#the air is clean and breezy

[a-god-in-ruins-rises]

fuck it we're day drinking

[alpha-dash1998]

A Breath of Fresh Air: My Experience with the Breezy+ Air Purifier

[retroaria]

hiii!!!! congrats on 1.5k omg!! could i get the dialogue nsfw no. 4 with chuuya (and maybe dazai if u feel like it) with sub!fem!reader please? tysm!!

₊˚⊹♡ Chuuya Nakahara x sub!fem!reader

a/n: cliffhanger lol bc i love leaving the smut up to your imagination 😌

˗ˏˋ written for aria’s 1.5k follower event! ˎˊ˗

There was an uncanny stillness in the air surrounding Yokohama tonight. It was thin, breezy, serene - the streets were quiet and clean. “Chuu~ did you have something planned for us tonight?” you leaned against your door as you held it open, your eyes flickered up and down Chuuya’s figure before you. “It’s awfully quiet out…”

A sly smirk spread across his face as he reached out to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you in, “Wouldn’t want anyone dying on date night, all operations are at a halt. You’ve got me all night darling.” he cooed at you, his thumbs rubbing soft circles into your sides. “Are you ready to go?”

“You lead the way.” you tilted your head up and spoke into his ear, teasingly. His hand shifted to your lower back, guiding you out the door.

Chuuya didn’t get to spend nights like this with you often. His position in the mafia demanded his full devotion, and you knew this when you decided to entangle yourself in his madness. You meet with him in shadows as he passes through, or you’ll wake up some mornings in his arms, left to wonder how he snuck in the night before. He often would apologize profusely for his shortcomings as a partner, though you both know you couldn’t leave each other no matter how distant you felt.

On occasion, life would slow down, and Chuuya would find a way to arrange a single night where he isn’t needed. He’d call you in the morning, tell you to dress up as nice as you please, and by nightfall, there he was at your doorstep - roses in hand and a smile on his face. These clandestine meetings gave you time in between to yearn and long for each other. It made every touch feel electric, and every teasing word that melted off his tongue pool into your panties.

The night was beautiful as always, Chuuya Nakahara wouldn’t be caught dead doing anything less than extravagant for the woman he loves. A candlelit dinner, a piano playing softly throughout the room, a bottle of his finest liquor, and his hand holding yours across the table as he gazes into your eyes and listens to you speak. You spent the evening getting blissfully lost in each others presence, your temptations aided by the alcohol.

Eventually you found yourselves stumbling slightly through the streets back to your apartment, hand in hand, clingy closely to each other. He recounted a recent mission, pride and righteousness laced in his words. Chuuya was nothing but a punk who made it big in the criminal underground, surely no one in your life would approve of your relationship with him, but that only made it all the more fun. No one could rile you up this much, keep you on your toes and at the edge of your seat - ready to release every inhibition upon his command. As you neared your building, he wrapped his arm snug around your waist and pulled you close, excitement and anticipation bubbling up inside you.

You fumbled with your keys as Chuuya pushed his body up against your backside, his warm breath trailing down your neck as he nibbled playfully on your ear. “Someone’s antsy…” you said just above a whisper as you finally pushed the right key in and opened the door.

“I only have but so much time with you doll, I think we better to make the most of every second…” he said, lacing his fingers with yours as he let your guide him into your apartment. As soon as the door shut he practically yanked you into his arms, his fingertips tilting your chin up to face him, “…that is, if you’ll allow me?” he smirked at you expectantly, his thumb tracing down your jawline before moving to gently rub your cheek.

“Whatever you want…” you muttered out, entranced by his seductive touch and gaze. You aren’t even sure how it happened, he wrapped you up in his cloud of lust, and you came back to as your back fell softly against the bed sheets. Chuuya kneeled on the bed before, sat perfectly between your legs, his hands sliding up your thighs to your hips.

He slipped his hands under your shirt, smoothing against the skin of your body underneath as he hummed in delight. You sat up slightly and lifted your arms, allowing him to pull the shirt over your head and toss it to the side, his hands supported your back and he pulled you into a passionate kiss as you worked on undoing the buttons of his shirt.

You both worked your way through each others clothes, you pulled down his boxers and watched his cock perk up against his stomach- his tip slightly leaking in anticipation. Chuuya stopped abruptly once he had you in your bra and panties. He took in the view before using his hands to pray open your legs, squeezing gently at the fat of your thighs. His fingertips grazing down until they met your clothed core, pressing slightly through the fabric of your panties. Your breath hitched and his eyes darted up at you. “Is this where you need me baby?” he said to you softly, playing with the hem of your panties teasingly.

You hummed in approval, shaking your head a bit as your hips gently grinded up further into his touch. He pulled his hand away and placed it firm against your chest, sliding up until his fingers were wrapped loosely around your neck. “Use your words doll, tell me where you need me.”

He’s barely even touched you and he’s already taken your breath away, your hips buck slightly again, “Hmph~ anywhere chuu, please…” you pleaded. His eyes darkened a bit.

“Anywhere I want?” the devilish smile he flashed down at you was painfully hot, you wanted to instinctively shut your legs for some amount of friction as you felt your wetness pooling in your panties.

“Anywhere…touch me anywhere chuu~” your approval was all he needed to finally begin playing with you as he pleased. He pulled your panties down, lifting your legs above his head so he could pluck them off and toss them to the ground. He kept one hand wrapped around you neck as he trailed the other down your thigh, feeling the gentle pulse of your nerves the closer he got to where you needed him most.

Finally, his fingertips made there way down to your heat, pushing through your folds and rubbing against your entrance, collecting your arousal to spread up towards your clit. As he drew slow circles on your bundle of nerves you let your eyes flutter shut in pleasure. You could feel his hand around your neck tighten.

“Keep your eyes open, look at me, baby.” he said sternly, increasing the pressure of his fingers rubbing against your clit. Your eyes met his and you were immediately pulled into his lusty gaze, your vision locked on him as you whimpered at his touch. He released your neck hesitantly, only to use his other hand to plunge two of his slender fingers into your gushing entrance. You rolled your hips into his hands, egging him on to speed up his thrusts. He curled his digits into your sweet spot and prodded at it roughly, continuing his movements on your clit and nearly pushing you over the edge. “I want you to look at me while you cum all over my hands princess, let me see how good I make you feel.”

Your eyes darted down to watch his hands work your cunt and you could see his cock hanging eagerly over the sheets, his tip red and plump, a subtle white glaze precum dripping down into his shaft. Your mind filled with dirty visions of his cock pumping rope after rope of his hot seed into your weeping cunt. Your body squirmed and tosses under his touch and you looked back up at him, brows furrowed and rolling slightly back. He could feel your walls clenching around his fingers as he sped up all his movements.

Chuuya groaned as he watched your eyes roll into the back of your head. He removed his hand from your clit and brought it back up to wrap around your neck, his other hand continued finger fucking you so rough you could feel yourself tipping over the edge. You stomach fluttered and your hips lifted slightly. You brought your hand up to wrap around his bicep, your nails digging into him as your orgasm washed over you. You moaned out and he watched you fall apart beneath him with his mouth slightly ajar, looking at you like he was ready to devour you whole.

He rode you down from your high, removing his fingers from your hole and rubbing gently through your folds. He leaned down and kissed your neck, trailing his kisses up until he reached your soft lips. He tugged on your bottom lip with his teeth as he pulled away, quickly replacing his mouth with the fingers you came around moments ago, pushing them past your lips and swirling them around your tongue. “Mmm~ good girl, taste all that cum I fucked out of you…”

He reached his other hand down to slowly pump his throbbing cock, swiping his thumb over his leaking tip with a low groan. He pulled his fingers out of your mouth and gripped your hip firmly, he rubbed his cock through your slick folds and moaned, his tip swiping back and forth against your clit. You squirmed beneath him, overstimulated, and he chuckled down at you.

“I’m hardly done with you baby, I know you can take it all for me tonight, isn’t that right?” he said as he lined his tip up with your entrance.

“Y-yes, Chuu~” you cooed at him. He reached one hand up to caress your cheek gently as he looked down at you with a mixture of lust and adoration.

“Good girl, now let me make you feel good princess…”

[princesskenny1998]

Big Mouth | Judd Birch x female!preppy!reader ~ Babysitter, PT.1

It was a breezy Saturday afternoon, and you were babysitting Nick Birch and his best friend Andrew Glouberman at the Birch residence. You had done this a few times before, and each time, it had been pretty uneventful. Nick and Andrew were quirky, sure, but babysitting them was easy enough. The Birches paid well, and their house was a nice place to hang out—large, clean, and quiet, except for the occasional outburst from Nick and Andrew about some ridiculous debate they were having.

You were sitting in the living room, absentmindedly flipping through a magazine as the two boys argued over which superhero would win in a fight—Superman or Thor. Their bickering was loud but not unexpected, so you just tuned them out and nodded along whenever one of them tried to pull you into the conversation. After all, it was just another typical babysitting job.

Until it wasn’t.

You heard the front door open with a soft click, and the sound of footsteps echoed through the house. You didn’t think much of it at first—Nick’s parents sometimes came home early, or maybe it was just Nick’s older sister, Leah, back from her day out. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw him.

Judd Birch.

You had heard about him before—Nick had mentioned him a few times in passing, describing him as a bit of a loner, someone who kept to himself and had a darker edge. But you’d never seen him in person, never really thought about him at all.

That changed the moment you laid eyes on him.

He was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with an air of casual indifference. Tall, dark hair that looked like it had been hastily tousled, a leather jacket thrown on like he hadn’t given it a second thought. He had a smirk that screamed trouble, and his eyes—sharp and dark—seemed to pierce right through you.

Your breath hitched in your throat.

Your Hormone Monstress, who had been lying dormant until now, suddenly stirred to life. "Oh my God," she purred in your ear, her voice low and sultry. "Would you look at him? What a man! Forget babysitting, sweetheart, we’ve got ourselves a real treat right here."

You felt your cheeks flush, heat creeping up your neck as you tried to maintain some semblance of composure. Judd’s gaze flickered over to you for a split second, his expression unreadable, before he turned away and disappeared down the hallway without a word.

But that was all it took. One look, one fleeting glance, and you were completely hooked.

You tried to focus on Nick and Andrew, who were still in the middle of their superhero debate, oblivious to the internal chaos you were experiencing. But it was impossible to concentrate. Your heart was racing, your mind was swirling with thoughts you couldn’t quite control, and your Hormone Monstress wasn’t helping.

"*He’s so brooding," she sighed dreamily. "You’ve gotta get him alone, doll. Just imagine what he’d be like…"

You blinked, shaking your head as if that would help clear the thoughts. "Stop it," you muttered under your breath, feeling a mix of embarrassment and frustration. You couldn’t believe you were getting all worked up over some guy you barely knew—Nick Birch’s brother, no less.

But your Hormone Monstress wasn’t having it. "Oh, honey, this is no ordinary crush. This is destiny. You need to get to know him. Now."

You sighed, knowing that there was no reasoning with her when she got like this. But honestly? You weren’t entirely sure you wanted to reason with her. Because the truth was, Judd Birch was… different. He wasn’t like the boys you normally hung around, the preppy, clean-cut guys who always seemed so safe, so predictable. Judd was a mystery, and you couldn’t help but want to unravel it.

The rest of the afternoon dragged on, with Nick and Andrew eventually settling into their usual routine of playing video games and trading awkward jokes. But your mind was elsewhere. Every few minutes, you found yourself glancing toward the hallway, wondering if Judd would reappear. Wondering if he had noticed you at all, the way you had definitely noticed him.

Finally, when the boys were thoroughly engrossed in their game, you decided to take a walk around the house—under the guise of checking on things, of course. You wandered down the hall, trying to act casual, but your pulse quickened with each step.

You weren’t sure what you were hoping for. Maybe to bump into him again, maybe to exchange a few words—anything to break the strange tension that had been building inside you since he first walked in.

As you passed by the open door to one of the back rooms, you froze. There he was, sitting on the edge of the bed, fixing something on his leather jacket. His back was to you, but you could still feel the pull, that strange magnetic energy that seemed to surround him.

You hesitated for a moment, debating whether or not you should say something. Your Hormone Monstress was already screaming in your ear. "Go in there, babe! Now’s your chance! Ask him for help with something, anything. Just get him to look at you."

You swallowed, your palms suddenly sweaty, and before you could second-guess yourself, you knocked lightly on the doorframe.

Judd turned his head slightly, his eyes catching yours. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at you with that same unreadable expression. It was like he was sizing you up, trying to figure out what you wanted.

You cleared your throat, trying to sound casual. “Uh… hey. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay back here.”

Judd raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Everything’s fine. Why? You babysitting me too?”

Your face heated up, and you cursed yourself for blushing. “No, just, um… making sure.”

There was an awkward pause. You could feel your Hormone Monstress practically vibrating with excitement, urging you to say something—anything—to keep the conversation going. But your mind was blank.

Finally, Judd shrugged, turning back to his jacket. “Well, I’m not a kid, so you don’t need to check on me.”

You winced inwardly. Great, now you probably just looked like a nervous wreck. “Right,” you said quickly. “Sorry. I’ll, uh, let you get back to whatever you were doing.”

As you turned to leave, Judd’s voice stopped you. “Wait.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You turned back around, trying not to let the rush of adrenaline show on your face.

He was looking at you again, his eyes dark and intense. “What’s your name?” he asked, his voice low and smooth.

You blinked, taken aback. You hadn’t expected him to ask that—hell, you hadn’t expected him to care. “Oh, um… it’s [Your Name].”

Judd nodded slowly, as if testing your name on his tongue. “You’re that girl who babysits the little twerp, right?”

You nodded, unsure where this was going. “Yeah, I’ve been babysitting him for a while now.”

Judd smirked, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. “Huh. I’ve seen you around, but I didn’t think you’d be the type to hang out with little kids.”

You felt your pulse quicken again, and your Hormone Monstress was back in full force. "He’s noticing you! He’s noticing you! Say something cool!"

You swallowed, trying to think of a response that didn’t make you sound like a complete idiot. “Well, Nick and Andrew are… entertaining, I guess,” you said with a small laugh, though your voice felt shaky.

Judd’s smirk widened slightly. “Entertaining, huh? That’s one way to put it.”

There was another pause, but this time, it didn’t feel quite as awkward. You felt a strange connection between you, something unspoken and electric. You didn’t know what it was, but it was there, and you couldn’t deny it.

Finally, Judd stood up, his tall frame looming over you as he adjusted his jacket. “Well, I’ll let you get back to babysitting,” he said, his voice casual, though there was a hint of something else in his tone. “Don’t let the little nerds drive you too crazy.”

You nodded, still feeling a little breathless. “I’ll try.”

And with that, Judd walked past you, his shoulder brushing yours for the briefest of moments. You watched him go, your heart pounding in your chest, and you knew—right then and there—that you were in deep trouble.

Because Judd Birch wasn’t just a crush. He was a problem. A problem you didn’t know how to handle, but one you weren’t sure you wanted to solve.

Your Hormone Monstress, of course, was ecstatic. "Oh, sweetheart, this is going to be fun. Buckle up, because we’re just getting started."

And she was right. You knew it, deep down, that this was just the beginning of something far more complicated than you’d ever expected.

But for now, all you could think about was how you couldn’t wait to see him again.

[everythingne]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ➛ Mrs. Norris (nee. Piastri) - LN4

After everything that's happened, Olivia expects life with Lando to be easy. Stress and overthinking get to her, when all Lando wants to do is take the next step.

lando norris x piastri!oc //(marketing ploy continuation one shot)

warnings/notes: overthinking/misunderstandings, Lando being a huge fucking softie, i like this better than the ENTIRE original mp storyline. oops.

Lando’s been weirdly avoidant and Olivia’s not sure why. The seasons not currently going on, winter break giving her and Lando a few weeks to decompress and be together. Except for when Olivia had to stay with Red Bull late most nights, crunching numbers, testing adjustments. She'd asked Oscar multiple times about how Lando felt with her being so late all the time or why Lando was being so secretive, but between doing stuff with Lily and training with McLaren, Oscar had never gotten back to her.

Which, she thought was stupid because Oscar was working with Lando. But she didn't press. She just threw herself into stress over it.

The shared Monaco apartment is breezy, a few of the windows cracked open to let out the nauseating level of cleaning supplies smell emanating from almost every surface. Olivia was a stress cleaner today, usually that role fell to Oscar, and yet here she was scrubbing down the fucking base boards. It had been almost a year into this relationship and if this was the first time he'd stressed her out this much (other than the whole... almost stopping the fake dating thing, which really was her fault) she'd be able to live with Lando forever.

As she stands up from finishing cleaning the last speck of dirt from the last corner of the house, a big breeze rolls through. With it, the scent of the Monaco air swells in and sways the curtains along the room. Olivia sighs and grabs her mess of cleaning supplies and tosses it away in the trash, washing her hands after before retreating to the bathroom for a much needed 'everything shower.'

And when she's clean, the house is clean, and dinner had been cooling on the counter, Lando finally comes home an hour later that expected while still on the phone.

"I understand--" He groans when the person on the phone keeps talking as he takes in the cleanliness of their apartment and his heart strains. Oscar had warned him he had to do it before she got to the point of stress cleaning the entire house and it seems he had been too late to notice.

"I gotta go." He says into the phone and hangs up, kicking his shoes off and shoving his phone in his pocket. Once hanging up his jacket, bag, and shoes in the right spots, he slowly makes his way into the small balcony where his girlfriend sits curled up in the sun. She looks like the epitome of peace with a book on her lap and headphones over her ears. Though, the longer Lando admires her from the doorway, the more stress lines he can see.

"Ollie, baby," He croons, making his way over to where she sits. Olivia perks up and smiles, taking one headphone off as she holds out her arms for a hug. Lando does one better and plops down on the couch next to her and lays in her lap, letting her hands naturally fall to combing through his hair.

"Long day?" She asks and he just nods, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face in her stomach.

"Sorry for being so... bleh." He says softly, the weight of the apology and Oscar's short scolding the other day boring down on him, "I just have been so exhausted from work.."

"It's alright." Olivia says, a bit too quickly for his liking.

"No," Lando pops up, leaning to press a soft kiss to his girlfriends lips, "it's not alright, I've been avoidant and ignorant and it's not right of me. Oscar's told me off twice for it."

"I told him about it because I was scared you were mad at me." Olivia hums softly, closing her book and setting it aside, Lando shakes his head practically crushing Olivia under his weight as he leans on her to press a kiss to her jaw.

"I could never be mad at you..." Lando sighs, "It's just... McLaren were looking at bringing in a new driver as our third to work with Pato and so I've been so been busy trying to get to know her--but shes gonna go with Ferrari anyways so--"

"Dhanishka, right?" Olivia hums, watching Lando's jaw flex as she cuts him off--and then he sharply nods.

"Charles was asking me about her, apparently she used to be dating Logan." Olivia looks down at her book as she marks it and then sets it on the table next to her, "Oscar knows her pretty well, they raced together for a few years."

"Yeah, but, I..." Lando huffs, sitting up now so he can cup his girlfriends head in his hands as he swallows, "I should've told you but there was just... never a good moment. But I should've made a moment, because I love you and it's stupid for me to neglect you and I'm sorry but--"

Olivia leans forwards, connecting her lips with her boyfriends softly. It's like every thought leaves his head, and he blinks at her as she laughs at his empty eyed look.

"I love you too, Lando. I also should've asked if you were okay instead of just ignoring you." She murmurs against his lips before pressing another soft kiss to his skin. Lando blinks and then gets up, dragging Olivia into the kitchen with him. She laughs softly at his spontaneous movements before he hoists her up to sit on the counter.

"Wait here." He pokes her collarbone and then disappears down the hall before Olivia can ask a question. She shrugs, kicking her feet idly as she hears him rooting through his work bag, eventually she hears a soft 'aha!' and Lando nearly slips in his socks as he runs back into the room fumbling with something in his hands.

"Okay, I had like this whole dinner and beach walk and little romantic thing planned!" Lando starts explaining quickly, waving his hands in exclamation, "but, but, but! I--here!"

And he slides a small princess cut diamond ring on Olivia's finger. She blinks at it, then up at Lando's nervous smile, then back down at the ring and the gasp that leaves her is so sharp she starts to cough.

"Lando Norris!" She shouts once she's recovered from her fit, nearly whacking her boyfriend in the side of the head, "are you--what the fuck?!"

"You are not as calm as your brother is."

"I got all his emotions," she deadpans, then stammers, "now explain?!"

He grins, blinking at her, "I was so worried you'd say no, or I'd say it at the wrong time, and I realized-- there's no time to wait for the right time if its just gonna make you stressed. So. Marry me?"

All Olivia can do is stare at Lando. His big eyes are full of childlike wonder, sparkling like the diamond that weighs down her left ring finger. His smile is infectious, once her shock subsides, and she finds herself laughing.

Because nothing with her and Lando was elegant or planned. It had always been messy, mushed together, rushed like this. And that was what felt right for them.

But she's still so shocked she can't form words, so hopefully a kiss to her boyfriends already parted lips will do. And if his hand firmly creeping up her thigh isn't proof, maybe his soft giggle is as the pull back and smile against each others lips.

"I wish you had a middle name so I could shout at you to properly express my emotions right now." Olivia whispers.

"No shouting," Lando murmurs, pulling her closer to him by her knees so rtheir chests are flush as he plants his hands on the counter besides her, "only kissing."

"Fine, fine." Olivia obliges, letting her hands tangle in his curls, feeling the still drying sweat on his hairline under her palms as he dips his head down to place a firm kiss to her collarbones.

"You know I have to Facetime half the population to show them this, right?" Olivia gasps, breathless, then she feels something sharp and whacks his shoulder, "Lando! Teeth?!"

"Just in case the ring didn't make everyone know you're mine." He smiles with his stupid amount of boyish confidence Olivia fell for last season and she huffs at him, but can't stop the smile on her lips.

"I hope Oscar yells at you for it when I call him." She teases and pushes Lando aside so she can go grab her phone and he whines behind her as he trails like a puppy.

"No..! All he's been doing is yelling at me for being a pussy and not asking you!"

But Olivia's mischievous laugh makes him grin double in size before he reaches out to grab her waist, pulling her back to his chest as he purposefully sloppily kisses at her neck to make her squeak, trying to squirm away.

"You can wait to call him, I wanna be with my pretty wife." He complains, "and if he's gonna yell at me, I'll give him something to yell about."

and after another playful nip, Olivia shouts with a loud giggle escaping her chest, "I have work tomorrow, you fucking vampire!"

And all is warm once again in the Piastri-Norris household, just as it should be. Hodge-poged together.

[love-anddeepression]

Everything is fine -2

A/n: aaaaah thank you so much for waiting for part 2! sorry it's been so long im having fever and i had electoral campaigning to do so i've been so busy :DDD enjoy some revenge and a moment<3 not proofread so please excuse any mistakes

Part -1

The house is quiet when you enter. Spotless. As if it’s been frantically cleaned and the dust has been swept under the rug. You want to laugh. The bedroom door swings open but this time, he’s awake. He’s reading a book, his bottom half covered by the blanket. He looks up as you close the door and place your tote on the desk.

“Hey, baby.” he smiles and you let the corners of your mouth lift a little.

“I need some air.” you say and draw the curtains, unlatching the window and pushing it open. The night breeze is cool and the air in the room seems fresher. You stick your head out a little and breathe deeply, looking down.

You’re known to have the most absolute, shit eyesight, but even you can the the glow of red eyes a floor below you. You smile and draw back, Taking a towel from the cabinet and heading to the bathroom without a word, leaving your husband confused.

He can hear the shower turn on, and a few seconds later, the singular lamp in the roo switches off, leaving him in complete darkness. 

Miguel swears in frustration and huffs under his breath. His eyes come to focus as he gets used to the dark.

The only sounds are the rush of water in the shower, yet he feels the silence is eerie. The wind picks up, it’s almost howling, It sounds like a wail. His breathing quickens a little, and his eyes fall to the little expanse to the outside world.

He freezes. There’s something outside.

On the 18th floor. Staring at him. It’s eyes glow a deep red and he can see claws gripping the window sill. 

He wants to shout, to scream, to fucking move. But he can’t. 

The bathroom door swings open and he looks at you, then back at the window.

There’s nothing. No one.

“What’s wrong, honey?” your voice is soft and breezy, “It’s just the dark.” 

He looks almost manic, hunched over as he looked between you and the window, “There w-was something there. With red fucking eyes and it was staring at me.”

He looks at the window again and that’s when he shouts, “There!” he points and jumps off the bed, “Right there!”

You look to where he points and in the dark, you know he won’t see your smile. But Miguel will. 

You tilt you head, “Miggy, there’s nothing there. Are you okay?”

“Wha- how can you not see that?!”  he sputters and you walk over to him, turning his face away from the window, “Calm down, love. I think we should go to a doctor. In fact, I’ll make an appointment tomorrow, it’s the weekend anyway.”

 He takes your hands off his face and sighs, “I know what I saw.” he hugs you.

Your eyes flit to the window and you see one of the scarlet eyes shut in a wink. And then they disappear.

Your hand smooths his hair down, “We’ll be just fine.”

—---------------------

“I think it’s just stress, Miggy.” you say as you drive back from the clinic. He’d been subject to a number of tests by the doctors trying to find something wrong with one of the head scientists of the corporation that funded their work. Of course, they found nothing, but they did advise him to rest,  “After all, you spend so much time at work.” you shake your head in pity, “I’ll take off for a few days.”

“No!” he winces when you turn to look at him with an eyebrow raised, “I mean, no, you don’t have to. I’ll be alright. It’s just stress. You dob’t have to sacrifice your work.”

“Oh nonsense.” you wave him off, “It’s not a sacrifice to take care of the man I love. Unless, you want me to stay out of the house.” you chuckle, “You want me to stay out, honey?”

“No.” his voice breaks, “Of course not.”

A ting! Sounds from his phone and you peak at the notification thats from Dana.

“Is Dana coming over?”

He double takes, “How- nevermind. Yeah, she said she’d be visiting in an hour or so.”

You hum, with a small smile and swerve to the right, and he jerks and almost hits head on the window. You park, “Could you bring the groceries in?” you gesture to the shopping you’d gotten done when he was at the clinic. You smile and get out, leaving him behind.

He sighs and gets out, shutting the front seat door while opening the back one and taking out the paper bag. He notices a man standing opposite the car with his back turned to it.

He’s wearing the same clothes that Miguel’s wearing. And when he turns around he takes his shades off and he stares at him with red eyes. Miguel draws ina sharp breath.

If you ever see someone that looks identical to you, run away and hide.

His phone rings and he looks down at it and cuts the call. When he looks back him, the figure has disappeared. Shit. Shit.

Run away.

Hide.

He looks to his right, to where the entrance to the building is and he doesn’t even take a step before pain blooms across the back of his head. He doubles over with a groan but is pulled back by his hair and he can feel a sharp pain at his neck.

Then, darkness.

—-----------------------------------

“Miguel, I swear to god.” you pinch the bridge of your nose, “This wasn’t the plan!  How do I explain how he magically arrived here after fainting downstairs? You know the plan was that I dru-”

“Tell him a tall, nice man helped you.” he snarks and you resist the urge to throttle him. You settle for a glare that makes him chuckle.

“Relax, Sweetheart. He’ll believe you. Now I've healed the puncture with bacta spray and the wound is gone.” he gestures to the man currently spread out on your shared bed, “I need you to wake him up, tell him he passed out from exhaustion. I’ll take it from there.”

You look up at him, “Thank you. For wasting your time on this.”

His hand comes to rest on your shoulder and it tingles, “No time wasted, I assure you.” he nods reassuringly, “Now wake him up.” He rolls his shoulders and settles down on the plush couch you have that faces the bed.

You flick some water from the bottle you keep on the bedside table onto your husband’s face and when he wakes with a start, you fall into the role of the worried wife.

“Oh my god! Miggy! You’re finally awake!” you cup his face, “I was so worried! Are you okay?” His widened eyes look inyo yours and his furrowed eyebrows soften.

“I-I blacked out. There was this guy who looked like me and-” his gaze travels behind you to fall on the couch and he freezes at the sight of the menacing man staring at him with those fucking red eyes. 

Run away and hide.

“Baby.” he looks back at you, “Do not  look back.”

The room is silent. You can see Miguel in the reflection of your husbands eyes. Like the snap of a branch, the doorbell rings and youre forced to turn around, much to your husband’s protests. 

You lock eyes with Miguel and look back at your husband with incredulous eyes, “Miguel, are you crazy? There is nothing there!” 

“Can you not see that?” he stretches his hand out to make a point and Miguel scowls.

“I can see absolutely bullshit!” you raise your voice.

The bell interrupts whatever he was going to say and take a deep breath. 

“I’m assuming that’s Dana?” you raise and eyebrow and he nods, “I’ll get it.”

“No! Don’t leave me with that fucking thing!” he points to where Miguel sits and then at you. You groan.

“Then you go and open the door!” 

“FIne!” he storms out, wobbling just a little. You hear the door open and your stomach drops when you head Dana’s voice.

“Hey.” Miguel says and you look down, “You’re going to be okay.”

You nod, “I’m going to be fine.”

He gestures to the door and you steel yourself before stepping out, a smile making its way onto your face as you spread your arms and greet Dana who replies with her high pitched voice. Even your husband seems to be in a better mood and you can’t help but remember the hologram.

“I love you” he kissed her neck softly and she giggled.

“Hey!” Dana says your name, “You okay?” 

“Youre going to be okay.”

You snap out of you daze, “Yeah, sorry. Long day.” you smile again and she pouts almost condescendingly.

“Awwww, I’m sure you’ve had a tiring day. Writing is such a hard profession.” she says airily.

You grit your teeth, “Tea?”

“Yeah honey, I think we’d like that.” Miguel smiles.

As you walk to the kitchen, and get out the ingredients, Miguel recounts the events of the day to Miguel and she scrunches her nose and laughs. She, too, says it’s just stress. Only this time, he listens. You swallow hard and go back to boiling the tea.

The apartment is built in an industrial style, and very much an open plan. The design is such that Miguel can see you from the bedroom. He can see your hands flying to open and close cabinets and crushing cardamom and washing tea cups. Living a life so different from the one you live with him.

The teacups clink as you place the tray on the coffee table. They take the cups and sip the tea with relish, like they always do. Miguel sighs contently and Dana groans with satisfaction.

“Have fun.” you grin, “I gotta shower. I’ll see you in a bit.” you whip around to speed walk awkwardly to the bedroom. Cursing at yourself inwardly because really? That’s the best excuse you could find?

Paces away from the bedroom, your eyes meet Miguel’s. The variant of your husband. This variant who had patched you up, and got you food and held you and was currently waiting for you and wasting his time on your petty revenge.

You breathe from your mouth so they can’t hear the sniffles you’re trying to hide as you shut the door.

```````````````````````````````

The door shuts with a click as you step in and in five seconds, Miguel curses his stupid enhanced hearing and winces. You give him a sad smile and he moves to wrap his arms around you. Your hands go around his neck and you look up at him. After a few moments, his head dips, and he’s so close. So close that the both of you are breathing the same air. Noses nuzzling each other, cheeks rubbing against the other and lips leaving their light feather touch on the other. 

He can hear the small sniffle you try to hide and he does the only thing he can think of to make you think of anything else. His head hides in the crook of your neck and he breathes in your scent. He relishes the small sounds that leave you. He lets them envelop his senses, so he doesn’t have to hear whatever is going on in the next room. His hands travel the expanse of your back, fingers teasing under the hem of your shirt.  It’s a messed up dance you’re both in. He knows that. But, god, you’re so soft and-

Oh.

He breathes out a moan. Your lips are on his neck, gently mouthing at flesh. Your eyelashes leave whispers of kisses in their wake that make him lurch forward and pick you up. Your legs wrap around his waist like it’s an instinct.

The windows bathe you in the setting sunlight. And you look ethereal.

But. You’re not her. You’re not his love. Her smile was different, her hair shorter. Her eyes are softer. His head wracks with guilt but then he looks at you again. You’re doing the same. 

He can hear the laughter from outside, but it’s like time stands till as the both of you look at each other. Searching for what is missing. Using the other for their own comfort.

Like a reverent follower, he gazes at you. Like you’re his saint. He wants to say the words. To tell you to use him. So that the both of you can have some semblance of comfort in each other. Your head dips down and your lips brush his and his eyes shut. Succumbing to the feeling.

Two thuds are heard and you pull back, “That was fast.”

“Wait, you used the drug?” his eyes widen and you smile.

“Well, what’s left now but to take them to HQ?” you chuckle.

The hall is silent. There is no laughter.

He smiles.

[hesthermay]

𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

PAIRING: tech x gn!reader

SUMMARY: "when i met ana, i knew; i loved her to the point of invention." -sarah ruhl

WORDS COUNT: 1.1k

RATINGS + WARNINGS: general audiences. fluff. valentines day blurb. use of y/n. au where everyone is happy on pabu.

NOTES: bada bing bada boom this is 4 days laaaaaaaaate so sorry humblest of apologies please love it

STAR WARS MASTERLIST

“Tech?” 

“Yes?”

“...what is that?” 

Life on Pabu was breezy. Safe, protected, warm, and happy; Pabu was cut from a different cloth than the rest of the galaxy, light despite the unrelenting weight of Empirical oppression. Thus was why the Bad Batch had chosen it to hunker down and perhaps create some roots somewhere not centered around war and pain.

With the entrance of the Batch on Pabu, came the entrance of Tech into Y/N’s life. 

Peculiar, that one was, but you couldn’t help but find yourself enamored by him. Naturally, it was a slow progression between the two of you, with a friendship forming before the man even started processing the second layer of your relationship. Even with the ever so gracious help of Omega, Tech was oblivious to the little hints, the tension that organically formed, and could not fathom why you would go out of your way to do the simplest of things for him. 

Tech was more than capable of feeding himself, yet from time to time dinner was brought over with claims of having extra. He knew there was no way you, who lived alone, would have this much leftover food for one meal yet the possibility of you intentionally making this just to bring it to him was unrealistic—and even further, impossible. 

It had been Hunter who had let him in on the not so hidden fact that dinner nights with you weren’t really meant for them all. Yes, you were all of their friend—but those visits, that thought and care was for Tech. He had argued, of course, and it had been Omega this time who informed him that that was just what you do. 

“What they care for someone, they do things for them,” she explained as if it was the most obvious thing as she tinkered with some gadget. “Y/N makes dinner for all of us, but they always make your favorites, Tech. You know,” she turned, grinning at her brothers, “they always carry a cloth in case you need to clean your goggles.” With that, the girl stood from her seat, gathering her things and exiting the room, leaving behind an air of wisdom of someone much older than her. She did that often, and that was why Tech slightly believed her. 

Upon further research, Tech discovered what was known as a love language. The dots, how ever he missed them before, finally connected in his mind in the late of night. 

Rules he upheld with his brothers and Omega, he was more lax with you. Your presence when he was not in the mood to socialize was more tolerable than the rest, and he recalled all the times he had observed and factually stated that you were beautiful to himself. Beauty, though subjective in nature, was a natural occurrence in life. And Tech was not afraid of the truth, and the truth was that you had been beautiful all along, and he had thought of you slightly more special than most others he knew. 

That was what had led them to this moment. Tech had stayed up all night, working into the wee hours of morning on as many projects as he could manage. And then, waiting until he knew you would go about your usual tasks of the day, he trekked to your home and installed every creation he had produced. 

“You complained that the cover over your walkway floods your garden when it rains, so I created a funneling system to redirect the waterflow elsewhere,” he answered, pushing his goggles up his nose. “And you mentioned a draft because your front door would not close all the way, so I fixed it. And the side window that was previously cracked has been replaced with an upgraded version.” 

Your heart squeezed in your chest as you watched him rock ever so slightly on his feet, glancing at you here and there but not keeping his eyes on one thing too long, and it struck you that he must have been nervous. While Tech was known to fidget, nerves were not something he displayed signs of hardly ever, and heat gathered in your cheeks. 

The sun was warm, Tech was as handsome as ever, and your smile could not have been any larger. “An upgraded version, huh?” Your eyebrows raised playfully, voice light as you took one step closer. 

“Yes, upgraded,” he affirmed seriously before continuing, beginning to walk away. “As per your complaints, the window offered no privacy nor did it—” he cut himself off, stopping in his tracks when he noticed you hadn’t walked off with him. Instead of grumbling or giving a sarcastic quip, as he was ever inclined to do, he backtracked until your hand was grasped in his. He tugged your arm lightly, beckoning you to follow him as he resumed his explanation. “As I was saying, nor did it filter any of Pabu’s natural light in your home, so…” he trailed off until the two of you were planted right in front of the said window on the side of your house. 

It was your bedroom window to be exact, and true to his word, it was no longer cracked.

But instead of regular transparasteel, the surface had been frosted over. You could no longer see right into the room, but instead see little designs in the glass, swirls and such riddled all over the place. “I made this last night,” he offered, looking between you and the window, voice much softer than before. “The light, it will not be as harsh on you, and you now have privacy while still having the effect of an open window, which…” he exhaled ever so slightly, the weight of your hand in his heavy on his mind as he looked over at you once again, “which I know you love.” 

He was right. You had mentioned that the solution to your problem was as simple as some curtains, but then that would eliminate the natural light as a whole and that was the opposite of what you wanted. You had not had the skills or the mindset to create the solutions to these problems, though not detrimental in severity, but for some reason Tech had taken it upon himself to be the one to remedy them. 

“Tech…” you whispered, looking at him with a tender love he was not used to receiving. It made his heart rate accelerate in his chest, as he thought back to all of the acts of service you had done for not only him but his family as well.

You had loved him to the point of service, and Tech had realized that he loved you to the point of invention. 

“No need to mention it,” he whispered back, unable to fight off the blush in his cheeks as you smiled at him. “That is just what people do when they care. You taught me that.” 

all works on this blog belong to hesthermay.tumblr.com: do not copy, repost onto other sites, or claim my work as your own.

[covid-safer-hotties]

I would like to ask if there are some things I've misunderstood or been misinformed about when it comes to masking. Are the following things true?

If I take off my mask in public for even a brief moment, it cancels out any positive effect wearing it might have had up until then.

If I touch my mask with my hands, my hands are contaminated and must be washed immediately with soap and water before I touch anything else.

If I take off my mask, it's "spent" and must be thrown away, and I have to put on a new mask.

I'm asking because I'm having a hard time figuring out how to drink water or eat food while masking, or if it's even possible to do so safely.

There's some crossed wires and half-truths here.

While unmasking in public for a moment doesn't undo the protection you've been doing, it does remove that protection and potentially expose you to covid. This risk is lessened outdoors, especially when you're far from others and it's breezy/windy (covid aresols don't stay aloft long on moving air; and the turbulence can potentially kill any virions that remain aloft... and being away from people diffuses any potential covid they may be exhaling, substantially reducing chances for infective exposure.) The risk rises the closer the people and in public indoor spaces (air changes often aren't high enough to clear covid aresols via ventilation. Big offenders in bad air circulation are schools, many medical buildings, and resturants.) You also are far less likely to get a good seal when putting your mask back on in public, increasing your exposure risk while masked again. It isn't all or nothing, but donning and doffing [taking off] a mask isn't just like pulling up socks: there's ways to do it correctly and most people don't.

This is following contamination controls for diseases spread by fluids or fomites. While covid rarely if ever spreads via surface contact, other diseases (such as mpox, potentially) could seep through the fibers of your mask given the right circumstances. All this being said, touching your mask (especially with dirty hands) fouls it like any filter. It means it will have to be thrown out sooner, and touching it may also break your seal. Avoid touching your mask in public and do try to touch it with mostly clear hands, and only on the edges of the filter material for best longevity.

Most masks used for covid can be used several times by most people. It's been proven in studies that the elastic on a disposable mask will wear out before average usage would wear out its filter medium. You should throw out any mask that is visibly dirty: sweaty masks grow mold. Dry masks can be stored in paper bags for a week or more to aid in basic decontamination, and you can use most masks that still have stiffness in the nosepiece and good elastic 3 or 4 times depending on type and how you use them. Daily wear (multiple hours at a time) will wear out the components faster. I have some KN95s that I opened in 2021 that I still use when opening the door to get a delivery or when I'm pumping gas around people or something like that. They probably need to be replaced soon (and many have been) but they've been used maybe a total of 25 minutes each and they're clean and the elastic and nosepieces are still good! It's all about being able to judge the quality. If you struggle with this aspect, it's best to play it safe and not reuse masks much.

[wardenparker]

In the Still of the Night, ch 2

Zach Wellison x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Grown up and looking to the future, Zach Wellison and bunkmate Shane Morrissey are working for a new cruise line that offers its guests a vintage Vegas experience on the Mediterranean. The romantic atmosphere is rubbing off on many of the crew members, and Zach finds himself to be no exception when he meets the beautiful lead singer of Shane's band.

But being wrapped in the seductive arms of an atmospheric cruise is a far cry from real life. How will their relationship fare on dry land? They can't know unless they try.

Rating: M for Mature but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 6.7k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this story include: Cursing, alcohol, food, cooking, eating, discussion of clothing/costumes. Mentions of prison time served, mentions of past homelessness.* Just more shameless flirting, a bit of self-consciousness, first date nerves and anxiety. Summary: Zach flirts with a specially cooked meal, you flirt with some specially chosen songs, and embarking on your first date brings a lot of shared nerves to overcome. Notes: It never takes me too long to fall in love with these new pairs but I just *adore* Zach and his soulmate so damn much.

Ch 1

If you take a little extra time and care in getting ready for your show the next night, who can blame you? A purple velvet gown and black satin gloves, shimmering rhinestone jewelry, red lipstick and your hair just so — you can tell yourself it’s all for the gig but the butterflies in your stomach know better. It’s because you’re excited to see Zach, even if you’re a little nervous too. Last night had been fun, and you hope that even in the harsh light of day that he thinks so too.

Zach couldn’t sleep last night. He was tired but then again, so energized by the entire night he had spent with you. Already on his third coffee by the time the prep cooks had come in from the breakfast shift – it was his off day from that – he had cleaned up from the night before and completely changed his idea for the specials of the night. All with you in mind.

“We should do something special tonight.” Is the suggestion you give to the band while you’re warming up, only to receive skeptical looks from three of the four guys.

“Special how?” Keo asks, twirling his drumsticks. It’s a habit, one formed before he could really walk since his father was also a drummer.

“Maybe a theme night?” The guys will bust you to no end if you admit that all you want to sing is love songs, but it’s true.

Shane is the only one that starts grinning, having witnessed the nearly moony, floating on air attitude of his roommate when he came back to the cabin last night. Or rather this morning. “How about some love songs?” He suggests slyly.

Working hard to sound nonchalant always backfires in the end, but you shrug (a little too performatively) and aim for a breezy tone when you agree. “Oh! Sure. Sure— I mean, if that sounds good to you guys.”

“Anything in mind?” Shane probes, seeing right through your little casual agreement and wondering how well the night went. You and Zach were in the kitchen for a long time.

“We could do some classics?” Waving one hand and pretending to think of things if the cuff, you’re determined not to admit you’ve had a few songs cycling through your head all day. “Maybe some Cole Porter? ‘Let’s Do It’ and ‘Let’s Misbehave’ always go over well.”

“Only if we add ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You’.” Shane adds. “Diana loves it and I’ll send her the video tonight.” All the performances are recorded by the sound and lights crew for internal use and promotion reels for the supper club. She sometimes gets the videos of nights Shane is super proud of.

“Of course.” You’re quick to agree, mostly because it’s a song you all do well but also because you like Shane’s soulmate a lot. Diana is a badass and a sweetheart all at once.

“Sound good to you guys?” They will all add their own songs to the playlist before the night is over.

“That works.” Cliff is preoccupied with selling a new reed in his sax and shrugs. “Love songs usually get us better tips.”

“Then we will focus on the love songs.” Shane agrees. “Wonder what the chef is making for tonight? Hopefully something rich and sinful.”

“No clue.” You breeze right by the question as if you and Zach hadn’t talked about your favorite foods last night. As if you aren’t hoping just a little bit that he is thinking of you as much as you are of him.

“Hey chef.” Zach’s right-hand man, his sous chef, looks puzzled as he stares at the pans of cakes cooling on the stainless steel counters. “What’s all this?” Zach looks up from the sauce that he is simmering on the stove and beams. “Red velvet cake for the dessert tonight.”

"Hell of a left turn from ice cream." His sous chef observes, looking out at the seemingly endless counter of edible red sponge.

“Fits the rest of the menu.” Zach agrees. “I’ve changed all of it.” He waves towards the paper sitting on the table. “Tell me what you think.”

The menu written out on the wipe board is completely different than what was set out earlier in the week. In place of the popular shrimp scampi or chicken cordon bleu are the far more sumptuous options of a seafood stuffed salmon with cream sauce or a filet with a beurre blanc. The kitchen's traditional spinach salad has been scrapped for a strawberry balsamic salad instead, and the broccoli rabe or roasted potato options are now grilled asparagus or honey whipped carrots. It's a beautiful menu, for sure. But... "What prompted the change?"

Zach grins as he looks at the younger man. He’s handsome and already engaged to his soulmate back in his home country. “I was inspired.” Zach admits shamelessly. “Romance. This is a menu for romance.” He tells him. “I want the guests to be seduced by their meal.”

"Oh yes?" The younger man laughs, immediately dropping his towel on the counter and crossing his arms over his chest as he leans in that same place. "There is a lady?"

“No.” Zach shakes his head. “An angel.” He’s being completely ridiculous, but he can’t help it. He was asked out. On a date. By the most gorgeous woman he’s ever seen in his life. If that wasn’t inspiring, he doesn’t know what would be.

"Ooh la la!" The saucier, standing not two steps away, hears the seemingly magic words and perks up. "Only an angel? Not a goddess?" She teases. Zach might drive the staff hard but he is a good boss and well liked in his kitchen.

“Not quite yet.” Zach huffs and tries not to blush like a school boy.

"It's not a passenger, is it?" The kitchen is now buzzing with the gossip.

Zach’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. He’s heard of some crew risking their jobs for liaisons with passengers but he wouldn’t be willing to risk his future like that. “Absolutely not.” He huffs, appropriately horrified.

“Boss wouldn’t be that stupid.” Zach’s saucier defends.

He’s a little placated that they don’t believe he would do that. “But the point is, I want tonight to be special for our guests.” He bites his lip. “Check with the sommelier and see what wine and cocktail pairings we can come up with please?”

“On it!” Comes a call from a few feet away, and one of his staff that was just watching her hands disappears around the corner to track the sommelier down in his office.

Zach smiles, happy his staff works as a cohesive unit and can handle the occasional curve ball thrown their way.

They can always hear it in the kitchen when the band starts warming up. They may not have a speaker but the strains of music from the dining room are unmistakable regardless of being faint. Zach's sous chef has just about turned around to go back to work when he hears it and clocks the grin on his boss's face. "Oh damn."

“What?” He asks innocently, turning back to his sauce and trying to wipe the grin off his face, but it’s impossible.

"It's her, isn't it?" Nobody's missed the extra attention Zach pays to the singer of the club's band whenever she's performing, or the way he always wants to know if she liked her dinner, or the way he hums to himself a little along with the music. The last one they're not even sure he realizes he's doing, but they've all heard it.

“Let’s just focus on dinner.” He’s not avoiding the conversation, but maybe your feelings have changed since last night or the date you asked him on never materializes or goes horribly. This could fizzle out and then he will be stuck mooning over you and all his staff will know it.

Family meal is the same on a cruise ship, but plates of the dinner that is being served to the passengers always go out to the band when their warmups are over. Yesterday’s kerfluffle with one of the waitresses having an emergency and missing family meal isn’t repeated today and the plating of what will do out to the band is extremely intentional.

“This plate is to have both specials.” Zach instructs before he takes the plate himself. “Never mind, I will do it myself.”

His staff only exchanges smirks as Zach plates an exquisite dish with portions of each thing, and a tray is loaded with dishes to bring out to one of the tables in the dining room for the band to eat before service begins for the night.

Zach argues with himself about taking you the plate personally, but he had settled for marking it and giving clear instructions that that particular plate be given to you. He bites his lip as he wonders if you will like it before he inevitably has to get back to work.

The tray that comes out of the kitchen is laden down with heavy plates, and while you always love the smells coming out of the kitchen at the club they seem even better tonight.

“Oh yum.” Keo is the first to put eyes on the tray coming out of the kitchen, but only because you were forcing yourself to wait three settings before looking to see if it’s Zach bringing it your dinner.

It’s a disappointment when it’s not.

Rachel, a perky and charming Filipina, with a smile to match, comes to being your food. She makes a big show of the plates for the rest of the band, but she huffs and shoos them away when they approach your chaffer covered plate. “It’s special!” She huffs before bringing it over to you. “Zach said this plate was yours and yours alone.” She tells you with a wink. “Enjoy.”

"That's either ominous or adorable." Shane observes, watching you fluster and try not to giggle as you uncover your plate. "What the hell did you guys do last night?"

"It wasn't like that." You huff, rolling your eyes at him as you remove the cloche over your plate. But a second later you gasp and press one open hand to your chest in shock. "Oh...oh my god..." He did it...he actually did it... You think, absolutely astonished.

According to you, surf and turf is your dream meal, but you are bored by it just being shrimp and steak or steak and lobster. Stuffed salmon being a thing of beauty in your eyes and you had complained about mashed potatoes always being served with it. So Zach had worked his magic and come up with this menu especially for you.

"Rachel?" You hold the waitress up for just one second, with a beaming smile plastered across your face. "Will you please tell him it's perfect?" With your voice gone soft and dreamy, it probably makes the point all the more deeply. "And I can't wait to have every last bite."

“Dessert is under the other cloche.” She points out with a grin, happy to report back to the kitchen that you are just as enamored with Zach as he is with you.

With all four of your bandmates staring at you expectantly as Rachel walks away, you can pout for about three seconds but you're not going to be able to enjoy your meal without explaining yourself. "He asked me what my favorite meal was. My dream meal. And...I love surf and turf, but it's always the same old thing, ya know? And...he went and reinvented the whole thing." It's the most romantic thing you can possibly think of, honestly, to see the hard work and creative thought that he put into something you told him in the dead of night. He put a little piece of his soul into this meal and he did it just for you. It makes you want to run right back into that kitchen and find out if he kisses as thoroughly as he cooks.

“So…he just…whipped up your dream meal and you are gagging to sing love songs?” Shane whistles low. “You two have it bad!” He pumps his fist happily. “I knew it was a good idea to send you into that kitchen with his drink.”

"Shut up." It was an amazing idea, but you're not going to give the man who has become your adoptive big brother that much credit. It will go to his head. For now you just roll your eyes at him and pick up your fork. All four of them are looking at you expectantly though, and you pick up the first bite of stuffed salmon while throwing all of them a slightly guilty look. "I asked him out, okay? He's more than just ridiculously hot and incredibly talented."

The four men start to cheer, high five-ing each other because they know that is a huge step for you. “Good for you.” Rick tells you. “You deserve a little happiness.”

"Keep your fingers crossed for me that it goes well," you insist, pointing a finger at all four of them. Your tendency to accidentally tank first dates is well documented.

“Just don’t— uh, do you things.” Shane supplies unhelpfully with a grin.

“What the hell does that mean?” You huff, scrunching your nose at him.

“Well, how about you not pour scalding hot coffee on his crotch?” Shane suggests with a wince.

“Or not tell him you would make cute babies together.” Cliff adds.

“Those are two fucking extremes.” Keo snorts, apparently enjoying this impromptu roast.

“But she’s done them!” Shane cackles, shaking his head.

“And I was right both times.” You assert, though you’re still huffing a little for good measure. “The jackass who told me ‘singers are just modern prostitutes’ more than deserved scalding coffee on his crotch, and the sweet Midwestern guy would have made cute as hell babies.”

“Well, I’m sure if you tell Zach that you’d make cute babies together, the boy would probably combust.” Keo snorts. “He seems a little pent up, right Shane?”

Shane rolls his eyes. “He’s not hitting on passengers like your dumbass.” He reminds the other band member. “But Zach’s a good dude, he’s got his history, but I would never have encouraged our girl’s crush if I thought he wouldn’t be good for her.”

“Everybody has history,” you reason, though at the same time you entertain such a serious thought, you’re practically bouncing in your seat from how amazing this dinner is.

“I can’t throw stones, that’s for damn sure.” Shane isn’t sure how much Zach has told you, but it’s not his place to tell his story.

“Nobody can, man.” Cliff agrees. He and Shane go back far enough that he knows the other man’s demons well. And shares some of them, too. “Everybody gets a second chance around here. Sometimes a fourth or fifth chance.”

“Little boat of dreamers”. Cliff agrees, although the ship is far from little. Not as big as some of the mega cruise liners, she can still accommodate two thousand passengers.

"I'll drink to that," you agree, picking up your water glass in salute.

“So, what’s for dessert?” Shane asks, smirking slightly.

"Let's see." After a sip of water, you put your glass aside again and open the smaller cloche that the waitress had put int front of you. The slice of red velvet cake you reveal is immaculate with no colors bleeding between layers and a gleaming cream cheese icing gluing together moist red sponges. It looks like something out of a cookbook or a competition food show. It looks absolutely stunning.

And more than that, your expression softens instantly. "Red velvet is my favorite cake..." you admit quietly, flustered all over again.

Shane whistles, waggling his eye brows. “What did you do to that man last night?” He teases. “It musta been good good.”

"Nothing!" Even though you insist it, you can see the skepticism in your bandmates. "I swear, we didn't even kiss or anything! We just flirted a bunch and I asked him out. That's it."

“Didn’t even kiss.” Rick snorts. “Then that man has you up on a pedestal so high you can reach the fuckin’ moon, sister.”

******

You knew the night of love songs would go over well, but the reception you get from guests is truly exceptional tonight. People are responding with such enthusiasm that some are getting up to dance when they've finished eating. The rendition of 'Let's Do It' that your band does is upbeat and hopeful. People are moving in their seats and some are dancing, but everyone is enjoying themselves – but those aren't the reactions that mean the most to you tonight.

The man standing by the kitchen door is the one you've been looking out for tonight, and you flash a bright smile in Zach's direction when you manage to catch his eye.

This is for you in one simple smile.

Zach is utterly taken by you. The way you sway gracefully to the beat of the music and make every audience member think you are singing to them. He wants to believe you are singing to him, and his stomach erupts into a swarm of butterflies when you smile at him.

It’s a bright song, joyful and optimistic, and easy to get caught up in. When the final chord comes you’re nearly giggling with the floating sense of delight that dances across the music, and with Zach still standing by the kitchen door, you look back to the band. Shane gives you a nod and an affectionate eye roll because he knows exactly what you’re up to, but you don’t care. It’s halfway through the set anyway.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re going to take a short break,” you announce, and turn to pick up your water glass before hopping off stage to stride back toward the corner of the dining room.

Zach straightens up when he sees you walking towards him. Looking like vision, like one of those damsels in the gangster movies that were so popular when his grandpa was alive.

Confident right up until the last stride when you get nervous and end up grinning awkwardly. “Hey,” murmur, feeling silly all of a sudden.

“Hi.” He smiles at you and lifts a brow in admiration. “You have the entire crowd eating out of the palm of your hand.”

“They’re not the ones I care about,” you admit, though it feels awkward to say. When you’re up in front of them, the guests are everything. But…not tonight. “Dinner was incredible. I can’t thank you enough.”

“I was hoping you got to eat while it was hot.” He won’t admit that he was waiting to hear what you thought, because that should be obvious.

“Rachel brought it with very strict instructions.” Which you still think was cute as hell. A little thought goes such a very long way. “It was absolutely perfect. Thank you. Really.”

“Wanted you to have something you enjoyed.” He knows that you enjoy his meals, but this one was specially for you. “Took a look at my schedule.”

“Yeah?” Excitement makes your heart jump up into your throat.

“Yeah.” He shuffles slightly. “I’ve got the overnight port day next week.“ One port of call is all day and overnight, not departing until the next morning to give the passengers a chance to experience the nightlife.

“Me too.” Your head studied your schedule and memorized it so you could actually fix this date, and knowing instantly makes it so worthwhile. “Want to go traipsing around an old palace in Crete with me?”

“Is that what you want to do?” He asks, knowing he will be happy to spend any time doing anything with you. “I think we are allowed to book some of the tours.”

“I looked up what the excursions were,” you admit, wondering if that sounds too cringey somehow. That you were so excited you just had to look it up. “You know…in case we were able to go? It’s the tour of the old palace and an olive oil maker. I thought both sounded like fun, so whatever you want to do.”

“Olive oil?” That immediately piques his interest and he grins. “The olive oil we can get here is soooo much better than the shit in the states.” He chuckles.

“Why don’t we do both, then?” Being surprised that Zach is interested in something food related is like being surprised the sun has risen, but you don’t mind. It would be fun to learn something with him. “And maybe we can get lunch in between? Our first date would be a whole day but that sounds nice to me.”

“Only if you let me buy you lunch.” Being able to pay for things is one of his biggest joys and one of the things that he is proudest of. Especially now that he’s learned to adapt his food insecurity from his time on the streets into something that brings him in a steady paycheck and joy.

“If you insist.” You’re not above enjoying a treat, but since you did ask him, you’ll take care of all the arrangements and any other costs. That only seems fair.

“Zach.” The door behind him swings open. “There’s a request for another main course.” He turns around and nods before looking back at you. “Break a leg, sweetheart.” He grins. “That’s what you say right? Never understood it. Your legs are too pretty to break.”

“What, these old things?” It’s just a little joke to go along with the flattery, but to pull up the skirt of your dress just enough to show a little of one calf and toss him the biggest, flirtiest wink. “Go knock ‘em dead, chef.”

“You are wicked.” He snorts, smirking back at you and nodding before he disappears back into the kitchen, that brief glimpse of skin almost too enticing.

******

The week goes by at nearly a crawl. Every night has repeats of this one, where Zach makes stunning meals and you sing deeply pointed songs. By the time the morning of your excursion-date finally arrives, River is rolling her eyes at you and practically shoving you out the door of the room you share because she's sick of hearing you giggle at your phone at all hours. Texting Zach has become a serious habit.

‘Meet me at the gangway’ is the text that flashes across his screen, making him grab his wallet, his sunglasses and move to put on more deodorant. Crew can get off the ship ten minutes before the passengers, so you had both agreed to start the day off as early as possible. “See ya!” He calls to Shane who is still in the shower.

"Don't desecrate any monuments!" Shane calls back, figuring Zach probably hasn't heard him. The kid has had such tunnel vision about this day that he doesn't think anything could penetrate his skull long enough to deter him from meeting you. Which is sweet, actually. It's nice to see his friends excited. "Have fun!"

The door is already slamming shut and Zach makes a beeline for the stairs. Khaki shorts, a plain white t-shirt that is brand new and comfortable sneakers is what he has ultimately decided on. Plain but decent.

You're up on deck checking your purse for the fourth time when you catch sight of him coming your way, and it's a good damn thing that you're wearing sunglasses so he can't see you ogling him from fifteen yards away. You're glad you didn't dress up too much when you see him -- the same basic outfit of sneakers, shorts, and a shirt works for both of you -- but what's plain on him lets his natural good looks shine through and heads are turning as he walks your way.

“Hey.” Zach lights up when he sees you. You look amazing in a pair of black shorts and red shirt, both of you having the same idea of comfort over high fashion. “You look amazing.”

"You're not too bad yourself." Instinct has you moving to give him a hug, and even though it's the first time you've done that it seems to be welcome.

You smell incredible. Thats the first thing that he’s thinking as he holds you against his own body for far too brief a moment before you are pulling away. “All set?” He asks. “Have to admit I’ve been looking forward to this.”

"I have been, too." He's even more fit that he looks if that brief hug is any indication, and your damn mind if going to be wandering the whole day now that you know that. "We're all set. I even got a few recommendations of places for lunch from River. She's been through here before."

“That’s good, I’ve been researching this port every night to find out all I can.” He wants to offer to hold something as you dig your crew card out of your purse, but he doesn’t.

It takes a second but you manage it, and before too long you're on your way. The deep instinct to reach out and hold his hand is already there but you don't want to seem pushy, so you settle for walking side by side until the urge is mutual.

“It’s a gorgeous day.” Zach observes, blinking against the bright light after coming off the ship. You’ve been scanned out and you don’t have to be back on board until thirty minutes before departure tomorrow morning. Although you’ll probably both be back on board well before then. “I was hoping for clear skies.”

"If it stays like this, we can walk everywhere and spend time sitting out on the beach." It's been a week of daydreaming about every romantic scenario you could think of, and sitting with him on the crystal clear beaches overlooking the ocean as the sun went down was very high up on the list.

He flashes you a quick smile. “That sounds good.” He agrees, although he’s had plenty of days where he’s spent time sitting and staring out at the horizon for very different reasons than a day with a beautiful lady.

A whole day off together is a hell of a first date. As much as you have been looking forward to it you're also a little nervous. You can't remember the last time you went on a good first date and you've realized this week that this crush you have on Zach is big and deep and could easily become so much more. Just thinking about it makes you more nervous, which unintentionally makes you quieter.

“So- uh, I’m -“ Zach trips over his words until he snorts at himself and looks over at you with a rueful grin. “I’m nervous as hell.” He admits.

For a second your eyes widen in surprise, then you burst out into a moment of relieved giggles that you can barely smother. "Oh, thank god," you manage through the laughter. "I felt like an idiot being nervous when we see each other every day, but if it's both of us? That's so much better."

Zach snorts, chuckling himself and shaking his head at the two of you. Both of you sweating bullets over this date. “Well now we have to relax.” He tells you.

“Sure, sure.” The most serious nods of your head you can summon still end up punctuated by a laugh. “Because forced relaxation always works.”

He hums. “Yeah, that’s about the time I’ll trip over my shoelaces and push you into the ocean.” He jokes. “Or some of the dumbest, most random and horrifying shit will pop out of my mouth and I will have to quit my job and move to the moon to make sure I never accidentally run into you again.”

“Well, I’m a very strong swimmer and I promise I say dumb shit too. All the time.” By the time the two of you are off the ship with both feet firmly in the island, you offer Zach a self-deprecating shrug. “I’m in my own head because of some shit the guys said. I just…really like you. So I don’t want to fuck this up by accident.”

“What did they say?” Zach’s shoulders instantly tense and even though you just said you didn’t want to fuck this up, his mind races as he wonders if Shane has told you about his past. His stomach twists in the anticipation of rejection when you ask if he was really homeless.

“Not to be so me.” You roll your eyes. “I have a tendency to make my mind up about people pretty quickly and don’t mind voicing it. Shane, like the surrogate big brother he is, told me to try to chill the fuck out.”

“What’s wrong with that?” He frowns. “Having good people instincts is a good self-preservation skill.” He snorts.

“That’s what I think!” And it’s a fucking relief to be agreed with, if you’re honest. “But apparently pouring hot coffee on people who act like assholes is bad manners.”

He barks out a laugh. “Nahhhhh.” He shakes his head. “People don’t get corrected anymore on their behavior and it’s sad.”

“I could not agree more.” You’re both laughing, letting the tension and the nerves melt away. “I just…I guess first dates are hard for everyone.”

“This is my first date in….a long time.” Zach admits, sliding his hands in his pockets to cover up how his shoulders automatically inch up in self-consciousness. “So I won’t be judging you at all.”

“Well I count myself very lucky that you said yes, then.” To your way of thinking, there is no way that Zach lacks options. He must just be picky. And if that’s the case then you’re even happier that he agreed to this.

He chuckles and his hand comes out of his pocket, making him roll his eyes at his own little tells and he offers you his hand. “So we don’t trip and fall unless it’s together?” He offers playfully.

“Sounds perfect.” It’s almost silly to think, as you fit your hand into his, that that may very well have already started to happen. And you can’t help wondering if it has for him too.

******

It takes about an hour to meet up with your tour group and get loaded up on the buses to the ruins. Some of the other tourists are from the ship, but there’s a sense of anonymity that you are enjoying and Zach smile as you pull out your phone for pictures.

With your hand still tucked in his, you walk through the ancient ruins of the palace and practically sigh, imagining the lives that must have been lived in these halls. Talking about the songs sung, the food eaten, the stories told for hundreds of years. It had the air of a dream, one that swirls around you and seems to pull you closer at every turn.

“You just get this feeling, don’t you?” Zach asks in awe. “The history of this place. It’s seeped into the stones, into the dirt under our feet.”

“It’s everywhere.” And you hold his hand a little tighter, like the excitement is making you giddy but that’s actually mostly him.” Like how many other couples have walked this specific hallway, ya know?”

“Forbidden lovers, newlyweds, fights of passion, declarations of love.” Zach hums.

Something inside you makes you beam, and you laugh again softly. “First dates?”

“I’m not sure?” He chuckles. “Did they have first dates back then? I can’t imagine too many people choose Crete as a first date.”

“Well that’s a shame.” You frown, looking directly at him rather than all around you. “The view is great.”

“Agree completely.” He squeezes your hand gently. “Best view in the house.”

“I’m glad…” Even shrugging slightly, you can feel tie cheeks heating up for at least the third time today. “I’m glad you don’t think I’m cheesy. Or…that you at least accept it.”

“I’m not lactose intolerant.” He teases. “Cheese is one of my favorite things.”

“Oh, so you might actually be worse than me.” That is a delightful surprise, making you lean in closer to his side as you walk along the halls.

“Easier to be cheesy than giving into depression and anger.” He tells you honestly. “I have at least one thing to be grateful for every day.”

"That is a remarkably healthy outlook," you agree, admittedly impressed with the focus of it. Shane has hinted that Zach has some demons in his past but not revealed any of them. "I have to give you a lot of credit. I wasn't nearly that positive when shit was hard."

Zach shrugs. “I’ve been as low as I could possibly get.” He admits. “Everything looks up from there.”

"Everything might not be coming up roses, but at least things are getting better." They are for you, too. Hopefully, at least. You were in a pretty rough place when you and the band took this cruise ship gig and going back to dry land is something you're dreading. But that isn't a thought to dwell on. Not today. So instead, you change the subject. "Do you like flowers?"

“I do.” He nods, grinning and shrugging again. “They are pretty and smell good.” He squeezes your hand. “Like you.”

Maybe he is just as cheesy as you, you think, but you don't mind at all. Instead you're both grinning again as you make your way around another corner in the ruins of Knossos Palace. For once, there is a small amount of privacy and shade. The beating sun is lovely and bright, but also very warm. "Tell me something." The of your nerves isn't a mystery. You've caught yourself looking at his lips for the thousandth time this week and wondering if they feel half as soft as they look. You have to shake it off though, and not be so goddamn pushy. You don't have to kiss on the first date. There's no rule about it. Even if you really fucking want to, he might not. And you like him enough to be okay waiting. So you stick to that subject change hard. "Anything at all."

There’s so much he can tell you, so much he has to tell you if you make it past this first date. But he doesn’t want to make things too heavy. “I hate beets.” He tells you seriously.

Maybe you shouldn't be surprised that it's food oriented, but the vehemence of his answer takes you aback and makes you laugh all at once. "Okay. Beets are the enemy. Got it." Have you ever even eaten a beet before? Could you pick one out of a line up? Who knows. But they're the enemy now.

Zach grins along with you and starts to swing your arms between you lightly. “What about you? What deep dark secrets can you reveal on the first date?”

"Deep dark secrets, huh?" Pretending to think for a long moment, you hem and haw dramatically before you break down into a giggle again. It's nothing groundbreaking, though you debate actually telling him something serious. This doesn't seem like the time for that. At least not to you. "I hate sleeping in more than underwear," you admit, biting back a grin.

He nearly stumbles over the gravel, choking out a cough. Eyes wide and he gives you an almost comical look. “I— fuck!” He huffs. “I’m supposed to just sit on that?”

That grin you were holding on to blossoms wide and mischievous, and you can't help but feel just a tiny bit pleased with yourself for getting a big reaction out of him. "Well, ideally?" You tilt your head, aiming that grin at him. "I would be sitting on you."

“Oh god.” He grunts, closing his eyes and mouthing a small prayer. “Jesus.”

"Too much?" It feels like it might have been, and you can just hear Shane's voice in your head telling you that he told you so. "I—um—sorry. I just...forget I said anything."

“No.” He squeezes your hand in his as you try to pull away. “No, I can’t forget that, I just—” He opens his eyes and swallows. “I’m trying to be a gentleman and not be saluting everyone that walks by us.”

"I'll reel it in," you promise, though now you can see the flush of pinkish-red going all the way from his forehead down to his cheeks and throat and disappearing under his t-shirt. It just makes you a little desperate to know if he blushes all the way down to his chest or not. "But...you're still cute when you blush."

“I am?” He was so sure that you would be either amused or annoyed that he would react like that. He arches a brow in surprise.

“I have never told you anything but the truth.” And you plan to keep to that. If you actually want to consider this more than just a possible fling, it’s mandatory.

“I guess that I’m cute when I’m embarrassed.” Zach snorts. “And you’re pretty when you’re being mean.” He sticks his tongue out at you playfully.

“How am I being mean?” Sure you’re teasing him. That’s undeniable. But it’s not like you’re dangling a carrot in front of his face that you never intend on letting him devour.

He cuts his eyes before he rolls them. “You are funny.” He snorts.

“I know I tease.” You’re not completely blind to your own behavior. “But I guess it’s not ‘toned down’ to tell you that coming on too strong and scaring people away is a very me thing to do. Which just makes Shane right. And he can never know that.”

“I don’t mind it at all.” He promises. “I just— I want to make sure that I don’t make a fool of myself.” He believes that this is going to be intense, and yet he wants to make it perfect. “I have a lot of respect for you.”

"I have a lot of respect for you, too." In the plethora of people you have dated, that is such an unexpected thing for him to say that you actually stand up a little straighter. "But I think...being emotional and vulnerable...making a fool of yourself is inevitable at some point, isn't it? Maybe that's why I tend to do it with such reckless abandon."

“I don’t know if you could ever be a fool.” He argues. “You wear your heart on your dress.” He tells you. “That’s why your audiences love you so much. It’s you on that stage beneath the hair and makeup and fancy dresses.”

"I'm...also wearing my heart on my sleeve right now," you point out gently. "And am kind of making a fool of myself in the process. But that's okay. It's just part of being human."

Oh. Zach stops, turning to face you right at the entrance to the ancient courtyard. The pillars standing guard as he searches your face for a moment before he is cupping your cheek. “Then I’m a fool too.” He promises, leaning in to press his lips gently to yours like he’s imagined doing all morning.

The little sound of relief and pleasure you make might have been embarrassing if anyone nearby had paid attention, but you also don't care at all. Zach's broad form bends when he leans in and blots out the sun even before your eyes fall shut. He doesn't push too deep and it doesn't last more than a few seconds, but you can feel something inside you start to glow when Zach kisses you. Like he found a light switch that you never knew wasn't flipped to the right position.

When you pull away, Zach is smiling, feeling the way you melted against him. “That was…amazing.” He hums quietly.

“I couldn’t agree more.” You sound dreamy and soft, but since you feel dreamy and soft it seems appropriate.

He leans in and kisses you once more, this time even quicker than before. “Then let’s be fools together.”

------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

ItSotN: @greenwitchfromthewoods @copperhalfcent @ariavitiellos @spishsstuff @76bookworm76

[juuuulez]

📰 | prologue: capulet.

info: Carl Grimes-less chapter (sorry!), Negan x Daughter! Reader, pre/start of apocalypse, violence and minor gore, morally grey reader, mentions of child abuse/neglect.

summary: When the apocalypse breaks loose, you find yourself in companionship with your sport teacher, Mr. Smith.

THIS was so much fun to write!!!! Genuinely my favourite chapter I’ve done so far. Let me know what you all think, because I’d love to do more little tidbits that stray from the original story. But with that in mind, this instalment IS required to understand parts of the fic going forward. Prologue is mandatory…..I’ve just finally done it.

Chapters 1, 2, 3, and 4 are already out! 5 will return to our regularly scheduled program of Carl and (Y/N) bickering.

You valued consistency.

Doing the same thing, every day.

Even if your life was shit, at least it was consistently shit.

You always knew how to behave. What could just go unpunished. How to enter the house without making a sound. The perfect patterns to ensure your location wasn’t given away. What exactly to say to avoid being hit.

It was routine, comfortable. You permanently lived on the edge, waiting. Listening, watching. Observing those around you.

As routine, you were late. It was becoming quite the pattern, but you couldn’t help it. The bus ran late. Or, you suppose… if it ran late every day, then it was on schedule. Maybe you should start catching an earlier bus.

Whatever, it didn’t matter.

Second period, Tuesday.

Sport.

Now, you didn’t necessarily dislike sport. But you didn’t really love it, either.

The uniform always made you feel insecure. Which, at the ripe age of 13, doesn’t seem to be an emotion your peers are experiencing yet. Or maybe they are just better at hiding it than you are. It’s also incredibly performative, sport, which you hate. Being singled out, going one by one, choosing teams. All of it was terrible.

You didn’t mind your teacher.

Which, went a long way, considering you disliked most people who resided within these buildings. Teachers and students alike.

But Mr. Smith was nice. To you, at least. And to everyone. He was loud, had too much energy, but you didn’t mind. It just meant that he cared about his job.

You absentmindedly tugged at the sleeves of your shirt, the fabric wrapped around your arms to make up for the breezy garment of the girls tank top. It made you look different, set you apart. You hated that.

Regardless, you fall in line with the others.

Baseball.

Granted, you’ve never played baseball before. Sure, you’d watched it, on the small occasion that you were allowed to stay with a friend. It was a vivid memory. Watching from the hallway, over her father’s shoulder, whilst she was asleep.

You wished that your father liked sports. Or maybe cooking. Or collecting things, cleaning things, fixing things. Anything.

It’s almost the end of class, you’re standing at the back of the line. Three kids, then two, then just one. You. The others are standing on the bleachers, already collecting their equipment, preparing for break.

“Batter-up.” Mr. Smith says, though you don’t understand the colloquialism. Nonetheless, you move forward, accepting the bat from the previous student. Another is further down the field. Bowler, you presume.

The metal bat is cold between your fingers, clenched in your dominant hand. It’s heavy, but not an unmanageable amount, just enough to keep you aware of it. There’s weight to the swing, weight on your arm, shoulder. It takes a moment to find your footing.

But when you do, the other student has already thrown the ball. It’s hurdling towards you, faster than comfortable. Spinning through the air with a distinct whizz, perfectly curved, heavy. Dangerous.

It’s instinctual. Your body twists, landing a hit on the spherical object with laser accuracy, the impact ringing in your ears as it soars away, towards the end of the pitch.

Your head snaps in the opposite direction, recalling the match you’d silently observed years ago. There are beige bases in the grass, thin plates. The bat falls from your grip, hitting the ground with a thud, and you move to start running.

It only takes a few steps before reality clicks in, and you realise the feat is pointless. Nobody else is playing. There is no-one to catch your ball, to cheer and clap. Everybody has already begun to leave. They didn’t watch you, didn’t continue the game. Three seconds tick over before the bell rings, releasing the crowd of children awaiting their freedom.

Suddenly the summer breeze is too hot, the sleeves of your shirt itching, sticking to your skin. The tank is too tight. It hugs your body in the wrong way, vulnerable, at their mercy. And yet, you are unseen in a similar manner, and there’s an inkling of you that wants to be judged, simply to say you’d been recognised.

You’re collecting your things, and by that, putting your muddied sneakers into a plastic bag and slipping on new ones. There are footsteps behind you. Heavy, easily identifiable as an adult. You have impeccable hearing.

Before he can announce himself, you’ve turned. There’s always been respect in your tone when conversing with teachers, well aware of the authority they hold, despite your frequent disagreeable on their methods.

“Never mentioned you were good at baseball.” Mr. Smith quips, already packing up the equipment left behind from the lesson into a large bag. Those concrete-hard balls, the plastic bases, the metal bats.

“I’ve never played, sir.” You tell him, flashing that usual, awkward smile that doesn’t really count as a smile, but just the pursing of your lips. An attempt at civility from somebody too irreversibly damaged for their age.

“Well, we’ve got a team running,” He continues to speak whilst organising, and though he does not look at you, your attention is drawn. “Could come find you later, give you the permission slip.”

That bursts your bubble. There’s no chance in hell that you could persuade your father to sign it. There was forging the signature, but this game would run in after-school hours, an extra curricular. You wouldn’t be allowed.

“I dunno,” You shrug in premature defeat, slinging the bag over your shoulder, coming to stand at the feet of the bleachers. “Not really a team player. Wouldn’t fit in with the older girls.”

Though there’s no visible indication, it’s obvious that Mr. Smith disregards this as a valid excuse. Which, it definitely isn’t, but it’s the little statement you tell yourself in order to feel less shitty about missing an opportunity.

“How about I get you the slip, and then you’ve got the option?” It’s said as a question, but clearly isn’t, as he’s then reaching into the duffel bag and pulling out one of those heavy, metal bats.

He holds it out to you, and you have no choice but to take it.

“Get some practise in before the weekend.”

Then Mr. Smith is leaving, and you’re left standing there, on the muddy field. The second bell rings out.

You’re late.

Now, this habitual lateness may not be all so coincidental.

Tardiness was handled rather vigorously in the seventh grade, for whatever reason. You didn’t understand.

But it hasn’t taken too long into the year to crack the metaphorical code. Detention was mandated for wrongdoings, ergo, another hour before you had to be home.

You’d take detention over home any day of the week.

So it was unsurprising when you ended up there this afternoon, settling into your usual spot near the back. There were a other kids, the typical troublemakers, and a few poor souls who genuinely had misfortune befall them.

Mrs. Hagerty, the librarian, overlooked detention. She was old and slow, grey hair, grey lips. Grey… skin. Well, she looked half-dead, which was saying something. You weren’t surprised, though it was a little suspicious how she hadn’t chastised you for bringing the baseball bat into the room.

It sat propped up against your desk.

Despite your adamancy against pointless procedures, public humiliation, gossip, and assholes in charge, you were quite good at school. English, primarily, was your strong suit. Reading, writing. All of it.

The peace that you’d carefully crafted was interrupted roughly halfway into the lesson. Or, babysitting session, as Mrs. Hagerty was yet to look up from her desk. Talk about worlds easiest job.

You still remembered that day, even now. Years later.

At the time, Mr. Smith was nothing but your sport teacher, someone with authority who you detested less than most other figures. A reasonable constant in your life, so far.

Now, he was Negan. Everything to you, in a way. Alike to how you were everything to him. Though you didn’t know it then, this was the day that he’d consume an entirely different part of your mind, forging a new identity that would terrorise, ravage, and torment communities.

But in the same breath, protect you, help raise you, construct an entire empire with you as the sun. Though you’d never succumb to the hive mind, you were not Negan. But you certainly were his.

Nonetheless, it all started within that room. The detention room.

“Permission slip.” Negan announced, placing the small pink paper on the desk in front of you. He attempted to keep his voice hushed, mindful of the other students who were meant to be studying, but appeared more to be sleeping.

Now that it was out of school hours, and he was likely printing, Negan wore reading glasses. Later, you would mock him for these, making comments about him being old.

It always awarded you with that same distinct look of warning. Yet, it never made you feel threatened, but appreciated. Seen.

You slide the permission slip closer, reading the small black writing. In the same motion, you fish out a pen, jotting down cursive letters in the underlined section.

You slide it back.

“I can’t take this,” Negan points out with a sign, gazing down at the signature that is obviously not one of your parents. “You’re really making me go back, and print another one?”

This causes you to roll your eyes, “So I can take it home and do the same thing? That just wastes both of our time… our you could take it now.”

However, he won’t budge. “It’s policy. Go home, get it signed. I don’t need to know how.”

Though you feign annoyance, the insinuation made you want to smile. Turns out, Negan knew more than he was letting on. Gossip spread across faculty quickly, and it didn’t take a genius to deduct your… poor living situation.

The long sleeves, the turtle necks, the gloves. Jeans in summer. Never a parent to attention parent-teacher conferences.

He’s about to turn and leave, when there’s a slight commotion at the front of the room.

One of the younger students, Jasmin, is talking to Mrs. Hogarty in a hushed voice. Goody-two-shoes.

When she gets no response, the student only continues talking, trying to elicit a reaction from the teacher that has otherwise remained silent. In an irreversible mistake, Jasmin reaches out, gently waving her tanned hand in front of glazed over eyes.

Mrs. Hogarty lunges at her, finally in motion, chubby hands gripping at the forearm of the girl and taking a bite from plush skin. Blood spurts from the wound, Jasmin screams in horror, alike to the rest of the few misdemeanours in the room.

Everyone is in motion. Some try to help Jasmin, others flee. You’re stuck. Truth is, though you boast agility, you’ve never been in a situation like this. Your mouth gapes like a fish, open, closed, searching for something to say, to do. A reaction befitting of this complete, disgusting travesty.

“C’mon, up. Let’s go.” Negan is talking to you, you realise. It’s like everything finally clicks back into motion, the water no longer clogging your ears, making everything muffled and distant. This is reality.

You scramble from the chair, grabbing books, pencils, hastily shoving them into your little brown bag.

But there’s a hand on your shoulder, urging you forward, towards the exit sitting towards the back of the classroom. “Leave it, no time.” Negan is telling you, helping you off the floor. Before the two of you can make a break for it, your hands clasp around the metal baseball bat.

It swings at your side as you leave the building, feet padding against the concrete of the pavement. It’s strangely… desolate. There is no increasing urgency, nobody around. It almost makes you question whether what happened was real. But you’re still walking, forward, away.

“Shouldn’t we help her?” You ask, to which Negan finally stops to look back at you. His brows furrow, confused, so you clarify. “Jasmin.”

“No, no, there isn’t any helping her,” He clarifies, talking slowly to try and get the idea in your head. “I read about this shit online, it’s in other countries. Europe. They aren’t people anymore.”

You don’t quite catch on, understand the severity of his words. But it makes sense. No person would act like that. Your feet begin to move again, travelling the familiar path.

“Hey, where are you going?” Negan calls out, and it’s only now that you become aware of the distance between you. Your head snaps into the direction of the bus stop, a silent answer, and Negan seems to deduct your intentions. He nods in the opposite direction. “C’mon.”

You obey, needing to skip in order to catch up with his longer strides. The bat is still clenched in your dominant hand, cold metal occasionally making contact with the side of your leg. It’s heavy, but you’re getting used to it.

As you approach the car park, the sun beats down, warming the asphalt. A few paces away is Negan’s truck, but before that, another person you quickly identify as an older student.

Stringy hair, grey skin, dull eyes. Arms reaching out, wandering aimlessly. The animated corpse seems to have some semblance of consciousness, as it spots you, limping over.

Preemptively, you take a step back, that familiar feeling of panic flooding your system at an unavoidable danger. Luckily, Negan appears to be significantly more composed than you are, as he’s reaching back for something. Extending a hand to you.

When you don’t react, he whistles, a high-pitched noise that instantly gets your attention. You did not know it yet, but this would become a familiar constant in your life. Nonetheless, you catch onto what he meant, letting the metal bat fall into his extended hand.

“Are you gonna…?” You don’t finish your question, as you’re unsure what exactly you think may happen. There’s a small part of you that doesn’t want to know.

Luckily, Negan provided little answers. “Go around and get in the truck.” He tells you, instructs you, and you listen simply because you trust him. Which, in this day and age, is dangerous.

You busy yourself with the seatbelt in order not to watch, able to mentally fill in the blanks as to the measure that Negan was taking. It made sense, you supposed. They weren’t alive anymore, couldn’t feel. Only wanted to hurt other people. Therefore, they needed to be put down.

There’s a clang as he places the baseball bat in the back of the truck, getting into the drivers seat and starting the engine. You watch this interest, unable to remember the last time somebody drove you anywhere. Never, if you recall correctly.

Thankful, Negan opts to ignore the way you inspect his every movement, like a little bird. Or a startled cat.

“Your address?” He requests, already making a start down the street that he would presume lead towards your house. It snaps you out of the little daze, face scrunching up.

“No, gross. I can’t give you my address,” You say in a matter-of-fact tone, as if the idea of completely insane. “You could be a predator, for all I know. That’s private information.”

Negan gives you that look again, the same one when you’d forged the signature. He can’t quite understand you. “Why would I work in a school if I was a predator? Tell me, how would I get that job.”

You shrug, “Maybe because that’s exactly what you want.”

He becomes fed up with your inane accusation, rolling his eyes. Yet, despite the attitude you’ve adopted, he does not get frustrated with you. “Address, now. I’m takin’ you home.”

There’s a large part of you that doesn’t even want to go home, yet you obey, providing Negan with your address to which he turns down the proper street. Luckily, you don’t live too far from school… or, unlucky, you suppose. For it isn’t long until you’re pulling into your driveway.

You get out, footsteps cautious against the pavement. A few meters away is an older lady, half alive, clinging to the path with desperate hands despite the concave appearance of her head. Your neighbour. She groans upon noticing you, but her legs are broken, and cannot move forward.

Remembering earlier, you move backwards towards the truck, fishing out the metal bat. It’s shiny metallic end is caked with reddish blood, stringing bits of decomposing guts hanging from it.

You can only make it a step forward until Negan is holding your shoulder again, pushing you in the opposite direction, towards the house. “Nope. Just leave her, she ain’t hurting anyone.”

Usually, you would detest being controlled. Told what to do. The shadow of an adult so close behind you, watching, letting their hands intrude on your space. But you didn’t feel threatened by Negan, which was odd. You weren’t going to complain about it, that’s for sure.

You ascend up the shallow stairs, coming to a stop in front of the door. When you reach out, pressing on the doorhandle, you’re shocked to find that it simply swings open, already sitting ajar. Dread fills your body.

It’s not that fearful, sickly dread that you get when you know you’ve done something wrong, and are awaiting the inevitable consequences. No, its.. different. You’ve felt it very few times before. Concern, worry. Knowing that something is wrong, and you cannot stop it.

Nonetheless, you enter the house. It’s in its familiar state, which provides a slight comfort to you, but Negan finds himself taken aback. It’s practically a mess. Every surface has something on it, whether it be pointless junk, or the garbage of bottles and cans. A few areas remain spotless, like the kitchen counter, and the bin remains empty and carefully tucked away.

It’s clear that you upkeep the small areas which you require for your autonomy. The rest of the place? Not your problem. It’s no wonder you don’t like being there.

As you pat further down the hallway, Negan draws his attention to the entrance. There’s a large bookshelf, though the books are dusty, likely long since actually used. A few slots are unusually empty, indicating that you’ve taken some to keep elsewhere.

But it’s the top shelf that draws his attention. Two photographs, positioned around thirty centimetres apart, with two respective urns behind them. One significantly smaller. Mother and daughter, he recognises. Mother and baby, actually.

It’s apparent that this is the home of a family that’s lost half of its inhabitance. He can’t help but wonder, is this the fate that will befall him, come Lucille’s death? Hopefully not. Nothing like this.

“Dad?”

Negan regains his sense of reality, curiosity piked as you’re speaking down the hall. He moves further into the space, standing in the kitchen as he observes you, there on the porch.

You stand near the doorway, that bat still hanging from one hand. In front of you, a figure, sitting down. Next to him, a half-empty case of beers. Part of Negan becomes increasingly alert, aware, prepared to avoid letting any harm befall you. A harm that you’re likely accustomed to.

There’s no response.

“C’mon. Just say something.” You urge, sounding utterly defeated. And yet, your father gives no response, despite the impending doom blanketing the situation.

It doesn’t take a genius to understand. The vicious, red welt on your fathers neck gives it away, jagged and seeping blood that stains his already unkept shirt. It’s a matter of time, at this point. You’d like to extract at least one, genuine conversation. Absolutely anything before he disappears forever.

That isn’t seeming very likely.

Your eyes drift around the yard, welling with tears not of sadness, but frustration. This is it? You are to become an orphan, the world is ending, and your piece-of-shit father won’t even look at you? In this moment, you wished he was angry.

You wished he would yell at you.

Pin you against the wall by your neck.

Bruise you. Beat you.

Anything other than this.

“I made the baseball team.” You tell him, another futile attempt to elicit any sort of reaction. Pride, maybe. Congratulate his young daughter for her achievement. Even the smallest hint of recognition would go a long way, pull you from this spiral you’ve begun to succumb to.

And what does he do?

He scoffs.

His arm lifts, taking another swig of the near empty bottle.

Finally, you’ve gotten your sign. A signal, a hint. The divine intervention that sets everything straight, reminds you of your place in this world. Just enough attention to keep you subdued, but satisfied. Complacent.

Anger overtakes you before you’re even aware of these emotions, wielding a surprising amount of strength for a pre-pubescent girl. You want to scream and shout and hurt him.

So you do.

It’s a knee-jerk reaction, really. Unplanned, messily executed. But would you have done it again? Certainly.

You cannot feel remorse for causing pain to a man who’s soul died long ago. Died with your mother, died with your infant sister. Tried to kill yours along with it all.

It’s already happened before you can understand.

There’s a distinct soreness in your shoulder, strained from swinging the metal baseball bat with such force. There are little blisters forming on your palms from how tight you’re gripping, clawing, clenching around the handle. The movement has shifted your whole body, but you don’t look down.

You don’t acknowledge the mess you’ve made.

Blood splattered across the wooden porch, some even hitting the adjacent fence. Skull broken, concave. Oozing sticky red.

The glass bottle rolls down the steps. Clink, clink, clink. It hits the plush grass, silenced.

It was inevitable, anyway. Whether to the virus, or your own hands, your father was going to die.

It was a mercy-kill, at best.

Vengeance at worst.

But that didn’t matter anymore, because when you turned around, he was there.

Negan.

Standing in the kitchen, watching you through the open door. He didn’t appear horrified, or disgusted. Maybe unsettled, sure. There was a darkness within you that he recognised, understood. Sure, he didn’t put it there, but over the years he would cultivate it, guide you. Raise you as somebody who would never be taken advantage of again.

Untouchable.

[zweiginator]

being forced to go to a fancy gala with your mom and stepdad, and of course--your step brother, patrick. wearing a long, silk dress that hugs your body. the satin material almost seems to caress your tits.

and patrick has noticed you're beautiful. he's not an idiot. he's a boy in his twenties who still wakes up with morning wood like it's clockwork.

he has been very careful around you. maybe because his dad pulled him aside after he broke up with his last girlfriend. told him he needs to be more gentlemanly. work on how he's perceived. boys who act like this don't get pretty wives and good children.

patrick never claimed to want those things, however. but he is intentional with his gaze. doesn't let his eyes linger, although they beg to.

the dress, though. it's the product of dreams. satin and emerald green and low cut but still modest. tight yet flowy where it needs to be.

patrick drinks far too much champagne. pretends to care about the surface-level conversations he's halfheartedly contributing to. is he excited about going on tour? what about college?

who fucking cares? -- is what he wants to say.

he loosens his tie and goes out back for a smoke. the air is breezy and cold for early august. it feels good in his hair. and you're out here too. looking out onto the water. your heels sit beside you, one toppled over.

"hey." patrick says from behind you.

"oh, hi pat." you turn around, leaning your back against the railing. rusted metal bars that dig into your palms.

his cigarette is limp between his lips. the flame extinguishes itself, but patrick doesn't bother to relight it.

"your dress is really nice." he says. "the color really suits you."

you look him up and down. his hair is nicely done, styled but still messy in its own regard. his tie is crooked but his suit is pressed nicely, perfectly tailored. an easy shade of black that isn't hard on the eyes. but it contrasts nicely with the hazel in his eyes.

"your get-up isn't so bad yourself. you clean up nicely."

the way you look at each other in this moment confuses you. both of you. watching the wind blow the chimes hanging from a nearby gazebo and the moon wane as your chests rise and fall. wondering if you would have ever crossed paths if not for your respective parents doing it for you. thinking about summers tangled in each others' sheets--what could have been.

but you're step siblings. and it will never be. it can't. patrick nudges his elbow against yours, and you grab onto the swell of his bicep. he walks you back inside with his suit jacket over your shoulders and you both pretend, in your own innocent way, that you can love each other, like that. for the night.

[joesheistyy]

Red Nosed Boy

The Bills and Bengals game was approaching quickly. Which meant the team would need to be out practicing in the cold. Joe hated the cold, but he loved his team and he knew he needed to get the job done.

Tuesday morning practice had rolled around and it was breezy with a temperature of 24°. Joe was dreading leaving the cozy house and he made sure the whole world knew it.

“I love my job and I love what I do, but I do not want to go today,” he groaned, pulling you closer to him in bed.

“I know babe. It’s cold so it’s hard to leave, but you don’t make millions for nothing,” you replied, turning to face him. Sometimes a little gaslighting could make Joe get up and go without much more complaining.

“Yeah yeah yeah,” he croaked out as he tossed the blankets off of his body, exposing himself to the harsh cold air of the bedroom.

Joe headed to the bathroom to get ready for the day. Brushing his teeth, shaving, and putting on layers to attempt to keep his body warmth in for practice.

You soon got out of bed, checking the thermostat the moment you got downstairs. The 70° temperature in the house wouldn’t be nearly warm enough for Joe when he got home.

Joe had left quickly, realizing he had to face the snow flurries and idiots who freak out on the roads when even a single snowflake falls. As badly as he didn’t want to practice outside, he hid that and encouraged his teammates that it’s what needed to be done to better the team in preparation for the game against Buffalo.

You continued your house work and relaxation while Joe was gone. You tried to conjure up some ideas to warm him up for when he arrived home. You enjoyed your hot coffee under a cozy blanket on the couch, feeling a little guilty that Joe was out in the cold. However, he did make millions to do that, so you shut your guilt down quickly.

You heard the garage door open, and in walks a cold, red-nosed Joe. That poor boy struggled to warm up when it was this cold and breezy out. Not even blasting the heat in his car on the way home could do much.

“Hi baby, how was practice?” You asked, going up to hug him.

“Cold,” he mumbled out, pulling you in closer to try to use your body heat to warm him up.

"What can we do to get you warmed up, baby?" you questioned, looking up to kiss his cold chin.

"Dunno, even my bones feel cold," he slumped into your body, resting his weight onto you.

"Let's start with getting rid of your practice stuff. There's no way that's warm anymore," You said, helping him drop his bag of equipment.

You lead Joe upstairs to change. You had already put some clean clothes in the towel warmer for him. He headed for the bathroom, considering taking a warm bath. He decided against it, considering that involved more effort than he wanted to commit to it.

"Any warmer?" you ask after he came out of the bathroom in his warm Nike sweatpants and looney tunes crew neck, bengals hat still on.

"A bit, but it's one of those cold feelings that takes hours to go away. I hate, hate, hate it," he groaned, walking out of the bedroom. You followed him back downstairs. Joe headed for the thermostat, turning the heat up to 74. You hated being hot, so keeping the house cool was typically the way to go. But in this case, you would happily deal so Joe could be comfortable. No one needed him sick before the Bills game.

Joe then laid down on the couch. He took the thick fuzzy Ugg blanket and draped it over his legs. You had laid out a heating pad for him that he put his back on. He would do anything to try to warm up.

You approached the couch, kneeling down to lay a kiss on his cold cheek. "How about some tea?" you suggested, seeing his eyes light up a little bit.

"That sounds good babe, do we have green tea?" he asked, pulling the blanket up over his shoulders.

"We do! I'll get that started for you," you joked like you worked at Starbucks. He laughed in response.

You made Joe tea in his favorite mug. He wasn't a coffee drinker, but he had a few favorite mugs for tea.

"Thanks baby," he said, leaning up to take the tea from you.

"Have any other ideas to warm up?" you asked, hoping that something had come to mind.

"Lay with me?" he suggested, opening up the blanket to let you under with him.

You crawled under the blanket with Joe, the touch of his skin still cool. He grabbed the remote, turning on Looney Tunes. His arms wrapped around your back, holding you tight.

Your eyes fluttered shut as the outside atmosphere became white with powered snow. Joe's arms wrapped around you, his body slowly but surely warming up.

[yourlocallyneysimp]

Dancing With Them

A/n: I can’t dance at all. 🙂

Characters: Lyney, Venti, Kazuha, Albedo, Aether, Xingqiu, Ayato, Thoma

+Bonus: Nilou, Yun Jin, Ayaka, Barbara, Columbina, Eula, Lynette

Lyney:

Lyney is a professional dancer and he performs all of the time, so as his s/o, it’s natural to him that he would try to teach you how to dance as well. No matter how many mistakes you make or how much you mess up, he still offers his hand each time with a small smile on his face. <3

Venti:

Venti doesn’t really know how to dance either, so it’s just a freestyle. Venti would use the wind to make it more fun and exciting and would even lift you up into the air for fun which results you both falling onto the ground laughing. It’s overall pretty exciting to dance with Venti and sometimes you wish that moments like these could last forever. 

Kazuha:

Kazuha likes to dance with you under the moonlight and when it’s slightly breezy outside.

It’s really cute since no matter how many times you step on his foot, he still holds you close and never lets go. 

Albedo:

Albedo is a prince okay. Ok, so, I feel like he would have some experience in dancing. If one day Albedo is in a odd mood, he would lift you up from your seat and start twirling you around his room. It’s fun at first until you notice that the star that was previously on his neck is missing. 

Aether:

Instead of Aether asking you for a dance, you take his hand into your own and start going around the room. You mostly do this when he’s not in a good mood or when he’s drowning himself in his depressing thoughts. Even though it’s a small gesture, he still appreciates it and it makes him feel better. 

Xingqiu:

Xingqiu probably took lessons to learn how to dance since he’s from a rich family, but he most likely didn’t stick to it since he chose books over exercise. Even though he told you this fact, it was sort of hard to believe since he literally does a flip in the air when he’s fighting.

Sometimes when Xingqiu finishes reading a good book, he would take your hand and start twirling you around the room talking about how amazing the book was. 💙

Ayato:

Ayato treats you like a princess and will kiss your hand when he asks for you to dance with him. He already took lessons since he has to eventually dance with his future wife- *COUGH* (you) so he made sure to perfect every step.

You don’t even know it, but he’s been teaching you how to dance for a while now. Until the day he proposes and the day of your wedding, he will make sure you know each and every step. 

Thoma:

This is canon in my head and I can’t stop thinking about it. Thoma WILL dance with you whenever he’s cleaning or when the Kamisato’s are out doing errands. It’s something you both do in secret.

When Ayaka eventually catches you both, she can’t help but smile at the heaetwarming moment. 

--------

Bonus!!

Nilou:

Dancing with Nilou will be a lot of fun and you can’t tell me otherwise. Whether you're both dancing in water or in the desert or even on stage- it’s still something you both enjoy. 

Yun Jin:

Dancing and singing with Yun Jin is definitely a learning experience since you learn a lot about opera and you both teach each other new dancing moves. 

Ayaka:

Ayaka thought that dancing with you would be embarrassing at first since she can’t really dance herself (lie), but when you both step into the water and start twirling each other around while laughing, she can’t help but treasure the moment.

She hopes that she could dance like this with you forever. This thought causes her to have dreams about you both eventually getting married. <3

Barbara:

You and Barbara are both idols and you both enjoy performing on stage together. Singing with each other brings joy to the both of you and it’s something that makes all the bad thoughts and stress in Barbara’s head go away. 

Columbina:

Columbina was shocked when you suddenly took her hand and started twirling her around. Columbina is a singer, not a dancer. It was cute seeing her shocked for the first time, but that expression quickly turns into a look of happiness as she starts matching your every step. You taking her hand was just a reminder of why she loves you! <3

Eula:

Eula is a professional dancer, so to be honest, you already lost. Eula would give you dancing lessons on a daily basis if you ask her and will teach you while trying to seem professional at the same time. (Even though she's embarrassed. Plus points if you compliment her dancing skills!)

Lynette:

Lynette met you during one of her and her brother’s performances. Even though her brother enjoyed performing, she didn’t really like the experience. Whenever the performances were over, she would watch as everyone else was dancing with their partner or friends.

When you came over to her and asked her to dance for the first time, that was the day that she felt human emotions for the first time.

She fell in love. 🌹💞

[qyxzun]

𝟓┆𝕳𝐎𝐌𝐄.

❝𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐔𝐏,❞ the prowler grumbled behind his mask with a distorted voice as he slung a hook across the city's highway. He ran and leaped from the high distance before he pulled himself above the many cars from below. Miles followed behind him, his webs constantly leaving his wrists while he aimed and propelled himself in his direction.

He watched how the prowler expeditiously swung through building from building with agility despite the thick fog that started to settle in from the rain. Miles looked down to catch a glimpse of the scenery yet what he saw made him realize how this dimension and his contrasted. The numerous policemen were all over the place, but they couldn't provide the same protection as a spider-man could. It made him realize how important such an individual like himself or any spider-variant was. But if Miles had to describe Earth 42 in one word, he'd call it dystopian.

"Sooo, how far away until-?" Miles inquired until his counterpart interrupted him already, flitting faster in the air like it was a race"

"Few more minutes inquieto. (restless)" Miles G. voiced as he jumped down the building despite the extreme heights. The spider-man only sighed as he watched his twin surprisingly already ahead of him.

He persuaded him further until they reached close to an area where light didn't shine. The two Miles landed on top of a rusty tower crane as they observed their surroundings. The darkness obscured Miles' view but upon further observation, he could make out a complex building of considerable size - bigger than a baseball field. The fences were wired poorly with no sign of a main entrance and multiple banners with warnings to leave were plastered everywhere, which left Miles a weird feeling down his gut.

"This was the Alcemax," Miles G. voiced before his mask distorted, probably because of the rain. Miles looked back at him, confused.

"Why does it look abandoned?" He asked curiously. His response took a while, making his suspicions grow when he saw his twin's visage. It was indecipherable yet all he did was look and stare down on the dark Alchemax.

"I destroyed its collider. It caused a meltdown." Miles G. responded with a low tone before the curly-haired teen's eyes rose in astonishment from such news.

"How the hell did you destroy a collider all by yourself?" Miles questioned, perplexed and surprised by such a response. He watched how his stern expression turned slightly softer. "No goober or anything at all?" Miles G. looked back at him, returning his look of confusion with a slightly stern expression. The spider-man's question made him look like a fool thanks to his words, guess only spider-people knew what a goober meant...

"Didn't do it alone. Y/N helped me," the prowler retorted with a sullen tone before he huffed. "She was so smart.. fine too," he rambled like a fool in love while Miles continued to listen. The rain still cast down on the two, but it didn't seem to bother them.

"She told me how to shut it down, but guess I was just too aggressive with that damn collider, not that I ever liked it anyway," The prowler's glum face hardened more before his mask glitched back.

"Let's go," He said before launching himself off the tower crane and leaping midair towards the abandoned Alchemax. Miles hastily followed, his webs firmly pulling him behind the anti-hero. The breezy air through the night easily got Miles to swing with no worry, yet it gawked him to see his twin advance with precision and speed. His equipment and boosters must have helped him glide recklessly but competently through the wind. Either way, his talent was worth praise.

They both landed on the dirty rooftop, their shoes clicking on the broken floors and the displeasing mud created by the rain. Miles G. advanced further with his twin behind him before they reached a malfunctioning door. The texture was smooth and clean if it weren't for the grime and squalor it presented. The prowler easily opened it while Miles followed along inside the dark edifice, the barrier behind them closing as it created a loud thud. He assumed he'd be seeing nothing but pitch-black until he noted how the lights flickered, creating a path to follow despite the anxiety it could impose on an unlucky person who could wander inside. Then again, who would come here?

The place looked ghastly and left an ominous aura that would leave others a sense of foreboding. The prowler appeared unperturbed and continued forward, he must've had doleful memories upon entering here since he mentioned you again. But then again, he was the one who came up with the idea to venture inside.

Miles was probably overthinking, it wasn't his business to pry into his other version's past. He was just curious of course, you could say he was looking out for himself.

They stopped in front of another broken entryway. The spider-man wondered what could be behind the secure entrance before his wonders were answered when the prowler suddenly slashed the wired board beside them. The door automatically malfunctioned yet slowly divided, letting the two look-alikes pass through.

The two ventured further as Miles could recognize more grubby machines and equipment. The deeper they went, the less often the lights flickered. While descending, he felt the air become more chilly and as the two entered another room, he recognized the discarded documents that were scattered on the dirty tiles under the flickering lights. From what he could find, the papers depicted diagrams and reports; mostly progress about the collider or test subjects they ran on. The spoiled files must've been vital information for the scientists before this place turned for the worst and remained deserted and untouched by the people of Earth 42. If anything, the files were nothing but forgotten memories of what really happened.

No one knew the complete story behind the Alchemax's meltdown, except for Miles G. He knew it remained better that way. Who would look him in the eye anyway after he destroyed an important piece of Brooklyn that the corrupt government and KingPin funded? Who wouldn't want to kill him after he destroyed these scientists' families, all because he wanted to avenge your death? He was selfish, but he would've never forgiven himself if he had never done something, your decease would've been for naught.

You were the only one that made him believe peace was still an option in this sick unforgiven world, yet those malignant fucking scientists.. the same people you supported for the project and killed you, he'd never forgive them.

"Yo Miles!" his counterpart interrupted his train of thought before he looked up to meet his gaze behind his mask. He was a little envious to see his other version of himself slightly taller than him. When his attention was turned to Miles, he continued.

"You gotta check this out," the spider-man disappeared into another room from a two-door way after he said that. Miles G. followed him inside the eerie room, and the moment he took another step, he felt the memories flush back into his mind.

They were in the collider room, the same room where you died. If he just looked further down, he would've seen your blood stains on the debris. God forbid you'd die in a place as filthy as this. You rested in peace, in a comfortable coffin of your favourite colour the vigilante provided. The room reeked of death, some bodies were piled up behind desks, but they didn't look so harmed as the radiation must've killed them. That fact didn't make the prowler's guts churn, he'd seen more bodies than a normal teen would. On the other hand, Miles was disturbed by such a place, but he had to continue, this Alchemax was his only shot at getting home after all.

"Don't forget," Miles G. asserted as his mask fell apart once more. He had the same morose expression, while Miles looked back at him with a befuddled one. "We're saving Y/N. You leave without saving her, I'm huntin' you down." He glowered with a stoic stare.

He must've really cared for you before you died. Miles could understand, you were friends with Gwen. But after that whole fiasco with her, Peter and Miguel.. he figured you knew and lied to him like the rest of them did. Yet, why does he still appreciate how you offered to catch bad guys with him? Why does he worry about you when he barely knows you? How come his counterpart had a version of you in his dimension while he was alone? Sure, Gwen was there, but she didn't last...

Maybe if you both had more time together, you and Miles could be friends too, even if canon events separated you two.

"Still don't trust me, huh?" Miles joked before his twin's expression only hardened. He ignored his sternness as they further ventured into the ginormous test room. Behind the gargantuan glass that had already shattered, the Afro-haired teen saw the closed collider, its parts folded into each other. He didn't have to approach it to know it was dusty from how long it was unkept, as it created some tingling sensation in his nose, almost making him sneeze like he had allergies.

What he definitely didn't expect was the collider suddenly unfolding and activating. Miles' eyes widened, and he turned back to his other self. The prowler was behind a desk that was surprisingly still functioning. By the look in his eyes, he knew what he was doing but it wasn't enough to trust him. Miles rushed towards him with his webs, looking down at the electronic table with wires and buttons before looking at him.

"What's Y/N's dimensional coordinates?" Miles G. asked in a rushed tone to which Miles looked like he was utterly perplexed.

"How the hell am I supposed to know?" his eyebrow was raised as he retorted. His confused expression made the braided teen scoff.

"Aren't you her friend?" Miles G. jabbed back. It made Miles chuckle nervously. "I just met her..?" He responded to which his twin looked back at him with an "Are you serious right now" look. He grumbled and turned his mask back on. His boosters activated before he suddenly bolted like a dash through the broken glass behind the collider. "Wait f'me," the prowler asserted under his voice modulator and leaped down below the complex apparatus.

The black and red-suited hero was about to follow him yet when he turned around, the collider caught his attention. It was turned on. Miles hated betrayal and lies but with the grand machine already running, it was his chance to get out of there, to save his dad. Miles knew you were worth saving as well but he had no time left to waste, hesitation made him tap his foot against the floor. He kept glancing back and forth to see if his counterpart returned. He was taking too long.

With a conflicted sigh, Miles advanced towards the electronic desk as his fingers trailed down on the mechanisms and buttons. The collider further operated as dark matter started to appear from the formation and with that, he typed in his earth's dimensional signature. This was it, he was almost home. Just a little bit of time, and he could get out of here.

"I—Initializing co— collider.." the system announced through the speakers, its voice distorting like a broken record. Miles placed a hand on the initiator, preparing to pull on the lever for commencement.

Yet before he could even do so wrap his fingers around the trigger, a sharp pain shot through his neck from behind before his spider-senses could even get the chance to react. His spider-senses reacted late once more, causing his consciousness to slip again...

"F'r real? You were just gonna leave your twin like that?" The prowler sneered after he elbowed a nerve behind his neck, rendering him unconscious. A sardonic tone accompanied the odious glare present on his face. His animosity for the spider-man seemed to grow once he saw the collider already open with a portal to his dimension. 'He accessed it himself' He wondered.

"So much for trust and relation.." The anti-hero snarled before letting out a scoff. His hands were balled into fists yet they were careful to keep the vile of your blood safe. How did he retrieve it? Though his actions blossomed a memory and a tight feeling in his chest, Miles G. had jumped down at the bottom of the collider room earlier to reach where he had last seen your corpse. He doubted at first, but your blood was still there and surprisingly easy to liquify. Your sanguine liquid was an important key to the collider anyway.

Ignoring his passed-out identical other on the dusty floor, Miles G. entered a sequence into the commander circuit before he poured small drops of your blood on the transparent cuvette attached to the device. The black matter from the collider seemed to intensify and change as the vigilante's gloved fingers continued to type cryptic information on the malfunctioning screen, too fast to understand to the naked eye.

"Identifying the closest di—dime— mensional traces; Earth 61806N" Lights started to flicker quicker, and the ground began to shake from the frail and broken foundation below the functioning collider it was starting to create more of a mess. His mask was automatically placed before the vigilante fled at the speed of light through the broken glass to the opening portal. His calculations were never wrong, he believed— no, knew that upon entering that vortex, he would find you and reunite with you again.

Without further hesitation, Miles G. jumped into the glitching portal, an explosion muffled from his ears occurred behind. He didn't know what happened or when it occurred but he lost control of his body as all he could do was see countless stars, colours, galaxies, all impossible to count. He felt like a corpse but his consciousness was strangely still inside. He knew but didn't know what was happening. He could feel everything but nothing at the same time, what was happening? He had no clue.

The vigilante's moments stuck into infinity were short-lived when a hole was torn open in the middle of time and space. He was thrown out aggressively before his body crashed into the brick wall behind him. "joder.. eso duele, (fuck.. that hurt)" Miles G. coughed from the air that was knocked out of his body. He slowly got up, patting the dust off his clothes.

The scene was something he hadn't seen in a while; it was a city so peaceful that contrasted his own. No fires, not so much crime in the middle of the city, just normal for once. What baffled him was how he could rarely find anything Western-related. His eyes darted across the signs, all were bizarrely in Japanese. Why was he in Japan? Isn't he supposed to be on Earth 61806N? Or at least another version of Brooklyn? It was extremely fortunate he knew basic Japanese. His linguistics study sessions with you before you passed away proved to be successful.

Miles G. jumped down the tall building, leaving claw marks on walls that dropped him to an alleyway. It felt ominous and shady to a normal person but coming from someone who experienced with worst, he could care less about it. The anti-hero hid in the shadows once he heard a series of footsteps and police cars blaring in the distance, guess his first impressions were shortlived. Miles G. then peeked at the corner to see what was happening.

His perplexity didn't seem to shrink as he spotted a woman with scales, hair for live serpents and a grand tail resembling a snake. She was struggling and screaming with fury when a man bigger than her apprehended her. He dressed bizarrely, his beard and suit seemed to be on fire too. It made Miles G.'s eyes widen, how the hell isn't he affected by the flames? He could tell his grip on her was tight and secure, displaying she was a threat.

"GET OFF OF ME! YOU DAMN BASTARD HERO!!" She shrieked, her fangs showing. Miles G. watched how this supposed hero lifted her up easily, avoiding eye contact with the lady before he plastered a blindfold over her eyes. The medusa-looking woman struggled but the tall man eventually succeeded. "It's Endeavour, you low-classed villain." he hissed with a tone that didn't match the term hero at all. To say he was burning with anger might've been a fact.

Miles G.'s gaze soon left the two once he started to take her away. This place was weird, way too weird. The fact the creature and the hero's looks were normalized made the prowler uneasily out of place. Where really was he? Did he make a mistake coming here? No, of course not. He knew you were here, somewhere. He was about to walk further into the alleyway when suddenly, a large indescribable pain surged throughout his body. "Fuck—!" He grunted, almost falling down. When the pain stopped, he stumbled and leaned against the wall for support. He should've known this glitching effect would come early.

His grunt of help seemed to catch someone's attention behind him. Though Miles G. didn't possess the powers of a spider-man unlike his twin, he had some kind of danger-senses that sometimes helped him. When he turned around, he saw a man, a height that matched his own with pale hands, that stood out the most, plastered all over his upper body and his face. The vigilante doubted they were decorations after seeing how bizarre this place was. Between its fingers, his orbs were hidden behind his long, very pale cerulean-coloured tousled hair. His clothes were all wrinkled and dishevelled as if he repeatedly took them out of a hamper and refused to clean it.

"Look at this, a foreigner.. did you lose your tourist guide or something?" His hoarse voice taunted Miles G., he sounded annoyed like he just had a week's worth of bad luck. His finger crept up to his neck and began scratching, an unpleasant sound of skin ripping made the braided-teen scowl. The sound disgusted him but the fact he was picking a fight when he was just minding his own business made him realize how stupid he must be.

"What's with the hands then weirdo? You ugly behind those?" Miles G. scoffed with a pissed-off glare. He could tell from the tense silence that the light silver-haired guy was speechless by his perfect Japanese while also fuming. It didn't stop him from scratching his neck more. It didn't concern the vigilante but he was surprised he wasn't bleeding yet.

"You're as terrible as the hero society.." He sneered maliciously. "The same type of people who don't know their place, who believe they're superior.. always feeding their ego," He continued as his back curved more, both of his hands were scratching his neck like mad, so profusely. Shigaraki's nails dug deep in his flesh, why was he getting so triggered over a tourist like him? Why is he not afraid? Why the fuck was he here?! In enemy territory out of all places?!

"You're the type of people I hate the most!" Tomura snarled with disdain. He darted towards him, it felt like his body reacted without thinking straight. His animosity blinded him to rationally think before he could realize he was about to kill someone just from a few words.

All of his five fingers extended to touch this braided guy's face. But when his dry digits hit his dark skin, his eyes widened. He wasn't decaying, he wasn't dying or even groaning in pain. He was still there. What the hell was happening? Did he have an erasure quirk like that damn Eraserhead? That must've been it!

"Get your fuckin' hand off me!" His opponent yelled. Shigaraki reacted late once more as he suddenly grabbed his hand and pulled it away from his face. His grip was tight enough to break his wrist that it created a crack sound. A gut-wrenching hiss escaped Tomura's lips loudly. He didn't even get a nanosecond to realize what was happening when the figure in front of him wrapped his clawed gauntlet around the villain's throat. The fingers were sharp, they irritated and dug into Tomura's mortally wounded scratches while air couldn't enter his lungs.

Miles G. slammed his head into the brick wall, causing the building behind his capture to slightly shake. His opponent coughed and gagged, struggling in vain to punch him yet all the prowler could do was ruthlessly choke his poor throat. The anti-hero glared at him with disdain. "Shame I have'ta kill you,"

"Ku-Kurogiri! Send me away!!" Tomura wheezed, moving his head frantically in a panic frenzy. Miles G. tightened his grip further when all of a sudden, a dark violent purple fog emerged behind the choking bastard. He fell behind and disappeared but the prowler, not for one to let his victims get away, dashed inside the mysterious fog.

His shoes stumbled on the hard wooden floorboards before his gaze darted back at the light geyser-haired man gasping for air on the floor. His prowler gauntlet charged up as he began to walk over to him, ready to kill. His efforts were in vain when a sharp blade suddenly penetrated his shoulder. He let out an injured cry as the figure behind him pinned him down on the floor.

When Miles G. looked up, a tall dishevelled dark-haired man with a torn-up mask gripped the katana stuck in his shoulder. He pulled the sharp blade out with a maniacal smile and licked a drop of blood. "What the fuck? Gross..." The prowler's nose wrinkled in disgust. With a harsh kick, he sent the man flying to the brick wall before he let out a grunt of pain when he got up.

The black-haired man easily recovered but his eyes were wide open like he was shocked. 'That's strange.. my quirk didn't work...' He wondered under his breath and licked most of the blood off his katana once more. He watched how the dark-braided teen got up from the ground once more, shocking Shigaraki and himself.

"What the fuck is this.." the hero killer Stain seethed, his gaze turning to the injured Tomura.

"He's no normal fiend.." Shigaraki grunted, stumbling on the floorboards. "Ya think? Cancellation quirks are far rarer than it already is..." Stain rolled his eyes. Shigaraki winced from his broken wrist but, being the stubborn man-baby he was, tried to ignore it. When the prowler's back faced him, he rapidly bolted and placed all five of his fingers on his shoulder yet again but nothing happened.

The anti-hero grabbed his wrist from behind and threw him on the ground, creating a large gap on the floor. His claws reflected into the light before Miles G. pinned the hand-covered man down and slashed his right thumb off clean, blood spattering on the wall. Shigaraki let out a loud hiss of pain, small drops of tears forming in his eyes. He definitely couldn't use his quirk on his right hand anymore.

"I hope I'm not interrupting something.." A sudden voice appeared again. The prowler tilted his head up and saw the small monitor on top of the table bar distorting. It didn't show a face, only displaying sound. "Hm.. a new recruit, Shigaraki?" The voice answered with a calm tone.

"Fuck no." Miles G. smouldered with resentment. "Your lil' shitstain here had a problem with me, you wouldn't mind if I killed him would you?" He mocked as the voice remained silent for a few moments. A chuckle escaped the masculine voice's lips.

"How impressive, you managed to find the League of Villains' hideout and even beat my poor prodigy to a pulp. Yet instead of calling the police or other pro heroes, there's a fire in you that rages you to kill." He spoke before he continued. "What pushes you to do such a thing?"

"If all you're gonna do is yap about heroes n shit, I'm not interested," Miles G. scoffed. "You think I wanna join your stupid group? Is your head located in your ass?" He grumbled, ignoring the glitching effect that surged through his body again. It made Stain and Kurogiri's eyes widen. What the hell is happening to him?

"Hmm... a strange phenomenon indeed," He mumbled under his breath. There was a brief pause until his carefree attitude let out another chuckle. It made Miles slightly concerned how this person behind the monitor was just acting so untroubled. "Oh, you just keep getting better..." He voiced with an amused sigh.

"Another variant from another universe.. what a grand surprise, a spur of the moment indeed," The faceless man chortled, making the prowler's eyes widen in shock as well. His glitching repeated yet he could care less.

"How the fuck do y'know?" Miles G. inquired with a glare.

"Poor anomaly, with nowhere left to go and in constant pain..." the voice continued. "The study of the multiverse is indeed fascinating, to know that it is actually real has given me more opportunities." He sounded optimistic of such news yet he gave off a strong enigmatic aura despite only hearing his voice.

"If you value your life and wish to stay longer in this world, you need nothing but to stay under this roof and sojourn. After all, you must've come here with a plan. You should be thankful I'm this generous, I'll lend you my support when the time has come." He persuaded with an elusively cryptic voice. Miles G. could tell behind that monitor, he was smirking to his fullest.

The prowler moves in shadows and acts independently but without anything to support him, he'll end up caving and suffering. What other choice has this stupid voice left him? He knew it felt humiliating but he had no other choice. And with a sigh, he got off the bleeding Shigaraki and deactivated his gauntlet... for now.

"Excellent," All for Onesmirked.

"Have you tried Earth F90J?"

"What about Earth 251OL?"

"Earth 36NMA9?"

The overlapped talk from the countless spider-people in the society caused the majority of them to have a headache, yet they didn't stop. Screens, holograms, dimensional traces, DNA, they were all that these spider-variants had been using these past few hours and talking about them non-stop. The atmosphere in the spider-society used to be optimistic, and full of joy, yet they all felt on edge.

"Get every available spider-man and dispatch them to untravelled universes Lyla, I don't want a single earth unexplored!" The Latin spider-man ordered fiercely, a harsher expression present on his face. His whole body was tense and any more bad news could cause another desk to be thrown at a wall. Miguel has been hard on work the past day just to find you or that damn anomaly Miles. After he sent Gwen home with the Go Home Machine, he lost all his leads finding the two missing teens.

"Yelling at me doesn't speed up the process Mig," Lyla rolled her eyes behind her cute and pink heart-shaped glasses. Her hologram glitched away, appearing behind Margo who was looking through the Go Home Machine's archives with a semi-stressed expression. He rolled his eyes at the lyrate lifeform's attitude before he let out a groan and pinched his temple out of frustration.

Miguel needed to find you and Miles, or else it'll turn for the worst.

𝕾𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄.

[xmintpiex]

On the Other End (2/4)

pairing: Satoru Gojo x Reader, Yu Haibara x Reader, implied Satosugu

Since birth, it was determined that you would marry Satoru Gojo, your pairing beneficial to both of your clans and so the two of you were tied by your shared fate. At least for this lifetime.

wc: 1,618

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content: fem!reader, arranged marriage, angst, hurt/comfort, love, friendship, romance, fluff, growing up together, mentions of death

Suguru Geto and Shoko Ieiri. You had never met people like them before, people your age like that before. So modern and far removed from the clans. The same age and yet in their presence you felt like nothing more than a little sheltered child. Your 16 so different than theirs. You were so different for them too, the aspect of sorcerer society so easy to forget, to not address. Now right in front of their faces for the rest of their school years. How uncomfortable. 

But

They were good people. Kind, in their own ways. You believed that the moment Shoko lazily called you over to join them on the bench and Geto shoved Satoru a bit to make more room. 

Shoko patting the now-made space on the bench next to her as Satoru whined at Geto for knocking him off, the two bickering. She rolled her eyes and looked up from her flip phone to face you fully with a lazy smile. Satoru shifting to stand in front of the bench, hands on hips as he went on about how they would have to teach you all the ‘cool things’. Shoko and Geto ignoring him, asking you a few casual questions, talking to you, eyes on you. 

That breezy afternoon a little warmer. That great chasm you perceived between yourself and them a little smaller. A little smile of relief gracing your lips.

They did indeed teach you ‘cool things’, how to make ramen in the dorm kitchen, how to use the new flip phone your big sister had given you for not just making calls. How the vending machine on the east side of the campus sometimes gave two bottles if you kicked it just right. 

On your first night there, the four of you in the plain common room to watch a movie together at Satoru’s forceful insistence. Geto sighing and quietly complaining about Satoru’s bossiness yet going along, his lips tilted slightly upwards as he sat next to him. Shoko smoking casually from where she lounged by the open window, telling Satoru he was responsible for getting the snacks since this was his idea. You sat on one of the cushioned seats, a fluffy blanket around your shoulders as you looked at the large tv with excitement. A movie night. Your first of many.    

Of course, it was not always like that, for they were still sorcerers, and you were not. They had missions and were sometimes gone for days while you stayed on campus, insisting on helping around here and there with what Yaga would actually let you do—sweeping, organizing, cleaning, folding. 

The difference between you and them so loud in the quiet of the empty classroom, the lack of laughter and bickering in the dorm. The dusting of the school steps or hanging things out to dry. When they came back, safe and unharmed, complaining about wanting to rest or how it had been ‘too easy’. The air of casualness around them, the vagueness of what had occurred during their missions. How easy it was to think that they were invincible. If only you had realized sooner.

It was during one of these periods when they were away that you had met the first years. You still remember that day, always. A sunny morning at the school entrance where you had decided to help sweep. 

Kento Nanami and Yu Haibara. 

Oh, Yu….

You had heard his voice first before you saw him, energetic as he bounded up the steps. The sound so joyful like sunshine personified, you couldn’t help but turn around in curiosity. 

As he made it up the very final steps, you saw him for the first time. His brown eyes like honey in the sun, meeting yours. The most honest, carefree smile you had ever seen in your whole life. 

Breath caught in your throat. Your heart nearly pounding against your chest as if to break free. The broom nearly dropping from your trembling hands. 

His smile morphing into an open mouth gasp, cheeks flaring red as he looked at you and you looked at him. The sound of your heart so loud, as if it were singing, you had not even noticed the silence. 

Until he tripped over that very final step and you rushed to his side in alarm as he face-planted.   

Your hand on his shoulder. That spark. A warmth you wish you could still feel, now only in your dreams and memories.

At least you had those memories.

How he would run up to wherever you were when he saw you, chatting and insisting on helping you no matter what.

Those rainy days, those lonely days when all your worries and fears felt so true, so suffocating. His bright laughter piercing through. Your laughter following after, heart so warm. 

How he would slow his steps to be next to you when you all walked together for your big outings, falling a bit behind, his steps in sync with yours. Eyes meeting briefly. Smiles matching. 

His head resting in his hand as he watched you happily stuff your face. He had taken you to a bakery and the two of you had decided to split a cake. Your cheeks turning red, expression mortified when you realized what you had done, about to put your fork down with shame. Yet he simply smiled brightly and told you to eat as much as you liked. Eyes dazzling even under the fluorescent lighting. So you took another bite. The most delicious cake of your life, even now.

You anxiously waiting by the school entrance when you knew it was close for them to return, pretending to be busy with sweeping. The sound of his laughter, his figure running up ahead of Nanami’s a great balm to your heart.

Your nervousness as you shyly presented him with the scarf you had knitted for his birthday, almost wanting to take it back right away when seeing how dull it was compared to the other gifts. That feeling that bubbled into your heart, as he held it as if it were the most precious item in the universe, clumsily wrapping it around his neck. Brown eyes wide and cheeks red. You would have knitted him a thousand scarves if you could have. One for every birthday. But you were only able to make two. 

It was in these moments you understood a bit what it must have been like for Satoru. For him and Suguru. Their bickering and arguments. An arm slung around a shoulder. Laughter, teasing, smiles. The comforting quiet of just being in each other’s presence. 

Not Satoru Gojo but rather Satoru in his presence. Just Satoru.

The desire for that to continue forever and ever, the expectation that it would, so hard to imagine that it would ever change. How could it, when it felt so natural?

You thought that too with Yu. How you started to have little simple dreams. Little greedy dreams that went against the expectations ingrained in you since you were little. Dreams of just a girl and the boy she loved, getting to grow together throughout the years. Keeping them deep, deep down in your heart yet still hoping they would come true with time.

You thought you had time, so much time, and so you went slow. Trying to be content with what you had, expecting everything to eventually fall into place.  

That summer of 2007 that you did not think would be the last. Just the two of you at one of the summer festivals, wearing your yukata. Yu wearing his grey yukata as he attempted to catch a goldfish for you. Laughter and smiles bright. Burning your tongues on takoyaki and cooling off with shaved ice. A little bit of sunshine even at night. An inch away from holding hands, falling back to shyness and nervousness. Not wanting to cross a line you had made for yourself. You could wait.

Your shoulders bumping as you watched the fireworks in that clear summer night sky, amongst the crowd of people. Facing the sky yet your eyes wandered to his face to see it illuminated by those bright colors every few seconds. Each time you peeked, his eyes were already focused on your face. Eyes so radiant and intense, his mouth moving before he could even think. Words so truthful and clear despite the booming fireworks. Oh.

How you wished you had kissed him back then. If only you had taken that little courageous step to hold his hand or reached up to press your lips to his cheek or perhaps even his lips. How he would have turned so red, maybe even stuttering for a moment before kissing you back. Your lips would feel so perfect against his, even in a clumsy first kiss. You knew it would have. Maybe you would kiss again and again before finally parting, his grin far more beautiful than those fireworks ever could be yet just as fleeting. Walking back to the campus, hand in hand, cheeks red and hearts singing. One last memory for this lifetime. The touch of his lips forever inprinted on yours.

But you didn’t. Too used to waiting, to thinking just being patient would be enough to be rewarded with what you wanted. After all, wasn’t that what you were always taught? You were very, very good at being patient and well-behaved. 

But in 2007 you learned that the world was a cruel, cruel place. That cruelty did not stop. It did not stop for patience. It did not stop for grief. It did not stop for the weakest or the strongest. It especially did not stop for love.

[from-memphis-with-love]

Songbird - Chapter 2 - After Hours

Summary: Valerie meets Elvis again, again by chance. And this time, it's in a far more intimate setting.

Author's notes: Edit alert. I am constantly tooling and retooling my fics. To me, they never seem finished when I reread them. I've been taking the time to hone my craft and take online writing classes (yes, I am that loser who wants to become a better writer so I can regale you all with smutty Elvis fic), so I hope you will indulge. I am actively working on it and I believe I have it right this time. Enjoy!

You know that moment when everything's gone so spectacularly wrong that all you can do is laugh? Well, I wasn't laughing. I was slumped over the International Hotel's bar like a marionette with cut strings, wondering if it was possible to actually die of embarrassment. The doctors would probably call it something fancy, but the death certificate would tell the real story: Here lies Valerie, who bombed her Sinatra audition so bad they stopped her halfway through.

The bartender looked like he'd stepped straight out of a movie about Vegas in its golden age - crisp white jacket, perfectly groomed silver hair, the kind of face that had seen it all and wasn't impressed by any of it anymore. He glided over like smoke.

"What'll it be, miss?"

I'd never ordered a real drink in my life. Back home, the wildest I got was box wine and even that made me giggle. But tonight? Tonight felt like a good time to start.

"Gin and tonic. Make it a double."

The words felt foreign in my mouth, like trying on someone else's clothes. But isn't that what you're supposed to do after you crash and burn? Drown your sorrows in bottom-shelf liquor while the bartender pretends to care about your troubles?

My mind kept rewinding to that awful audition, like a broken record stuck on the worst song ever made. My voice had shook worse than Elvis's hips (and there was a comparison I didn't need in my head right then). The piano player had actually winced. And those other girls, the ones with their perfect hair and professional headshots, they'd smirked like they knew all along I didn't belong there.

The drink appeared in front of me like magic. I took a sip and immediately regretted it. Tasted like Christmas trees. But I kept drinking anyway, because that's what people do in situations like this, right? They sit in dark bars and drink gin and pretend they're in a film noir about beautiful losers.

That's when I saw him.

You ever have one of those moments that feels like fate just reached down and flicked you right between the eyes? There in the mirror behind the bar, I caught a flash of red hair that made my stomach drop like an express elevator. Red, Elvis's mountain of a bodyguard, was heading straight for me with the kind of determined look that meant trouble.

"Well I'll be damned," he boomed, voice carrying across the bar like thunder. "If it ain't that pretty little songbird from the elevator."

My drink tried to go down the wrong pipe. He remembered that? More importantly, he remembered that ridiculous nickname Elvis had given me? 

"Uh, hi there," I managed to squeak out. Real smooth, Valerie. Real smooth.

Red's grin could have lit up the Strip. "You clean up real nice. Mr. Burrows know you're here drowning those sorrows all by your lonesome?"

Mr. Burrows. That's what they called Elvis when they were trying to be discreet, though why they bothered was beyond me. As if anyone could mistake him for just another guy named Jon. The memory of our elevator encounter hit me like a shot of whiskey - all heat and dizzy promise. The way his voice had wrapped around my name like silk, how his presence had made the air feel electric...

"Oh, I'm sure he has more important things to worry about than little old me," I said, aiming for breezy and probably landing somewhere around desperate. "I was just about to call it a night."

"That so?" Red's grin turned sly as a cat in a creamery. "Well, it just so happens the boss is having a little private soirée up in his suite right about now. What do you say we head up there and turn that frown upside down?"

My mama always said I had more curiosity than common sense. Standing there in that bar with Red's invitation hanging in the air like cigarette smoke, I knew she was right. The smart play was to finish my drink, go up to my room, and catch the first flight back to Chicago tomorrow morning.

But when did I ever make the smart play?

"Lead the way, Red."

The trip up to Elvis's suite was like ascending to Mount Olympus, if Olympus had shag carpeting and gold-flecked wallpaper. Red kept up a steady stream of chatter, but I barely heard him over the thundering of my own heart. What was I doing? Walking straight into the lion's den like some lamb dressed for dinner.

When we reached the mahogany door - the kind of door that whispered "money" in twelve different languages - a man I'd later learn was Jerry Schilling answered our knock. The wall of sound that hit us was like walking into a beehive: dozens of conversations buzzing, ice cubes clinking against crystal, and somewhere, someone was playing "Great Balls of Fire" on what had to be the most expensive piano I'd ever seen.

The suite itself was pure Elvis - all crushed velvet and religious iconography, like a bordello had a baby with the Vatican. A small crowd milled about: men in sharp suits, women who looked like they'd stepped off magazine covers, all of them moving in invisible orbits around...

And then I saw him.

You know how sometimes a room just seems to shift, like reality hiccups and everything reorganizes itself around a single point? That's what happened when my eyes found Elvis. He was holding court in the center of the room, sprawled in what could only be described as a throne, his long legs stretched out in front of him like he owned not just the chair but the very concept of sitting. A tumbler of amber liquid dangled from those ring-laden fingers, and sweet Jesus, that shirt... black silk unbuttoned just enough to make a good girl think bad thoughts.

Two women flanked him like matching bookends - a blonde who looked like she'd been poured into her dress, and a brunette whose legs went on for days. The brunette was trailing her fingers down his chest, purring something about taking a ride in his Cadillac. The kind of thing that should have been ridiculous but somehow wasn't, not with the way Elvis's lips curled up at the corners, lazy and amused like a cat with a bowlful of cream.

I should have felt invisible. Should have felt like a sparrow in a room full of peacocks. Instead, somehow, impossibly, his gaze found mine across the crowd. Those eyes, blue as a Memphis summer sky, locked onto me like heat-seeking missiles.

And just like that, the air changed.

A man who introduced himself as Sonny West materialized at my elbow, drink in hand. His face was all dimples and good humor, the kind of guy who probably never met a stranger. "You look like you could use this more than me," he said, offering me something that smelled strong enough to strip paint.

I took it because, hell, what else was I going to do? Standing there watching Elvis with those two glamazons draped over him like living accessories was enough to drive anyone to drink. The brunette - who I'd mentally dubbed Colette because she looked like a Colette - was doing her best to crawl into his lap without actually moving.

But here's the thing about Elvis Presley that nobody tells you: even when he's looking at someone else, you can feel when he's watching you. It's like standing in the sun with your eyes closed - you just know. And brother, was he watching me.

The Memphis Mafia - that's what they called Elvis's entourage - adopted me like a stray kitten. Before I knew what was happening, I was deep in a heated debate with Lamar about breakfast foods, of all things. These guys were like a bunch of overgrown boys playing in a very expensive sandbox, and somehow they'd decided I belonged there.

"Biscuits," I insisted, probably louder than necessary. The drink Sonny had given me was doing its job. "Fluffy, buttery perfection. Pancakes are just... flat disappointment circles."

Lamar clutched his considerable belly like I'd personally insulted his mama. "Blasphemy! Pancakes are God's own breakfast food!"

"Y'all are both wrong," Jerry chimed in, grinning like he'd just won the lottery. "Waffles. Those little squares? Perfect syrup holders. That's just science."

I was laughing, actually laughing, when I heard it. That voice, smooth as aged whiskey, cutting through the noise like a hot knife through butter.

"Valerie."

Just my name. That's all it was. But the way Elvis said it made it sound like a song he'd been practicing his whole life. I turned, and there he was, standing close enough that I could smell his cologne - something expensive and spicy that probably cost more than my rent.

"Come here, pretty girl," he said, soft enough that only I could hear. "Let's you and me get better acquainted."

Colette the Brunette huffed like someone had punctured her, shooting me a look that could have curdled milk. But Elvis didn't even notice. His eyes were fixed on me like I was the only person in the room, and Lord help me, but I was moving before I realized my feet had gotten the message.

You ever touch an electric fence? That little shock that starts in your fingers and races up your arm? That's what it felt like when Elvis's hand brushed mine, guiding me toward the piano. Every nerve ending suddenly woke up and started singing hallelujah.

"You play?" he asked, those blue eyes twinkling with something that wasn't quite innocence.

I ran my fingers over the keys, smooth as silk under my touch. "A little. My daddy taught me before he passed."

Something shifted in Elvis's expression then - understanding, maybe, or recognition. "Music's in your blood," he said softly. "Like me."

He slid onto the piano bench like liquid grace, patting the space beside him. Now, there's a moment in every girl's life when she knows she's about to make either the best or worst decision of her existence. Sitting down next to Elvis Presley, close enough that our thighs touched through silk and cotton, that was mine.

"You know 'Heart and Soul'?"

I had to laugh. It was like asking if I knew how to breathe. "Who doesn't?"

His fingers found the keys first, and mine followed like they'd been doing it all their lives. The melody rose soft and sweet, barely audible under the party chatter. Then Elvis started to sing, and I swear to God, the air in the room changed. Became thicker, heavier, like honey dripping from a spoon.

"Heart and soul, I fell in love with you..."

He glanced at me, one eyebrow raised in challenge, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth that would have made a saint think sinful thoughts. Well, mama didn't raise no coward. I opened my mouth and let my voice join his.

"Heart and soul, the way a fool would do..."

You know how sometimes two voices just... fit? Like pieces of a puzzle you didn't even know was incomplete? That's what happened when Elvis and I sang together. Our voices twined around each other like lovers' hands, his deep velvet wrapping around my higher notes until you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

The room had gone quiet - that special kind of quiet that feels like holding your breath. But I barely noticed. I was lost in the music, in the warmth of Elvis's thigh pressed against mine, in the way his eyes kept finding mine as we sang.

"Madly... Because you held me tight..."

His voice dropped lower, intimate, like he was telling me a secret.

"And stole a kiss in the night..."

Our fingers stilled on the keys. The last note hung in the air between us like a question nobody dared to ask. Elvis turned to face me, and sweet Jesus, the look in his eyes... It was like being caught in a spotlight and wrapped in velvet all at once.

"Valerie," he murmured, my name a prayer on those lips that had made him famous. His hand came up to brush my cheek, and I swear I felt that touch all the way down to my toes.

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. The world had narrowed down to just this: Elvis's eyes, dark with something that made my stomach flip, and the whisper of his fingers against my skin.

That's when Colette materialized like a bad penny, slamming her drink down on the piano hard enough to make the strings vibrate. "Elvis, baby," she purred, but there was steel under that sugar. "I'm simply parched. Won't you fix me a drink?"

Now, I expected Elvis to jump at the chance. After all, what was I compared to this goddess in a dress that probably cost more than my car? But Elvis just smiled - not the megawatt grin he was famous for, but something smaller, more polite, more dismissive.

"Not right now, darlin'," he said, never taking his eyes off me. "I'm a bit busy at the moment."

If looks could kill, Colette's glare would have reduced me to a small pile of ash on that piano bench. But Elvis's attention had already shifted back to me, like she was just another piece of furniture in his very expensive suite.

"I gotta say," he murmured, voice low enough that only I could hear, "you sure know how to captivate a man's attention. Ain't too many gals out there who can tear me away from a pretty face batting her lashes my way."

The thing about Elvis - and this is something all those magazines and fan clubs don't tell you - is that when he really looks at you, it's like being the only star in the sky. Like every light in Vegas has suddenly focused on you alone.

We fell back into playing, our hands dancing over the keys like they'd been doing this dance for years instead of minutes. Every now and then, our fingers would brush, and I swear it felt like touching a live wire. The kind of electricity that should come with a warning label.

That's when I spotted them - Red and Sonny, going at it in the corner like two roosters in a barnyard. I nudged Elvis with my elbow, nodding toward the brewing storm. "Looks like trouble in paradise. What's eating them?"

Elvis followed my gaze, and his grin was pure mischief. The kind of grin that probably got him in trouble in grade school. "Those two? Hell, could be anything. Whose turn it is to make the midnight burger run, who's got the better car, whether Kong could take Godzilla in a fair fight..."

"Godzilla," I said without hesitation. "Fire breath beats opposable thumbs any day."

"Now see, that's where you're wrong, darlin'," Elvis countered, eyes sparkling like sunlight on water. "Kong's got the reach advantage."

We watched the argument escalate, Elvis leaning close enough that I could feel his breath on my ear. "Five bucks says Sonny throws his drink in the next minute."

Maybe it was the gin, maybe it was the way his proximity made my skin hum like a tuning fork, but I heard myself say, "You're on. My money's on Red putting him in a headlock first."

The next few seconds played out like a scene from a Three Stooges routine. Sonny's wild gesticulation sent his drink flying straight into Red's face. There was a moment of perfect stillness, like the whole room was holding its breath. Then Red lunged, catching Sonny in a headlock that would have made a wrestling coach proud.

Elvis and I lost it. Complete, total hysteria. The kind of laughter that comes from your toes and takes your whole body with it. I ended up half-collapsed against him, his arm around my shoulders, both of us wheezing like we'd run a marathon.

"Guess... we both... win that bet," Elvis managed between gasps, and I could feel his laughter rumbling through his chest where I was pressed against him.

That's when someone cleared their throat behind us - the kind of throat-clearing that sounds like a period at the end of a sentence. We sprang apart like teenagers caught necking at a drive-in.

Lamar stood there looking like the cat who'd caught both the canary and the cream, fixing us with a knowing smirk that made my cheeks burn. "Hate to interrupt you two, but the natives are getting restless." He jerked his head toward the crowd. "Big Man's here, E."

Even I knew who "Big Man" meant - Kirk Kerkorian, owner of the International Hotel and the man who'd shelled out big money to bring Elvis back to live performing. The kind of man who could make or break careers with a nod.

Elvis dragged a hand down his face, and for just a second, I saw something flicker there - frustration, maybe, or resignation. The mask of the entertainer sliding back into place. But when his fingers found mine under the piano's cover, giving them a quick squeeze, that felt real. That felt like just us.

"Duty calls, I suppose." His eyes met mine, dark with promise. "Don't go anywhere, alright? I'm not done with you yet."

The way he said it made heat pool in my belly, like I'd swallowed a shot of pure sunshine. I could only nod, my voice lost somewhere between my brain and my mouth, as he stood and moved into the crowd.

I watched him work the room like he was born to it - which, let's face it, he was. Elvis Presley in his element was something to see. He had that rare gift of making everyone feel like the most important person in the world, if only for a moment. A group of older women were let in, clutching programs and photos, and he signed every single one with the same megawatt smile.

But every so often, his eyes would find mine across the room, hot enough to melt steel. A reminder that I was still on his mind, even as he played the gracious host.

That's when it hit me - what I was doing, where I was, who I was playing with. This wasn't some local boy at a church social. This was Elvis Presley, and he was married, and I was so far out of my depth I couldn't even see the shore anymore.

I slipped away like smoke, keeping to the edges of the room. Sometimes the smart choice and the right choice are the same thing, even if it feels like ripping off your own skin to do it.

I'd barely made it to my door when I heard footsteps behind me. Fast ones.

"Valerie, wait!"

It was Joe Esposito, Elvis's right-hand man, slightly out of breath like he'd been chasing me down the hallway. He pressed something into my palm - a ticket, but not just any ticket. Front row, VIP access to tomorrow night's show.

"Boss wants you in his private booth," Joe said, grinning like he knew exactly what kind of bomb he was dropping. "Wear something pretty. Elvis likes his girls dolled up nice."

He was gone before I could process what had happened, leaving me standing there with a piece of cardstock that felt heavy as gold in my hand.

I looked down at the ticket, running my thumb over the embossed lettering. Tomorrow night. Elvis wanted me there tomorrow night, in his private booth no less. The kind of invitation that would make those women in the lobby sell their souls.

Standing there in that quiet hallway, I knew I was in trouble. The kind of trouble that starts with a capital T and rhymes with double. But as I got ready for bed, I couldn't stop grinning like a fool.

Only one problem: I didn't have a damn thing pretty enough to wear to an Elvis Presley show.

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