arms and legs losing fat. Her appearance isn’t the only thing fading away, but her hope of surviving it too.

        “Would you like some water? It’s still cold.” She offered, already reaching into her bag.

        “Yes, please. I’m quite thirsty.” She smiled weakly.

        (Y/N) nodded and twisted open the bottle’s cap, bringing the drink to the girls lips. Hailey took small sips before raising her arm slightly, signaling no more. (Y/N) moved the bottle, twisting the cap back on weakly so Hailey could open it later.

        “Are you hungry too?” she questioned.

        “Not at the moment.” Hailey answered.

        “I’ll leave these here for later.” (Y/N) spoke, reaching into her bag and placing down a bag of pretzels on Hailey’s nightstand.

        “How do you feel?” (Y/N) questioned.

        Right now it wasn’t a normal survey (interrogation) she would give other patients, it was two friends catching up.

        “Better than I can be.” Hailey smiled.

        Even though Hailey was ten, she knew very well she was dying. It didn’t scare her as much as she thought it would. Her parents slowly stopped visiting less and less, too brokenhearted at their daughter’s rapid-approaching fate. The only visitors she got now was from her check-up nurses and (Y/N). 

        “Hey, I got you some new books. You liked that last one, yeah?” (Y/N) smiled, pulling out a book from her bag.

        “I enjoyed the ending. I liked Charlie’s bravery and courage.” Hailey commented.

        “I figured you would. She reminds me of you. Resilient and strong.” (Y/N) smiled, handing her a new book.

        “Aw… thanks.” Hailey blushed, the red in her face from the compliment looked as if it could be her normal skin tone, accepting the new book.

        “This book is about a library where all the different possibilities in your life that you could’ve had by making a choice, gets played out for you. I figured you’d like it since it’s fantasy.” She smiled.

        “Thank you.” Hailey smiled, looking fondly at the cover.

        “I’ll leave you to read the first few chapters. Want a sticker before I leave?” she questioned, already knowing the answer.

        “Yes, please.” Hailey nodded.

        (Y/N) reached into her bag and looked for a green star, finding one and handing it to Hailey to add to her growing collection that laid on her nightstand. 

        “Make sure to ring the button if you need anything. I’ll see you later, hails.” (Y/N) beamed, walking away from her.

        She opened Hailey’s door and walked out, closing it behind her. She looked at her watch, seeing it’s been an hour since she left Andrew.

        Two more. She thought to herself. Man, time seems slow today…

        (Y/N) sighed and stood there for a second, deciding what to do.

        I’ll go back to the walk-in clinic. She decided.

        She turned and walked away from Hailey’s room, she’ll return in a few hours to see how Hailey likes the book. She opened the two doors leading to the clinic, making her way to the back rooms and finding Doctor Ryan.

        “Oh, just when I was about to call you.” Doctor Ryan smiled.

        “Is there a problem?” she questioned.

        “You remember how to stitch, right?” he smiled.

        “Stitch wounds… yes…” She sighed, sucking in a breath to put her happy face on.

        “Come on, let’s get this done.” Doctor smiled, leading her to his office.

        (Y/N) walked in and took note of the situation, seeing a distressed boy a bloodied towel that was applying pressure to his forearm.

        “Hey, bud. I’m (Y/N). What’s your name?” she questioned, keeping the kid company as Doctor Ryan prepared a tray of tools for (Y/N) that she needed.

        “Cody.” The little blond boy rasped out, small tears in his eyes.

        “What happened to you?” she spoke calmly so the kid can copy her tone.

        “He had a fishin' accident with me. Got the hook hooked into ‘is skin and he ripped it out while preppin' for tomorrow.” The father sighed with his accent, covering his eyes with his cowboy hat to hide his shame.

        “No worries, accidents happen.” She smiled.

        “I really should’ve been watchin’ though.” The cowboy huffed.

        “C’mere dad, you can hold his hand.” (Y/N) encouraged.

        The cowboy sighed and stood up from his seat, walking over and holding his son’s left hand, his uninjured one.

        “Are you left-handed or right-handed?” she questioned, accepting the tray of supplies and placing it next to Cody.

        “Right.” The kid spoke.

        “Well, you might have to learn how to write with your left hand after this. But that’s okay, all the kids in school will think you’re so cool, along with the scar you’ll get too if you get one.” She smiled, gently removing the towel and placing it to the side.

        The kid has a nasty chunk of flesh ripped out of him from the hook. Either the dad or Cody panicked and ripped the hook out. Well, it's sure leave a scar.

        She looked at Cody’s elbow and felt for a vein. She found one and held her thumb on it, grabbing a syringe of lidocaine from the tray and popping the cap, checking for any air bubbles.

        “Look at dad.” (Y/N) instructed. 

        Once Cody looked away, (Y/N) removed her thumb from the vein and replaced it with the syringe’s needle instead, injecting the pain killer.

        Now we have to wait a few minutes, she thought.

        “Do you play any sports?” (Y/N) questioned, grabbing alcohol wipes to remove the bacteria from the fishing hook’s nasty ends.

        “I play football with my brothers.” Cody explained.

        “This’ll hurt real quick.” She warned. “And how many brothers do you have?” she questioned, wiping off the excess blood and grime, resisting the urge to cringe as Cody hissed and held tightly onto his father’s hand.

        “Three.” Cody answered.

        “Are you the oldest, youngest, or middle?” she questioned, wiping inside the wound a little to be extra certain it wouldn’t get infected.

        “Youngest.” Cody answered.

        “Do you go to school or are you home-schooled?” she questioned, grabbing her medical needle and thread and tying the thread inside of the needle’s hole.

        “I go to public school.” Cody responded.

        “Feel any pain in your arm? Or has it gone down?” (Y/N) questioned, looking at Cody’s face.

        “Gone down.” Cody answered.

        “Good. I’m going to start sewing up your wound, I want you to talk to me or your dad while doing it.” She explained. “You ready?”

        “Yeah.” Cody sighed.

        “Do you get good grades?” (Y/N) questioned, pinching the skin together and sewing up the skin and fat, deciding to go for buried sutures to get the job done.

        “Yeah.” Cody nodded.

        “Do you like school?” she questioned.

        “It’s okay.” Cody spoke, shrugging his head to the left since he couldn’t with his arms.

        “I didn’t like school much either.” (Y/N) admitted. “I didn’t like waking up early. I’m glad I work at night now.” 

        The cowboy redirected his attention from Cody and looked down at her and smiled.

        “Where I grew up, we had a farm and got up at 4 o’ clock to work on it. I was homeschooled in the south.” He explained.

        “You have more strength than me, getting up so early.” (Y/N) joked. “You too, Cody. I dislike needles. Whenever I have to get a shot, I cry like a baby.” 

        “Trust me, she does. I gave her one for her practice.” Doctor Ryan teased.

        “You’re in school?” the cowboy questioned.

        “Yup. That man is my superior teaching me the ropes.” (Y/N) explained, referring to Doctor Ryan who sat back and watched the procedure carefully to make sure she was doing it right.

        “I wanted to go to college but my family couldn’t afford it. Hopefully it’s a different story for Cody.” The cowboy smiled, ruffling his son’s hair. 

        “Especially with all the programs now for the youth, gives the younger generation a better chance for college.” (Y/N) pointed out. “Is there anything you want to be when you grow up? Like a professional football player or a doctor?” she questioned, shifting her tone so Cody knew she was talking to him since she couldn’t look away from her stitching work.

        “Construction worker!” Cody declared.

        “Ooo, are you going to build tall buildings?” (Y/N) questioned, entertaining the boy and keeping him busy. 

        “Yeah.” Cody replied.

        He didn’t seem like crying anymore, the painkillers help shoo off the pain, for now at least. She thought.

        "And... ta dah! You're all done, Cody!" (Y/N) beamed. 

        "Woah! It looks so cool!" Cody smiled.

        "Let's get some bandages on that, so it doesn't get infected. In two or three days, you can take the bandages off. In ten days, come back here and we'll check and see if the stitches can be removed.” (Y/N) explained. “Does that sound good?” she questioned, redirecting her attention to her superior.

        “Perfect, perfect! As per usual!” Doctor Ryan smiled.

        “Thanks!” (Y/N) smiled, flattered at the praise. “Now, what color star would you like?” 

        “Blue.” Cody smiled.

        “Here ya go!” she hummed, grabbing the stickers from her bag and pulling out a blue star, handing it to Cody.

        “See ya in ten days, lil lady.” The cowboy smiled, titling his hat before holding his son’s hand.

        “See ya! Reception is on the left. Make sure to be careful!” (Y/N) waved.

        “Ahem!” Doctor Ryan coughed into his hand over-exaggeratedly. 

        “Yes?” (Y/N) questioned, confused on if she did something wrong,

        “I don’t think patient 402 would be happy with all that flirting going on.” The doctor teased playfully. "You were awfully talkative with the dad."

        “Woah now. He has kids and is like 30, I’m too young to settle down like that. There was no flirting, only polite talk.” She explained.

        "Sure thing, lil lady." Doctor Ryan chuckled, earning an unamused glare.

        She ignored him, checking her watch, catching his attention.

        “Oh, your shift isn’t near over.” The doctor laughed.        

        “No, I wanted to see how long until I had to go see Andrew.” (Y/N) explained, waiting for Doctor Ryan’s teasing remarks.

        “I see. How scandalous.” He chuckled.

        “Hardy har har har.” (Y/N) laughed sarcastically. “I have an hour and thirty minutes left. But everything feels like it’s taking so long.” She sighed.

        “Here, why don’t you do a run around the hospital? It’s lunch time. You can bring the lunch trays to all the patients!” Doctor Ryan suggested.

        “That’s a good idea. Have someone radio in and call off all the lunch ladies to serve lunch, I’ll do it all myself.” She nodded, smiling.

        “I meant this branch. The whole hospital is a little excessive.” Doctor Ryan deadpanned.

        “No, no. I got this. Besides, I need my steps in.” She spoke. “See ya later!” she waved, taking off.

The second chapter for this is done! This series will also be posted on AO3 and Wattpad!

Want more Andrew Graves content? Check out the Andrew Graves masterlist!

Inbox is OPENfor questions about the story and new plotlines/ideas, not for request!

Chapters: Chapter 1, current chapter, Chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6, chapter 7, chapter 8, final chapter.

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[callsign-rogueone]

resson (garrick's version)

Garrick Tavis x reader a Garrick and Angel chapter! I need to re-number these at some point, but this happens between 1 and 2 — some of the events at Resson, and them going back to Aretia. written in Garrick’s pov, since Angel isn’t exactly conscious at the moment... words: 2.9k 🏷️: fourth wing spoilers, major character death, canon injury, allusions to hypothermia, writing as Garrick is hard but I tried, poor boy isn’t sure she’s gonna survive this (we know she does, since I wrote this out of order, but still), he takes good care of his girl, Sweetheart makes an appearance along with Darling Spark and Love, somewhat proofread but not really. I’m sorry this took me so long, but here it is. better late than never?

There’s a red dragon lying on the ground, wounded. It’s either Cosa or Deigh, but I can’t tell from this far out. Deigh, I realize when I’m close enough to see his horns, and he isn’t moving. If he’s dead, then Liam only has a few minutes left.

I make the jump too quickly, scrambling to get my feet underneath me, but I’m too late. Liam’s gone. His girlfriend is sobbing into his shoulder, Bodhi attempting to soothe her through his own tears. He has one arm held to his chest, the other rubbing her back gently. 

But there’s a second body slumped against Deigh’s side, and my heart nearly stops when I realize who it is. 

“Angel,” I breathe, kneeling down beside her, brushing my hands over her cheeks. She’s cold to the touch even in the July heat, her head lolled down onto her chest and her body completely limp, but she’s still breathing, thank the gods. I couldn’t bear to lose both her and Liam on the same day. It would destroy me. 

A quick inspection and confirmation from Tab tell me that she’s not wounded — a few scratches here and there, and some tender points that will be bruised tomorrow, but nothing major.

“She tried,” Bodhi tells me quietly. “There was nothing she could do, but she tried anyway, and…” He doesn’t finish the sentence, knowing that I can see it as well as he can.

I’ve seen her drained before, completely exhausted after a long day mending in the infirmary, unsteady on her feet and ready to flop facedown onto my bed and sleep it off, but this is several steps past that. It’s clear that she’d used absolutely everything she had in trying to keep Liam and Deigh alive, and I don’t know how long it will take her to recover. 

If she does recover, I think for a single second before crumpling the thought up like a piece of parchment and shoving it deep, deep down. She’s going to live. She’s going to recover. She has to. There is no way that the two of us could ever be separated like that. 

I have to do something, but what? Is sleeping it off followed by a giant bowl of pasta going to be enough this time, or does she need to see a healer? Could the healers even fix this? Is there a cure for burnout other than rest?

“The Lieutenant Colonel would know. He’s a mender as well.” 

Brennan would know. Him or Colonel Colbersy would be the best bets — but the idea of taking her back to that hellhole school right now is enough to light my blood on fire. Graduation is in less than a week, and I know they aren’t going to give her any time to recover before they transfer her across the continent to gods-know-where and expect her to start working.

I hook an arm under her knees, another behind her back, lifting her up from the dirt and gathering her into my lap. She’s too drained to speak, to open her eyes, but I feel a little flare of recognition from her as she leans into my chest — she knows it’s me. She’s still in there. 

I tuck her head into my shoulder, stroking a hand over her disheveled braids, because that’s all I can do right now.

Our little sister has silently slotted herself between me and Bodhi. She leans her head against my shoulder, sniffling quietly. She looks unharmed, but there’s dried blood coating her nose and upper lip, and her cuticles are shredded; she’s been peeling them since we left the school, as a nervous habit. Something’s bothering her, but I haven’t had time to ask what — though I have a suspicion that it has something to do with that little joker in Violet’s squad.

And now this. Liam had become her best friend, the first person her age that she was truly comfortable with, and now… I put my other arm around her, squeezing gently. She’s trembling, crying as quietly as possible — even in a situation like this, she doesn’t want to make a sound.

“I’m so sorry, kid,” I say softly, as if that will make it hurt any less.

She leans into me a little further. “Is she going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” I promise her, “She’s gonna be fine in a day or two. She just needs rest — you know how it is.”

I pray to every higher power that exists that I’m right — that Angel will be fine, that our sister won’t lose yet another loved one. She’s finally coming out of her shell, starting to let people in, but I’m afraid that losing Liam might send her right back to square one: the girl I’d met six years ago, who was too scared to speak. I didn’t hear her voice for a week and a half — only timid nods or shakes of the head for yes or no questions.

My eyes widen as I see Xaden approach, a limp-looking Violet in his arms. She’s wheezing, black blood trickling from a wound in her side.

“It has to be poison,” Imogen reasons, sounding more torn up about this than I thought she’d ever be. “Look at it! We have to get her back to Basgiath. Nolon might be able to help.”

“That’s a twelve-hour flight.” Xaden’s voice rises. “And I’m pretty sure her arm is broken.”

Is she going to make it that long?

“There’s somewhere closer,” he says quietly.

“You can’t be serious,” Ciaran interrupts.

“You’ll put everything at risk,” I warn.

Tairn roars in dissent.

“I wouldn’t say that again,” Imogen mutters, “or he’ll probably eat you. And don’t forget, if she dies, there’s a damn good chance Xaden does, too.”

“I’m not saying he shouldn’t, just reminding him what the stakes are.”

“I don’t give a fuck what happens to me!” Xaden yells. “We’re going, and that’s an order.”

Bodhi agrees without protest. “No need for orders, man. We’ll save her.” 

“You’re sure about this?” Imogen asks.

“Stop fucking asking him that,” I snap without thinking. “He made his decision. Support him or get the fuck out, Imogen.”

“And it’s a bad one.”

Bodhi turns his head to glare at him. “When you have a hundred and seven scars on your back, then you get to make the fucking decisions, Ciaran.”

Rocks crunch under a pair of boots as another of our friends approaches. She looks utterly defeated — her face, neck, and hair are splattered with wyvern blood, and the makeup she’d so carefully applied for the Reunification Day party is running in dark trails down her cheeks, her eyes swollen and red from crying. She’s unusually quiet as she speaks. “X is right. We need to lie low for a few days — get our wounded help, and…”

And bury Liam. Her little brother. 

A wave of guilt floods through me. I had been too focused on Angel to fully process the fact that Liam, Xaden’s little brother, who may as well be mine too, is gone forever. We have to bury him tomorrow. I’ll never hear him laugh again, never receive another one of his little wood carvings… Oh, fuck. Sloane. She’d been counting down until her conscription day, when she could see him again, but now she never will. 

“It’s settled, then,” another soft voice says — Bodhi’s wife. “We’re going home.”

Nobody dares to disagree with her.

I give our sister one last gentle squeeze before I rise from the ground, Angel in my arms, and carry her the hundred yards to the rest of the riot, who have been keeping watch over us.

Tab lowers his head, mournful and dejected. He must regret not cutting her off, blocking her out from his magic before she overdid it. She’d never forgive him if he had interfered with her efforts to save Liam, but if he had, she might still be lucid. 

It’s absolutely terrifying seeing her like this. 

Chradh nods in understanding before I can ask, lowering himself flat to the ground so I can climb up while still holding her. I know it’s a major no-no for a dragon to bear anyone but their rider, but all of ours understand the gravity of the situation — a few of us aren’t in condition to fly, and will need to double up with someone who is.

She’s still freezing cold, and I know that the altitude and wind on our flight home won’t help. I sit her up in front of me, removing my flight jacket one sleeve at a time. 

It’s like dressing a doll — she’s completely pliant in my arms, and I have to keep moving her to get the jacket on, guiding her hands through the sleeves and buttoning it closed on top of her own. I pull her goggles up so the wind won’t hurt her eyes, and turn her head to tuck her face into my neck. 

Chradh wraps an invisible band of power around us to help keep her in place. 

“Just hang on for me, Angel,” I murmur, my lips brushing her hairline. “We’re taking you home.”

———————————————

Every step up the staircase sends a wave of pain up my left leg. I fucked up my knee in my running landing, too panicked to think straight once I realized that one of the dragons was wounded so severely.

I can worry about myself later. Right now I need to get her in bed, and prepare her for Brennan’s assessment.

My magic works to open the doors here, too, so I don’t have to worry about dropping her while I get us inside. I sit in my desk chair and prop her up in my lap, the wood creaking under our combined weight. 

I get her out of my flight jacket, then hers, and assess the state of her base layers. I decide to get her out of her leathers, at least — those are terrible to sleep in, and she’s always been picky about “outside clothes” on the bed. 

She was cold to the touch even with the extra layers, but without them I realize exactly how icy her skin is. I leave her with shorts and a tank top, but I pull back the bed covers with one hand and lay her down, piling her with blankets to make up for the loss. As soon as I drape them over her body, I’m rewarded with a small sign of life — she burrows deeper into the covers, seeking warmth.

Maybe warming her back up will be enough to get her lucid again, like this is some kind of hypothermia. But how did that happen? It’s July, the warmest part of the year across the whole continent.

I drag my desk chair over to the edge of the bed, taking a seat. It’ll be a while yet before Brennan can check on her — it’s going to take a small miracle for him to get the poison out of Violet’s system. 

She’s turned her head away from me, so I occupy myself with fixing her braids. They’re undone in places, big strands pulled out by the wind. I untie the leather band at the bottom, setting it on the nightstand and gently undoing the plaits. 

I’ve been practicing, but I’m not skilled enough to do the style she usually wears. I settle for detangling as best I can with just my fingers, and gathering it all into a low ponytail. It’s a small comfort to see her looking less disheveled. This way I can almost pretend that there’s nothing wrong, that she’s just taking a nap in my bed on a winter afternoon, piled up with blankets. 

“Can you ask Tab to keep an eye on her while I shower?”

“He won’t be taking his eye off of her anytime soon.”

If Tab can still feel her, that’s a good sign, I guess. I’ll take anything normal as a good sign right now. I cast one last long glance at her before I slip into the bathroom, keeping the door open just in case.

I look like shit after nearly two full days of flight and combat, but a shower and some real sleep should help. The water here is warmer than at Basgiath — though that’s a very low bar — and the pressure isn’t terrible. It’s almost nice. It would be a welcome reprieve, if I wasn’t so worried about her and Violet and all of our friends. I’m pretty sure Bodhi broke an arm back there, and our sister looked so shaken… she’d disappeared as soon as we got home. I need to check on her in the morning.

I haven’t heard anything from the bedroom, which is either a good sign or a bad one, but when I peek my head out, I can see the pile of blankets still rising and falling with her slow breaths. I dry off as quickly as I can and begin the search for clean clothes.

My old pajama pants are loose enough to accommodate the extra inches I’ve put on my thighs in three years as a dragon rider, but I can’t fit my arms through the sleeves of the first shirt I find. I make a quick modification with one of my smaller knives before tugging it over my head and settling back down beside her.

There’s a soft knock on the door.

Brennan looks absolutely exhausted, but he waves a hand at me in dismissal as I rise from the creaking desk chair and offer it to him. Stubborn fucking Sorrengails. 

He examines her for a minute, his eyebrows drawn together the way I’ve seen them when he’s looking over a battle map as he checks her pulse. Her breaths become even slower as he wraps his hand around her wrist, her body relaxing. 

“How long has she been like this?”

“Since we left Resson,” I answer. “She didn’t wake up on the flight.”

He blows out a breath. “I can fix the smaller stuff, but I don’t know what made her this way. I’ve seen burnout before, but this isn’t it.” He pauses, and his voice is strained as he continues. “It’s like she siphoned half her life away to try to save him.”

I can’t help but wince, knowing how his friend had done just that in the battle of Aretia five years ago — only Naolin had given up not just half his life, but the whole of it. And him being reminded of that on the day that he’d finally reunited with his little sister, who is currently residing on Malek’s doormat… 

I break the silence after a moment. “She’s not a siphoner, though. She’s a mender, like you.”

“That explains it, I guess. The loss of Deigh’s power is what ended Liam’s life, but we can’t mend magic. There’s nothing she could have done, but she kept trying anyway, and it was too much for her.”

Again, he sounds pained. 

I tread carefully with my next question. “Have you seen it happen before? A rider lose their dragon?”

“Yes. I tried as hard as I could to save her, but it was futile. I felt utterly useless.”

“How long did it take you to recover?”

He shakes his head. “I didn’t need to. I was fine, just a little shaken.”

I exhale. “She’s always had issues with her signet. It’s easy for her to overwork herself, but I’ve never seen it this bad.”

He lets go of her wrist, setting her arm down gently, and I hear a soft sound of discomfort leave her lips. Why is she in pain? He’d just mended all of her visible injuries away, and I didn’t see anything under her clothes when I’d gotten her into bed. Maybe it’s the sudden cold — being mended always feels warm, and she’s still freezing.

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” I say softly. “Thank you.”

He nods, looking ready to head up a flight to his own room and collapse.

The sun has set, the warm dusk we’d landed in now replaced with dark night, and I’m absolutely exhausted. I lift up a few of the half dozen blankets, slotting myself in next to her. My entire body relaxes as soon as I’m horizontal on a real mattress, the pressure taken off of my legs. 

She curls into me with a soft sigh, and it takes an effort not to flinch at how cold she still is even through the layers of blankets, but I wrap my arms around her, trying to warm her up. “Angel?” I ask softly.

No response — not even a hum. How long is she going to be like this?

“I love you,” I say quietly, even though it’s doubtful she can hear me. “Get some rest, okay? You need to recover. You have to recover. I need you. We all need you.”

Another sleepy sigh as she shifts over a little, resting her head over my heart like she always does. It’s probably just muscle memory from sleeping like this every night for years, but part of me wonders if it’s her telling me that she loves me too, and that she’ll be okay.

“Sleep,” Chradh encourages. “We’ll watch her.”

I don’t respond, my eyes already closing. Shitty circumstances aside, it’s nice to be home again, curled up with her in my — our — own bed, away from the demands of that infernal school. 

We can sleep as late as we want tomorrow morning.

[ohnococo]

Fight Night | CHAPTER 2 | MMA Fighter!Sukuna x Reader

Sukuna leans down, lips close to your ear so you can hear his voice clearly over the music. Even when he’s speaking loud enough to be heard it somehow doesn’t feel like shouting, it feels like his voice is in your head, then your stomach, then right down where it settles between your legs.

The end of your first encounter bleeds into your second.

Warnings: partying, drinking, drug use, grinding, fem bodied reader, a fuck buddy type situation, reader cums in the middle of a crowd, reader is messy sloppy drunk/high

Notes: This chapter is a little lighter, a breather before a much juicier chapter coming up.

CHAPTER 1

You don’t know how many bathroom break hype-ups you have left in you, but here you are again, staring at yourself in the mirror while others around you wait for their turns in the stalls behind you. You’re a fucking mess, you’ve been a fucking mess, and you can’t really remember when exactly you’d lost your panties but they certainly weren’t on you anymore.

You shut your eyes, then snap them back open when you realise it was a big fucking mistake as the room starts spinning. You cup your hand and run it under the faucet, gathering enough cool water to sip at before running your wet hand under your eyes. Your foundation was fucked hours ago, but at least you could fix some of the mascara that had migrated beneath your eyes. A final splash of cool water on your cheeks is your last attempt to get some feeling back in your face, to no avail. You take a deep breath, try to relax your aching jaw, and will your legs to take you back to where you’d come from.

As you exit the bathroom, pushing past others in a similar state, nodding to one of the entourage members you’d overshared with in one of the moments between getting fucked sloppy in another dark room by Sukuna, and start looking for the man himself. You’d moved on from that VIP lounge you’d first met him in hours ago, then moved on from that club entirely not long after that. You’d lost a few members of the group along the way, some having found someone to take home, others unable to keep up with the rest.

Hell, you could barely keep up, even with the drugs picking you back up and carrying you through and over any potential crash and onto a second, third, and even fourth wind. Sukuna is unphased though, acting as the benchmark for everyone else to reach as you go and go and go.

When you make your way to this club’s “private” room you don’t see Sukuna there. Having not seen his tall form within the dancing crowd either, you start to push towards the door, wondering if maybe even Ryomen Sukuna had needed to step outside for some fresh air for the first time tonight. He hadn’t, of course, something you find out as large hands grab at your hips and pull you back to press your ass into a hardness you’d become incredibly familiar with over the course of the evening.

Sukuna leans down, lips close to your ear so you can hear his voice clearly over the music. Even when he’s speaking loud enough to be heard it somehow doesn’t feel like shouting, it feels like his voice is in your head, then your stomach, then right down where it settles between your legs.

“Running away?”

You have to laugh at that, you’d long ago decided you were all in for the night. “No, I thought you were the one who ran off.”

You feel his lips curling into a smile against your skin as he starts kissing at your neck, grinding his cock against you. You reach up and back, running your hand over his undercut and he begins palming at your breast roughly.

“Back to VIP?” This one wasn’t as secluded as some of the others had been, a little reserved corner just off the dance floor, rope barrier acting as the only thing to keep other patrons from rounding the half wall blocking out the crowd and seeing whatever it was Sukuna had decided you two would be doing next.

“No.” He takes a few steps back deeper into the writhing mass of people nearly as sweaty and sticky and fucked up as you. If he bumps into people as he pulls you along, he’s steady enough in his movements that you can’t tell. “Let’s dance.”

He wants to dance, so you dance. And it really is you dancing. Sure, he matches the rhythm set by the bass droning in your ears, but really he’s just grinding his hardness against your ass as you dance on him. His fingers dig into your hips, adding to the bruises you’d already have from being manhandled tonight, and you bend forward as much as you can in the tight squeeze of the crowd to really press yourself against him. He releases one hip to rub a hand up your back, ending its path at the back of your neck where he grips tightly, then pulls you until you’re forced to arch backward so he can speak to you.

“I think I’ll fuck you like this next.” His hips snap against yours just once, with enough force that you might have been thrown off-balance if it weren’t for his grip on you.

“I thought we were dancing.”

“For now.”

You stay like this for the rest of the song until the tempo changes and Sukuna turns you to face him, slotting his leg between your thighs. He presses it up and into your wetness, sliding you up and down just enough to have your pussy aching for more of what you’d been having all night. Though if anyone around you could be bothered to look they’d just see two people still technically dancing.

“Consider this a chance to catch your breath.”

It didn’t feel like it, with the next song pounding out a beat much faster than the previous one and your movements ramping up to match, but you know you can only take a cock like Sukuna’s so many times in one night, despite the drugs leaving your every nerve on fire as his hands touch your body and get you close.

The hand on your hip guides you to the music, the other hand still squeezing at the back of your neck, getting you close and keeping you in place with no choice but to chase your fast approaching orgasm on his thigh. His lips are on yours, forceful and hungry, tongue stirring you up before he drinks in your moans as you cum on his leg, long past caring about all the stains you’d left on his pants tonight.

Your head is spinning again with the wind knocked out of your sails and you let yourself relax into him, held up only by his thigh and his strong arms. He chuckles, smug as ever, grabbing you by your ass hard enough to snap out of your post-orgasm stupor as he lifts you a few inches off the ground. He kisses you roughly, hard cock pressed against you in a reminder that you weren’t finished just yet.

“Let’s get you back on your toes,” he sets you down, turning you around and facing you in the direction of the VIP area, “then I’ll fuck you like this, just like I promised.”

He hadn’t promised, he’d mused aloud, but you were learning that was as good as a guarantee with Sukuna.

The car hits a bump, hard enough to bounce your head against Sukuna’s lap, and you become vaguely aware that you’re drooling, then that the sun is up. It had been dark when you finally nodded off in the back seat, but Sukuna did add some time to the journey by having his driver pull over and wait outside while he bounced you on his cock yet again. The detour must have been longer than you’d realised. But then again you weren’t totally sure just what part of town you’d wound up at by the end of the night nor how far you had to go when you’d given the driver your address.

That orgasm was very much your last hurrah, taking the last of your energy with it. You’d let yourself start dozing, feeling sick once your eyes were closed, feeling like sleep was the only way to stop it. Just as you feel yourself drifting back off again you feel the bottom of your dress being roughly pulled back down before you’re pulled out of your stupor by Sukuna’s large hand patting your cheeks.

“This is your place, right?”

You sit up, slowly and with a grunt of effort, and glance out the window. Out of the wrong window, but you still recognize your road and nod, sitting forward with difficulty as the heaviness of a big comedown seeps into your limbs.

Sukuna clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, hand back on your cheeks to turn your face in the direction of the other window, towards the front of your place. “You sure?”

“I know where I live.”

He laughs, amused that you still have your bite even moments from fully entering the worst hangover in a while, and the car door opens from outside. “He’s going to help you in.”

You look up at the driver, then at Sukuna, and roll your eyes - or you intend to, though you’re sure it’s more of a broken doll-eyed uncoordinated blink. “I don’t need help.”

You absolutely do, but you still pretend to be inconvenienced as you let the driver lift you out of the car by the forearms and carefully guide you to your door. He waits there as you fish out your keys. Once you’ve got your door open you give a curt thanks to the driver, and turn to where Sukuna was still watching you from the car.

“Bye… I guess.” You mutter the last part, too far gone to even consider whether or not you’ll see that face again outside of fights that you might just consider watching on TV. Just to brag to your friends that you partied with him once, of course. That’s all.

Somewhere toward the end of that night, you’d been surprised when Sukuna had told you to put your number in his phone. You hadn’t expected to actually hear back from him though, to the point that you’d forgotten that small exchange had even happened by the end of the night. You’re honestly confused when you get a text from an unknown number.

got plans for tonight?

A friend with a new number? A wrong number? 

who’s asking?

Sukuna

Oh… it had only been 4 days, and you’d only just recovered from the last night out. That much alcohol, that much cocaine, and that much fucking wasn’t really a regular occurrence for you, but a man like that had a sort of gravity about him. When you woke up the next morning you kind of understood why that Uraume seemed to be happy to be so far up his ass the whole night. Well, that and that you were sure they were getting paid well. He was just the kind of person who was able to make you feel like if he was making moves, you absolutely needed to make them with him. Doing it all over again on a fucking Tuesday felt a little crazy though.

Still, all logic aside you’re filled with the same feeling you’d had the other night, that you might regret saying no. So you respond.

what do you have planned?

You stare at the phone longer than you’d like, waiting for a response. Eventually, your screen dims, and you sigh, locking it and setting it on your nightstand. You shouldn’t be acting like he’d fucked enough self respect out of you to have you waiting with bated breath over a text back, so you decide to go do something else in the meantime.

By the time you hear your phone buzz again, loud against the wood of your bedside table, you’re quick to check it. It had been 2 hours and you were getting annoyed because exactly how late did he think ‘tonight’ would be. You weren’t going to get ready for nothing and it was already 9 pm at this point.

As you lift your screen an excitement builds in your stomach at seeing the notification was indeed from the number that you now knew belonged to Sukuna. Opening the message you see a time and the name of a club, a nice club, and smile.

I assume you’re paying?

You know the answer will be yes, obviously. So you add the number into your contact list under the name “👹👑” set your phone back down and start getting ready, knowing now you’ll likely be waiting for a reply.

You were correct in that assumption, his response not arriving until you’re nearly finished with your makeup.

I assume you’re fucking

A picture follows the message, and your heart skips a beat when it pops up. Sukuna’s cock, with his hand draped casually at the base, held across his hip. It’s not even fully hard but it’s still immediately recognizable as the monster you’d encountered the previous weekend, pierced and heavy and thick as all hell. Then, another message.

Hope youre less scared of it this time around

You roll your eyes, if you could have gotten away with not letting on to the size of it you would have. His ego didn’t need any boosting… but you couldn’t exactly pretend otherwise. You choose not to respond at all, putting your phone back down to finish getting ready, even if you knew it’d be wrecked at the end of the night. Sweated off makeup, sweated out hair, clothes stretched out of shape. You knew what to expect and you knew it would be worth it though.

By the time you’re yet again stumbling back through your front door at dawn with the help of his driver, you’re more than sure that it was worth it. That it would be worth it every single time.

-

CHAPTER 3

[arkus-rhapsode]

So finishing the fourth dungeon of Refantazio and Eupha’s story and yeah this is definitely the chapter that kinda reminded me this story isn’t all that deep.

Now, I’ve said before this game’s story already struck me as very straightforward already. Like they show you who killed the king and Louis literally makes no attempt to hide it. And now after dealing with physical proof that basically disprove a religion it’s kinda treated as “huh, I guess it’s lies then?”

Like don’t get me wrong, I’ve said on many occasions having a simple story is not a bad thing. Stories like those can often be elevated by the strength of presentation, character writing, and in the of games, engaging mechanics. And I do believe that Metaphor Refantazio is a game that excels at making well rounded characters and appropriate dramatic moments. Sure, the reveal the obviously evil church is evil is treated with a level of casualness, but Eupha standing with her dragon lance declaring that she will give her life for her people by fighting for them instead of sacrificing her life is a wonderfully dramatic moment that you’ll remember more.

And that’s just the character moments that are on the plot railroad. The supports are also fantastic. With stuff like Heismay contemplating where to place his son’s remains while dealing with the village’s xenophobia to Maria coming to grips her father is dead to Alonso realizing his own attempts for justice ended up hurting the one he loves and needs to make reparations-it’s all so good.

Also maybe it’s just me, but I never really cared for the argument that something wasn’t subtle. Like yeah Refantazio clearly has a stance on stuff like utopia, equity, theocracy, tradition etc and it’s spelling it out right to the faces of the audience. It clearly wants you to take away this type of message from this journey.

Personally speaking, I will take a story that is straightforward and simple and builds upon it with brilliances like character journeys and memorable set pieces over one that tries to be overly ambitious, intricate, serious and deep yet fails to really stick the landing. I’ve always found those in particular frustrating. Heck even Atlus’s own Persona series has hit snags like that, as they have had shaky or messy moments in their series exploring complex concepts like truth, identity, justice, etc. (Can’t wait for the eventual Persona 4 remake. I’m sure this won’t cause a new generation of discourse.)

But Metaphor in my opinion has struck this pretty perfect balance of this simple fantasy yet it’s still able to craft interesting characters that I want to see fulfill this journey.

[anzulvr]

୨୧ On Purpose Karma x (fem) Reader I| Chapter: 06 ୨୧

Prev || 06 Lies || Next

— After hyping herself up in the bathroom mirror for half an hour this morning, [Name] concluded she was capable enough to pull off her plan and manage to get demoted to E-class.

[Name] worried she might get herself expelled but looking back on Karmas situation put her at ease. They practically bring equal academic value to the school and Karma was able to get away with a lot because of it. They'd let him off the hook for fights, pranks and persistently cutting class. If anything this might not be enough to demote her.

A few days prior Gakushuu informed her that his father had a meeting to attend later today. The Chairman is constantly praised for his input during board gatherings, which is why [Name] decided she would sneak into his office and replace his notes for some fake ones written with Karmas assistance. She'd make her switch careless enough he could trace it back to her.

Karma also suggested switching Gakuhō's papers for some questionable magazines would be an easier, more impactful trick, he could get Okajima to give him a few, he probably wouldn't be super-compliant about giving them up but when was anyone ever compliant to anything Karma plotted? He got them but he didn't tell her how he convinced his friend to let him have them.

[Name] had never done anything that could get her into trouble at school, what if it went on her record?

"[Name]? You're here earlier than usual."

She jolted back in surprise and nervously held her hands behind her back, "Yeah, I thought I'd have a change of pace today." She was anxiously swaying back and fourth.

"You? Change? That's rich."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Last time I called you at 7 AM you blocked my number for a month."

Gakuhō came up behind Asano and rested his hand on his son's shoulder,"Gakushuu fix your posture."

Asano straightened up, The chairman looks over at [Name], "It's nice to see you again [Name], how have you been?"

"Im doing good, and you?"

"That's great to hear, I would like to talk more but I need to speak with my son for a moment, if you don't mind."

"I’ll leave you to it then, see you around Shuu!"

Perfect opportunity had risen, he was down here, that means his office would be empty this early in the morning.

[Name] opened his drawers and found many, many folders filled to the brim with papers. She wasn't sure how she was going to find the one she was meant to trade out.

She drew out her own papers along with the magazines, she couldn't help but question what kind of perverted friend Karma had that just has these lying around.

She was digging through them when she knocked into one of the opened sliding shelves a file titled "Confidential" fell out from a compartment hidden underneath the cabinet. She got the feeling she really wasn't supposed to open, the forbidden feel to it only enticed her more.

[Name] wasn't sure what she expected to find but it definitely wasn't government files about the moons explosion. They never disclosed this to the public, why would Gakuhō have this? Her eyes rushed through the pages, there was a picture of the culprit, a price on his head, and way too many details to take in. The documents alleged that End class students of Kunugigaoka High would be the main individuals with the responsibility of assassinating the out law. Failure to assassinate him by the end of the year will result in the extinction of the human race.

There was so much to process, she was going to die? In any other situation she’d doubt the authenticity of these papers but everything lined up with the moon explosion. She couldn't even humor the idea anyone could kill that thing based on description of his abilities alone. The files mentioned the creature being 3 meters tall, and a very long list of his documented capabilities such regeneration, super human speed and strength. It would be stupid to believe some high schoolers could assassinate a monster with the power to destroy the earth in seconds. Her future was essentially gone, and Karma, he knew about this all along.

'Did he expect me to go on living, knowing there's a good chance I'll die before I even graduate?’

How could he? He never mentioned this. This whole time he'd let her believe everything was fine. That he liked his class? The stupid bounty on the monsters life was giving him false hope.

She has good grades, sure, but that's pretty much all [Name] has going for herself. Now that she was thinking about how her future was over this all made her realize she never really had much of a future. Nothing made her stand out from the rest of her peers.

The members of the student council are everything she is and more. Not only are their grades outstanding they each have individual talents that set them apart from the rest. That set them apart from [Name]. The students definitely saw it that way, people often talked badly about how she didn’t deserve her spot with the rest of the student council.

In contrast Karma definitely has a lot going for himself. He isn't just smart, he's great at anything he touches. He has a good reason to live. Maybe that’s why he kept it a secret? He didn’t think it mattered in her case?

She felt herself tearing up, not knowing what to do with herself she kept flipping through the documents. Karma let her continue living so ignorantly, for what? So she could die soon without warning?

"[Name]. What are you doing here?"

Just like that she was taken out of her entranced state, "Nothing! I was waiting to speak to you, sir." She hid the file behind her back, ironically all she did was make herself more suspicious. Kaho did always tell her she was a horrible liar.

Gakuhō wasn't supposed to return to his office this quickly, then again she isn't supposed to be poking around where she's not welcome.

"There are serious repercussions for sneaking into my office and going through student files, you know that right? We place value in the privacy of our pupil."

"Principal Asano, It's not student files I'm interested in. I'd like to be transferred to End class."

“End class... What makes you suggest such a thing?"

“I know the truth.”

"You'll have to get more specific [Name], what truth?" He walked over to his desk, looking straight at her, she hands him back the classified file.

[Name] is taken aback when the chairman laughs.

He was being so casual about it still, for some reason, she felt like there was a knife against her throat.

"[Name] you're a good kid, I'd think about this twice if I were you. You'll have to renounce your position in the student council if I go through with your transfer. We really can't afford to have word get out either. You'll either forget everything you just read or you'll have to deal with the consequences."

His eyes scared her, she was in over her head.

His eyes shift to the messy table top, thanks to [Names] disorganized snooping. The duplicate papers and magazines were front and center of the clutter.

"What are these strange magazines doing here?"

"Those are, uh- not mine! I'll dispose of them regardless!"

[mrsstruggle]

The Beast of War - Chapter 1 // Teen Wolf x Marvel AU

This is the second part of the Shadow Wolf Series. Read The Lost Child First if you haven't!

Series Summary: In the aftermath of discovering her true identity and reuniting with her long-lost family, Y/N Stilinski finds herself adjusting to a new chapter of her life in Beacon Hills. With her brother and his friends in their senior year at High School, the town faces a fresh new threat. Y/N must navigate the complexities of her new life while confronting the looming threat that threatens to hurt her and the people she loves.

Warnings: Language, Mentions of Death/Injury/Grief/Torture, Possible Grammar Mistakes (please let me know if there is anything else)

Series Pairings: Derek Hale x Reader, Stiles Stilinski x Malia Tate (for now), Steve Rodgers x Bucky Barnes, Bruce Banner x Natasha Romanoff, Vision x Wanda Maximoff

Words: 4.5k

Note: I am aware this is late! Please don't hate me!

Additional Note: While this is a Teen Wolf x Marvel AU, not everything is true to the shows/movies/comics. I had to change things for the story.

One Last Note: Y/N was adopted by Tony Stark and Pepper Potts. I did this so more people can see themselves in this story.

***I do not own Teen Wolf or Marvel or any related characters. This is a work of fanfiction and is meant for entertainment purposes only.***

Masterlist

The Beast of War Masterlist

The Lost Child Masterlist

Previous Chapter

---

“Are you going to keep secretly writing notes about me or ask me that question you’ve been too afraid to ask?” Y/N questions, her eyes never leaving the computer where she is tying in the new patient information. She is currently six hours into her ten-hour shift.

The boy sitting on the exam table freezes. His thumbs stop typing in his notes app as he looks at Y/N in surprise. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, “Mhm, sure. This is the fifth time you’ve been in this week, but you always seem to leave with nothing wrong. You either have hypochondria or you’ve kept coming back until I was your nurse.”

“Maybe the previous nurses and doctors didn’t do a good job and sent me home without properly helping me.” He picks at the bottom of his shirt in a nervous habit.

“The first time you came in was for pink eye, which has been noted that you didn’t have that. The second time was for a rash on your arm that you didn’t have.” Y/N says, looking over his previous visit notes, “The third time was a bump on your knee that turned out to be your kneecap. The fourth time was for a broken wrist that turned out to be broken or even sprained. Now you’re here due to flu-like symptoms, but your vitals are all good and there is currently no indication of you being sick.”

He forces out a fake cough, “Are you sure about that?”

Y/N turns to look at him, “I’m sure. You do know this is an emergency room, right? We have actual patients that need help, and we are short staffed. We don’t need some kid coming in trying to meet the Stark girl to get a good photo for his Instagram or whatever.”

“First of all, I’m not a kid—we’re the same age. Second, this isn’t for my Instagram, this is for my criminology class.” He says, dropping his act. He knew there was no point in tripling down on his lies.

“Well, your parents must have a lot of money or some really good insurance for you to be able to show up here five different times.”

“Something like that.”

Y/N looks him up and down, contemplating what she should do. She should just send him home, but she’s worried he will keep showing up until he gets what he wants. “The school year just started, why do you need to speak with me for your criminology class now?”

“Our first assignment is to do a paper on a famous crime. What’s more famous than the kidnapping of Tony Stark’s daughter?”

“I can think of several.” Y/N lets out a sigh, turning her body to fully face him, “You get five questions. If I don’t want to answer one, then it’s still going to count as one of your questions. After that, you have to leave and also promise not to come back here unless you have an actual emergency.”

He smiles in victory, turning his phone back on, “Do you mind if I record this so I can type out your answers later?”

“Sure.”

He opens the Voice Memos app on his phone, hits the record button, and holds it up between Y/N and himself. “Okay, first question, I am aware that the Avengers are currently relocating to a little outside of Beacon Hills, but have you been back to the other Avengers compound or the place you lived while with them?”

“No, I have not been back.”

He opens his mouth to ask her to elaborate but decides against it in case she counts that as a question. “Second question, what was your initial reaction when you discovered the truth?”

Y/N pauses as she thinks of an answer. For safety reasons, when they announced who she was, they changed the story of how it happened. Instead of telling the public she was re-kidnapped by Hydra, they told them about Bucky discovering the photo of her in Derek’s auto shop. It’s part of the reason some people like to show up there.

To the public’s knowledge, Hydra kidnapped her in hopes of raising her to be their soldier before she was able to escape on her own when they left her unattended outside. She was then found by a friend of Talia Stilinski and adopted by the Stilinski’s. To the public’s knowledge, Pepper didn’t hand her over to Hydra, she was never experimented on, she has no powers, and she didn’t know about the Avengers because she was too young—not because her memories were blocked.

“Mostly confusion. It’s not every day that someone shows up and claims to be your other family.  Now I’m just waiting for my biological family to do the same thing.” Y/N jokes.

“Third question, I know thanks to photos online that you spend some time with your brother, Peter, but have you spent any time with your sister, Morgan?”

Y/N debates on whether she wants to answer the question or not. The answer is no, she hasn’t spent any time with her sister, nor has she met her. She has nothing against Morgan, and she doesn’t blame her for Pepper’s actions, but she’s not sure if Morgan feels the same way. According to Peter, she is close with her mother, and her relationship with Tony is strained due to his shortcomings as a father to her.

Y/N is unsure if Morgan blames her for those shortcomings. It’s because of Tony’s obsession with finding her that caused him to neglect to be a good father for Morgan. It’s because of his resentment and anger toward Pepper’s nonchalance at Y/N being gone and her happiness toward the new baby that caused him to leave Pepper in the first place. It’s because of his grief of losing her that caused him to be unable to hold her until she was three years old.

It wasn’t until Morgan became a teenager did Tony start to step up as her father. He still isn’t perfect, and he can never make up for her younger years, but he is a lot better. Y/N adds Tony and Peter moving to Beacon Hills as another reason for Morgan to be justified to hate her.

Y/N knows that if Derek or Peter knew her thoughts about Morgan, they would tell her that she can’t blame herself for Tony’s mistakes. The choices Tony made were his own, not hers. Right now, she’s told Peter and Tony that the decision to meet, form a relationship, or anything is fully up to Morgan. She doesn’t want to cause any upheaval in Morgan’s life by inserting herself into it. If Morgan wants Y/N in her life, then she will be. If she doesn’t want anything to do with her, that’s okay. If she wants to meet her once and then never again, Y/N will do that too.

She does however know—thanks to Peter—that Morgan has decided that she prefers a private life away from the spotlight. While Peter attends all charity and public events in the Stark name, Morgan likes to stay home away from the crowds and paparazzi. She even keeps away from social media, so she doesn’t see anything about herself or her family.

“Um, I’m going to pass on that question. Morgan is a minor and prefers to stay out of the press. I don’t feel comfortable talking about whatever relationship I may or may not have with her. That’s private and it will stay that way.” Y/N answers. “You have two questions left.”

The guy huffs in frustration, “Fine. Fourth question, what are your thoughts on the theories and videos people were making after it was first brought to the public’s attention that you’re Y/N Stark?”

“I think the best word to describe I how felt, and still feel, about the things people were saying is disappointment. I’m disappointed in how people were, and still are, talking about my family. Honestly, I don’t really care what people say about me,” That’s a lie but she isn’t going to correct herself, “but I am disappointed in the way people talked about my family and the people I love.”

He nods his head in understanding, “Okay, last question, do you plan on changing your name back to Stark?”

No, she doesn’t. To be honest, it’s not even a thought that has crossed her mind. Scott asked her about it once when he saw her driver’s license and her only thought was that she hopes Derek proposes before Tony asks so she has an excuse that won’t hurt his feelings.

“Maybe, I guess we’ll see,” Y/N says instead. “Now, you can be on your way, and I’ll make sure to let the front desk know I refuse to see you if you come back with anything less than a life-threatening injury. Hopefully, that will keep you away and make you reconsider faking injuries and illnesses, and taking a room away from someone who actually needs it.”

He hits the stop button before turning off his phone and thanking her for answering his questions. He follows her out of the room and rushes out of the building to start working on his paper.

“What’s that about?” Melissa asks, watching the boy run out of the hospital.

Y/N rolls her eyes and sighs, “Just another person who wanted to interview me. I humored him for a few questions before I told him to not come back unless he’s dying.” She hands Melissa the boy’s file that’s in her hand. “Can you put a note in his file to let the others know I won’t see him if he comes back unless necessary?”

“That’s like the fourth one this month,” Melissa laughs in disbelief.

“What can I say, I’m famous,” Y/N winks at her. She and Melissa both know how much she hates the amount of attention she’s gotten since Kate exposed her. At one point in her life, she dreamed of being a star that everyone loved and was extremely famous. Now she wishes she could go back to being a nobody.

“When do you get off today?”

“I have about four hours left and then I’m out of here. I’ve got to go home a prepare myself for family dinner.” Y/N says, grabbing a new patient’s clipboard.

“I heard Stiles telling Scott about that. Is this the first dinner with all of you together?”

“Yep, and I’m already regretting it.”

Melissa lets out a laugh, “I’m sure it will be fine, and if it isn’t, you can tell me all about it tomorrow.”

“I actually have the next two days off, so it will be a few days until I can give you a play-by-play.” With her working so many shifts to make up for her unintended long absence, she decided she needed two days to take a break. She’s exhausted and just wants to sleep in for a day.

“I can’t wait.”

---

“Hey! Where’s Stiles?” Y/N asks as she greets her dad. He’s the first one to arrive for dinner and she expected Stiles to be with him.

“He said that he could drive himself here, so I drove here straight after work.” The sheriff replies, pulling Y/N into a big hug.

“Okay, well, the others should be here soon if you want to go ahead and sit at the table, or I can turn the TV on, and you can sit in the living room and wait.”

“Where’s Derek?” He questions.

“In here!” Derek calls out from the kitchen.

The sheriff follows Y/N into the kitchen to see Derek checking on the rolls in the oven. “How are you, Derek?”

“I’m good, sir. How are you?” Derek asks, shaking Noah’s hand in greeting.

“Well, I’m still here so I guess I’m good.”

“Dad, why don’t you sit down, and I’ll help Derek finish up,” Y/N says, gesturing her hand toward their dining table. She moves to help Derek when there’s a knock on the front door. “Never mind.”

Walking toward the front door, she can hear two heartbeats on the other side. Opening the door, Tony and Peter are now standing in front of her, “Hey. Thanks for coming.” She hugs them both as they enter the loft.

They had a few conversations after taking down Kate and the hunters, but they are still a little awkward around each other. Y/N and Peter not so much, but she isn’t sure how to navigate a relationship with Tony. She doesn’t want to come off as she doesn’t care about him, but she also needs time to get used to having another dad.

With Peter it’s different. They’re close in age and they have the shared trauma from Hydra. She also feels like she talking to Stiles most of the time.

Y/N shuts the door behind them, she leads them into the kitchen. She pulls out her phone to text Stiles as they greet Derek and Noah. Tony and Peter sit down at the table, and she helps Derek bring the food over.

She looks down at her phone when it vibrates in her hand, “Stiles says he’s a bit caught up and that we should start without him. He’ll be a bit late.”

“What’s he caught up with?” Derek asks, sitting at the head of the table next to Noah and Y/N.

“He didn’t say.” She hopes it’s just something to do with school and not supernatural-related.

“So, Derek, when are you going to start working on your old house?” Peter asks Derek. Y/N has told him a bit about Derek’s plans, but she hasn’t told him everything.

“Um, soon. I’m waiting until after I hire someone to help out at the shop.” Derek replies. A few people have applied to the open position, but two of them ended up being Avengers fans who faked their resumes.

“You know who would probably be interested in the position, Barnes,” Tony says. “He would know what to do and he’s been looking for a job.”

Bucky hasn’t applied to any yet, but he has a few saved. He’d been thinking about taking a step back from the Avengers for a bit. After seeing the files and the videos of what happened to Y/N, they seemed to trigger some bad memories that he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about. He’s also had several nightmares about what they could’ve possibly done to Y/N if she wasn’t rescued when she was.

Derek shares a small look with Y/N as if to ask for help with what he should say, “Yeah, I could send him the listing to see if he’s interested, or it’s on our website too. At least, that’s what Lydia told me.”

Y/N shrugs her shoulders a little when Derek looks back at her. She’s not going to tell Derek whether he should hire him or not, or even give Bucky a chance. It’s Derek’s business so that decision is completely up to him.

Tony opens his mouth to say something else, but Y/N decides to interrupt him. She’s sure Tony is about to say something that he thinks will be helpful for Derek, and she knows Derek probably doesn’t care to hear it. Derek likes doing things his way and he doesn’t always love people injecting their opinions. “So, Dad, is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

Y/N ignores the longing look in Tony’s eyes as she speaks to the other man who raised her.

“Uh, not to my knowledge, no.” Sheriff Stilinski doesn’t know what she’s talking about. The tone in her voice says he should, but he can’t think of anything.

“Really?” Y/N looks down at his left ring finger where his wedding ring used to be.

“Right, I may or may not have a date tomorrow night.”

“Good for you,” Derek says proudly, patting him on the back. They haven’t always seen eye-to-eye, but he and the sheriff have grown closer after he started dating Y/N. It was rough at first, but they started to get along after the sheriff saw how well Derek took care of Y/N after she was attacked one night by a hunter. They bonded that night as Y/N rested. It’s why Derek knows that the sheriff going on a date is a big deal for him.

“Who’s it with?” Y/N asks with a teasing smile.

“It’s with someone you know,” Noah says, keeping it vague.

“Well, it’s not with Melissa because she would’ve told me. But you also didn’t tell me until now. Oh my god, you’re date’s with Melissa.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Deaton?”

“It’s with a woman.”

“Well, who else do I know that’s at an appropriate age for you to date?” Y/N mutters mostly to herself.

Tony and Peter silently eat their food and watch the conversation with amused smiles on their faces. They like seeing Y/N with a smile on her face. It’s a lot better than what she looked like when dealing with Hydra, the hunters, and Derek getting shot with an arrow.

“It’s Lydia’s mom,” Derek states.

Noah looks at him a little shocked. He didn’t expect Derek to guess correctly or even chime in. “How’d you know?”

“I didn’t, but I do now.” Derek sends a triumph wink toward Y/N. She’s a little surprised he’s showing this side of himself with Tony and Peter here. With strangers, and sometimes the pack, he prefers to only let them see him as the tall, broody guy who doesn’t have many feelings.

“Just don’t tell Stiles. I haven’t told him I’m going on a date yet either.” He looks pointedly toward Y/N.

“Fine. My lips are sealed.” Y/N pretends to zip her lips for added effect. “What about you Peter? How’s MJ?”

The last time Peter had talked to her about MJ he wasn’t sure about the direction of their relationship. He loves her, but she’s still in college going for her master’s and he’s moving to Beacon Hills to be closer to his sister. They hadn’t decided if they wanted to try long-distance, have Peter go back and forth, or if they should call it quits for now.

Y/N told him that she shouldn’t be the reason his relationship with MJ should change. He just replies that he thought she was dead for several years and has missed out on being in her life, so he doesn’t plan on missing anymore.

“She’s good. We still haven’t decided what we’re going to do yet.” Peter replies, keeping his eyes down on the food on his plate to avoid looking at her.

“How has it been at the hospital? Are people still showing up and harassing you?” Tony asks, turning the attention away from Peter because he can feel he doesn’t want to talk about MJ.

“Yeah, we had a guy come in today asking me questions. It’s the fifth time he’s been in this week.” Y/N rolls her eyes in annoyance.

Tony frowns at her answer. He offered her a job to work with the Avengers in their medical wing to avoid the crazy press and fans and to spend more time with her, but she declined. She likes her job, and she likes that she can help her brother and friends by having her job.

“He’s been in five times?” Derek questions, his tone on the protective side.

“Yeah, he’s some college guy who wanted to interview me for some school project.”

“College guy?” “Didn’t the school year just start?” Derek and Peter question at the same time.

“He said it was for a paper for his criminology class. I let him ask me a few questions and then told the front desk not to let him back unless he’s dying.”

“What questions did he ask you?” Peter asks.

“Like ‘how did I react when I found out’ and ‘how did I feel about the videos people were making about me.’ I gave him five questions and only answered the ones I wanted to.” Y/N shrugs like it’s no big deal. “I only did it so that he’d stop wasting the staff’s time with his fake injuries and illnesses.”

“Has Stiles told you if he’s on his way?” Noah asks, changing the subject.

Y/N checks her phone and sees that Stiles hasn’t texted her, “Nope, but you know how he gets. He probably lost track of time, or he’s still caught up in whatever he’s doing.”

The table goes quiet, and everyone continues eating. No one knows what to say. This isn’t the first dinner they’ve had together, but they all typically end in silence. They do some polite small talk in the beginning—mostly everyone only speaking to Y/N—then finish their food in silence.

Derek takes his and Y/N’s empty plates to the sink when they're done. Y/N packs up some of the leftovers for her dad to take home.

“I should go. I’ve got a long shift in the morning.” Noah says. He pats Derek on the shoulder as a goodbye. He takes the leftovers from Y/N’s hands and follows her to the front door. “I’m assuming you’re going to show up to the station before my date tomorrow.”

“You know me so well.” Y/N smiles, hugging him goodbye. “See you tomorrow. Love you.”

“Love you too.” He closes the door behind himself as he leaves. Y/N turns to Tony and Peter who are ready to leave as well.

“Thanks for having us over. Dinner was good.” Tony says, putting his jacket back on that he took off while eating.

“Thanks for coming,” Y/N says, hugging them both goodbye. “My schedule is starting to slow down so I’ll let you know when I’m free for us to do something.” She notices Tony perk up at the thought of spending more time with her.

She waves at them goodbye before closing and locking the loft door. Sighing in exhaustion, she turns to see Derek standing and staring at her with a familiar lovestruck look in his eyes.

“I feel like I could sleep for a week,” Y/N says, slowly walking over to him.

Derek wraps his arms around her when she reaches him, “Well, I’ve done the dishes, so how about we go upstairs, take a nice hot bath, and then get you to bed?”

“Keep saying things like that and I’ll get on one knee right now and ask you to marry me.”

“I prefer when you get on both knees.”

Y/N scoffs at his joke, “Just take me upstairs to a bath. If you treat me right, maybe the bath could turn into something more.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Derek says. Y/N lets out a laugh when Derek wraps his arms around her thighs and picks her up, carrying her upstairs.

---

Y/N slowly opens her eyes to see Derek asleep next to her. She smiles a little at how cute he looks when he’s asleep. Turning to the clock on her bedside table, she notices that it’s almost midnight. She’s only been asleep for a little over an hour and she’s not sure what woke her up. As she turns back to Derek, their bedroom door flies open.

“Y/N?” Stiles calls out from the doorway.

“What the fuck Stiles?” Y/N groans, clamping her eyes shut when he flicks on the bedroom light. She can feel Derek waking up next to her. “Why the fuck are you here so late?”

Stiles walks into the room and sits on the bed next to Y/N, “I feel like I’m going crazy and you’re the only one that believes me.” Y/N can smell that he reeks of anxiety.

“Go home,” Derek groans, wraps an arm around Y/N’s waist, and pulls her in closer to him, pushing his face into the back of her neck to try and hide from the light.

Y/N sighs, using her hands to block the ceiling light, “You can tell me what’s going on after you turn off the light.”

Stiles huffs in frustration but gets up and turns off the light before sitting back on the bed, “There’s something off about Theo but no one believes me. Scott thinks I should give him the benefit of the doubt and that, even if he is bad, everyone is savable.”

“Does some of this have to do with why you didn’t show up to dinner?”

“Sorry about that. Me and Liam followed him around to see what he’d do.”

“And what did he do?”

“We may have followed him to the bridge near where his sister was found.” Stiles mumbles, fiddling with the drawstrings on his hoodie.

“He could’ve noticed you following him and put on a ‘good guy’ act,” Y/N says, trying to think of something that would support Stiles’ theory.

“Don’t encourage him,” Derek mumbles sleepily behind her.

“I broke into the administration office and found the transfer form his dad signed and compared it to a speeding ticket he signed eight years ago. The signatures are completely different.” Stiles says. He knows he’s right about Theo and he doesn’t get why Scott doesn’t believe him.

“Okay, I believe you. Look, I’m exhausted so how about we get some sleep and talk about this some more later? You’ve got school tomorrow, so you need some sleep too.” Y/N says as gently as she can. She doesn’t want him to feel like she doesn’t believe him either, but she might fall back asleep any minute now. “You know you are welcome to the guest room. It’s practically yours now anyway.”

“Can I sleep in here tonight?” Stiles asks shyly.

“No,” Derek answers quickly.

“Not like in your bed, but like can I drag the guest room’s mattress in here and sleep on it on the floor?”

Even in the dark, Y/N can see the vulnerability in his eyes, “Yes, you can sleep in here.” Stiles smiles and runs out of the room toward the guest room.

“You should’ve said no,” Derek groans.

“He’s worried about his friends and senior year has been giving him a lot of anxiety after asking Dad about his high school buddies.”

“How has that given him so much anxiety that he stinks of it?”

“Dad told him that he no longer speaks to any of his friends from high school and he’s scared him and his friends will end up the same way.”

Derek sighs, “Fine, but him staying in here is a one-time thing.”

Y/N starts to reply when Stiles comes back into the room, pulling the guest bedroom mattress behind him with one hand and his pillows and blankets in the other. He puts the mattress against the wall that faces Y/N’s side of the bed.

He puts his pillows down on the mattress before laying down and wrapping his blankets around himself, “Okay, goodnight. Don’t do anything gross since I’m here.”

Y/N rolls her eyes at his last sentence, “Goodnight Stiles.”

As she starts to drift back off to sleep, she hears Stiles speak again, “Y/N?”

“What?”

“Did you notice that Dad stopped wearing his ring?”

“Yeah,” Y/N replies gently.

“Do you think he’s met someone?”

“You’d have to ask him that.” She would’ve responded with yes, but she promised her dad earlier that she wouldn’t tell Stiles because he wanted to be the one to do it.

“I just want him to be happy,” Stiles says, staring up at the ceiling.

“Me too.”

There’s a moment of silence before Stiles says, “I miss Mom.”

“Me too.”

“Okay, goodnight,” Stiles rolls over to his side to face the wall.

“Goodnight,” Y/N pushes herself back into Derek’s loose embrace. After Stiles laid out the mattress, he was out like a light. She starts to drift off again when Stiles interrupts her again.

“Hey Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for believing me.”

“Always.”

---

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