#that they can just wipe out something like that and it’s gone

[soleilapproves]

Hi can you please make boxer!Sukuna and boxer!Toji fighting for the reader's affection? Like they are close friends but when it comes to reader they just become competitive and rival to see who has her attention. OH AND THEY DO A BOXING MATCH TO SEE WHOEVER WINS GETS THE READER BUT NO ONE WINS AND THE READER TENDS TO THEM(sorry I yapped)

Of course I can <3

cw: fem!reader, light descriptions of fighting, jealousy and rivalry, not proofread (yet)

Toji ran his tongue along the cleft of his scar. His eyes raked down his face and pecs in the mirror as his Adam’s Apple bobbed in his throat.

He didn’t know why he was so nervous. Women usually fawned over him without him needing to give even a morsel of his attention. Free drinks at his side of the bar counter, hastily written numbers on lipstick marked tissues shoved lazily in the pocket of his jeans. He knew he was irresistible.

He just wasn’t sure if you, his friend and clueless crush, thought the same way about him. Blissfully unaware of how he’d constantly clear his throat to prevent his voice from embarrassingly cracking while speaking to you. He was so mortified the first time it happened that he didn’t look you in the eye for a whole week.

The man was tired of waiting and was going to ask you out no matter what. Friendship be damned, his feelings for you were growing stronger by the day, festering in the core of his chest every time you’d look up at him through your lashes.

While Toji was mentally prepping himself in locker room, Sukuna was sitting in the middle of the gym’s boxing ring, elbows resting on his knees with his head in his hands.

To say that he was in a dilemma was an understatement.

What’s worse than having an unrequited crush on your best friend? Knowing that your other friend and coincidental sparring partner, likes her too. For the past few days, Sukuna had his doubts that Toji had a crush on their friend, and it was soon confirmed when Toji didn’t help Sukuna up after defeating him in a practice match.

The dark haired man simply sauntered over to you, making sure to flex his sweaty abs as he wiped his face with a towel around his neck.

That sly motherfucker—

But Sukuna couldn’t blame him. He would’ve the same too. If it all came down to objectification, he would’ve happily posed for a cliche racy calendar as long as he knew you’d buy it.

“Can we talk?” Sukuna looked up to see Toji standing outside the ring. He was shirtless. He always did that when he knew you were coming over to watch a practice match.

Sukuna cursed under his breath as he got up, not bothering to leave the platform. His ego prevented him from feeling like Toji’s equal. His coach would never approve of his behavior.

“Look, I’m tired of pretending like we both don’t know how we feel about her.” Sukuna only shot daggers at Toji’s unfairly handsome face as he said that. The pink haired man was starting to think that he should’ve just gone to the nasty part of town to get a facial scar instead of tattoos.

He hated the way you’d always fawn over the story of how Toji got his scar. There was something so beautiful yet harrowing about seeing your eyebrows furrow and soft lips jut with a slight wobble over that man in particular.

“And I wanna let you know that I’m gonna tell her how I feel,” he added.

There weren’t a lot of things that surprised Sukuna. Hell, he wasn’t surprised when he realized Toji liked you too. Who wouldn’t? You’re a total sweetheart.

But Toji’s sudden urge to confess and seek a serious relationship was unexpected. Sukuna didn’t remember the last time the man had called a woman after taking her out on one date.

He didn’t want you to end up as just another number in his phone book.

“And sacrifice your friendship with her for a good one-time fuck once you realize that you’re thinking with your dick? Sure, go ahead. But just so you know, she doesn’t deserve that,” Sukuna angrily countered.

“Oh, shut up. You’re only saying that so I’ll back off. You’ve started treating me differently ever since you started liking her too. Well, just so you know, I’m not afraid of a little competition. It’s obvious who she’ll pick.”

Toji cursed himself internally. He didn’t want a pick a fight with his friend, but when it comes to you, he could never rationalize his actions. He angled his head and folded his arms, tucking them by his pecs, trying to be as imposing as possible, “at least I don’t ignore her when she’s feeling down.”

Desperate times call for passive aggressive and triggering measures.

Sukuna chuffs as rage fills him to the brim, vermillion eyes trained on his peer. “Well, since we’re both obsessed with her, let’s settle this like men. Let’s spar-no gloves, no helmets. Whoever wins confesses to her first.”

Tension permeates the gym much like the thick musk of sweat. Toji licks his bottom teeth as he glares at Sukuna.

“Fine.”

The two men walk over to the opposite ends of the ring, wrapping their fists with white bandages. Warriors getting ready for a battle that would determine their fate.

Over the years, Sukuna had built himself to be a formidable fighter, often scaring his opponents by the sheer mention of his name.

His image, of course, never intimidated Toji. Their staunch friendship made it easy for him to not cower under Sukuna’s larger frame and daunting gaze. They’d been through thick and thin together. A brotherly bond like no other.

Though, when you were added into the equation, things changed. Exponentially.

Toji felt like he was having an out of body experience when he turned down a woman for yet another one night stand, feeling guilty for what you might think about his habits. He started styling his shaggy hair better, trimming it out of his eyes in hopes of you seeing him as a kempt man, unlike the unpolished ruffian he used to be.

Sukuna changed his vocabulary when you complained about him swearing too much. Though there were a few slips of tongue, he’d apologize soon after, only to feel rewarded when you’d giggle and tell him all was good. He found himself truly changing when he debated keeping the stray cat you found while walking to the gym one day. That cat still hangs out at his apartment. Until he finds a suitable owner of course (and not because it makes him feel like you’re both raising a child together whenever you ask about the little rascal).

The two men harnessed their emotions in every punch, each hit impacting harder than the last. By now, there were red splotches of both their blood on the bandages. They couldn’t tell if it was a mixture or their own.

Toji had landed a particularly hard punch in Sukuna’s stomach when you had walked in, chatting Uraume’s ear off about some Greek restaurant you discovered.

“I’m gonna go call Coach Yaga. You try to deescalate the situation,” Uraume instructs you before jogging towards the office.

You gasped as you heard the loud thump. The men were too busy brawling to notice that you had walked in.

“Oh my God!” You ran towards the ring, hand stamped to your mouth when you saw blood coating your friends’ bodies.

Toji looked at you momentarily, sending you a quick smile before ducking away from Sukuna’s attack. “Hey, you’re here early.”

“Yeah, and I’m glad I did. Why are you guys hurting each other like this? Stop it!”

“Oh, just relax, we’re only practicing,” Sukuna cajoles as he lands a hard punch on Toji’s jaw.

You could only wince at the sound. “You guys never fight without your gloves. What is going on?”

“Don’t worry about it,” both men said in unison.

There was no way you could’ve stopped the fight by entering the ring. You did not want to accidentally hurt yourself while trying to pry the two fighters apart.

So you watched and cringed each time someone got a gnarly punch, bruising them like a peach.

Toji peered up at you through his sweaty and matted bangs as you placed an ice pack on his bloody knuckles. He hissed as you pressed the cold brick even harder, trying to numb the area.

The boxers rash decision led you to where you stood right now: between them in the locker room with an opened first aid kit sitting on the same bench as them. By the time Coach Yaga arrived to break them apart, both men had battered each other to a pulp. Sukuna was sporting a painful purple eye that matched Toji’s (mainly because it was given in retaliation).

Toji had bruises all over his chest and both men had sent each other so many punches that the friction from the knuckle bandages had rubbed their skin raw, leaving their hands covered in blood.

As punishment, Coach Yaga sent them both to the locker room to fix their injuries themselves, but you couldn’t handle seeing them wince in pain every time they touched something so you followed them in.

Sukuna groaned as he lightly touched his purple eye and you immediately moved to where he was sitting to attend to it. You grabbed another ice pack and placed it by his brow bone. His hand was quick to cover yours, preventing you from moving it away immediately.

“What were you both thinking? Did you guys argue over something?”

You were met with silence, both men sitting like toddlers who had been caught trying to secretly stay up past bed time. “I don’t understand how you both can be so immature.”

You try to move your hand away from Sukuna’s ice pack but his hold is rigid. “Let me go, I need to look at Toji’s injuries and my hand’s going numb.”

Toji sends a smug smirk to Sukuna when you turn around to dig through the first aid box. Sukuna only replies to his friend by baring his fangs.

“I didn’t expect this at all. You guys are friends,” you continued as you dabbed ointment on the small cut on Toji’s jaw.

The raven haired man gulps as your scent enshrouds him. It’s much better than the amalgamated miasma of bleach and Old Spice in the locker room.

All while Toji was enjoying being close to you, Sukuna scoffed internally while watching the scene with his good eye. Two could play that game.

“Hey, could put a muscle relaxing patch on my back? I think I’ve got a huge bruise there,” Toji’s head whips towards his sparring partner as he chews the inside of his cheek.

You nod sweetly, and the place the ointment filled cotton pad in Toji’s palm so you could attend to Sukuna instead. Toji watched with betrayed eyes as you gasped at the sight of Sukuna’s back.

“Oh my God, you’re right. This looks horrible.” You glare at Toji. “You really didn’t hold back, didn’t you?”

“Are you seriously gonna blame all of this on me? What about my face?” Toji counters.

“You’re right. I can’t just blame this on you. You’re both at fault for ending up like this,” you reprimand both men as you stick a muscle relief patch on Sukuna’s back. The softness of your hands makes him momentarily forget about his pain.

“Meat-headed oafs,” you mumble under your breath.

“I think I’ve got a bruise on my back too. Can you apply a patch there?” Sukuna throws a middle finger to Toji when you turn your back to them.

When you’re about to go back to the first aid box after applying Toji’s patch, Sukuna pulls you to him again, “I think I need more patches on my ribs.”

Exhaustion begins to settle into your bones, but you listen to your friend anyway. You’re about to leave until Toji grabs your waist and pulls you into his direction.

He looks at you with puppy dog eyes. “Can you massage my biceps? They’re very sore—“

“Hey, I think my patch’s adhesive isn’t strong. Can you apply another one?” Sukuna interrupts.

Jealousy bubbles in both of them and it threatens to spill out.

“I asked her for help first!”

“But I can’t reach my back. You can touch your biceps just fine—“

“Both of you shut up! I’m not your slave. Uraume will help you. I’m mad and I’m going home. You’re both such babies.” And with that you walk out of the locker room with a sulking faces and folded arms.

“This is all your fault,” Toji blames. Sukuna simply slaps his friend’s bicep and Toji’s lack of a whimper makes him scoff.

“You just wanted an excuse for her to touch you. I needed real help.”

“You gotta do what you gotta do to get attention. I’m gonna confess to her before you know it.”

Sukuna knows he’s being warned. And he knows he shouldn’t wait around for too long or you’ll be swept away when he least expects it.

[marbofmoorock]

Gotta love the day after Valentine's Day. Jax strikes me as the type of guy to buy up a bunch of seasonal candy when it's cheap and on clearance the day after.

He presents a few to Ragatha:

"Ey Dollface, don't you know life is, eh, like a box of Chocolates?"

"Oh, weeeell, ehehe, Becaaause you don't know what you're gonna ge-"

(Splat)

"NOPE. Life just kinda has a way of testing people, like right now, Raggy."

Ragatha Sits completely stunned as the partially melted chocolates slide down amd cover her face, she already had kind of a bad day, and just when she thought it couldn't get any worse, Jax throws melted Chocolate in her face, she tears up.

"(Sobs)...Y-yeah...I guess..."

Jax notices Ragatha's more sad response, usually expecting her to be upset, after all that had gone on today. But Ragatha was clearly done with today, tearing up as she felt like everything was just falling apart around her, no matter how much she had helped.

Jax feels a pang of guilt, something he hadn't felt in a long time, despite often antagonizing others for fun.

"I... Look, I'm sorry, Rags...I...Didn't know you'd take it so hard uhh-"

Jax pauses, seeing how Ragatha is still covered in chocolate, it's all over her face and her dress, she sat down on a nearby block, and buried her face in her mitt hands.

Jax starts to realize that he's really messed up, feeling anxious and upset, hoping to fix what he had done, a gentler and more considerate side of Jax coming out as he finds a nearby box of wipes, and walks up to Ragatha.

At first, she winces at Jax as she seemed next to broken at this point, unable to handle another joke or anything mean. She lifts her head and her eyes meet Jax's out of fear and confusion as she guards her face with her hands.

"Stop..." She said weakly, thinking Jax was going to hurt her again.

Jax saw the hurt in Ragatha's eyes, and felt awful.

"Hold still Rags, I'm gonna fix this."

"Fix...-wh-huh?"

Jax places a wet wipe on Ragatha's chocolate covered face, wiping clean the section of her face the wipe is on.

Ragatha, fearful of Jax at first, started to see that this wasn't a prank, motionless to see what would happen next, as Jax was acting so out of character, she thought.

Jax continued to wipe Ragatha's face, hair, and was even able to clean off most of the stains on her dress since they were fresh. Ragatha starred in silence, confused and surprised at what was going on.

"Jaxxy..." Ragatha whispered under her breath, still flabbergasted.

Jax looked at Ragatha as he threw the used wipes away and looked at Ragatha. Ragatha returned her gaze, curious as to what is even going on.

"Jax, I...I have no words. You pulled a real dirty prank on me, yet...you clean up the mess and take care of me."

Jax looks down in silence, feeling stupid, unable to look Ragatha in the eye, until Ragatha holds Jax's cheek, gently leaning his chin in her direction.

"Jax...what's going on?" She said

"Look, I've hurt you. I can see that. I've hurt everyone, and I thought it was all a game, until now...I must hurt you the most, don't I? I've not been kind to you."

"You do pull too many harmful pranks. But I still like you just fine."

Jax Smiles; "Okay Dollface, harmless pranks are fine with you? Good, I'd miss those, but I'll lay off the meanie ones."

"Thank you Jaxxy...I like when you surprise me." says Ragatha as she holds Jax close, Jax blushes a little as Ragatha closes her eyes and snuggles closer to Jax as her arms are wrapped around his waist.

Jax sees and feels Ragatha's strong affections, returning them by giving Ragatha more of his own, Hugging Ragatha close in a intimate and sweet way, being more of a snuggly bunny instead of a real raspy rash of a rabbit he usually was before.

Jax felt the need to shelf his harmful pranks and be more of a team player, so he declares this to Ragatha.

"I'm sorry, Raggy, I'm sorry for everything. I'll make it up to you guys, we'll be a team. I'll help build trust with everyone again, we'll make it out one day, and I won't leave any of you behind."

"Aw, Jaxxy, I forgive you, and I love you. Just don't let go Jaxxy, I don't know if i could handle being this low alone again."

"I promise Raggy, to be there for you, and for everyone."

...

After Ragatha and Jax bond and settle their differences, Jax goes around to Apologize to Everyone.

He starts with Gangle.

"I'm sorry Gangle. Maybe I could help you build a comedy mask that sticks together."

Gangle, surprised as Ragatha was, waited for Jax to prank her a second later when she wasn't expecting it.

"W...w-what?" Said Gangle, confused, yet sad her comedy mask broke yet again today.

"Your mask Gangle, it's made of porcelain, so it's always breaking, you need more plastic masks so they don't break anymore. I could help ya with that. It's the least I can do, I've been a real jerk to ya and..."

Gangle then looks into Jax's eyes, seeing the determination, anxiety, and care in his eyes, her heartwarming gaze leaves Jax trailing off.

"Jax wow...I...I forgive you." Gangle smiles, seeing Jax is genuine in his apology and desire to be better. "I also accept your help to fix my masks."

Jax smiles and they hug it out, happy to be friends again, Gangle trusting Jax and being closer to him now more than ever before.

"Kaufmo may be gone, but we're still here. We'll make it, all of us, together."

Gangle sheds a tear as Jax and Gangle Hug, her ribbon arms tightening as she remembers Kaufmo upon hearing Jax speak of him.

"Of Course Jaxxy. We'll do it for him and for all of us."

...

Later, Kinger and Jax sit on the couch together after Jax asked him if they could talk.

"Kinger, I just want you to know I'm sorry.

"Ha-Okay Jax. I understand. Just be nice, and things will be grand. I knew you'd come around. All is forgiven."

They do a bro hug, and Jax and Kinger go about their day, Kinger is very understanding of Jax.

....

After that quickly lived apology, Jax approaches Pomni.

Pomni was in her room and Jax kocked on her door.

Pomni answers it.

"Hi ther-oh. Uh...Hey..."

Pomni's words were cautious and suspicious, she was ready for Jax to take a potshot at her.

"Pomni, I've got something important i want to say."

Pomni looks at Jax, studying his expression as she watched slightly guarded behind the door.

"Okaaaay...what is it?"

Jax sighs.

"I'm sorry, okay?"

Pomni pauses, not expecting Jax to Apologize.

"Sorry? Foooor...what?"

"For not treating you better when you arrived up until now, and everybody else for that matter. I've been a real jerk to you, and I'm sorry...I don't expect you to forgive me, I just want you to understand, and know that I will be looking out for everyone here on out."

Pomni opens the door a little, fully unveiling herself to Jax, seeing how frustrated and sad Jax looked, as if he had wanted to apologize for the longest time, but was too prideful and finally cracked.

"I don't understand. Why are you apologizing now? Why are you being like this?"

"Because I've caused everyone a lot of pain... and i want to do something, even if i can't make up for it..."

Pomni silently watches Jax, seeing how remorseful he was.

"I have toyed with you and screwed around too much. You're a part of the crew Pomni, and just know that we're all gonna look out for you from here on out. All of us, Ragatha, Gangle, Kinger, I've made amends with everyone, everyone except..."

"Thank you Jax. I think Zooble will find it in their heart to forgive you...I know Zooble might have most difficulty doing so, but, I can see you're sorry. Just know I forgive you, okay?"

Jax smiles, relieved to know Pomni accepts his forgiveness and has restored a level of trust with her. "Thank you Pomni. I guess I should go tell her."

"I could come with you."

"I'm the one who played with Zooble's feelings, I should do this one my own. Later Pomni."

"Okay, see ya Jax."

Pomni closes her door and Jax scoots over to Zooble's room, which her door was wide open. Zooble had three boxes full of parts of varying kinds, she was shuffling through each of them, hoping to find a pieces she'd like, seemingly frustrated over how she couldn't find one.

Jax considered checking in later, but Zooble notices him first.

"Oh great, what do you want now?" She said with a bitter tone, ready for Jax's onslaught of pranking she was used to.

"Zooble, I uh, just want you to know that I....am...sorry."

Zooble scoffs at hearing Jax saying that.

"No, you're not."

Jax felt guilty as he could feel Zooble's frustration as she rejected his apology.

"What's your ■■■■ing problem anyway? You seek to prank me a whole lot. Now you make a mess of my already wild life, and now you're just gonna walk on in her, to me, and just apologize to make it all better!? You must think I'm some kinda idiot."

"...I am sorry. I really am."

"Shut up, you aren't. You don't need to try. You're not worth it."

Jax thinks over how he's going to explain this.

"Zooble wait, I'm-

(THEN ANOTHER VOICE WAS HEARD, no, MULTIPLE, at Zooble's doorway)

"He's Sorry, he really is..." Said Gangle, trying to convince Zooble that Jax was nice for a change for real.

"Really? Clearly this is buildup for another one of his 'jokes.' He's gonna spring it on-"

"Zooble, give him a chance, he really is sorry..." Said Ragatha.

Zooble sees Ragatha feeling much better than she did earlier, feeling as if she's perhaps missed something.

"You too? What the f■■■ is going on around here? Have you guys gone Mad? Jax is a piece of sh-"

"Ha-Zooble," said Kinger next, " Jax has asked everyone for forgiveness. He changed. He's turned a new leaf."

"Kinger, Jax is always toying with us of course he's waiting to-"

Zooble stops mid-sentence to see Pomni walk up, from behind the rest of the crew at the doorway, smiling.

"He does mean it Zooble..." Said Pomni, hoping Zooble would understand, knowing how much she was hurt by Jax.

Jax, was silent, looking away, unsure of what to say.

"Uuugggh...(sigh) Fine Jax. You're forgiven. We'll work on it."

Jax lights up a little, smiling in a more happy way, as opposed to his usual sly calculated expression.

"Thank you Zooble."

The whole crew brings Jax and Zooble into a hug.

Caine pops in out of nowhere, seeing everyone her along, and gets in on the hug too.

"Aww, I'm so glad you guys are getting along!" Said Caine as they let him in on the hug too.

I'm lazy but I still wanted to put something out wheeze

Happy V Day !

[akimoroll]

bluff

nagumo yoichi x afab!reader — 3k wc — ao3

c/w: smut. porn with some plot. semi-public sex. rivals w/ benefits. jcc nagumo (if you’re uncomfy with that pls step away from the vehicle) mdni.

a/n: was having second thoughts about posting this because im super insecure with writing porn but here we are. happy hearts day to the 4 ppl who like my shit. and to @angstigone, it’s you, it’s you, it’s all for you 🌷

Sakamoto Taro and Akao Rion. These two were the ones you wanted to be as strong as. But Nagumo came into the picture and out of the three, he seemed the most approachable and you’re not the nicest with asking favors either.

“Me? Train…you?” asked Nagumo, head tilted to the side.

“Yes. I need it to happen as soon as possible.” You answered way too quickly and way too plainly.

“What’s in it for me?”

“I don’t know. What do you want?”

That was the question that started it all. A bet made between just the two of you. Whoever scores higher in class activities for the week would get the upper hand and have their way with the loser. Nagumo lets you win without fail while he decides on what he wants out of it. He plays along because it’s fun while he gives you the satisfaction that you’re winning against him.

You took advantage of this because it meant you could improve yet there are times you wished he’d take you seriously. He seemed too carefree all the time and it bothered you. It bothered you so much that your competitiveness grew into you wanting to rival him instead of his other two friends.

These games went on and on, far longer than you both remember. You were getting better at it. However, it was becoming repetitive.

Until it wasn’t.

Lately, when he pins you down—on the floor, against the wall, or wherever, and his taunts hidden beneath layers of:

“Ah, that was close! Getting stronger now, aren't you?”

“You’re making it harder for me these days.”

“Relaaax… You left yourself wide open with that temper of yours.”

—begin rolling out of his mouth, it sends tingles all over your body, making it harder to ignore the way he affects you. And when you do the same and put your whole body weight on him, you’d notice the slight flush on his cheeks, ignoring and thinking they’re just from exertion.

Until he wasn’t trying to hide it anymore. So you asked, “What’s that fucking face all about?”

And he cluelessly countered, “Huh? What face?”

“That face you keep doing! You’re blushing like some…” you trailed off, trying to find the right words before you hesitantly continued, “…virgin.”

And you swore you saw something shift with his smile yet it was gone before you could catch it. He shrugged, “Well, yeah, it’s because I am.”

“Pfft, yeah right. No shit.” you said after an eye roll. But when he wasn’t biting back, you had to do a double take, asking, “Wait, really?”

And sometimes being driven and nosy is not the best combo. Because just like always, Nagumo went along when you had suggested another idea. You were curious to see how he reacts to you. How pathetic he can become under your touch. Wipe the smugness off his face. Watch him break character as he succumbs at the mercy of using just your hands, just your mouth, or simply the sweet nothings you’d whisper into his ear.

It was initially intended as a silly joke when you asked if he wanted to try something yet here you are, in too deep, flown too close. You had some sort of control for once and the thrill had you addicted.

Him lying about his chastity crossed your mind but who cares at this point. After all, he’s such a pretty face. Prettier when he smiles. Prettiest when he cries.

Neither of you showed any hint of disapproval towards it so it became one of your routine interactions. Every single time you leave him behind in that dark and cramped utility room, you act as if nothing happened. He does the same, if anything, he does it better. Another unspoken contest added on top of an existing one.

It’s better that way, you think.

All of this is nothing more than just a bet anyway.

With Valentine’s day around the corner, Nagumo thinks about the piles and piles of chocolate boxes he’s once again going to receive. Enough for him to walk around the JCC like he’s some kind of celebrity. He’s aware that you never cared for such things. Still… He wanted to know. What’s the harm in asking?

“W-What are you up to on Valentines?” Nagumo stammers around his question, a dazed smile lingers on his lips as you take him throat deep.

Wiping your mouth with your hand and stroking his dick with the other, you ponder before speaking, “And you’re asking me because…?”

“I heard—” he gasps with a shaky exhale as you begin pressing circles over his tip with your thumb. Struggling to maintain control in the face of your touch, he continues, “you’re finally making chocolates for me this year.”

Looking up at him, you chuckle softly, “Must be your other bitch.”

“Shh, quiet down, someone might hear you’re jealous.” He attempts a coy grin before gasping once more, eyes rolling at the back of his head as you drag the length of his dick on your tongue before slowly pushing into your mouth once again.

Just for you to stop and coo at him, pouting, “Aw~ He thinks he’s so funny.”

“I am funny. You look like you’re having lots of fun right now.”

“So much fun that I’m your secret… And you can’t tell a fucking soul. Keep it up.”

“You’re cruel.”

“I think it’s quite romantic.”

He snorted, “You’re sick and you’re mean. I have feelings you know…”

“For me?” You giggle before continuing, “Or you want me to give you something to cry about?”

Nagumo suppresses a chuckle as he closes his mouth like an imaginary zipper, tilting his head back as he tries to stop himself from blowing his load right then and there (yet fails miserably) with the image of your face at the forefront of his mind.

Nagumo’s done playing with his food.

Days before Valentines, you found yourself in a pinch. He didn’t let you win the bet this time. He scored higher than you in everything with ease and precision. An overkill to say the least. You’re well aware how he easily lets you win each time. It has always been one-sided. But the sudden change threw you off and had you feeling a mix of dread and anticipation for what’s about to come.

You’re pissed, flustered, with trembling fingers hidden inside clenched fists. Thinking, he’s going to have his way with you for the first time since this stupid bet started.

He smirks as he towers behind you while your mind races on all the possibilities on how he’s gonna strip you, bend you over, throw you around like a rag doll, have fistfuls of your hair as he fucks the living shit out of you. Maybe get his payback for all the teasing and edging you subjected him to, how you had him wrapped around your fingers behind closed doors.

Or so you thought.

In the confined space that you and him usually share secret meetings with, Nagumo has his chest pressed against your back as he fucks you softly. He covers you with his warmth. The room grows humid with him repeatedly sighing against your skin, his face hidden in the crook of your neck. There’s fondness in his touch with the way he has his hands all over you, like they had always belonged there.

There’s no rushing. He treats you with gentleness, like you’re the most precious little thing he’s ever laid his hands on. His voice slurs at the mentions of your name, breath feverishly hot against your neck. With his dick all wet and snug inside you, he makes you forget everything. The bet. The thoughts you had when you first walked in. Or whatever the fuck this one-sided rivalry was all about.

He’s got you thinking of him and him only.

As he parts your trembling legs wider, Nagumo reaches for a hand in between, whispering how wet you are, how good you make him feel. His long slender fingers pressing circles over your clit, making you whimper with his dick thrusting in and out of you. His movements ever so slow as you shudder under him.

He notices your hand slowly anchoring onto something. And one thing about Nagumo is he doesn’t like it when you cling onto something that isn’t him. He’d rather you claw at him, have fistfuls of his locks in your grasp, dig your fingers into his skin and have it painted blue and black, maybe draw a bit of blood like you always do.

So he lays you gently on a flat surface, that way he can have all your attention. He teases your folds before thrusting all the way in and then all the way out, again and again, coating his entire length with your wetness. He cradles the back of your head with his hands like a pillow to make it less uncomfortable for you, but more so to keep your eyes straying away from him. Your bodies mold into each other, keeping himself close to you as much as he possibly can, as if you’d escape if he clings a little less.

Finding yourselves face to face—just how he likes it—he inhales every soft sigh that escapes your lips, his voice breaking like stained glass every time he bottoms out with your pussy creaming around the base of his dick. He’s truly blushing now that he’s so completely lost in you, mesmerized by the fluttering of your lashes and the hazy look in your eyes as he thrusts deep inside you.

Nagumo could cum just by looking at you.

As a distraction, he thinks of something else to make the moment last longer, make it worthwhile. But then he remembers he’s never kissed you before. He thought about it maybe once or twice, doesn’t really matter since you never asked. You never initiated. Hell, you don’t even let him touch you. Not like this. Not when you see it as him one upping you. It had been enough for him that you’d let him watch you please yourself sometimes, telling him you’re being nice.

This is much more intimate than the acts you’ve shared thus far. And right now, you’re simply holding your end of the deal. Nothing more.

Yet you just had to shift it all one-eighty and go diving into his mind, whispering, “Yoichi, how come you never kiss me?”

He murmurs, “Thought you’d never ask.” and wastes no time, pressing his moist lips onto yours, deepening it as he feels you do the same. With all lips and tongue, your moans melt into his mouth. It’s all he could think about, your softness, the way you move your head to kiss him more, your sweaty palms cradling his face. He’s been denying himself of it this entire time and now it’s all he wants to do.

With his mind completely consumed by you and your pussy full of him, Nagumo finds himself hurtling so incredibly close to the edge. He picks up his pace, the pleasure slowly becoming unbearable for him with your moans turning into sweet sobs. Your pussy feels mind-numbingly good to him, clamping, squeezing around his dick like you’re milking him.

He leaves you wanting more as he pulls out. With brows knitted and mouth slightly parted, he pants softly as he strokes his dick so fucking wet from your dripping cunt. His chest heaves deeply, skin glistening with his sweat mixed with yours. You watch him cum all over your belly as he makes a face that you grew familiar with, yet now it feels all too different, and a part of you wishes he should’ve cum inside you.

Nagumo wonders why he waited so long to do this. It feels better than anything he’s done. So much better now that he’s doing it with you. The urge to kiss you once more overcomes him. And so he lets it. He makes his way down your neck, tracing your collarbone, circling in on your tits, taking his sweet time, staying there for a good while. He laps your nipples with his tongue, his thumbs drawing circles as he squeezes both in his palms.

He then finds his way to your arms. A kiss for every bruise and scar you had developed from training with him, he thinks they’re beautiful, clouding over the line between an apology and confession. He goes lower, his tongue sloppily swirls around your fingers and palms calloused from being so hard on yourself. Nagumo smirks as he meets your gaze, sealing it with wet kisses on the back of your hands like the gentleman he believes he is.

He goes lower and lower onto your belly, licking, tasting his own self off your skin. He leaves moist prints from your hips onto your thighs, kissing the back of your legs, sucking, biting gently down to your heels and toes. He kisses all over your body, leaving evidence of himself—digging in on every fucking inch of you. What a sight…he thinks, as you writhed under him.

Lifting your hips with your thighs over his shoulders, Nagumo swallows thick before dragging his tongue over your pussy. You’re dripping… making a mess, creaming all over his mouth. He draws faint circles as he toys with your clit, and when you buck your hips for more as your body shivers, he can’t help but meet your gaze and grin a little.

He squeezes the flesh of your thighs when you reach for his hair partially hiding his eyes, gripping them tight, pushing his face more desperately into your soaked cunt. Tingles run down his spine as you cry out his name in pleasure. You have him worked up once more, taking all his strength to fight the urge to fuck you again.

Nagumo holds you by the curve of your waist, keeping you in place as you arch your back once again. He’s drinking you, your juices trickling from the side of his mouth. You taste sweeter now when you say you’re close as you keep grinding your hips.

Having you fall apart for him is all he wants to see, all he wants to hear, all he wants to feel.

And he’s going to take you there.

So good, he murmurs an octave lower, encouraging you to fuck yourself into his mouth. A couple more rolls of your hips, a few more flicks of his tongue, you finally snap. And it feels so so good for Nagumo to make you cum, putting his mouth to good use and having you worked up in an entirely different way. You’re so pretty like this—breathlessly gasping curses alongside his name with your pussy melting onto his tongue.

He could do this for hours. Eat you out just to kill time. But he needs to be patient again, for now.

Replacing his mouth with a hand, he thumbs your clit while he continues to fuck knuckles deep inside you, curving and thrusting in slow paces. A wordless whine is all you could do as a protest, but he doesn’t stop. He leans closer to you, his kisses demanding and sloppy, showing how good you taste. Hazy brown eyes staring you down, he murmurs against your lips, “You alright? Enjoying yourself?”

A breathy “Shut up.” is all you could manage. Not sure if you’re simply fucked out, dazed, awkward, angry… or all of the above. His touch leaves you and you want it back more than you care to admit. He comes back and wipes you down, and then helps you with your clothes. He doesn’t say a word other than making sure if you’re okay. Everything feels normal and abnormal at the same time, making you momentarily forget how icky and unromantic the place was.

Nagumo may have done things to you that only lovers do.

And like a flip on a switch, he’s back to his usual self. His carefree innocent smile appears like nothing happened. So you try to play it cool as well, chuckling, “You’re still… D’you wanna go for round two?”

“Nah, it’s fine.” He slips into his shirt and pants, dusting it with his palms before meeting your gaze, smiling, “It’s almost lights out. Come on.”

“Oh, right.” You nod, he opens the door and you both go your separate ways like usual.

First time you lost the bet.

First time Nagumo shows you what a true win feels like.

February 14 is here and after strolling around the bustling academy, pushing a cart full of sweets he received from his admirers in different departments, Nagumo and Sakamoto settle in the cafeteria, still drawing a steady stream of girls eager to give what they had prepared for them.

Across the room, you’re sauntering towards where Nagumo is, empty handed. And as you reach his pile of gifts, you grab one and plop down on his lap sideways before looking at him with a coy grin.

Nagumo watched the whole thing, his awe hidden behind a clueless smile as you slam the box less forcefully than you wanted to on the table. After prying it open, you select a piece, holding it between your fingers an inch closer to his lips. You pause to speak, “You know, I heard we’re a thing now.”

Nagumo blinks. “Ohhh? Says who?” He rests his cheek on his hand while he holds your waist with the other, his deep brown eyes now filled with amusement gazing up at you.

You feed him a piece, and then another, not giving him a chance to chew. And another one, until he has a mouthful of chocolate made by some girl who doesn’t matter right now. After looking around, you let your bloodlust seep out a little as you wipe the corners of his lips, just to spread it more messily. Leaning closer, softly, you finally answer, “Says me.”

Good fold, he thinks.

You see, the thing about Nagumo is he wants. He may not know exactly what it is all the time, but what he wants is what he gets. And right now, you’re exactly where it’s at.

[meinii]

“heart-shaped cake”

summary: you and Zayne make a cake together to celebrate valentine’s day♡

content: fluff

୨୧･｡｡･♡･∴･♡･｡｡･୨୧

valentine’s day with Zayne was something you had been looking forward to for weeks. you weren’t expecting anything grand—no over-the-top gestures, no expensive dinners. just a quiet day together, making memories in the simplest ways. and when he suggested baking a valentine’s day cake together, you couldn’t have been happier.

it started with a trip to the supermarket, where the two of you wandered through the aisles, picking out everything you needed. flour, sugar, eggs, butter, cocoa powder, chocolate chips—everything to make the perfect cake

“are you sure we need this much chocolate?” Zayne asked, holding up an extra bag of chocolate chips

“yes,” you said without hesitation, tossing another into the cart. “trust me, we’ll use them”

he gave you a look, one brow slightly raised, but he didn’t argue. instead, he reached for a container of strawberries, inspecting them carefully before placing them in the cart

“for decoration” he said simply when you glanced at him

by the time you reached the checkout, the cart was filled with more than just cake ingredients—some extra snacks had mysteriously found their way in, along with a bottle of hot cocoa mix.

as soon as you stepped outside, you reached for one of the bags, but before you could take it, Zayne had already grabbed them all

“i can carry some” you insisted, reaching again

he shook his head, adjusting the weight of the bags effortlessly “you’ll hurt your wrist”

“I won’t,” you huffed “they’re not that heavy”

but he wasn’t budging. with the way he held them, making it look effortless, you knew you weren’t winning this argument

“just let me do this” he said, his voice quieter, softer

you sighed but smiled. “fine. but next time, I’m carrying something”

he didn’t respond, but the small glance he gave you—the one that said we both know that’s not happening—was enough to make you laugh.

back home, you unpacked everything onto the kitchen counter, rolling up your sleeves as you pulled up the recipe. Zayne leaned against the counter beside you, watching as you measured out the ingredients

“you trust me not to mess this up?” you teased

he let out a small chuckle “I’ve seen you cook before. I trust you… mostly”

you gasped, lightly nudging his arm “rude”

he smirked but didn’t say anything, instead picking up the bag of chocolate chips and opening it

“here,” you said, taking a few between your fingers “try some”

he glanced at you before leaning down slightly, letting you press the chocolate into his mouth. he chewed thoughtfully, then nodded

“acceptable”

you rolled your eyes “oh, acceptable? they’re delicious”

before he could argue, you popped one into your own mouth, savoring the sweetness

mixing the batter was a smooth process— Zayne was surprisingly precise when it came to following instructions, carefully measuring and sifting everything as you worked together. when it came time to pour the batter into the heart-shaped pan, he let you do the honors, watching as you spread it evenly

“looks good” he said, adjusting his glasses slightly

“of course it does,” you said proudly, wiping a bit of flour off your cheek “we make a great team”

he hummed in agreement, stepping back to let you slide the cake into the oven. while it baked, you both cleaned up, sneaking bits of leftover chocolate and licking batter off your fingers

“you’ve got some—” Zayne gestured near your lip

before you could ask where, he reached out, swiping his thumb over the corner of your mouth

you froze for a moment, feeling the warmth of his touch

“gone” he said, completely unfazed, turning to rinse his hands

you stared at him, heartbeat a little unsteady, before quickly looking away.

after what felt like forever, the timer finally beeped. you pulled the cake out carefully, letting it cool before decorating

Zayne sliced the strawberries with precision, while you piped the frosting along the edges, the scent of chocolate filling the air.

when it was done, you both stepped back to admire it

a perfectly heart-shaped chocolate cake, topped with fresh strawberries and a dusting of powdered sugar

“I think we outdid ourselves” you said, grinning

Zayne nodded “it’s almost too nice to eat”

“almost” you agreed, grabbing a knife

the first bite was pure heaven—rich, soft, with just the right amount of sweetness. you watched as Zayne took a bite, his expression unreadable at first

then, after a moment, he nodded again “not bad”

“not bad?” you gasped “it’s amazing”

he smirked “fine. it’s amazing”

satisfied, you both sat at the kitchen table, eating together, the warmth of the evening settling around you.

after finishing, Zayne stood up without a word and disappeared into the bedroom. you watched him go, confused for a moment, before he returned—this time, with a small box in his hands

he placed it in front of you, sliding it across the table

“what’s this?” you asked, your fingers brushing over the lid

“open it.”

carefully, you lifted the top, your breath catching the moment you saw what was inside

a necklace—delicate, elegant, with a small, shimmering pendant. simple, yet beautiful

beside it, a folded piece of paper

you picked it up, unfolding it to reveal Zayne’s neat, precise handwriting

I want to live every valentine’s day with you.

your chest tightened, warmth flooding through you. you glanced up at him, finding him watching you closely, his hazel-green eyes steady and certain

“Zayne…” you whispered, fingers brushing over the necklace

“do you like it?”

you nodded, unable to find the right words. instead, you stood up, stepping around the table and wrapping your arms around him

he didn’t hesitate—his arms came around you easily, pulling you close

“thank you” you murmured against his shoulder

“you don’t have to thank me,” he said softly “it’s just… I wanted you to have something”

you pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze “well, I love it”

a flicker of something passed through his expression—relief, maybe, or something deeper

“good,” he said quietly “then… I guess I did something right”

you smiled, reaching up to press a light kiss to his cheek

“you do everything right” you whispered

and for the rest of the night, with the lingering taste of chocolate on your lips and the weight of his gift resting against your skin, you knew—valentine’s day with Zayne was perfect.

[nickfowlerrr]

something good and true - part 1

pairing: mob boss!bucky barnes x reader

warnings (for all parts in whole): 18+ only. domestic violence. retelling of abuse and battery. minor character death mentioned. angst. sweet and protective bucky. fluff. not sure if this qualifies as a slow burn or not 👀 smut. there’s a happy ending! (as per usual)

words: 4.5k

notes: this fic was supposed to be posted last year for suz’s blind date writing challenge but clearly that is not what happened. a year later and some thousands+ words over the maximum allowed (in total), i was finally able to wrap this thing up. i’m posting in parts bc it’s just so long and ahhh i’m sorry i didn’t follow your rules suz @targaryenvampireslayer 😭 and honest to god there is absolutely no expectation for you to read or even acknowledge this! i just want to give credit where credit is due and so this, my first mob boss!fic, is all thanks to the mob boss au prompt you had given to me! so thank you - and sorry again 🫢 dialogue used: “Does it make you nervous when I stare?”. thank you in advance for reading, i’d be happy to hear your thoughts! as always, comments and reblogs are welcome and so appreciated. 🩵

He’s staring again. You can feel it. The heat creeps up your spine as your heart begins to beat a little faster. The feeling has become quite familiar. It’s been two months of this. You had a feeling he’d be back, but really you hoped he’d have just let it go by now. It’s not like you thought any of this through, though… Of course there’d be consequences; and none worse, you’re sure, than the ones he could dish out.

It’s not your fault, you try to remind yourself. It’s not. You finish wiping off the table of the newly vacated booth, tucking the cash tip left for you in your pocket, before you turn around.

You steel yourself, taking a strong breath before you start to walk toward his private booth. You’re not stupid, you know the only reason he comes here is for you, he told you as much himself. And everyone else knows that too as the place has become nearly empty since his arrival. Even your coworkers aren’t bustling about. You don’t know if you prefer having the audience or not. You don’t blame anyone for their fleeing, though. After all the stories you’d heard about the man, you always made yourself scarce in his presence, too.

Until the faithful night he requested you at his table by name… You sigh, it seems you no longer have the luxury of avoidance.

You remember that night well. The first time you formally met the infamous mob boss, James ‘Bucky’ Barnes.

You remember how it felt like your blood turned to ice in your very veins when Molly uttered your name with worried eyes, “Mr. Barnes is asking for you specifically,” she had whispered as she peaked into the kitchen where you’d fled when you heard he was being sat at his rarely used, always reserved table.

You felt sick. Like a lead weight was dropped in your stomach. You wrung your hands until it hurt before you finally nodded. You were sure she could see the fear in your eyes when you looked at her. “O-okay. I’ll be right there,” you’d nodded. You had to swallow down the bile threatening to creep up your throat. He knows, you’d thought. He has to know. That’s why he’s here. That’s why he’s looking for you. You were breathing hard and heavy and you could feel the tears welling in your still sensitive eyes. You were caked in makeup, had been all week, to hide the bruises that marred all over your face. It wasn’t anything unusual. But there was an eerie comfort you felt in knowing once they were finally gone this time, you wouldn’t have to see yourself like that again.

You were in a long sleeve so you knew he wouldn’t be able to see the marks along your arms, and unless he had X-ray vision he wouldn’t be able to see the contusions littered all over your body either. You had a brace on your wrist but it wasn’t too noticeable under the sleeve… Okay, you breathed. You can do this. Deny, deny, deny. You don’t even truly know what he’s here for. You shouldn’t freak yourself out before you’ve even seen him.

You exhaled a shaky breath before you reached for the kitchen door.

It was dead silent as you entered the dining hall and it only added to the compounding fear and anxiety growing inside you.

You approached his table cautiously, too nervous to make direct eye contact as you held your pen and pad in hand.

“Good evening, sir, - uhm, Mr. Barnes,” you corrected yourself, “can I get you started with something to-“

“I’m not here for drinks or the mediocre food, doll,” he stopped you easily, unnervingly calm.

You chanced a glance at him and his deep blue gaze had you swallowing hard.

You didn’t know how to respond, so you stayed quiet as he stared at you. Like he knew something. Like he knew you knew something.

“Hm,” he considered you for a moment longer before nodding, “ya know, I think you know why I’m here.”

“I-“, you shook your head almost imperceptibly, “I don’t,” was all you could muster as your eyes were now glued to him. You couldn’t will yourself to look away. You were too terrified.

He licked his lip seemingly out of habit before he spoke again.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” He asked, sounding exasperated, bored of the interaction already as he tilted his head at you.

You stiffened at the question, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest.

“I don’t-“

“You do.” He stopped you again, the certainty in his voice leaving no room to deny his accusation. His eyes cutting into you as you stood before him, defenseless. You felt like you couldn’t breathe but you couldn’t just stand there looking terrified. You had to work up your voice and it came out quiet, but Bucky was listening, and watching you, intently.

“I don’t know where Freddy is,” you said, voice low, trying to keep the tremor from it as you finally felt your eyes sting, the fear and pain catching up to you as you blinked the would be tears away before a single one fell. “And he’s not my boyfriend,” you swallowed, “anymore.”

“No?”

“No. We broke up…about a month ago.”

“That’s interesting…” he hummed. “Why did someone see his car at your place the other week, then, huh?”

You winced at the images that ran through your mind as you thought back to that day, the one you knew he was referring to.

“He came over, to talk,” you forced out, no longer looking at the man before you. “But nothing came from it,” you added quickly, “and he left. I haven’t seen him since. Haven’t heard from him, I don’t know where he is.”

You didn’t look at him but by the weight of his gaze you knew he wasn’t buying what you were selling.

“What happened here?” he asked, reaching for your hand.

You were quite literally frozen to your spot as he grabbed your hand in his. His touch was the most gentle you’d experienced in a long while and it sent an unexpected hum through you. You watched your hand in his as he pulled you just the tiniest bit closer to him and the table. He inched up your sleeve to see more of the brace on your wrist and when he moved to raise your sleeve further up your arm, your body finally moved into action. You yanked your hand back, as if his touch had burned you, keeping him from seeing anything more than the brace.

“Fell,” you answered shortly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Barnes, but I don’t know what else to tell you. I don’t know where he is. And to be perfectly honest, I don’t really care.”

You met his eye once more, feeling a little safer as the words came easily. It wasn’t a complete lie. You really didn’t know where he was. And you certainly didn’t care. Despite the scrutiny of the mob boss’ gaze, you didn’t feel nearly as scared as you had before he touched your hand. Something about the softness there… You wouldn’t dwell on it.

“If there’s nothing else,” you added, though it was definitely more of an unspoken question than anything. You weren’t as scared but you weren’t stupid either. You wouldn’t be going anywhere until he dismissed you.

He smirked, huffing a laugh as he watched you.

“You hear from him, I’d be grateful to know,” he slipped his hand into his coat pocket and took out a business card, placing it on the table as he flicked his sharp eyes up to you once more, moving to pull out his wallet next. You watched as he slipped out two bills and blanched as he put them down on the table, moving the card so it sat on the money.

Your breath caught in your throat as he stood from his seat, standing right in front of you as you took in his build and stature. Everything about him screamed success, power, and authority and the two hundreds he left on the table were nothing more than chump change to him, you were sure.

“Just so you know, doll,” he spoke lowly, “I will find him, one way or another,” he took a step closer to you, “and if you think you’re protecting him by not telling me the truth, I promise you’re not.” He held your gaze and you were terrified he could see straight into your soul with how intent it was, “What’s even worse, is he knows we know all about you. He doesn’t care if he’s putting you in harm’s way or not… Forgive me for saying, but nice girl like you, you deserve a hell of a lot better than that. So, if you think of anything you might wanna tell me, my number’s right there,” he said looking back over to the card and money on the table. “That’s your tip. You enjoy your night, sweetheart. I’ll be seeing you.”

His words weren’t a threat, but a promise.

He would be seeing you. Didn’t always call you to his table, sometimes just observed you while you worked, but every week without fail from that day on, he would be at the restaurant.

You never called him, you didn’t have anything to say. You wouldn’t tell him the truth, no, you couldn’t tell him the truth. He was half right, you were protecting someone. But it wasn’t Freddy.

You breathe another strong sigh as you get closer to him and once you’re at the table, you don’t say a word, only meeting his brilliant and pointed gaze.

There’s something different about him tonight, something unnerving in his stare that you take notice of right away. You work to keep your calm but you’re not sure how convincing your faux headstrong demeanor is tonight.

He lets the silence between you grow for a moment longer before finally, he speaks.

“Does it make you nervous when I stare?”

His voice is like honey, smooth and rich with that familiar lilt as his lips quirk up just at the corner of his mouth. It warms you while he holds your eye. There’s unspoken tension between you two as you stand so close yet so far, it’s been brewing since your first meeting and has only grown with each interaction since. You’ve never named it, but you couldn’t deny it if you’d wanted to. You haven’t felt your tummy flutter like this since…you can’t remember when.

Surely he knows what his gaze does to anyone, you’re no exception. But the nerves you feel under the weight of his stare are twofold - not all due to fear, but to flustering.

You haven’t responded, but you’ve held his eye in the silence. He smirks at you before gesturing to the open space across from him.

“Why don’t you take a seat, sweetheart.”

It sounds like an invitation, but you know it’s more than that.

It’s an instruction.

You look around briefly, as if someone might stop you or get you in trouble - but that’s laughable when you’re standing next to, arguably, the most feared and respected man this city has ever seen. Standing. Why is he standing? You realize suddenly he’s still waiting for you to move.

You do as he said and gingerly sit down across from him. He retakes his own seat as you settle. How chivalrous.

“I’ll get right to it,” he starts, his deep blue eyes never leaving you, “Freddy-“

God, that name. You can’t hold your tongue. You know it’s why he’s here but you don’t want to talk about this. You just want this to be over!

“Like I told you the last time, and the time before, and the time before, and every other time you’ve asked, I haven’t seen him.” You cut him off without thinking. But you really can’t have the same conversation again. You can’t keep having to think about him. About that night. You're at your wits end - you don’t want to have to so much as hear his name again. You don’t catch yourself in the moment but it hits you when you’re done talking that you just spoke to Bucky in such a familiar way…someone walking past might wonder who exactly you are to him. Clearly you’ve forgotten your place, gotten a little too comfortable around him.

You look up from where you watch yourself wring your hand and shamefully meet his eye again. You inhale and start to apologize but he doesn’t give you the chance.

His hand is on yours before you realize he’s even moving and you flinch a second late, his gentle touch already on you, stilling your nervous habit.

His eyes soften as he makes you meet his gaze, his thumb gently rubbing your fidgety hand.

You swallow hard and watch as he blinks away the previous softness in his gaze, his familiar confident twinkle back as he speaks,

“I know,” he nods, his hand still on yours. He’s closer as he leans across the table. “I found him.”

Your breath catches and your face falls. Fuck fuck fuck.

What does that mean? What does he know? You’re on the verge of having a complete freak out and god he can probably see it written all over your face. You feel a squeeze of your hand and are brought back into your body, into this very moment.

“Don’t look so sick, sweetheart,” he says, a half smile on his lips. “You don’t have anything to worry about, you or your old man.”

Your heart drops at the mention of your father and Bucky must see it because he leans closer still, now holding your hand in his. It’s strangely comforting, but more so is the look in his eyes. The sincerity there, and the hard edge of protection.

You want to believe him but you’ve been gullible before.

“I just wanna know the whole story. I know pretty much what went down, some things I think can safely be assumed, but I wanna hear your narrative, just to get the full picture and get this whole mess squared away, yeah?”

The way he’s looking deeply into your shining eyes, the intimate gaze and soft touch as it seems like he’s trying to keep you calm, you can’t speak much but you give him a quiet, “yeah.”

He nods and you feel a single tear slip down your cheek. He slowly raises his hand, and your eyes are glued to him as he makes sure you watch his movements. Like he’s trying to reach out to a scared little puppy, he reaches to gently touch your cheek. You don’t flinch but as his hand makes contact with your skin, your eyes shut as you try and suppress a shudder.

“No tears, sweetheart,” he tells you in a soothing timbre as he wipes it from your cheek. “You’re too pretty to cry over a loser like that,” he adds with a soft smile.

You shake your head, “He’s not why I’m-“

“I know,” he cuts you off. “Look at me,” he orders gently.

You do as he says and slowly meet his eye. “You don’t have anything to worry about, ya hear me? Not the police, not my men, and certainly not me. Got it?”

You know you’re staring at him like he’s crazy, but you do understand what he’s saying. It takes you a second but you force yourself to nod.

“Good.”

His touch is still on you as his eyes trail all over your face before he lets his hand slip away.

“Alright, you wanna do this tonight or tomorrow night?”

You’re momentarily stunned. You definitely don’t want to do this tonight. You just need to get through the last two hours here and then you’re headed home to unravel in your own space. But tomorrow…

“Tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day,” you point out, sounding unsure.

“What,” he sniffs, looking at you once again, “you got plans?”

“I, I have work,” you answer dumbly after a second.

“Not anymore you don’t,” he says, moving to stand. “So tomorrow it is.” He walks closer to you and extends his hand for you to take, helping you out of the booth. “And you’ve got the rest of the night off.”

“Oh, I carpooled today so, I have to wait anyway,” you explain, though the idea of leaving early sounds like heaven.

“I’ll drive you. Get your things, I’ll have the car pulled around,” he supplies easily. He leaves to the front of the restaurant and you stand in your stupor for only a moment longer before you move to get your things from the back. You have a silly thought worrying about giving him your address, then remember he’s had it this entire time. And he told you you had nothing to worry about.

You’re not a typically trusting person, even more so after Fred, but there's something about Bucky. Something trustworthy, something that feels safe.

You grab your bag and let Molly know you’re leaving early and you got a ride before you head to the front to find Bucky.

He’s waiting patiently and his eyes seem to light up just a bit when he sees you coming.

Your manager is smiling tightly behind the stand as she watches you go. You feel slightly bad for just cutting out like this, but once Bucky came in, the place cleared out some, so it’s not like they’re in the midst of a rush.

You let your work worries slip away as the brisk night air hits you, Bucky holds the door for you as you exit and then opens the passenger of his sleek, blacked out Jaguar for you to get in.

You always assumed someone like him, in his position, would have a driver, but maybe that’s just not his style.

Bucky gets in and as you buckle, begins to drive off. You don’t need to supply him with your address as he heads in the right direction without a word.

It’s quiet but not unbearably so. It’s not until you’re just a couple minutes away from your place that he breaks the silence.

“I’ll pick you up at 7 tomorrow. I figure it’s a delicate conversation we’ll be having, so somewhere private would be better. Are you okay with going to my place? We can have dinner.”

It’s a genuine question, and the earnestness of it eases your nerves even further. He’s truly asking, genuinely concerned with your comfortability.

“Mhm,” you nod with a quiet hum. “Yeah.”

He pulls up in front of your house, the porch light on and shining because you knew you wouldn’t be off until late.

The car cuts off and you turn to face Bucky only to find him opening his door and getting out himself.

You grab your bag and follow him with your eyes as he rounds the car to get to your side. He gallantly pulls open the door for you and helps you out with care. You stand and he closes the car door before you start up the path to the front door. It’s a short walk and as you reach the door you turn to look at him as he stays beside you.

“Thank you, for the ride, and…” you trail off not knowing how to articulate what it is you want to say. Thankfully he doesn’t make you continue. He smiles softly at you.

“It’s my pleasure, sweetheart.”

You blink at him. You don’t know what else to say. You finally look away and turn to the door to unlock it.

“When you said I don’t have anything to worry about,”

“I meant you don’t have anything to worry about,” he answers you before you finish your question. “I’m gonna make this all go away, I just need to know if there’s any loose ends we need to tie up to be done with it, that’s all.”

Your eyes sting again. He makes it sound so easy, so simple.

“I-“ your voice threatens to break.

“Hey, we don’t needa talk about it right now, doll. You just go inside, relax, eat, get some rest. You don’t gotta stress a thing anymore, alright? I’ve got you, there’s nothin for you to worry about.”

“…Why are you being so nice to me?” you look at him with bleary eyes as you crack the front door open and ask the question you’ve been wondering for the past two months.

He takes a small step closer to you and gently turns your face to look at him. “Why do you expect cruelty?”

You stutter a breath as you look at him and feel the memories of the year you spent caught up with Freddy stab at you. You know why, and you’re sure he does, too. But there’s no sense of judgment coming from him, and you don’t feel embarrassed; not like the way you do in front of your mom. She’s the only other person who knows what happened, what your dad did. For you.

She never said it, you don’t expect she ever will, but you can sense the thoughts, the subtle judgement from her, especially when this all first happened. She doesn’t know the truth but you don’t have the care to tell her. Because even if what she assumed was true, it doesn’t change anything. No one deserves that.

But the truth is, you didn’t stay. The first time he put his hands on you, you were gone. He just wouldn’t leave you alone. You were together for six months at that point and they were nice, nothing overly romantic like you see in the movies, but nice. You weren’t expecting anything long lasting, marriage wasn’t even a thought. You knew he wasn’t the one, but dating was… fun. And then, one day, a switch flipped.

He wasn’t the kind, but nonchalant guy you thought he was. He was angry, like it was your fault the relationship wasn’t what he wanted, that it wasn’t more. He wanted it to work so badly, but he knew it never would. That only kept his ire burning. And so during the other six months you were ‘together’ you were really nothing close. You avoided him every chance you got and when he’d find his way in he’d always be sure to leave his mark. He kept up appearances of course, to everyone it seemed. You didn’t want to look crazy, so what were you going to say? ‘I broke up with him months ago and I don’t know why he won’t accept that. He uses me like a punching bag when he gets me alone - when he breaks into my car, my home, any way he can weasel into my life.’ He was in with the mob and everyone knew it, so even if they believed you, what the hell would anyone be able to do? At a certain point you just kind of accepted that this must be it. He’d always just be around somehow. Stories of your on and off again relationship floating around thanks to him - he wanted everyone to know that even if you weren’t together, you were together. Making it harder and harder for you in every way possible.

And then, one day, everything changed.

Now you’re here, and he isn’t.

Now you’re here, and so is James Barnes.

His warm hand is still holding your face and his thumb gently rubs your soft cheek, almost mindlessly, while he peers at you - intent as ever. That softness you saw before is back and you have to remind yourself to breathe when you notice his gaze flit to your lips. It’s brief, fleeting as his hand drops and he meets your eyes once more. He takes back his step and you watch him take a deep breath himself, the first time you’ve ever seen him be anything close to unsteady, if that’s what you can call it.

You break eye contact first, looking down to the small space between you while you push your door open a bit more, holding onto the handle with one hand.

“Have a good night,” he says, voice low and quiet as he watches you step closer yet to the door.

You look at him again then, “You too,” you bid softly, finally stepping inside.

He nods and waits for you to close the door behind yourself. As you push it shut, you catch a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and then that fluttering in your belly returns again.

You turn the lock and then press yourself up against the wood, exhaling heavily.

You feel relieved and yet ten times more terrified in the very same breath.

The most pressing feeling in this very moment though is a weird kind of guilt.

You feel more for a man you’ve only known for two months than you ever did for Freddy in the entire time you’d known him. Bucky is intimidating, obviously, and you know what he does, what he’s known for; he’s a man anyone would tell you to avoid at all costs. But when he’s around, there’s this feeling you get that you just can’t shake. You feel safe around him.

He’s known for being a man of his word, and his words to you have never been anything but thoughtful and…caring. He may prod, but he’s never threatened you. Truth be told, you think maybe he’s known this entire time what really happened. Or at least that you were involved somehow. And still, he wasn’t harsh with you even once. He was doing his own investigation this entire time, of course, and if he’d wanted to get the truth from you, surely he could have- he could’ve saved a lot of time too. Could’ve even gone after your dad.

But he didn’t do any of those things. No, he’s been patient, waiting until he had enough proof without having to pry anything out of you. At the very least you were grateful for that.

Not to mention the fact that he had called you pretty. It seems silly given the circumstances, but it did warm you when the compliment hit. It’s crazy but it’s clear that you’re feeling feelings for one James Bucky Barnes. God help you.

Alongside the unexpected romantic stirrings you’re coming to terms with, the anxiety and stress of the truth you’ve been trying, and apparently failing, to keep about what happened to Freddy has been weighing heavily on you, but with Bucky’s veiled acknowledgment of it, you feel more free already.

It’d be a lie to say you aren’t nervous for tomorrow night, but it’d also be a lie to say a part of you isn’t looking forward to it, too. If for no reason other than what Bucky said; to finally just be done with this whole mess.

[inkdrinkerworld]

SOFT DOM REMUS HELPING READER GET OM HER GRINDDDD like i love working out and school and stuff sometimes I find hard to keep going once the motivation wears off not out of lack of discipline but more out of negative self talk he would nooooooot allow that

Reader’s having a it of negative self talk, mention of their body not looking the way they want it to and having lumps and rolls (I thought of what I say to myself to make it a bit realistic) but please don’t read if that’s gonna be triggering <3 thank you for your request, lovely

You’re on your third outfit and all you see when you stare into the mirror is nothing to be proud of.

You huff as you basically rip the dress of your body, pout in full effect as you rifle through your clothes for a good outfit.

“I swear to god nothing looks right.”

Remus turns from his spot in the bathroom where he’s shaving his face with a frown. “How do you mean dove?”

There’s not much for him to alarmed about yet.

“There’s something wrong with how I look I’m telling you, Rem.” A few shirts fly from your pile.

“I have to wear pink or red tomorrow for work and it’s like everything I own in those colours either make me look pregnant or like I’ve got extra limbs.”

Remus shakes his head and sets down the razor as he makes his way to you.

“Could it be that you’ve just gone off your period so you’re still a little bloated?”

You don’t want to hear reason right now.

You’re ugly and that’s all. But it’s not, because it’s untrue.

“Or a second thing which is much simpler, I’m just unattractive. And nothing’s right on me because there’s lumps and rolls.”

Remus shakes his head, stern as he meets you in the closet and sets your hands to your side with firm pressure.

“Cut it out.” His tone cuts through the air leaving no room for arguments. “You’re a day off your period dove, some bloat is normal. I understand that you don’t feel comfortable in your body right now but that’s no way to talk to or about yourself.”

Remus has a way of melting down the fat of every negative conversation you try to have with yourself and helps you be neutral about your body.

Your bottom lip juts out just so. “I just want to feel pretty.” There’s a lot less attitude and upset in your tone, just a little sadness Remus wants to wipe away.

He nods, kissing your forehead as his eyes scan your rack dresses. “How about you wear that red and white dress? And I can curl your hair tonight and help you do the bun tomorrow morning?”

You nod, tears gathering in your eyes. “I didn’t mean all that.”

Remus smiles, stroking your face. “It’s alright to be frustrated with the way you change baby, but there’s nothing wrong with the changes.” He kisses your nose. “Plus, no matter what you think, you’re the most gorgeous person on the planet.”

You giggle, a little shy under his doting. “Can I wear your jumper to bed?”

Remus rolls his eyes but it’s all fond. “This one yeah?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

[ravenclaw-for-all-seasons]

Be my Valentine? Mattheo Riddle (2/2)

Link to pt.1

The next morning at breakfast, the Great Hall was buzzing. It wasn’t unusual for people to talk about Mattheo Riddle—his reputation practically ensured that. But today, the whispers weren’t about a fight, a prank, or some detention-worthy stunt.

No, today, all eyes were on the fact that you—his Ravenclaw girlfriend—were sitting beside him at the Slytherin table, tucked into his side and looking entirely too comfortable for his friends’ liking.

Theo was the first to break. “Alright, no way.” He leaned across the table, staring between the two of you. “You actually pulled off Valentine’s Day?”

Mattheo, who was currently focused on adding sugar to his tea, barely spared him a glance. “Obviously.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “What did you do to her?”

You rolled your eyes, sipping your pumpkin juice. “Oh, I don’t know, Malfoy. Maybe he just planned a really lovely evening and was a perfect gentleman?”

Lorenzo snorted into his coffee. “Mattheo? A perfect gentleman?!”

Pansy, who had just sat down, raised a brow at the conversation. “Wait, wait. Are we actually confirming that Mattheo Riddle—the same Mattheo who once started a duel in Potions over a stolen quill—successfully executed a Valentine’s date?”

Mattheo groaned, setting down his cup. “Merlin, it’s not that shocking.”

“Oh, but it is,” Theo said, grinning. “I mean, did you actually plan things? Pick out the food? Think about ambiance?”

Draco shook his head in mock horror. “Did you—Mattheo Riddle—put in effort?”

Mattheo shot them both a glare, but you just laughed, leaning into him slightly. “He really did. The Astronomy Tower was beautiful.”

Pansy’s jaw dropped. “You took her to the Astronomy Tower?”

“Oh, and he got me those enchanted blue roses,” you added, smiling at Mattheo, who was now looking increasingly uncomfortable with the amount of attention he was getting.

Theo looked like he might pass out. “And the bracelet!” He turned to Draco. “I think we’ve lost him, mate.”

Draco sighed dramatically. “It’s tragic, really. The Mattheo we once knew would have called Valentine’s Day a capitalist scam designed to make men weak.”

Lorenzo smirked. “And now he’s out here buying enchanted roses and—what’s next? Writing poetry?”

Mattheo groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “I hate all of you.”

You giggled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I think it’s sweet.”

Draco pointed at you. “See, this is dangerous. He’s gonna start smiling next. Can you imagine?”

Theo mock-shuddered. “Horrifying.”

Mattheo finally sat up, scowling at all of them. “Alright, you pricks. Just because you lot have the emotional range of a teaspoon doesn’t mean I can’t do something nice for my girl.”

Silence.

Then—

“Oh, Merlin, he called her his girl,” Pansy said, pressing a hand to her chest.

Theo gasped. “You’re whipped.”

Draco shook his head, pretending to wipe a tear. “We had a good run, boys. He’s officially gone.”

Lorenzo just grinned. “So, when’s the wedding?”

You felt Mattheo smirk against your shoulder, casually taking a sip of his tea like he hadn’t just dropped that information on his friends.

“The wedding is as soon as we graduate,” he said, completely deadpan.

Draco choked on his pumpkin juice. Theo dropped his fork. Pansy’s eyes widened to the size of Galleons. Lorenzo looked like he was about to topple out of his chair.

“You’re joking,” Theo finally said, squinting at Mattheo like he was trying to see if he was being serious.

Mattheo just raised a brow. “Am I?”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, shaking your head as you nudged him. “You’re such a prick.”

He turned to you, smirking. “What? You disagree?”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest was undeniable. “I mean, maybe I wanted a bit more of a romantic proposal, but sure, let’s just throw that in over breakfast.”

Theo slammed his hands on the table. “OH MY GODRIC! She’s going along with it!”

Pansy gasped. “No. No, no, no—this isn’t real. This can’t be real. You two—” She pointed between you and Mattheo. “—are actually serious?”

Draco blinked, rubbing his temples like he had a headache. “I need a bloody minute.”

Lorenzo, meanwhile, just grinned. “Alright, but if I’m not Best Man, I’m rioting.”

Mattheo smirked. “Fine by me, mate.”

Theo looked personally offended. “Oh, I don’t get to be Best Man? Unbelievable.”

Pansy groaned, dramatically resting her head on the table. “I refuse to live in a world where Mattheo Riddle is the first of us to get engaged.”

You just shook your head, laughing as Mattheo draped an arm around you, clearly enjoying the chaos he’d created.

Draco sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re actually insane.”

Mattheo just grinned. “And yet, she still loves me.”

You glanced up at him, eyes soft despite your exasperation. “Yeah,” you murmured, squeezing his hand. “I really do.”

Theo groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Merlin, you two are disgusting.”

Draco was still shaking his head, muttering under his breath about how the world must be ending. Pansy, meanwhile, had seemingly moved on from denial and straight into acceptance, resting her chin on her hand as she eyed the two of you.

“Well,” she said, smirking, “if we are planning a wedding, I demand to be involved. Someone needs to make sure Mattheo doesn’t completely ruin the aesthetic.”

Mattheo scoffed. “Oi, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You have the fashion sense of a depressed bat, darling.”

Lorenzo snorted. “She’s not wrong.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes, but you just giggled, leaning into him. “I don’t know, I think he cleans up pretty well.”

He turned to you with a smirk. “Damn right I do.”

Theo groaned again. “I swear, I’m this close to hexing myself just to get out of this conversation.”

Mattheo, ever the instigator, smirked and leaned in closer to you, voice deliberately loud. “Go ahead, mate. Won’t stop me from discussing honeymoon plans.”

Draco choked on his drink again.

Pansy gasped. “Absolutely not.”

Lorenzo, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, just shook his head. “Merlin, Mattheo, you’re gonna kill them.”

You were laughing too, unable to help yourself as Mattheo pressed a kiss to your temple, looking way too pleased with himself.

Pansy groaned. “This is my actual nightmare.”

Theo muttered something about needing a real drink.

Mattheo leaned back in his seat, a smug grin plastered on his face as he draped an arm around your shoulders. He glanced at his friends, who were still recovering from the wedding details he’d dropped. Then, just to push them further into chaos, he casually added—

“So, the honeymoon plans…”

Draco slammed his goblet down. “Absolutely not.”

Theo made a strangled noise, looking like he wanted to physically launch himself across the table to shut Mattheo up. “No. No, no, no. I refuse to listen to this.”

Pansy, wide-eyed, pointed an accusatory finger at Mattheo. “You keep whatever disgusting things are in that twisted little brain of yours FAR away from this breakfast table.”

Lorenzo, to everyone’s horror, just smirked. “No, no. Let him continue. I’m curious.”

Mattheo’s grin widened as he leaned in slightly, his fingers lazily playing with the hem of your sleeve. “Well, love, I was thinking something tropical. You know—somewhere warm, secluded, private.” His voice dipped into something lower, something dangerously suggestive, and you could feel the way his friends collectively lost their minds.

Theo actually threw a piece of toast at him. “STOP.”

Draco was rubbing his temples. “This is my villain origin story.”

Pansy covered her ears. “I refuse to listen to this.”

Meanwhile, you were shaking with laughter, covering your mouth to try and keep it in. “Mattheo, you’re horrible.”

He smirked down at you. “Yet you love me for it.”

You rolled your eyes but leaned into him anyway, grinning. “Unfortunately.”

Theo groaned. “This is sickening.”

Mattheo just chuckled, completely unfazed by their dramatics. “Oh, relax. I’ll spare you the explicit details—for now.”

Draco pushed his plate away. “Lost my appetite. Thanks, Riddle.”

Lorenzo patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry, mate. I’m sure the wedding night conversation will be even worse.”

Pansy looked genuinely horrified. “I’m moving to Beauxbatons.”

Mattheo just laughed, pressing a kiss to your temple as he watched his friends suffer. “Best breakfast ever.”

[singingrottenbones]

just enough to be brave

He put down his glass with a little bit too much force, its contents sloshing dangerously close to the edge. Will rubbed his eyes, cursing himself for saying yes to one more glass of wine.

He knew from experience that nothing was more dangerous than that "one last drink".

His face was hot and his entire body felt fuzzy. It was the pleasant kind of tipsy that lowered his inhibition just enough whilst leaving him mostly in control of his senses.

But was he ever truly in control around Hannibal?

Will looked up to find Hannibal staring at him. He knew that the good doctor was well aware of his inebriation. After all, he had been the one pouring him glass after glass.

Will squinted, trying to remember how much of that second bottle of wine had gone to Hannibal, and hoping that it had been at least half. He really didn't want to embarass himself in front of Hannibal, not when he was sitting so closely next to Will, dressed dangerously casual in grey pants and a white button down shirt.

He wasn't even wearing a tie, and the top two buttons had been left open (or had he opened them over the course of the evening? Will didn't remember), a detail that had been occupying Will's mind all evening.

Was Hannibal teasing him?

As if on cue, Hannibal leaned back onto the sofa, exposing even more of his skin.

Will clenched his fist, trying to swallow the wave of desire washing over him. If his cheeks hadn't been flushed before, they surely were now.

"Will, I'm not sure I can let you drive home in this state in good conscience," Hannibal said, taking another sip of wine from his glass.

A drip of the burgundy liquid was left on his upper lip and Will barely resisted the urge to reach over and wipe it off. Instead, he watched Hannibal drag his tongue across his lip. Will exhaled sharply.

"Will?"

Oh, right. Shit.

"Not to worry. This isn't the first time I've driven home after having had one too many."

He knew that he had to get out of there now, or his tongue might get a bit too loose for his liking. He shifted forward to get up, but a warm hand on his thigh stopped him.

"I insist."

Those damn fucking eyes.

"Anything else would be gross neglicience, and we wouldn't want that."

"No, I guess we wouldn't," Will replied, sinking back down into the cushions.

Hannibal's hand was still on his thigh, warm and gentle and so close—

Was this it?

Had the bridge between them been built to completion, the wall torn down? Will's pulse was racing, thud after thud echoing through his body.

He tilted his head, taking in the sight of Hannibal once more. A twinkle in his eyes, a strand of his otherwise perfectly styled hair hanging in his face.

This time, Will didn't hesitate to reach out and brush it away, gently tucking it behind Hannibal's ear. It didn't stay there. Of course it didn't.

Hannibal showed him one of his rare smiles, and Will allowed himself to get lost in it. He was too far gone to backtrack now anyway, far beyond anything that could be blamed on the wine.

He dragged his hand across Hannibal's jaw, chiselled like Michelangelo himself had carved it.

How often had he been sitting across from him, dreaming of doing just that? How long had Hannibal known? And he must have known, surely. He always knew. And Will knew that he knew, and it felt quite alright.

Their noses were almost brushing. Hannibal's breath smelled of wine and cedar and something else that Will couldn't be bothered to identify.

He felt calm. His heart had quieted down. Perhaps because it hadn't been his for some time.

This was the quiet before the storm, the air between them buzzing with electricity.

"I've wanted to do this for quite a while," he said, closing the distance between them

[okasuka]

damian!!’

The safe house was small—barely a cabin, with creaky wooden floors and a single dim light flickering overhead. The mission had gone sideways, leaving you and Damian with no choice but to lay low until extraction. You sat on the edge of the bed, focused on patching up the gash on Damian’s arm while he sat rigidly in front of you.

“Hold still,” you muttered, leaning in closer to secure the bandage.

You were practically draped over him, your breath fanning against his neck as your fingers worked deftly over his skin. Damian’s muscles tensed beneath your touch, but he stayed silent, willing himself not to react. His heart was betraying him, pounding in his chest, and he swore you could hear it.

You glanced up. “You okay?”

“I am fine,” he said stiffly, though his face told a different story. His usual sharp demeanor was gone, replaced with something… uncharacteristically flustered. His ears were red, his gaze darting anywhere but you.

You smirked. “You sure? You look a little—”

“Drop it,” he cut in, clearing his throat. “Are you done?”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re all patched up, Your Highness.” You tossed the extra gauze aside and stretched. “Now we just need to get some rest and wait for—”

Your words trailed off as your eyes landed on the bed. The only bed.

Damian followed your gaze, his expression immediately hardening. “I’ll take the floor.”

You snorted. “That’s dumb. It’s big enough for both of us.”

Damian’s jaw clenched, but he begrudgingly nodded. “Fine. But if you encroach on my space, I will push you off.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Prince Charming.”

Hours later, you woke up to find yourself practically curled against his chest, his arm lazily wrapped around your waist. He was still asleep, but his grip tightened slightly when you tried to move.

Your heart stuttered.

You were so dead.

The next morning, Damian’s communicator crackled to life with an update from the Batcave. He answered it groggily, still a little dazed from waking up with you practically curled into him.

“Tt. Understood,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “No, we’ll be fine. Just get here when you can.”

You rubbed your eyes as he ended the call. “Well?”

“The storm delayed their arrival. They won’t be here until tomorrow.”

You groaned, flopping back onto the bed dramatically. “Guess we’re stuck here.”

“There’s enough food to last,” Damian said, stretching. “We should eat.”

A little while later, you stood in the small kitchen area, attempting to cut vegetables for a meal. The problem? You had a very questionable knife technique. Instead of neat slices, pieces were flying everywhere—including onto your face.

Damian, watching from the side, sighed deeply before stepping up behind you. “You are hopeless,” he muttered.

“Hey, I—” You turned your head to protest, only for him to reach out, thumb swiping against your cheek, wiping away a stray bit of tomato. The moment stretched as he lingered, eyes flickering to your lips before quickly looking away.

You swallowed. “Uh—”

Before you could finish, Damian slid his hands over yours, guiding your grip on the knife. He stepped closer, his chest flush against your back, his breath warm against your ear.

“Like this,” he murmured, moving your hands in a slow, precise motion.

Your brain short-circuited. His crotch pressed lightly against you, and you fidgeted involuntarily, heat rising to your face.

“Stop moving,” he said, voice low.

“Then—then back up,” you stammered.

His grip on your hands tightened. “Not until you learn.”

You weren’t sure what was burning hotter—the stove or your face.

Your breath hitched as Damian adjusted your grip on the knife, his fingers firm over yours. His chest pressed flush against your back, radiating warmth, and his voice—low, controlled—sent a shiver down your spine.

“See?” he murmured, guiding your hands in a slow, deliberate motion. “Steady pressure. No unnecessary force.”

You barely registered his words, too aware of how close he was. His scent—clean, like sandalwood and steel—wrapped around you, and the warmth of his body made it impossible to focus. Every time you shifted, you could feel him, solid and unmoving against you.

“Y-Yeah,” you managed, trying not to fidget again.

Damian exhaled, his breath ghosting against your ear. “Tt. You’re tense.”

“Wonder why,” you muttered, heart hammering.

He hummed, his fingers tightening slightly around yours. “Relax.”

Easy for him to say. He was standing there, all composed and perfect, while you were pretty sure your brain had short-circuited.

Damian guided your hands through another cut, but you barely noticed. The heat of him, the firm press of his body against yours—your breath caught as his hips shifted slightly.

You swallowed hard. “I-I think I got it now—”

“Are you sure?” His voice dipped lower, teasing, almost smug. His grip didn’t loosen. “You seem… distracted.”

Your fingers twitched. “I’m distracted? You’re the one basically on me right now.”

Damian didn’t move. If anything, he leaned in a fraction more. “You don’t seem to mind.”

Your face burned. “I—”

The knife slipped slightly, cutting into the vegetable at an odd angle, and a small piece splattered against your cheek again.

Damian sighed through his nose. “Hopeless.”

Before you could respond, his thumb brushed your face again, slower this time. His fingers lingered, barely skimming your jaw, his touch light but deliberate.

Your lips parted slightly, breath shallow.

“Better,” he muttered, his voice impossibly close to your ear.

The tension was suffocating. You could feel his smirk without even looking at him.

He hadn’t backed up. He hadn’t let go.

And you had no idea what to do about it.

The tension lingered long after Damian finally stepped back, leaving you feeling way too warm. You cleared your throat, pretending to focus on the meal as you finished chopping, while he retrieved a pan from the cabinet.

Cooking was surprisingly… normal. You worked in sync, though Damian kept stealing subtle glances at you, like he was waiting for you to bring up what just happened. You didn’t. Mostly because you didn’t know what just happened.

By the time you finished cooking, the air had cooled slightly, though you could still feel the heat of his touch lingering on your skin.

You sat across from him at the small wooden table, finally digging into your food. “Okay, not bad,” you said between bites. “Maybe I am hopeless in the kitchen, but at least I can follow directions.”

Damian huffed. “Barely.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could retort, the clatter of silverware made you glance up. Damian had dropped his fork.

You watched as he flexed his fingers, wincing slightly—his injuries from last night clearly making simple movements difficult.

“You okay?” you asked, setting your food down.

“I’m fine,” he said, though his jaw was tight.

You exhaled and leaned over the table, reaching for the fallen fork. The angle had you practically stretching across, your shirt riding up slightly, and Damian’s eyes immediately flickered downward before snapping back up.

Smirking, you sat back up and handed him the fork. “Need help, Your Highness?”

“Tt. I am perfectly capable—”

You watched as he tried to grip the fork, only to struggle slightly as his fingers twitched from the strain.

A slow grin spread across your lips. “Ohhh. You are struggling.”

Damian scowled. “I am not—”

Before he could protest, you plucked the fork from his hand, stabbed a piece of food, and held it up to his lips.

“Say ahh,” you teased.

His entire body went rigid.

“You’re insufferable,” he muttered, his ears tinged red.

“And yet, you’re still sitting here, letting me do this.”

His glare deepened, but after a long pause, he reluctantly leaned forward, lips wrapping around the fork. You pulled it back with a satisfied smile, watching as he chewed, eyes narrowed.

The embarrassment on his face was priceless.

“You look adorable when you’re flustered, you know,” you mused, twirling the fork between your fingers.

Damian’s eye twitched. “Tt. Finish your food before I throw you out into the cold.”

You just grinned. Maybe being stuck here wasn’t so bad after all.

After finishing the meal (and thoroughly enjoying Damian’s flustered state), the two of you cleaned up and sat in silence for a bit. Eventually, Damian stretched, rolling his injured shoulder with a small wince.

“We should spar,” he said suddenly.

You blinked. “Spar?”

“I need to adjust to fighting with these injuries in case we’re attacked before extraction,” he explained, already moving toward the open area of the cabin. “You’re the only available opponent.”

You scoffed. “Wow. Such a privilege.”

Still, you stood, cracking your knuckles as you followed him. The floor was wooden but sturdy, and there was just enough space to move without knocking over furniture. Damian took a stance, his movements a little stiffer than usual, but still sharp.

“You sure you can handle this?” you teased, circling him. “Wouldn’t want you getting all flustered again.”

Damian’s expression darkened. “Try me.”

You grinned before lunging.

The spar started slow—testing each other’s movements, feeling out weaknesses. You went easy at first, not wanting to push him too hard with his injuries, but Damian quickly reminded you why that was a mistake. Even with his limited mobility, he was fast, forcing you on the defensive more than once.

Then, in a blur of movement, he caught your wrist mid-strike, twisted, and swept your legs out from under you.

You hit the ground with a startled oof, and before you could react, Damian straddled you, pinning your wrists above your head.

Your breath hitched.

The weight of him, the way his thighs bracketed your hips, the very noticeable press of his body against yours—your face went hot immediately.

Damian didn’t seem to notice at first, too focused on catching his breath. But when you squirmed beneath him, trying to shift into a better position, you felt it.

Oh.

Oh no.

You froze, realization crashing down on you, and that’s when he realized too.

His grip on your wrists tightened, his entire body going tense, but neither of you moved.

Your brain screamed at you to stay still—to not make this worse—but then, without thinking, you shifted again.

And felt him more.

Your breath came out shaky. “U-uh—”

Damian’s jaw clenched. “Don’t. Move.”

Your body betrayed you, another involuntary squirm making the contact even more obvious.

You made a strangled noise. “I—I d-didn’t mean to—”

His eyes darkened, his grip still tight on your wrists. His usual composure was cracking, but he refused to move, his breathing just slightly heavier than before.

Your heart was pounding. You were so screwed.

The tension from the sparring match lingered even after you both awkwardly scrambled apart, avoiding eye contact for the rest of the evening. When the Batfamily finally arrived the next morning, you had never been so relieved to hear the Batplane outside.

Getting back to the manor felt surreal after being stuck in that safe house with Damian for so long. You finally had space to breathe—to think—without his stupidly attractive proximity messing with your head.

But apparently, Damian had other plans.

You had barely settled back into your room, lying in bed half-dressed, scrolling through your phone, when you heard the faintest sound of your door creaking open.

Your head snapped up. “What the—”

Damian stood in the doorway, frozen mid-step like a deer caught in headlights.

Your brain took a second to register why he looked so…stricken.

Then you looked down.

Oh.

You were in nothing but underwear and a sports bra, sprawled out like you had zero shame.

“Shit,” you yelped, scrambling for the nearest article of clothing. Your hand landed on a baggy black shirt, and you yanked it over your head without thinking.

Damian, still rooted to the spot, had turned rigid, eyes locked anywhere but on you.

“Y-you could’ve knocked,” you stammered, tugging the hem of the shirt down over your bare thighs.

Damian cleared his throat, still staring at the floor. “Tt. I knew you were awake.”

“That’s not the point!”

“Why are you wearing my shirt?”

You blinked, glancing down. Sure enough, the oversized shirt you had thrown on was his. You had stolen it from the laundry pile forever ago because it was comfortable, but now that he noticed, your face went burning hot.

“I—I just—” You fumbled, looking anywhere but at him. “It’s—it’s comfortable, okay?”

Damian finally looked at you then, gaze sweeping over the way his shirt swallowed you up. His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to say something, but then he quickly clamped his mouth shut, ears tinged pink.

A tense silence stretched between you.

“So, uh,” you blurted, desperate to shift the subject. “W-why are you even here?”

He hesitated before stepping fully into the room, closing the door behind him. “I couldn’t sleep.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So, what? You just assumed I was awake?”

“Yes,” he said simply.

You rolled your eyes, shifting under the covers. “Well, congrats, you were right. I am awake.”

Damian hovered near the bed for a moment, hesitating, before finally sitting at the edge, his usual confident demeanor feeling just a little more hesitant. “Tt. The manor feels… too quiet.”

You studied him, catching the unspoken weight behind his words. The safe house might’ve been small, but it had been just the two of you—no endless halls, no expectations, no distractions. Just you and him.

And now, back in the manor, it felt like something had shifted.

Without thinking, you reached over and tugged his sleeve lightly. “Well, if you’re so lonely, I guess you can stay here for a bit.”

Damian eyed you for a moment, before exhaling and lying back on the bed beside you.

You stiffened slightly as his shoulder brushed yours, but he didn’t seem to notice—or maybe, he was just pretending not to.

Neither of you said anything for a long time.

But the silence didn’t feel so quiet anymore.

The silence stretched between you, thick with something unspoken. You tried to focus on your phone, but Damian was right there, his warmth radiating through the covers, his scent—clean, sharp, him—filling the space.

You should have told him to go back to his own room.

You should have.

But then you shifted, rolling onto your side to face him, and Damian did the same. Now, you were inches apart, close enough that you could see the way his dark lashes framed his eyes, the slight tension in his jaw, the way his breath subtly hitched when your knee accidentally brushed against his.

Neither of you moved.

Your eyes flickered down—just for a second—to his lips.

And that was all it took.

It happened fast.

One second, you were staring at each other, and the next, his hand was at the back of your neck, pulling you in as your lips crashed together.

You gasped into the kiss, but any hesitation was gone the moment his other hand gripped your hip, tugging you closer. Instinct took over as you pressed against him, fingers sliding into his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp.

Damian groaned softly against your lips, and the sound sent a shiver straight down your spine.

You didn’t even know who moved first, but suddenly, he was on top of you, your back hitting the mattress, his weight pressing you down. His knee slipped between your legs, and when you shifted—oh.

A whimper escaped before you could stop it.

Damian froze.

Reality slammed back into you both at the same time.

You stared at each other, breathless, lips swollen, faces burning.

There was a long, horrified pause.

Then, at the exact same time—

“We are never speaking about this again.”

You both shoved away from each other, scrambling to opposite sides of the bed like touching again would kill you.

The silence that followed was excruciating.

After a long moment, you dared to glance at him. He was staring at the ceiling, jaw clenched, face so red it was almost funny.

If you weren’t currently dying of embarrassment, you probably would’ve laughed.

Instead, you swallowed and croaked, “Good talk. Good—good chat.”

Damian exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face. “I’m leaving.”

“Yeah. That’s—yeah. That’s probably smart.”

He got up quickly, but not before snatching the pillow off your bed and chucking it at your face.

You yelped, throwing it back at him. “Asshole!”

The door shut behind him.

And then, finally alone, you covered your face with both hands, groaning into your palms.

What the hell just happened?

[penny00dreadful]

<<Previous Part | AO3 | Next Part>>

Eddie had a plan.

Well, not so much a plan… more of a series of events that he hoped whatever deity might be listening and actually bothered to give half a fuck would actually make happen.

Because he was at least eighty… four percent sure Steve had been sending him signals over the last few months.

Months listening to Steve gush about the kids that had recently fallen into his lap, helping Dustin out with his curls for the Snow Ball, or blinking those big sad eyes up at him when he talked about his dad making him get a job somewhere in the new mall so he could understand what real hard work was.

Eddie had scoffed at that. 

Like Harrington Sr. knew what real hard work was.

But there had been all these little touches. These lingering looks.

And the blushing.

Eddie prided himself on the fact that he could get the most biteable pink colour to rise in Steve’s cheeks and over his nose with only a couple of words.

All that was to say that Eddie was going fucking crazy with it all and he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to survive it much longer.

So he had to do something about it.

Which is what led him here, to Steve’s front door.

Or more accurately Steve’s driveway because he hadn’t worked up the courage to actually step outside his van yet.

But the lights were on and there was no sign of his parents, otherwise he would have turned right around.

So there was nothing left to do other than step out, saunter up to the door, give it three hard knocks, confident knocks, just like he’d planned and hit Steve with his most charming grin.

Once he was inside he’d pull out every stop, lay the flirting on so thick Steve would barely be able to breathe and then, when the time was right, he’d brush a curl behind Steve’s ear and lean in.

Okay so it was a little hopeful, but Eddie was nothing if not an improviser and he was an expert at going with the flow, so on the slim chance that anything went wrong, he could work around it.

He would be getting a kiss today if it killed him.

Or he’d take the rejection if it came, but he was really trying not to dwell on that possibility.

Okay.

Okay.

Eddie took a deep breath and finally stepped out of the van, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans, though he’d blame that on the muggy late May air.

He was able to deliver those three solid knocks to the door.

After some shuffling and some cursing coming muffled through the door, Steve poked his head out, his face completely draining of colour when he caught sight of Eddie.

Well.

Not off to the best start.

“Eddie.” He breathed, keeping his body hidden behind the door.

“What are you doing here?”

“Is it a bad time?” 

Fuck.

Maybe he’d completely misjudged the situation.

“Um…”

“I checked to make sure your parents were gone but…” Eddie let the words fade out as he really took in Steve’s expression. 

He looked uncomfortable, tense and a little scared. 

“Is everything alright, sweetheart?” The pet name just slipped out, coloured completely by his concern.

That delicious pink colour dusted over Steve’s cheeks again and he stared at Eddie hard, like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

He seemed to come to a decision, his shoulders slumping and a sigh escaping him.

“Everything’s fine, it’s just…” Steve cut himself off with a huff and a groan. “You’re gonna see it eventually, I guess. So will everyone in fucking Hawkins so might as well-”

He disappeared behind the door, a solitary arm coming out to wave Eddie inside.

Screw his plan, something was wrong.

“Whatever it is, Stevie,” he said, stepping inside and turning as the front door clicked closed behind him, “I’m sure we can figure-”

But his words faded away when he finally registered what he was looking at.

There, Steve was standing in all his glory, red faced and trying to look unaffected, a hand on his hip and very determinedly not looking at him. 

All the while wearing the most ridiculous and somehow the most salacious little sailors costume Eddie had ever seen in his life.

He was completely struck dumb, openly ogling, openly staring, dragging his eyes up and down Steve’s body, from his strong legs wrapped up in those tiny shorts to the chest hair poking out over the top of the shirt just begging Eddie to bury his fingers in deep and pull.

Steve was fidgeting under his gaze, getting more and more uncomfortable with each passing second until he had to break the silence.

“There’s a fucking hat too.”

Eddie could only absentmindedly nod and mutter, “Is there?” to show he was listening because in all honesty he was on a whole other plane of existence.

“Yeah, it’s fucking…” Steve shook his head, pulling the aforementioned hat out of his pocket and cramming it onto his head with a scowl, waving his hands out as if to say ‘tada’.

There was nothing Eddie could do about it, he could only just keep staring.

It didn’t make any sense?

How did he look so pretty?

Steve always looked pretty but this was pretty dialled up to eleven. This was soft and sweet and giant glittering, puppy dog eyes levels of pretty. 

Was there fucking magic woven into the polyester fabric or something? Did that shade of blue just really, really suit him? 

What was this sorcery?

“Listen, man. Can you just-” Steve crossed his arms over his chest. “Can you stop staring and just like… make fun of me now so we can get it over with and move on?” He had a little pout on his face, he looked embarrassed and upset and Eddie couldn’t have that. 

He stepped forward.

“You look like a Ken doll.”

“Thanks.” Steve replied, sulking, stepping back and looking so uncomfortable Eddie couldn’t stand it.

“Stevie.” Eddie said, almost breathing the word into the scant air between them. When had they gotten so close? Steve jumped like he also hadn’t noticed how close they had gotten, his eyes going wide, flicking down to Eddie’s lips for just a moment before bouncing back up to meet his gaze again. “It’s a good thing.”

Eddie couldn’t help himself anymore, raising a hand to Steve’s chest to drag his fingers through the hair poking out.

He could feel Steve’s rapidfire heartbeat underneath his fingers and he heard the tiny little inhale when he touched bare skin.

Steve was still staring at him, mouth slightly parted. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” Eddie croaked back.

“Like you want to eat me.”

“Because I do.” He whispered, finally dragging his gaze up from the chest hair to look him in the eye. “Can I?”

Steve nodded.

Eddie dragged his hand down, wrapping his fingers around that stupid little red ascot and used it to pull Steve into him.

In all his planning and all his ideas of how this was going to go, he hadn’t thought that Steve was going to be looking like a walking wet dream.

He also hadn’t expected Steve to be just as eager. He’d expected, hoped, that he’d be just as into it but he thought he’d be shy. Maybe nervous or meek.

He’d been so stupid to think that.

This was Steve Harrington.

King Steve.

While he was pulling Steve towards him by the ascot, Steve’s hands snapped up to grab him by the hair, yanking him forward and they crashed together so forcefully he was pretty sure he cut open the inside of his lip on one of his bottom teeth but he didn’t fucking care.

He was finally kissing Steve Harrington.

His Stevie.

They were both pushing, the two of them manoeuvring and shoving, trying to get the other up against the wall but Eddie won out eventually, crowding him back, a hand at either side of his head, caging him in.

He was licking in, trying to taste every inch he could and almost as soon as his hands landed on the wall, he removed them.

Why the fuck was he touching the wall when Steve was right there?

He dragged his hands down, eventually bringing them around to cup that beautiful ass that he wanted to do terrible things to.

Steve took advantage of the movement, spinning them around until Eddie was the one caged in against the wall now.

Which was… different.

Not bad, but different.

He was always the aggressor but being blanketed completely by Steve, still able to pull him in by the ass was different.

Good, even.

“Like a Ken doll, huh?” Steve hummed against his jaw, grinding up against him.

Eddie could practically hear what Steve was gonna say next.

Does this feel like a Ken doll to you?

But…

Even though he expected it.

Even though he’d heard it before.

The shrill ringing of the phone still came as a surprise.

Steve was still holding him tight, still pressed it close, firm and caring, but his attention had drifted over to a spot on the wall by Eddie’s head.

He only had a few moments, a few seconds more.

Eddie brought his hands up to grasp Steve by the face, turning him back to look him in the eye.

"I love you, you know that?” He almost whispered, feeling that old familiar lump in his throat again, his bottom lip wobbling. “Please tell me you knew that before…"

Steve hit him with a soft smile, winding a hand through his hair, gently pulling him in and cradling him closer into his neck.

That fucking phone was still ringing in his ear, hanging where it shouldn't be, on the wrong wall in the wrong room, teal with a twisted cord.

"I know.” Steve soothed into his hair. “I know because you know. I knew I was loved by you. I've always known."

"Can you-" Eddie took a shuddering inhale, knowing it was futile but needing to try anyway. "Can you stay? For just a minute longer. Don't go yet."

"You know I can't." Steve gave him one last squeeze. "I have to answer this. It’s about Max."

The phone stopped ringing.

Back at the beginning, when all of this apocalypse nonsense started, Eddie wasn’t exactly involved. 

Like, yeah. He wasn’t particularly involved before Spring Break either, but the apocalypse had started a couple of weeks after that and Eddie had ended up convalescing all over again because of it. 

But this time it was within an infirmary tent in Evacuation Zone C, rather than a fully stocked hospital. The rush to get themselves out of Hawkins and the panic that came with not being sure where the rest of their friends and families were while they ran had meant Eddie, still looking like a demobat chew toy, had pushed himself too far.

He had woken up in the tent, barely exonerated and immediately panicking because while the infirmary wasn’t empty, there wasn’t a single member of the scrappy little Upside Down Fellowship to be seen.

It had only been a few moments later, however, when he heard the familiar voices of both Nancy and Dustin raising holy hell somewhere outside, screaming at some poor soldier about getting back in contact with Agent Stintson, Doctor Owens, his commanding officer if they had to, because they had been told, they had been sworn to that their friends and family would also be evacuated. That their people might be sent to one of the other five Evacuation Zones, but they would do everything within their power to get them all into one place together.

No big surprise then, when that hadn’t happened. 

It had apparently been two days already, according to Dustin’s high pitched shrieks and they had heard nothing. He didn’t know where Claudia was, or if she’d even gotten out, Nancy didn’t know where her family was. They didn’t know what had happened to Max, still at Hawkins Memorial Hospital when the apocalypse hit. They had no idea where any of the Sinclair’s were. 

Robin.

Steve.

Wayne.

They could be at a different Evacuation Zone. They could be dead. They could be still in Hawkins, now on a militarised quarantine lockdown, no one in or out unless they wanted to go up against a line of soldiers.

Even then, the cracks spreading out like a spiderweb, the vines bursting up through the ground, the demogorgons, the Ghouls mostly deterred anyone looking to break back in.

He could still remember bouncing around in the back of Nancy’s station wagon as she weaved her way at top speed out of Hawkins, black spots in his vision the pain almost unbearable, but not unbearable enough to drown out the sounds of the rest of the town trying to run.

The screaming, the screeching of tires, the crunching of metal as people veered off the road at speed, the sirens, the complete and utter confusion.

It had definitely sounded like an apocalypse.

And it had gotten quiet since.

At least, that was what the rumours were.

From complete chaos, to silence over the last two days.

Which meant anyone still inside… it didn’t bear thinking about.

They just didn’t fucking know.

The only people they thought were maybe, probably safe were the Byers, Hopper and El. 

They had all left barely twelve hours before everything went down, travelling back to California to pick up the last of the Byers stuff to move back to Hawkins.

They’d probably barely made it to Tulsa when it happened. 

But they were out of Indiana when it hit, they all knew that for sure thanks to a quiet phone call from El when they hit St. Louis.

She hadn’t wanted to go, hadn’t wanted to leave Max’s side. But her stuff was down in California too and she had only agreed to go when Hopper had promised to stick by her side and Jonathan had promised they would stop often so she could call back and check in for any changes to Max’s situation.

They’d only managed one call before everything went to shit.

And like, Eddie wasn’t stupid. Neither were Nancy and Dustin, so when the three of them spoke in hushed voices around Eddie’s little cot in the infirmary tent, they agreed that El’s leaving Hawkins had probably been what spurred Vecna into attacking when he did.

There wasn’t a psychic child in the town anymore to defend it, not that she could have. His attack was vicious, quick, sudden and unexpected.

They all had thought they’d have more recovery time before shit hit the fan.

The three of them had silently agreed to never mention it to her.

If they ever saw her again. 

She’d probably figure it out herself and they didn’t want to add to the inevitable guilt.

Eddie had attempted to sneak out of the infirmary on day four of their stay, to join Nancy and Dustin on what would have probably been a suicide mission to sneak back into Hawkins and search for their people themselves.

But he’d been caught, just as Dustin and Nancy were caught not long after. 

The only reason the three of them had avoided military detainment for what would have probably been a never ending amount of time, was because Nancy and Dustin had slowly been amassing a small number of loyal followers.

People had started to notice.

People had started to become aware that those two, and Eddie to a lesser extent, had more information than even the soldiers about what the fuck the vines and demogorgons and ghouls were.

And people were starting to get just as pissed off with the lack of information being communicated.

So there was a near schism.

It was clear the military goons hadn’t been told much. They’d just been told to follow orders like good little soldier boys and they had been doing absolutely nothing to quell the frantic questions, anger and growing conspiracy theories amongst those in their Zone.

And while a growing number of people were starting to latch onto Nancy and Dustin as their de facto authority leaders, it wasn’t everyone.

Some people refused to believe anything beyond what they had already decided was the truth.

Be it aliens (incorrect), a government conspiracy (somewhat correct) or Eddie himself (comically incorrect).

Eddie had found himself slipping back into that persona he had perfected in school. 

Protector of his sheep.

Though it was slightly more dangerous now than schoolyard bullies, Eddie was also slightly more dangerous than he had been. 

And he looked it, too.

Covered in bandages and wounds that were only just starting to heal again, a gnarly chunk of flesh missing from his face and neck that made even the most self-important fucker grimace at the sight of.

Adding onto that, there was a look in his eye now, a steely strength to his shoulders and his jaw that did just as much as a battle vest ever had for sending the middle-classers scattering.

Probably had something to do with him having a fist fight with death and winning.

And the satanist rumours. 

They came in handy now. People were wary of him, more than they ever had been.

And that was how he found himself playing guard dog for Nancy fucking Wheeler.

It wasn’t all bad. Those that had a little more common sense than righteous indignation running through their veins were actually starting to come around and… respect him?

It was one of the wildest things to ever happen to him and that was saying something. 

He’d been to a whole other fucking dimension, he’d been accused of murder, accused of witchcraft and deals with the devil, but respect from the refugees of Hawkins was still something he never thought he’d have.

Things only continued to get better for them once Wayne turned up.

He was full of fire and spit at being given the runaround from the military in Zone E, insisting they had better things to be doing rather than search for his nephew. One guy amongst hundreds missing or misplaced.

Eddie threw himself at his uncle right there in the main thoroughfare of Zone C and held on like his life had depended on it.

Wayne had clutched at him tight and later, with Eddie tucked under his arm like a scared child, had listened to Nancy and Dustin tell him how he was the first to be found. How the military were effectively stonewalling them. How they knew next to nothing.

It hadn’t been long then, for Wayne to join Dustin and Nancy in what had essentially turned into a coup of authority over the military.

Eddie wasn’t far behind, but the injuries on his neck and face meant he only ever really spoke when he had to, and the impact of that had people listening closely whenever he did.

The arrival of Wayne had reignited all of their hopes that everyone else would show soon, like it was practically a given. Of course the rest of their friends and family would show.

Wayne turning up meant the others couldn’t be far behind, surely, whole and determined and invincible as they all were, as they all had been in the past.

Eddie looked back on those days now with a bitter sort of feeling, wondering how they could have been so naive.

Nancy was the first one to have to deal with the gut punch, telling them all that wasn’t quite true.

When Karen Wheeler was found along with Mike, Holly and the Sinclair parents, they arrived exhausted, emotionally drained and already coming to terms with their losses.

Ted had gotten his wife and his kids out once the hoard descended and had died for his efforts. 

The Sinclair parents were alone.

No Lucas. No Erica.

They hadn’t heard from anyone else. They were all just as in the dark as the rest of them. 

They had no answers about where everyone else was.

Nancy had been alight with rage that had nowhere to go, apart from barking at military officers. 

The Sincair parents remained hopeful for as long as they could, perking up every time new people arrived into Zone C, but that was all dashed every time. 

As the weeks slowly passed, Susan Mayfield and Claudia Henderson were found and transferred in. 

Dustin clung onto his mom for hours afterward.

Susan was dead eyed and defeated. 

No one knew where Max was, if she was still trapped in the hospital she’d last been seen in or if she’d gotten out somehow. 

It was highly unlikely.

She’d still been comatose and broken.

If she had woken up at any point… it wasn’t looking good. 

The Buckley parents, arriving in the middle of it all, were just as lost, slowly retreating back into themselves.

The military still weren’t giving them any answers. 

And it only served to draw more people to their side, the fact that a high school journalist, a drug dealer, and a nerdy kid who spent his time fucking around with his walkie in the hopes he could contact any of his friends were the only ones with any kind of inclination as to what was going on, and any kind of idea of how to move forward.

By the time the Hoppers-Byers turned back up, it was nearly nine months later.

And things had both gotten worse and better by then.

The military had up and abandoned them.

They had woken up one morning in the previous month to find their usual bases a ghost town, equipment left behind, fatigues and weapons and some trucks abandoned.

Communication with the other quarantine zones told them that the same had happened all over. 

The military had been pulled out of Indiana completely, leaving them all to be ghoul food.

And so their planning started. 

Nancy, Dustin and Eddie had started making plans to collect people, scared and panicked from their quarantine zones, not knowing what to do or who to turn to.

They had a plan set up and ready to go when a truck pulled up to the gates, beaten to hell and barely slowing down.

The gates had slammed open on their own, sending Nancy’s appointed patrolling guard into a frenzy.

The only reason the Hoppers-Byers didn’t end up riddled with bullets was both because of El’s powers and Dustin, Mike and Nancy’s shouts to ‘hold your fire!’

El threw herself from the truck without a care in the world and straight into Dustin and Mike’s arms.

Their elation was short lived, however.

El informed the camp that the cracks were spreading, the vines and demogorgons and ghouls were branching out and it wouldn’t be long before they were overrun.

They needed to abandon camp and they needed to do it now.

The bad news didn’t stop there.

El was being… blocked somehow.

She couldn’t enter the void, she couldn’t even access it anymore.

It was like Vecna had shut her out, like closing off a plane of existence to her.

She could still move things with her mind and that was awesome and Eddie was pretty sure he was just staring at her open-mouthed since she’d blasted the gates open, but she couldn’t search for people any more.

And so, any hope that might have been building that they would have been able to find their missing party members crumbled once again.

While they all came together to plan out a hasty retreat, settling on a small town in the north with a sizable gated community that Karen had been hoping to move to at some point in her life, Dustin refused any input.

Apparently the Party had been aware of Karen’s hope to move and had dubbed the place ‘Rohan’. Years ago, when they were still full of childish whimsy and the worst thing they could think of happening was one of their party members moving forty-five minutes away by car, they had meticulously tracked the way there and back in case they needed to rescue Mike from suburbia.

Dustin put up the mother of all fights, screaming at them all that they had to stay. This was where they were supposed to meet Steve and the rest of the Party. This was where they would have been told to go! They had to stay! They couldn’t leave until they turned up. What if they arrived and everyone had gone?

It was only the darkening and reddening of the clouds in the distance that convinced him it was futile to stay.

But even so, he insisted on leaving a message.

They left a crude spray painted ice cream cone on the stone wall at the entrance with an arrow pointing back to the command center hut.

Inside, they’d ripped all of the maps, diagrams and papers from the walls, needing to take them with them, but that ended up being Dustin’s canvas.

Scoops Troop, Ranger and Red. The week is long, The silver cat feeds, When blue meets yellow in the north, A trip to Rohan sounds nice, If you tread lightly. 

None of them knew what the fuck Dustin had just come up with or how that explained anything, but he insisted that it made sense, slamming his compas down on the desk directly below the words and storming out of the hut.

Eddie decided to leave his own memento, just in case. Because as much as he tried to placate Dustin, there was a terrible, horrible little glimmer of hope in his own chest that somehow Steve was still alive and out there, looking for them.

He wrapped his black bandana around the gated entrance, a small sticky note covered in sellotape to protect it from the elements attached:

Come at once if convenient. If inconvenient, come all the same.

Their trek to Rohan was long and winding. They took constant detours to the other evacuation zones, collecting people as they went.

All in all, it was a month later by the time they reached the high walls and gates.

The things that had earned Eddie ire from the good people of society before the apocalypse now seemed to be viewed with respect.

Case and point, the ridiculously rudimentary and hastily applied chain and padlock holding the gates closed and barring them from entrance to the abandoned community was quick work for him, able to leave the lock intact enough to be locked again behind them.

They had swept the place, hoping that they weren’t breaking into some other groups safe haven but it seemed like the richy-riches of Indians had been able to be evacuated much more smoothly than the poor fuckers from Hawkins.

And so, that was where they had settled ever since.

It was where they had set up, what was essentially Hawkins 2.0.

The high walls were constantly patrolled, keeping them safe from ghouls and bandits, they had crops planted, they had a laundry and a water supply from the water tower up the hill. 

It was the best they could have ever hoped for.

And even then, their little broken Fellowship always hoped for those figures on the horizon.

But they never came.

Steve’s face was swimming in front of him, beat and battered, smelling of smoke and ash, still dressed in his Scoops uniform, sitting on Eddie’s fucking couch smiling through the pain.

Wayne knelt in front of him, gently dabbing antiseptic over his face.

They were quietly joking with each other, keeping the mood light and all Eddie could do was stand and stare.

Stand and stare in numb shock at the state his boyfriend had appeared in amongst the ambulances and flashing lights outside the mall, waving off Wayne’s attempt to help him walk to the van, Eddie trailing behind, wide eyed and completely helpless.

They had kept up a steady banter, Steve and Wayne while Eddie sat in the back, unable to take his eyes off the caked in, already dried and flaking blood in Steve’s hair, the handprint slowly blooming around his throat, the raw ligature wounds around his wrists.

Nothing about it said fire.

Eddie knew deep in his bones that he would spend the next few hours staring at his uncle and his boyfriend, smiling and laughing with each other through the tension like Steve had just skinned his knee on the basketball court.

He knew after that that he would help Steve wash everything off in the bath, not wanting him to stand in the shower.

He knew that when he saw the mottled bruising skin under his shirt, the cuts and other injuries he could barely even stomach thinking about, he’d have a quiet little breakdown in his bedroom when Steve insisted with what seemed to be his last thread of dignity that he could handle the rest by himself.

He knew that he clung onto Steve throughout the night and the next morning, barely sleeping, unable to stop watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, just making sure that he was still alive. 

And as Eddie was shocked into consciousness by the sound of unfamiliar footsteps coming up the stairs towards his bedroom, he knew that whoever had woken him up had saved him from the teal landline phone with a twisted cord appearing on the headboard of Eddie’s bed. 

He had barely cracked his eyes open, taking in the reality of the devastatingly empty bed next to him and between one inhale in and the next, he had his hand solidly around his weapon.

He snatched the rifle up from the side of his bed, and had it cocked and pointed at his closed bedroom door as those heavy footfalls kept approaching, survival instinct beaten mercilessly into him.

Though in the back of his head he knew that there was no way a ghoul could have made it up the stairs to his bedroom, there would have been uproar in the streets and he would have been awoken long before, as a line of defence. And in any case, ghouls moved almost silently. They were deadly quiet. 

But then, ghouls weren’t the only dangerous things in the world right now.

Sometimes…

Sometimes humans were worse. 

Eddie knew the sound of Wayne’s footsteps, he’d grown up with them, he’s spent the majority of his life listening to them and whoever was approaching him right now was not his uncle. 

“Hold your fire, Munson!”

Hopper’s voice came through the wall rather than behind the door, almost like he had pressed himself up against it, in case Eddie shot first and asked questions later.

Smart move. 

Hopper seemed to understand more than anyone else why Eddie had become so trigger happy recently.

Eddie let out a breath he wasn’t even aware he’d been holding in. 

Clicking the safety back on, he placed the rifle back in his lap and called out for Hopper to come in.

“There’s been a drop.” Hopper poked his head in the door, “looks like the government has finally remembered we exist. Let’s go.”

<<Previous Part | AO3 | Next Part>>

Fic title and lyrics from Through The Valley by Shawn James but it was this version by Ashley Johnson as Ellie that truly captured me.

Big thanks as always to @hbyrde36 for the magnificent beta work and to the @strangerthingswritersguild for their motivation.

@geekymagicalpotato

[morning-sweets]

~Nightmare~

Hiya @keeira ! I was your secret valentine for the DCA Bee Team!! Horror is not my element I admit, but I had a lot of fun writing it! I hope you like it! <3

Wordcount: 3,700

Warnings: Fear, Minor Injury (it’s not real)

Pit-pat. Pit-pat. Pit-pat. Your feet hit the soft padded floor of the daycare. The colorful vinyl is cold against your bare skin. It sends your nerves alight with each touch. Up and up and up until your shoulders tingle with the sensation and you have to roll your shoulders back to make it go away. 

The daycare looks…different. Vastly different. 

The humming overhead lights are shut off. The bright, cheery colors that make up what you consider the daycare are gone. Kidnapped by dark blues and black that lengthen and deepen the farther you step inside its grasp. It’s cold. So cold you can almost see your own breath in the shadows. That’s not right, is it? It smells like dust and mold. Like the play structures haven’t been wiped down in years, or played in for days. It clogs up your lungs. You want to cough. A daycare shouldn’t smell stale and dead. But it looks dead. Even in the dark, illuminated only by fake stars, you can see the horrendous state of what you know is home to hundreds.

Some of the glass windows have been smashed in. Netting in the play structures have been ripped to dangling threads. Little toys torn in half. Tables turned upside down and strewn out of place. Even a large cut-out of the popular gator has been horrifically demolished. You can hardly tell it’s him. And as you continue to slowly make your way towards the ballpit you notice deep tears in some of the padded tiles. The foam inside is torn to shreds. This doesn’t look like a place you’d find any kids. Or anyone. Not anymore.

This isn’t right. This isn’t right at all. 

It’s so empty and quiet. Why is it quiet? It’s so quiet that it becomes loud in your ears. Ringing through your head as you strain to hear even a pin drop. But nothing comes.The instinct to scream crawls its way to the front of your mind. To make some kind of noise. To make the eerie stillness go away. The daycare shouldn’t be quiet. It’s never quiet. 

Where are the children? 

Where is the laughter and loud squeals of fun? 

Hell, where is the stupid song that plays on loop constantly? It shouldn’t be like this. 

You want to yell out for someone. Scream and shout, and hope someone might answer your cry. But who? Who would answer your call? The instinct dies as you stand still, pondering. Staring downwards, you notice your grip has become pale as you hold yourself close. You let go to find crescent indents in your forearms. 

Something feels…off. Missing. The daycare feels like it’s missing something. Someone should answer your calls. Someone would answer. You know this for a fact. It isn’t missing something, it’s missing someone. 

But who?

You look around, finding yourself standing at the foamy castle wall that surrounds the ballpit. Though as you peer over the edge, you find there are no balls in the ballpit. Or, not as many as there should be. The remaining plastic balls are crumpled. Popped, and wadded up as if they were made of paper. Where did they all go? You wonder. They couldn’t have just disappeared. Maybe it’s cleaning day? But that doesn’t make sense. That doesn’t answer why they left the broken ones in the pit. Those would’ve just been thrown out. 

You walk over to one of the colorful rainbow bridges that lead into the ballpit. Crossing over, you stand at the edge of the bridge for a second, before walking over to the nearest broken ball and picking it up. In the darkness, you can’t tell what color it is your holding. It’s a much darker color compared to some of the others, almost black. The next one you pick up is lighter in color. Holding them side by side in your palms, you think the darker one is blue and the lighter, pink. The next one you grab is darker. Then the next, dark again. Then light. Eventually, you find yourself with a pile of crumpled balls cradled in your arms. Each a different shape and color. Carefully, you carry them out of the ballpit. Back over the rainbow bridge, across the dark, dirty daycare, to the security desk, and dump them all into the trash can. There. The daycare can smile just a little more. You think to yourself, looking over the daycare once more. Although nothing really changed, you’re pleased to have done something for this sad and dark place. 

Tick-tick-tick. You hear a quiet ticking noise echo around the daycare; the sound of something being wound up. It continues to wind, so tight you think it might just snap. Tick-tick-tick. You can’t figure out where it’s coming from. Tick-tick-ti-. Then it stops and it’s quiet for a moment. A soft, music box lullaby starts to play, seemingly from nowhere. It flows throughout the daycare. It’s beautiful, yet haunting. You follow the sound with your ears, looking up towards the painted wizard tower on the far wall. The music box sings from behind the drawn curtains.

You debate if you should go up there or not. You’ve been up there before, quite a few times, but not by yourself. A darkness clouds your brain. You don’t remember who could’ve been with you. You stare at the balcony for a moment longer, listening to the slow lullaby before making up your mind. 

Slipping out of the daycare’s play area, you head for the second floor of the theater. On the way there, you notice that the rest of the daycare’s space is just in as bad shape as the play area.

The gift shop was closed, rollers shut over the windows and entrance. Tables were thrown over and chairs were missing just like inside the play area. Vending machines emitted no glow and were missing buttons. You make your way up a set of stairs, the ones closest to the upstairs entrance of the theatre. As you pass a series of party rooms, you can see remnants of popped balloons, and torn tablecloths. On one of the tables, there's a lonely plate of moldy birthday cake. 

This place hasn’t seen anyone for a while, you think again. And then you realize something. A realization you should’ve had the minute it started, and a shiver runs down your spine. You are not alone here. Someone is up there, behind those drawn curtains, playing that lullaby, filling this place with music. It couldn’t have gone off by itself. The thought of not being alone here, or who could be here with you, makes your blood run cold. 

You stand in front of the theater’s entrance, staring up at its large scroll-like sign with Fazbear Theater written in big blue letters. You find something odd. There are two unpainted circles on either side of the text, tucked between where the scroll ends and the clouds above, like something used to be there but was torn off the sign. You can’t remember what could’ve been there. You feel that you should know what’s missing. You can feel it, forcing its way to the front of your brain, and then it’s dragged back down into the depths before you can even picture what it could’ve been. It leaves a terrible ache in its wake, and so you give up trying to remember.

The power is off, so you haul open the large rolling door yourself. It flies up with a loud clattering shck-shck-shck. You walk past an abandoned and dirty concessions counter. It reeks of food; rotten pizza and overly buttered popcorn. In the distance, you hear a mouse squeak. 

You continue on into the main theater. There’s nothing playing on the screen. In fact, there’s a large gash in it. You don’t peek over the railing to see the downstairs; you know it’s a mess. Walking to the other side of the theater, your heart pounds as the music becomes louder with every step. You don’t know what you’ll find as you stand in front of the peeling Captain Foxy’s Pirate Adventure Coming Soon poster. A pit of uncertainty, anxiety, and fear finds itself in your stomach. With an exhale, you knock. Knocking once, twice, thrice, you hear the click of the lock and the hidden door creaks open. The hallway behind it is dingy, unlit, and uninviting and painted a gross, muted orange. It reminds you of an orange gone bad. 

The colorful carpet is crunchy with grime underneath your feet. You grimace at the texture. The music box trickles through the cracked open door at the end. When you reach it, you find the room inside is dark. You push open the door a little bit more to get a better look. The room, like everything else, is dirty and a mess. 

However, this room has always been that way.

Boxes upon boxes of miscellaneous items are everywhere. There’s a little red and green play structure of a house in the corner, with children sized chairs to accompany it. Piñatas and vinyl colored foam blocks are scattered about. There’s a thin layer of dust blanketing everything, and large cobwebs in the corners. 

You ignore the disassembled STAFF bots, and the wet-floor bot that lays face down on the floor. You never knew why those were there. It leaves you with an awful feeling crawling inside you each time you see them.

The lullaby still plays, and your heart still pounds as you walk farther inside. But there is nobody here. There is no visible source of the music either. Your brows furrowed in confusion as you inspected the room carefully, turning in a full circle until you faced the door you entered from. There, you see a blue plastic tube stuck in the wall on its right. The tube is wide enough for you to crawl through. Music, the music box, flows outwards from within. Crouching down in front of the tube, you peer inside. It’s dark, but there’s an odd, pulsing glow in the corner that illuminates the area. It looks like a room, similar to the one you’re in now. You can’t see what the glowing light is from where you are crouched. 

Your hands grip the top lip of the tube and haul yourself inside. It’s a tight fit, but you manage quite easily to get to the other side. This room was a lot smaller than the other, and dirtier. The music is the loudest it’s been. It swells in the room, bouncing off the concrete walls over and over again. Your eyes find the source. An arcade cabinet. 

An arcade cabinet? 

The cabinet sits in the far corner of the small room, and by the looks of it, it's…running? But the power isn’t on. 

Confusion replaces the anxiety and fear in your gut. Who turned on this arcade machine? You take a couple steps closer to the machine. Its screen is bright white, with nothing else displayed. It hurts to look at and you decided to look elsewhere. Your eyes find the top of the arcade game and read the name. Balloon World. You’ve heard of that before. Don’t you collect balloons, or something, in this? You haven’t seen this game in any of the arcades, is this one broken? As you’re lost in thought, the music box abruptly stops, and the screen goes dark. You squint, hesitating before leaning into the machine to get a better look at the screen. It was working just a second ago, why did it shut off? You reached up to grab hold of the side of the cabinet, when you glanced down at the floor. Your eyes trailed the cord of the machine to the outlet. Then you paused.

The plug laid in a heap on the floor, and there was no outlet. It hadn’t been plugged in. 

Your eyes widen and fear trickles its way back into your system. How was it playing music if it wasn’t plugged in? Your thoughts are cut off by an ugly, raspy laugh and you shriek when something grabs your still extended arm. 

“Awwhh. W-what’s the matter, Spitfire? You look like y-you just s-saw a ghost!” A loud voice taunts. It’s laced with static and an awful raspiness. Your fearful gaze finds the arcade cabinet’s screen and you find bright orange eyes staring back at you. It giggles at you with a wide toothy maw. “ Scaaared?”  It taunts you again. 

An eclipsed sun had overtaken the screen of Balloon World. A dark face with bright orange rays that looked razor sharp. And currently, it somehow had a hand outside the arcade cabinet and was pulling you closer. The hand was dark as well, and horribly disorienting to look at. It fizzled and buzzed with static — you could feel it against your skin, it almost burned — it looked like it didn’t belong, like it shouldn’t exist. Another shot out from the machine’s screen, reaching out for you. You screamed, pulling at the first one, desperately trying to pry it off. 

“Let go!” You yelled. All it did was laugh at you as its other hand grabbed yours, halting your attempts. It dragged you closer and closer to the arcade cabinet. Your heart skips a beat as it clicks what’s happening. It’s trying to pull you in. Inside the cabinet.

You tried to pull yourself out of its hands, a new wave of adrenaline washing over you. “C-c’mon, Spitfire! I d-d-don’t bite,” It tried to assure you. But the smile that grew and contorted across its face said the opposite. You shook your head at its words and continued to struggle in its grasp but it wouldn’t let go. Whatever this thing was, was big and very strong. It’s hand wrapped fully around your bicep, and the other practically enclosed your hand in its palm. It was futile trying to fight it. 

“Let me go! Please!” You begged. Your foot hit the base of the arcade cabinet. Then the other. Your body lurched forward with a painful tug. You fervently fought against it, but it was a losing battle. Another hand rose suddenly from the slanted screen and grabbed the underside of your face. “Oh, Spitfire~” It cackled out the nickname with glee. It jerked your head towards the screen. “Why don’t you come inside?” It asked, like it was a friend inviting you into its home. You looked into the screen, just mere inches away from your face, its bright orange eyes bore into yours. You resisted, yanking your head back and away from it, twisting every which way. This finally seemed to annoy the creature inside the machine. 

Its smile fell, losing the act as it tilted its head to the side, and then it was suddenly closer than ever to the screen. All you could see were those glowing eyes. There was a dark and frustrated look inside them. “I said come inside.” It snarled at you. And then its grip on you tightened. Digging into the fat of your cheeks, crushing the bones of your hand together, bruising the flesh of your arm, as it doubles its attempt to drag you in. This time, you couldn’t fight against it. 

It felt like time slowed down as you fought hopelessly. Pleading, praying, to not lose this game of tug-of-war. No! You tried to yell, like it would do something. No! No, no, no, no- Your cheek pressed against the screen of the arcade cabinet after what felt like hours of resisting, and you screamed. It burned. It felt like your skin was melting. Static buzzed inside your ear. Your vision blurred as you felt the screen give out, and you felt yourself slipping through into the abyss of the arcade machine. 

Please! Someone save me! 

Your screams cut off as the rest of your body vanished into the cabinet.

. 

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

And then you woke up. 

With a jolt, you lurched up from your rest. A cough burst from your windpipe after a gasp much too sharp for your poor body. 

“Are you alright?” A soft, raspy voice sounded. Then there was a hand on the small of your back and you shrieked. You jumped up and away from the figure and curled up in the nearest corner. 

“Get away! Don’t touch me!” You yelled, fists raised and ready to attack. 

“Starlight?” The voice called, concern filling the single world. Your eyes darted toward the source. Red eyes shone across the room. A single hand reached out for you. “Starlight, what’s wrong?” They asked, it was almost a whisper, like they were afraid to spook you even more. 

“Moon?” You questioned, lowering your hands. 

“Yes. It’s me,” Moon nodded, his hat jingling along with the motion. “I promise it is.” He offered his hand to you. You wanted to sob in relief at the sight. Tears pooled in your eyes as you practically jumped into the bed you had flown from moments earlier. Wrapping your arms tightly around Moon’s torso, you let yourself sob into his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Moon. I didn’t realize it was you.” You mumbled. He hummed soothingly in response, wrapping an arm around your torso while the other rubbed your back in small circles. “It’s okay, my little star. It’s okay. There is no reason to apologize.” He spoke quietly. The hand circling your back took your cheek instead. You obliged, letting it guide you away from Moon’s shoulder to meet his eyes. His eyes softened as he took in your tear streaked cheeks and puffy eyes. “Did you have a nightmare?” The animatronic asked you, wiping at your face. You nodded with a sniffle. Another sob tore its way through you and you cried into Moon’s hands. “Shhh…shhh…It’s okay, you’re okay,” Moon comforted. “I’ve got you, I'm here.” He ran a hand soothingly through your hair as you collected yourself enough to speak.

“It was so horrible. The daycare was a mess, a-and I couldn’t remember you. O-or Sun! And then there was this lullaby, and I followed it into your room, and-” Your rambling paused as you thought of something. Something that pooled dread in your gut. “Moon?” You whispered his name, afraid. 

“Yes, Starlight?” He whispered back with a tilt of his head. You caught the bell on the end of his hat before it could even make a sound. 

“Is there an arcade cabinet in there?” You looked dead into Moon’s eyes as you asked this. You pointed a finger gingerly towards the hole in the wall. His eyes followed your hand, then flickered downward as he noticed your tightening hold on him. You couldn’t read his expression as his eyes met yours again. His optics held no thought as he stared back at you, processing what you had just asked. You were afraid of what he was going to say as another second of silence passed, then he spoke.

“No, my love. There is not an arcade cabinet in there,” He assured you, with a gentle stroke to your cheek.

 You sighed happily at that — you didn’t even know you were holding your breath —, content with his answer. Moon seemed to understand this as you draped your hand gently over his hand still on your cheek, turning your head to place a kiss on his palm. The animatronic purred softly at the affection.

 “Do you think you can sleep again?” He rumbled out. He kissed your forehead as he said this, returning your affection. You took a second, before nodding. “I think so.” “Would you like me to stay with you until you fall asleep?” “You’re not going to stay the entire time?” “I still have a job to do, Starlight; rounds to make. I’ll be back before you know it,” He smiled at you, petting your head apologetically as you pouted. “But I can stay for now, if you’d like. ” You returned his smile with a small one of your own.

“Yes, please.” 

Moon laid down with you until you managed to fall back asleep. He stroked your back and kissed your shoulders lovingly, whispering comforts to you as he attempted to coax you back to sleep. At one point, he started to wind up the music box inside his chassis but you stopped him, placing your hands on his chest. It was too fresh in your mind. 

He laid there as he felt your breath even out, your hand that gripped his loosened ever so slightly, and he knew you had finally succumbed. A red hue dusted your face as Moon’s eyes watched you for a moment longer. He leaned in, kissing your cheek once before gently prying himself out of your grip and leaving the bed. 

Moon’s movement made no sound, not even the bells on his feet jingled, as he tiptoed across the room, easily stepping past and over the little toys and pillows and other things that littered the floor. The animatronic crouched down in front of the blue tube in the wall. He slipped his upper half inside easily, supporting his weight on his hands and feet.

There, in the corner of the small concrete room was an arcade cabinet. A Balloon World arcade cabinet. 

Moon stared at the arcade cabinet, long and hard. Like maybe that would scare it off. The machine wasn’t plugged in, its screen dark and covered in dust. Moon hated coming in here. There was a reason they told you to not come in here. And they appreciated that you never questioned it, agreeing to respect their boundaries. Oh the things they’d do for you. To keep you safe. You were wonderful and oh so nice to them. They didn’t deserve you. 

Moon kept his eyes on the arcade cabinet before speaking in a low tone, a warning. “Don’t do that again.” He growled, addressing the machine. He was quiet, sure to not disturb you, but it still held that stern coldness. “I’ll dismantle you if I have to,” He threatened. “Do you understand?” 

The only thing he got in response was a long staticky giggle. One that promised it did understand, but didn’t care.

[mistressmxggot]

Chapter 8- ✰ Wrong Path, Bitch ✰

"𝗦𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝘄𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗴. 𝗧𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁𝘆... 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗱𝗶𝗱𝗻'𝘁 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄. 𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱𝗻'𝘁 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗰𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴."

Tags: Kidnapping, drinking

~You skipped breakfast again. Your appetite was completely gone these past days, butterflies constantly sitting heavy in your stomach. You were trying to figure out how to get home. She had humiliated you, and of course she couldn't care less.

In a brief passing, she had told you there would be some get-together, party or whatever tonight. Now on top of being heartbroken and embarrassed, you had to pretend to be okay with that heathen of a woman. Still, you would glance at her when you had the chance. She was your weakness and you just couldn't get away from that. It was just something you had to accept, but you wouldn't show weakness to her anymore.

You were more sad than anything. You should be more angry and you sort of were, at least at Vivian. Ambessa was always different. God why did you have to be so weak?

Everything was annoying you. Everyone was annoying you. That servant girl you had danced with, whatever her name was, did she even tell you her name?, didn't even talk to you. No smiles, no good morning, nothing. Fuck Vivian, how about that, fuck that stupid whore. You grunted, yanking your blankets over your head. If she comes into this room asking where you are, your head just might explode. You had gotten some water and went right back to bed. Her slaves had probably told her that you didn't eat. Well if she wanted you to eat, she shouldn't humilate you.

Your sighs and grunts filled the room. You had that stupid party tonight. Of course she would want you there, to look presentable. Oh you hated rich people. In your night gown, you groggily lingered towards the library. You couldn't care less what you looked like.

Curled onto an ottoman, your head rested on your arm. An exhausted sigh left your lips. No books were interesting you. Would she be angry if you left her? Would she even notice? You figured you could ask to go shopping, and use that money, and have an excuse to leave this hell house. Of course that would mean waiting till tomorrow. This stupid party was just something you had to bear, then you could go home. You weren't gonna tell her anything, just ask for the money, pack, and disappear. Your head was spinning, eyelids fluttering shut. This was just entirely too much.

A large, rough hand nudged you out of your sleep. You slowly gained consciousness. The disturbance was annoying you. Looking up, she was there, at your side. Your breath hitched in your throat, gaze glued to the ground.

"It's late, you need to prepare yourself."

A nasty realization bit at you. It had been hours of you resting. You were still exhausted. Of course. This party was imminent.

"Sure whatever."

You began to gather yourself, stacking the two books you hadn't read atop of eachother. She stayed there. You could feel her looking at you.

"Can you go?"

"Just making sure you don't fall back asleep."

That really annoyed you for some reason. Everything she said annoyed you. Everything she did annoyed you. You quickly got up, leaving the books there. She could deal with them.

After showering, you did your makeup with what she had left you. There was nothing dark except for mascara. Everything was pale and pink. She like, really liked you in white. That's what color your gown was, layed out for you. It was beautiful at least, but everything here was beautiful and elegant. The dress was off the shoulder, floor length, and backless. It was finished with a silver belt. You would be lying if you said you didn't like it.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, your stomach and chest tight. Something was wrong. This party... you didn't know. You were still so upset. You wanted her to like you, to touch you.

The door creeked open, your tears quickly wiped away. Another servant entered, put in a simple black dress.

"Miss Medarda would like to have you now."

You gulped. You had followed by her side for the beginning of the evening, silent as she introduced you as some sort of close buisness partner. You thought it would be mentally easier to just be a servant, but it wouldn't be fun to serve pretentious rich people all night. It was good when you finally got to drift off.

You knew you were drinking too much, the wine was just too good. Honestly, you wouldn't mind embarrassing her either. You sat at a table, eating too many hors d'oeuvres and saying too much to this odd looking man. Her servants cleaned up after you, making you feel a little guilty. The man asked you if you enjoyed Ambessa's company. You weren't exactly sure what he meant by that. You just wanted this night to be over. You wanted to go home.

Now dancing with another man, about a couple drinks too many flowing through you, he chatted with you.

"Between you and I, I'm surprised Ambessa brought you here with her. She's not the type to connect with someone like you."

Your eyebrows furrowed.

"I apologize, that sounded aggressive. I only mean that she isn't usually the type to be so connected with a partner. I suppose you are good for her, lighten her up a bit."

He chuckled, spinning you around. The wheels began to turn. Ambessa usually wasn't the type to tell her intentions. You felt your hands heat up.

"Excuse me I have to use the ladies room."

You quickly snatched your hands away from him. He looked puzzled. Yeah you could relate. You hurried off to the bathroom, taking a full glass of wine with you, not sure whose it was. With a loud shut, you locked yourself in.

"She isn't usually the type to be so connected with a partner. I suppose you could lighten her up a bit."

You were so angry. Ambessa was the most ridiculous person you had ever met. Every situation just deepened your hatred and embarrassment. You downed the glass of wine. You didn't want to look at yourself in the mirror, you couldn't. You just wanted to go home.

The night had passed in a blur. You had returned to the man and danced some more. You knocked over a vase and...now you were in Ambessa's room. She was undressing, obviously tired.

"Do you need something?"

You glared at her. "You could have fucking told me."

She couldn't even glance at you. A deep sigh left her.

"What are you speaking of now?"

"Are you serious?! You could have fucking told me I wasn't meant to be a buisness partner. You just had to humiliate me even more didn't you? I couldn't just be a buisness partner? Why did I have to be... basically your prostitute?"

She turned towards you. "That's what you want don't you? You are not that special, and it is very audacious of you to assume I would jeopardize my reputation for you. I believe you have been mistaken. I did tell them you were a buisness partner. Still, it doesn't matter how many of my dresses and how much of my jewelry you put on, it's very challenging to take the look of undercity whore off of you."

You looked at her.

She chuckled. "You're very obedient, which is good, but your lack of action disappoints me. It is weak. It seems you have no discipline. You have served me very well in the thrill of the hunt. You have satiated every hunger, in almost every aspect, but it angers me how easy you have yielded yourself to me. Physically, mentally, emotionally. Now you only squirn when the wolf's jaws are wrapped around your neck. You need to fight back. Think little lamb. The wolf has you, ready to swallow you whole. All you can do it cry and throw tantrums. Pathetic."

Your throat felt tight. Why? Why did her words hurt you so much? Maybe it was how she seemed to not care at all, how she didn't care about the situation or about how hurt you were. You told her you were humiliated. She didn't even respond. She only responded to the fact you weren't understanding her or how to be vicious like her. Before you could stop yourself, you burst into tears. She looked offended, and it only made you cry harder. You heaved and held you stomach, tears ruining your makeup. You just sobbed. You couldn't hold yourself together infront of her anymore.

Ambessa sighed and mumbled under her breath. "Cry and throw tantrums.." You cried harder, covering your face.

"You're very drunk and it's making you emotional. Sleep. You need it."

Sure. Whatever. You left her room, face red. Rictus glanced at you with pity. Your dress- correction her dress and jewelry lay in a mess on the floor. You had since stopped crying, the pillow hugging your cheek. The alcohol was fucking you up. Your sadness turned to shame, them sadness, then back to shame, and soon to anger.

No no no! She wasn't just going to get off that easily. You shot up from your bed, blankets falling to the floor. You whipped it open, only to be face to face with Malik. Shock sobered you up real quick.

"M-Malik? How did you make it here?"

Your voice shook. You weren't sure what you were feeling. His face... well he looked furious.

You gulped. "Malik. You came for me!"

You reached your hands and stepped out to him, but he quick backed up. He didn't look happy at all.

Large arms wrapped around you, one at your throat and another at your mouth. You tried to scream, but you couldn't breathe. Malik stared at you with obvious disgust. The man holding you began to drag to away from your room.

"Keep her in check. It would be nice to go unnoticed."

You heard a door swing open. At the end of the hallway, you could see Ambessa and Rictus, looking right at the three of you. Two more of Malik's men approached from behind the corner. You tried to reach out for Ambessa.

"Shit! We need to leave, now!"

The man threw you over his shoulder, following Malik.

"Ambessa!" You shouted for her, watching as her and Rictus ran towards you. They were too far away. You couldn't process what was happening. You were out of a window, then on the ground, and then... it went black.~

You. Always. Masterlist.

This is kinda short and it took 50 years to come out I know 😭 Chapter 9 is it tho and it will be out hopefully by the end of tomorrow. I promise it won't take forever this time

Taglist: @maaaaaaaaaaari , @ivorydevil , @trizxyp , @ambessaswifey , @randomstuffthatdontmakesense , @simplyxwwww , @last-dropsevi, @vffantasy, @fruitfulfashion , @trexsuit , @youngtastemakerfart

Lmk to be added.

[wanderingblindly]

liq!! congratulations!!

how about a thank you kiss with landoscar?

<3

THANK YOU KEN!!! and i LOVE a chance to write something that's vague established relationship!!!! as i've been sick all week, i opted for a little sick fic -- i hope you like it!!! Celebratory prompt list here!

Bedside Manner

Lando pokes his head into the bedroom cautiously, as if the act itself could make a sound – let alone enough sound to wake Oscar up. It's endearing if not a little misguided, which seems to cover a lot of what living with Lando's like, if he's honest.

Oscar flashes a close-lipped smile, propped up against the headboard to help his breathing, a box of tissues within arm's reach.

"How're you feeling?" Lando whispers – again, as if Oscar's asleep – from the doorway. Unmoving.

"Bit better," Oscar lies, the truth immediately revealed by how scraggly his voice is – further revealed by the immediate coughing fit. Fuck, it's starting to hurt; his ribs smart like he'd broken them again, chest straining like he'd gone too hard at the gym.

He feels fucking miserable, he can hardly breathe through his nose, and every breath through his mouth makes his lungs sound like they're rattling.

Lando rushes in to the bedroom, mug and bowl in hand.

"Y'don't have to pretend, you know," Lando chastises him without any teeth, voice soft and warm; he places his offerings on the nightstand and perches on the edge of the bed, looking at Oscar with drawn brows and worried eyes. "You sound like shit, mate."

"Wow, thanks." Oscar deadpans, too tired to give anything more.

"Brought you some soup, it's –"

"Did you –?"

"From your favorite restaurant, of course." Lando finishes pointedly, as if he could sense Oscar's mild panic at the idea of him cooking. He reaches for the bowl, grabbing the spoon and stirring it a bit. "Open wide,"

"No." Oscar coughs again, phlegmy and disgusting. He wrinkles his nose at the feeling, the sound; he's sure that Lando would rather be anywhere else than sat by his side.

"Yes. Now, say 'ah'," He holds up the spoon with raised brows, expectant.

"Lando, really, I'm not a kid." Oscar tries to reach for the bowl, flopping his hands down dramatically when Lando moves it away.

"Wouldn't hurt to let yourself be pathetic sometimes."

Oscar reaches for the tissues, wiping at his nose, "Reckon I'm plenty pathetic right now,"

"Then let me help," Lando urges, adjusting to sit a little bit closer, holding out the spoon again. When Oscar doesn't move, Lando tilts his head a bit. "Please?"

God, he hates that it always works on him – Lando's kicked-puppy pleading thing. Maybe more importantly, he hates that he gives in just to see the way his eyes light up, pleased and preening.

So with a sigh, crackly and awful, he leans forward and wraps his lips around the spoon – nose too plugged to really taste much of it anyways.

"Happy?" Oscar asks after he swallows, fighting a smile as Lando sits up straighter with a satisfied hum.

"You make a good patient," He offers another spoonful, only growing more content as Oscar indulges him yet again – maintaining eye contact as he eats from his hand.

"How will I ever repay my nurse?" Oscar asks, tucking his face away to clear his throat.

Lando purses his lips, pretending to be pensive. He finally replies once Oscar settles back against the headboard, looking at him with a raised brow. "How about this?"

He leans in, cheek turned the side.

"You're gonna get sick."

"Lying about appreciating me, huh?"

Shaking his head in disbelief, skin a little warm at how Lando's smile crinkles his eyes, Oscar cranes his neck just enough to place a chaste kiss to his cheek – a silent, heartfelt thank you.

Maybe it's not the worst thing, letting Lando try to take care of him.

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

The Devil was one of the few methodical killers he had ever seen, never any finger prints of DNA from the killer left behind.

There was only one clue that Adam could gleam about the killer from the blood splatter and it was his height. The arterial blood spray wasn't as high if the guy was 5'10 or 6 feet. He had to be at least 5'7 minimum. Unless he was shorter than that and was standing on something to make him a little taller which was smart.

It was as if every detail in the crime scene was necessary and done just so, like a painting in an art gallery.

The weapons used are never found in the home, so either the victim has them in their home and the killer takes them. Or the more likely scenario, he brings his own tools.

Adam: I want to know you.

-

Lucifer was normally so good at keeping things at the back of his mind but today was not a good day. He was just in his office and thankful for that.

His mind went to his mother and what happened. His chest felt tight.

(Tw implied rape and murder)

Aserha, his mother frantically hurried six year old Lucifer to hide under the bed, his father came back. She left him because he was abusive but he had found them.

Aserha: Stay here my little duckling, no matter what you hear stay here for mommy okay?

Lucifer: B-But mama!

Aserha shushed him and smoothed out his hair before hiding him under the bed with his stuffed toy duck.

His mom ran out and it felt like forever but his father chased her into the bedroom where he threw his mom to the ground and raped her making her scream. Lucifer cried into his stuffy not wanting to make a sound, he wanted to help his mama but he was too small.

His father told her that he was going to find Lucifer and kill him making her cry more. That's when Lucifer witnessed his father stab his mother in the heart. She went limp, her head lolled to the side and lifeless eyes looked into his tear filled ones.

When his father was gone because he couldn't find him, Lucifer sobbed and reached out a shaky hand grasping the cold hand of his mother that was outstretched to him.

Lucifer: M-Mama.........

Lucifer wiped his face, a tear fell down his cheek. Fuck he missed her and what was worse that asshole got away with it.

That's why he became an FBI Agent, he wanted to be sure no one got away with murder ever again.

Except for himself, so he can deliver his own brand of justice when the law fails others like they failed his mother.

He pushed those feelings to the side, he had paperwork to do.

-

Adam looked at each crime scene photo with care.

Every victim had committed murder at some point and they were either never proven guilty in a court of law or they were let out very early.

Adam: Someone who tracks the justice system then......

Could...... Could the Devil be one of them?

Serial Killer x FBI Agent

Bonus points: Lucifer is the senior agent training Adam and is also the killer he's training Adam to find.

Stalking

Possessive behavior

He would (and will) kill for Adam

How did you know I love problematic!Lucifer?

Poor Adam just wants to do his job, and now he has a serial killer after him.

[ciderjacks]

wish there were more ndn creole blogs on here, it’s all recipes and history pages, like we’re still around and being a creole ndn is way different to a non creole ndn experience, I know we’re around cause I met one a few weeks ago irl just by chance, but everyone acts like we’re either only in Louisiana and not worth acknowledging or just gone altogether.

[donghun-s]

so how do i tell my sister that since the last time she saw me i've become chronically ill and have had to change how i live my day to day life and i am no longer functionally the same sister she has known her entire life and that will impact how i can participate in the weeklong trip we have planned in seven days. any tips.