#they’re each at at least 3.5k words

[houseofthewyvern]

right now I’m working on fics for Aemond, Jacaerys, and Davos wish me luck

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (1 - Honey! I shrunk the kids! 18+)

Summary: Wanda accidentally shrinks your kids while trying out a spell that would benefit both of you in the bedroom; Jimmy and Darcy attempt to find out more about the Hex, particularly when they discover a remarkable detail about you. Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 3k+ | Tags: Smut, Campy Humor, Language

A/N: I've been working on this series since late August and have finally figured out what to do with it, enough to share it with you all. The story will be told in three parts: Westview (The Missing Town), Pre-Westview, and Post-Westview. This follows some events in WandaVision, but it's very canon-divergent. It's going to be different from my other works (I've never written humor before and I'm quite insecure about that), as this one is very plot-driven but at the same time, still very much Wanda x Reader (especially in parts 2 and 3). Updates will be every Wednesday. Chapters will be 2.5–3.5k words long, except for the ending chapters of each part, which are twice as long. So, without further ado… More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

-

“Honey! I shrunk the kids!” 

Wanda bursts into the basement, apron billowing out like a cape. Except, there's no draft down here; that apron shouldn't be moving like that at all. But then again, considering your wife’s claim, maybe the laws of physics are taking a day off.

You glance up from the miniature model home you’re meticulously working on, unsure if you heard her right. Did she really just say that? 

“You what?��

Wanda, flushed and a little breathless, skids to a stop in front of you. “Okay, so I was experimenting with a new spell, one that was supposed to…” She bites her lip, hesitating, her face glowing a deeper shade of red. “...it was supposed to do something else, but it backfired and... well, it’s not important right now!”

“Jesus, Wanda.”

Your poor, beautiful, occasionally clumsy wife stands there, teetering between a freak-out and a fit of giggles. 

“It was an accident! I didn't mean to!” Wanda shrieks, causing the room to tremble from her panic.

Wanda's powers have always been a wildcard. You can child-proof the entire house in a day, but that definitely doesn't cover child-proofing Wanda herself—especially not when your kids are involved. Luckily, the boys have inherited some special abilities of their own, which leaves you as the sole non-superpowered member of the household. With that in mind, you know better than to panic. Getting worked up alongside her would only escalate things, and you’re not exactly keen on being shrunk next.

“Okay…where are they now?” you ask as calmly as you can manage.

Wanda takes a deep breath and leads you to the living room. You trail her in silence, clutching at composure. It can’t be that bad, right? The distant sound of playful music trickling through the house almost makes it seem like everything’s fine. You hadn’t really noticed it before, but now that you think about it, it’s like your brain has learned to associate that kind of tune with situations that somehow always end in collective sighs of relief.

Sighs, giggles, and applause—sounds that don't belong to Wanda or the boys.

Where are they coming from?

Before your mind can completely sink into the oddities of your life here in Westview, Wanda halts in the middle of the living room. Your eyes dart around, searching for Billy and Tommy, but they’re nowhere to be seen.

“Where?”

“Right there,” Wanda points toward the coffee table, her finger trembling slightly.

You squint in the direction she’s pointing. Next to the TV remote, two tiny figures wave up at you—your sons, each about the size of your thumb.

“Oh my god, they’re tiny!” you gasp, covering your mouth with your hand. You expected them to be at least half their normal size—a size they might grow out of eventually.

“Shhhh, Y/N!” Wanda hisses, pressing her index finger to her lips. “The neighbors might hear you.”

Neighbors. Which usually means just Agnes from next door. There’s literally several meters of spaces between your houses, but somehow, she always manages to hear things she shouldn’t and pries like she’s in some perfectly timed routine.

Wanda kneels by the coffee table, her eyes soft. “I told them to stay right there until we sorted this out.”

The twins start making noises, sounding like tiny bells, though still hard to make out. You pull out a magnifying glass from your back pocket—has that been there the whole time?—making sure your sons are okay. As soon as the lenses zoom in on their faces, you're relieved to see them laughing uproariously, seemingly unbothered by their predicament.

“They seem... happy?” you say, lowering the magnifying glass.

“They think it's hilarious,” Wanda grumbles, her lips curling into a pout.

“So,” you sigh, pushing yourself to your feet. “Any ideas on how to fix this?”  You're tempted to suggest just letting it run its course, waiting for the spell to fizzle out, but you know Wanda wouldn’t go for that. She's fiercely protective of the twins, and you can't blame her—it’s all her handiwork, after all.

Then you hear it—a hiccup. Another follows, and then another, each one a little louder than the last.

Before you know it, Wanda's a sobbing mess.

You cup her face in your hands. “Hey, hey...it’s okay,” you murmur, gently brushing away a tear with your thumb.

Wanda’s breath hitches as she looks at you, her eyes brimming with worry. “What if I can’t fix it?”

“We will,” you promise, looking into her eyes.

A collective ‘awww’ rings in your ears, pulling you out of the moment. What the hell—where did that come from? You've had this creepy feeling of being watched lately, and it's only getting worse.

Wanda brings you back to focus when she nuzzles into your palm. “Oh, Y/N, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You give her a small, lopsided grin and plant a kiss on her forehead. “Good thing you’ll never have to find out.” Something passes over her eyes as soon as you say it, but it vanishes in a split-second, replaced by a moment of inspiration.

“Wait,” she bursts out, stepping away from your embrace. “I think I have an idea.”

She heads straight for the fridge, and you trail after her, holding your breath.

“I’ve been trying to reverse it, but my magic isn’t cooperating. It’s like... it’s tangled,” Wanda mutters, yanking things out of the fridge.

You scowl, arms crossed, watching her. “Tangled? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. The more I try to fix it, the worse it gets. Like it has a life of its own,” she says. she says. After a few more seconds of rummaging, Wanda finally grabs a tetra pack of chocolate milk—the twins' favorite.

“I’m hoping this will do the trick,” she says, giving the carton a shake.

You cock your head, clueless on what’s going on. “Honey, what’s going on?”

Wanda mumbles, barely glancing up as she vigorously shakes the carton. “Just doing what it says—’Shake well before serving.’”

You roll your eyes, muttering, “This woman...”. Then louder, you ask, “I mean, what’s the chocolate got to do with our tiny children?”

Wanda stops mid-shake, a look of realization dawning on her face. “Oh, right,” she slaps her forehead. “You can’t read minds. I keep forgetting,” she chuckles, setting down the carton with a sheepish grin.

There it is again—a chorus of laughter from somewhere far off. Your mouth twitches at the sound—it’s really starting to get on your nerves. You make a mental note to bring it up with Wanda later.

Wanda gathers herself, then pitches her plan. “Instead of directly casting a spell on the twins, I think it’s safer to enchant this chocolate milk.” She picks up the carton again, giving it a final shake. “The idea is to infuse the milk with a spell that will gradually restore them to their normal sizes.”

You nod, beginning to understand what she’s trying to do. “Sounds less risky than zapping them with more magic head on.”

“Exactly,” she agrees, her eyes lighting up with excitement. You’d swear she’s getting a kick out of this macabre parenting hack—kids and all. The background tune keeps playing, like a promise that the universe won’t let things turn to shit. You’re wondering if maybe Wanda hears it too.

“This way, the magic is diluted and can adjust more naturally with their systems. It’s like... sneaking the cure into their bodies,” she says, snapping her fingers, red swirls of magic emanating from them to the carton of milk.

“I'm so proud of you, baby,” you say, leaning in for a quick kiss which she happily accepts. “For finding a fix, I mean. The whole shrinking our kids thing? Still not great.”

–

“What kind of spell do you think Wanda was going for?” Darcy asks, her eyes fixed on the credits rolling across the screen before it fades to black. She’s really gotten into Wanda’s little show, a welcome distraction from the freezing depths of hell that is New Jersey in November. Though exciting things are finally happening to her, the timing couldn't be worse. 

“No clue,” Jimmy mutters, his attention glued to the laptop in front of him. It’s been two days since Quantico sent him to look into the bizarre case of a missing town—a phenomenon almost unheard of in the 21st century. Upon arriving, they discovered that the town in question, Westview, was enveloped by some sort of anomaly—or a Hex, as Darcy has started calling it, referring to the hexagonal shape of the barrier encasing the town. 

Around the same time as the discovery, S.W.O.R.D. agent Monica Rambeau was quite literally sucked into the anomaly by accident. The only breakthrough has been Darcy Lewis’ detection of the signals, providing them with a window into the mysterious shroud, even helping them identify some of the show's characters as actual residents of the town.

But overall, they're still desperately trying to piece together why this is happening and how to stop it.

Darcy peeks over at the data on Jimmy’s screen. “Find anything new?”

Jimmy sighs in frustration. “No, not really. Everything we dig up just adds more questions instead of answers.”

“Like what, for instance?”

Instead of answering directly, he slides a thick file across the table toward her. “See for yourself.”

Darcy catches the file and starts flipping through it. Murmuring, she says, “So, Google finally returned search results?” The stack of papers is downright daunting. Jimmy’s right—any mountain of information would raise more questions than answers.

“No, not Google,” Jimmy corrects her. “Stark's highly confidential database did. The woman Wanda's married to in Westview? She’s not in any public records. Turns out her records were wiped clean two years ago.”

Darcy looks up, puzzled. “Why would Stark's company have this?”

“Just read, Darcy. It’s all in there,” he says, turning his full attention back to his research.

Darcy frowns slightly and begins scanning through the pages more attentively. It takes her a few minutes to piece together the information she's reading, with her mind going in different directions and still burning with curiosity about the spell Wanda botched.

Finally, she reads aloud, somewhat incredulously, “Subject was recognized as S.H.I.E.L.D.'s youngest marksmanship prodigy prior to recruitment by Stark Industries following the dissolution of S.H.I.E.L.D.. Subsequently provided tactical support on multiple classified operations in conjunction with the Avengers initiative.”

She sets the file down thoughtfully. “Kinda reminds me a bit of Romanoff or Barton. Total badass. I hadn’t pegged Maximoff for that crowd.”

“What crowd did you have Wanda filed under?” Jimmy asks, just out of curiosity.

Darcy’s gaze drifts off, a dreamy smirk on her lips. “Honestly? I always pictured her—or anyone for that matter—swooning over someone more…mythical hammer than tactical espionage.”

Jimmy snorts to himself at Darcy's whimsical take and says, “Of course, you’d say that. Thor's everyone's type.”

“He’s yours too?”

“Yeah, why not,” Jimmy shrugs, his tone more reluctant than sarcastic, which only amuses Darcy more.

“So,” Darcy begins, “Wanda's settled down in New Jersey, married to a woman? I mean, good for her. They all deserve a break. Maybe even an early retirement.”

Jimmy lets out a long, tired sigh, like he's just about done with everything. Darcy notices and raises an eyebrow. “What now?”

He barely glances up. “Like I said, everything’s in there. Just keep reading.”

Darcy groans but goes back to the file, flipping through the pages again. She’s about to make a snarky comment when something catches her attention—something that has her eyes practically popping out of their sockets.

“It… it says here Y/N’s dead.”

“That’s right,” Jimmy responds without missing a beat.

“Not snapped five years ago. Dead-dead.”

“Yep.”

Darcy stares at the page, disbelief all over her face. “That can’t be right, can it?”

Jimmy finally swivels his chair to face her, looking as tired as he sounds. “That’s what I’ve been trying to wrap my head around for hours. If aliens and superheroes are real, maybe bringing someone back from the dead to star in a sitcom isn’t so far-fetched, right?”

–

You carefully pull the blankets up over Billy, smoothing his hair and whispering a soft good night. Tommy’s already half-asleep, but you make sure to tuck him in just as snugly, brushing a kiss on his forehead. Wanda stands in the doorway, watching you, her heart swelling in her chest. You were so clueless when she first had the twins, but now, being a mother just seems to come naturally to you. 

And you pulled it off in a week, while the twins stretched into six-year-olds just as fast.

“Honey,” you call softly, noticing the way she’s lost in thought. “Aren’t you going to say good night to our boys?”

Wanda steps into the room, giving each of the boys their good night kiss. You pucker your lips, silently asking for your turn, and she playfully swats your arm, whispering, “Not here, baby.”

You pout, giving her your best puppy-dog eyes, which only makes her smile. Without warning, you grab her hand and hurriedly pull her out of the boys' room, making a beeline for your bedroom. Wanda’s laughter fills the hallway, and just as you reach the door, you suddenly sweep her off the ground, lifting her into your arms.

Wanda lets out a shriek, her laughter infectious, and you can’t help but grin, even as you let her thump onto the mattress—a sloppy, graceless drop. You follow her onto the bed, rolling onto your stomach to peer down at her, still sporting that stupid smile.

“So, about that kiss you owe me,” you whisper, hovering closer, teasing her with your proximity.

Wanda nods distractedly. “I think I can manage that,” she murmurs, and then her lips are on yours.

It starts simple and sweet. Though soon, her tongue is gently nudging your lips apart, and it quickly becomes anything but. Her hands slip down to your back, pulling you close until her heartbeat hammering against yours. You break away, lips trailing down to her neck, exploring every dip and hollow, your tongue darting out to taste her skin. When you hit that spot just behind her ear, the one that always drives her wild, she gasps.

“Don't start something you can’t finish,” she warns, her voice already thick with want.

“Who says I won't?” you shoot back with a wolfish grin.

You both fall into a familiar routine, as easy to slip into as the back of your hand. There’s no hurry, just the two of you moving languidly—whispering against skin, giggles turning into sighs and breathy moans. Sometimes, being with Wanda feels like a desperate need, as if not having her completely would literally be the end of you. But it’s moments like these that are your favorite—the ones where you’re barely even trying, yet she still comes apart at your touch, at the mere feeling of your fingers on her. 

Eventually, you both settle down, a contented sigh escaping you as you curl up against Wanda, your skin slightly damp with the effort of your love. You like this, being the little spoon, hiding your face in her neck like you’re hiding from the world, though you vaguely recall a time when it was usually her in your arms. 

As you’re staggering on the edge of sleep, Wanda’s fingers gently massage your scalp, her lips dropping soft, pensive kisses on your forehead. You're almost out, but one last question keeps you from drifting off entirely.

“Wanda, that spell earlier that shrunk the boys—what was that about?” you mumble, your words slurring into the dream nipping at your consciousness.

Wanda’s laughter rumbles through her chest, nudging you slightly from your drowsy state.

“Come on, tell me,” you coax, giving her side a playful pinch to keep her talking.

“It’s embarrassing,” she mumbles, her face turning a delightful shade of pink again that spreads down her neck and chest. Her coy reaction wakes you up some more. As a twisted kind of payback, you run your tongue rough over her nipple, snatching a sharp gasp from her. Moving up, you hold her flushed cheek, making sure she’s looking right at you. Your thigh presses between hers, and it doesn’t take long before she’s wet and ready again.

“Are you going to tell me, or do you plan on sleeping with a wet pussy tonight?” you whisper, brushing your lips against the corner of her mouth. Under different circumstances, Wanda would scold you for your crudeness, but right now, she's too worked up to care. Your dirty mouth has always been one of the most irritating yet irresistible things about you. Even having kids hasn’t changed that.

“I was trying to... enchant your...” she starts, but then your hand tightens on her butt, spurring her subtle grinding movements. By this time, she’s practically dripping onto the sheets, her thoughts scattering as the tightening sensation below her stomach builds.

“My what?” you push, smirking as you watch her fumble for words. You hoist her leg, resting it on your shoulder, laying her wide open. You slide two fingers inside her, fucking her slowly while your thumb brutally circles her clit. As she hesitates to answer, you hook in another finger, drawing a sharp cry of pleasure from Wanda. Your gaze stays locked on your wife, a part of you as surprised as she might be at your boldness tonight.

All day, she’s haunted every corner of your mind, fantasizing about stealing a quick, desperate moment while the twins are asleep or at Agnes’s. But there’s been something—an unnameable restraint—holding you back from indulging those wicked impulses. It isn’t until the boys are asleep, the house quiet, that those invisible chains start to loosen. That’s when you can finally allow yourself to desire Wanda the way you really want to. The way you’ve always been meant to.

“Your... clit,” Wanda finally spits out, seeing you've drifted off, stuck in your head. “I thought I could make it... well, longer. Like a...” She chokes on the words, too embarrassed to finish.

“Like a cock?” you throw out crudely, looking down at her impishly.

Wanda nods, mortified but also a little defiant. “Wanted you to fuck me with it,” she mumbles, finding her backbone now that the secret's in the open.

“I am fucking you,” you whisper hotly right into her ear. “But if you want it like that, all you have to do is say the word.”

Wanda clenches around you at the thought of doing it like that in the near future, her breath hitching. “Please,” she mewls, the word dripping with need. 

“Good girl,” you growl, cranking up the pace as you drive your fingers harder inside her, making her gasp and arch towards you. “You can come.”

With a choked whimper, Wanda surrenders, her body seizing as her orgasm washes over her. She soaks your wrist, the clear fluid trickling down onto the sheets, but you don't stop, pushing through every pulse of her release until she's quaking, utterly wrecked beneath you. You patiently wait until her spasms subside before slowly pulling your fingers away.

Wanda's hand shoots out, stopping your movements. “Stay,” she implores, sounding like she's on the verge of tears. You're momentarily startled by her reaction, concerned something might be wrong. Swiftly, you slide your fingers back where they belong, nestled deep inside her.

“Okay, baby, I’m not going anywhere,” you murmur, pushing back the damp strands of hair sticking to her forehead with your free hand. Exhaustion begins to cloud your senses as you sink down beside Wanda, still keeping your hand where she wants it. 

“I'm sorry for needing you so much,” Wanda murmurs, her voice shaky with tears you can't see, your cheek pressed against the pillow beside hers.

“Don't be,” you mumble, half-lost to sleep as she clings to you more tightly. “I’m here.”

“You love me,” she says, a hint of wonder, of fear.

You nod, lips brushing the nape of her neck. “And you love me,” you murmur back, your eyes slipping shut. “I'm not going anywhere, Wanda.”

“For now,” she whispers to herself, once your breathing evens out in sleep.

Tears betray her then, and she clamps a hand over her mouth to keep quiet. But just before her sobs fully break free, she flicks a finger, a thin red wisp of magic ensuring you stay deep in sleep.

With you unaware, Wanda surrenders to her grief.

[y3sterdaysproblem]

smoke and mirrors - chris sturniolo

chapter six part one

summary: your best friend Matt backs out of plans you had made together, so you replace him with his brother. the only problem is the two of you can’t stand each other.

{enemies to lovers, fake dating}

includes : explicit language, fluff, smut(penetration, oral, fingering, etc.), angst if you squint, lots of bickering, slow burn

wc: 3.5k

The night had barely begun and you were already sick of saying the words ‘This is Chris, my boyfriend.’

Not only was it a lie, but it made you want to throw up in your mouth to speak that into the universe. However, despite how gross saying it made you feel, Chris might’ve been the nicest boyfriend you’ve ever had. He kept a hand rested on your waist or your back as you guys spoke to people, he held your hand to guide you through crowds of people, he would even tuck little strands of hair that had fallen into your face behind your ear, shooting you a smile as he did so.

It genuinely terrified you how good he was at lying like this, to the point where it made you wonder if he actually had feelings for you, but you knew that wasn’t true and he was just an incredible liar.

Finally, you guys are able to relax for a moment and sit down, drinks placed in front of you. “God, I need like six more of these right now.” You tell him, sipping your drink until it’s just the sound of the straw sucking up air.

“Holy shit, slow down, we still have to get home,” Chris laughs, but does the same with his own drink, setting the empty glass back down on the table.

You shrug and wave your hand dismissively towards Chris. “We can just uber if anything.”

Chris’s eyes widen at your suggestion. “We are way too far to uber! That’ll be like a hundred dollar ride, no way!”

You groan, throwing your head back dramatically. “I need to get drunk,” you drawl, pulling your head back up to look at Chris. “I’m getting another drink, we’ll figure out getting home later.”

You stand up from your chair, but Chris grabs your hand and pulls you back down. “Stay here, I got it.”

You sit back down and laugh, staring up at the boy who stands up instead. “I’m a big girl, I could do it myself.”

“Listen, I know all your exes are bums, but my girlfriends don’t get their own drinks, so you hang out here,” Chris tells you before walking away towards the bar.

You scoff and settle back into your seat, humming to yourself and looking around the room at all the people dancing and having fun, making you wish you had a real boyfriend to spend the night with. Someone who would actually enjoy being with you and meeting your family. But here you were, stuck with someone who couldn’t even stand to be around you in the real world.

You’re not alone with your own thoughts for too long before your sister sits down next to you with a big smile, her own drink in hand. “Hey!” She says happily.

You smile up at her, knowing she’s probably at least a little buzzed by now. “Hey,” you reply.

She leans in close to you and nudges your shoulder, eyebrows waggling as well. “So,” she drags the word out. “Chris is really cute. Where’d you find him?”

You laugh at her, shaking your head slightly. “Remember the boys I was friends with in high school? Matt and Nick?” You ask her, and she nods, taking another sip of her drink. “Well they’re still my best friends and he’s their brother. We… we used to not get along very well but, turned out he just had a big fat crush on me.”

Your sister gasps in realization. “I knew he looked familiar!” She screeches, and it’s at that moment that Chris comes back, sitting next to you and placing your drink on the table.

“Who, me?” He asks with a laugh, leaning forward slightly to peer at your sister around you.

“Yes!” She says, even louder this time. She was definitely feeling the alcohol. “I remember your brothers always causing a ruckus in my house. Our mom never knew how to handle them because she only had girls, but you were never around, huh?”

Chris shakes his head. “Nah, we didn’t get along in high school.” He confirms.

You turn your head and smirk at Chris. “Yeah, I told her you treated me like shit because you had a big, fat, disgusting crush on me.”

Chris smirks back at you and slaps his hand back on the inside of your thigh, way higher than you were expecting him to. It causes you to jump and the smirk falls right off your face as you stare back at him still. “Yeah? Did you tell her about your big, fat, disgusting crush on me or you just trying make me look like a huge simp?”

You clear your throat and force a smile back onto your face, turning back to your sister. “I guess I kinda liked him, too.”

Your sister laughs and stands up from her chair, making sure she takes her drink with her. “Well, it’s lovely to finally get to know you, Chris. I hope I see you around a lot more.”

“Oh, you will,” Chris smiles up at her.

You turn to him once she’s gone and smack his arm. “Why would you say that when you know I’m breaking up with you tonight?”

Chris laughs and grabs his drink, taking a large sip. “Just to fuck with you. Now you have to deal with telling them your perfect boyfriend is no more.”

You couldn’t lie to yourself, you were having a really fun time, even if you were accompanied by Chris. The way he was treating you was almost comforting, as odd as that was. It was nice to know that somebody was always nearby, and they were there for you and you alone. His hand holding you close, the way he smiled down at you while you guys talked with friends or family, or even now how he grabbed your drink and you didn’t even have to go anywhere. It felt so cruel that all of this was fake and you didn’t actually have someone to dote on you like this. But it’s okay, you figure, at least you can enjoy it for tonight.

You ignore his last comment and grab his hand off of your thigh, entwining your fingers together. “Come on, come dance with me.” You tell Chris, standing up and staring down at him. He shakes his head quickly, and almost nervously.

“Oh, definitely not. I do not dance. Find someone else to dance with,” he tells you sternly, staying planted in his chair.

You yank on his arm, letting him know you’re not backing down. “I can’t ask anyone else, you’re my boyfriend.” You smirk. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Just stand on the dance floor and like… bounce. Get a couple more drinks in you and you’ll feel great.”

And that’s exactly what you and Chris both did, and now that you were both about five or six mixed drinks in, you were nowhere near sober and not complaining. Chris had decided to join you on the dance floor, but he stayed still for the most part, just watching you dance and enjoy yourself.

“I think we’re definitely going to have to uber back!” You yell at Chris, a little louder than necessary, to which he just laughs and nods in agreement, finding your drunken state kind of funny. He’s never seen you drunk before, and you’ve definitely never seen him drunk.

The loud pop song that’s playing comes to an end and is followed up by a slow, steady song, clearly made for dancing. “Oh no,” Chris says, reaching forward to grab your arm to pull you away from the dance floor. “Definitely not, I am not slow dancing with you. Line drawn.”

You pout and plant for feet in the floor, not wanting to move. “Chris…” you whine, and he raises a brow at you. “Just one dance? Y’know, for show.”

Chris groans, knowing that he probably should dance with you, but he definitely does not want to. Despite that, he walks closer to you again and rests his hands on your waist, your arms instinctively going around his neck. He lets out a long sigh and looks around at the other couples dancing, seeing how happy all of them look and how out of place he himself felt. He was having an alright time, he couldn’t deny that, but he also wished maybe he had a real girlfriend to do real boyfriend things with, but he was so picky with his women and knew it would take him a while to find someone he could actually fully fall for. Someone beautiful and smart, someone independent but still willing to rely on her boyfriend, someone confident but not cocky. Someone like-

“Hey,” you whisper, pulling him out of his thoughts. He looks down at you and meets your eyes where you’re staring up at him.

“What’s up,” he responds, bluntly.

“Thanks for doing this,” you tell him, a small smile gracing your features. “I’m having a really good time and I think my family really likes you. I know it’s not real but… I really appreciate it.”

Chris takes in your words, listening intently. He decides to not be an asshole for once towards you and just smiles, nodding his head. “No problem. Thanks for helping me, too. She stopped texting me so I think our plan worked.”

You giggle in response. “Good, I’m glad. No reason for her to be so hung up on you anyway.”

Chris laughs, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, right. You haven’t even gotten to see what she’s hung up on yet.” He tells you.

Your smile dims a bit, and his words make you tilt your head in curiosity. “Yet?” You ask.

Chris just shrugs, not wanting to feel like he stumbled over his words, though he definitely did not mean to say that, and now he doesn’t quite know how to backpedal. “Never know where the night will take us.”

You pause, your feet stopping with you, your eyes just boring up into Chris’s. Maybe it was the closeness of your bodies, or maybe it was just all the alcohol, but you couldn’t help how good you thought he looked right now in the low light, how sexy he looked staring down at you, and how hot his hands felt as they roamed around your waist and back, pinky fingers barely ghosting over the top of your ass. The combination of all of it was too much, and you found yourself pushing away from Chris, clearing your throat. “I, um… I need some air.” You tell him before turning and heading for the entrance of the banquet hall, pushing the big doors open until you were outside, sucking in a deep breath.

Intrusive Chris thoughts, that’s all they were. You just had to get through it and figure out how to get home and away from him for the rest of the night.

You’re only out there for maybe three minutes when the door opens again and Chris walks out and towards you, hands stuffed awkwardly in his pockets. You turn your head and face him, but you’re not happy to see him at all. The one time you need space and of course he comes looking for you.

“Sorry if that joke was too far,” he apologizes, now standing directly in front of you.

You shake your head, breaking eye contact and looking at the ground. “Wasn’t. I just got hot,” you lie. “Needed to cool off.”

Chris nods, not fully believing you, but not wanting to fight you on it either. Another first. “Maybe we should start heading out. I can order us an uber.”

You bring your eyes back up to his and nod in agreement. “Yeah, that’ll be good.”

Chris stares down at you intensely, making no move to pull out his phone and call an uber, just staying completely still until you feel like your own skin is on fire and you want to rip it off. He’s never been this quiet in his life, and he surely has never willingly spent this much time staring at you.

“Chris…” you start, nervously, heart banging in your chest.

Chris takes in a deep breath, sounding almost shaky, pulling his hands out of his pockets before he speaks. “I think I drank too much,” he says quietly.

“What, why-?”

Your question is cut off by Chris’s lips slamming against yours, his right hand coming up to your jaw to hold you in place, left hand gripping at your waist like you were his lifeline.

You’re shocked at first, completely taken aback by the feeling of his lips on his, and your first instinct is to pull away, but in a split second decision you let your body relax into it, arms circling up around his neck once more, stepping the tiniest bit closer so your chests were pressed together.

One of your hands slid up into the back of Chris’s hair, holding him close as your lips slotted together damn near perfectly, and his left hand rested on your back, pulling you even closer if possible. Your heads were tilted for a more comfortable kiss, and you stayed like that for a few moments until he pulled away, breathing more labored than usual.

“I’m sorry,” he says, almost in a whisper. But your hands are still exploring each others’ bodies and your chests are still touching. You’re both quiet, apart from the heavy breathing, and you know one of you has to make a move here. But this next move will determine your relationship for the rest of your life, and you’re terrified to make the wrong choice. Do you pull away and tell him it’s fine, you know he didn’t mean it, he’s just drunk? Or do you give into the feelings, into the intrusive Chris thoughts, into the way he’s making your heart race right now?

It doesn’t take a lot of thought. You never really were too good at restraining yourself from the things you wanted.

“Don’t be,” you tell him, the most confident you’ve sounded the whole night, before you slam your lips together again, this time more roughly than before, both of your mouths opening to slide your tongues together.

It seemed like the world around you had completely disappeared, the only thing you’re able to focus on being the way his lips moved with yours, the way his hand splayed on your back pressed you closer to him, the way your fingers felt tangled in his hair. All you cared about was kissing him, and you didn’t even hate it. In fact, you loved it, and it didn’t even kill you to admit it.

You guys were kissing for what felt like forever when Chris pulled away, keeping your faces close together. His breathing was labored and your makeup was messed up and the only thing you two had on your mind was getting more of each other. “We should leave,” he starts. “Like now.”

You nod in agreement, then realize. “I can’t drive, Chris.” You remind him.

He swears under his breath before taking a look around at your surroundings, a large smile gracing his face as his eyes landed across the street. “There’s a hotel,” he pulls a hand away from you to point his finger to where he’s looking. Your eyes follow the path and land on the building he’s talking about, and you can’t help but be excited and terrified at the same time.

You gulp and bring your eyes back to Chris’s, his own head turning back to look at you. “Chris…” you start slowly and tentatively. “Do you realize what you’re implying here?”

Chris shakes his head. “I’m not implying anything,” he tells you, then leans down to press a kiss to your neck, slowly trailing his lips over your shoulder. “I’m telling you I want you. I need you.”

You let out a small breath and tilt your head, eyes fluttering shut. “Okay,” you reply. “Okay, let’s go.”

Chris plants one more kiss on your neck before he grabs your hand and starts walking away from the building you guys were in front of, a little too quickly for you to keep up with. “Chris!” You complain. “I’m in heels, slow down.”

Chris laughs and turns to look back at you. “I’m sorry, I’m eager.” He stops and lets you catch up before walking again, slower this time. “I just can’t wait to get my head between your legs.”

Your cheeks flush at his words, and you know you should yell at him or hit him or scold him since that’s what you two always did, but this time his words sent a shiver down your spine and what felt like all of your blood rushing between your legs. You almost wanted to close your legs shut in fear of him somehow sensing how wet you were becoming, but you decided to play it cool. And by cool, that meant you nearly tripped off of the curb and choked on your spit at the same time, not being able to process the feelings in your head and walk at the same time.

“Maybe, uh, keep your thoughts to yourself while I try to navigate walking in heels while drunk, yeah?” You suggest, looping your arm around his for a little more stability.

Chris agrees with a small chuckle, guiding you across the not so busy street and towards the hotel. “You’re okay with this?” He clarifies, to which you nod your head.

“Yeah, I’m okay with this. I’m drunk enough to find you hot and drinking rum always makes me horny,” you giggle.

Chris scoffs. “Please, you always find me hot, you’re just drunk enough to finally admit it.”

You turn your head and smile up at him. “Kinda hard not to when I think your brothers are so hot.”

Chris turns and meets your eyes, cringing. “Gross, dude, can you not talk about how hot you think my brothers are when I’m about to fuck you?”

You only giggle again, this time in excitement.

You both make it to the hotel and walk through the automatic doors, instantly smiling at the girl working the service desk. Chris goes up to her and starts the process for booking a room as you wander around the lobby, peeking in the vending machines and around all the corners, just thinking about how you had no idea this was how your night was going to end and how you weren’t even complaining. You were looking forward to it even. Your intrusive Chris thoughts were finally coming to light, and while that thought scared you, it excited you even more. You felt like a little kid snooping around in the middle of the night to find Christmas gifts. It was wrong, and you knew you shouldn’t do it, but you wanted nothing more than to do it.

You did feel slightly bad for leaving so abruptly, not even saying bye to anybody on your way out, more so because you had assumed you’d be going back inside, but you really couldn’t feel too bad about it when you were this intoxicated and excited for what was to come.

Chris came back to you and laid a hand flat on the small of your back, pulling you out of your thoughts and back to your senses. “Come on,” he said quietly, leading you to the elevator.

Since it was late and most people would be sleeping right now, you weren’t surprised to see the elevator empty when it opened. You guys shuffled into it and he pressed the button for it, immediately turning to you when the doors closed.

“You look so fucking good in that dress,” he compliments, placing both hands on your hips as he presses you up against the wall. He leans in and places his lips right in front of yours, eyes boring down into your own. “I can’t wait to take it off of you.”

You whine and grab him by the unbuttoned jacket of his suit, tilting your head up to finally reconnect your lips, one of your legs coming up to wrap around his waist.

His hand slides down to hold up your thigh, slipping underneath the dress to feel even more of your skin, even more of you. “I need you inside me so bad,” you whimper against his lips, pulling his body even closer.

“I know, baby, I’ll take care of you, I promise,” Chris whispers, sliding his hand up farther and around to the inside of your thigh. He pushes your legs apart a bit more and gently rubs his two middle fingers against your panties, which were no doubt noticeably wet at this point. “Is this all for me?” He asks lowly.

You nod, pushing your hips into his hand more. “Yes, all for you.” You tell him, starting to slide one of your hands down his torso. You’re about to ghost your fingers over his bulge when the elevator dings and the doors open, signaling you’ve arrived to your floor. Chris pulls away and pushes your leg down before using both hands to pull your dress back into place, then leads you out and towards your room in silence, using the keycard to open the door.

You both walk in, and if the tension was already high, the door shutting behind you just launched it into space. There was only one thing left to do from this point.

-

part two

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[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 4- The Chase

Summary: You can only keep running from Frankie Morales for so long. At some point, he'll catch up to you, whether you like it, or not.

Word Count: 3.5K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname)

Warnings: Do I spy a hint of... ✨feelings✨??? Yearning, a hint of teenage violence (Santi deserves it, it's okay), the appearance of the Miller Brothers, Frankie basically looking like this 🥺 for the last half of this chapter, banter because I live for it

A/N: I'm convinced that teenage Frankie and the Frontier Boys are the best characters to write for, period 😭 I never thought I would live to see the day where my chapters are less than 5K (?!?) but I'm really trying to be better about posting on a schedule- If you would rather have them be longer and wait two weeks between chapters instead of once a week, let ya girl know 🤷🏼‍♀️ Thank you for all of your kind words about this story, your kind comments literally fuel me and make my heart explode, ily 🥹💛

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

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Frankie, Fall of 2005, Age 16

For as much as he hates school, there will be two classes Frankie knows he’ll always pass with flying colors- Gym and Math. 

When he and Santi went to pick up their 11th grade class schedules before the start of the school year, you would have thought they’d won the lottery when they looked down on the crinkled half sheets of paper to find they were both in the same 6th period gym class. 

Five weeks into the start of Junior year, Frankie’s now convinced that Santi and his new friends, Will and Benny Miller, are in on some sort of scheme to make him fail the one class he’s guaranteed an “A” in. 

“Jesus Christ, Frankie, for the love of God, will you please slow down?!” 

Santi’s all but huffing at the pace Frankie had set for the four of them to run the two miles they’re supposed to finish by the end of class, only three of the eight laps they need to run around the track completed. 

“We’re not even going that fast, Santi, you’re fine.” 

Frankie can’t help but laugh at the way his friend is laboring behind him. Sure, Santi’s got football to thank for keeping him looking less like a gangly string bean than Frankie does, but even at 16, the boyish satisfaction of knowing he’ll always be faster than his friend is undeniable.

“Do you do like, cross country or somethin’, Frankie?” 

“Yeah man, I thought Santi said you swam not ran.” 

The Miller Brothers were a new addition to his and Santi’s long standing friendship duo. Will and Benny moved from North Carolina over the summer and had befriended Santi after a few weeks of preseason football camp that the high school held before the start of the school year. Of course, that meant Frankie became friends by proxy shortly after. 

Frankie was fond enough of the two, but the group was still stuck in the awkward dating phase of friendship where everything was just enough of a pissing match to prove that they were worthy enough of each other’s company. 

“Yeah, I’m on the swim team, I don’t do cross country or anything like that.” Frankie shrugs, rounding the curve of the track with ease as he leads the pack to their halfway point. 

“Then how the hell did you get so fast?” Benny pants, the straw blonde hair matted to his forehead with sweat scrunching as he pinches his brows in a mixture of confusion and unadmitted pain. 

“‘Cause he likes to go running with MacKenzie.” 

Santi’s lips curl to a devious smile as he watches Frankie’s face grow red from his sing-songy taunting. At least with the Millers, Frankie could pretend to chalk the hot, pink sting in his cheeks to the mile he’s been running. Unfortunately, he can’t assume the same with Santi. 

“Shut up, Santi.” Frankie grumbles, picking up his pace to the point he knows it’ll make Santi’s lungs strain just enough to keep him from rambling. 

“Oh shit, like, MacKenzie Anderson, MacKenzie?” Will’s face lights up, his less than lengthy friendship making him blissfully unaware of the history between you and Frankie, “She’s hot.” 

“Ew, n- no, she’s not. That’s weird.” 

The other three are surprised Frankie’s pants have yet to set on fire after such a bold lie. 

“They go run together every weekend.” 

At this point, it’s pure mockery the way Santi is teasing him, pushing Frankie to his limits to see how much he can get away with before his friend breaks. 

“So like, are you guys, dating or something?” 

“What?! No! No- She’s like, my best friend. I just- She plays soccer, so I go run with her to help her train and stuff. It’s good cardio, anyways.” 

Frankie doesn’t mean to snap at Benny for his question. It’s a secondary response to the way his chest is tightening and heart is racing as the eyes of all his friends stay peeled to him, like a guilty suspect in a courtroom everyone is waiting to catch in the midst of their lie. 

“Running’s not the only kind of cardio he wishes he was doing with MacKenzie, huh Frankie?” 

The boys are too busy snickering at each other to realize that Frankie’s completely stopped in his tracks ahead of them, turning around with arms outstretched to greet Santi with a brute shove to the ground as they collide. 

“I said shut UP, Santi!”

Frankie doesn’t intend for it to draw as much attention as it does, how the way he’s practically screaming at his friend he’s pushed to the ground has garnered the attention of everyone else in his gym class.

“Jesus, Frankie, it was just a joke! Chill out!” 

Will and Benny help Santi off the rubber of the track, leaving him and Frankie in a silent stare down of flared nostrils and gritted teeth, bodies boiling with teenage testosterone. 

Despite his rage, Frankie has enough self control to keep from saying (or doing) anything else he’ll regret, forcing himself to take off running in a frustrated huff of silence, heart in his throat and fists clenched, leaving behind his group of friends.  

“Shit. Is he always like that when you talk about her?” Will asks, still slightly stunned by the altercation he’s just witnessed, considering Frankie’s usual calm and quiet demeanor. 

“Yup.” Santi replies, popping the “p” at the end of his answer, “Well, not always this bad, but still,  ya know?”  

“Why?” Benny chimes in, the three of them slowly beginning their trot back around the track, lengths behind their fuming friend. 

“‘Cause they’re like, secretly in love with each other. They say they’re just friends, but they act like they’re fucking married.” Santi pretends to gag as he forces his eyes to roll as far back in his head as they possibly can. “He’s been extra pissy because yesterday he found out this guy, Nick Walsh, who’s some senior on the boy’s soccer team, tried to ask her to Homecoming.” 

“Did she say yes?” 

“No! That’s the thing! I don’t know why he’s got his fucking granny panties in a knot about it. Whatever, man. Not my problem.” 

The Miller brothers exchange intrigued glances, wondering how much more they can pry out of Santi as they mope around the track, hoping they can at least make the second half of their two miles entertaining. 

“If he’s mad about it, why didn’t he just ask her?” Will shrugs, offering up what seems like a reasonable solution to his new friend’s problem. 

“Ask him, dude. I have no fucking clue. They’re going with the same group of friends, so they’re gonna spend the whole night together, anyways. Honestly, if you want my opinion, I think he knows he doesn’t have the balls to nut up and ask her himself ‘cause he’s worried she’s gonna say no.” 

Despite the 23 other kids in the class who are also being forced to run circles around the track, there’s only one who makes the three of them freeze as he passes by, feeling the hole he’s burning through the back of their heads. Santi knows he’s too loudmouthed for his own good, and that there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that Frankie didn’t make out what he had to say as he snuck up behind him. 

And he's right. Frankie hears every word.

If he wasn’t at school, he wouldn’t think twice about punching Santi so hard in the gut it would knock the wind right out of him. But right now, all he can do is keep running, faster and faster, one foot in front of the other. 

Maybe if he runs fast enough, no one will be able to see the tears welling in the corners of his eyes, or the disappointment that’s drained every ounce of color he’s got left in his face. 

Maybe if he runs fast enough, he can outrun the cold, hard truth of the way Santi’s words ring in his ears and put bricks in his chest. 

Maybe, just maybe, if he runs fast enough, somewhere along the worn high school track he’ll find the courage to prove himself wrong. 

You, Present 

You’re convinced he’s following you. He has to be. 

All you wanted to do this morning was to go for a run to clear your head, to blow off some steam after the shit show that had been yesterday’s first interaction with Frankie in the past three years. You were confined to your room for the better half of the day, your dad keeping Frankie hostage in your home far too long for your liking. 

Unfortunately, it’s hard to deny a dying man whatever he wants, even if it’s Frankie Morales’s unwelcome presence in your living room. It also meant having to listen to your dad ramble about Frankie for the next several hours after he’d left, politely nodding at all the compliments and praise your father had to give him while your blood boiled in silence. 

Now, all you wanted to do was to run until your head was free of Frankie for just a little while.

It seemed like Frankie had other plans. 

You gave him the benefit of the doubt the first quarter mile, hell, you even tried to just play it off as unlucky timing at the half mile point. But now, you’re a mile into your run, turning on to Fuller Street with Frankie still trotting behind you. It’s clearly not an accident he’s chosen the same path for his morning jog. 

“There are other ways you can go run, you know.” You shout at Frankie without even turning your head over your shoulder, thinking that maybe he’s assumed you hadn’t noticed him and your not so subtle suggestion will get him to turn around. 

“It’s a free country. I can run where I want.” 

Part of you wishes you would have turned to look back at him so he could see the way your eyes met the back of your skull from rolling them so hard, but you keep your gaze glued to the pavement in front of you. You won’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his presence.  

“Can you please just go run somewhere else? I’m just trying to enjoy my morning and you’re not helping, Frankie.” 

“Not trying to bother you, just trying to run. I didn’t have anything to say until you started talking to me.” 

You know if you turned around right now, he’d have that stupid little smug grin hiding in the corner of his cheeks. A battle of wits is his favorite game to play. He’s learned how to strategize, to stay calm, cool and collected in the midst of your chaos, waiting until you hit the breaking point of his crazy you can’t bear to tolerate anymore. Your jaw tenses with the long exhale you take as you prepare to go head to head. 

“I wouldn’t have said anything if you hadn’t been following me the past mile.” 

“How do you know I’m following you?” 

“You’ve literally been running ten feet behind me for the past twelve minutes.” 

“Who says I wasn’t planning on running this way to begin with but you just got a head start?” 

“Jesus Christ, Frankie, please just go pick a different way to run.” 

“Who put you in charge of the running police? Do I have to sign a permit before I go jog now?” 

“Go. Run. Somewhere. Else.” 

“No. You don’t get to tell me where to run. This is the way I wanna go, so I’m gonna keep going until-” 

“No! I know you don’t want to go this way!” You’ve accepted defeat, swinging around to storm towards Frankie, stopping dead in his tracks as he realizes the ferocity you’re approaching him with, “I know for a fact you don’t wanna run this way. You know how I know? Because you hate running down Fuller Street. You would run five miles out of your way before you even considered running down this street on your own free will. There hasn’t been a single time we’ve ever run down this street where you haven’t complained the entire way because of how much you hate the hill at the end of the road before we turn onto Wilson way! That’s how I know, Frankie! So stop pretending like you just happened to choose the same way as me by accident, and just leave me alone! Ugh!” 

You’re positive there’s a trail of steam streaming behind you with the way you’re absolutely fuming, turning back around to take off as fast as your body will let you. You can’t bring yourself to look anywhere but straight ahead, too afraid that if you turn around, those stupid, sad brown eyes will make you feel guilty enough to give him the last word he doesn’t deserve. 

Your feet are flying so fast across the pavement, you’re convinced he’s given up, shocked into submission by your anger that he’ll at least let you finish the rest of your run in peace. Your eyes are still locked on the horizon ahead. It’s the arrogance of your self-reassurance that doesn’t even let you contemplate the thought that several yards behind you, Frankie lets out a quiet “fuck me” before letting his hands drop from their place on his hips to chase behind you at full speed. 

“What the fuck are you doing!?” 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” 

It’s a stupid question. It’s obvious Frankie has said a prayer to hope his knees don’t give out on him as he runs as fast as possible to try and catch up to you. The rhythmic thump of his sneakers pounding against the concrete catches your attention enough to see how quickly he’s gaining on you. It only makes you run faster. 

“Jesus- fuck this hill- MacKenzie, will you fucking slow down?” 

You won’t admit you’re probably just as exhausted as Frankie from the way you’ve been sprinting up the steep incline at the end of the road, but his exasperated huffs are enough to keep you pushing through the pain, mental and physical. 

“No. Run faster.” 

You’re hopeful it’s early enough that no one is awake to see the comedic game of cat and mouse you and Frankie are playing in the middle of the road, chasing each other like you’re on the playground in a childish round of tag. You’d never admit to his face that you know he’s stronger, even faster than you, but the grip he settles around your arm as he finally catches up to you lets you know you’ve lost. 

“Let go of me, Frankie!” 

If the street wasn’t already awake from your wild game of chase, your scream certainly would have gotten their attention. 

“Jesus Christ, MacKenzie, will you just let me talk to you for two fucking seconds?! Please, just- fuck- please just let me fucking talk to you, okay? Please.” 

Even if you wanted to keep running, there was no use. Truth be told, it wasn’t the grasp he had around your arm that was the thing keeping you from sprinting off into the distance. What had you frozen in place was that pathetic pout you knew was splayed across his face, burning a hole in the back of your head. What’s worse, was that you could feel it burning a hole through your chest, too. 

The all too familiar pain that came with holding onto the same, shriveled shred of hope that maybe this time, he’d prove you wrong. Maybe this time, he wouldn’t let you down. 

“Fine.” You barely mutter the word loud enough to hear as you turn around to face him, eyes still looking everywhere but directly at him. 

“I’m sorry, Kenz. I'm sorry, okay? I fucked up.” 

Somehow, his second apology stings worse than the first. It still doesn’t mean you won’t deny how much it hurts. 

“Yeah, no shit.” 

You let your gaze lift just enough to see the way he’s gnawing at his bottom lip, chewing at it like he’s trying to digest his own thoughts before they come out of his mouth. 

“What I said that night at Santi’s wedding, I just-” He pauses, knowing you can hear it clear as day in your head too.

“Fuck you, MacKenzie. Fuck you for ruining my life. It’ll be better off without you fucking in it.” 

“I- I- Fuck. I didn’t mean it. Any of it. I regret ever saying it. I think all the time about how much I regret it. I just, I was in a bad place.” 

You’re not sure what to say. Fuck, you’re not even sure what to feel. Part of you wants to scream at him, kick him in the crotch and berate him for how badly the past three years have hurt you. Part of you just wants to stand there and cry, to say nothing and let your tears flow and spill your emotions down your cheeks. Part of you wants to hug him, to believe him, to have him hold you so tightly against his chest that his apology seeps into your skin until you’ve forgiven him. 

But none of those parts are strong enough to win out alone. Instead, they’ve formed together to create a strange sort of storm that brews in your belly, swirling it so violently, it makes you want to vomit. 

“But you still said it, Frankie. You still said it. If my dad weren’t dying, would you even be here? Would you have ever apologized? Or are you just choosing to apologize now because it’s convenient and you feel like you have to?” 

It’s the first time you can bring yourself to look him in the face. You can see how his brain is churning with the same type of vicious waves that are in the pit of your stomach, drowning out the brown of his eyes. You both are lost in the midst of the storm, but you’ve got a lifeboat. He’s sinking below the thrashing tides, looking for you to let him board your ship. You won’t let him on unless he fights his way through the current to get to you. 

“I should have apologized a long time ago.” 

“Then why didn’t you?” 

“I don’t- I don’t know. I was scared you’d never forgive me.” 

You swear you feel the grip he still has on your forearm tighten just for a moment. Now that he has you, he’s too scared to let you go. 

“Just- Jesus- Just because you apologized doesn’t mean I have to forgive you now, Frankie.” 

“Will you ever?” 

“Ever, what?” 

“Forgive me?” 

Your brain wants to say no. God, with everything in you does it want to say no. But that same stupid pain in your chest that lives and dies by that stupid shred of hope you’ll always hold onto just won’t let you. 

“I don’t know. I- I don’t know, Frankie.” 

You can’t ignore the way he’s still holding your arm. The shred of hope doesn’t want him to let go, even when you scowl at the way his fingers wrap around your skin. You scowl because of how his touch burns your skin, the way it ignites a fire in your gut from how tenderly he touches you. It makes you scrunch your face in frustration and confusion, trying to block out all the times he’s touched you like this before, fingers grazing against your skin in a desperate plea for affection, not forgiveness. He’s holding onto your arm to see if you’ll let him in the lifeboat- if you’ll offer him a chance to save himself. 

“I get it. I’m sorry, Kenz. I hope you at least know I mean it.” 

“I do.” 

You’re not sure what makes you want to offer him a last chance at survival. You’ve been separated by different sides of the same storm for so long- You can’t attest to the way he’s had to fight through it to stay alive, but if it’s anything like the side of the squall you’ve been stuck on, there’s a strange relief in finding in finding someone who knows the hell you’ve faced to keep from drowning in the undertow. You can’t seem to bear letting him drown right in front of you without even trying to help. 

“I still hate you, ya know.” You sigh, a defiant cry to prove to him you’re not happy about the path you’ve chosen. 

“Yeah, that’s fair. I deserve that.” 

It’s the first time you’ve heard him laugh in so long. Even though it’s a muffled huff, trying to hide behind the raise of his eyebrows and nod of his head at the ground, you know it’s there, in that same corner of his smirk he gets when he knows there’s no point in arguing with you- there’s no denying it’s there. 

There’s no denying it makes you do the same. 

“You gonna let me finish the rest of my run in peace, Morales?” 

“Yeah, I guess. Only ‘cause I still hate this fucking hill.” 

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@witchofthedeepwoods @ericamarie093 @readingiskeepingmegoing @whimsiwitchy @whoaitspascal87

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@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[vampiresfromxenon]

I Wanted To

Astarion x gn! Reader/Tav

Almost 3.5k words 

Tags: Fluff, kisses, cuddling, angst, biting mention, no use of y/n, words of affection (so much sappiness), soft! Astarion, they’re in love your honor!! 

CW: Slight mentions of SA and trauma (extremely minor, incredibly light piece)

Summary: You and Astarion decide to start your relationship over once you both confess your feelings. It's a mutual decision to take things extremely slow, celebrating little victories of intimacy here and there. Tonight, you can't hide your words of affection as he becomes more comfortable and vulnerable around you.

~

It’s been a few months traveling with this rowdy crew, and you can’t help but smile thinking about how much you love them all. Granted, they all piss you off on the daily, what from Shadowheart and Lae’zel attempting to kill each other, to Gale eating your favorite pair of enchanted gloves, but you can’t help yourself from smiling every time you think about how close you’ve all grown. One particular member in the party you have become very close with stands out a bit more than the rest, and thoughts about him are enough to make you unsettlingly giddy. 

For the longest time, you and the pale elf fought your feelings, too cold to warm up to each other. You both had a wicked past, something that tainted your current perceptions of love and romance. His may have been far more extreme than yours, but regardless of that fact, your feelings and emotions were still valid. For a short few weeks, you found yourselves being extra intimate, dismissing it all as stress relief and nothing more. Those little excursions were merely there as a form of self protection: He gained your trust and protection, and you felt less alone and vulnerable at night. Or, so you thought, until you noticed how distant he was, his eyes never meeting yours every time he sought to pleasure you. 

It wasn’t until recently that these barriers slowly began to be chipped away for the both of you, your infatuation not only becoming more real, but unfortunately, more terrifying. One night, you approached him, being brave and understanding if he had other thoughts about what you two could be. It was late, most of the camp either asleep or preparing for bed. You approached him, a soft hand on his shoulder, even though he was well aware you were there. What you were there for though, remained a mystery to him. He turned, smiling at you, taking your hand and kissing it affectionately. As your heart raced, you began a discussion with him, asking his thoughts and feelings about your ‘connection’ rather than just bombarding him with an overwhelming confession of love. 

He seemed stunned to say the least, unsure of what to say or how to feel. It was strange for him, his cold heart beating a little faster, feeling a little warmer at the sight of you in front of him, actually seeing him for him and not just another plaything. All these feelings were bubbling up inside him because, for the first time in a long time, someone not only asked him what he wanted in a romantic relationship, but they respected anything he said on that subject matter. In all his nervousness, he felt that he could be honest in his reciprocation to see how far you two could go, this time with real feelings. That was a few weeks ago, and all this time since has been magical. 

You haven’t intimately slept together since just before that night, instead establishing boundaries and focusing more on the non-sexual ways to be intimate, loving, and kind. He loves the way your hand brushes his, the way your fingers interlace with his as he moves in to hold your hand. You love the way his hand lands on your back, stretching to your hip to pull you closer to him, especially when meeting new people from town to town. While you still struggle with eye-contact in general, it feels easier around him, especially now since he has found himself to be more comfortable actually looking at you, taking in your appearance and being more present in your conversations. 

For many nights now, you’ve been cuddled up nicely in one or the other’s tent, fingers interlaced, hands gently wrapped around hips, legs occasionally intertwined. He still continues to feed on you, though he makes sure to gain your permission before bed each night. On the nights where you felt too tired, too drained mentally even, he would leave you be, hoping to keep you as comfortable as possible. Those nights were just as romantic, as you could feel his breath against your neck as he cuddles you tightly, his lips on your shoulder as he falls into the soft rhythm of sleep. 

Tonight didn’t start off any differently from any other night; you both gathered in his tent, doing your nightly routines as per usual (always before promptly passing out until the next morning hit you like a boulder). Most nights he would wear a nice, silky pajama set, one he purchased from an unreasonably expensive fashion designer in a small village. You didn’t have as luxurious of pajamas, but yours still covered most of your body, keeping you feeling safe and snuggled up each night.

Neither of you expected that this night would change everything.

He’s standing off to the side of your shared bedroll, changing into his pajamas while your back is turned to him, fiddling with the blanket you both share. You notice just how used this blanket is, and you realize that it might have been the only thing giving him comfort, the feeling of security over the past 200 or so years. Astarion was far from one to share, whether it was his feelings or his belongings, and it isn’t long before you have a second realization: you are possibly the only person to have ever slept with that blanket besides him. Your fingers gently roll the decaying fabric between your fingers, taking in all of his memories that have been exhausted on the threads. 

You hear him walking over and you drop your thoughts about the blanket, not wanting to pry into more of his distressing past. He kneels, picking up the blanket and sliding next to you, your bodies touching in an instant. Turning your attention away from the blanket, you look up to see your love is shirtless, moving around in the bedroll, trying to be more comfortable at your side. 

You know just how insecure he is about his scars from Cazador, that disgusting, vile, treacherous bitch, but it was so lovely to see him stepping out of his comfort zone. While you’re quick to notice this new change, he’s even quicker to notice your reaction. Diving back into his comfort charm, he smirks at you, loading a phrase to protect his vulnerable side.

“Like what you see, darling?” His eyes flutter to the side a bit, and you immediately notice his withdrawal from the conversation. With a calm and gentle hand, you caress his cheek, turning his attention back to you. 

“I always love what I see…” You smile, your eyes looking at him in such a way that your face beams with pride, though you try to find a balance between that and neutral so as to not overwhelm him. To see just how much he trusts you, is willing to open up to you and be vulnerable… Your heart can barely take it. In a quiet voice you’re sure to check in on him, wanting to make sure he feels secure in his choice. “Don’t feel you have to do this for me though, okay?” 

His hand reaches up to hold yours against his cold cheek, his stare suddenly becoming more present. “I wanted to.” His voice is low, his hand taking yours off his face as he leans in gently to kiss your palm. He kisses your forehead before moving to lie down, making himself comfortable in your small space. 

You sit there for a moment, considering your options. You don’t want to make him uncomfortable, but you want him to be aware that you feel the same sense of shared comfort. As he turns to the side, looking at a book he left on the ground earlier, you move to remove your shirt, tossing it off to the side. He moves the book away from you both so you don’t roll into it in the night. Turning back to face you, he pauses, taking in the sight of your bare chest. He looks up at you, tilting his head, nearly asking you the same question you just asked him.

Before he can say anything, you lean slightly closer to him, your voice a loud whisper. “I wanted to.” His eyes soften, and you can tell he’s flattered by this display of intimacy. You begin to crawl under the old blanket with him, and he pulls you close, his hand around your waist. The feel of his cold, soft skin against your bare back is enough to send shivers down your spine, and you realize that this must be so close to what heaven feels like. His free hand reaches up and caresses your jaw before tangling in your hair, gently playing with it as he knows it helps you fall asleep. 

Your hand rests on his bare chest, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat slowing down as he continues to relax in your care. You lie there for a while, trying to sleep, but something is keeping you awake. Perhaps it’s the looming threat that you could all die soon in brutally vicious ways, or the fact that you don’t want to waste a single second enjoying this time with your new lover. Suppose you’ll never truly know. 

Regardless of what is keeping you up on this night, you begin to feel a little restless, unable to lie there in that position for too much longer without your arms going numb. You sit up a little, leaning on the arm you’ve been lying on, trying to not wake your companion. However, his body shifts with you, and it appears that he is still just as awake as you are.

 “I didn't wake you, did I?” You whisper in a worried voice. 

“Not in the slightest, my dear. Unable to sleep tonight, as I am sure you understand.”

You sigh, still leaning over him slightly, his hand that was once on your waist now drawing circles on your shoulder blade, the hand in your hair now resting on your hip. You want to speak, but you find yourself getting lost in the way his face looks in the moonlight peeking through his tent flap. It frames his face so perfectly, almost as if this scene was sculpted by the Gods. He notices your sudden distance, and he is quick to check in on you. 

“Are you alright, love?” He asks, a tinge of concern in his voice, once again tilting his head like a confused puppy. 

“Sorry… Yes, yes. More than alright.” You reassure him, not breaking your focus. A beat; he attempts to determine what’s on your mind. Thinking he’s found it, he smirks. 

“Admiring how beautiful I am?”

“Yeah… Just looking at creases around your eyes…” You say in a loving tone, not even remotely aware of how backhanded the comment you just made sounds. 

He begins to shuffle, pushing you away, offended by your lack of sincerity. “Alright, there’s no need-” 

“No! Not like that.” You chuckle, snapping back into reality. You grab him, pulling him back to you, his head pressing back into the pillow below you.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just-” You can’t stop yourself from laughing a little at the sight of your pouting partner underneath you. 

You notice just how unamused he is, and you abruptly stop laughing, clearing your throat and composing yourself in a more serious manner. Your hand reaches up and the pad of your thumb brushes against his crows feet, your mind falling back into your feelings of love and adoration for him. 

“The way your eyes crinkle when you laugh… The way your eyes sharpen when you’re glaring at me, like you are right now… The way they soften every time I walk in the room… I love those wrinkles, they’re such a beautiful part of you.” He relaxes again, taking in your words, though still unhappy at your mention of his wrinkles, making him feel old. Though, no matter how much he hates his aging characteristics being brought up, he will never turn away any form of flattery. 

“Well, augh. You really are sweet, aren’t you? But I’m sure you like more of me than just my dreaded wrinkles.” He was definitely fishing for compliments, that much was obvious, but he wasn’t aware of just how much you wanted to smother him in loving words. You lean forward and kiss his crows feet on both sides, surprising him. Smiling, your thumb traces over his eyebrows, taking in their shape and feel. 

“My eyebrows, really? Nothing else catching your eye?” He whines, his hands going back to resting on your shoulder blade and hip. He can feel your body shake as you laugh, your head falling forward towards his chest as you continue to giggle from his pouting. You bring your head back up, focusing on his face once more. 

“One thing at a time, dearest.” You pause, analyzing the shape of his eyebrows. Just how sharp they are, how often he uses them to his advantage when he is charming people. As you continue to gaze at them, he raises one of them, making your heart go crazy. 

“You’re so expressive. Your eyebrows are so perfectly shaped, the way you use them like a weapon… I know it’s silly, I know they’re just eyebrows, but they’re your eyebrows, and they mean so much to me.” You trail off, your face flushed with embarrassment as you realize just how overly sentimental your words are. He smiles at you, knowing just how hard you’re trying, and appreciating every second of it. You kiss his eyebrows before quickly moving on.

Your fingers trace along his face, noticing his mole. By now he’s exhausted, you’re three for three with things he’s sensitive about. “Darling, if this is your way of making me feel less upset about not being able to look in mirrors, I must say it’s starting to work.” His words deceive his face and body language, but you still try to abide by his wishes. 

Wanting to show your love, without spending too much time on it, you mention how much the mole under his eye suits him, how he would almost seem incomplete without a beauty spot. The usage of ‘beauty’ in ‘beauty spot’ convinced him to let it slide, but the ice you were dreamily skating on was wearing thin. Kissing his mole, you move on once again. 

The skin of his nose was soft as you trace the pad of your finger down the bridge of his nose. “Your nose… it’s so sharp. Don’t laugh, but one of my favorite feelings is when I wake up and your nose is either on my back or my neck. I can feel your breathing on my skin, your nose pressed against me while you sleep. It’s so calming, having any little part of you so close to me.” He looks at you a little confused, mostly due to the fact that you’re still here appreciating him. The things you’re saying, they’re so small and insignificant, yet you enunciate each word like it’s the most important thing you’ll ever say. Each word has a purpose, a meaning, and they fall out of your mouth effortlessly; something he still has yet to learn how to do. 

You kiss the tip of his nose, your fingers tracing down his face to his smile lines. Oh his smile lines. You just can’t help but adore his smile lines, no matter how much he absolutely hates them. He hates them because they age him, but you love them for all the same reason. To know he laughs, smiles, has any semblance of being happy is enough for you to be overjoyed at the sight of these lines that prove the existence that he has been able to enjoy life enough to have physical proof on his face.

“Don’t you dare.” He teases, though you wish he could bear with you for just a moment to explain your thoughts. Figuring you could do it another time, as tonight has already had enough excitement, you kiss his smile lines and spare him from your honeyed words. 

Last, but certainly not least: his lips. Your thumb traces over his lips which are closed together, gently pushing up just enough to where you wonder if he was trying to secretly kiss your thumb. As you continue to run your thumb over his lips, reminiscing on all the times your own experienced his, he takes you by surprise. 

Removing the hand from your hip, his thumb graces your lips, and you find yourself trying to inconspicuously kiss at it like he did to you just moments ago. You open your mouth to speak, but he uses his finger to silence you, gently shushing you. 

“My turn.” His voice is smooth and tender as his thumb continues to trace over your slightly parted lips. “Your lips… They have always been so soft and inviting.” He pauses, still staring at them.

“I must admit, I despised them at first.” A confused expression crosses your face just before he continues. “They would taunt me on a daily basis, the one thing I couldn’t have no matter how much charm I threw at you. When I was eventually graced with them, I loathed the way my name would be cried out from them, almost as if you were saying it like a prayer. It tore me apart, wanting something I wasn’t sure I actually wanted, or even felt like I deserved…” He trails off, though his gaze remains constant on you.

“How do they make you feel now?” You softly ask, just barely loud enough for even yourself to hear.

He thinks on this for a moment, searching for the proper word.

“Safe.” 

He leans up to you, cupping your cheek as he kisses you, the most delicate and loving kiss you two have ever shared. You both pull from the kiss, exercising restraint and respect for your pre-established boundaries. A hand resting on his chest, you encourage him to lie back on the pillow once more, which he does. You lean forward, kissing every part of his face that you mentioned, as well as a few spots just because you wanted to. Kissing his lips again, you pull apart just enough to whisper against his lips. 

“I admire everything about you. Every aspect of you is just so lovely… Thank you for being here, with me. I don’t ever want to leave your side.”

He smiles, his fangs poking out this time. His hand moves a strand of hair out of your face as he clears his throat. 

“And thank you for all the kisses.” He says, resuming his usual charm. You try to hide your slight disappointment, but you know he is trying his best and you can’t expect him to always meet you halfway, especially in this time of healing. 

“Always.” You whisper, lying down next to him as he wraps his arms around you, holding you closely. It’s late, and now that you have this feeling lifted off your chest, you find it easier to sleep. Your heart rate begins to slow, your breathing finding its usual pattern, your lover wrapped up tightly with you. 

When you’re on the edge of falling asleep, you feel his head tilting down towards yours, which is resting on his chest. His lips kiss the top of your head, his chin then resting on that same spot. A quiet voice breaks the air, unaware that it still has an audience.

“I love you.”

You freeze, unsure of whether or not you have actually fallen into a dream state, or if you just heard him correctly. In this state of grogginess, your body shifts as you attempt to determine the truth.

“Shit. Did you hear that?”

“Mhm.” You sleepily groan. He lets out a sigh of relief, thinking he’s talking to you in your sleep like he has before. Settling further into the bedroll, making himself more comfortable, he pulls you tighter, finally deciding to rest. 

“I love you too.” You break the silence, your voice more awake this time. His eyes flash open, his red irises laser focused on you. You can feel his heart pounding as you rest on his chest, and you lean over and kiss just above his heart.

“Safe.” Is all you can say before promptly passing out, your warm skin slowly heating up his own. He sits there for another moment, taking in the events of today. It was a lot, to say the least, but he felt comfortable and confident in his decisions, and that was almost truly a first for him. His hand finds its way back into your hair, stroking it as he begins to drift off to sleep, for the first time in a long time feeling comfortable, guarded, protected, safe. 

~

Author’s Note:

He’s extremely OOC, I’m 95% sure lmao but I love making characters total softies, even if we don’t see that side of them in the media they’re from. (I'm still in the very beginning of Act 2 so I'm learning a lot about him through this site too)

I’ve never experienced love, I’m also sure that’s obvious- I’ve always wanted to do something like this with someone though (look at their face and kiss all my favorite spots). While I was writing this, I felt so awkward writing such sappy dialogue, but I realized that moments like these aren’t smooth and rehearsed; feelings get mushy and oftentimes people say dumb and dorky things because they’re just so in love. I hope it gets translated that way at least hahaha

My Spotify is fucked because I listen to specific songs on repeat whenever I write. I have probably about 4-5 hours of “Blue Moon” by Billie Holiday logged on there now because of all the time planning, writing, and thinking about this fic- I got this song from Neil’s Astarion playlist, it’s so sweet and loving :) 

Edit: So many people are saying he’s actually pretty in character so thank you for the validation because I was nervous 😭

[genshinluvr]

Sick Days 2

Pairings: Various Genshin Men x Isekai'd!Reader

Summary: The men are sick, and it's your duty to nurse them back to their healthy selves. Yes, the men are sick— all twenty-seven of them are ill, and you're the only one who's taking care of them. Some of them made it easier for you, but others made it complicated for you. It's a good thing you don't have emetophobia.

Note: This is highly requested by either three people or one person. Either way, I'm surprised someone wanted part two of the previous mini-fic because I felt iffy about the first part. Anyway, I am back from my vacation! That means we can finally get back to the longer fics because this upcoming week will be a villain!isekai'd!reader fic because it won the voting on Tumblr and Discord :> I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: The men are sick, and some of them are vomiting

Word Count: 3.5k

This is part two of Sick Days.

RING!

“Onikabuto booboo bear! I’m hungryyy!”

You run to the left side of the room with a tray of food in your hands. “Coming!”

RING!

“Sweetheart? Can you get me water? My throat is feeling parched.”

You run to the nearest water pitcher, grab a glass cup and fill it with water. “Give me a moment!” You holler. After filling the cup with water, you run to the right side of the room, making sure not to spill any water on the wooden floor.

RING RING!

“Snookums!!!! I’m cold! Can you get me an extra blanket and maybe cuddle with me?”

You run toward the piles of blankets on the table and search for the softest blanket you can find. The thicker and softer the blanket, the better it is. You don’t want any of them to be cold and feel uncomfortable while ill. You know how your boyfriends are—when they’re feeling unwell and sick, they need your attention around the clock. While searching through the mountain of blankets, you hear someone cough loudly.

Without looking, you announce over your shoulders, “Make sure to cough into your elbows and keep your masks on. You guys wouldn’t want to get me sick, now, do you?”

“No,” Aether mutters before sniffling under his face mask.

Zhongli sighs, rubbing his throbbing temples. “Apologies, dearest.”

“Childe, you can’t just ask [Y/N] to cuddle with you. You’ll get them sick, and if they get sick—”

Diluc was interrupted by Childe coughing loudly into his elbows, causing the redhead to roll his eyes and scoot toward the edge of his bed. Childe drops his arm to his side and narrows his eyes at Diluc before snuggling into his blanket, shivering like a chihuahua.

After what feels like forever, you finally found the perfect blanket for the poor, shivering Snezhnayan. You pull the blanket from the pile and walk to Childe’s bed. Childe’s eyes light up, and he sits on the bed, making grabby motions as you get closer to his bed. You decided to have the men stay in the infirmary at the estate instead of their bedrooms because, to you, it’d be easier to tend to each person if they were all in the same room instead of scattered around the estate. 

Well, at least that’s what you assumed. Now look at you— running from each side of the room to tend to each person’s needs, from getting water, cooking, and feeding your sickly boyfriends to getting them extra pillows and blankets if they’re in need, and so much more. It’s safe to say that you’re getting your daily exercise.

“I think I found the perfect blanket for you, Childe. It’s warm and really soft,” you say proudly, tossing the blanket over his shivering body.

Childe smiles at you beneath his face mask before grabbing you by the wrist while you adjust the blanket over him. You pause and look at the ginger Harbinger curiously. For someone who’s sick, Childe still has his strength because he somehow managed to pull you onto his bed. You stumble forward, making sure not to crush him when you land on his bed. Childe wraps his muscular arms around your neck and his legs around your thighs.

“Well, hello to you too,” you mumble, head resting against the crook of Childe’s neck.

Childe doesn’t reply. Instead, he sighs with contentment before rolling over to his side, bringing you with him. You snort and run your hands through his unruly, ginger hair. You pause and squeeze your eyes shut after feeling Childe’s damp hair. Oh, dear Archons. You pull your hands from Childe’s hair and wipe your hand on your shirt. Childe doesn’t seem to notice your slight change of behavior as he continues to nuzzle against you, sighing with contentment. You hear a disgruntled sigh coming from the small infirmary bed beside Childe’s bed. You peek from Childe’s neck to see Diluc and Al Haitham glaring holes into the back of Childe’s head. 

Al Haitham sniffles, crossing his arms over his chest. “Childe, you shouldn’t cuddle with [Y/N], or else you’ll get them sick too,” Al Haitham grumbles, continuing to glare at the ginger Snezhnayan.

“How are you freezing when you’re from Snezhnaya? Aren’t you used to the cold?” Venti asks from the other side of the room.

You chuckle. “Just because Childe is Snezhnayan doesn’t mean he’s used to the cold. Besides, Childe freezing due to being sick and being in a cold environment are two different things,” you say.

You pat Childe’s head and roll off the infirmary bed. Childe whines with protest, grabbing the hem of your shirt and attempting to pull you back to his bed, only for the hem of your shirt to slip through his fingers. Childe pouts and remains in bed, gazing at you with puppy dog eyes. You walk to the person closest to the medicine cart and adjust the pillow under his head.

“How are you feeling, Baizhu? You’re usually the one caring for us all and giving us medication, but today you and I switched spots,” you say, grabbing the medicine bottle with his name on the bottle and uncapping it.

Out of every sick man in the infirmary, you’re worried about Baizhu the most. Baizhu’s health is more at risk, and he’s prone to catching illnesses quickly out of the twenty-seven men. You’re grateful to have Baizhu give you some pointers on what medication to give each man in the infirmary, how much they need to take their medicine, and how often they need to take them.

Baizhu coughs into his elbow, wincing when he feels a sharp pain in his chest. “I could be worse, but with your assistance, I should be okay,” Baizhu wheezes.

You take out two pill tablets for Baizhu and hand them to the green-haired man. Baizhu takes his face mask off, throws the two pills into his mouth, and grabs the cup of water from your hands before downing the water to wash down the pills. Baizhu hands you the cup before lying on the bed. Changsheng, on the other hand, is perched on Baizhu’s lap, slowly slithering up to the green-haired man’s chest and staying there.

“How did we all get sick simultaneously? This sucks,” Kaveh sniffles from the other side of the infirmary, rubbing his red and irritated nose.

Just when Kaveh’s about to say more, his cheeks suddenly puff up, and he covers his mouth with his hands. Everyone stares at Kaveh, watching his pale, sickly skin gradually turn light green. Oh no. You recognize the expression. You rush to the trash can, grab it, and run to the other side of the infirmary to give Kaveh the trash can before he can spew bile all over the place.

Kaveh whimpers a ‘thank you’ before dry heaving into the trash bin. The others close their eyes and cover their ears while you look away, rubbing Kaveh’s back as he vomits into the trash can. After a few minutes, Kaveh wipes his mouth with the back of his hand while you take the vomit-filled trash can from his hands.

“I think you should go brush your teeth, Kaveh. Wouldn’t want to have vomit breath, now, do you?” Scaramouche asks, his nose scrunching up with disgust. 

Kaveh sighs and shoots a glare toward Scaramouche. Kaveh tosses the blanket off his body before getting up from the bed and going to the nearest bathroom. Scaramouche chuckles before quickly pulling up his face mask and coughing into his elbows. You sigh and dispose of the vomit-filled trash bin.

After changing the trash bin, you walk into the room and grab a pill bottle for Xiao. You didn’t think it was possible for Archons and Adeptis to get sick, but you were wrong. You stand beside Xiao’s bed and nudge him lightly while he remains on the infirmary bed with the blanket over his head. Xiao groans and curls into a little ball.

“Xiao, I have your medicine. You should take it before you sleep,” you say, nudging the Yaksha lightly.

“Adeptis don’t need sleep,” Xiao grumbles, his voice nasally due to his stuffy nose.

You sigh, grab the edge of the blanket, and yank it off his head. Xiao grumbles and squints at you. Xiao sighs and rolls over on his back, rubbing his eyes. Poor Xiao looks miserable— the tip of his nose is red, and he is constantly sniffling. Xiao wipes his nose with the tissue you hand to him while you uncap the pill bottle to give him his medication.

You hold out the two pill tablets to Xiao. “I know you don’t need sleep, but you should get some sleep regardless. If you don’t rest, then you won’t be healthy. If you’re not healthy, then that means I can’t give you kisses,” you say.

Xiao stares at you before reluctantly grabbing the tablets from your hands, throwing them into his mouth, and swallowing the pills dry. You gaped at Xiao. Xiao points at his head while you stare at him with your mouth agape. 

“What is he doing?” Cyno mutters, hugging his knees to his chest.

Kazuha wraps himself up in the blanket before falling over on the bed. “I think he’s asking for a forehead kiss from [Y/N] as a reward for taking his medicine,” Kazuha replies.

“So… are we not going to talk about how Xiao swallowed those pills without needing water?” Heizou asks, blowing his nose into the tissue.

You and Xiao continue to stare at each other in silence. You chuckle to yourself before leaning toward Xiao and kissing his forehead. Xiao closes his eyes, heat rushing to his cheeks. When you pull away, you notice Xiao’s cheeks are bright pink. You’re not sure if it’s because of his fever or if he’s blushing. Either way, Xiao looks adorable.

“Get some rest now, okay?” You stroke Xiao’s hair.

Xiao nods wordlessly before lying on his back while you tuck him into bed. Xiao closes his eyes when you lean in to kiss his forehead before leaving him to let him sleep. You walk to the next person to check on them, only to see Kaeya knocked out cold. Kaeya’s not wearing his eyepatch as it lays above his pillow. You press your hand against his forehead after brushing his bangs from his forehead. He still has a high fever, and he’s been sick for a few days— luckily, his fever isn’t nearly as bad as the first day.

Kaeya cracks his eyes open when you wipe the sweat from his forehead with a rag. Kaeya clears his throat, wincing when he feels how dry his throat is. “Oh? Is it my turn to be taken care of by nurse bunny?” Kaeya teases.

You snort. “Yes, it’s your turn to be taken care of by me, Kaeya,” you reply. “Try sitting for me, okay? You need to take your medicine.”

Kaeya sighs and sits up, grabbing the eyepatch from above the pillow and putting them on while you grab his medicine bottle. Why would the men need their own prescription if they have the same illness? Well, some are allergic to certain ingredients in the medication, and others are not. Some need stronger doses than others. People’s bodies react to medication differently, and you sure as hell do not want your boyfriends to have a negative reaction to their medication. Especially when they’re sick— some sicker than others.

You take two tablets from the pill bottle, handing them to the Cavalry Captain. Kaeya smiles at you, taking the pills from your hands before swallowing them with the help of water. After downing the medication, Kaeya places the cup on the nightstand between his and Tighnari’s bed, resting his head on your lower abdomen, and closes his eyes.

“Get some rest, alright? I only bothered you awake so you can take your medication,” you murmur, running your hands through his hair.

Kaeya nods before lying on the bed and closing his eyes. You turn to look at Tighnari, whose staring at you with a faraway look. His hair is pulled up in a half ponytail, there are dark circles underneath his eyes, and he’s shaking his head. 

Tighnari clears his throat. “Before you say anything, I already took my medication,” Tighnari rasps.

You blink at him. “When? I didn’t even notice you getting up to take your medication,” you say incredulously.

“He took his medication while you were occupied with Kaveh,” Thoma interjects, snuggling up against the body pillow and closing his eyes.

You sigh. “At least it’s one less person to worry about,” you murmur, running your hands through your hair. “You should get some rest now. Since you took your medication already.”

Tighnari stares at you before pointing at his forehead. You playfully roll your eyes and lean down, kissing his forehead. Tighnari silently cheers before taking his hair out of the half ponytail and lying down. You were about to go over and check on Gorou and Albedo, but the two men were also knocked out cold.

Gorou cracks his eyes open and rubs his eye. “Can I take my medication later? ‘M tired,” Gorou mumbles, rolling over on his stomach, and slowly falls asleep.

“Sorry, Gorou, but I can’t let you skip out on your medication. There’s a time slot, remember?” You poke Gorou’s cheek lightly.

On the bed, one foot from Gorou’s bed, Albedo raises his hand. “I also took my medication earlier as well,” Albedo comments.

You stare at Albedo as the Chief Alchemist gets comfortable in his bed. Well, at least the ones that took their medication are somewhat making it easier for you. You walk to Dainsleif’s bed and sit across from him. The blond man cracks his eyes open and gazes at you with bleary eyes, slowly rubbing his eyes as he sits on the bed. You pull his medicine bottle out from the small basket and hand him the bottle. Dainsleif uncaps the bottle, takes two pill tablets from the bottle, and pops the pills into his mouth before downing the water from his water bottle.

“I didn’t know you could get sick,” you murmur, hugging your knees to your chest.

Dainsleif hands the bottle back to you. “I’m immortal, not immune to diseases and sicknesses,” Dainsleif replies, wiping the droplet of water from the corner of his lips.

You stand and hand him the eyemask. “It looks like not even Archons are immune to diseases and illnesses. I’m going to let you rest now, alright? I’m going to check on the others,” you say, stroking Dainsleif’s hair before walking to the next person.

What amazes you is how Capitano continues to wear his helmet despite being sick. When you hand him his medication, Capitano gets up from his bed and leaves the room for a brief moment before returning.

“You didn’t throw the medicine away, did you?” you ask, gazing at the tall Harbinger skeptically.

Capitano’s shoulders bounce as he sits on his bed and shakes his head. “Just because I took my medication out of sight does not mean I threw them away. You needn’t worry,” says Capitano as he pats your head before lying down.

You sigh in relief and smile at Capitano before turning over to the other three Harbingers. You pass the medicine bottles to each man and fill their cups with water from the water pitcher. You hand the cups to the men, trading the cups of water for the medicine bottles. The three men take their medication before remaining sitting on their beds.

“Is there anything else you three need before I check up on Neuvillette and Wriothesley?” you ask, putting their prescription bottles back into the tray.

Pantalone sighs, takes his glasses off, and puts them on the nightstand. “When can we start cuddling again?” asks the black-haired Harbinger.

“When you’re not sick anymore, Captain Obvious. Do you want [Y/N] to get sick all because you wanted a cuddle session?” Dottore asks, glaring at the black-haired Harbinger.

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. Even though the two men are sick, they still bicker with one another. Pierro clears his throat and motions for you to come close. You walk to Pierro and stand at the foot of his bed. You grab an extra blanket for Pierro and drape it over him. Pierro grabs your hand and pulls you toward him.

You stand beside Pierro’s bed, and he wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face into your stomach. You run your hands through his hair, untangling the small knots in his hair as Pierro rubs your back with his thumb. You press the back of your hand against his forehead, sighing in relief.

“It looks like your fever is going down faster than the others! That’s great news,” you say, patting his head.

Pierro clears his throat. “It’s all thanks to you, little one. If it weren’t for you, my fever wouldn’t have gone down,” Pierro replies.

“Hey! Stop giving the old man attention because we’re dying over here!” A nasally voice hollers from the other side of the infirmary.

Pierro reluctantly releases you as you turn to where the other two men are lying. Wriothesley looks like a mess, but you can’t blame him since the poor man has emptied his stomach four times so far. Wriothesley sniffles pitifully, hugging the trash can to his chest as he wipes the snot from his nose with the back of his hand. You hand the medication to him, only for Wriothesley to shake his head and place a hand over his stomach.

“I don’t want to take it right now, my dear. I don’t think I’ll be able to keep it down if I were to take the medication,” Wriothesley says, pressing his lips into a thin line.

Wriothesley’s face turns bright green before shoving his face into the trash bin and retching and emptying his stomach for the fifth time. You sigh, rubbing his back as he continues to spew into the almost full trash bin. While Wriothesley is retching and whimpering into the white trash can, you turn to Neuvillette.

“Did you take your medication?” You ask, shaking the prescription bottle lightly before him.

Neuvillette shakes his head. “I just woke up. Waking up to your face and the sound of your voice is something I would prefer over the sounds of Wriothesley heaving and whimpering into the trash can,” Neuvillette sighs, brushing his hair away from his face.

You run your fingers through Neuvillette’s hair, smiling at the silver-haired man. “Maybe next time when you’re not sick. After all, you and Wriothesley arrived at the estate not long ago, and look at you two… sick just like the others,” you sigh.

Poor Neuvillette and Wriothesley. The two men have moved into the estate not long ago, and yet both of them end up getting the virus that was going around the abode. The first person that caught the virus was Kaveh, and it passed around to everyone in the abode except for little ole’ you. This was strange because you get sick easily— you don’t have a weak immune system per se, but you have lived with children in the past back in your world, and those children would get you sick whenever they were sick.

“Here’s your medicine. Get some rest after, alright? I know you have a headache right now,” you murmur, handing Neuvillette his medication.

Neuvillette grabs the medication from your hands, and you turn to Wriothesley, who places the trash bin beside his bed and gazes at you with bleary eyes. You prop one hand on your hip, looking at Wriothesley curiously.

“Are you done throwing up?” You ask.

Wriothesley nods.

You tap your fingers on your hips. “Do you think you can take your medications now? If not, I can give them to you later when you don’t feel like you have to throw up again,” you suggest.

Wriothesley shakes his head wordlessly and extends his hand, the palm of his hand facing up as he waits for you to hand the pill tablets to him. You sigh and place the two pill tablets on the palm of his hands, and watch the black-haired man shove the pills into his mouth before chugging the water.

“Wriothesley, please don’t chug the water. You might make yourself throw up again if you do that,” you chide.

Wriothesley places the cup back on the nightstand between his and Neuvillette’s bed, wiping the water droplets from his lips with the back of his hand. You pat his head while he smiles, pressing his head against your stomach. After a few minutes of petting Wriothesley’s hair, you grab the trash can beside Wriothesley’s bed and walk out of the room to empty the trash can, only to stop in your tracks when you hear someone retch and a collective groan.

“[Y/N]! You have more trash cans to empty!”

You sigh, shoulders slumping. Whatever this virus is, you sure hope it stops floating around because you don’t know how much longer you can deal with having to change out trash bags. Especially when you’re not a huge fan of vomiting. It’s a good thing you don’t have emetophobia— that would render you useless if you had it. As long as you’re not the one that’s vomiting, you’re okay with cleaning up after someone else’s vomit since it’s not your first rodeo.

Note: Not gonna lie, as I got closer to completing this mini-fic, I started getting nauseous out of nowhere. But I am okay-ish now! The Gatorade kind of helped me feel better. But yes, this upcoming week is the somewhat lengthier fic of villain!isekai'd!reader since it did win the Tumblr and Discord polls. Speaking of Discord, for those who want to join my Discord server, here is the temporary link to [Zhongli's Abode]. Please make sure to read the server rules to save yourself from getting in trouble (if you like the server, you can stay, chat, and lurk. If not, you can leave if you don't vibe with it ^^). I didn't post a new link last week due to being away on vacation, and I didn't want my mods to feel overwhelmed with new members while I was away. Anyway, to all my new and returning readers, keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

Taglist for my Isekai'd!Reader one-shot series and my overall taglist: @chirikoheina, @yoru-trash, @kaoyamamegami, @deartoru, @luminarymoonlight, @toobytub, @ins4nebish, @bokuto-kinnie, @jadedist, @mompt2, @chalksdreams, @thelost-in-time, @ventisweetheart, @hispasian-otaku, @juuuuuj101010, @samarill, @testsubject0012, @irisxiel, @kazuhaprnt, @lunarapple, @emilymikado, @mabie, @vinnie-w, @n8mareee, @heyimkay, @eliciana, @blesstosuisen, @goldeneclipsedragon, @jjvr4yxc, @sovermike-21-blog, @vox34, @skyyyyackerman, @undecidingfate, @nightlysunn, @faeryminnyx, @simpcreator, @lucifarts-boxers, @thelovebuggs, @urlocalheizousimp, @sunlightstarr (Accounts that I was unable to tag have been removed. Those who don't want to be tagged in certain stories are not tagged in this particular post. Remember to check your settings to see if you're allowing people to mention you/tag you in posts or not)

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[riewritten]

「 MERE DROPLETS CAN STILL MAKE A GLASS FULL 」 • AO3

ERWIN X FEM!READER, ERWIN X YOU, NO Y/N

˚ · .─ SYNOPSIS: Despite blatant awareness of how much you hold him with affection, he will rely entirely on subtleties because he believes it's the farthest he must go. He'll keep doing just that until it piles up, up and up and up, until it brings Erwin on the verge of exploding. After all, mere droplets of water can still make a glass full. | READ CHAPTER 1 HERE

˚ · .─ WORDS: 3.5k

˚ · . ─ TAGS: age gap, angst because of the age gap lol, erwin is a professor/researcher while reader is his research assistant, touch-starved idiots

It was as if your creator just built you to ponder on nothing but the hypothetical—never satisfied, never quenched. Even right now, as Erwin is on the other side of the chaotic welcome party for you and your fellow exchange students, you cannot—for the love of god—settle yourself. Amidst the energy these new people offer before you, you find nothing but exhaustion for fooling yourself. Seeing Erwin, not a country away from you, so reachable, and yet your greedy ego could still not be quenched, made you realize that coming here will never be enough. You need to hold him. You need to be at least an inch apart from his face. Only now did you realize that Levi could be right all along. Following Erwin would do nothing but make things harder.

“So, for the last part of our welcoming party…” 

He needs to know how aware you are of his occasional glances at your table.

“We present our new people to the faculty!

He needs to know your desperation to return the glances he’s been giving you since this damn party started. 

“First off, our exchange students and researchers!”

You think of going home but are unsure if the ‘home’ in question is your new unit in this country, or perhaps—much to Erwin's relief—your homeland.

“One of them still hadn’t adjusted to the new country air, I see!” 

Chortles fill the bar, only then do you realize that the host is talking about you. They’re calling for the newcomers to come up to the stage and introduce themselves. You're the only one who didn’t stand up, lost in the abyss of your repressed yearning. However, just as you’re about to apologize and indulge them, a newcomer whispers to the host.

“Oh! Uh-huh… I get that, I get that,” he nods, then turns to you. Mic on. “Adjusting might indeed take some time, so don’t you worry and just sit well!” 

You curl your eyebrows, unaware of the newcomer's name who whispered to him about your situation. How did he manage to explain it on your behalf when you two don't even know each other?

“Everyone here went through the same, after all! Isn’t that right, folks?" Then the crowd laughed along with him. The girl beside you pats your back in sympathy, then says something along the lines of, "We cried every night for the first three months. It’s okay! We’ll help you adjust.”

Just with that, the newcomers who came upstage were brought back to their seats.

How lovely, if one might say, but you couldn’t feel anything but confusion.

Not long after, the man who whispered walks to you. “Hi, Moblit here,” then reaches his hand, casual, poised, acting as though he's been a longtime friend. “And you are…?"

You certainly had never seen him before. Even way back in your country.

“Ah, apologies. I know you’re wondering what I said to the host who excused you from the newcomer spotlight. Is this seat taken?”

“Indeed, I am surprised,” you chuckle and nod at the spare chair beside you, “and nope, not taken at all. Come here. That’s the least I could do for you after saving my ass back there.”

Moblit chuckles, then out of courtesy, offers a glass before starting. “You were Mr. Smith’s former research assistant, right?”

You almost drop the glass he just filled. Luckily, Moblit’s a bit tipsy to notice your change in demeanor. “M-mr. Smith, you say?”

Moblit hums, “He told me a lot about you, even before you came here.”

So that was the answer. Plain and simple.

“How did you know him?” Your own question immediately drenched you in cold regret. You don't want to talk about him anymore, not when you're yearning so much. Perhaps Jane Austen was right; if one loved the other less than they did, then maybe they'd be able to talk about it more.

“Let’s just say I became your replacement.” Replacement? You almost roll your eyes. “Mr. Smith often tells me he never had a research assistant as capable as you are until he hired me.” Go fuck yourself! “I must admit, reaching the standards you had set for him was quite a challenge.” Because I wasn't supposed to be replaced in the first place!

Suddenly, you feel like you’re five years old again, experiencing the first time you’ve ever felt betrayed by someone outside your family. It feels so petty. Disgustingly petty.

“He’s not very talkative back then,” you trailed, trying to conceal the reeking insecurity by stating a thing you just realized; “I wonder what made him tell you details about me, let alone my tendency to get overwhelmed in crowded, noisy, and new places.”

As if you're competing with Moblit right now and you vehemently deny that you're really replaceable—that the one man you couldn't even get to forget would easily find someone else if he needs to.

“Well, I remember most of his stories because he narrates them entertainingly. You can say we have the same level of homesickness, too, so we instantly clicked despite our age differences."

You hold onto your glass harder, thinking of ways to divert the conversation, because now your mind is flooding you with repeated screams of, ‘Alas, you’re actually not that special! Get over it!’ that it makes you want to bang your head on the wall. You’ve never been this immature before. You, for the longest time, have practiced the cadence and poise of people beyond your age.

Or, perhaps, it was just your mind taking its silly little revenge for suppressing the feelings you thought were unfitting of your character—for fooling everyone including yourself.

"You see,” Moblit calls your name, “the majority of the fellows here, newcomers or not, had Mr. Smith as their mentor while on their master's degree. That's how prime he is."

You’re actually not that special. Get over it. You’re actually not that special. Get over it. You’re actually not that special. Get over it.

"Did Mr. Smith also tell you how he discovered my tendency to get overwhelmed in crowded places?"

"Sort of…? Earlier, he tapped me for a favor. He said you're the former assistant he always talks about. Then he asked me to accompany you amidst the noisy room. He didn't expound," he chuckles then, “it makes me feel special! Seems like I’m entrusted to a task only I could do.”

Years ago, when you went on a fact-finding mission with Erwin and had a night out with the community members, no one but him sensed your tense demeanor. He excused both of you from the crew under the guise of getting some stuff from the van. Only then did he bring you to a much quieter place, place an ice-cold can of coffee on your cheeks, and instruct you to breathe.

The memory intensified the yearning. What if you just pretend nobody else is in the party-riddled room but you and him? In a circumstance where you could run and touch him in a way you'd like to, and no hint of bother would be plastered on his features? 

Your glance, after painstaking hours of holding it in, finally lands at Erwin this time around. And much to your surprise, he's actually staring at you just the same. He averts it quickly as if caught busted, then chugs down his glass before indulging in the professor beside him.

You chugged down your glass too, not minding the immediate woozy feeling it brought. Perhaps the alcohol would lessen the petty, petty yearning.

But in reality, this ‘petty, petty yearning’ you perceived was induced by your repressed childishness increased when you thought of things you could do to cope. This feeling has been making you lethargic since you came here (and worsened, in fact, after that confrontational night with Erwin). And thus, you ask yourself: if I were to sleep with someone, would my exhaustion be quenched?

You continue your conversation with Moblit while pondering so; this time the pressure in your nerves eased quite a bit. Moblit seems to be interested in you—you're not naive to think otherwise—and if that feeling would be of service to you, then you might as well grab it.

As childish as it sounds (and as much as you hate it, too), people of Erwin's age could also do it without being ridiculed, right? That's how Erwin did, after all. With his ex-wife, he did.

You bite your lip, suddenly on the edge again.

“Moblit,” you languidly place your hand on his shoulder, willing to shoot your shot. “Don't you think we should take it someplace—”

“Excuse me,” a familiar voice interrupts you two. Your inebriated mind suddenly sobers up. “They were asking if you guys would like to join the seniors in their car. They're willing to drive you home.”

“Mr. Smith!” Moblit perks up, albeit his posture is slurry. “T-the party's done, eh? Hehe, I got too caught up talking, it seems.”

“Thank you for accompanying her nicely, Moblit.”

“My pleasure,” Moblit, much to your surprise, looks at you quite endearingly. Your flustered face brought his shyness back, though. With a weaker voice, he asks, “So… would you like to…”

“Keep contact?” you smile. “We will! We'll be seeing each other more often at the faculty, after all.”

“O-oh, yes, of course.” Moblit shrinks further. “I meant… uh…”

Of course, you know what he means. It's just that you realized how Moblit, this seemingly pure-hearted boy, deserves to be treated better than being a temporary coping mechanism—something you just realized after having Erwin's presence near you again.

If someone's going to be hurt by you tonight, it should be Erwin alone.

You don't think he completely understands what he has done to you, but he would, surely so, the moment you're done with him.

Or so your drunk self claims.

As if brought by instinct, Erwin's presence finally let you drop your guard, letting the tipsiness take over. You slouch your dizzy head down the table, not bothering to bid Moblit goodbye anymore. It doesn't take long for them to construe that you've finally lost it.

“I'm taking her home,” Erwin offers.

“O-oh, okay then. Good night, Mr. Smith.”

Only the two of you are left now. What a waste, this is the only moment your wish came true, and yet you're already too inebriated to comprehend what's happening.

Erwin gently taps your shoulder and softly nudges it, “Come on. You have to go home.”

“Mhm.”

An immovable heap, that's what you are. Erwin shakes his head in dismay, “You should've been more mindful of your drinking. You're not someplace near home.”

“Should've been more mindful, too…” you hiccup. 

“Come again?”

“Should've been more mindful of confessing that badly to me.”

Oh dear. So you're finally talking about that. “I asked if you wanted to know how I feel, and you said yes.”

“You're a fucking bastard.”

A moment of silence before he finally admits, “Indeed, I am.”

“You'd rather die than try it out with me?” you scoff. “If I'm that unappealing to you, then you should've just—”

“You know that is not what I mean at all,” he sternly interjects. Much to your surprise, Erwin seems to be less tolerant of anyone talking down to you, including yourself if need be.

However, your inebriety has much greater concerns.

“Then what! What do you mean then?!”

One of them includes a scream as loud as that.

The crew looking at Erwin was enough of a signal; get that drunk lass out of here.

“Come on, let's get you air outside—”

“Is it because I'm a child in your eyes?! But I'm not!” your wailing proved otherwise, though. You sobbed so loud one might think Erwin just slapped you. “I've tried too hard to act beyond my age, just so you would see me beyond that! I'm willing to do more, even! And you'd ‘rather die’?! I can't even—” you huff a sob (embarrassingly so, but admittedly a needed one as well). The next words that come out of your mouth are beyond comprehension. 

How thankful the staff were when Erwin grabbed you by the waist and carried you like a sack of rice out of the venue.

Your shouts were short-lived when Erwin gently hoisted you down to the ground. At least you're quite far from the bar now. “Goodness, you've never been this drunk before,” he laments.

“That was the worst rejection I've ever received in my life.”

“It's okay, you're young and—”

“Another of that and I'll slap you!” you exclaim, silencing everyone on the road for a solid ten seconds, it is until Erwin starts laughing, boisterously so.

That laugh was so genuine and divine that it almost sobered you up.

The word is almost.

“What's funny?!”

Erwin is still wiping the tears from his eyes due to too much laughing when he replies, “Nothing. Sorry.” Only when he saw you puffed and about to cry did he finally retract, “Really. Nothing's funny. Don't mind me.”

You don't remember much of what happened afterward aside from walking, talking while walking, zigzag walking, holding his arm while walking, and throwing up on the sidewalk before walking again.

Slowly but surely, the tons of walking has been slowly sobering you up—just enough to comprehend the things you are saying to him again.

You talk about your desire to own things that you never had and how you wanted to walk on paths you had never crossed since childhood. You tell Erwin that had you pursued a degree in hard sciences, you'd wonder what it's like to push an art-related career instead. If you did otherwise, you’d wonder how good life would've been had your decision been different. 

Erwin replies that he knows it—all of it. 

“How? You have not been with me since childhood.”

“Only I would know more than anyone else here. Surely so.”

“I'm asking you why!”

“Because of all the tasks I had taken all my life—” A moment of silence before he continued, as hesitance etched quite loudly in his features. But you resolutely glare at him. And honestly, he's exhausted. You've made him, of all people, spent and exhausted just in a span of a night. “Out of all the tasks I had taken in my life, watching you shine was my most favorite.”

You stop in your tracks, befuddled. Suddenly the cold night is warm. And suddenly the alcohol isn't enough to spike your bravado.

"I know that despite shifting your playlist a generation behind, you still have a relatively newer song on repeat."

And just this usual, usual occurrence of you and Erwin not needing to expound because you already know each other too much for such pleasantries. You know the song he talks about too well. Thus, before you could blatantly gush at his very observant and poignant take, your drunk self immediately starts humming.

"I don't want your pity, concern or your scorn," you start with a humming glare, Erwin chuckles. "I'm calm by my lonesome, I feel right at home!" 

"Indeed you are."

"And when the wind blows, I get to dancing," then you sway your body into the cold night air. You almost stumble to the ground, but Erwin catches you just in time. You don't know if it was just your illusion, but he seems to be smiling and laughing a lot tonight.

If you're not for the alcohol, you'd already be utterly flustered. But you are, in fact, drunk beyond repair, even to the point of starting to sing right after he blurted out such a confession—"My fun is the rhythm of air, when it's prancing! I play with the moon, my only friend!"—and to continue singing even after he's hovering above you, holding your waist so you wouldn't stumble down the ground. "It pushes, it pulls me, I don't pay rent! Fuck! The rent here is so fucking expensive!"

He hums, then brings your body back to its usual standing position, quickly so, as if he owed his whole life to do that instead of doing something he'll regret. "It's much cheaper in our homeland. Told you."

"Fuck you!"

Erwin laughs again.

"No convincing tonight. God, why don't you let me rest from this shitty talk? This night's goal is to make the newcomers happy! To make me happy! And now you're ruining it!"

"Sorry, dear madam. Won't happen again."

Erwin holds onto both of your shoulders to guide you down the pavement, a tinge of grip present to prevent you from zigzagging again.

You nod, then hum the song: “I don't need your company to feel saved. I don't need the sunlight, my curtains don't draw. I don't need objects, to keep or to pawn. I don't want your pity, concern, or your scorn. I'm calm by my lonesome, I feel right at home. You repeat this interlude again and again, as if every line is a dialogue in itself, something to be said to the man guiding you down the pavement. You repeat it again and again until Erwin does the humming alongside your imploring croons.

"I can see now why you couldn't let go of that song despite your preference in generation."

"You see it now?"

He hums.

"Really?"

He nods again, then looks you in the eye. It's not as bright as earlier. If anything, there's a tinge of poignancy present in his hues.

"Then why are you still looking at me in pity?"

The sudden question surprised him. "I'm not…?"

"You are. You still think it's such a pity that I like someone like you, that I'm wasting my youthfulness in this shitshow."

Erwin stops.

“I like you, Erwin. I think I'll hold onto this feeling for the rest of my life.”

This time, you don't sound that drunk anymore. The only indicator Erwin could have was your fluttering eyes—one he couldn't stare at for too long due to the suddenness of your statement.

“I think I'll hold onto this feeling, but it's okay. I will be responsible for my feelings—” and you walk to him until you're inches apart. You point to his heart. Three times. “—the same way you'll be responsible for yours.”

And for the first time in his life, Erwin is too lost for words. He couldn't even pretend he still had the upper hand right this very moment.

“You love me and I love you. I want to be with you, but you don't want to be with me. But it's good. It's okay. It's alright! In fact, I'm glad we were able to clear things up!”

Your face is saying otherwise.

“And—I mean it when I say this so please—you must let go of your messianic complex and let me take charge of my own feelings as I should. Worry about yours. I don't care however you would. Your feelings only start being my business once you want to be with me. Understood?”

Erwin calls your name, seemingly wanting to negate your proposition. 

“Say you understand!”

But Erwin must know it by now, this tone of voice of yours isn't something you use when you want counterarguments. He could only smile and nod, “I understand.”

“Good,” you turn your back and start walking again, albeit swaying. “See you around, Erwin.”

Erwin knows you're not far from here, but he's also aware you're not capable of bringing yourself home without the possibility of falling into a manhole.

Moreover, there is a problem on his end…

“Then, may I—” he tries to stop himself, only to no avail. “Right now, I feel like doing something that would act upon my feelings but I'm worried it'll rattle you further.”

There.

There it goes.

“All this time, you’ve been acting upon your feelings for me without asking me—all for the sake of not rattling me. However, most of the time it just ends up frustrating me in every way possible.”

“Oh,” Erwin is only starting to see it now. “I apologize.”

“I'm not asking for apologies,” you flatly respond. When you turn to him again, your face looks like you've sobered up all at once. “What do you want to do, Erwin?”

“I want to usher you inside, have you drink something that’d lessen tomorrow's hangover, tuck you to your bed nicely, and ensure you're asleep before I leave.”

“That's all?”

“And more,” he chuckles defeatedly. Perhaps the fact that you're drunk is also giving him the needed bravado to be blunt. “But if I were to list the things I'm most desperate to do right now, I think what I said is enough.”

“Don't you think it would've helped us both if you started doing this years ago?” And now, Erwin could say your cries are genuinely in your character this time around, unlike your wailing earlier at the bar. “God, you're very unbearable. All this effort to be mature enough only for you to handle your feelings like a cowardly dick.” However, your language is still steered by the drinks you've had.

“Loving you made me fear a lot of things I never thought I'd fear before.”

“Have you ever feared hurting me, Erwin?”

“Still do. Always would.”

“And yet that's all you've ever done. Keep being ruled by fear and all you're gonna do is hurt me until the day I die.” When you turned your back to him again, he knew you could finally bring yourself home without his help. “Good night, Mr. Smith.”

<<< PREV CHAPTER

can't believe i took ALMOST two years before publishing the needed continuation when I've been wanting to write it so bad. my god. My God.

happy with how it turned out tho. sorry guys my erwin needs to be The Pathetic Old Man for a bit for the drama. he will reclaim his future in the epilogue (aka next chapter) :)

JOIN or LEAVE THE TAG LIST☆ @watyousayin @collinnmckinley (I LOVE YOU TY FOR WAITING) @aeanya @xiaotopia @cadenza-damour @grimistheangerinmystares @suntizme @rinamars @inkofteyvat @onasvigo @s0m4-sh4rk @xeiin-n @chxrry-writes

[descendantsramblings]

Thank you baby, sorry for messing up that post the first time, I might be stupid, so your ask is a touch cut off on both sides

Anyway, back to the show

And I decided that this takes place in 1985 even though we don't have a set year so I could reference '84 movies. Do y'all even know what a VCR is? Is that gonna confuse y'all? I had blues clues on a bright orange VHS as a kid and I miss it every day.

Scales

Morgie le Fay x Reader

Pronouns used: they/them/theirs

Summary: Morgie could think of about 100 things he’d rather do that coparent a dragon with Merlin Academy’s sweetheart

Warnings: Morgie is a little OOC due to being in a bad mood (and hating dragons), Swearing, reader is implied to be shorter than Morgie (idk how tall Peder is and don't really care so sorry if I made y'all reallll short with that), this reads pretty platonic so sorry if that's not what you wanted, Reader calls Morgie "Daddio" but i assure you it's not how you think

Word Count: 3.5K

   There was no class that the sorcerer hated more than “Care of Magical Creatures”. The only magical creature he had any interest in was himself, he was a lovely magical creature, a shape shifter. He knows how to care for himself, what other magical creatures could he have to learn to care about? But this? This just made the class even worse. Of course, Merlin would clock him on how often he was skipping the day that Dragon Parenting week started. Maybe graduating wasn’t worth it, he could fail his senior year, he’d be okay with that. If it meant he didn’t have to pretend to care about a dreadfully scaled little creature, he could fail. He’ll graduate next year, that’s fine by him. Who cares what his dreadfully evil mother would say about him failing? He does, he cares about it. Guess Morgie is stuck here.

   Madam Harleen is wandering around her classroom, a bright pink clipboard in her hands as she does. “Now, one big part of this project is making sure that you have a randomly assigned partner. I took the liberty of using a RNG to make sure that each of you were fairly assigned to your co-parent for the week.” His eyes roll back into his head, of course she would. As long as he didn’t get Bridget Hearts or either of her exhausting little friends, Morgie could care less. The last thing he needed was to deal with Uliana complaining about him hanging around one of them while he was caught up with handling a creature so absolutely dreadful. Maybe they could find a cool one, if they went first they could. Morgie had peaked into the box of dragon hatchlings as he passed Madam Harleen’s desk, there were some pretty cool looking ones. As long as he didn’t get stuck with the scrawny little purple and orange hatchling he would be okay.

   “Mr. le Fay and Mx. (L/n),” Madam Harleen is obviously proud of the duo as she says it, looking between the two teens. Of course, who else would Morgie be paired with except for sunshine itself? (Y/n) (L/n) with their sweetheart personality and gentle hands and adoring smiles. The only royal in this entire school who was somehow nicer than Bridget. Today was on its way to ending him. Or at least his reputation, he may as well just go ahead and ask Hades to send him to the underworld. There was no way that Uliana would ever let him hear the end of this, if he could even get through it. Yet here they come, with that stupid bouncy walk and the gentle smile as they make their way to his side. Falling beside him with one of those big sugar sweet smiles. “So,” they reach out a hand for him to shake, “Are you so entirely excited for this project like I am? Because I love dragons, they’re the absolute cutest.” As they realize he isn’t going to shake their hand they draw it back, letting it fall weakly at their side. “Not really.” A frown meets their lips momentarily before something seems to flicker through their eyes. Frown quickly replaced by another excited smile, “Well, if you don’t like dragons, does that mean I can pick our hatchling? There was one I absolutely had my eyes on when we walked in.” 

   Hazel eyes roll in their sockets, a hand waving the excitable royal off, “Yeah, sure , whatever you want. Just don’t make me get up.” What Morgie is pretty sure is a squeal slips from their lips, (Y/n) bouncing out of their seat and over to the box up front, leaning over it with this big sweet smile. It could almost be admirable, something that Morgie would never admit out loud. The person who swallowed the sun in real life. An actual picture of the love of life, painted out right before you. There was something about them that was almost beautiful, or at least they could be. Maybe, if they weren’t coming back to him with the scrawniest little purple and orange hatchling cuddling against their chest. Its head against their chest as if it was listening to their heartbeat. Maybe it was, Morgie was almost sure that their heartbeat had to somehow be prettier or sweeter than other people’s. His sounded different, surely there were other people who had different heartbeats too. Perhaps that was just due to him being a shapeshifter? 

   “Okay this little tag on his collar says he’s a boy, isn’t that fun?” Morgie looks the dragon up and down, nose scrunching with distaste. “Honestly I always saw myself as more of a girl dad.” His comment earns him an eye roll and a giggle, “You know, Morgie, you’re really taking all of the fun out of this.” Now he’s the one laughing, glancing between the royal and the dragon. It hisses at him, a minor puff of fire coming with the sound which makes the boy jump, laughter dying for a look of shock. “There was never any fun in all of this. And that thing hates me.” “He’s not a thing, he’s our son, at least for a week.” The comment makes the boy look even more disgusted, staring at them as if looking for the second head they seemed to be growing. “He’s a pet at best, we do not have a child together. We will never have a child together. Don’t word it like that.” 

                               ╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

   He’d been away from (Y/n) and that dreadful little creature for a few hours now. If Morgie was lucky, they would recognize he was ignoring them and just take all the work, that was his hope at least. But of course, since Merlin and maybe even the gods above hate him, sunshine incarnate found him while he was sitting with his friends. Calling his name like a song as they come up behind him, that awful little dragon curled up against their chest. He pinches his eyes closed, head falling back with a groan as they approach, that perfect little smile on their face. “Okay, so I had him in all of my classes today and I already went and bought dragon food and things of the like since you were nowhere to be found. So I think it’s more than fair for you to take Viper for the first night, and I’ll come get him when your classes are over tomorrow for my night with him.” 

   Morgie doesn’t mean to let his jaw fall the way it does, his intention wasn’t the way his brows raise. But no one spoke to his friends like that, outside of them- they could actually be impossibly bossy with each other. “Yeah, no thanks,” he attempts to turn back to the poker game before them when he feels a hand snag his shoulder, forcing him to stay facing them. Okay, maybe sunshine was more of a rainbow. There was definitely some rain hidden behind them. “No. You aren’t scary enough to trick me into doing all your work for you. You get Viper tonight, I am not doing everything for you. I might be friends with her, but I am not Bridget. No one is pushing me around.” Maybe rain wasn’t the right word, fire. This was fire, and Morgie might be able to get something out of fire. 

   “Viper? I don’t remember agreeing to that.” There’s this odd look of satisfaction on their face as (Y/n) drops the dreadful collection of purple scales into his lap. “I thought you would like it, serpent boy. You’re both snake themed.” Of course they thought like that, why would he ever think otherwise. “Have fun with our kid, Daddio, I’ll collect him tomorrow! He better be alive and well,” Something about their voice is almost mocking, it draws a smirk to the boy’s face. Maybe Merlin Academy’s sweetheart had some tricks up their sleeve. Less of an angel than people thought, huh? He looks down to the dragon, the thing glaring up at him from its perch on his lap. “Well, I bet they’d be mad if I released you, wouldn’t they?” His hand reaches towards it and the dragon snaps its jaws, Morgie quickly recoiling. Wonderful, it hates him. 

                            ╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

   The last three days have been torture for Morgie le Fay, and not in the fun masochist way. (Y/n) (L/n) was exhausting, nothing he did was right. Of course, to be fair, nothing that he tried to do was correct. He knew that. Morgie had no interest in parenting a scaled flame thrower. He hated that thing, and Viper hated him right back. If it bit him one more time he was positive he would lose a hand. Morgie was good with animals, of the normal variety. The type of animals he could shift into were wonderful. But the only villain that the dreadful thing liked was Maleficent, the girl holding it more often than not when they were all together. Morgie likes to believe it was because she could turn into one of the dreadful things, and honestly he was starting to see her as less likable because of it. 

  But, he didn’t have to see it today. Tonight was (Y/n)’s night with it, he was free for just one night. No fights in the morning, no loss of sleep due to an overgrown lizard hoping on his feet and biting them.  At least, he was supposed to be free. So why was sunshine standing in his doorway, holding the creature he oh so dearly despised? Morgie drags a hand down his face, letting out a groan. “Why are you here, (Y/n)?” The perky smile they give him would be comforting if he wasn’t positive that they were planning something. “Well, Morgie, I think we got off on the wrong foot, all three of us,” they force their way into the dorm as they speak, that smile never faltering. “You, me, and the overgrown lizard?” “Baby dragon.” “Whatever,” he sighs, leaning against his door as he takes in the sight. They stand in his dorm like they’re meant to be there, smile ever so warm and bright.  Sunshine in the dark, villainous room. It was nauseating. 

    “So anyway, I thought that maybe the three of us should try bonding. I can’t tell for sure but I think that Viper agrees with me. So I am going to leave him here, and then I’ll be back with stuff for the three of us to have a movie night.” “Absolutely not,” Morgie scoffs, staring at them as if they had gone and lost their mind. “No, it’ll be fun Morgie. Plus everyone knows that you and Hook have a VCR hidden in here and I just bought ‘Nightmare on Elm Street’ on VHS.” He stares at them, waiting patiently for them to do something that lets him call their bluff. But they’re smiling, toying with their fingers as the dragon sits beside them, pawing at their leg. “You have Elm Street on VHS? You like horror movies?” They nod, an eager and fast motion that he was sure made them dizzy. “Yeah, who doesn’t? I also have jiffy pop and cold cokes. If you’re down that is,” there’s this longing hope in their eyes that seems to make his stomach churn. “You, little sunshine and rainbows. Mx. Giggles and cupcakes and tutoring, like horror? Like genuinely like horror movies?” “Is that so hard to believe?” It was. They were the picture of perfect and proper. Shouldn’t they be all over “Sixteen Candles” and “Footloose”? This would let him call their bluff, surely they were just trying to look good in front of a villain. 

   “Alright, go get it then.” A squeal comes out of their lips, the royal literally bouncing on their toes as they clap in excitement. “Perfect, you watch Viper and I will be right back!” They’re running out of the door before the boy can argue, typical. The little dragon jumping from where he was in the center of the room to the door, clawing at it with little barks and whines as if it was a puppy. He was kind of cute like that, not in the way an actual puppy would be, but still kinda cute. He’d actually gotten a little bit bigger since the two of them took him in, all (Y/n)’s doing Morgie was sure. They had been the one to pick out the food, and seemingly the only one who could get the thing to do any tricks. It could care less about listening to Morgie. The sorcerer was beginning to wonder if this was how Maleficent’s mother felt, having a little dragon refuse to listen because it hates you. That would be something. 

   “Get off the door,” the boy groans, throwing himself on his bed. It doesn’t seem to care what he said. “Dragon, stop,” he groans, shaking his head as it seems to get more aggressive. “Dragon! Stop scratching the door!” Though he can’t see it, Morgie can feel the way that his eyes flash into snake eyes, something that only seemed to be involuntary when he was angered. Why did that stupid lizard need his project partner so badly? What made it hate him from the second they met? This is ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. He was a sorcerer of dark magic, a shapeshifter, that stupid animal should like him more than Mx. Sunshine and lollipops. What is this thing’s problem? 

   When the door’s catch clicks, Morgie lets out a soft sigh, thankful that (Y/n) was back to make the creature stop. “What the fuck?” Hook hollers, jumping back as the dragon hatchling shoots past him, somewhere between running and flying as it tries to get away from them. “Mate, your awful little pet got out,” he snaps, making a b-line for his bed as he strips from his jacket. He hated that thing. Morgie was absolutely positive that he hated that thing, so why is his stomach dropping to his feet? In a flash, Morgie had clambered to his feet, dashing to the door and snatching it back open. 

    (Y/n) wasn’t expecting Morgie to snatch the door open in their face, his own a mix of terror and shame. “Morgie, what in the world-” They don’t get to finish before he snatches the VHS and snacks from their hands dropping them on the table the boys kept by the door before pushing past them. “The dragon wouldn’t stop trying to get to you and then Hook opened the door and the little thing got out.” “You let him get out?” They could feel fear running through their chest as they realized their new companion, their biggest grade of the semester, was godmother knows where. This was bad, this was insanely fucking bad. “Hook let him out, not me!” “This is so fucking bad,” they nearly whimper, staring down the hall the opposite way from where they came to see if maybe Viper would still be visible. “You swear?” 

    They turn to him as if he’s crazy. “You are focused on the wrong thing right now, le Fay. Now come on,” their hand encircles his wrist, dragging the boy down the hall. He would normally fight it, but they looked so scared, and he felt so guilty, so his feet keep pace with theirs. Where do dragons hide anyway? Where would a dragon go if looking for them? Not their dorm, it went the wrong way for that. “Courtyard,” it's straight forward, gentler than he’d ever spoken to them as they pause for a second. “What?” “We hand Viper off in the Courtyard. If he’s trying to find you, that’s where he is.” A smile breaks across their lips and for a moment they let them both stop to breathe. “What?” It only gets bigger, all bright and sunny again, “You called him ‘him’, and his name. You haven’t done that all week.” He stares at them, his own little smile cracking out across his lips, “Yeah, well, it matters to you.” (Y/n) stands on their toes, tapping the tip of Morgie’s nose, “I think we’re growing on you, serpent boy.”  He hums, rolling his eyes but he can’t break the smile, “Yeah, whatever you say. Now come on, let’s go get our dragon.” 

   The two should have let go of each other by now, they know that. Yet (Y/n)’s hand stays firmly on Morgie’s wrist as they make their way to the courtyard. Both teenagers were hyper aware of the fact that something had changed between them, some little weight lifted from both of their shoulders. Not that they’d mention it, not now anyway. They aren’t supposed to exist in the same world, the week would be over and so would any idea of friendship that might be blooming in their minds. A villain and someone who was friends with Bridget could never be friends. That was law. They get to the courtyard in a comfortable silence, the only one that had ever existed between them. Of course, the little dragon wouldn’t just be out in the open, they should have both known that. But that doesn’t stop (Y/n) from getting a little anxious, eyes whipping around the yard wildly in a panic. 

   “Morgie, he’s not here. He’s not here, we lost him. We’re gonna fail and I’m going to lose him. This is awful.” He doesn’t realize he’s reaching out to them until his hand lands adoringly on their shoulder, forcing the royal to turn to him. Once they are, his hand slides to rest under their chin, tilting it upwards. “Hey, he’s probably just hiding because he got scared when you weren’t here. Let’s split up, check the bushes on either side of the yard. I bet you half the bag of haribos in my room that he’s just curled up somewhere.” They nod, taking a deep breath as they step away from him, turning to go check the left side of the courtyard. Leaving him with the right, and the speed he makes towards the bushes shocks even him. This little dragon meant far too much to them, he couldn’t be the thing that let it get lost. Even if it was Hook’s fault, in a way it was his, wasn’t it? He never tried to care for Viper, never tried to bond with it. So of course, he wouldn’t want to be around the sorcerer. He caused this, and if they couldn’t find him, Morgie would own up to that. Maybe Madam Harleen would give (Y/n) a do over? 

   Not that they would need one, when he checks his third bush in the courtyard, something hisses at him. A tiny puff of fire coming with the sound. “Viper,” the name comes out on a sigh of relief as he reaches down for the little dragon. Delicately lifting him up and against his own chest. “You had us worried sick, you know that?” At the comment, (Y/n) turns around. Their face lights up as they stare at the little dragon, the hatchling fighting in Morgie’s arms to get to his preferred owner. Sunshine itself bounces up to Morgie, relieved and excited hands reaching out for him to hand Viper over. He waits until they’re close enough and softly slip the hatchling into their hands. Watching with a strange adoration as they nuzzle their nose against the top of Viper’s head. “Don’t you ever do that again.” Like a mother scolding their child who ran off in the mall they reprimand the little creature, smiling up at Morgie when they’re satisfied. “Thank you.” 

   “Thank me? I’m the reason he got out.” “But, you cared enough to help me look for him. So whether it was for him, or me, or our grade. Thank you.” He smiles back, reaching out to scratch Viper between the wings. “Yeah, well you can make it up to me with movie night.” They smirk, raising their eyebrows, “Maybe. Depends on what type of Haribos you’re hiding in that room of yours.” Of course they would harp on that, the creature of sugar and sun that they were. “Happy colas, but if I pull them out and Hook sees he will for sure demand that I share with him.” He’s met with a hum, and a playful glint in their eyes as they seem to be plotting something. “Yeah well, we can hide them between us. I’m sure you’ll end up clinging to me anyway. I bet you’re a bitch when it comes to horror movies.” He should be offended, he know he should, but instead Morgie’s body is racked with laughter. “Oh you do swear! Who would have thought? Does your mommy know you act like that?” “Oh shut up!” They’re laughing too, smirk falling to a real laugh. “Does Bridget know you act like that? I thought I was the bully here.” He catches a playful smack to the shoulder, laughing as they grab his hand, “Come on. Let’s go before the Jiffy pop gets all gross.”

[endataraxia]

sage forest mental institution.

chapter 4. in which you dissociate the day away. word count: 3.5k note: im not gonna lie at this point this fic is so bad i'm gonna label it crack so at least it seems like it's bad on purpose /hj cw: dissociation. descriptions of domestic abuse. READ NO FURTHER IF YOU CAN'T it's the paragraph literally under here.

Dissociation. It’s a pretty foreign feeling to you, and yet it’s so familiar. You can’t place where you felt this before, almost like deja vu, but with an aftertaste of impending doom. It was a topic you’d researched extensively back in your old home—no, house. Scouring the breadths and depths of the Internet was your entire coping mechanism back in the day and your occasional background music would be the smashing of glass, your mother crying and your father’s yelling reverberating across the walls. You liked to call it something of a live, interactive band, because sometimes if you were lucky your father would come barging into your room in his drunken anger, grab you by the hair and throw you against the bed, or the wall if you were particularly unlucky.

Sometimes you wished you’d be able to cut your hair short. But your mother would threaten you with a kitchen knife, crying and screaming that she only had one daughter and she would not have a son. Your poor (?) mother had an innate fear of men, so you’d understand where she was coming from, but you hated her nonetheless, and that hatred still resides in your heart.

“…not enough, you can ask for more. We should be able to lend you some of ours.”

You blink and jerk back to life.

“Are you okay.” It’s more of a perfunctory sentence than a genuine question. Hoodie gazes almost blankly at you.

“Um. Yeah. Sorry.” You try to keep your answer as short as possible. When faced with law enforcement officers, it is advised to keep your answers as short as possible and not to give away any information that’s not required of you, is what you always read on Reddit under r/getoutoftrouble or whatever it was named. The “sorry” at the end is just insurance for your life.

Masky gives you a look, then returns to droning on about household rules. Stay out of others’ ways, don’t play with Ben unless you’re looking for nightmare fuel, stay especially away from Jeff, don’t eat anything in the freezer that’s labelled because those are human organs for EJ’s consumption, don’t talk to EJ about his diet (which you already did and are now concerned for your life), and don’t go looking for The Operator, or as the proxies are to address him, their master.

Sometime halfway through showing you around the mansion, each proxy would disappear one at a time, leaving the other two still in their ridiculous hospital getups to continue bringing you around. The first to go was Hoodie, who came back in, like his namesake, a yellow hoodie. The second was Masky, who came back in a tan jacket. Just as you thought they’d both just let Toby walk around in his hospital gown, he left, and came back in a brown-and-blue hoodie and orange goggles sitting atop his head, his cheek bandage nowhere to be seen. It was only then that you saw his cheek wound.

You still stare at it now and then, the wound going all the way through to expose his teeth, leaving you wondering just what the hell this boy has been, going so far as to bite his cheek so often that there’s now nothing left to bite.

Besides those few moments, the house tour, which is actually not as fun as it sounds because you are at the mercy of these people, is a blur. The only thing comforting you is the fact that you got your own room, which leads you to believe that they’ll keep you alive, at least for a while.

“Lock your door just in case, so Jeff and EJ can’t come in. Though the Operator is powerful and could easily guard you himself, he’s never explicitly stated that you will be protected from harm. He only needs you alive,” explains Masky. You appreciate that they’re looking out for you, though it’s not straight-up protection. Still, it’s a luxury; they could just leave you to fend for yourself.

“We’ll be keeping spare keys to your room. Don’t try anything. I’ll break both your legs, reset them, then break them again,” reiterates Masky. But honestly, you’re far past trying anything. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Well, the last part probably isn’t true, but it’s either you maintain your status or gain something. Either way, your life can’t get worse…unless they torture you, or you start hoping for some unrealistic shit like being able to escape for freedom. That, you could lose. Hope is a precious thing, and you’d rather not conjure it out of nowhere just to lose it. You’re given food, shelter and clothing. You can’t get greedy.

You next find yourself in The Operator’s office. Again, you have no idea what to expect; this whole day has been an absolute mindfuck. But this office isn’t anything fancy, nor is it bare-bones. It’s just…a desk, a chair, and…nothing else. You either can’t process what’s going on in your state of dissociation, or you’re not meant to perceive what it is. Indeed, The Operator is powerful, and can alter your perception of things.

You aren’t given a seat to sit in.

Leave us, he commands his three proxies, and they retreat. You wonder if they’re willingly working for him.

The Operator’s hands are large, fingers bony and fingernails extending into claws. They’re placed on the table, fingers interlinked with each other. You’re reminded of a Disney villain or something equally cheesy, but you remember that if he has telepathic powers then he can probably read your mind or something, and your life is in his hands, so you immediately cut off that train of thought.

You, begins the voice in your head, are to keep my proxies from insanity. If they fall to it… He leans forward. Static begins to fill your mind, and you feel your own sanity slipping from your grasp. You see red. You lose control of your body.

Just as quickly as it appeared, it disappears. You’re on the floor.

It would be in your best interests to keep their insanity at bay. You are hereby allowed to administer whatever form of treatment you believe to be most effective. However, he pauses here, I see through my proxies’ eyes and ears. I will know whether you try to defy me. That is all.

Before you even manage to say “huh” in a really, really dumb voice, a door appears in front of you, identical to the one that leads to the office. Just as you wonder how the fuck he made a door appear, you realize that you’re outside his office, and you feel the presence of the three men behind you. You have no time to think about whether or not he was being literal. If he wasn’t, that was a really shitty riddle.

Slowly, you stand up, carefully brushing any dust off your uniform before realizing the interior of the mansion is surprisingly clean and you’re just obnoxiously brushing nothing off you. Saving yourself from second-hand embarrassment from your own actions, you cut that train of thought off in favor of wondering how much information has been imparted to his proxies. And anyway, what the fuck is this Operator guy on? You want to believe that he actually gave a shit about these three, but don’t want to jump to conclusions. Given the authority to administer whatever treatment you want, you’ll be able to extract information out of them.

As you wonder what kind of treatment The Operator meant for you to administer, you flick through multiple options in your mind. Talking to them, saving them from insanity…

Therapy?

No fucking way, some faceless fuck brought you all the way here to give his three little servants therapy.

At this thought, you howl with unrestrained laughter. Laughter containing your amusement at the situation, containing your despair at this situation, your confusion, your anger, everything. You just wanted a goddamn normal life. Now you have to give therapy? Damn, you really just found something floating in thin air for you to lose. Your prospects of having a normal life.

God damn, you really are God’s strongest soldier.

God favors me, God favors me, God favors me, you try to convince yourself.

“Ahem.”

Oh fuck, you forgot that there are three whole ass men behind you.

“Oh. Uh, yeah. Ahaha.” You highly doubt that you’ve said anything intelligent today, so you try to convince yourself that it’s okay and it’s valid and whatnot. Oh yeah, so very valid. But aside from that, you have no idea how to break it to these three that you’ve been brought here alive just so you can give them therapy. Knowing most people’s reactions to therapy in your area, namely “Therapy is for pussies and the crazy,” you wonder how horribly this can go, so you briefly consider not telling them anything and just hitting them up all like, “Hey, any pressing issues that are stressing you out right now? We can talk about your feelings.”

One thing at a time, you remind yourself, before asking, “Any spare rooms around here?”

For better or worse, they show no signs of judging. Toby’s shoulders jerk every so often, fidgeting with his hands and peeling skin off his dry lips, but aside from that, he doesn’t seem to be judging you either.

“Yes,” replies Hoodie. “Come.” As he nods at his companions, signaling something that leads them to leave you both, you hope this spare room isn’t right next to The Operator’s office.

Thankfully, it isn’t. It is, however, run-down.

Hoodie flicks the light switch on, and it’s…an interrogation room? White walls, greenish-blue tiled floors, a mirror behind the table, a rickety old chair and what seems to be handles on the table for handcuffs to slip through. Upon noticing your visible confusion, he speaks. “This room is the only spare we have at the moment. We don’t really use it anymore. Nowadays we take them straight to the dungeons.” You have no idea how to respond.

“Okay.” Is what you settle for. You want to bang your head on the metal interrogation table. “Is there, like, a store room or something? For furniture and decorations and whatnot…” Nice save.

The man before you pauses. “No.” Then he adds, “Write down what you need. We’ll get it for you.” You briefly wonder how they’re going to procure what you need, but then decide that you probably don’t want to know.

After Hoodie leaves, telling you he’ll get you a pen and paper, you sit down on the old chair and make yourself comfortable after making sure it won’t break beneath your weight. For the first time today, you’re left alone and able to think about all that has transpired today.

“So I tried to work my job.”

Uh-huh, replies your second inner monologue, like an angel and a devil, except both are now equally confused.

“My coworker tells me I don’t have to do shit and then skips off.”

That’s right.

“Then I see a patient and try to carry out my job.”

Yep.

“It was probably not a patient. Wait, it probably was. Wait, what the fuck am I gonna do? I just let my responsibilities escape.”

You’re a victim of kidnapping and technically off the grid. Society and rules don’t apply here.

“Right. Anyways, he tries to kill me.”

Yes.

“Then this dude named Masky saves my ass. And then him and the not-patient threaten me and manage to free their friend, then I shove them all back into the cell because I’m so fucking smart.”

Yeah.

“Then I come across a nice guy. He’s not a nice guy, he’s a cannibal. He saves me from not-patient, then tries to eat me. Then a floating Link cosplayer pops up, and I have no idea where he is now, and tells all of us that I’m supposed to be alive. Then they pop me into a truck and drive off, and I have no idea where I am right now, or what time it even is.”

Correct, check, all accounted for. Except you don’t know what time it is, where you are, and whether you’ll live to see the next day.

It’s now that a pen and paper slide over to you, and now you’re worried about how much Hoodie has heard.

“…when did you get here?” You ask meekly.

“You have no idea where you are and what time it is. It’s 5.57pm. You’re free to use whatever you need in the kitchen. And give us the list by 9pm,” He states flatly.

Okay, those answer all your questions. It could be a lot worse, like an actual kidnapping where you’re given absolutely zero information.

Hoodie slips out of the doorway, expression as unrevealing as ever, and closes the door. You don’t hear the lock click, a silent signal that you’re free to leave this room if you want. You really wonder why they’re not straight-up restraining you right now, but then again, how do you give someone therapy when you’re all tied up? And why even would you drag a rando to give your proxies therapy? Huge plot hole. Even if you were asylum staff, there’s no guarantee you’re actually able to treat them, especially since staff there were notorious for poor handling of patients…

You come to the conclusion that no way in hell The Operator, such a powerful entity, would call on someone as incompetent as the average asylum worker to treat his own proxies. He would choose based on merit and skill, but how would he even determine that? Does he have an archive of every single human in existence or something?

Doesn’t matter. You finish up the list, which is probably more akin to a half-hearted scrawl of the bare bones you’ll need for the office. Bean bags, a table and a carpet large enough to cover up these ugly goddamn tiles. And that’s pretty much it, aside from some simple writing equipment— files for each member of the household (save for The Operator, you fear at the idea of having to treat him) and a couple stacks of foolscap paper, along with some pens. You also throw in a sketchbook, pencils and erasers because why not. It’s time to learn a new motherfucking skill while you’re in this hellhole.

You’re pretty much only “awake”, that is to say, not spaced out when you try to find your way down to the kitchen. Given your dissociated state earlier, you expect not to be able to find it and instead get lost so fantastically you end up in the backrooms or something, but your muscle memory seems to bring you to the place you actually intend to be, conversation flooding the hall from inside the kitchen. It’s faint, but it gets louder as you approach. Very, very loud.

“Tobias Erin Rogers, I swear to fuck if you don’t come down here right now—”

“WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO, HUH?”

“I will kick your fucking ass!”

“NICE TRY, GRANDPA, I DON’T FEEL PAIN!” A whistle and a whoop.

You’re met with the sight of Toby perched on the top of the refrigerator, Masky’s face an angry red (because he’s literally angry), hands on his hips like he’s a 40-year-old mother scolding her child, and Hoodie pinching the bridge of his nose. All heads turn to you the moment you approach, which is kind of…no, absolutely fucking creepy.

You stand there. You have absolutely no idea what to do. Hell, you’re hungry as fuck, but if it saves you from awkwardness you’ll just grab a glass of tap water and run.

“Hey, Y/N!” Toby chirps like a baby bird, which is very strange given his size as a full-grown adult male.

“Uh…hey, Toby,” you choke out, forcing a smile as you awkwardly shuffle between the men to grab yourself something, anything, to pretend you know what you’re doing and you’re totally not panicking right now. Yes, you are composed, in control.

Then a loud THUD sounds behind you and you feel a presence very close behind you.

“Whatcha doooooin?”

You never, EVER expected to hear that annoying phrase after you left elementary school.

“I’m. I’m, uhhhh…” You chide yourself for literally not having spoken a single proper sentence today. God, you’re so off your game.

“You want the chili, right? I gotchu!” He speaks so fast, it’s a wonder he doesn’t trip over his words, though he does stutter a fair bit. A stupidly lanky arm reaches up over your head to the highest shelf and grabs you a jar of chili, then plops it into your hands. You stare at it and contemplate if you should take the entire thing and book it out of this situation. Fuck your spice tolerance, there are two men who are currently definitely staring at you right now, making a fool of yourself.

“For god’s sake, Toby, why the fuck would she want the fucking chili?” Groans Masky from the corner of the kitchen. He probably shifted his position since his little monkey brother jumped down from the fridge.

“I like it! I want some!”

“Not everyone eats it straight out of the jar, Toby.” Deadpans Hoodie.

Your head whips around to face the boy.

TOBY EATS IT STRAIGHT OUT OF THE FUCKING JAR????

He grins innocently at you. “I can—mm, fuck—can’t feel pain!” He proclaims it like he’s won the Nobel Prize for it. Your concern for this boy grows by the second.

“That’s…good to know, Toby,” you reply, then curse yourself for being an in-real-life dry texter. “What can you feel, then?”

The boy seems to think for a bit. “Hmmm, I can feel pressure… and I can’t feel tem-whu-woo, fuck—tempera—woo!…” His brows furrow as he concentrates, but you feel some frustration coming off him too.

“Take your time, Toby,” you reassure, now feeling a genuine human connection with this boy. Maybe he’s not that bad. “You can do it.”

“Temper-rature!” His face lights up at his success. “Temperrature!—woo!” He throws his fists up in the air as celebration and you feel an impossibly strong urge to protect this boy.

“Well done, Toby.” You find yourself smiling at him, surprisingly, which causes him to gasp.

“Y-y-you see that, guys? Ha, Y/N’s smiling! A-a-at me!” He beams, then wraps his arms around your waist, lifting you up into a painfully tight hug.

“Ah… Toby, too tight…” You wince. He stutters an apology and puts you down, then sprints away.

Now, you’re no genius, but you know something’s up with that boy. You look to the other two for, hopefully, an answer.

Hoodie answers your unasked question. “Toby has something called BPD. Borderline personality disorder. It tends to affect his relationship with other people,” he states, but doesn’t elaborate. A test of your knowledge?

“I see,” is your short reply; you’re still processing the information you were provided first-hand. Should you write this down? “Thank you, Hoodie.”

“Call me Brian,” he corrects gently.

“Oh. Brian it is, then.” Huh, he doesn’t seem so touchy with his real name, unlike Masky. “And that’s Tim,” he says, nodding at Masky. Okay, guess not. This time, he elaborates. “You’re the only human from normal society for miles here. You may as well call us by our…human names.” Must be a way to preserve their sanity, then.

“I’m Y/N. Nice to formally meet you,” you say with a polite smile and an extension of your hand. Brian takes it and shakes your hand, a firm grasp on it and a hint of practice in it. This guy knows what he’s doing. “And you as well, Tim.” It’s his turn to shake your hand, and he grunts and shakes it too, with a significantly stronger hold, just enough for it not to hurt. Youch. Must be the aggressive type.

With a polite nod of acknowledgement, you confidently leave the kitchen, before stopping in your tracks.

You forgot your food.

plot twist you're an underqualified therapist ig. part 5 coming soon. chapter 5 is out.

[soulofapatrick]

Revealing Secrets - Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Y/N tells Joel and Ellie the truth about the cure, expecting a hideous fall out but Joel’s response is unexpected

Words: 3.5k

Warnings: Smut (p in v): fingering; lots of fluff; angst with Ellie

NOTES: Part 6 of Let Me Save You

Y/N’S POV

The food court area Maria’s made out of an old barn is warm and full of life, conversations floating around and the sound of laughter making the building brighter. There’s fairy lights strung up in the rafters, acting as lights and they just add to the homey feeling the building gives. Ellie’s sat between me and Joel, eating like she’s never eaten a proper meal which actually… thinking about it she probably hasn’t. 

“There’s more if you need it.” Maria speaks up, amusement dancing across her face as she watches Ellie scarf down the food. Joel hasn’t noticed the closeness between her and Tommy, the way they’re sitting angled towards each other and I bet their feet are probably touching under the table. 

“Thank you ma’am.” Joel’s tone is polite and nothing like what I’ve heard from him before. He may have used it once or twice when they first visited Bill and Frank but he’s usually a lot more roughly spoken, a scowl usually on his features, “It’s been a while since we’ve had a proper meal.” 

“Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever had a proper meal. This is fucking amazing,” Ellie speaks around a mouthful of potatoes, sending Tommy and Maria a smile. It has me wanting to face palm as she’s so blunt and brash with her words, it’s very Joel-like. Joel’s cheeks heat up with embarrassment, glancing at Ellie with his eyebrows quirked before turning back to Maria and apologising for her. Ellie’s not listening to them, her eyes on a girl watching us from behind one of the wooden pillars. All I can do is watch the way Ellie’s clover eyes narrow, she swallows and is snapping, “What?” The girl’s face falls slack in shock and she’s scurrying out of the barn, daring a quick glance back at us before she’s gone. 

“What is wrong with you?” I steel her with a stern look and she just rolls her eyes.

“She was just curious. Kids around here don’t usually look or talk like you.” Maria explains and Ellie’s nodding then snapping that she wants her gun back but Maria seems unfazed by her attitude, “They also aren’t armed.” Ellie just glares back at Maria, Joel catching my gaze over the kids head and I just shrug lightly as there’s nothing I can do to make Ellie behave. His eyes flick down to my lips before he’s turning back around. 

“You know what? I think maybe ya’ll got a little off on the wrong foot.” Tommy’s shifting in his seat,“Well, we gotta be real careful about who we let in this place. But it’s all bark. We’re just trying to scare off those who might wanna try us is all.” He’s trying to keep the peace but it doesn’t work because Ellie is quick with a retort that has me smacking her shoulder. 

“Well you got a couple of ninety-year-olds who shitting themselves out there. They say that you leave dead bodies around?” She snaps back, stabbing the last bits of food on her plate before glancing up at me, as if to gauge my reaction and see if she went too far. She did go to far and I should be telling her off for it except I’m also curious about what they say in return to it. 

Maria replies, “Those are the people who tried us.” And Tommy is quick to add, “A bad reputation doesn’t mean you’re bad.” He seems to be the peace keeper of the two but my blood boils in my veins when Maria turns her attention to Joel, a look I know so well on her face. It’s not quite hatred but it’s the look most get when they hear about everything Joel’s had to do to survive the last 20 years. It makes me so fucking mad because it’s not like others haven’t done worse and Joel… he did a lot of it to protect me and Tess from others like Robert and the FEDRA soldiers who found amusement in raping and murdering anyone they could, the power going to their heads. 

“Not always, at least.” Maria says, voice full of ice and my chair is scraping across the ground as I jump up, wanting to defend Joel but said man grabs my arm. His honey eyes full of guilt and pain but he’s shaking his head lightly, those eyes flickering down to where my pocketknife is in my hand. Oh. I slowly sit back down, still glaring at Maria and beginning to dislike her for her judgemental nature. I know you have to be ruthless in a world like this but she has no right to call Joel a bad person. 

“Ma’am… we’re grateful for your hospitality and all. But it’d be nice to have a moment here, maybe just for family.” Joel’s voice is tight and his hand in mine behind Ellie’s chair tightens when Tommy takes Maria’s hand in his and tells Joel that Maria is family. I get it. Tommy went off the radio months ago, for us to find him with a wife and a life while Joel dragged himself across the country to find him and make sure he was safe. I rub my thumb across his knuckles as he stays there, stuck staring at their intertwined hands while Ellie sends them her congrats. The smile slipping off her face when she glances between me and Joel, noticing how angry we both her. I heard Tommy on the radio with Joel for months then he stopped responding to Joel’s prompts and I watched Joel tear himself apart, getting into fights and doing stupidly ridiculously smuggle runs despite my pleas for him to be careful. Tess and I could only sit back and watch, patching him up when he came home battered and broken. He broke down one night after coming back from a fight, head on my shoulder as I carded my fingers through those salt and pepper locks, his shoulders shaking and Tommy’s name falling from his lips in a broken sob. I want to punch Tommy there and then but we need a place to stay for the night and here is the best place, 

“How ‘bout a tour.” Tommy stands up and I do the same, drawing Joel up with me. He keeps his hand in mine, pulling close to his side as Ellie and Maria follow us behind Tommy. The town is beautiful, especially decorated for Christmas. Joel’s tensing up at the sight of the giant Christmas tree in the town centre so I just squeeze his hand tighter, trying to ground him to the present before he goes down a downward spiral of Sarah. Tommy doesn’t seem to notice or if he does he ignores it, “I still got my 700, but I found a variable power scope. Sub MOA. Can headshot any infected from half a mile out.” 

“Can you teach me how?” Ellie grins at him. 

“No he cannot.” I interject before Tommy can reply and Tommy just sends her a sheepish shrug while Maria points to different buildings and explains what they are. There’s so much here for seven years worth of work: schools; places of worship; laundry; jail and they have hot water and electricity which I’m guessing is from the dam which is why they cornered us when we got too close to their source of all power. There’s a farm of sheep which has Ellie bounding ahead excitedly, making sheep sounds and giggling to herself. 

“Everything you see in our town… greenhouses, livestock, all shared. Collective ownership,” Maria tells us as we watch Ellie sprint over to the stables, eyes lighting up as she has always had a love of horses. 

“So communism?” Joel finally speaks, glancing at Tommy with a satisfied smirk when he tries to explain it’s not communism but Maria cuts him off and says that it is communism. I have to bury my face in Joel’s shoulder to stifle my laugh as Joel had told me ages ago that Tommy was once in the military… fighting against communism. Seems Tommy has an awakening then as he just stares at us as Joel leads me after Ellie with a smirk gracing his face. I watch as Ellie pets the foal, cooing at the tiny animal and feeding it hay that’s fallen from the stable. 

“Well I’ll take Y/N and Ellie to the house if you two wanna catch up.” Maria speaks and Ellie spins around, panic on her face at Joel telling Maria and Tommy that I stay with him. Ellie whispers our names but I tell her she’ll be okay and it seems to be enough as she nods once and doesn’t protest when Tommy leads me and Joel away. 

*

“Joel. I need to talk to you about Ellie.” I say when we’re sat at the bar, a whiskey in the Miller brothers hands while I opted for something no alcoholic. Joel asked me if he could tell Tommy about Ellie and I agreed but he needs to know Ellie can’t go to the fireflies. He needs to know they plan on killing her to try and make a vaccine despite people even before the outbreak of the cordyceps saying a vaccine isn’t possible. 

“So the kid?” Tommy asks, glancing between us and I just nudge Joel slightly. 

“She’s immune.” Tommy straightens up, probably about to tell us that’s not a funny joke but Joel continues, “I saw her get bit and she didn’t get sick. We’re taking her to the Fireflies,” Something crosses Tommy’s face at that, having been part of the fireflies not too long ago. Oh. He must have heard the rumours, “They think she’s the answer to a cure.” 

“She’s not.” My mouth feels dry as I speak before Tommy can respond to Joel and both of them are turning to me. I have to down my drink to even be able to try and speak again, confusion on Joel’s face, “I’ve seen the interviews from before the outbreak. A cure is not possible. The fireflies are too stubborn to understand this and if they were to try and take the mutation from Ellie…” I’m trailing off, rubbing the back of my neck and not meeting either of their eyes. 

“Ellie has to die?” Joel’s voice is strained and I nod, feeling a lump swelling in my throat and my vision is blurring slightly, “How long has you known?”

“W-when we left.” My voice is barely a whisper and I expect the shattering of the glass from Joel. He’d be throwing the glass if we were back in the QZ, yelling about how I could be so stupid, letting me put us in so much danger and keeping such vital information from him but nothing like that happens. A gruff sigh is exhaled before the glass hits the table with force but then hands are yanking me from my stool and into his broad chest. Joel’s strong arms wrap around me and I slide my hands under the back of his shirt, burying my face in his chest and just breathing in everything Joel. The comforting smell of burnt coffee; woodsy musk and something citrusy has me dizzy with safety and want and… love? The soft press of his lips against my forehead has me whimpering out a soft, “Are you mad?” 

“No, I just wish you had trusted me enough to tell me earlier,” He murmurs, no anger in his voice at all and his lips are ghosting over my forehead, “You mean everything to me, you can trust me.” 

“I do trust you,” I pull back enough to see his face, features soft and open, leaning into my touch when I brush my knuckles over his cheek, honey eyes fluttering shut before I remember Tommy’s still here. He’s moved away from us to give us privacy but I can feel him watching, catching the smile as he cleans glasses, “I’ll leave you two to catch up. I should check and see if Ellie and Maria are being civil.” 

“Yeah that’s a good idea.” He hums in agreement, sending a quick glance at Tommy who has his back to us suddenly and it’s enough for Joel to surge down, pressing a quick kiss to my lips. It draws a shocked gasp from me, not expecting the urgency, “I’ll find you.” 

“I’ll talk to Ellie.” 

*

“WHAT?! YOU KNEW?!” Ellie screams, tears glazing her clover eyes as she stands opposite me, chest heaving with anger. 

“Ellie…” I reach for her but stop halfway, not wanting to push her, “I can’t watch you die.” 

“That’s not your choice to make.” 

“There’s proof a cure can’t be made Ellie!” I can’t keep my voice steady, hearing the door open and close below us, “I’m not going to let you die for nothing!” 

“There’s proof?” She calms down a little.

“Yes. I asked Maria if she could find the tapes. Go find Maria. If you still want to go after… fine,  we’ll take you but if not… there’s a place here for us.” I sigh and she nods once, shouldering past me and down the stairs, the front door slamming shut behind her and I just let my knees go. I’m crying, everything from the last few months crashing down on me like a tonne of bricks. Tess’ death, saying goodbye to Bill and Frank, watching Sam and Henry die and now this… Ellie walking away from me with anger and hatred. 

“Hey, there you are sweet girl.” Joel’s surrounding me, arms around me and he’s pulling me into his chest. He doesn’t speak, just holds me and lets me cry, hands carding through my hair and lips ghosting over my cheek as I let everything out. The ache in my chest loosening with each passing second until I’m just curled in his lap, head on his shoulder and his lips peppering sweet kisses across my face before he’s kissing me properly. Lips meeting like old friends, soft and delicate, his large hands gripping my hips strong and tight as I’ll slip away, “Come on, they have hot water.” 

I just let him guide me to my feet, leading me from Ellie’s room and down the corridor to the bathroom where towels, clothes and other necessities are ready waiting as if Joel knew it’s what I would need. He probably heard us yelling, knowing Ellie wouldn’t go quietly with the information and he was right. I watch as Joel turns the shower on before coming back to me, his fingertip ghosting down my sides until they’re fiddling with the hem of my shirt, honey eyes searching for consent which of course I’m going to give him. He’s slow and gentle with his movements, pulling the shirt over my head and making sure it doesn’t catch on my hair before hands move to my jeans. His eyes stay on mine the whole time he’s sliding them down my legs, taking my underwear with them so I’m just stood in front of him in my bra. His next moves surprise me, he’s pulling his shirt over his own head and shimmying his jeans down his thick thighs. His boxers slide down next, the air stolen from my lips as he’s huge and he’s not even erect. It has my thighs trembling slightly, trying hard to not imagining how he’d practically split me apart and how he seems the type to praise-

The rough pads of his fingers are fiddling with the clasp of my bra and I’m shivering when it falls to the floor, Joel’s hands in mine as he leads me into the shower. It’s sweet and soft, making sure the water isn’t too hot and that I’m comfortable with this. He doesn’t speak but shows me how much I truly mean to him with every gentle brush of the wash cloth against my skin or way he massages my scalp when washing my hair. Every brush elites a fire in my gut and I’m wanting him but I don’t want to misread anything and push him away so I take the first risk, leaning back against his chest. His arms instinctively wrap around my waist, lips on my shoulder and my hand is coming back to tangle in his hair and it’s like he understands what I want. His teeth nip at the sensitive skin on my neck, just below my jaw, while his right hand slides lower, fingers brushing over my clit. The hand in his hair tightening and a chuckles rumbles in his chest as he continues, sliding two fingers along my wet folds until he’s plunging one into my aching heat. A mewl is ripped from my throat, my back arching down into the intrusion and I’m guiding him into a messy kiss as he begins to move. It’s hot and passionate and everything I’ve always wanted in Joel, his teeth catching my bottom lip between his teeth when he adds a second finger and my thighs are trembling, the feeling of bliss coming closer and closer. 

“I’ve got you sweet girl,” He murmurs against my cheek, nose brushing lightly over it as his fingers curl one final time, “That’s it, come on, let go.” I’m crying his name, pressing my ass against his twitching erection as I roll my hips down onto his fingers, my mind whiting out as it washes through me, “That’s it baby girl, I’m so proud of you.” He coos as my legs give way, his from grip on my waist holding me up as he pulls his fingers out. I think my eyes roll back into my head when he brings them up to his own lips and sucking them clean, honey eyes on me the whole time. 

“J-Joel,” My voice is shaky, “Joel, I need you.” 

“Fuck.” He groans into my neck before stepping away from me. He’s turning the shower off and leading me out, grabbing one of the towels and taking his time to dry me. He trails kisses after the towel, eyes darkening with want and love as I can’t keep the small sounds to myself. He haphazardly dries himself off before he’s gripping my hand and we’re practically stumbling into the bedroom opposite the bathroom. 

I’m laying back on the bed, Joel climbing over me, glancing up at me as the swollen and weeping head brushes over my folds. He’s asking for permission even after I just told him I need him. Fuck, I love this man so fucking much. I’m wrapping my legs around his waist, pulling him inside and it tears a sound from me as he’s so big. It’s a beautiful pain, Joel drawing me into a kiss and my hands tugging at his salt and pepper locks while he wraps me up in his strong and safe arms. Joel had always seemed the type to have sex, not make love but the way he’s taking his time drawing long and deep strokes with his hips, the head catching that sweet spot with every in thrust has me realising otherwise. It’s slow and full of love, as if he’s trying to show me how much I mean to him and it just adds to everything. 

“Joel,” His name is dragged from my lips when he sits back on his heels, arms wrapping around my thighs and pulling himself deeper and closer than I imagined possible, tip brushing my cervix as his thrusts are becoming erratic and he’s getting closer and closer, dragging me with him, my walls fluttering around him with every drag. It’s hot and that building of pleasure is right there, a hand finding Joel’s around my thighs as the other grips the sheets when he brings his other hand to rub circles into my clit. That’s all it takes for me to come, my back arching into him and walls clamping, trying to keep him pressed up against that sweet spot and he’s not far behind. A guttural moan ripped from him as he lurches forwards, capturing me into a kiss as he fills me up both of us laying there, panting and trying to regain some form of normalcy. 

“You mean everything to me.” He’s murmuring, pulling out and flopping next to me, head turning to me. His honey eyes are full of sincerity, hair fluffed and messy against his forehead, softness taking years from his weather worn skin and all I can feel is one word… Love. 

“I love you Joel.” It comes tumbling out before I can stop it and he stops. It’s a minute before he’s turning onto his side to face me properly, hand cupping my cheek and thumb rubbing over my cheekbone, eyes soft and they’re slightly glazed as if he’s going to cry. 

“I’m not good for much you know,” He moves his thumb to my lips when go to retort that he is good, “But I want you love you and take care of you if you’ll let me. Ellie too.” 

“I would love that.” 

“I love you.”

---------

Chapter One ⇢ Save Who You Can Save

Chapter Two ⇢ Stitches

Chapter Three ⇢ Keep You Safe

Chapter Four  ⇢ Escape Kansas City

Chapter Five ⇢ Finding Tommy

Chapter Six ⇢ 

Chapter Seven ⇢ Crossed Paths

Chapter Eight ⇢ Finding Family

Chapter Nine ⇢ Two Become One

Chapter Ten ⇢ Coming Soon

------------

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[loveau]

Case Closed: Chapter One | Sehun

Genre: slow-burn romance, angst, mystery/crime

Summary: As the only person willing to take on this wild goose chase of a 10-month ongoing missing persons case, you have your head in your hands trying to figure out why 20 girls and counting have suddenly disappeared. You can't give up now that another girl has just joined that number. Good thing that your persistent crime reporter friend Oh Sehun won't let you quit either.

Word Count: 6.4k

T/W: minor violence, kidnapping, crime, uhhh not edited i'm sorry

A/N: I'M SOOOOO SORRY!!!!!! I've been on hiatus for 3 years LOLOLOLOL then i found this in my vault since may 4th, 2020 and i felt so bad that i wrote literally 3.5k words to finish this first chapter so i can just get it out. i have the whole thing fleshed out.......... i'm so sorry 🙈 also i don't really use this blog anymore but i figured i will just to get out everything again HAHAHA i do not expect this to get any traction at all but if you enjoy it then 🥺❤️

It started like any other day, which was a real cliché to put it. You walk into the station with your usual heavy eyelids and even heavier shoulders. Sleep was something you’d given up when you first started working as a detective, but the word was definitely out of your dictionary when you picked up the case. Most of your colleagues wouldn’t pick up the case. Mainly because they knew you’d be the first one to take it. However, after ten months you still haven’t found any new leads. Six months of chasing after ghosts and you always returned emptyhanded.

This morning, you had something into your hands. Flung into them, rather. A coffee and a file, courtesy of Jongin. Normally there’d be a smile gracing his face and a joke soon to follow to lighten up your mood. Instead there was a frown as he motioned down at the file in your hands.

“That’s number 21.”

You’re grim and you know it’s very apparent. How could you not be with the numbers stacked this high? You mumble a thanks and allow Jongin to linger a bit. He wants to say something, and you know it, but you also know he’s conflicted about whether or not he should continue bothering you.

“Jongin, I’m not dropping the case.”

He purses his lips and takes a tactical sip of his own coffee. After a moment to find the right words he sighs. “I know. I wouldn’t dream of trying to rip you away from that.”

A dry chuckle leaves you and you shake your head almost dotingly at your junior. “Of course.” You point a pen towards the office everyone knew too well after getting chewed out at least thrice. “But that doesn’t mean she won’t. She’s been on my ass for a while.” You’ve joked with your peers about the Boa Constrictor keeping you in her hold until you concede, but you’d never been on the receiving end of it until now. Except you definitely weren’t about to let go of this case.

There’s a moment of silence while he tries to come up with something else to say and you busy yourself with the new file. You curse when you look at the girl’s photo and information. “She’s only 15.” Jongin hums and scans over the information with you. He takes her photo out from beneath the paperclip and holds it up to the board where there were faces of 20 other girls on them.

“She doesn’t look like any of the others.”

“Not at all. She’s got some similar features to some, but… there isn’t a type.”

“If they even are getting kidnapped.” You scoff at that before taking the photo and thumbtacking it to the board. “Not that I’m saying you’re on a wild goose chase or anything, but…” He takes another sip of his coffee. You know the mug is empty. “21 girls who don’t have any connection to each other besides living in the same city… It’s really difficult to determine if they’re all being kidnapped or just-”

“Runaways, I know.”

“Look, they’re all around the ages too. Teen angst, wanting to start fresh in another city, eloping with a secret lover.” He sighs wistfully and moves to take another sip until he remembers his empty cup. “21 girls. No relation. Some of them did sports, but it’s a range. Some of them are in the same school district, but they have different schedules. Two of them lived in the same neighborhood, but that’s in a whole block of apartments.”

Your eyes linger at the girl’s face a couple seconds longer. You’ve heard it too many times by all the others to know that Jongin is implying they could be all coincidences. People runaway all the time, it’s true. You’ve definitely closed those sorts of cases and convinced a couple of them to work it out and return home. You just wish you had some concrete proof that this was different.

Jongin turns away, about to leave and continue his own work after getting more coffee. “I’ll get out of your hair now, but I’m just worried about you. You’re losing a lot of sleep for someone who looks like they’re chasing their own tail. Take care of yourself.” He’s off before you can bark a word at him, and you roll your eyes to yourself.

You take a sip of the coffee he’d given to you moments prior, but it had gotten cold since then. It was still a bit of a kickstart to your day anyhow. You had the cases of 21 missing girls all over the city resting on your shoulders. It was a miracle you got any sleep at all. You tried your hand at anything. Possible gang relations or involvements or some group or organization, and yet you found no link. Like you said earlier, there didn’t seem to be a type that was targeted as the girls were mainly different appearance wise. You’d even thought to consider some underground sex ring, but the information you’ve collected about some of them didn’t fit the bill.

There were a couple girls who were taken in their own homes. They had been the ones living alone, except one who was taken while her three roommates were all home. They had chalked it up to her not feeling well and when they decided to check up on her, she was gone. It just didn’t sit right with you that they had done everything according to their routine and yet they supposedly just ran away. Most didn’t seem to have any motive at all to do so according to their friends and family. Even though you knew everybody’s got secrets and skeletons to hide you knew that was the truth. It was a gut feeling, but it wasn’t enough.

A buzzing noise came from your pocket and you whip your phone out to see what notification it was this time. A random message from one of your friends on social media popped up. You wanted to swipe it away, but you decided against it and opened it up. It was a friend from college who had found some old photo of the two of you at some party, dressed up with a lot of skin showing but even more teeth on display. Back then the lack of sleep you had was because of the constant studying and partying, or rather taking some free booze and dipping when you got bored. It was still fun to socialize and watch everyone stumble dumbly, though. You responded back quickly by telling her to forward it to you. Before you pocketed your phone, you retyped your passcode to unlock the phone again and went into your contacts. Thinking about college reminded you of somebody.

The moment you stepped out you heard a familiar “Hello?”

“Hi, Mrs. Kim. Just checking in like I always do.” You could almost hear the smile in the woman’s face. Tension immediately left your shoulders the moment you heard her coo your name softly. It was like it was never there at all.

“I haven’t heard from you in a while. I was just beginning to think you’d never call.” She laughs easily at her tease. She knew you would call. You always did. “I was just thinking about you actually. I heard there was another one…”

A sigh leaves your lips and you pinch the bridge of your nose before you answer. “Yeah, it’s been a rough couple of months hasn’t it?” She hums in response and you can hear her shuffling papers around, most likely sorting through the mail you know she never opens and gets to once a month at least. She pauses and you can hear her set the large pile down.

“Of course. Five months without my baby? She’s supposed to be starting school in a couple months. She was so excited when she got accepted. They have the best music program in the state, you know.” You knew all too well that her daughter was to be going to school at the best music school in the state. You listened to some of her recordings before after her mother had shown you. You like to think that it was just because of a mother’s pride, but you think it was to hear her daughter’s voice again as she talks through the piece and giggles at a small slip up in one of them.

It almost pained you that you couldn’t find her with what you had now. You were still as clueless as you were when she had gone missing five months ago.

“I’ll find her soon. I know I will. The next time you won’t get to see her is when you have to move her into the dorms. I promise you.” It was an unsure promise, to convince the both of you that you’d get it done. And soon. The shift from a lighthearted conversation had gotten grim fast. Those conversations had typically over the lunches you had with Mrs. Kim. She was the first case of this bunch and also the most optimistic of the friends and family. You felt that you had to keep her updated and in turn she continued to put her trust in you.

“I know. She’s counting on you; I just know it. She knows you’ll get it done somehow.” The words strike you in your core. That’s right, there’s a lot of people counting on you right now. One more family just got added to the list this morning. You try not to think about the handful of others that decided to have you stop looking after they’ve given up that their daughters would come back. It pained you to have them retract their hope enough to have you close their cases, but you wouldn’t stop even if they asked you. You didn’t want to have to leave them in the dark while their daughters were missing. Lord knows you were considering a murderer, but no bodies had turned up to your relief. You just hoped you didn’t have to continue praying for it not to happen.

The call ended quickly, and you spent the next couple of hours going over your information and collecting information from the family of the newest missing girl. She was hanging out with friends when she was all of a sudden separated from the group at the mall. It was a busy place, but camera footage and eyewitnesses last saw her roaming in a store before her trail goes cold. This was frustrating. Rumors had spread about the girl going missing already, but since she was a teen most people assumed that she just ran away. She was pretty social according to her friends, and they just chalked it up to her personality and hanging with the wrong crowd. You decided to ponder over it on your lunch break, calling up your regular lunch partner to meet you at some café a couple blocks away.

Sehun doesn’t have to wave you over for you to sit down at the table you know he’s already at. It’s almost a ritual, to eat at this café every other week and sitting at the same table, nonetheless. He smiles warmly at you and pushes a plate towards you. “I already ordered for you. And don’t worry, I paid for it as a thank you for last time.” You mumble your thanks with a mouthful of food, briefly remembering the time you covered for his ride home after one drink too many.

“You’re godsent, you know that?” His smile turns into a smirk at that and you roll your eyes when you see you’ve stoked his ego. “Before you say ‘I know’, take out that notepad.” His smirk drops and a look of concentration comes onto his face.

“You know, sometimes I like to think you keep eating lunch with me because you like me or that we’re friends or something. But I also tend to think you only keep me around for my work.” He’s teasing you again and you tap the top of his notepad.

“You’re very much aware how much I like having you around. And I’m very much aware about how much you love to collect the information. Sometimes I think you only come back to hang out with me is because I’m not as tightlipped as some of my peers and give you things you can actually report on.” Sehun chuckles at that and the crinkle around his eye is back with that childlike glimmer in the eyes. He looks a lot more at ease than his funky smirk and that impish gleam instead.

He uncaps his pen with his mouth, his other hand busy flipping to a brand-new page and holding a worn notepad with too many torn papers taken from it. He keeps the cap in his mouth and hums for you to signal he’s ready.

“She’s 15.” His eyebrows furrow and a lisped curse slips out of him as he jots it down. He shakes his head sadly at that. “Last seen at the mall with her friends. Eyewitnesses say that she was roaming one of the stores alone before she disappeared. Camera footage doesn’t pick her up leaving the mall, but it’s been picked clean.”

“Has her friends or family said anything about behavior? Being more secretive or distant lately?” Sehun’s habit of keeping the pen cap in his mouth makes his words very mumbled and hard to understand. However, being around him and working with him so often has gotten you used to his silly sounded sentences. You still reach over to pluck it from his lips and snicker that his playfully annoyed glare.

“You don’t think I’ve asked? No, parents and friends claim that nothing was up. They let me in her room and let me search to find any hidden notes. Even let me look through her diary and it was just about some kid drama at school. Seemed ordinary to me, nothing that made me have to investigate this drama. She’s not a part of it anyways, just commenting about how it’s the talk of the halls and dumb.”

Sehun taps the pen against his cheek while your fingers are fiddling with the cap. He’s obviously not to report your words verbatim as it’s not really relevant, but he does appreciate how you share your findings with him. He appreciates your trust in him that he doesn’t skew the details or add too much personal information about these people. He appreciates how you let your thoughts wander with him. You tend to loosely think around him, bouncing ideas off of him every so often or word vomiting to better understand things as you try to explain.

You’d finished with your food while Sehun continues writing and jotting down notes, most likely questions or other tidbits not too concerning for you. Whenever he asks a question he needs for the article you respond and then nudge his plate so that he eats. It goes on like this a couple moments longer until he’s out of food and questions. He finishes jotting down whatever else he wants to and sticks the tip of his pen out to you. You, used to this procedure, cap his pen and look back up into his satisfied eyes. You scoff at his smug look and avoid his gaze as he rests his chin in his hand. He continues to stare at you while you pick at any crumbs you find interesting.

“Got everything you need?”

“How about we get some dessert?” You almost object and tell him you should be back by now until he starts collecting his things and getting out of his seat. “And don’t worry. I’ll pay. You just have to pay me back next time.” You sink lower into your seat in defeat and groan, rubbing your hands over your face. He laughs a little and stands behind your seat, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you lightly. “Come on, Sugar. You’re gonna need some sugar to keep functioning the rest of the day.”

“You and your dumb nicknames are going to kill me before the stress from this case will.” He stops shaking you and gives you a fond squeeze of your shoulders.

“Let’s go before you die on me then.” You turn in your seat to watch him head towards the door before deciding to follow suit and grunting when you do get up. There’s a mini pep in his step and you’re guessing that’s because Sehun has another excuse to visit that favorite bakery of his that a friend of his works at. You couldn’t blame him. There were some doughnuts and cupcakes that were to die for.

As you passed by, you saw some missing persons posters hung up in some alley walls or taped to some lampposts. You’re guessing that’s how Mrs. Kim got news of the missing girl before you caught up with her. Sehun notices your gaze following the long trail of posters, most likely hung up by the gang of girls that were last with their friend. “Is that her?” The both of you come to a stop in front of a small cluster of the posters. He takes on down and holds it out in front of the both of you. You nod and Sehun folds the paper into fours and pockets it for later. “That saves me having to dig around to put that in the paper.”

He tries to keep the mood up as he hums a tune, swinging his arms around and looking around at the people walking the streets. It does little to help, but you do appreciate the thought as he glances at you every now and then to check in. He’s switched songs so many times since he opts for a different, better tune to keep him occupied. You’re trying to decipher his fifth song switch when you finally make it to the bakery.

“Kyungsoo!” Sehun sings into the shop as the door chimes noisily. Luckily, Kyungsoo isn’t tending to any customers at the moment. He pops his head out from behind the counter with a blank face and his lips drawn into a straight line. However he may look, there’s a happy sparkle in his eye at the sight of you two.

“What do you want now?” He asks sarcastically but readies himself anyways.

“I want something with chocolate.” Sehun says as he scans the overhead menu even though he knows exactly what he wants. “Please.” He doesn’t forget to add with a warm smile, which Kyungsoo returns in kind. They both turn to you expectantly and you sputter, not having anything in mind just yet.

“O-Oh! I’ll, uh… I’ll have…” You pause and bite your lips. Suddenly, you’re overwhelmed by all the choices even though you’ve been here before.

“How about some donut holes? And if you don’t like it, you can always have some of mine,” Sehun offers as he turns that warm smile to you.

“What, trying to stick with that cops eat donuts type of thing?” You joke but are grateful at the distraction from you bumbling about. Kyungsoo lets out an amused huff and prepares something for you both of you, making sure to toss in a couple extra pieces in the bag for you. You give him a silent thanks as you nod and take the bag from him as Sehun whips out his wallet in a practiced manner.

The first bite of the donut hole is full of cinnamon and a little honey. Kyungsoo’s been experimenting and you hum at the taste as you squeeze the half-bitten donut hole. As Sehun’s card is ringing up he turns to you with an eyebrow as he wordlessly asks how it tastes. Instead, you offer him the rest of your bite while you chew, and he instantly opens up his mouth to eat the rest. It’s almost like you’ve done this a million times in your life and a million more in your past lives together; you’ve known each other for that long, you think. The motion is easy and simple as he hums and turns back to collect his card and compliments Kyungsoo’s creation with his mouth full.

“It’s good. I like the new flavors, it’s better than just the boring sugar on it.” The words are muffled and both you and Kyungsoo give him a judgmental look as he wipes some of the cinnamon off the corner of his lips.

“… Thank you. I’ve been slowly trying to add more to the menu where I can,” Kyungsoo notes, and you look up again at the menu to see he’s added another couple options beside his regular few in his neat handwriting. He smiles at you again when you look back down. “Keep up the good work. Don’t push yourself, okay?”

You promise him and Sehun gently nudges you to turn and leave so he has a better exit path. It’s not like he couldn’t have gone around you, but it seems he opted to just turn and go. And with his broad shoulders, it seemed you were in his path. You nudge him back as you exit the bakery with your treats in hand.

“What are you doing tonight?” Sehun asks with his mouth full again, this time from a bite of his chocolatey pastry. Crumbs fly in the air and the snort as they do so, but your friend knows no shame and continues to look at you expectantly.

You roll your eyes with a smile. “Probably looking over the case again… and waaay more paperwork than I’m happy with.”

He hums at that as he continues to walk you back to the station. You feel like he’s about to ask you something else, but you’re cut off by your phone ringing and his own buzzing with a couple messages.

“Breaks over.” He comments with a sigh as he scrolls through the messages and tries to type back with the same hand that grips his phone.

“It is.”

The both of you look at each other and trade another bite of each other’s treats. You took a bite of his mainly since you wanted something sweet, and he had his own bite since you felt like you had to repay him for it. He gives you a wave as he, thankfully, doesn’t shout with his mouth full of donut as he heads off to his office building. While you head back, you manage to catch the phone call on its last couple of rings before it could go to voicemail.

“Hello?”

“It’s Boa. You have a couple more files on your desk regarding the girls,” she says with a tired sigh. You know the chief thinks this is wasting time and resources, but you also know she wants to give these girls justice. “Some more schedules of their routines, some stuff they had upcoming, and some chat histories. There’s also someone waiting at the station to talk to you, a friend of the most recent one.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Good,” she states and hangs up the call. You huff and make your way back to the station with a quickened pace. You wonder what this friend has to say since you’ve interviewed the family and teachers recently. Your mind is still reeling with possibilities when you make it back and find a familiar face at your desk.

“Yena, what can I do for you?” You ask kindly as you take a seat by the high school girl. She has a puffiness around her eyes that indicate she hasn’t been able to get a lot of sleep and has probably been crying a lot. You offer her some of your donut holes and she politely declines by holding a hand up before thinking of the right words to say.

Yena was the same age as her missing friend, 15 with a short bob and still wearing her school uniform. You’re wondering if she skipped school to come here, and she confirms your suspicions as she wrings her hands. “I just give you these. I found these in Chae’s locker, it’s some of her notebooks and some flyers. These events are all in the past, but one of them is her dream journal. We both keep one to achieve our dreams, except she doesn’t share hers because she thinks that the dream won’t come true then.”

You take the stack of papers and notebooks from her, eyeing the one she was referring to. It can’t be mistaken with the doodling, stickers, glitter, and large words that say ‘DREAM JOURNAL!’ right on the front.

“Thank you, Yena.” You say kindly, knowing that you’ll have even more to sort through and probably come out empty handed with, but every little bit helps. If you could be armed with even that much of a toothpick, you’d count it as a win.

“I just want my best friend to come back. That’s all I’ve been writing about in mine! I want her to come home.” Her eyes water and you push a box of tissues to her. She takes a shaky breath and dabs at her eyes gently and you realize that her eyes are redder than you thought. She dabs to prevent further irritating her eyes that have been covered in makeup to hide just how bad she’s been taking it.

“I promise, you won’t need a journal to make that come true, okay?” You say gently and comfort the poor girl. It’s another 15 minutes before she gets up and leaves, going back to school she promises.

You sigh as you look at the stack of notebooks she gave you. It was all her school notebooks besides her dream journal, which you knew wouldn’t be much of a look through unless you wanted to relieve your high school days and quiz yourself on whatever the kids were learning these days.

“You know, you shouldn’t be promising things like that.”

“Jongin, that girl was crying.”

“And you don’t think she won’t be if you can’t deliver that promise?”

You clench your hands into fists, narrowing your eyes on the word that seems to be mocking you right now. Because it might be true, you can only ‘DREAM!’ that this will all come to a happy end. Jongin sighs and pats your back.

“I’ll help you get through like 3 of those. Make sure it’s all just random notes so you know if they have anything that’s not about some ancient literature piece, okay?” He asks gently and you take a deep breath.

“Okay,” you say quietly and start sorting through the flyers first.

A lot of them are of school events, cram school, auditions for some of the modeling or singing agencies, and one was even a poster of an actor you recognized from a popular drama currently. You chuckled as you saw the sticky note still attached to it that indicated Chae’s wishes to marry a guy like him. A couple more hours pass in between you checking the notebooks, painstakingly flipping through and reading every page just to make sure, and having to deal with other logistical tasks around the office.

Like promised, Jongin eventually makes it through the notebooks and puts them all on your desk with a sad shake of his head. “Math, English, and Composition. All notes, most of it is textbook and following what they did in class. Anything else was practice problems or doodles. These are no good.”

You groan and hang your head. “I’ve just barely gotten through her other two notebooks. A music one from a piano unit and one she kept solely for cram school. The flyers are all past events or just random ones that I think were trash and she never got to throw away.” You look pointedly at the crumpled up flyer that was from her school’s ‘Fish Club’… whatever that’s about. “Had to get through all the other files from the girls too… nothing new. I saved that dream journal for last.”

“Why, so you can honor making sure her dreams come true?” Jongin asks with a smile, lifting your spirits some.

“Yeah…” You trail off absently. You aren’t sure if maybe you were truly keeping up Yena and Chae’s superstition about their dream journals or if you were hoping that the last thing you got to would prove you some substantial evidence. Maybe you should’ve gotten to that first if so. But then you would’ve needed to spend extra time on it. Ugh! Another sigh makes it way out of you and Jongin frowns now.

“Save that for tomorrow. How about you come out with some of us for some drinks tonight? Get that tension off you.” Jongin gives you an expectant look as he sits on your desk. You rub your face and look up at him through your fingers as you slouch in your chair. “And don’t even think about getting to that journal tonight. Your brain is fried, you need a break, you’re burning yourself out.”

You purse your lips at him and groan again, this time throwing your head back over the top of your desk chair and spinning in it a little.

“Fine. But only for a little bit.”

Famous last words. It was not just a little bit. Jongin kept you entertained and kept handing you drinks as you listened to your peers share drunken stories. Even Jongdae came in for a little bit to say hi to everyone and cry a little about his wife and kid, showing everyone pictures. You were sure that he was sober and just living the high of life.

A twinge of jealousy shot through you at him being able to enjoy his life so much right now. You downed your drink and stared at the empty cup grumpily. You felt just like the cup. Maybe you are a cup. Did your legs always feel like that?

“Woah, you doing okay?” Jongin asks as he gets into your space to take a look at you. He was pretty tipsy, but doing way better than you right now. Both in spirits and sobriety.

“Jongiiiiin, I’m like this cup.” He has to jump back a little as you shove your cup in his face. “You see how it’s wet on the outside?”

“From the ice?” He asks with a raised brow.

“I’m all sweaty!” You shout at him, suddenly feeling like the room is a lot hotter.

“No, you’re not.”

“Look! Feel!” You try to grab his hand to bring it up to your forehead and he grimaces. He shakes his head and you try a couple more times before he pins your hand to the table and reaches for his phone. “What are you doing?”

“Getting you home,” he says as he scrolls in his contacts. You try to look at the screen to see who he’s calling, but he brings the phone straight to his ear and turns a skeptical eye on you to make sure you don’t keep trying to bring his hand to probably stick you in the eyes.

You’re too distracted by pouting to care who he’s talking to. And your head hurts. The alcohol is hitting you fast. How much did you have again? Or was it because you drank the rest of your three-fourths of a cup in less than a minute? When was the last time you even drank like this? Since before you took on the first case ten months ago?

“He’s coming in 15,” Jongin says in your ear. You pop your head up from the table. You didn’t even know you had it down on the table in the first place.

“Who?” You ask sluggishly as you try to keep your eyes open. You don’t bother hearing a reply as you quickly make your way to the bathroom. It’s quieter in there, and colder too. You feel better already by giving yourself some space and time to think for yourself. Not really feeling like you need to get everything out just yet, you lean against the wall and take some deep breaths.

Eventually, there’s a knock on the door and a call for your name. It takes a couple more tries before you push yourself off the wall and wash your face.

“Oh, good. I thought I was going to have to pull your head out of a toilet bowl.”

You yell out in shock, water flinging everywhere when you look up to see Sehun in the mirror.

“What are you doing here?” Water drips off your chin and you remember that you were washing your face. You sigh and see if any got on your shirt – a lot did – and look for the paper towels to wipe.

“At the bar or in the bathroom?” He asks. You grunt in response, eyes blocked by the soggy paper you’re using to scrub the water from your eyes. “Jongin told me you had too much and needed to be brought home. And again, I was making sure you didn’t decide to punish yourself and give yourself a swirlie.”

“Why would I do that?” You grumble at him. Your head was a lot clearer thanks to the rest, you probably spent all of Jongin’s promised 15 minutes against that wall. Plus, the water cooling you off made you feel like you could at least walk to a car before passing out.

“He said you looked sad.”

“I’m not sad.”

He gives you a once over. Hair a mess, probably from the wall. Face still red, from scrubbing with that scratchy paper towel, embarrassment, or the alcohol, probably from all three. Clothes wet from you spilling two handfuls of water all over yourself. And the heavy burden of the finding of 21 girls coming crashing back down onto your shoulders.

“Yeah… you look pretty sad to me.”

“Thanks,” you bite a little harsher than you intend to. But, thanks to the one who made you build a tougher skin with a level of sass on his own, Sehun takes it all in stride and smiles. He merely grabs you by the shoulders and leads you out of the bar. Jongin nods and waves you off, keeping your coworkers distracted by the state you’re in so you don’t get teased when you come back the next morning.

Between the time Sehun came and got you and when he arrived, he had already transferred your stuff from your coworker’s car to his. You saw this when he helped you climb in and your bags of notebooks were sitting in the back seat. Sehun buckled you in and shut the door for you. The state of mind you were in currently clearly showed you could do at least that, but Sehun chose not to care and did it for you anyways while you watched him walk around the car to the driver’s seat.

“If you fall asleep, just know that I’m not carrying you inside.”

“So my knight in shining armor does have a flaw for tonight’s rescue.” You sarcastically bat your eyes at him and he chuckles, shaking his head and he starts towards your apartment.

“I meant to add that I’d probably be dragging you up those three flights of stairs. By your feet. Head hitting each step.” Before you can ask why in offense, he grins with a shrug. “You went through all that training, not me. All my muscles go to my ears for listening to you go on and on about cases.”

“I’m the reason why you have a job,” You grumble as you stare at the passing buildings. Sehun keeps that stupid smile on his face and laughs.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The ride to yours is a lot quicker than usual since at this hour it’s already late hardly any traffic. Again, Sehun is humming some songs and tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. At least this time there’s less of him switching it up since he’s forced to sing along for the whole 3 minutes. He’s still humming as he grabs all your stuff from the back seat and follows you up the stairs to your apartment. You silently curse the fact that the elevator is down for maintenance since you wish you didn’t have to climb that much while drunk. You feel even worse when you realize that Sehun took all of your bags and all of those notebooks, binders, and files are no joke. It’s a wonder that kids can carry all that on their backs plus whatever else you put into the bags.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Sehun asks as you pause on the steps, a little behind you and huffing a little.

“For someone who claimed he doesn’t have the strength training to carry me up the stairs, you sure are doing real fine while walking up two and a half flights of stairs and carrying all those books.” Sehun lets out another huff, shorter than usual that let you know he was working up quite a sweat.

“I work out.” He says plainly and grins at you again, which makes you roll your eyes at the statement and continue forth. He’s been over before, plenty of times. He’s come over to bring food on your sleepless nights when you just can’t sleep or spend so long trying to work on another case.

You finally make it to your apartment and eventually into your room. Sehun had set the bags down by your couch where you already had a bunch of files spread out on the coffee table. He tuts and grabs one of the papers and gives it a quick skim.

While you change into comfortable, cleaner clothes he hums and calls out from your small space. “You really need to learn about work-life balance.” He sets the paper back down and goes about preparing you some essentials for when you wake up in the morning definitely hungover.

“You know why I can’t,” you call back as you collapse onto the bed with a groan. Your body all of a sudden feels so heavy and it’s hard to keep your eyes open. You huff into your pillow as you try to block out the haunting words of all the names of the 21 girls that prevent you from sleeping at night. That prevent you from functioning unless you can figure out a way to bring them all home.

From your couch, Sehun makes himself comfy and sighs. He folds his hands over his stomach and quietly says to himself, “Yeah… I know.”

[whiskey-tango-matcha]

Patient Zero (m, colds)

I'm trying something a little different on this one - there's no sick character POV, but both Greyson and Elijah are sick. This is written from first Matt (the sous chef) and then Mark's (the floor manager) perspectives. It was a fun little exercise, and I hope you all like it.

Elijah & Greyson both have the flu and blame each other for it. No real plot, just quips and vibes. Enjoy :)

cw: male snz, colds, contagion, coughing, fevers, dizziness...snarkiness... the usual lmao. 3.5k words

Patient Zero

The early hours of the morning were the best the restaurant had to offer. It was summer, but at three in the morning it was cool, quiet, dark, and almost meditative to be in the restaurant alone. I could get used to this, Matt thought, setting his things down on the prep table in the empty kitchen.

Matt almost never worked the AM shift, but it was an event night and event nights always came with an unusual schedule. This particular event was a small business celebrating ten years open, and the two women in charge of the event were lovely but… particular.

Everything had to be just so – which was fine, because they were paying through the nose to buy out the restaurant for the night – and many of their requests were ones that Greyson and Elijah had never heard before.

“They want us to… make their dinner rolls?” Matt had asked when Greyson had showed him the banquet event order he and Elijah had put together. “But we buy the best bread in the city… I mean, isn’t Alicia going to get mad that she’s losing our business for that event?”

“Elijah already talked to Alicia about it; she’s annoyed, but she gets it. These people want everything made in house, and trust me I told them that Alicia makes better bread than I’d ever be able to, but they didn’t care. They’re fuckin’ weird, Matt,” Greyson said, smoothing the piece of paper onto the prep table. “They want us to make them a cake, too. You did a stage at that bakery in Italy a couple summers ago, right?”

That was how Matt had ended up at the restaurant at oh-dark-thirty, using their decrepit Kitchenaid mixer to make some maybe-okay bread and a probably-not-great cake for a group that had no clue what the difference between a pastry chef and a regular one was. At least he’d be able to enjoy the evening off; it was a Saturday, it was summer, and he could already taste the cocktail he’d be sipping while the rest of the team was slaving away.

About three hours into mixing, proofing, and looking up recipes on his phone, Matt heard the back door of the kitchen slam open and then shut. He whipped his head towards the sound – Greyson wasn’t supposed to be in until nine, at the earliest. Who the fuck was here?

“HTSHH-ue! Huh! Hhh… huhITSZHUE!” Matt heard Elijah before he saw him, and winced when he did. Elijah had definitely seemed a little off yesterday, but the rest of the team figured that he was just nervous about this event and how picky the people paying for it were. Matt, at the very least, hadn’t assumed he was -

“HUHHHESTCHUE!” - sick.

“Bless you, Elijah,” Matt called from the prep kitchen. Elijah jumped at the phantom voice and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. He turned the corner to find Matt, covered in flour and frosting, and laughed.

“Thangks,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “You doing okay with the whole… bread thing?”

Matt shrugged and motioned to the recipe on his phone. “I mean, if this bread recipe is good enough for The Barefoot Contessa, it should be good enough for these people, right?”

Elijah smiled, amused. “Right,” he said, turning to cough away from the prep kitchen entrance. Matt gave him a sympathetic look, and Elijah shrugged.

“You’re here early,” Matt said, scoring the tops of his rolls and covering the baking sheets in plastic for proofing. Elijah gave him a small smile.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said, sniffling. “Worried about this party tondight, I guess.”

“Mmm,” Matt hummed, noncommittal. Elijah and his boss were two sides of the same stubborn-ass coin, and there was no use reasoning with or forcing confessions of illness out of either of them. The only people they listened to were each other; their relationship was weird, it was codependent, but it worked so Matt didn’t question it. He hoped Greyson would be in soon.

“I’mb going to go work on the mbenus for tondight,” Elijah said, swallowing back a cough. “Holler if you ndeed mbe.”

Matt knew he wouldn’t need Elijah, but he nodded anyway. “Right back at ya.”

***

The sun had finally made its way to the middle of the sky when Greyson burst through the doors of the kitchen, his signature bull-in-a-china-shop style.

“Christ it’s hot out there,” Greyson moaned as he walked into the prep kitchen. Matt had finally finished the three-tiered cake and was working on making fondant letters to adorn the top. He looked up from his work to see his boss perusing the trays of rolls and cake tiers cooling in the prep kitchen’s reach-in refrigerator.

Greyson was looking especially disheveled this morning; he’d let his hair grow all the way to his shoulders this year – everyone on the stupid dating apps loves long hair, is what he’d said to Matt when he mentioned his boss had needed a haircut back in February – and it was pulled back into a messy ponytail today. He was in a cutoff t-shirt and cutoff shorts, flip-flops, and, frankly, looked more ready for a lazy day at the beach than the huge party he’d have to put out in a few hours.

“It’s August,” Matt said in response to Greyson’s gripe. “That’s, like, peak hot. Why are you wearing that?”

His boss turned to face Matt, gave himself a once over, and huffed out a little laugh. “Couldn’t sleep last night, so I ended up walking to a club. Went home with some girl and crashed at her place, passed out, didn’t have time to go back home, so you get flip-flop Greyson. I have a spare set of clothes in the office.”

Matt rolled his eyes, thinking of the conversation he’d had with Elijah earlier; two sides of the same coin.

“You all good on the bread, Master Baker?” Greyson asked, grinning at his own joke. Matt gave a little laugh through his nose.

“All good,” he said. “I just need help with the fucking frosting for this cake, I can’t seem to get it -”

“IGTSHZZ-ue!”

Matt’s head snapped up suddenly; his boss’s face was pressed into his elbow. The sous felt his heart sink. Not both of them.

A sick Elijah was fine. A sick Greyson was slightly more annoying, but also tolerable. But when both of them were sick, it was, to put it lightly, a nightmare.

“Shit, ‘scuse me, sorry, can’t stop fucking sneezing today,” Greyson said, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand.

“Bless you,” Matt said, accusatory. “are you feeling okay?”

Greyson started to nod, then held up a finger as if to say, ‘hold on’. Matt waited a moment while his boss stood, waiting for another sneeze that didn’t seem to want to come. He let out a shaky breath and shook his head as if to clear it. “I’mb good,” he said, congestion already seeping into his voice. Matt had a sudden memory pop into his head – Greyson offering Elijah a bite of a short rib dish yesterday, then taking a bite himself from the same fork. Goddamn it, Greyson.

“Are you -”

“ITSZH-ue! HTSHH-uh! Fuckin – HGTSHH-ue!” Greyson suddenly collapsed into a volley of sneezes, covered only by a hand. He grimaced at the obvious mess he’d left behind and went to the sink to blow his nose and clean himself up.

“Fuck, Chef,” Matt said while Greyson washed his hands. While, like Elijah, there was no use trying to force a confession out of Greyson, Matt was much closer to the executive chef and couldn’t help accusing him. “Are you serious? This is so not the day for you to be fucking sick.”

“Oh, relax,” Greyson said, rolling his eyes. “I’mb ndot sick, it mbust be allergies or somethiii….INGTSHH-uhh! Fuck mbe,” Greyson moaned, pulling more paper towels out of the dispenser and blowing again.

“It’s not allergies,” Matt said. Greyson raised an eyebrow at his sous.

“Yeah? How do you know that, all-seeing eye?”

As if summoned, Elijah turned the corner into the prep kitchen at that moment. “Grey, good, you’re here,” he said, attempting to clear his throat. “Cand we go over verbiage for the mbenu tondight?”

Greyson pursed his lips and closed his eyes on seeing the GM. Matt’s eyes darted from Elijah to Greyson and back again, wondering how this was going to play out.

“What?” Elijah asked, sniffling.

“You fuckin’ asshole,” Greyson said, giving Elijah a little playful shove. “Why didn’t you tell me yesterday you were fuckin’ sick?”

“I’mb ndot sigck,” Elijah said, pathetically. Matt had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing; Elijah’s eyes were rimmed red, his nose was chapped from blowing, and since he’d walked through the door he hadn’t gone more than five minutes without sneezing. If you looked up ‘sick’ in the dictionary, there he’d be.

Greyson had no such tact and barked out a laugh in his boss’s face. “Yeah?” he asked, slapping a hand on Elijah’s forehead. The GM shook him off, but the damage was done. “You’re burning up,” Greyson said, his voice accusatory. Elijah flipped him the bird.

“I’mb ndot burning up, it’s just hot in the office,” Elijah said, taking a step back and crossing his arms. “Also, why the fuck are you dressed like you’re in a ndineties beach dramba?”

“I’m about to go change, but nice attempt at changing the subject,” Greyson said, leaning against the wall. “Seriously, have you taken anything?”

Elijah rolled his eyes, but nodded. “Just drop it,” Elijah said, his voice deadpan. “Why are you being such a dick about it, andyway? It’s ndot like -”

“HGTSH! HTSH! Huh… hh…”

“Oh, mbother fuck -”

“HUHESSTZCHUE!” Greyson doubled over to sneeze into his elbow, cutting his boss off not once, but twice. He gave Elijah a knowing glance over the crook of his arm and sniffled.

Elijah sighed, a congested, tired sound. “I… bless you,” he said.

“Thangks,” Greyson said, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. “Patient zero.”

“Fuck off,” Elijah said, shoving the chef. “Cand you please combe help mbe with these stupid mbenus?”

Greyson nodded, then turned back to Matt. “You said you’re all good, yeah?” he asked. Matt hadn’t; he needed help with the frosting, and wanted to make sure Greyson was okay with the way the rolls were proofing. But he nodded anyway; no use trying to separate the two of them while they were mid-squabble.

“I’m good,” Matt said. “I’ll come get you in a bit.”

Greyson nodded, then followed behind Elijah, muttering something about a plague rat. Matt could hear the slap Elijah bestowed upon him from across the kitchen.

***

Mark hated these types of events.

When he was younger, Mark had been a banquet captain for a hotel; a job he’d rather forget on most days. The nights were long, the people were always entirely too drunk, and although the pay was good, he dreaded every single shift.

Elijah had decided when the year began that Elliot’s had a goal of doing one full buyout banquet a month, a decision that made Mark’s heart sink, though he’d never let that on to his boss. Instead, he’d told Elijah all about his past banquet experience, showed the GM how to make a proper BEO, and volunteered to captain the events that his boss booked. He hated banquets, but he did love this tiny restaurant; he loved his staff and he loved his bosses and he wanted to make working there enjoyable for everyone.

Putting on a good face didn’t mean he hated it any less.

Mark yanked open the kitchen doors at noon the day of the event – an event he knew from the very moment of its booking was going to be a nightmare – and tried to get his game face on. He was going to be there until two in the morning, he was going to get his ass handed to him by some overinflated MLM Boss Babe, he was going to have to move the tables a hundred times… Mark shook his head to clear it. Becoming hyper-focused on how much this evening was going to suck wasn’t doing him any favors, that much he knew.

“Hey, Mark,” Matt said from the prep kitchen to his left. Mark stopped in his tracks and waved at the sous chef.

“Hi, Matt,” he said, smiling. “I thought you were supposed to be out of here by now? Didn’t you come in at like four in the morning?”

“Three,” Matt corrected, pulling a hand down his face in obvious exhaustion. “I’m trying to get out of here, but…” he trailed off, looking behind Mark in anticipation. Mark furrowed his brow and turned – nothing there.

“But…?” he prompted. Matt sighed.

“Greyson’s… on one,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “I can’t for the fuckin’ life of me get him to come back here.”

Mark chuckled. “When isn’t he on one?” he asked. Matt let loose a dark laugh as well. “What’s his problem?”

“HHUTSZHH-ue!”

Mark cocked his head towards the sound that came from the office in the front of the kitchen. Then, slowly, he turned back to Matt. “He’s not…”

“Both of them,” Matt answered, resting his head in his hand, an elbow propped on the prep table. “I thought maybe it wasn’t so bad when they came in this morning, but…”

“HGTSHH-uhh! Huh -”

“HTZSCHUE!”

First Elijah. Then Greyson. Rinse, repeat.

“Goddamn it,” Mark muttered. “Okay. I’ll go do damage control and send Greyson back here to check you out so you can go.”

Matt nodded. “Thanks, man,” he said, picking up a Sharpie and labeling a pan wrapped in plastic. Mark gave a nod back, and headed to the front of the kitchen.

Greyson and Elijah were both seated in the office, twin tissues held to their faces. Elijah was coughing like a man who’d just escaped a house fire, while Greyson seemed stuck in a sort of pre-sneeze torture. It would’ve been almost funny, if it weren’t so pathetic.

“Um,” Mark said, knocking on the open door and catching both his bosses off-guard. “Hey. Everything, uh… okay in here?”

Greyson let out a shaky, unresolved breath. “Yeah. All good. Hi,” he said, his voice low and stuffed-up. He hit Elijah in the arm, motioned up to Mark, and said, “Where are your mbanners?”

Elijah rolled his eyes and took a sip from a water cup of questionable age. “Hey, Mbark,” he said. The GM’s voice was nearly gone, and sounded raw, like his throat was on fire.

“You guys look great,” Mark joked, prompting a bark of a laugh from Greyson and a dead-eyed look from Elijah. “How the hell did you both manage to get sick overnight?”

“Well, sombeone was getti’g sick yesterday and didn’t tell mbe,” Greyson said, flashing a pointed look Elijah’s way. Elijah turned to the chef and placed his head in his hand; apparently, Mark was no longer invited to this conversation.

“You kndow what I was thinking,” Elijah said, his voice going out on the final syllable. He cleared his throat before continuing. “I was thinking, how do you kndow it was mbe who got you sick? Mbaybe you’re just projecting because you’re patient zero.”

“Elijah, I kndow you have a fever but let’s try to rembain in reality, shall we? You’re obviously patient zero because I was finde last ndight. You, on the other hand, were texti’g mbe ‘oh, mby allergies are so bad, I don’t know what’s bloomi’g but it -’ IGTSZZHUE! ETSHCHUE! Oh, fuckigg finally,” Greyson groaned, yanking more tissues from the box placed squarely between the two of them and blowing. Elijah coughed out a laugh.

“You were sayi’g?” he asked, smug. Greyson rolled his eyes from behind a tissue.

“Fugck off,” he said, turning back toward Mark, who assumed he’d been forgotten completely. “Did you ndeed sombething, Mbark?”

Mark nodded. “Yeah,” he said, “Matt said he needed to check out with you, Chef?”

“Oh, fugck I totally forgot Mbatt got here in the mbiddle of the ndight,” Greyson said, pushing himself to his feet too quickly. He caught hold of the desk, swaying slightly, and closed his eyes.

Elijah raised his eyebrows at Greyson, who got himself back together after a moment. “You gonnda mbake it?” he asked as the chef slowly opened his eyes. Greyson sneered.

“Screw you, Elijah, this shit is your fault,” he said, pushing his hair off of his sweaty forehead.

Elijah looked to Mark. “Cand you please tell me what kind of fever he’s sporting?” he asked. Mark set his jaw; he really didn’t want to get in the middle of this whole thing… but Elijah was his direct report. He didn’t have much choice; without warning the chef first, Mark placed a hand on Greyson’s forehead.

Greyson pulled away as quick as he could. “Back off,” he snarled, pushing past Mark to relieve Matt in the back kitchen. Mark shrank back as the chef breezed by; he really could be scary when he wanted to be.

“Sorry,” Elijah said when Greyson was out of earshot. “He shouldn’t be such an ass to you.”

Mark shrugged. “I get it. It sucks working when you don’t feel well. He definitely has a fever,” the floor manager said. Elijah nodded and Mark gave him a pointed look. “You look like you do, too.”

Elijah gave a little half-shrug back. “Ndothing I haven’t worked through before,” he said. “Huhh...HGTSHH-ue! Huh! ETSHZHUE!” The GM wrenched away from Mark to sneeze painfully towards the door. Mark flinched in sympathy.

“Bless,” he said. “So… how are we going to handle tonight?”

Elijah turned sluggishly back towards Mark and sniffled, an unproductive, squelching sound. “You tell mbe,” he said, his voice all but gone, “captaind.”

Fuck.

***

“You do it.”

“No fuckin’ way. This is on you, dude. I’m one foot out the door.”

“Matt, you’ve been saying that since two PM and now it’s ten. Clearly you’re not one foot out the door.”

Matt shot Mark a look, but he couldn’t deny the truth in his statement. But how the fuck could he have left earlier? When Greyson had come to the back kitchen to dismiss him hours before, the chef had nearly passed out just from the walk. He never would’ve said that he needed Matt to stay; he wasn’t that kind of guy. He was the guy who worked until he literally passed out without even asking for a hand to grab before he fell. Both he and Elijah were.

So, without being asked, Matt stayed for the event. He prepped with the line cooks, while Mark helped the servers prepare the dining room, and both of them attempted to corral their bosses into resting in the office.

“Are you sure you don’t ndeed mbe to at least sear off the short ribs?” Greyson had asked, white-knuckling the prep table that Matt was working at. “Seriously, Mbatt, you don’t have to do everythigg.”

“I don’t need you to sear the short ribs,” Matt said, gently guiding his boss back to a chair. “Please. Just sit down, it hurts me to watch you… breathe.”

“Mbark, at least let mbe fold ndapkins for your or something,” Elijah had insisted, swaying in the middle of the dining room. Mark had to nearly run to keep his boss from face-planting at the host stand.

“Lij, we have an army on,” Mark said. “Go rest, please. We’ll need you for service.”

The two ill men had eventually given up on asking to help their counterparts. The staff, a truly well-oiled machine, had worked around them, narrowly avoiding being coughed or sneezed on, until the event started.

Once the hosts of the event arrived, Greyson and Elijah pulled themselves together enough to at least look like figureheads. Greyson hoarsely shouted orders in the kitchen, while Elijah helped the servers organize their tables and schmoozed the hosts. Against all odds, it had gone smoothly, and once the food was out both Elijah and Greyson stumbled back into the office, sunk down into the waiting tablecloth nest, and passed out.

Which led them to now.

“I don’t want to wake them, dude,” Matt said. “They’re so mean when they’re sick.”

“Well obviously I don’t want to wake them, either,” Mark countered. “But one of us has to do it, the hosts aren’t going to leave till they can say goodb -”

“HGTSHH!” Greyson woke himself with a massive sneeze, which shook Elijah awake.

“Fuck, mbust you be so goddamn loud?” Elijah asked, his voice cracking. Greyson flashed him an annoyed look.

“Oh, mby sincere apologies, ndext time I have an uncontrollable bodily functiond occur I’ll mbake sure to think about your combfort beforehand,” he said, pushing his hair into a small bun on the back of his head.

“Mbuch appreciated,” Elijah said, slowly sitting up. The two of them turned, almost simultaneously, to the younger men standing at the door. “...yes?” Elijah asked.

Matt elbowed Mark, who gave him a fleeting dirty look. “Um,” Mark said, “the, uh, hosts wanted to say goodbye to you guys if you’re… up for it.”

Elijah nodded, but Greyson was the first to push himself to a standing position. “Just stay there, old mban, you’re sicker than mbe and obviously worse at keeping your germbs to yourself.” Greyson pushed past Mark and Matt, placing a hand on his sous chef’s shoulder before exiting the kitchen.

“Thangk you for stayi’g,” he said. “Ndow go hombe before I kick you out.”

Matt smiled a bit. “Yes, Chef,” he said. “Um… feel better.”

Greyson nodded and disappeared through the doors to the dining room. When Mark turned away from the swinging doors, Elijah was also standing.

“You go, too, Mbark,” he said, straightening his glasses and smoothing his sleep-wrinkled shirt as best he could. “We ndeed both of you well rested for the rest of the week. Great job tondi- IGTSZH-uhh! Snrf.” Elijah didn’t bother finishing his sentence, just smiled at Mark and rubbed his chapped nose.

“Bless,” Mark said, “and thank you. It did go well, didn’t it?”

“Well as it could’ve,” Elijah said, one hand on the swinging door. “Ndight,” he said, and followed behind Greyson.

Matt and Mark exchanged a knowing look when both their bosses exited the kitchen.

“We totally ran a restaurant today,” Matt said, a smile creeping onto his lips. Mark laughed.

“Yeah,” he said, “we kind of did, didn’t we?”

The moment of elation sat between them like a birthday balloon, bright and taut enough to pop, until they heard a massive, “HGTSHHZUE!” from the dining room, followed by coughing, followed by motherly-sounding tutting from the hosts of the event.

“Let’s get out of here,” Mark said, and Matt nodded.

“Before they change their minds,” he said.

The two of them rushed out the back of the kitchen into the late-summer-evening heat. “Hey,” Mark said, before they went their separate ways. “I know you’ve had a long day, but would you like to go get a drink with me?”

Matt smiled, and turned toward the other man. “Yeah,” he said, “yeah, I definitely would.”

[abeautylives]

Imperfect Moments - Chapter Nine

Series Masterlist

pairing: Jakexfemale!reader

word count: about 3.5k this chapter

series summary: You’re in love with your best friend. His twin brother hates you. Or does he?

chapter summary: It's a little too soon to be feeling guilt and jealousy, isn't it?

warnings: 18+ minors stay far away, language, explicit sexual content, illicit smoking, signs of a panic attack, mention of oral (f. receiving), unprotected penetrative sex, smut directly below the cut

“Don’t stop…”

“M’not gonna stop ‘til you’re cumming all over my cock.” His hand crashes down over your ass before he grips the reddened flesh again.

You’re bent over the edge of his bed, face pushing deeper into the mattress with every pounding thrust, sheets soaking up your sweat and every curse and moan spilling from your lips.

He feels different, somehow softer despite the punishing pace of his hips leaving bruises on the backs of your thighs.

“Tell me you love it,” he grunts through gritted teeth, “tell me how much.”

Whining, you’re near tears when you tell him you love his cock, love the way he fucks you, love him.

I love you, I love you, fuuuck baby I love you so much.

When your cunt clenches down on him, when you cum for him, he fucks his own release into you until you’re both hissing from overstimulation.

He pulls out of you and pushes your body to the bed, lays out flat on his back next to you and catches his breath. Turning your head to him, cheek pressed firmly to the expensive cotton, he rolls his to the side and offers you a cheeky smile.

“I love you more, darling.”

You wake up violently, sitting straight up in your bed. Your breath is hitching in your throat as you run a hand over your face, covered in a cold sweat.

What the fuck. What. The fuck.

Completely parched, you throw your blanket from your body and pad to the kitchen, chug a full glass of tap water before filling another to carry back to your room.

Reaching your bed, you sit back against your headboard and lean your head back. You stare at the tiny, old water stain on your ceiling for what feels like hours, no longer tired and afraid of what you’d see behind your lids if you tried to close your eyes. When they start to hurt, you squeeze them shut so tightly that all you can see is squiggling lines of color before you crack them back open and slide down the sheets.

It’s irrational, but you almost feel sick with it. Guilt.

It was one of those dreams that seems so real that you can smell it. Taking a deep breath in through your nose, you feel a little more grounded when you realize that you can actually still smell Jake all around you, from a couple nights ago.

But the scent clinging to the sheets in your dream had distinctly been that of Josh.

Sleep must have found you eventually, because the sunlight blasting through your window wakes you this time. I really need to invest in curtains. Or at least remember to close the fucking blinds. With a groan, you roll away from the offensive dawn of a new day. You reach for your phone to check the time, it’s embarrassingly late but the clock still says AM so… that’s something.

You already have texts from each twin waiting to be read.

They had chilled out with it over the last week or so, especially Josh. He’d settled back into the occasional brief conversation here and there, but you still talked to him daily. It almost felt normal. This morning, he’s simply reminding you that they’re leaving for Connecticut in a few days and you’d promised to come over for a movie night.

You’re acutely aware that they’re leaving in a few days.

They won’t be gone very long, and they’ve left before. You’ve missed him before and been fine.

But you’ve never had to miss Jake.

He’s been at your apartment almost every night since last weekend, sometimes you eat dinner together and watch tv or a movie, sometimes he’s pawing at your body as soon as he steps through the door. Every time though, he finds his way inside you, fucks you however you need it. He lets you set the pace and he does it perfectly… every time.

Reminiscing over the last time, you open his texts.

Jake K: Good morning 😚

Jake K: Had a dream about you last night

Oh god.

You reply to both of their texts, letting Josh know you haven’t forgotten about movie night and asking him if tonight would work.

You return Jake’s good morning and ignore the one about the dream.

While you’re sitting on the couch waiting for coffee to brew, your phone vibrates on the table in front of you and you smile to yourself when you see Jake’s face on the screen.

“Hello Jacob.”

“Jacob huh. Wanna try that again?” The faux tone of authority is sort of sexy but it makes you chuckle.

“Umm, good morning lover.”

“Mm, good choice. How’d you sleep, sweetheart?”

“Not great, honestly but I’m fine.” You could’ve lied, but the small admission assuages a little bit of the baseless guilt you’re still feeling. “And yourself?”

“You sure you're okay?” In what you’ve found to be typical Jake fashion, he clings to your discomfort and feels the need to soothe it before he can move on. “What happened?”

“Nothing really, woke up in the middle of the night and couldn't fall back asleep. No big deal.” An omission of truth isn’t really a lie… right?

“Missed me too much?”

“Oh yeah, that’s it. Needed you here to wear me out.” Sex is a safe subject that usually distracts him from anything too serious. But of course, it’s not working today.

“Yeah.. heh, yeah I’m good for that. I feel like you’ve told me you haven’t slept well a bunch of times in the past couple weeks. Is that normal for you?”

Contemplating that question for a moment, you don’t answer right away and he fills the silence.

“Is there anything I can do?” The genuine concern in his voice warms you from the inside out.

“What did I do to deserve you?” It’s a thought that escapes on a whisper before you can stop it, you clasp a hand over your mouth as soon as you say it. On the other end of the line, Jake is grinning at his twin from across their kitchen island. Josh is staring at him, confused by the dopey look on his brother’s face, but to Jake it feels like a small victory. Deep down, he knows there is no competition for your affection but he also knows that only two weeks ago you were in love with the man sitting across from him.

“You deserve the world, I’m just doing what I can… Josh said you’re coming over here tonight?” You hadn’t been to their house since the night of the afterparty but movie nights with Josh used to be a regular thing, with Jake lurking somewhere upstairs or joining you in petulant silence.

“I am, but if he tries to make me watch that space odyssey movie again I’m leaving, I swear to god.” After sharing a laugh over your quip, you tell him that you should go and that you’ll see him later.

“Alright sweetheart, see you then. Have a good day.”

Your work day passes quickly but the unsettled feeling in the pit of your stomach does not. You’re not sure if it’s residual guilt or the rising anxiety from having to say goodbye to them so soon, but by the time Josh is pulling you through his front door and into his arms, your stomach is in knots.

You find yourself able to relax, a little, once you’ve had a beer and a half and you’re sitting on the marble countertop of their kitchen waiting on the popcorn in the microwave. Josh had asked if you wanted to smoke before the film and is currently in his room grabbing what he’s promised you is “really good shit”. Jake has kept a respectful distance since you arrived, but this moment alone has him slotting between your legs and begging for a kiss with puckered lips and wandering hands.

When those lips find the tender skin below your earlobe, he murmurs against it, “So did you miss me?” The low hum in your throat vibrates against his mouth. “Tell me how much.”

Oh. Oh no.

Josh saunters back into the room whistling a tune you don’t recognize and Jake immediately puts distance between your bodies, allowing you to release the breath you’d sucked in when he’d said… that.

“Like a couple of horny teenagers, the two of you. You know, it’s weird but I’m kind of getting used to it. No sex in my kitchen though, please.”

“It’s my kitchen too, dickhead.”

“So it is. Reserve your kitchen copulation for Y/N’s kitchen then. Jake, come roll this for us, you’re better at it.” When Josh turns to head into the living room, Jake takes your hands and pulls you down from the counter to press his lips to your forehead before following him. Alone, you take a few grounding breaths.

Get it together, sweetheart.

A laugh snorts from your nose when you subconsciously call yourself Jake’s nickname for you. By the time you make it to the living room juggling three bowls of popcorn, there’s already a soft haze in the air.

“Couldn’t even wait for me, cool cool.” Josh has already started a movie, which thankfully is not the space odyssey one but it is the orange clock one. Another masterpiece that he’s made you watch a hundred times. Normally the two of you would settle in on the couch, or Josh would sit on the floor and lean against it below you. Sometimes you’d get high and he would let you twist his curls around your fingers while he explained the cinematography or sound design, he’d hum under your touch and your heart would flutter. His affinity for physical touch had fooled you a little bit, sucked you in and put you under his spell that he’d cast unintentionally.

Occasionally, Jake would join to watch the movie but whether or not there was room on the couch, he would sit as far away from you as possible in the leather armchair. Watching Josh lead you on.

Tonight Josh has settled onto the floor and Jake is actually parked on the couch with a joint pinched between his thumb and middle finger. When you set the popcorn on the coffee table you look them over before glancing to the armchair.

Don’t be weird. Sit down.

Slipping past Jake’s knees, you take up residence in your usual spot on the couch behind Josh’s head.

“We’ve seen this one, Joshua. A bunch of times.”

Reaching an arm back to request the joint from his brother, he tells you, “I’m very aware of that darling, but Jake said you didn’t wanna watch 2001: A Space Odyssey.” You slap the back of your hand against Jake’s arm in reprimand as Josh takes a hit and holds it, speaking around the smoke in his lungs. “And it’s my turn to choose,” he blows the smoke up to the ceiling, “so I chose this. Enjoy!”

Knowing you’ll enjoy the company and the weed more than the movie, you take the joint when he passes it up to you and let your eyes land on Jake’s as you take a hit and hold your breath. He watches as you let the smoke crawl past your lips before blowing the last of it away and coughing.

He reaches for it as he laughs, “Sounds like you need some practice, sweetheart.” Your eyes roll without any true annoyance, and the three of you complete the rotation a couple more times before Jake licks his fingertips and extinguishes the burning end. He sets the remainder in a clay ashtray that looks like a child made it in art class.

The movie rolls on but you’re paying no attention to it, you’ve relaxed into the couch, reclined against the arm with your legs stretched out and feet resting in Jake’s lap. His hands, that started just placed over your ankle, have been moving over the denim covering your shin. Your body is already buzzing but his hands, alternating between rubbing over your legs to drawing circles there with his fingertips, have you feeling warm and drowsy. You’ve been examining his profile, noting all of the differences between his and his twin’s while he’s zoned out and staring down at his hands.

When Josh asks him to relight the joint and pass it to him, you’re broken out of your daze as Jake turns to grab it. After Josh takes a hit you reach your hand out for it, but instead of passing it to you he grabs your wrist and pulls you forward. You think he wants to say something to you, but as you roll to bring your face nearer his, he takes another drag into his lungs and releases your wrist to wrap his hand around the back of your neck.

Hazy and out of focus, this seems fine. When Josh pulls you in until your lips are almost touching, it feels okay. As his lips part and yours mimic them, he exhales the smoke directly into your waiting mouth. You breathe it in deep and his lips bump against yours as they close. You roll back to the arm of the couch before releasing it, and when the smoke clears… Jake is pushing your legs off of him and standing. This doesn’t feel right, this isn’t fine. Where is he going? Where are you going?

Your body won’t catch up to your brain, you haven’t called out to him or moved to follow as he walks out of the room and disappears.

“Josh…” It croaks out of your throat, dry and quiet and he hasn’t heard you. “Josh.”

“Yeah darling, what is it?” His eyes don’t leave the television.

“Why did you do that?” Why did I do that? “Where did he go?”

“Hm?” He’s not paying attention, has no clue that you’re distressed, no idea that Jake’s even left.

Willing your body to move, you push yourself up from the couch and go to find him. Your movements feel slow but your mind is racing. Somehow you make it up the stairs but when you get there you realize you have no idea which door is the one to his bedroom. You’re pretty sure you know which is Josh’s and which is a bathroom, but that leaves three other doors and you can’t hear anything other than the ringing in your ears.

Where are you? Jake!

“Jake?” It finally squeaks out of you into the silence of the hallway. Shuffling forward, you reach for the handle of the first door you come to but as soon as your fingers wrap around it, it swings open and pulls your body with it. You hit the solid wall of Jake’s chest but he doesn’t move to steady or hold you, just lets you bounce off of him as you stagger back and lift your eyes to his. What you find there is chilled disinterest.

“Jake…”

“Are you lost?” It's clipped and dripping with venom.

“No, no I-“

“Go back downstairs Y/N, I’m sure he’s wondering where you are.”

All you can do is close your eyes and shake your head, hoping to wake up on the couch. This is a bad, weed-induced, anxiety-fueled dream. Oh god, the dream. You can feel the word vomit coming, rising like bile in the back of your throat and it burns as it leaves your mouth.

“I fucked Josh.”

“What?!” Your body recoils when he raises his voice, and you know you haven’t said what you meant to.

“In a dream. I dreamt that I fucked Josh. And, and that’s why I didn’t sleep last night, and I’ve felt so sick over it all day, and I- he, I don’t know why I did that, downstairs, it didn’t mean anything Jake, he doesn’t mean anything-“

“Shut up.” Your mouth snaps closed instantly. “Look at me.” Your eyes open and struggle to focus on his face.

“You had sex with Josh. In a dream.”

You think you feel your head nod.

“And what? You feel guilty?”

“Yes… Jake I’m so sorry, I don’t want him, I swear. Only you-“

His sharp laughter cuts you off, and you stare open-mouthed as he lifts a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. When he drops it, his eyes are warm again and he’s wearing a sympathetic smile.

“That’s dumb. You know that, right?”

Your response croaks from your throat, choked with emotion. “What?”

“Come here, come in here.” Pulling you across the threshold and into his room, he kicks the door closed behind him and leads you to sit on the edge of his bed. Eyes wide, you’re scanning them quickly over the space to take in as much as possible before he cups your jaw and pulls you to look at him again.

“I’m sorry, for getting mad.”

“No, don’t be, I don’t know what I was thinking. I wasn't thinking, we’ve done that before but, I’m-“ Now that your mouth works again, you can’t seem to stop rushing through your words, but he’s calm and collected somehow and stops them with a simple press of his lips to yours.

“Stop, Y/N… You don’t have to apologize. Just please keep your mouth off my brother, ya know, moving forward.” When you finally giggle, he lets his smile stretch wider before pulling you into his lap and kissing over your forehead. Against the skin there, he whispers, “I know I shouldn’t be jealous of him, but I am still… sometimes. But you can’t help what you dream about.” He pulls away to look into your eyes, make sure you’re hearing him.

“I know… but you don’t have anything to be jealous of. And that dream… I don’t know, it felt so real, I woke up feeling like I cheated on you.” As soon as you say it, you realize how it sounds. Cheated on you? Like he’s my…

“Don’t overthink that, I can see you doing it.” Secretly, he’s reveling in this admission. You can’t cheat on someone if you’re not together, and the fact that you felt that way has to mean that you’re with him. Even if the words haven’t been said. “Let it go, sweetheart. Calm down for me. Do you wanna go back downstairs?”

“No, not yet. Can we just stay here for a little while?”

You’re already in his lap, so when he stands you’re being lifted into his arms and then laid gently against his pillows. As soon as your head hits them you roll and nuzzle your nose into the fabric, taking a deep breath. When he lays beside you, you roll into him and do the same thing at the base of his neck.

“You always smell so good. I wanna eat you.”

“Yeah? You got the munchies now?” He chuckles softly and you feel it rumble through his chest under your palm. His skin there is exposed, as it so often is, and his laughter turns into a sigh when your hand leaves the spot over his heart and runs down over his ribs. His breath hitches when it leaves his ribs and inches down his stomach. His own hand circles your wrist when your fingertips slip below the waist of his jeans. “Hey, we don’t have to have sex just because we’re in my bed. We can just lay here.”

“What if I want to?” His grip on your wrist is loose and allows your hand to slip lower until your fingers meet the soft hair at the base of his dick. Into the skin at the side of his neck you speak softly, “Please? I’m gonna miss you so much when you’re gone. I need you… please baby?”

It doesn’t take much more than that before he’s on top of you, using his teeth to pull fresh marks to the surface of your skin, helping you push his jeans down his hips. When your cunt is in his mouth, he savors it like he doesn’t know when he’ll be able to taste you again. When he’s moving inside you, it’s slow and sweet and overwhelming in the best way. After he cums, pressing kisses into your lips, your cheek, you hold him close and keep him inside you until you both are nearly asleep.

“Am I crushing you?” It’s mumbled into the pillow next to your ear.

“Mmm, no, I could sleep right now. Hungry though.”

“Me too, let’s go raid the fridge.”

You both throw on a pair of his sweatpants and a t-shirt and sneak down to the kitchen. There’s really no need to keep quiet though - Josh is passed out on the couch and snoring softly. While Jake fixes you something to eat, you pad to the living room to throw a blanket over your best friend. Normally, you probably would’ve placed a soft kiss to his forehead or into his hair but when you’re leaned over him, you realize you shouldn’t. And so you don’t.

The first time you sleep in Jake’s bed, it’s the best night's sleep you can remember in a very long time.

Taglist:

@lightmylove-gvf @spicedandicedtea @weneedsomehealing123 @milkgemini @why-ami-on-here @gretavanbitches @twistedmelodies @wildflowerxx-x @dannythedog @blissfulbellss @averagemisfit03 @dharmasdivine @thetroublegetssoloud71 @lucimoo @toxbexannouncedx @dig0930 @maddie-van-fleet @friska101-cg @welllauragvf @gretasimp @objectsinspvce @writingcold @gretavangroupie @sweetybre @gretasgoose

[nobodywritingao3]

Shameful Company [ch 2]

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The village Tommy grew up in was located in a beast's territory, a man eating serpent's. Isolated from the world, all he's ever known is loneliness. When he's forced outside the safety of the town walls he meets a stranger who claims to live beyond the village. They become fast friends despite the fact that the man is clearly hiding something - but can you really blame Tommy? He's never had a friend before.

CW for entire fic: - Wilbur eats people lol - swearing title taken from 'Shameful Company' by Rainbow Kitten Surprise inspired by the talented @beckyu and her story 'My Monster to Slay' (tumblr) (AO3)

word count: 3.5k 🐍 read it on AO3

The routine keeps up for little more than a week.

Tommy is always sent out the same day he comes back. He and Wilbur dick around the forest or relax in the cave until sunset, which they watch from the entrance with warm mugs of tea. They stay up talking and the next morning, they wake up slowly, lounging around until well past noon. Wilbur insists he return to the village and Tommy argues it’s a waste of time since he’ll just get kicked out again. They go back and he’s proven right. Wilbur waits in the clearing and they spend the rest of the day in each other’s company.

It’s actually really fun. It’s the most connection he’s ever felt in his memory, and as far as he can tell, Wilbur appreciates the friendship as much as Tommy does.

Which is why he’s confused (and yeah, okay, a little hurt) that Wilbur sends him back, over and over and over again. Not to be clingy but - for fuck’s sake - at the very least, Wilbur could be a bit less vehement about it.

It’s disorienting too - Wilbur has admitted that he spends around three hours waiting for Tommy, and everytime they meet, his eyes light up and he smiles. The mixed signals are confusing. It’s a complicated layer to the friendship Tommy can’t help trying to mentally untangle.

Like - why is it such a big deal that he leave each day?

The villagers don’t want him - they’re still holding out hope he’ll get eaten in the woods for goodness’ sake. Not only is it pointless to send him ‘home,’ but - Tommy wants to stay, as embarrassing as it is to admit. Not that he’d ever dream of asking to live in the cave, Tommy’s man enough to admit he doesn’t have the balls. Truthfully, he wishes Wilbur would offer.

He hates the village. Everything about it, from the way the citizens are terrified and brainwashed and revere Dream like he’s a fucking god, to its deep and unwavering hostility. People have always regarded him as an outcast, but the shunning has worsened dramatically now that he’s a repeat survivor of the Outside.

He just wants to stay with Wilbur, in the cave in the woods.

There’s a part of him, a self loathing little piece of his brain that tells him there’s something wrong with him. The village sees it, the council sees it. Either Wilbur’s already seen it and he’s too good a person to reject Tommy directly, or he’ll see it soon and he’ll cast him away then.

He tries to shrug it off.

Normally, he can say with clarity where he stands with someone. The townsfolk don’t care for his wellbeing. No matter how convincing they are, or how convinced of their own lies they are, he can see through them. But Wilbur is confusing. He’s nothing like the villagers. He has his own interests at heart, while they’ve had their self preservation and agency stamped out by Dream and the rest of the council. Wilbur’s got his own agenda and his secrets, and he’s a bad liar. He acts like he cares about Tommy, but he does things to contradict that. Like sending him away everyday.

He mulls over these thoughts as he sits on the ground next to the gates, doodling in a little pad of paper Wilbur had gifted him. Tommy’s got another twenty minutes until he’ll be released, and the man is undoubtedly waiting for him in the clearing.

Gravel crunches to his left - footsteps - and he looks up. Dream approaches him, smiling friendly in a way that doesn’t reach his eyes.

Tommy’s stomach starts to twist into knots. “Hello,” he greets casually, “are you here to see me off?”

He reminds himself that Dream can’t hurt him directly, not until he’s eighteen.

He’s safe. He’s safe. He’s safe.

(He’s not.)

Dream looks at him with something appraising and cold in his eyes, though he’s still giving his best smile. “Unfortunately not, I’m afraid I have a meeting in ten minutes with the council, though I wish you luck,” he laughs. It’s soft, and a little dark. But in a way that only Tommy ever seems to notice. He continues affectedly, “but it seems I don’t need to! You’ve shown to be very… lucky.”

There’s a million things Tommy could say. He could tell Dream to shut up with the villain monologue, to just cut to the chase. Or he could go bigger, and scream at him. Tell him he’s a manipulative sadist who feeds on the attention, fearful and loving, of two hundred people because he’s empty and cold and knows no one would ever love him if they saw him for what he is.

But he won’t say those things. It’s pointless. And Dream would just feed on it and use it to fuck with him even more. Honestly, even thinking of comebacks makes him tired.

So he smiles instead. “Indeed sir,” he responds plainly. “I’ve been fortunate.”

Something changes in Dream’s demeanor.

Tommy instantly knows he said the wrong thing.

After a gap of silence, he coolly responds, “Don’t be coy.”

Tommy blinks. He has no idea what to say. Hesitantly, he asks, “Excuse me?”

Dream ignores him. “How did you do it?”

Terror works itself under his skin. Dream holds all the cards. It’s his town, his people. If he’s being openly hostile and not just passive aggressive, then the only way this ends is after he’s gotten what he wants from Tommy, scaring and humiliating him in the process.

He just needs to comply - he just has to let it happen. And then in twenty minutes, he can go. He can see Wilbur. He can leave this behind and pretend it didn’t happen and it’ll be like it didn’t.

“Sir,” he begins softly, “I’m not sure what you mean - ”

“Yes. You do.”

Tommy falls silent, paralyzed in fear.

“How did you survive?” Dream begins. He’s using that voice that Tommy’s learned means he already knows the answer, and is only prying for a confession for the sake of feeling powerful. To knock someone down and rip their dignity and worth and personhood to shreds.

Tommy would let him. He��d offer up whatever he’s looking for if it meant this interrogation would end. He always wins, so why draw it out? But he doesn’t know what Dream wants to hear. He doesn’t know what Dream thinks he did. Tears gather in his eyes.

Dream grows impatient. And he starts talking. “How did you avoid being eaten up by that thing? And after that - how did you avoid the hundreds of other beasts in the forest?”

Tommy brings his knees to his chest and curls his hands protectively around his legs. He doesn’t want Dream to see him shaking. He needs to say something, admit to something. But he doesn’t know what to say, and there’s no way in hell he’s dragging Wilbur into this.

“Come on, Tommy, it’s not that fucking difficult,” Dream insists, “just tell me the truth - I won’t be mad.”

Nothing. There’s nothing.

His tears spill over. All he can do is cry.

Dream heaves a sigh above him. “I gave you a chance.”

Tommy’s shoulders shake with the effort of holding back sobs.

“Seriously? Nothing?”

He desperately swings his head from side to side. He wants Dream to believe him, to just show a little mercy, but he knows that he won’t. He wants to apologize but he doesn’t trust himself to speak.

“You met the serpent,” Dream finally supplies.

Tommy’s too distraught to even process the words. He gulps down the sobs and wipes at his face, he needs to respond, he needs to respond before Dream gets impatient -

“Answer me.”

Through sharp sobs, Tommy chokes out, “N - no. I didn’t, of - of course I didn’t, I’d be dead if I - ”

“For fuck’s sake, Tommy, cut the shit,” he curls his upper lip in disgust, “I can smell it - I can smell him - all over you.”

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the -

“Your little friend, or - ” he chuckles humorlessly, turning away in agitation, “big friend, I suppose - he thinks he can just claim you? Protect you? That isn’t this this works,” he spits resentfully, “you’d do good to tell him that. You are mine, you belong to me. I gifted you to him as a meal - not as a pet! You tell him that - you better fucking tell him that.”

Tommy’s mouth hangs open, crying halted in favor of shock. Dream’s always been a bit… loose, but it looks like he’s finally lost his shit completely.

Irritated at his silence, Dream faces Tommy. Rather than get angrier or rant more to fill the silence, it’s like he lights up. And that’s possibly the scariest thing he’s done so far.

“Oh…” he says softly. “That’s beautiful - that’s fucking rich. You didn’t know, did you?” His mouth curls up in a cruel smile and he starts to laugh, wheezes building louder and louder. “Oh - that is too fucking good!” He collects himself. “Well in that case,” he says between giggles, “just forget we talked, yeah? If he wants to play with his food for a bit, I suppose I can’t judge -” he gestures to the town with wide arms, “- I set up camp here, didn’t I?” Dream turns and leaves, still laughing to himself.

Twelve minutes later, the gates open and Tommy is set free.

~

Sitting on one of the beds in the cave, Tommy gives Wilbur a grateful smile as he wraps a warm quilt around his shoulders.  

When Tommy had met him in the clearing, eyes red and cheeks blotchy, Wilbur had hugged him hard and pried for details, listening to Tommy recount the events as they traveled back to the cave. He’d made up warm teas and sweet foods for Tommy to snack on, and he’d practically buried him in the softest bedding around the little home. He promised they were safe here.

Sinking into the spot next to him, Wilbur gently asks, “Did he say anything else?”

Tommy shrugs hopelessly. “No, that was it.” He idly stirs his tea. “I think - I think there’s something wrong with him. Like, medically,” he emphasizes.

Wilbur wears a troubled expression. “And you’re sure he said - ”

“Yes, I am,” Tommy says exasperatedly. “Trust me, he fully thinks that I’m friends with the serpent or something.”

Wilbur nods in acknowledgement and sips at his tea with a funny look on his face. “And he’s your mayor?”

He gesticulates vaguely. “Basically. We’ve got a bit of a weird system in place - I don’t know how much I’ve told you, but we’ve got a council of town leaders, and Dream is the boss.”

Wilbur suddenly gets an odd look on his face, like he realized something. “Tommy…” he asks carefully, “what’s the history of your village? Like - this isn’t exactly a welcoming environment for civilization.”

Tommy smiles emptily. “Yeah, it really isn’t,” he agrees.

He taps the rim of his mug, thinking over the things he’d heard as a child. “From my understanding, the original settlers had been fleeing from something when their navigator took a wrong turn. By the time the group realized, it had wandered into a basilisks's territory and it was too late to turn around. A bunch of people were attacked and eaten. Fights broke out about what to do, if leaving the forest was a viable option or not, that kind of thing. Eventually the navigator took responsibility and promised to start a fortified town in the forest to protect the remaining survivors. He founded the council, we claimed a bit of land, the walls were built up,” Tommy concludes. “Wil, how is this relevant?”

That look crosses his face - the stupid one he gets whenever he’s keeping secrets or about to tell the shittiest lie in history, and Tommy feels a spike of irritation.

He bites down his frustration and looks away. “Nevermind,” he mutters, a little harsher than he meant it. He feels Wilbur look at him in concern, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. He clears his throat. “Do you need to know anything else?” he tries to ask as neutrally as possible.

He can tell Wilbur wants to ask what’s bothering him. He bites the inside of his cheek and takes a long sip of tea, hoping he gets the message.

Wilbur eyes him worriedly, but thankfully he doesn’t probe. Instead he asks, “Who was the navigator?”

It catches him off guard. “What?”

“The person who got the group lost, who founded the council. What was his name? Do you know anything about him?”

He searches his memory. That’s so strange. It’s a detail that no one’s ever mentioned or asked for. But it’s also a very central thing - to the story, to the town’s history.

Wilbur takes his silence as some kind of answer, mumbling to himself, “Right, well this complicates some things.”

They’re silent for a few seconds, Wilbur solving a mystery while Tommy finds the first clues. He’s tempted to ask what’s going on. It’s unnerving, and something is clearly wrong, but he dismisses the thought out of hand. If it’s connected to the bullshit Wilbur is so secretive about - which Tommy is entirely sure it is - then he wouldn’t share if pressed.

Wilbur breaks him from his thoughts. “Tommy, you said that after the original settlers came in, they couldn’t leave because of a basilisk? Are you sure about that?”

Tommy nods. “Yeah… it’s the one I was worried about when we met, the same one that ate Jared?”

Wilbur falls silent, that guilty look on his face again. Tommy stares at him, trying to pick him apart with his eyes. He’s hiding something again.

He takes a shot in the dark and guesses, feigning surprise -  “Holy shit, it’s a different serpent, isn’t it?”

Wilbur looks up in panic. “What?!”

“You saw Jared being eaten - what species of serpent was it?”

Wilbur stares at Tommy.

“Was it not a basilisk?”

Wilbur breaks eye contact and looks away. “Tommy, that’s - that’s fucking ridiculous mate, I don’t know what you’re - ”

Something breaks inside of him. Maybe years of mistreatment at the hands of his village, or days of Wilbur’s dogshit lying - possibly the confrontation with Dream earlier that day - in any case, it pushes him over the edge and he snaps. “Would it actually fucking kill you to tell me the truth?”

Wilbur moves back in surprise, a hurt look flashing across his face.

“You’re not even a good liar, and I know because you’ve been lying to me since we met. Every day we’ve known each other, you’ve lied to me, or deflected, or avoided answering some basic fucking question about your life. I thought maybe I was the problem, but no - the truth is you’re just a liar,” Tommy rants, breathing hard and blinking back tears.

Wilbur stares at him with a stunned look on his face. “Tommy, I’m… I’m sorry. ” He’s bleedingly sincere.

Fucking good, Tommy miserably thinks to himself.

He sniffles. “If you want to lie about your life - then fine. Maybe it’s traumatic, and maybe it’s personal. I wouldn’t know, and I don’t have to. But this is different, ‘cause it’s a fucked up situation, and I am as in it as you are.”

They sit in uncomfortable, tense silence for a few seconds, punctuated only by Tommy’s quiet crying.

After a moment, Wilbur says softly, “I’ve been a bit of an ass, haven’ t I?”

“Yeah, you have been,” Tommy bitterly agrees.

He seems to physically wilt. “There’s nothing wrong with you, and I’m sorry that I made you feel that way. I’m really, really sorry, Sunshine.”

Tommy’s chin trembles. He can feel tears start to spill over.

Wilbur loops an arm around his torso and gently pulls him in for a side hug. “To tell you the truth - I want to share. A lot more than I do. And I also feel upset that I keep secrets from you.”

“Then why?” Tommy barely chokes out.

Wilbur sighs and presses a kiss to the crown of his head. “Because it’s better that way.” He readjusts the quilt around Tommy’s shoulders. “It’s better for everyone if you just don’t know some things about me.”

Tommy rubs at his face miserably. He knew it would go like this.

“That said, I see where you’re coming from.” Tommy looks up in surprise and Wilbur offers him a sheepish smile. “You’re right about this. This is a deeply fucked up situation and for your own safety, there are things you deserve to know.”

He looks away, thinking. “You were right, there are two serpents… I shouldn’t have lied about that.”

Damn. He wasn’t actually expecting to be right.

“Your village is about four decades old, right?”

He nods.

Wilbur goes quiet for a second. Resignation creeping into his voice, he says, “The second serpent - it’s only twenty-two years old.” He starts to fidget with the ends of his sweater sleeves anxiously. “That’s the one that’s been eating all the volunteers for the past two decades. It’s not the basilisk that trapped the original settlers in this forest - honestly, I didn’t even know of a basilisk having territory here until you’d said something. And I don’t know what happened to it exactly - ”

“But you have a suspicion?” Tommy finishes, voice still a little raspy from crying.

Wilbur nods, a little perturbed.

“Is it a suspicion you’ll tell me?”

Wilbur smiles sadly at him. Tommy knows the answer before he has a chance to say it. “Sorry mate.”

Trying to move past the disappointment, Tommy changes the subject. “How do you know all that about the second serpent? You’re only twenty-something yourself, so it’s not like you could have been around the whole time to see it - ”

“Tommy,” Wilbur cuts in, exhaustion audible in his voice, “please just trust me on this, alright?” He shakes his head slowly, a fond but heartbroken look on his face. “I swear - you’re too clever for your own good.”

Despite everything, the comment starts a warm feeling in his chest. Tommy relents. “Fine, fine. You somehow have all this information - I won’t question how.”

He nods gratefully.

“But I do want to know - what species is the second serpent?”

He figured Wilbur would be a bit cagey about answering, but he didn’t expect - this. 

It’s like he’s imploding before Tommy’s eyes. A look of panic flashes across his face before he has a chance to school it into something more neutral.

Wilbur looks at him. His expression is conflicted. It’s full of barely concealed loss, and guilt, and pity, and it is so, so guarded.

Wordlessly, Wilbur pulls him in for a solid, warm hug. He does nothing but breathe and hold Tommy for ten seconds.

When he pulls away, his eyes are glassy and he’s forcing a smile. “Do you remember what I said to you when I was bringing you back to the village that first day? When you asked me how I’ve survived this long in the forest?”

Tommy nods, confused and a little worried. “You said you’d… ‘tell me your secrets’ when I’m older.”

Wilbur affectionately rubs his shoulder. “And I will.” He clears his throat and stands up.

“To answer your question, the second serpent is… It’s nothing you have to worry about, okay?” He offers Tommy a sincere, pleading look. “Believe me - to you, it’s harmless. Completely harmless.”

~

The next morning Wilbur is in an uncharacteristically good mood. He gives Tommy a soft smile and ruffles his hair before tugging him out of bed and leading him to the dining table for breakfast.

Tommy takes a seat and begins to cut his portions while watching Wilbur curiously. “Wake up on the right side of the bed?”

He laughs lightly. “Something like that. Um - actually, I need to talk to you about something.”

Tommy tries not to let his concern show. “Yeah?”

Wilbur nervously takes a sip of water. “After everything we talked about yesterday, particularly what you said about Dream, the basilisk - I don’t think it’s safe for you to go back home.” He gesticulates nervously and starts to ramble, “For right now, I mean - ! You might be able to go back soon, I’m just worried about you for right now, and I wouldn’t feel very comfortable if I knew you were anywhere near - ”

“Wilbur,” Tommy cuts in, “are you asking if I’ll stay at the cave for a while?”

He nods shakily, a fear of rejection written plainly across his face.

Tommy smiles at him widely. “That sounds great. Thank you.”

~

That afternoon, they don’t send Tommy back to the village.

~ ~ ~

it is simply a staple of my writing that everything i start ends up four times longer than i originally intended...

hope you guys enjoyed

[piggyinthesea]

Worse Than Worse | 001

What is going on with us?

Parings: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader (eventual)

Warnings: gun violence, violence, angst, blood, enhanced individual, curse words, smut, soft spot, soft sex, trauma bonding, miscarriages, artificial insemination

word count: 3.5k

Summary: Being on the run with Bucky has its ups and downs. After merely escaping from Hydra and being saved by the avengers, Bucky promised to one day have a life where it’d be just the two of you. The bond you two shared won’t ever be replicated though the strength of it seems to weaken as each day passes by. It seems as though being with the avengers has strained your relationship in a way that’s unexplainable and now you and Bucky found different people to give you solace, unbeknownst to each other.

—

Pain and exhaustion was a feeling you knew all too well. It’s almost engraved in your dna to know the feeling. Your chest tightened and breath shortened followed by a strike of pain with each inhale but that was never a reason to stop running. Running. It seemed like you had been running forever, at least enough to get you miles away from the base. You ran as far as your injected legs could take you, motivated by absolute fear as what would happen if they had caught you.

“We could stay here.”

Bucky. The man who made everything less scary, who touched your heart in many ways during your time in hell. If there was one thing you were sure about, is that the hell you were in was his own hell too. His long hair and blue eyes captivated you the moment he entered the cell they thrown you in. The moment they first introduced you to him, it was as if they sent a devil to attempt to seduce you into sin. When you found out he wasn’t one of them, it made it easier to be around him. Knowing he had no choice in this either, gave you peace. In a fucked up way, it made you feel better that you weren’t alone in this. If he was strong, you could be strong with him.

“What if we considered pro-creation?”

“Would either of them even be willing in breeding? There’s no guarantee the offspring would carry on the abilities. The super serum is already a watered down version compared to the one Erksine created, what shall we do with the offspring if it didn’t carry on their abilities?” spoke the voice of the devil

“It doesn’t matter if they’re willing. Since when has this been about them? If by any chance the offspring doesn’t carry on its abilities, we can just simply exterminate it.”

Countless times did they artificially inseminate you with Bucky’s secretion in hopes of creating a deadly weapon combined with the abilities you and Bucky carried. 10 times to be exact, all of them ending up in miscarriages which you were punished for. The last attempt was a success and when you gave birth, your newborn was immediately stripped away from your grasp and placed into a lab. They began checking the baby’s vitals, searching for any signs of being enhanced. It was all a blur to you. From the moment they told you the attempt was successful and you were finally carrying a fetus, to the moment you were spread out on a stretcher, in agonizing pain ready to pop. Hearing your baby’s cries was a sound you were blessed enough to hear. You created that. When they took it away from you, you were consumed in rage. They’ve took everything from you, but taking your baby from you was too much.

You screamed, kicked, fought, ending up killing three men. Shortly after, you were placed in solitary confinement. Every moment spent in there was a moment you drowned in an endless sadness that couldn’t go away. The desperation to swim your way out of this aching depression was eventually going to lead you to your death.

In a few short moments, the door that held you in this box room was opened and a body was thrown into the room by another guard. He stood up, his face was stained with dry blood and an angry expression. He walked towards you, taking a seat by your side almost collapsing with the overwhelming emotions he’s burdened by. ‘I’m sorry, soldat. She didn’t have our abilities.’ He said with despair.

‘It was a she?’ Was all you could muster up to say until you eventually ended up in his embrace, crying your emotions out.

“Stand guard. There might be residents.” You sternly reply. Fallen leaves from the forest trees cracked and crinkled under your dark combat boots as you scoured the windows of the abandoned cabin. You peeked through the crusty windows of the cabin wiping the dust off to clearly see inside and after deciding the cabin looked empty, you opened the door with your gun in hand. Bucky stealthily walked behind you, guarding your back. With a click of a button, the flashlight of your gun turned on and instantly lit up the room. The cabin looked as if it had been abandoned for quite a while considering the amount of dust the piano by the corner had been gathering. The cabin was well furnished, it was a possibility of being the estate of a wealthy person. After concluding the place had been fully empty, you two ransacked the cabin for any medical kits and canned foods.

The cabin included 2 bedrooms and 1 restroom. The light and electricity didn’t work, but you were grateful to at least have warm running water. The first thing you did was take a well needed shower, ridding yourself of the dirt and grime that had collected over the 2 days you ran in the forest. You spent your first night in the cabin under the warmth of the blankets the beds had. Bucky took his shower in the night, taking much longer than you did. For a while, you wondered what he was doing in there. He returned to your room, his combat clothes in hand wearing nothing but his boxers. You couldn’t help but stare at him. He looked absolutely beautiful just the way he was. He knew you were staring, yet said nothing as he got under the sheets of the bed you two now shared.

He grabbed your hips, pulling you to his chest afraid to let you go. Your arm wrapped around his body, indulging yourself in his fresh scent. Though his body still had excess water, you felt warmer than ever. Your hand traveled to his drawers, cusping and massaging his length through his boxers. His breath shuddered, yet he said nothing. His hand went under the extra large shirt you had found in one of the drawers of the cabin, and kneaded your ass while taking notice the fact you only wore panties underneath. You took his erect cock out of his boxers and began moving your hands in a motion that made him release a soft moan. It was perfect, finally the two of you shared a moment that belonged to just the both of you. No cameras, no guards, it was all you could asked for.

You got on top of him, aligning him to your entrance before finally sitting on him. Moans left from the two of you. His length felt amazing inside of you, fitting you almost perfectly. His hands gripped your waist with a soft yet firm hold. You began rolling your hips noting the surge of pleasure that hit you each time you’d bounce on his dick. He groan and whimpered, “Please don’t stop.”

You wouldn’t think about stopping, not now as your body filled with pleasure and the room covered in yours and Bucky’s moans. He released one of his hands from your hips and made its way around your neck applying a soft pressure that wasn’t enough to make you feel choked, but secured. His veins bulged from his hands and travelled down to his forearms. His chest held a variety of deep scars, some of which you knew its origins. His scars shared stories, stories that often involved you. Your pace quickened a bit thinking of his scars and veins that only you knew about, becoming more needy with the release you longed too much for.

“Doll, I’m close. Please keep going. Don’t stop. I need you.” He whimpered and begged. Unconsciously, the grip he had on your neck tightened as you bounced faster on his dick. He felt your walls tighten around him, and with that he knew he was about to burst. “I love you.” He said quietly. Yet it was loud enough for you to hear. You became overwhelmed with the pleasure he gave you, and came on his dick. You removed yourself from his dick, lying down between his legs before inserting him inside your mouth.

You bobbed your head up and down, swallowing him full before feeling his dick twitch inside you mouth. You knew it was it for him. Within a second you felt a warm thick fluid fill your mouth, followed by a whimper from Bucky. You stood up and spit the fluid onto the floor of the cabin before collapsing on top of Bucky, mindlessly twirling your finger around his medium length black hair.

The two of you fell asleep in peaceful bliss, unaware of the inevitable change heading your way.

Morning

You woke up to a soft kiss against your forehead. “We must move.” softly said Bucky, cupping your cheek in an adoring way. In his head though, he wanted to stay here forever and pretend you were just a homely couple who enjoyed spending time in the forest. A couple who would wake up every morning in each others embrace, having everything they ever wanted in the world at arms reach at all times. Bucky knew that wasn’t possible though, and if you two wanted to stay alive you’d have to keep running.

In a span of a few minutes, you were completely dressed in your combat gear. The both of you stacked your backpack with first-aid kits and canned food you’ve found in the cabin and prepared yourself for a long travel ahead.

It’d been a few hours of running since you’ve both left the cabin. Neither of you stopped running until this moment. Being trained assassins, both of you knew when you were being watched. Right now, you felt a chilling sensation creep up your spine and you placed yourself in a back-to-back position with Bucky, your trigger finger itching for a target. You felt a sharp pinch in your shoulder, and when you looked at the pain all you saw was a dart with a red feathery tail.

You knew what it was and your body instantly filled with fear. Your turned to Bucky and noticed the same scared expression as he took out the dart in his shoulder before collapsing.

Rubber gloves were the first thing you smelled as you began gaining consciousness. You heard consistent small beeping noises similar to those at hospitals. When you first opened your eyes, you were almost blinded by the pure white light dangling from the ceiling. Your vision was blurred and hazy, still recovering from the tranquilizer they’ve shot you with.

You looked around in panic with your head painfully dizzy yet the room did not look like a room from HYDRA’s base. It looked like a plain hospital room. You rubbed your eyes and that’s when you noticed an I.V sticking from your forearm. You wondered where you were until you were pulled from your thoughts by the sound of the door in front of you unlocking.

A blonde man wearing a red and blue suit with a simple star in the middle stood in front of you. His face looked tired and restless but his eyes looked like they were yearning for something close to his reach. He kept his arms by his side, in a orderly stance. As you scanned his body, you couldn’t resist from looking back into his deep blue eyes. They reminded you so much of Bucky,almost as if they shared some of the same stories. It didn’t take you long to figure out that this man might not have the intention of hurting you, but you were still cautious as to what he needed from you.

“Hello, my name is Steve Rogers. I’m not here to hurt you. I know that you’ve been working with HYDRA against your will with Bucky, who’s very dear to me, and I don’t want you to worry no more. As long as you’re with us, HYDRA won’t get their hands on you guys no longer. We’ve placed you in here to monitor your health but as far as I can tell, you’re perfectly healthy, same as Bucky. It’s gonna be a long process, but I promise you I’ll be here until the end of the line.” Steve said. You looked at him for a bit, trying to detect any trickery in his words but when you were met with a stern face dedicated to proving his words true, your heart filled with gratitude and an unfamiliar sense of hope.

“Where’s Bucky?” You asked, with a soft spoken voice not like your usual tone.

Almost immediately he replies, “He’s in another room. He didn’t exactly have the best reaction to regaining consciousness, so he’s being quarantined for now. I tried to get them to go easier on him, If you’d like to see him, I’m sure I can arrange that.” He looks at you fully this time, noting your features and current state. Like him, it didn’t look like you got too much sleep either. When your eyes locked together, you shared a mutual bond. You didn’t know who Steve was, but you knew he was there to help.

It took a while for you to settle into all of this. Being introduced to a bunch of strangers who claimed to be there to help you was overwhelming when you had lived in dark times where you truly believed there was no one to come and rescue you. Natasha, Sam, Tony, and Bruce seemed to be normal people with their own secrets yet you still couldn’t help but be overly cautious of them. Especially Natasha. She reeked of vibes that you get from Bucky, from people like you. You hoped she was nothing like you, for her own sake.

Because of the your inability to easily trust these people, you stuck to the first person you saw when you regained consciousness. “When can I see Bucky?” You asked Steve, following him around the building like a lost puppy.

“We’re heading to him right now.” He glances at you, offering a short smile. He too, was excited in seeing Bucky. It was obvious to you and for seem reason it made your heart warm up. You were glad someone other than you adored Bucky. Though, you were unsure just how far his relationship with Bucky ran. He led you to a steel door, your brows furrowed at the level of security but you chose to brush it away.

The door opened, but you hate what you saw. Inside the room was Bucky, strapped in a container like a freak show. The contained and cuffs that held Bucky finally opened, allowing the man to take a stand. You ran into his arms, hugging him as strong as you possibly could. His arms wrapped around your entire body and his hand held your head close to his chest. After a good while of staying in this embrace you pulled apart and looked towards Steve,

“What now?”

What followed after was painfully annoying but understandable. Mandated court meetings, public outrages, mandated therapy, and emotionally exhausting routines, occupied your life for a couple months. What made it slightly less bearable was the fact that you went through everything with Bucky.

You lived like a semi normal person. Only with an enhanced body. It was rare you were alone with Bucky. Both of you were so busy with new routines and meetings that you didn’t have a day to spare with each other. Sure, you often saw each other in the same building but it wasn’t enough to fill the crave you had for him. You didn’t know why it felt like you were slowly becoming distant with him and you hated every part of it but in times like those, you remembered the night you shared at the cabin. The night where it was just the two of you. You often spent your days with Steve, training and attending meetings. As your representative, Steve took you to all your meetings and checked up on you daily. You began an early running routine with him, and though you were a pretty fast runner, he was a little faster.

He assured you within no time you’d be able to surpass him. You laughed it off, “It’s not fair to you though, aren’t you like a hundred?”

He raises his eyebrow, “Yeah so? How old are you? I expect not that younger.” He replied with sass. That question caught you off guard though, you never thought about how old you were. You truly couldn’t remember.

“I don’t know how old I am.” You replied bluntly, you didn’t mean it for it to come out sad but it did anyway.

“Well, we have records of you appearing in the 80’s even as far as the 60’s.” He says, attempting to lighten the mood. It worked.

“Woah. I’m scared now. I could be as old as you!” You gasped with faux worry. He gave a genuine laugh and say by the bench close by you. He wiped the sweat with a hanker-chief he carried tucked into his pocket, like a true old man.

“I been meaning to ask you…are you and Bucky a thing?” Steve says. His question is enough to send you into a blushing stuttering mess but you held your composure and give out a small chuckle.

“No, why?” You ask

“You guys seem kind of close, dunno was just wondering.”

“Nah, I do love him though, he was all I had in there. You know?” Your eyes mindlessly watched the ducks in the large lake. It was a beautiful park to run in, Steve had recommended it and it truly did not disappoint. Images of the night you and Bucky shared in the cabin flashed inside your mind. Neither of you discussed being in a relationship which is why you said no. Part of you wondered what it would be like to be in a relationship with him.

“Yeah, I know.” Steve said.

At the Tower

You were bored.

Lately, you’ve had less meetings and you’ve found yourself having more free time than you’d know what to do with. Your idea was to make some popcorn and watch a movie with Bucky. With popcorn in a bowl, you were about to knock on his door until you heard a familiar voice.

It was Natasha. She giggled and said something you couldn’t quite understand. Seemed like he was a little busy. It shouldn’t have stinged as much as it did. You didn’t care though. Bucky wasn’t yours. It didn’t matter. Right.

Still, your mood was sour and you didn’t know it but you looked sad and stared down at the floor almost comical. You walked towards your room until you bumped into a stern chest. It was Steve.

He grabbed a popcorn from the bowl, “Why the frown, peach?”

Your weren’t going to address the nickname. “I don’t have a frown.”

“You do.”

“No.”

“Fine…were you going to watch a movie?” He asks

“Yeah. Im not so sure about it now though.” You say, eating the popcorn.

“Why not? I’ll watch a movie with you, if you don’t mind.” He asks gently, offering a small smile hoping you’d say yes. Which you did.

In Your Room

You scrolled through Netflix, randomly picking the first horror movie you set your eyes on and pressed play. It started off cliché. A family moves into a house in the middle of nowhere, slowly unraveling the ‘demons’ within. What you really looked forward to though were the jumpscares.

With Steve by your side intently watching the movie, you wondered who was going to be the most affected. As you reached the peak of the movie, one of the protaganists searched the basement with a flashlight, and when he turned around…bam! A demon popped up scaring every inch of your supernatural body. If it weren’t for Steve holding the popcorn, you would’ve dropped all of it all over the floor.

It was then you realized the hold you had on Steve’s arm. You were holding it by your cheek with a tight force that if he weren’t a super soldier, you would’ve left a bruise. At first, you were embarrassed. But then images of Natasha and Bucky being in this exact position flashed through your brain. It was as if every inch of embarrassment flooded away and replaced with a need for revenge. So you stayed that way, holding onto Steve’s arm like a damsel in distress. You don’t know why, maybe it was because you hurt for what you heard earlier going on in Bucky’s room but the need to be closed to Steve overcame your senses of logic.

On your bed you positioned yourself to a move comfortable position. You had your leg over Steve’s torso and continued to grab onto his arm. You heard Steve’s heart quickened, but you didn’t care. You didn’t even care about the movie anyway. You began getting tired and ended up following asleep in this exact position. Reminding yourself, Bucky betrayed you first.

Authors Note: honestly I wasn’t planning on this becoming a series, but this is getting too long so I guess it’ll become a series🥲

[miss-ingno]

Everything I Wrote In 2023

...or at least the bits I posted to Ao3 :D 21 works with a word count of 71,998 total! I'm honestly surprised, I thought it was much less considering how little I felt like writing between work and health issues sapping my energy.

I'll sort these alphabetically by fandoms and within the fandoms chronologically from first posted to last.

Assassin's Creed II Title: Return To Sender Ship: Claudia Auditore/Desmond Miles, Claudia Auditore & Ezio Auditore Words: 3.5k Tags: Epistolary, Time Travel, Marriage, POV Outsider (as in Outsider on the Time Traveller PoV), In-Universe Documents Summary: Over the years, Ezio and Claudia exchanged many letters. These are the ones concerning Claudia's husband, then-stranger, Desmond.

Deja Vu by Dreamcatcher (Music Video) Title: All Our Memories, They're Haunted Ship: Jiu/Yoohyeon Words: 1.1k Tags: Memories, Regret, Grief/Mourning, the Queen is dead; long live the Queen, Dark Yoohyeon, Murder Summary: There are no witnesses to her ascent. There is no one she trusts not to stab her in the back. Title: Our Love's A Curse Ship: Jiu/Yoohyeon Words: 833 Tags: Backstory, Happy with A Bad Ending, Off-screen Character Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Yoohyeon's descent into madness, Assassin Yoohyeon Summary: Yoohyeon worked hard to create a perfect world for Jiu and herself. But perfection isn't forever.

Detective L Title: Both Is Good Ship: Ben Jieming/Luo Fei/Qin Xiaoman Words: 1.5k Tags: Relationship Status: It's Complicated, Pre-Relationship, Developing Relationship, Background Case, Post-Canon, Pre-Poly, Polyamory Negotiations, Insecurity, lbr they all have their issues but they love each other for who they are and that's what's important Summary: The day before the police ball, Ben Jieming and Luo Fei discuss who should accompany Qin Xiaoman. Unbeknownst to them, she already made her choice.

Dimension 20 - Mentopolis Title: Where in Mentopolis are the Prefrontal P.I.s? Ship: Ensemble Words: 800 Tags: Logic Grid Puzzle, Worldbuilding, Post-Canon Summary: It’s the Grand Opening of Daniel Fucks’ new Emporium of Exquisite Pleasures, but none of the other Prefrontal P.I.s have shown up! However, through his criminal network, Daniel hears some rumours about what they’re each up to. Can you help him find them and drag them away from whatever they’re doing for this most important of all events?

Granting You A Dreamlike Life Title: The Hero Returns Ship: Hong Lan & Luo Fusheng, implied Duan Tianying/Luo Fusheng Words: 826 Tags: Late Canon Fix-It, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, PoV Tianying Summary: The first thing Hong Lan does as head of the Hong family is to order Luo Fusheng back home.

Grimm (TV) Title: Back In A Spell Ship: Sean Renard/Juliette Silverton, Nick Burkhardt/Juliette Silverton, pre-Nick Burkhardt/Sean Renard/Juliette Silverton Words: 7.2k Tags: Time Travel Fix-It, POV Juliette Silverton, former Hexenbiest Juliette, Nick is not a Grimm yet, Identity Reveal, Magic Revealed, Dinner Date with Ulterior Motives, Secrets Summary: Going back in time has a price. Juliette will make damn sure it was worth it. Title: Sting Of Love Ship: Nick Burkhardt/Monroe Words: 1k Tags: Kissing Slice of Life Action/Adventure Wesen of the Week Episode Style Summary: Monroe accompanies Nick on Grimm business.

Guardian (drama and novel) Title: Growing Pains Ship: Shen Wei/Zhao Yunlan & Da Qing Words: 2.5k Tags: Case Fic lite, Haixing-Dixing politics, set between Episode 4 and Episode 5, Early in Canon, Zhao Yunlan takes a bullet for a Dixingren Hurt Zhao Yunlan Protective Shen Wei (Guardian) Morality Summary: During their most recent case Zhao Yunlan's superiors put him in a difficult position: follow orders, or summon Heipaoshi to hand over the Dixingren? Title: Telenovela Ship: one-sided Zhao Yunlan/Zhu Hong, background Shen Wei/Zhao Yunlan Words: 315 Tags: Slice of Life, Zhu Hong gets to be snake-y, Pining, Denial Summary: Zhu Hong watches dramas in her free time. Title: In This, As In All Things (WIP) Ship: Shen Wei/Zhao Yunlan & Da Qing Words: 13k+ Tags: Time Travel Fix-It, Time Travel: Post-Canon to Pre-Canon, Secret Identity, Identity Shenanigans, Established Relationship, Family Issues Summary: Given the chance to right the wrongs of the past, Zhao Yunlan and Shen Wei go back to before they met (again). But how much can they change faced with a very different SID than the one under Zhao Yunlan's lead? Title: Ruffling Feathers Ship: Zhu Hong & Da Qing & Ya Qing Words: 7.1k Tags: Post-Canon, Handwavey Fix-It, Yashou Politics, Case Fic, Zhu Hong and Da Qing team up to solve a theft, Yashou High Chief Zhu Hong, Yashou Worldbuilding, Mistakes Are Made, Zhu Hong is new to this job Summary: Zhu Hong is more than ready to delay her responsibilities for old times' sake when Da Qing approaches her about his missing bells. But the case takes them smack-dab into internal Yashou politics and Zhu Hong's mettle as High Chief is put to the test. Title: Two Of A Kind Ship: Ya Qing/Zhu Hong Words: 12.9k Tags: Time Travel Fix-It, Pre-Canon, Yashou Politics, Yashou Worldbuilding, Pre-Relationship, PoV Ya Qing, mentions of the Time Loop, Background Shen Wei/Zhao Yunlan, mentions of the canonical ending, Antagonist Ye Zun, BAMF Ya Qing Summary: Zhu Hong approaches Ya Qing with a warning from the future. Ya Qing is... intrigued despite herself. Title: Freezing Ship: Chu Shuzhi/Guo Changcheng/Ye Huo Words: 507 Tags: Character Study, Missing Scene, Episode 19 Summary: Stuck in the experimental lab, Chu Shuzhi has time to contemplate his newest companion. Title: Days of Splendour Ship: Shen Wei/Zhao Yunlan & Zhaodad & Zhaomom (novel) Words: 1.9k Tags: Wedding Planning, Wedding Fluff, Post-Canon Summary: Zhao Yunlan knows what he wants: Shen Wei, at his side, forever. Title: Happy Hour Ship: Shen Wei & Shen Wei's students, Shen Wei/Zhao Yunlan & SID Words: 975 Tags: Background Case, Shen Wei's terrible lies, undercover at a bar Summary: A criminal, a professor, and a cat walk into a bar. The professor's students did not expect to be part of the joke. Title: An Intimate Touch Ship: Shen Wei/Zhao Yunlan Words: 2.2k Tags: YOHE, Facial Shaving, Hair Brushing, Hair Braiding, Almost Kiss, Domestic Fluff Summary: Shen Wei helps Kunlun shave his beard. Title: Gossip Mango Ship: Shen Wei/Zhao Yunlan & Shen Wei's students Words: 1.9k Tags: Social Media, Episode Related (1-8), Canon Compliant, mentions of canon suicidal ideation and murders Summary: Not only does Dragon City university have a great and sophisticated study program for many different majors, it also has a flourishing social media site for students to discuss their studies social activities recent events.

Harry Potter Title: To Seek Knowledge Ship: Hermione Granger & Luna Lovegood & Ginny Weasley Words: 4.4k Tags: Female Friendship, Spell Theory, Bullying, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hogwarts Second Year, Golden Trio (background) Summary: A precocious pre-teen on a quest for knowledge ends up changing the future. She even makes a friend or two on the way.

Naruto Title: Adventitious Ship: Haruno Sakura & Hatake Kakashi & Uchiha Sasuke & Uzumak Naruto Words: 5k Tags: Developing Friendships, set after the Wave mission but before the Chuunin Exams, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, in which Team 7 grows closer and Sasuke doesn't defect, Dai-nana-han | Team 7 Have Issues (don't worry they're working on it), Mission Fic (sort of), no literal geese were involved in the making of this fic, in which Team 7 accidentally topples several villains' plans Summary: To keep Team 7 busy, Kakashi-sensei sends his students on a wild goose chase. Much to his dismay, they actually find a golden goose.

长公主在上 | Zhǎng Gōng Zhǔ Zài Shàng Title: By Your Side Ship: Li Yunzhen/Gu Xuanqing, Li Yunzhen & Li Chenglin Words: 2k Tags: Post-Canon Court Politics Dom/sub Undertones Established Relationship Relationship Development Summary: After tricking the Chancellor into publicly rebelling, Li Yunzhen retires from politics.