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pedropascallme · 2 months ago

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Deny Me

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x f!Reader

Summary: “'I’m fine,' you squared your shoulders, as if adjusting your posture was all it would take to convince the men around you that you were sturdy. 'I could understand a couple weeks—I could understand a month. But six weeks is—that’s appalling. It's not fair.'”

Warnings: Allusions to smut (masturbation) (minors DNI!!!!), canon typical violence, detailed descriptions of wounds, hospital imagery, allusions to PTSD, reader experiences panic attacks and a bout of depersonalization, smoking, implied age gap (ages not mentioned), enemies to frenemies to lovers, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, I know little to nothing about how the military works, if I missed anything please let me know!!

AN: So. Um. Never played COD. Barely understand the various plot lines it follows. But I DO understand that a man in a mask is inherently sexy. And that is my truth! Part two here <3

You hated Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley.

With every fiber of your being, you hated him.

You hated how he was so quick to pull rank; how swiftly his friends became his subordinates.

You hated the way he always spoke with such a cold, calculated indifference.

You hated the way he squared his shoulders to remind everybody of his stature; his status.

You hated his Britishisms, the way the pet names rolled off his tongue in your direction. And from anybody else, you might be fine with it, but when he called you sweetheart it made your stomach roll over itself.

You couldn’t tell why.

You hated how rookies acted as if he were some semi-legendary Adonis beneath his stupid fucking mask—which you’d also grown to hate.

You knew what he looked like under the balaclava; under the skull faceplate that made his eyes look so sunken and so attentive.

And who cares that his features matched so nicely? Who cares that his profile was just as carved as the rest of him? Who cares that the deep scars that crisscrossed over his left cheek looked almost silver under the fluorescent lighting of the barracks?

It didn’t matter that he was handsome. It didn’t matter that it was his face you thought about late at night, alone in your bed.

Certainly, he was no Adonis.

You hated the smirk in his voice, and the crease between his eyes, and the piercing edge of his gaze.

You hated that you knew, deep down, that your dislike of him was born out of convenience; that you loathed him for all the reasons that, in another life, you would’ve thrown yourself at him with open arms.

You hated that you knew you had become dead set on despising him because it was easier than the alternative.

He was an acquaintance, at best—a coworker you’d grab a beer with, under different circumstances. Mostly, though, he was a pain in the ass, and a detriment to your sanity.

You hated Ghost more by the second.

So why was it that, as you came to, bleeding out on the hard ground, he was the only thing you could think about.

You heard voices above you, a droning cacophony of accents and alarm that overlapped with each other, dissolving as they mingled with the ringing in your ears.

“Took a beating—”

“—fucking exploded before we—"

“—man down, but she’s—”

“—was beyond fucked.”

“She’s breathing,” you recognized Kyle’s voice above the panicked yelling. “Soap—she’s up.”

The first thing you noticed was how dry your mouth was, and a viscidness that clung to your side.

You tried to sit up, pushing back on your elbows against the dirt beneath you, and were met with a sharpness that ran up your lungs. You winced, coughing dry pain.

Your vision was blurry—almost watery, as if you were trapped beneath a sheet of ice and looking up through it. Still, you managed to track Gaz’s movements as he approached at a cautious speed to kneel beside you.

“Don’t move—” He held his hands out in front of him, trying to encourage you to lie still without having to touch you. “Where’s the worst of it?”

You stared at him blankly, only half registering his words.

“Everywhere,” you wheezed, and there was that same pain shooting up your lungs again, back with a vengeance. You squeezed your eyes shut, “Ribs. Left side.”

“Johnny!” Gaz’s voice carried in a way that made your skull vibrate, and you shuddered.

“C’mere, lass,” even in your sorry state, Soap’s accent was hard to miss. He gave Gaz a pat on the shoulder, encouraging him to stand and replacing him by your side. “Take yer kit off.”

“Buy me—me a fucking…” you heaved, “Drink…first…”

“Aye, she’s fine!” Johnny laughed, throwing a smile over his shoulder, though the wrinkles near his eyes weren’t deep enough for it to be sincere. “Yer bleedin’. Need t'let me dress the wound, Sergeant.”

You stared up at him, possibly concussed; definitely shell-shocked.

You swallowed the bile that rose in the back of your throat, trying to remember how you’d gotten here.

There had been open fire; there had been movement, and a tense argument between yourself and Ghost about who should lead the charge; there had been a brief period of satisfaction after you’d convinced him to let you stay up front.

There had been landmines.

“Nae, look here, lass—stay awake,” Soap snapped his fingers in front of your face. You must have begun to fade out when you tried to recall the details. He reached to unclip your chest rig, “Yer kit—”

“No.” you shook your head, and it made you feel like vomiting, but you didn’t stop. You felt a deep-seated dread pulse down your spine, and you needed answers.

You needed one answer.

“LT?” You looked at Soap, who stared back at you with a sympathetic frown, confused. “Where’s—where’s Ghost?”

“Oi,” a heavy boot stomped the dirt a few inches above your head, “Look up.”

And there he was—seemingly unscathed. It made your stomach burn, a sloppy mixture of frustration and something else. Maybe disappointment, maybe embarrassment.

Maybe.

If he had done things his way, it would probably be him on the ground right now. And if you could just hurry up and die, you wouldn’t have to eat your words about being able to front the line.

How long had he been standing there, anyway?

Your voice was shaky as you addressed him.

“Want—” you rasped, “Want you to do it.”

Soap exhaled audibly through his nose, glancing up at Simon with sharp eyes through a furrowed brow.

If words were exchanged, you didn’t hear them; and when Ghost took Johnny’s spot on the ground next to you, you didn’t see it happen, once again fading out.

“Gotta open your fuckin’ eyes, sweetheart.” Ghost’s words snapped you back to attention. He said it as if he were chastising you for forcing your way to the front of the line and, successively, getting yourself blown up.

You wanted to argue, tell him it was his fault for yielding to your demands, but all you could do was look up at him while he stripped you of your chest rig and pressed down hard around the sticky spot on your side. The action made your muscles flex, and you clenched your jaw through the unbearable pain that ran through you.

You might’ve grabbed at his forearm, but your body was numbing itself too quickly to register your own movements.

The last thing you saw were his eyes, almost frantic as he scanned your body.

But it couldn’t have been real fear—likely a figment of your imagination. Something to focus on as your body grew colder. Probably just a trick of the mask.

You wanted to rip it off.

~~~

You woke hesitantly.

You felt cold, but it was only skin deep; nothing like the chill that had infiltrated your bones when you’d started losing blood.

With a shallow sigh, you opened your eyes.

The infirmary.

You felt a level of reassurance in knowing that, if you died now, at least it would be in the comfort of a medical cot and not on the ground in the middle of nowhere.

There was an IV stuck into the crook of your elbow, padded with cotton and medical tape to keep it in place. You couldn’t feel it, but you winced at the thought of the needle in your arm, and the bruises that were scattered around it.

“Morning.” You registered Gaz sitting on a chair next to the cot.

You breathed, happy to see him. He didn’t look tired, didn’t look concerned—you wondered if you had even been here for more than a few hours.

You shifted, propping yourself up with your pillow. The pain that had been plaguing your side seemed to have been reduced to a dull pulse, but you still huffed at the feeling as you resituated yourself.

There was a piece of fabric—a shirt—draped over your stomach that you didn’t recognize. You tugged at a loose string on the hem, noticing the blood stains that had crusted over the material.

It didn’t bother you; it was probably your blood.

“Hi.” You smiled halfheartedly at Kyle, who watched on as you made yourself comfortable.

“How ya feelin’?” He tilted his head forward, smiling back at you.

Gaz was one of the few people you had bothered to get close to.

It wasn’t on purpose, and it wasn’t as if you put effort into shutting everybody else out—Gaz was just easier.

As much as you appreciated Soap’s friendship, and Price’s guidance, Gaz had the innate ability to listen. He knew when to shut up, and when to keep himself scarce; he knew when to add his two cents, and when to make himself available. He managed to be kind and collected, even in the most outrageous of scenarios, and you found him to be a tranquil presence in an otherwise stressful line of work.

Maybe it was because he was closest in age to you; maybe it was because he knew where to get cigarettes; maybe it was just the urge you had to form a bond, to experience the type of friendship that was always depicted in old Vietnam War movies.

Whatever it was, Kyle was the closest friend you’d ever had in any platoon. And you appreciated him immensely.

“Like I got blown up.” Your smile morphed into something more sincere, and Gaz laughed quietly.

“Happens.”

“Sucks,” you responded pointedly. “But I feel better than I did.”

Gaz just nodded, his lips still curled into a soft smile.

The doors to the infirmary opened with a loud scrape against the linoleum of the floor, and Soap walked in carrying a tray of paper coffee cups. He tsked at the sound of the doors, cringing slightly as they swung shut and produced the same grating sound.

“Christ, haud yer wheesht.” Soap muttered, toeing the scratch on the floor before squaring his shoulders and making his way to your bedside.

“Come bearing gifts, Johnny?” You watched him put the tray down on your cot’s side table.

“Bottoms up, lass.” Soap handed you one of the cups, and you popped the lid off to hasten the cooling process of the coffee.

The aroma of the drink on its own was enough to perk you up, and you smiled at the men who sat beside you.

“You Irish it up?” You quirked a brow, smiling at Johnny as he sipped his own coffee.

“Scots have a bit more, eh, practicality than that.” He smirked.

“And I wouldn’t let him.” Gaz chuckled, blowing gently on his own coffee.

The three of you drank in silence. The coffee was black, bitter, but it warmed you up and helped you relocate your senses.

“So,” you popped the lid back onto your cup, putting it onto the tray that Soap had left on the side table. “How’d I end up here?”

“Passed out before evac,” Gaz sighed into his coffee, clearly not too keen on having you relive the series of events. “Got you here without much trouble.”

“Aye, y’were fine,” Soap finished the rest of his coffee and tossed the paper cup into the trashcan nearest to your bed. “Wound was shallower than we thought. Fucked up yer ankle, mild burns, couple cracked ribs, but—” He gestured to your chest, which was mostly bandaged. “Fixed ye up nice.”

You looked down at your body, really taking it in for a moment.

Your chest felt heavy, constricted by the bandages that covered your ribs and side, and your ankle was wrapped, but looked much less serious. There was something sticky on the irritated portions of your skin, probably bacitracin.

“What’s this?” You finally brought attention to the shirt that still rested on your lap.

“Ghost’s.” Soap didn’t explain.

“Couldn’t find anything to wrap ya up with—fucking disaster out there,” Gaz picked up Johnny’s slack, “Used his shirt instead. Couldn’t let you bleed out, though I doubt you would’ve, either way.”

The image of Simon removing so much of his kit just to get to the t-shirt beneath it in the middle of an evac zone made you smile. You tried not to dwell on the heat that crept into your abdomen.

That explained why it was covered in blood, at least.

You nodded, sighing. “I wasn’t out long, then?”

Soap pursed his lips, almost smiling. You looked at Kyle for a straight answer.

“How long have I been here?”

“Day and a half…maybe—little more like two,” Gaz smiled sheepishly. “They’ve had you pumped full of everything. Morphine, the works.”

“Knocked ye out good.” Soap laughed.

“Better than dying.” You sighed, shaking your head. You reached out for your coffee again, finishing it in a gulp before passing the cup off to Soap to toss it for you.

“Chest feels alright?” Gaz took the lull in conversation to ask again about your state of being.

“Tight, but…” The ache was still there, and the bandages were a bit snug, but you could manage. “Yeah. Feels ok…”

“Just rest.” Gaz still didn’t look worried, and that made you feel more at ease with the situation.

“Haven’t a thing goin’ on, next few days.” Soap nodded, doubling down on Kyle’s suggestion that you commit to relaxing.

The doors to the infirmary scraped against the floor again, but you didn’t bother looking at who had opened them, assuming it was a nurse coming in to check your IV or replace your bandages.

Soap and Gaz briefly made eye contact, glancing at each other in their peripheral after watching the doors open, but you ignored it as reflexive; a nod to each other in support of their insistence that you rest.

“And after that?” You knew you were looking too far ahead—you didn’t even know how long it took ribs to heal—but a little taste of optimism from your friends would be encouraging.

“You’re out of commission.”

The deep Manchester growl rattled your train of thought, and you turned to look at Simon, who stood in front of the doors.

“What?” You looked at him incredulously—surely he couldn’t be trying to punish you for nearly getting killed; surely you had misheard.

“You’re not goin’ back out there.” Simon’s eyes flickered over your body before he let his razor-edged gaze land on your face.

“Just—with the state yer in, lass—” Soap tried to soften the blow, brows furrowing into a gentle expression.

“Not in any state.” Ghost finally moved from his spot by the doors, and in several brisk strides he was by your bedside.

You tried to chalk it up to the fact that you were lying down, but you couldn’t help but feel as though he was looming.

“You were out o’line.” You could practically see his sneer beneath the balaclava, lip curling into an ugly, twisted shape as he lay into you.

And for what?

For the first time since waking up, there was a shock running down your body; not out of any physical discomfort, but out of pure rage.

“I was doing what I enlisted to do.” You huffed, folding your arms over your chest and trying to ignore the twinge of your muscles as bruised flesh rested on bruised flesh.

He stared at you for a moment; unmoving, unblinking.

“You join the army to get y'self killed?” He said it like he thought it was funny, and that’s what really did it for you.

He could’ve excluded you from any ops in the near future. He could’ve yelled until he was red in the face about how your stubbornness and lack of awareness consistently and unnecessarily put you in harm’s way.

That much you could’ve understood. Respectively, it made sense; it was true.

But the edge of mirth in his voice as he mocked you whilst you lay drugged-up in the infirmary made your blood boil, and the morphine could do nothing to stop that.

“You can’t do that.”

In an effort to save face, you turned your attention back to Soap and Gaz, trying to shut Simon out.

“He can’t do that,” you searched their eyes for signs of support, something you could leverage, “We have a pecking order. Price has to—to...”

Your sentence fell off when you saw Soap giving Ghost a pointed look, Gaz staring at the floor, frowning.

“It’s only six weeks,” Kyle tried to highlight the silver lining, looking back up at you and giving you a timespan to consider, “Just till we can be absolutely sure you’re okay.”

“We…” Soap sighed, still looking at Simon with a subtle glare, “It’s just to make sure yer in the best shape possible, lass—nothin’ personal.” He chanced a glance at you, smiling, and you scoffed.

Taking a deep breath, you turned to stare straight ahead at the foot of the cot. “Your idea, Lieutenant?”

Simon stared down at you, saying nothing, but when you side-eyed him you could see a glint of something in his eyes that told you everything you needed to know: It had definitely been his idea.

Even if you had only been bruised, you were certain that he would've suggested the same timeframe for you to stay on bed rest, under the guise of healthcare. A sadistic form of punishment that saw you wasting away while your friends continued business as usual.

“You’re being irrational,” you scowled at him, letting your arms drop down to your stomach to give your chest a break from supporting them. “And—not for nothing—kind of a dick.”

“Easy, Sergeant.” He glared down at you.

“I’m fine,” you squared your shoulders, as if adjusting your posture was all it would take to convince the men around you that you were sturdy. “I could understand a couple weeks—I could understand a month. But six weeks is—that’s appalling. It's not fair.”

“Life’s not fair, sweetheart.” Ghost, too, squared his shoulders, and it had the effect he surely desired; you shrunk into yourself slightly. “You wanna talk about appalling? You let me know when you ‘ave to dig shrapnel out of a subordinate.”

He turned on his heel without so much as a nod towards Soap and Gaz, and you felt just as upset about his disregard of them as his vitriol towards you.

“Lieutenant!” You called after him, “Ghost!” You were aware that the conversation was over, but you were still keen to argue. “Simon!”

The doors swung open and shut again with the same piercing scrape against the floor.

You glared at the doors, your disgust at Simon heightened in your state of exhaustion.

“Johnny?” You didn’t look back at Soap, still focusing your anger on the doors.

“Aye.”

“More coffee.”

~~~

A week later, you were back on your feet.

The nurses had given you enough ibuprofen to last a lifetime, maybe two, and then they sent you on your way.

The hurt was still there; every time you coughed; every time you stretched your left arm too suddenly, but it was fading.

It wasn’t really the pain that bothered you now. It was more so the waking worries, the shakiness of your breath, and the way you jerked awake each night in a frenzy of twisted blankets and sweat and nausea.

You tried to suck it up; you were hardly the first soldier to have an experience like this. You tucked your head between your knees when you had to, but never your tail between your legs.

You refused your need for help. You refused to acknowledge any weakness.

You hated the notion that this stretch of forced bed rest was only proving a dismal point; you weren’t cut out for the task force. The people that whispered in the halls about you being nothing more than something for the men to look at were likely finding their evidence in this extreme shortcoming of yours.

You kept your distance from Simon in order to avoid any further conflict. But he always did a good job of making himself unavailable, even at the best of times, so you hadn’t had to tiptoe around the barracks.

You walked into the mess hall on a whim. Your appetite was still mostly touch-and-go, but you knew the least you could do for yourself after everything was eat.

Gaz waved you over to the usual table, and you set your tray down across from Johnny.

“Need a new callsign.”

“Don’t like Bravo-Nine?” Gaz looked at you over a spoonful of applesauce.

“No, not—you know what I mean. Soap; Gaz; Ghost; Berserker.”

You’d been doing a lot of thinking over the course of the week; maybe Berserker wasn’t you.

And you’d laughed at the thought initially—of course she wasn’t you. That was the whole point. She was a projection, symbolic of you. It’s not like Simon was Ghost.

You had rolled your eyes at the comparison, trying to stifle any more thoughts of him.

Eventually, you’d decided that the ritualistic version of yourself was inadequate—or perhaps you were inadequate to call her a representative.

You were no Berserker. You were the Sergeant who cracked three ribs in one go after going in blind and setting off a landmine.

"Hard thing to change," Gaz quirked a brow, "Sticks with you."

“It’s a good name.” Soap picked at his fingers.

“Feels wrong now,” you tried to explain, “A berserker would’ve been able to handle some scrapes.”

“A berserker would jump’t the chance to run onto a landmine.” Johnny countered with a smirk.

“Thought about your other options?” Gaz spoke up again, stopping an argument before it had the chance to begin.

He was always good at that.

“What about, uh…” He tilted his head back, squinting at the ceiling as he tried to come up with something.

“Tits McGee?” Soap laughed at his own suggestion.

You flicked a pea from your tray at him, but it veered off track and hit Gaz in the cheek.

“Oi!” Gaz wiped the moist spot it had left on his face with his hand, cringing. “No friendly fire at the lunch table.”

Soap barked a laugh, and you kicked him under the table as you stifled your own laughter.

“What’re you lot on about?”

And there was Simon.

Always when you least expected him; ready and willing to ruin a good time.

Ghost sat down next to you like it was nothing; like he hadn’t just chewed you out a few days earlier for nearly dying.

He was taking up too much space—at the table and in your head. You tried to ignore him, but your smile wavered.

“She’s changing her callsign.” Soap gestured to you with his chin.

“Doesn’t feel like a true berserker,” Gaz smiled, eyes darting between you and Ghost. “Tell him.”

Kyle knew how upset you were, and he had said he wouldn’t get in the middle of it. But it was clear that he was now attempting to take on the role of peacekeeper, if only to keep mealtime pleasant.

You shot Simon a sidelong glance, nodding in response to Gaz’s prompt. You didn’t want to grace the Lieutenant with a verbal reply. He didn’t deserve one.

“I suggested Tits McGee.” Johnny smirked into his drinking glass, and this time you stomped on his foot under the table. He winced through a chuckle.

“Fair idea.” Ghost huffed out what could’ve been mistaken as a laugh.

You grit your teeth.

“What about something…scarier…?” Gaz spoke as the thought came to him, looking at you again. “Give Ghost a run for his money.”

Soap swallowed the water in his mouth, eager to toss out suggestions.

“Reaper.” He let his voice drop an octave for emphasis.

“Spirit.” Gaz quirked a brow at you, expectantly, as he silently asked for your input.

“She wouldn’t wear it right.” Simon shook his head, crossing his arms.

Your nails bit against your palms. It seemed like you couldn’t do anything right, as far as he was concerned.

“Shut up.” It came out muttered and withdrawn, but it felt good to get it out all the same.

“You ‘ave something t’say, love?” Simon looked down his shoulder at you, and the moment you looked back up at him, you knew you’d made a mistake in thinking you could keep it together.

“Yeah,” you glared, standing from the table. “Fuck you.”

You left without clearing your tray.

~~~

You never thought you’d find a barracks bed so spacious, but your own bed felt huge compared to the medical cot you’d recuperated in.

You pressed the heels of your palms against your eyelids, appreciating the silence and warring with yourself about why you always let Ghost get under your skin the way you did.

You heaved a sigh, stretching your arms out. You made sure to rest your left arm at a more practical angle even when you extended it.

Relief for the rest of your body wasn’t worth the jolt in your side.

After the incident at lunch, you fell into a repetitive pattern; mind wandering to Simon, chastising yourself for letting him live so comfortably in your head, then trying to focus on something—anything—else.

And you didn’t appreciate the way your body reacted to the thoughts of him, warmth swelling in your stomach and fingertips grazing your waistband.

It was a losing battle.

He had the ability to be kind, and it was a rarity, but a welcome one.

When you’d started as a rookie, you understood why people worshipped him; he was strong, capable, and, for the most part, managed to stay humble.

He was competent. And that was nice.

For a while, even you had fallen victim to the cult of personality that trailed him—it was hard not to.

He was just a person, a soldier like any other, but he could seem like so much more than that at times. You admired him, his drive, his passion.

He was merciless in his work ethic, unforgiving in his reproach, but he had his moments.

You’d knocked on his door early on into your time at the base.

It was nothing more than a work-related rendezvous, impromptu but necessary; you had reports he needed, and that was all. But you still felt a sort of buzz, a sense of pride nipping at your heels for being trusted enough to take on a task as menial as paperwork.

He’d opened the door, and you’d been left to stare up at him.

“What’s'is?” He nodded his chin down at your hands.

“I—the reports you needed,” you handed them to him, “They’re all in proper order.” You hesitated, “I think.”

He had stared down at you.

“You think?”

“No, I…I know. They are.” You didn’t want to be overly confident, but you did feel as though the reports looked good—better than good, even.

“Good to be certain.” He’d folded the reports, almost fidgeting with the paper.

“Yeah,” you nodded, unsure of what to say now. “It’s...all there.”

There was another pause. He let your words hang in the air, leaving you to stand awkwardly in the threshold of his room.

“But, uh—that’s all,” you nodded again, trying not to squirm in the silence he created. You looked at the ground. “Thanks for…trusting me, Simon.”

You turned to walk back to your own room, but he cleared his throat.

“Simon?” He seemed confused, and for a moment you wondered if you had gotten his name wrong, “We on a first name basis, love?”

“I just—that’s your name…” You'd probably gone pale at that point, but you tried to recover. “I figured, I mean, in your own room…do you want to be Lieutenant?” You stuttered through an explanation.

He had narrowed his eyes at you then, but there was no malice in his gaze; if anything, he just seemed more confused than he had been.

“Ghost is fine…” He spoke as if he were questioning himself.

“But you’re not Ghost,” you doubled down, smiling sheepishly, “I mean—not here, you’re not. Not to me.”

“Why?”

“I don’t really think of you as Ghost unless we’re…out, somewhere,” you tried to sound nonchalant, but the words spilled out as you tried to avoid the repercussions of disrespecting a superior officer. “And—I dunno. You’re kinda scary when you’re Ghost. Your name…suits you…”

You searched his eyes, still trying to read whether his bewilderment would morph into anger.

“It humanizes you. And I…I like that.”

“You like Simon.”

“Yeah.”

He shifted his weight. “A’right.”

You waited for more, but it never came.

“Yeah,” you repeated, finally finding the willpower to walk away. “Goodnight, Simon.”

“G’night.” He watched you leave before shutting the door.

You couldn’t help but smile at the memory, despite yourself. So you tried to remember what had made you hate him in the first place, just to torment yourself further.

It had been the day following that conversation.

He had been brusque, finding you in a common area with Gaz, playing a watered-down version of blackjack—no bets, just yelling and laughing as you continued to fall short.

“Redo them.”

“What?” You’d looked up from your hand.

“Redo them.” He repeated as he dropped the stack of reports onto the table in front of you.

The reports you had been so excited to hand over to him.

“But what’s—”

“Fix. Them.” He’d gritted out, and you didn’t have the strength to look him in the eyes. “And be fucking certain they’re in order this time, sweetheart.”

“O—ok…” You conceded to his demand and rested your palm on the stack of paper in a gesture of submission.

He walked out without another word, leaving you to stare down at the reports he’d returned to you, feeling well and truly insufficient.

You had decided, in that moment, that you hated Ghost. And you hated Simon Riley just as much.

You had never been able to figure out why exactly he had switched up the way he had; if you had done something to get on his bad side, if it was delayed payback for calling him by his name. No matter how curious you got, you never asked, simply putting him on your bad side, too, just to keep things fair.

You heaved a sigh, sitting up in bed and staring at your room.

It was messy in a very minute way. You had clothes that needed washing, and a stray sock on the floor; your bed wasn’t made and there were reports on your desk that needed filing.

Clean to an onlooker; filthy to a soldier.

Your eyes wandered to Ghost’s shirt where it hung on your door.

You still hadn’t given it back to him, too dead set on eluding him at all costs after the ordeal in the infirmary, but it was casting a dreary shadow in your room. You didn’t want it near you, despite the way you’d clung to it when you’d woken up, and despite the way you’d managed to avoid returning it even when you’d had ample time to do something as simple as hanging it on his doorknob.

You didn’t know whether you should treat it as if it were a talisman or an omen, but given that it was stained in your blood, you leaned towards the latter.

You stared at it for a few moments before finding the motivation to get up and grab it off the hook it had been dangling from.

Maybe you could treat it like an olive branch, even if it was only for this particular occasion.

He’d have to offer you a whole tree to make you consider allowing him on your good side for anything else he’d put you through.

~~~

It was relatively quiet in the barracks, and you felt like you were missing out on something. But you knew it got like this sometimes; weeks of high energy often resulted in a lull.

Simon’s room was at the end of the hallway, shrouded in shadows where one of the hall lights had gone out. His door had the same menacing energy that he did, and you felt insane for comparing the man to a door.

But were you really that far off?

Rigid, unfeeling; Ghost was essentially just another fixture—in the barracks, on the force, in the quiet corners of your mind.

You quickened your pace in an effort to get this over with. The sooner you gave him his shirt back, the sooner you could quell the feelings of frailty and lousiness, the sooner you could rid him from your thoughts—at least for a little while.

You stood in front of his door, and before you could question your true intentions, you knocked.

He opened the door in a huff, and you found yourself taking a step back. He didn’t say anything, fixing his unforgiving gaze on you.

“This is yours,” you held up the shirt, “Figured you might want it back.”

You watched his eyes scan the shirt in your hand before flicking back up to your face.

“Covered in your blood.” He looked like he was quirking a brow beneath the balaclava, and you suddenly felt irate—why wear the mask in his own room?

“Well, I haven’t really had time to wash it, considering…” You motioned up and down in front of your chest with your free hand. “But, um…Johnny said it was yours, and I felt bad holding onto it, given that I don’t really have any…need for it now.”

“Why would I want it back?” His tone was flat.

“It’s your fucking shirt.” You heaved a sigh, realizing that your attempt at diplomacy was going unheeded.

“Don’t want it.”

Nothing else. Not a word—not a ‘thank you’ or a ‘happy to see you out of bed.’

Nothing to suggest he even cared about what had happened, or that he had any inkling of what was still going on in your head. He didn’t even question you about your outburst in the mess hall. He was completely cold, fully detached.

Typical.

“Well,” you swallowed the urge to push him, to see his feet slip out from under him and watch him stumble. “Fuck me for trying, Simon.”

You turned to make quick work of walking away, fidgeting angrily with the shirt in your hands. But he was clearly in the mood to argue.

“Oi—” You heard his footsteps behind you, “You mad?”

You scoffed. “Shut up.”

“Are you mad at me?” He clarified, catching up to you as you stormed down the hallway.

You didn’t answer him until you got back to the door of your room, opening it, and standing in the doorframe.

It gave you a sense of power, being in your own space.

“Am I mad at you?” You swiveled to stare up at him, your tone venomous. “Fuck you, Ghost.” You could no longer deny yourself the satisfaction of shoving him, and you pushed against his chest hard enough that he swayed back slightly.

“Watch it.” He glared down at you like he was trying to burn a hole through your head.

“Please—or what?” You challenged, “You’ll make me sit on the sidelines for an extra week? You gonna snap my neck in my own fucking room?”

Once you started, you couldn’t stop, and every single issue you had with him was coming to the surface.

“You won’t do shit. You never do shit—not unless it’s in the job description. You ignore everything so dutifully, Simon, like it’ll just disappear if you don’t give it the time of day,” you were yelling now. “Cause that’s what you think, right? That problems and people will vanish when they realize they’re not good enough for Lieutenant Riley?”

“Wasn’t personal, sweetheart—you’re in no shape to be out there.” He sighed, and it just fueled your rage.

“I don’t take anything you do personally,” you pressed a finger into his chest for emphasis. “You walk around here like you own the place, Lieutenant, and you don’t. You don’t get to call all the shots—I don’t care what kind of hard-on you get for the authority you have in one-four-one.”

“Sergeant—” You could tell it was taking effort on his part to stay stoic as he stood in your line of fire, and a vicious part of you wanted to see him break and fight back.

You wanted him to give you a good reason to hate him. Something that might finally stick.

“I’m not fucking finished,” you cut him off, eager to express every single detail about him that made you feel so incensed. “You are the epitome of ego, you are indisputably one of the most self aggrandizing people I have ever had the misfortune of meeting. All you are is a fucking killer, just like the rest of us, but you seem to think you’re God’s gift to SAS—because what would one-four-one be without you, right, Simon? What would any of this be without you!”

You took a deep breath, and it made your ribs settle over your lungs uncomfortably, but you were nowhere near done.

“You act like you don’t care about the praise, the commendation—but you fucking do, and that’s why you turn your nose up at it. Cause you think you deserve it. And why the fuck should you acknowledge any compliment to your skill? Why should you acknowledge something that you already know to be true?”

Suddenly, you were cackling; manic with hatred, confused by your hostility towards him.

Ghost stood silent, and you wished he wasn’t wearing the mask so you could see his face and analyze how your words were hitting him.

You wanted to see the upset on his features—never mind how pretty he might look, carved in agitation.

“You don’t pay attention to the way people shy away from you, or the way the rookies worship you, or the—fuck, Simon, the women! You don’t care about how girls look at you! Because it’s what you think you deserve!” You couldn’t stop yourself from throwing that detail in, but you quickly recovered from your thinly veiled barb of jealousy.

You lowered your voice, wanting to hammer home how deeply, truly repulsed by him you were.

“You are so fucking aloof, it’s insane,” you hissed, “Ignore me all you want, Lieutenant, but I’m not fucking going anywhere. Am I mad at you? Fuck you, Simon.” You focused now on catching your breath, but you wanted to make sure he knew you meant it: “Fuck. You.”

He hadn’t moved the whole time, staying in the same spot in front of you throughout your rant.

Maybe he was thinking about the situation at hand. You wondered if he had actually listened to anything you said, or if he was too baffled by the fact that he was being screamed at by a subordinate to even hear you.

Maybe he’d hit you. You would, in his position.

“S‘at all?” His tone was casual, maybe a bit gruffer than normal, but that did nothing to subdue your rage.

All you’d really wanted was a reaction, and he wouldn’t even give you that.

“Get the fuck out.” You took a step back, slamming the door in his face.

You leaned against the door, breathing. Your side felt like it was splitting—maybe the stitches were under pressure, or your ribs had been held too taut against your lungs when you yelled.

You’d take an ibuprofen later. Now, you clutched his shirt in your fists, and tears slid off your cheeks to mingle with the bloodstains.

~~~

An hour or two later, you felt somewhat more under control.

You tried to shrug off your emotions, burying them somewhere to keep them guarded and stop them from getting to you.

You shoved Simon’s shirt under your bed. Out of sight, out of mind.

You saw no point in wallowing—you’d had a week to do that in the infirmary. Now you just wanted some semblance of peace, a good night of sleep.

Distracting yourself with paperwork seemed just as good. But your hands were shaky, and you quickly grew frustrated.

Be fucking certain they’re in order. You heard the words in Simon’s voice, clear as day, as the memory bounced around in your head.

You shoved yourself up from your desk chair at the same moment you heard a knock on your door.

You hesitated.

“Yeah?” You called out, walking slowly towards the sound.

“Got you something.”

Gaz’s voice was cheery, and you let out a brief sigh of relief upon hearing him—initially worried that Ghost had come back for retribution.

Relief may not have been the proper word. Still, you opened the door.

“Didn’t even ask who it was.” Gaz smiled when you ushered him in.

“What’d you bring me?” You ignored his teasing with a grin.

“First," he made himself comfortable on the edge of your bed, "Tell me if you’ve got a light.”

You quirked a brow at him, taking the hint. You rummaged through your nightstand to locate a lighter, finding one and handing it to him.

“Solid,” he took the lighter, reaching into his pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes. “Go ’head.”

You smiled, shaking your head with an amused huff. “Inside?”

“You deserve it.”

“With my…” You tried to appeal to your better judgement, the stitches in your side a reminder of the turmoil your body had only just experienced.

Kyle looked at you expectantly, holding out the pack, and you let your sentence trail off as you fished a cigarette from the box.

“Terrible influence, Garrick.” You perched the cigarette between your lips, waiting for him to light it for you.

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” he smiled, watching you puff smoke as he lit your cigarette. “You need a vice. Heard you tore LT a new one.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes. You moved from the bed to open the small window in your room, resting your hand on the sill and watching the smoke trail up into the night air.

“Word travels fast,” you almost smirked at the knowledge that people had heard about your row with Ghost. “He had it coming.”

Gaz got up from your bed and walked over to lean opposite you against the window.

“Only person that’s ever done it,” he wedged the window up a bit more when the smoke blew back into his face. “Long as I've been here, at least. When Soap’s mad at him, he just listens to songs about stickin’ it to the English.”

“I know,” you ashed the cigarette, smiling, “I have his playlist.”

Gaz laughed, and you stamped the cigarette out on the outer part of the sill, walking back to your bed and taking a seat. Gaz watched you, analyzing your movements before he pulled the chair from your desk and sat.

“You, uh…” He chewed the inside of his cheek, “He was glued to you, Ghost was. Wouldn’t leave your side.”

You furrowed your brow, looking up at him in confusion. You didn’t know where this was coming from—or why Kyle would bother to tell you right now, rather than while you were still in the infirmary. Or why he'd tell you at all, for that matter.

“He wasn’t there when I woke up.” You scoffed halfheartedly, unsure of what point you were trying to argue, or why you were trying to argue it.

The thing is, you had questions—but it was easier to inquire with a reserved disbelief than it was to ask anything up front.

“He was there before that, though,” Gaz fiddled with the lighter, flicking it on and off. “We—y’know, Johnny and Price and I—we made him leave.”

“Just because?” You tried to sound amused, but the curiosity gnawed at you.

“Needed a shower, hadn’t eaten.” Gaz put the lighter down on the desk. He rolled his shoulders back, pressing his palms to his thighs with a sigh.

“So?” You prompted when Gaz had stayed silent for longer than you anticipated.

“So, just…” He cracked his neck before looking back at you, “Maybe try not to take it all out on him.”

“Take what out on him?” Your tone went sharp, and Kyle made a face.

“You know what I mean,” he backed down slightly, but continued with his effort. “I think he’s…unhappy.”

“I get blown to smithereens and we all throw Simon a pity party?” You felt your skin growing hot, unnerved by the notion that you were supposed to go about business as usual after such an event, while everybody around you seemed to have more sympathy for Ghost and the grave he’d dug for himself.

“You cracked three ribs!” Gaz smiled, trying to ease the sudden tension.

“It was enough for LT to throw a hissy fit over!” You snapped back, perhaps a bit too harshly, and Gaz let his smile fade, ready to concede to you.

You continued to seethe for a moment longer, staring at Gaz’s feet. He dipped his head down, trying to get you to listen.

“I think he’s unhappy because he wasn’t there when you woke up.” He said simply, his voice gentle. He wasn’t trying to upset you, just attempting to share his opinion and see whether or not it improved anything.

“Hardly my fault…” You frowned, finding his gaze again and crossing your arms.

“Yeah, no, I know—believe me, I know,” Gaz rubbed a hand over his face, “But he was…so…He was fucking besides himself with worry—or, I mean, it seemed like it. Didn’t leave the infirmary til we pushed him out a few hours before you came to. And I think he was really set on being there to see you through it.”

Gaz looked at you. You looked back, tilting your head in silent encouragement; you were listening.

“It’s like he…built up this idea in his head about…” he trailed off, “And then it didn’t happen. And he doesn’t want to feel stupid, so he’s just angry instead.”

You nodded, taking in the revelation that maybe Ghost wasn’t mad at you, but at himself; that he was facing a similar struggle from you as you were from him.

It didn’t make you feel better. If anything, it made you want to knock sense into him all the more.

You’d laid out your cards—it was his turn now. If he had such big feelings, he could either suck it up and ignore them, or he could come out with them. And nothing Gaz said or suggested could make you change your mind.

You scoffed, shaking your head. But you smiled a little, subconsciously reassured.

“That’s my hypothesis, anyway.” Gaz shrugged, returning your smile ten-fold, and you felt yourself relax a bit, feeling the tension dissipate.

“Big word.” You laughed softly.

Gaz grinned. “Read a book or two.”

You reached out to snatch the pack of cigarettes from him, fishing another out for yourself before pushing the box back into his hands. He put them away, handing you your lighter.

“Not joining me?” You nodded towards the pocket he’d shoved the pack into, speaking through your hands as you lit the cigarette.

“Nah,” he shook his head, sighing. “There’s…mm—I didn’t come to see you just so we could talk about Ghost.”

“You talked about him,” you mumbled, “I listened.” You moved to the window again. “What else?”

“We’re shipping out,” Gaz sighed, “Next week.”

You went quiet, picking at one of your fingernails and watching your cigarette burn.

“…Without me.” Your words came out small, disappointed.

“Yeah,” Gaz’s voice went soft around the edges. “First time in—”

“Yeah.” You cut him off.

You knew how long you’d been in 141; and it felt like eons to you, despite the fact that it had been only a tiny fraction of the time everybody else had been on the task force. You didn’t need the reminder now—not when you already felt like an outsider.

“All of you, then?”

You looked back over your shoulder at Kyle, and he nodded.

“Price too?”

He nodded again. You took a long drag of your cigarette.

“In and out,” he tried to make it sound like fun—and really, it was, to an extent, but your thoughts were elsewhere. “Won’t even be a full forty-eight hours, way we’ve got it planned.”

You smiled—he always downplayed it, but you wanted to believe him.

Without Gaz and Soap around, you’d be bored out of your mind. You could handle a couple days, but anything longer than that seemed dreadful.

You didn’t let yourself fall into the vortex of thoughts that opened up relating to Simon; you refused to acknowledge the way your stomach tensed at the idea of him on a mission without you, the way sweat beaded on the skin of your back at the notion that you wouldn’t be there to watch him—you didn’t know what the feeling was, but you knew you didn’t like it.

“I believe you.” You flicked the cigarette out the window.

“Good.” He said simply.

It was another hour of banter before Gaz decided to call it a night, by which time the strange feeling in your stomach had begun to feel more akin to a hunger pain.

“Hey,” he nudged you with his shoulder as you walked him out of your room, “Don’t think too hard about it, yeah?”

“About what?”

“Ghost—and him being…”

“Being Ghost.” You offered sardonically with a smile to match, but Gaz took it in stride.

“Mm,” he nodded, “Ghost being Ghost.” He added, “You were the one that wanted his help, remember.”

He didn’t clarify, but you knew he was talking about how you’d pleaded for Ghost to be the one to treat your wounds as you lay bleeding.

You nodded, sighing an affirmative.

When you shut the door behind Gaz, you found yourself standing frozen in the same spot you had been in after shouting at Simon.

It was significantly more tranquil now, but it still made you feel a sense of unease.

Did you feel bad? And if the answer was yes—did you feel sorry for yourself, or for him?

You got in bed and curled into yourself, suddenly feeling like it was too big and almost wishing you could be back in the infirmary.

At least you could sleep in that cot; the morphine drip kept you in a steady, sleepy haze and removed all of the anxiety induced by your near-death experience.

Against your better judgement, you threw your hand over the edge of your bed, contorting yourself as comfortably as you could to lean down and grab Simon’s shirt from the spot you’d chucked it beneath the bedframe.

If he was so adamant that you keep it, you felt as though it was only fair for you to use it.

You draped his shirt over the foot of your mattress, and you instantly felt as though the bed had shrunk down to fit you exactly; it was cozy, it was made for you, and not hundreds of recruits just like you.

He took up too much space at the table and in your mind, so what was a little space in your bed?

It’s not like this changed anything. You were still upset, still frustrated, still completely and utterly confused. Simon’s shirt was simply an added presence that helped quell the shakiness in your hands as you moved to switch off the light.

And it added a bit of fuel to the thoughts you’d deemed taboo.

~~~

You hadn’t been trying to count down the days until the force left, but it was hard not to. You knew that them leaving base would mean radio silence and a consuming sense of loneliness.

You couldn’t tell if the feeling in your gut was a product of the unfortunate event you’d just lived through, your intense dosage of Advil, or just the crushing fear of being left behind.

So, you’d tried to make the most of things as the week went by; and maybe you sat at the dinner table a little longer than you needed to, even when Simon cared to join; maybe you didn’t say anything when Soap tried to look at Gaz’s cards over his shoulder.

You wandered into the transport bay on the morning they were set to leave, and they were all standing at the ready.

It almost had you laughing; little toy soldiers, all lined up.

“Where you off to?” You sidled up next to Soap as he fiddled with his chest rig.

“Need to know basis.” He grunted, pulling at the strap around his shoulder. He looked up at you with a grin.

You rolled your eyes, returning the smile.

“Then tell me all about it if you come back in one piece.”

“Always do, lassie.”

You cringed. “Don’t tempt the fates, Johnny.”

Gaz appeared in your peripheral, and you turned to him.

You couldn’t decipher his gaze; if he was nervous or if he felt sorry for you.

“Gonna miss ya out there, Sergeant.” He smiled softly at you.

“Yeah,” you walked over to him, slinging an arm over his shoulder, “I know.”

“Always the picture of humility, you are.” He smirked, and you punched him in the arm.

“Take care of yourselves.” You knew they would—they always did. And it wasn’t like you had anything to worry about; it was one operation, a brief mission to wherever the hell, and you’d see them in a few days’ time.

As cocky as Soap could be, he was right: they always came back in one piece.

Unlike you.

Price cleared his throat, cutting short the banter between you and the Sergeants that flanked you.

“Captain.” You looked up, offering him a nod.

“Sorry to see you sitting this one out.” He was being sincere—that was something you appreciated about Price; he didn’t say anything he didn’t mean. “Won’t feel the same without you.”

“Yeah, well,” you still didn’t know how to take a compliment from him, “I’ll be good as new, soon enough.” You added; “Only a month left, and then I’ll be back at it.”

He nodded, and you saw his cheeks broaden, offering you a small smile.

“Don’t let that arm go stiff, Sergeant.”

“Roger that.” You responded with a similarly minute smile.

You turned your attention back to Gaz and Soap, hoping that getting enough face time with them now might hold you over while they were gone.

Ghost stood in the corner, checking guns for loose ammo and saying nothing. He barely looked your way, and when he did, you tried to hold eye contact.

Maybe you were trying to scare him, wear him down a bit and make him nervous. Realistically, though, the man that stood a few yards away from you would never consider you a threat.

And you knew that. But you couldn’t admit that you were looking at him just to look.

You wanted him to squirm under your gaze now the way that you always did under his.

The door to the bay opened and you knew it was best to see them off before they loaded—you were a soldier, not a would-be widow; you couldn’t bear the feeling of being left behind, but the idea of watching them leave was even worse.

“Alright,” you rolled your neck, trying to appear indifferent to their departure. “Be good.” You looked pointedly at Soap, who nodded, saluting.

“Aye.”

“You too.” Gaz pressed a finger to your chest, feigning menace, and you rolled your eyes as you watched the Sergeants gear up to go.

Ghost still hadn’t said a word, but you found yourself being pulled into his orbit as you turned to leave.

It was no big deal. He was standing by the exit, anyway.

Still, you stared at him as you walked out, waiting for him to say something. Or not.

He gave you a curt nod in an effort to catch your attention.

“See you in a few days, sweetheart.” He kept his voice low—maybe out of habit, maybe because he wasn’t sure if he wanted you to hear him.

You huffed at him, frowning at him but refusing to respond.

His eyes shifted beneath his mask, but he didn't speak anymore. And you didn’t care.

But when you walked out of the transport bay, you could feel your heart racing, challenging your mind.

~~~

Admittedly, it was calmer with them gone. But you were bored, and feeling more outcast and alone than you’d care to confess.

It gave you time to work on the reports that had started to pile up, and even more time to debate where exactly you stood with Simon.

And then you debated whether that was something even worth debating.

He was an asshole. He was your superior. But he was also, in a twisted sort of way, your friend.

And you’d never heard him call Soap or Gaz sweetheart.

He was an ally in dark times, who used his own clothes to stem your bleeding—something he’d only done because you, in your weakest state, had begged for his help.

And you still didn’t really know why you had asked. And you didn’t like the fact that the time you spent alone with your thoughts was bringing you closer and closer to figuring it out.

You thought a lot about Gaz's words, his explanation for Ghost’s behavior: he’s unhappy, he wanted to see you through it, he built up this idea.

You still couldn’t fully wrap your head around what the idea Gaz had mentioned was, and you had been too proud to ask for any clarification.

Simon’s shirt was still unceremoniously draped over your bed, and despite the comfort it brought you, you tried to ignore it.

Two days came and went, and by the third day you had allowed the initial drops of worry to seep in.

It didn’t last long before the whole dam exploded.

And then it all started to blur together, like you were lying on your back in the dirt again, feeling like your head was being held underwater.

In the early hours of day four, commotion in the hall roused you. It wasn’t as if you had been asleep, but facing such loud noise after midnight still made you grumble as you padded to the door and flung it open. Walking down the hall, you didn’t care that you were barefoot, too intent on giving into the curiosity that was tying your stomach in knots.

You heard Price’s voice first, the sharp pinch of his words as he demanded everybody move out.

That was your first tip off that something was wrong.

And then Soap rushed past you without so much as a first glance, let alone a second, as he booked it in the direction of the infirmary. There was a hand on your shoulder, then, and Gaz offered a look of sympathy, but his eyes were glazed over and intense in a manner that didn’t suit him at all.

He tripped over himself as he followed Soap.

“Gaz?” You called after him, suddenly frantic and in need of answers.

One answer.

“Garrick?” You started to follow him, but it didn’t feel real; you felt like you were looking down at yourself as an outsider, your legs moving on their own as you sped barefoot down the hall, floating. “Kyle!”

That finally got him to snap to attention, but he kept walking as he spoke to you over his shoulder.

“Ghost—” his voice was shaky, and you had to wonder what had happened—what he had seen, “Direct shot.”

You felt a final tug at the knot in your stomach, and you thought you were going to be sick.

You stopped following Gaz, standing still in the middle of the hall. You felt directionless.

You drifted through the barracks in an unstable haze, almost numb but still all too capable of feeling the anger that had started to bubble within the uneasiness of your stomach.

He was supposed to be untouchable, unstoppable—invincible.

But he was bleeding out in the infirmary just like you had.

He was merciless, yes, and he was unforgiving—but he had his moments.

You wouldn’t have taken a bullet for him. Would you? Certainly, you would’ve done something.

You would’ve tried.

If you had been there, you would have forced him to do things the way you wanted to, the way you always did. Forced him to see it your way and come to an agreement in your favor; forced him to walk in the direction you chose; forced him to follow your pace, stayed in front of him like you always did; forced him to follow your trail.

And he would’ve listened, just like he always did. Because he, in his own way, seemed to approve of your drive.

And then maybe he would have walked back into base on his own two feet. And it could’ve been you lying on a cot in the infirmary.

As it was meant to be.

Somehow, you found your way back to your own room, some guiding force helping you shut the door, pushing you towards your bed.

The numb and the melancholy made way for a stronger sense of fury the moment your eyes fell onto his shirt, wrinkled and pushed to the foot of the bed.

In a fit of blind rage, you grabbed it and began whipping it against the bed; a toddler throwing a tantrum. You smacked it against your mattress as hard as you could, trying to strike fabric with fabric until the fear dissipated.

Because that’s what it was. Fear.

Because without Ghost, what was 141 worth?

Without Simon, what was any of this worth?

There was a knock on the door, and Gaz pushed himself into your room without waiting for a response.

“He’s—”

“Get out.” You were panting, still clutching the shirt in a white-knuckled fist.

“Listen, Ghost is—” Kyle looked exhausted.

“Get the fuck out!” You screamed, burning your lungs in the process and letting the pain in your ribs punish you from the inside out.

You didn’t care. You couldn’t care.

Gaz closed the door in a hurry, and you continued to watch on. He cast a vague shadow beneath the door, and you waited to see if he’d venture back into your room.

“He’s going to be fine,” you heard him sigh behind the door, “He’s up. He—bloody hell—he tried to tell them how to do the stitches.”

You breathed.

You hadn’t realized you had been holding your breath.

You heard Gaz’s footsteps echo through the hall as he walked away, and you crumpled over your mattress. The anger and fear didn’t vanish with this new revelation; it all worked together to create an anxious giddiness.

He tried to tell them how to do his stitches.

You knew he was a good nurse in a pinch, but you were fairly certain that he didn’t know how to do stitches. You didn’t even think he knew how to sew.

Cocky motherfucker.

Maybe it was the adrenaline that lingered from your outburst, or the sense of relief that flooded your senses, but when you pushed yourself up against the headboard of your bed, your hand found its way beneath your waistband.

You had to get this energy out somehow.

So you circled your fingers around your clit, thinking about him—not for the first time, not for the last—and tried to find some kind of relief to distract yourself from the rollercoaster of emotion you’d just been on.

You reached for the shirt that you’d left in a heap on the bed, straining your fingers to curl against the spongy spot on your front wall. But the effort you put into stretching for the shirt where it lay on the edge of the bed made your side split at the exact moment you began to call his name.

And you started sobbing.

It was pained, not at all reluctant—an all at once reboot for your body, shedding itself of all the intensity you’d just put your mind and heart through; finally accepting that you yourself had been hurt, and that you had no idea how to bear this cross.

You stopped trying to make yourself cum, planting yourself face down on your pillow and biting into it to silence your wails. But the tears kept coming, and soon you were pressing your face into nothing but a sopping wet piece of bedding, stained with your tears and your drool and your snot.

You clung to the shirt, subconsciously bringing it up to your face.

It smelled like the iron in your blood, crusted over and lingering in the woven material. And beneath that, his scent still clung to it. You breathed deep, huffing the smell of him.

You must have looked absolutely insane. And you felt like you were; choking on your cries, burying your face in fabric that had been soaked in your own blood.

But it was ok.

He was ok.

And you were in love with him.

☆Like my work? Buy me a ko-fi :)☆

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unclewaynemunson · 1 year ago

Text

Pt2 to this post

'Is something wrong?' Nancy asks, not long after the two of them have taken their familiar spots on the hood of Steve's car. They're basking in what might be the last warm sunlight of the year, looking out over the quarry, at a safe distance from the edge.

It's become a tradition the two of them share, ever since they reconnected back in March. It calms them both, to just sit here and take in the view, no one around but each other. Nancy is one of the few people Steve can share a comfortable silence with: sometimes they sit here quietly for what feels like hours, side by side, listening to music or to nothing but the birds singing around them. But they also have their best conversations here: it's the place where Nancy entrusted him she wanted to break up with Jonathan; it's the place where they talked about their shared past and decided they would always love each other as friends; it's the place where they finally talked about Barbara in a way they couldn't when they were younger. It's where Nancy talked about the ghosts still haunting her and Steve talked about how lonely he sometimes felt.

Steve huffs. 'How did you guess?'

'When you frown, you always do it with your whole face,' Nancy notes. 'So it's hard to miss, really.'

Steve glances at her side profile. There's a serenity to her features that's still relatively new. It means she's healing, slowly learning how to be happy again. It means she stopped waiting for the end of the world and started believing in a real future again. It makes Steve proud of how far they both have come.

'I had a fight with Eddie,' he confesses. 'And with Dustin, I guess.'

'What happened?'

He sighs. 'It's complicated.'

'Wanna tell me about it?'

The look in her eyes is kind and inviting. Steve hesitates. He wants to, but he doesn't know if he can. It's a risk. It's scary.

But he can't imagine Nancy Wheeler ever being careless with his secrets. He can't imagine her judging him, can't imagine her being as small-minded as most people in this town.

He was planning on telling her anyway, because things had been going so well with Eddie lately and – no, he shouldn't think about that right now. But maybe it would actually be nice to talk about it with Nancy.

'So, um...' His throat feels tight and his hands are sweaty. 'I recently discovered some things about myself. I-' The words get stuck somewhere on the way to his mouth, and he clears his throat.

Nancy doesn't push, but only gives him an encouraging nod, waiting for him to find his voice again.

'I found out I like boys,' he finally manages to confess. 'And I need you to know that – that that doesn't mean that what I felt for you wasn't real. It was. I loved you, and now I fell in love with a boy. And-'

'Steve.' Nancy's hand suddenly covers his, causing him to finally jerk his head away from the view over the quarry, to focus on her face again instead.

Her eyes are wide, and she squeezes his hand.

'You don't have to explain yourself to me,' she tells him. 'We're good. But thank you for telling me. For trusting me with this.'

Steve heaves out a relieved sigh, and Nancy smiles; it's that genuine kind of smile which reveals all kinds of dimples and soft lines across her face.

'We might be more similar than you thought,' she tells him, a faint blush spreading over her cheeks.

'Really?' Her words make his breath catch in his throat. He squints at her, trying to see her in this new light. 'Are you saying what I think you're saying?'

She shrugs. 'I don't know. I'm not sure yet,' she admits. 'Still figuring things out.'

'Take your time, there's no rush,' he tells her. 'But...' He bumps his shoulder against hers. 'When you're done figuring it out, talk to me, okay?'

She nods. 'Okay.'

For a while, it's quiet between the two of them. Some kind of raptor circles high above them in the sky. They both follow it with their eyes until it disappears among the tree tops west of the quarry.

'Is it Eddie?'

Steve blinks dumbly a couple of times.

'Wha- what?'

'The guy you were talking about. The one you fell in love with. It's Eddie, isn't it?'

'Jesus, Wheeler, what kind of sorceress are you?' Steve exclaims.

Nancy laughs again. 'You're not being as subtle as you think,' she tells him. 'The two of you have been hooking up for a while now, haven't you?'

Steve huffs dramatically. 'This is unfair. You know everything; I can't even tell you my own secrets anymore!'

'So what happened?' Nancy asks. 'You said you had a fight with him?'

'It's fucking stupid,' he sighs. 'Dustin was getting way too excited about the fact that I was gonna be hanging out with you, so I told him I was seeing someone. Next thing I knew, he was telling Eddie all about how I was seeing a girl.' He waves his hands around to make annoyed air quotations. 'I wanted to tell Eddie it was a misunderstanding, but Dustin was there, so I couldn't out us just like that, and he looked so betrayed and heartbroken... He didn't wanna listen to me.'

Steve sighs; he still can't manage to forget that look in Eddie's eyes when Dustin delivered the big news. 'I wish I would've talked about what I felt for him earlier. I should've been honest when I had the chance, y'know. But I was afraid he wouldn't wanna label what we had, that he wouldn't feel the same way – and now we're in this whole mess. God, he must hate me right now, Nance.'

To his surprise, Nancy gives him an unexpected slap against his arm.

'Ouch, what the hell was that for?!'

'What are you even doing here with me, Steve? You should've gone after him, tell him how you feel!'

'I tried, obviously, but he didn't wanna listen to me!'

'So make him listen! You're in love with him, he obviously feels the same way about you, and you let him leave to wallow in a broken heart he doesn't even need to have!' She rolls her eyes and slides off the car, adding something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like an exasperated 'Boys!' before she pulls Steve off the car as well. 'C'mon, time to get your ass over to the trailer park. Right. Now,' she says through gritted teeth. And, well, Steve knows better than to argue with a determined - and truthfully quite terrifying - Nancy Wheeler.

Read the last part here Taglist: @withacapitalp @ultimatedreamer104 @irregular-child @jcmadgirl @estrellami-1 @myguiltyartpleasure @hallucinatedjosten @jaybren @thew1ldblueyonder @melodymeddler @alycatavatar @zoeweee @lolawonsstuff @fairy-princette @saramelaniemoon @phirex22 @krazyperson @xxsky-shockxx (I only put people on this list who explicitly asked to be tagged. That's really no problem, I love to do that so dw about asking, but I got a lot of relatively vague reactions to the previous post that i'm not gonna dissect and interpret, bc I don't wanna clog anyone's notes unwanted. So just to be clear: i consider it a huge compliment if anyone asks for a tag but please do it clearly if you do!)

#look i can and i will exploit the miscommunication trope until yall are sick and tired of it #bc steddie is actually the perfect couple for keeping that trope believable #they're idiots with terrible communication skills it's canon #they WOULD #“can't you just talk to him?” “wait what i can????” IT'S SO THEM OKAY #nancy is the only sane person here i don't make the rules #don't mind me rambling about stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #nancy wheeler #platonic stancy #(i love platonic stancy they mean the world to me)#(i truly didn't mean to trick anyone into reading about them this just kinda. happened. idk)#this is making me wanna write more about their friendship actually they deserve their own fic #stranger things #fruity ficlet

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chimielie · 7 months ago

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“I really like this place,” Yachi says brightly, “the owner is really nice, and he doesn’t mind when I take ten minutes to decide what I want. Once I took twenty minutes and he actually just brought me food, like, decided for me, and at first I thought that was so nice! Then I got worried that maybe I should be upset that he didn’t let me choose, but then I remembered that I could just come here again so I wasn’t missing out on anything. The food was really good, anyway.”

You hover between the cool interior of the restaurant and the summer daylight as she speaks, unwilling to walk away even though she’s holding the door open and probably letting all the cold air out. With a short yelp, she realizes how long the two of you have been standing there and crosses inside. You stand behind her in the line behind the counter, shuffling forward as you read the posted menu.

“I think I’m gonna get the salmon,” you decide. “Hey, so how are things with that girl you’ve been seeing?”

“They’ve been good!” You’re about three people away from the counter, but the first one is line is like, a really huge guy with a booming voice who has been talking forever. Maybe he knows the cashier? “She’s really pretty, and she doesn’t mind or get impatient when I’m anxious. She also gets anxious!”

“That’s great?” You pat her on the shoulder. “I’m really happy for you, Yachi.”

“Me too,” she beams at you. “What about you? Have you met anyone?”

“No,” you snort. “I’m on the apps. So dating is basically a cesspool.” The giant guy who was ordering seems to be done now, but he’s still talking, being slowly dragged away by the elbow by a guy in a cardigan and glasses. You slide your phone out of your pocket and open your dating profile. “See?”

At that moment, your phone pings with a new notification.

Atsumu liked you!

He’s not… bad looking. If you saw him in real life, you’d probably hide behind a bench or something and stalk him with your eyes just so you could look at him as long as you wanted, actually.

He’s your age, a pro volleyball player, his hair dark where it’s been shaved short on the sides but dyed blond up top. He has a kind of sardonic, dead-eyed expression in all of his photos that you think is really funny.

My love language is… arguing in missionary.

You smother a laugh.

“He’s kind of cute!” Yachi peers at your phone. “Kind of scary…”

“Please, I could beat him up,” you laugh. “I don’t know, he’s fine, I guess.”

You swipe left. He’s hot, but definitely a fuckboy. You’ve reached the counter, anyway, and a pro athlete on the apps is like, so many red flags.

You look up at the cashier.

You look down at your phone and click undo. The profile reappears.

You look up at the cashier.

“Fine, you guess?” Scowls Atsumu, 23, (volley)baller. Or maybe not, considering his Onigiri Miya apron. “Welcome to Onigiri Miya, what can I get for ya. Geez.”

He talks in Kansai dialect, you note, which you’ve always thought is melodic. Pretty.

In real life, Atsumu is very pretty. His eyes have midtones of honey and amber that don’t show up on photo and give him a sparkling dimension that sort of detracts from his aura of evil. Even though he’s scowling at you, you want to ruffle his hair and bite his cheek.

“Um, I’ll have the salmon ball,” you say. “And, yeah. I guess.”

He scribbles so hard he breaks the tip of his pencil. With a grunt of disgust, he tosses both notepad and pencil over his shoulder.

“What, pro athlete not good enough for ya?” He points at Yachi, who squeaks. “And for ya?”

“What?” She says, looking terrified. You put a bracing hand on her shoulder.

“Your order,” he drawls.

“Oh! I don’t know.”

“Two salmon balls!” He yells to the back. “‘S on the house.”

“What?” Yachi gasps. “We couldn’t possibly—”

“You’re clearly not a professional athlete,” you say. “You’re a cashier.”

“This is charity work!” He snaps. “My teammate is right over there if ya need proof. I’m Miya Atsumu—this is my brother’s shop. I help him out on my off days.” He emphasizes his family name, underlining it on his apron with a finger.

That’s really sweet. You swoon a little inside, then shake yourself.

“You’re off every time this time this week?”

“Yeah, about,” he turns and bends over to grab his hastily discarded notepad. You do not make a secret of checking out his ass and quirk your lips into a smile when he turns back around, one he matches with reckless abandon. He has nice teeth, not perfectly straight, that imply that maybe he didn’t need braces growing up.

“Let me repay you for the meal,” you put a hand on the counter and lean across it, biting your lip, stomach singing with nerves. “Eight, next week?”

“Nah,” he shrugs you off, gestures for you to move along so he can get to the next customer in line. Your stomach drops, and so must your face. “Too far away. I’ll see ya this Friday for dinner.”

#shorts!#atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq!! x reader #inspired by a comment nova left on one of my personal posts #and the horrors of online dating (in which i will NEVER partake)#miya atsumu x reader fluff #atsumu x reader fluff #meet-combative-cute?#haikyuu x reader fluff #haikyuu x reader drabble #atsumu x reader drabble #miya atsumu x reader drabble

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girliism · 3 months ago

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patrick didn’t believe in love at first sight, how could he when he had a new girl in his bed every night. so what was that weird feeling he got in his stomach the first time he saw you across the way at a party. it was like everything around him went quite and his vision honed in on just you. you and how you laughed loudly at something your friend said, showing all your teeth. he needed to know you. patrick pushed his way through the sea of people to where you were standing but when he got there you were gone.

the second time patrick saw you you were standing behind the counter in front of him at some cafe he randomly decided to come to. this must be what people called fate. he didn’t care that a line was building behind him or the weird look you were giving him. he was finally face to face with you, the girl that had been plaguing his mind all week, and you were even more beautiful up close. “um, are you gonna order?” the sound of your voice snapped patrick out of whatever daze he was in. patrick cleared his throat “yea, just a plain black coffee.”

patrick came back to that cafe every single day, and just sat there. sometimes he’d bring his home work (that he only pretended to do cause he was usually to busy staring at you) other times he’d bring art. you didn’t really notice him at first but when you did you always had your eye on him. he’d come in, sit at the same table and order the same thing, you guys were even on a first name basis. “hey, patrick. same thing again today?” you asked him expecting a ‘yes’ but instead patrick shook his head. “no, actually i wanted to order something else.” you got a little excited when he said this cause patrick never try’s anything new. “i’ve been waiting for this day, we just got some new stuff on the menu-” patrick cut off you by saying your name. “i wanted to order your number.” patrick said with full confidence. “oh…” you said softly, trying to hide the smile that was forming. you gave him your number and he took you out the following week.

now that you and patrick were dating he could stare at you wherever he wanted. “i think you have staring problem.” you joked one day when patrick accidentally held up traffic cause he got distracted by your side profile. how when he looked over the sun just so happened to be hitting you perfectly, making it look like you were glowing. and you know what maybe he did have a staring problem, he couldn’t help that you were so beautiful.

patrick loved looking at you. he loved looking at your face in the morning, how soft and relaxed you were. mouth slightly open, your long lashes that rested against your cheeks. he’d lightly trace over your sleeping features with his pointer finger. he loved looking you in your eyes, mainly cause of how nervous you got, breaking contact after only a few seconds. he liked looking at your body, not always for sexual reasons but also for sexual reasons. he loved looking at you post-sex cause your face was all red and flushed and you always had this tried dopey grin that made his heart break from how full of love it was.

#girliism #challengers #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig fluff

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shixcherie · 3 months ago

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Can We Keep Her ? | Choi San & Jung Wooyoung ☆

~ ~ call me chérie ☆

Navigation | Kinktober List

☆ Day 17 : Captor Sex

↬ [ Synopsis ] : What started as a cheeky game of playful hacking quickly turned into a nightmare as you found yourself trapped by the most feared mafia gang in town. With your survival hinging on successfully completing your first mission, you begin to warm up to your teammates, San and Wooyoung. Will this be where it ends, or could you end up being claimed by the entire group ?

☆Word Count : 5.6k ☆Genre : Smut with a lot of plot, Angst, Mafia Au. ☆Pairing : Mafia! member San x Rich! daughter F.Reader x Mafia! member Wooyoung

☆☆☆ WARNINGS : Smut with a lot of plot, part one of an upcoming series so treat it as a pilot chap, mafia themes and elements, oral (m.recieving), Whiny Wooyoung throwing tantrums, Soft! Dom San, a detailed world of the KZ, neck bites, nipple play, Mission-focused narrative with a constant sense of danger. Hinting at OT8.

NOTE : Grinding hard to catchup my loves as my exams had a chokehold on me as I deliver Day 17 to you. This is the first part of a mafia series that’s gonna start on this blog so treat this chap as a pilot. There is alot of plot in here so pls have patience while reading. Hope you like it ma chéries.

"Get that fucking person to me right now!" an angry Hongjoong threw his glass of whiskey, which shattered into pieces as it crashed against the wall on the opposite side of the dark meeting room.

"It is impossible to breach our security system. No way some random person could have hacked into our system and messed it up so... eloquently." Yeosang said, almost amused by the culprit's skills as he adjusted his glasses and took notes on the laptop in front of him.

"I don’t care who, how, or why this happened. All I care about is that we might loose 100 billion dollars worth of gold, and now we look like dumbasses who don’t even know who did it!" Hongjoong banged his hand on the table, startling Yeosang, then shifted to stand with his hands braced on either side of it, “Fuck!” he screamed loudly.

"Calm down, Joong. We'll find out who this bastard is. Let’s have faith in Yeosangie's skills, okay?" Seonghwa chimed in, rubbing Hongjoong’s back. Hongjoong began to calm under his touch, while Seonghwa’s other hand caressed Yeosang’s hair, soothing him as well.

"When will Wooyoung and San be back?" Hongjoong asked Seonghwa, trying to suppress his anger.

"Tonight. They’re almost done with their mission. Also, San has a boxing match in two days." Seonghwa answered his boss.

"And Mingi?"

"Still on his mission in the Neighhaw district, undercover. He should be back in a few days as well." Seonghwa replied smoothly.

"I-I might have a few coordinates on this person, um... but I’m not sure if it’s the right one." Yeosang spoke again, hesitant and unsure of the information at hand, catching Hongjoong and everyone else's attention.

"Yunho, Jongho, bring him to me!" Hongjoong ordered the Ho-e brothers, who were leaning against the wall in the corner of the room, arms folded, observing the chaos as they waited for their boss’s orders.

"Not him. It’s a her." Yeosang squeaked, gaining all of their attention as he turned his laptop toward them, showing the picture of the person responsible for the masterful breach.

Everyone’s eyes filled with different emotions, some with shock, some with amusement, but Hongjoong’s were burning with fiery anger.

"L/n Y/n is her name. She’s the one who broke into our system, stopped all of our gold-dealing operations, and planted a virus that nearly wiped out all of our data. Thankfully, I caught it just in time and stopped it." Yeosang continued, a bit surprised himself as he studied your profile.

Hongjoong turned to Yunho and Jongho. "Get me her, tonight," he ordered them, voice firm laced with authority “Let’s show her the true price of crossing the KamorraZ.” with that KamorraZ boss Hongjoong left the room.

“I am done with the evening tea, so I am taking my leave now.” you said, gently tapping your lips with a tissue and glancing up, not really surprised to receive any replies.

Your dad, the CEO of Nexus, a tech empire known for crafting masterful cameras and tech gadgets, was engaged in an intense conversation with your elder brother about some business matters, barely glancing at you.

While your mother was too busy feeding your younger sister, a bratty 15-year-old who still managed to capture all of her attention, warmth, and affection. Being the middle child was definitely the worst!

Shaking your head, you got up and left for your room. It did hurt sometimes,being ignored, not getting attention, and receiving minimal love,but they did shower you will limitless money making you get used to this life. And honestly, you were not complaining, not at all.

Not constantly being on their radar gave you the freedom to explore everything from horse riding and boxing to advanced coding and hacking, with hacking being your favorite pastime.

You liked messing things up, the thrill of not getting caught while still making your presence felt gave you immense joy. Randomly breaching various organizations' security systems and corrupting them with viruses was something you were extremely skilled at.

Does that make you a bad person? An irresponsible adult? Probably.

Do you care? No.

Did they care about you? When you were away from the house for a whole night, did your family even notice? No.

Did they come looking for you? No.

So what’s the point? Should you care anymore? Fuck NO!

A fat middle finger to you, cruel fucking world.

8PM, in your room.

Your fingers quickly worked on the keys, tapping away blocks of code. You were almost there with fucking up this security system that you somehow got hold of, ready to mess it up once you get past these operations, which seemed like some kind of gold dealings.

Eh, who cares? Let’s fuck this shit up.

With that, in dramatic fashion, you warmed your hands for the climax as you sabotaged the gold dealing of an organization called…KZ ? Interesting. Breaching their security system was a bit difficult, kinda advanced compared to the other orgs you had played with in the past.

But it’s Y/n here! And there ain't a system you can't fuck up.

Then you started injecting the virus into their system. Your fingers raced over the keyboard, typing commands to sneak the harmful code inside their defenses. Excitement rushed through you as the screen lit up, showing lines of green text while the virus worked its way through KZ’s security.

A dark look crossed your soft face, and a wicked smile appeared as you thought about the trouble it would cause. Just as the final command ran, the room's door banged open, startling you.

Your bratty sister, Anya, burst into the room, a mischievous grin plastered across her face.

“Guess what? Mommy, Daddy, Hyung, and I are off to Giovanni’s party,” she announced in that screechy tone of hers, practically glowing with delight. “Oh, and don’t bother waiting for dinner, we’ll be out all night! Enjoy your lonely little meal!” The sheer audacity of this brat made your blood boil.

"Have fun, Anya. Try not to embarrass yourself too much in front of your precious friends.” you sassed back at her, not even bothering to look up.

"Hump!" she replied, unplugging your system and making your screen go blank at once.

Blinking a few times you looked up at her, anger boiling through your veins. She shot a satisfying wicked grin at you before walking out.

Eh, you were anyway done with it. With that, you decided to go for a walk, alone in the extremely safe neighborhood of yours, unaware of who was waiting for you.

10PM, outside your house.

A chill went down you spine as the cold breeze wooshed past you, the ambient night sounds ringed your ears as you walked in your neighbourhood. Your neighbourhood filled with elite families, had highest security, so walking alone at night was completely safe.

But tonight’s a bit differnt. You didn’t feel safe walking alone.

A black car closely followed you, keep tracking of your every turn as you started walking fast. As you speed up walking, turning back from time to time to see if they still followed you.

Your heart raced, and you quickened your pace, but it wasn’t fast enough. The car screeched to a halt just ahead, cutting you off, the KZ logo did not go unnoticed. Two figures emerged, one insanely tall and lean, the other buff and well-built. Yunho and Jongho had their faces hidden with only their intense eyes visible exuding a cold and intimidating presence.

You barely had time to react before the tall one caught your arm, yanking you back with ease. You struggled, but buff one moved in swiftly, silencing you with a hand over your mouth, chlorofom clouding your senses.

"That was almost too easy. No, Jongho?” the tall one, Yunho, teased exchanging looks with the buff one, presumably Jongho."Were you hoping we’d catch you, sweetheart?” he mocked,breath hot against your ear as your conciousness slowly started to slip.

“Most likely, Yunho. Lets take her to the base.” Jongho replied sparing you one final glance, a playful smirk dancing on his lips.

A blindfold was slipped over your eyes, and you were shoved into the car. The doors slammed shut.

"KamorraZ always on top." Yunho and Jongho laughed, their voices dripping with confidence as they exchanged a playful high five.

Oh, fuck! KZ - THE KamorraZ, the most powerful mafia gang had you. And now, you were at their mercy.

That’s it you’re consciousness fully slipped of darkness clouded your brain.

The blindfold was yanked from your eyes, you blinked rapidly, struggling to adjust to the harsh light flooding the room. As your vision cleared, the reality hit hard, Hongjoong stood at the center, his icy gaze piercing right through you. Surrounding him were the KamorraZ members, all of them watching with unnerving intensity—Yunho, Jongho, Wooyoung, San, Seonghwa, and Yeosang. Mingi was notably absent, but that wasn’t comforting.

You tried to read their faces, hoping to make sense of the situation, maybe also trying to figure out what’s gonna happen with you now.

Hongjoong’s voice cut through the tense silence, sharp and confident. "I see no reason to keep you alive," he said, his fingers tapping impatiently on the table. "You��ve trespassed into our world, and for that, death is the only price.”

You gulped trying to keep a composure, but inside you were a freaking mess.

Your throat tightened. This is it? you thought, panic swelling inside. I’m going to die now? Wow… I haven’t even had proper sex yet!

A few of the members shifted uncomfortably. Yunho, leaned casually against the wall, gaze flickering between you and Hongjoong. Jongho stood stoic as ever, arms crossed, though his face gave out nothing. Yeosang, meanwhile, watched from the shadows, his sharp eyes never leaving you while Seonghwa, standing beside him, seemed more contemplative. His expression was hard to read, but there was a flicker of something, pity, perhaps?

San and Wooyoung exchanged a glance, something unreadable passing between them. You couldn’t tell whether they were in favor of or against your fate.

Wooyoung broke the silence stepping forward, speaking confidently, “She hacked us.That alone shows she’s got skills. Skills we can use.”

Hongjoong’s eyes flickered toward Wooyoung, unimpressed. “Skills?” he repeated, voice laced with skepticism. “Skills that nearly cost us our security. That’s not something to celebrate, Wooyoung.”

San chimed in, standing beside Wooyoung “If she’s good enough to get through our systems, she could be worth more alive than dead,” he argued, his tone playful but serious underneath. Wooyoung’s partner in crime, hence proved.

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow, his patience thinning. “And if she uses those same skills to betray us? Do you really want to take that risk? We’re not in the business of charity, San.”

Seonghwa, standing to the side, spoke next. His voice was calm yet firm, “We should at least see what she can do before making any rash decisions.”

Hongjoong’s gaze shifted to Seonghwa, clearly annoyed. “Rash decisions? I’m trying to prevent a disaster. You know what happens if word gets out that we let someone hack into our system and walk away.”

In the shadows, Yeosang, who had remained quiet until now, finally spoke, his presence subtle but commanding. “She’s already in too deep,” he said, his voice low. “If she’s loyal, she could be an asset.”

He continued, “I’ve reviewed her background thoroughly. She doesn’t seem to have any allies, so it looks like she’s been doing this alone… just for fun, I guess?” His gaze shifted to you, studying your every move, searching for any sign that contradicted his words. When you nervously bowed your head, it confirmed what he suspected. He was right.

The thick tension filled atmosphere dawned like a veil, your survival literally dwindled on a thin thread. Everyone’s eyes were now on Hongjoong, waiting for his final call. The leader’s jaw clenched, clearly irritated by the pushback, but he wasn’t someone to ignore the voices of his crew especially when Wooyoung and San were pushing this hard.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Hongjoong let out a low sigh, frustration clear in his voice. “Fine. One chance.”

You nodded slowly, your heart pounding as Hongjoong continued. “In two days, there’s a boxing match. You’ll assist Wooyoung and San. Arthur, a member of a rival gang, has the gold deal secured.Yeosang confirmed it. Fix what you messed up, under the cover of the fight. Wooyoung and San will fill you in on the rest.” He finished, gesturing toward Woosan, both now had smug smiles on their faces, having just won you a chance to escape death.

Leaning in, his breath brushed your face as his voice darkened with a mix of threat and intrigue. "If you succeed, you live. But if you fail..." His eyes held yours, a slight smirk on his lips. "You'll beg for death, but it won't come easy.”

After spending two days with Wooyoung and San, you slowly warmed up to them. The three of you shared meals as you learned about every member, they also told you stories of their past missions, and you entertained them with your absurd stories of hacking into security systems and causing mayhem.

From the very beginning, it felt like you would get along well, and that assumption turned out to be true. At least here, with them, you felt heard—unlike in your soulless home. Wooyoung’s playful charm and constant flirting, paired with San’s unexpected warmth and casual touches, made the cold, brutal reality of KamorraZ a little easier to bear.

But the two days weren’t just about bonding. They were also filled with intense preparation. Self-defense training and running through the mission details with Wooyoung and San consumed most of your time. You learned that San was scheduled to face off against Arthur, a key figure in the rival gang, in a boxing match. Arthur’s men would be scattered throughout the arena, watching closely, but your mission was clear. While the fight served as a distraction, you’d sneak out, locate Arthur’s car, secure his laptop, sabotage the deal, and alert Yeosang. After that, you'd return to the match unnoticed. San would finish Arthur in the ring, ensuring that the night ended in your favor.

It was a solid, well-thought-out plan. What could go wrong? Apparently, everything.

San paced nervously in the back of the van, his usual bravado slipping. From the driver’s seat, Wooyoung caught your eye through the rearview mirror and offered a reassuring smile. “He always gets like this before a fight,” he said with a soft chuckle. “He’ll be fine once we’re there.”

You nodded, trying to calm your own nerves, but the tension in the air was thick. Watching San run a hand through his hair, his brows furrowed, you couldn’t just sit there.

“Hey,” you said softly, moving closer. “You’ve got this. We’ve got this.” Your hand brushed his arm, and he glanced at you, his eyes softening briefly.

San managed a faint smile, though his shoulders remained tense. “It’s not just the fight,” he admitted, voice low. “If we mess this up, it’s all of us at risk.”

His vulnerability struck a chord. “I’m nervous too,” you confessed, scooting closer, placing your hand on his. He gripped it gently, his fingers wrapping around yours. “But we’re a team, right?”

San’s gaze lingered on yours, the tension in his eyes betraying the brave face he tried to wear. His thumb traced soothing circles on the back of your hand, but the longer you stared, the more your heart raced.

Who’s calming who?

You glanced up at San, his breath hitching as your hand grazed his thigh. His usual bravado faltered, but the darkening in his eyes showed he wasn't as confused as he pretended to be. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, and the air between you both thickened.

“Maybe I can help.” you whispered before you could stop yourself. Slowly, you slid off your seat, settling between his legs. San’s breath hitched as your fingers toyed with the waistband of his pants, the tension growing.

“Yah! Don’t have fun without me!” Wooyoung yelled from the front, glancing at the rearview mirror, grip tightening on the wheel. His dramatic reaction only added to the teasing mood.

You shot him a playful look. “Eyes on the road, Woo.” you teased with a wink, then turned your attention back to San.

Freeing his thick, veiny cock, you paused to admire him for a moment. San's smirk grew, giving you the approval you sought. With one kitten lick across the tip, his composure shattered, a wave of pleasure taking over as his nervousness faded into thin air.

Maintaining eye contact, you swirled your tongue around his tip, watching pleasure cloud his gaze as he let out a low, breathy “Fuck.” His head fell back against the seat, eyes closed, and a shudder ran through him as your other hand massaged his balls.

Pumping his hard length slowly, teasingly, you pushed him further with every stroke, his soft moans fueling your desire. Without warning, you took him fully into your mouth, your lips wrapping tightly around his girthy cock. San’s hands tangled in your hair, pulling it into a makeshift ponytail as you bobbed your head, taking him deeper with each movement.

The van filled with the wet sounds of your mouth, drawing out San's breathless moans. Wooyoung, still watching from the mirror, groaned dramatically. “This is torture, you know,” he whined, tossing his head back in frustration but keeping the van steady. His grumbling only heightened the playful tension, and you could feel his frustration adding to the heat in the moment.

“Y/n, I— I’m gonna—” San’s voice cracked as his hips bucked slightly. You quickened your pace, hollowing your cheeks, your jaw stretched pleasurably by his thick length. The sensation of his tip hitting the back of your throat made you push through the ache, desperate to take every inch.

San’s body tensed as he twitched in your mouth, spilling himself into you with a groan. You swallowed everything, your tongue still working him until he had nothing left to give.

Pulling away, you wiped your lips with a satisfied smirk. “Feel better?” you murmured.

San’s eyes were half-lidded, his face flushed, a lazy smile playing on his lips. “You reallyare something else!” he breathed out, still catching his breath. “But,I am feeling much better now.”

From the front, Wooyoung groaned, throwing his hands up dramatically. “You owe me for this, San. Big time!” He shot you a teasing smirk through the mirror. “And you, babygirl, get ready for your punishment once I’m done driving.” His playful threat sent a shiver down your spine, adding to the delicious tension filling the van.

—

Now with San behind the steering wheel, you decided to work on the mission a bit. You studied Arthur’s profile and the routes you need to take in the parking lot to reach his car. Getting everything ready to corrupt his system, you also prepared a sneaky surprise for the rival gang.

The van came to a sudden halt and stopped with a jerk.

“Gas station. Pit stop.” San shouted from the front as Wooyoung got down the van shooting you a dirty look.

What was that now ? Why is this guy sudddenly acting weird ? Is he..jealous ?

As San headed inside to grab food, you found yourself alone with Wooyoung by the van, the tension between you two lingering. He leaned against the side of the van, arms crossed, pretending to ignore you while his jaw clenched slightly.

You decided to break the silence. “What’s with the look, Woo? Jealous?” you teased, a smirk tugging at your lips.

He scoffed but didn’t meet your eyes. “Jealous? Of San? Please. I’m just—" Wooyoung paused, searching for an excuse, but you could see right through him. "I’m annoyed, that’s all."

"Annoyed, huh?" You stepped closer, tilting your head slightly. “You’ve been pouting since then. Come on, admit it. You hate when someone else gets the attention.”

Wooyoung finally looked at you, his usual playful grin creeping back. “Me? Pout? I don’t pout. I’m just... irritated that San got all the fun back there, while I had to focus on keeping the van on the road.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Sounds a lot like jealousy to me.”

"Jealousy?" Wooyoung straightened up, inching closer with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Please, if I were jealous, I would’ve thrown San out of the van and taken his place."

You chuckled. “Oh really? So what’s stopping you now?”

Wooyoung opened his mouth to respond but quickly closed it, narrowing his eyes at you playfully. "You know what? Fine, maybe I am jealous. But only because I didn’t get to show off my skills first."

"Skills?" You burst into laughter. “So that’s what this is about. You feel left out.”

You leaned against the van next to him, grinning. “Don’t worry, Woo. I’m sure you’ll get your chance soon enough. Besides, it’s cute seeing you all worked up.”

Before Wooyoung could respond, San returned with bags of snacks, completely oblivious to the banter that had just unfolded.

“What did I miss?” San asked, glancing between the two of you as he handed Wooyoung a drink.

Wooyoung snatched it, side-eyeing you with a playful grin. “Oh, nothing. Just figuring out who’s more jealous in this van.”

San raised an eyebrow, confused, while you and Wooyoung exchanged knowing looks.

Making your way inside the van, San once again took the steering wheel while you settled in the back with your laptop, preparing the surprise for the rival gang. A wicked smile crossed your face as you dramatically rubbed your palms together, imagining the chaos your plan would cause.

Lost in your thoughts, you barely noticed Wooyoung until he settled behind you, his legs trapping you in place as his warm body pressed against yours.

His hands began to softly rub your waist, pulling you slightly closer to him. "Woo, what are you doing?" you muttered, eyes narrowing playfully, a faint smile dancing on your lips.

Wooyoung’s breath, hot against your ear, sent a shiver down your spine. “Showing you my skills.” he whispered, his voice laced with mischief. He dipped his head, leaving soft kisses along your neck.

“Eyes on the laptop, babygirl.” he threw your tease back at you, his smile evident against your skin as his lips began trailing open-mouthed kisses. Occasionally, his teeth grazed your skin with gentle bites, causing you to suppress a moan.

Despite the distraction, you tried to stay focused, fingers hovering over the keyboard, but Wooyoung's attention made it increasingly difficult to concentrate. "How am I supposed to work like this?" you asked, breathless, feeling his lips linger on your pulse point.

“Multitask, baby.” Wooyoung murmured, his breath hot against your skin as his hands slid up to your chest, massaging gently but firmly. His fingers brushed over your nipples, teasing with just enough pressure to send a jolt through your body. His lips trailed along your neck, sucking lightly and leaving faint marks.

His hands squeezed and kneaded your boobs over the clothes making it impossible to focus. You tried to stay on task, but each touch clouded your mind further.

"Wooyoung…" you gasped, voice shaky, eyes closed as he chuckled softly against your neck. "Keep working…" he whispered, fingers pressing harder. "I know you can handle it."

San’s deep voice suddenly broke through. “If you two are done, a little focus on the mission would be nice,” he teased. “Unless you want me to pull over and join.”

You flushed as Wooyoung smirked. “Feel free, Sannie. But win the fight first. You gotta earn it you know ? ” he shot back teasing, his hands still on you.

San chuckled, meeting your gaze in the rearview mirror. "Don't worry, I always earn what’s mine." he replied, voice low and filled with intent. "Just save some energy for later, you’re gonna need it."

As the van slowed near the arena gate, the weight of his words lingered. Wooyoung pressed a final kiss to your shoulder, whispering, "Time to focus, babygirl." You both quickly fixed yourselves and moved to the front, ready to face the mission ahead.

The underground boxing arena screamed of grit, raw energy and danger. Dim lights flickered above, casting shadows over the crowd, a diverse mix of mafia gangs all copped together in anticipation. The air was thick with tension, the stench of sweat and smoke mingling with the metallic scent of money.

Everywhere you looked, men in dark suits and expensive watches lounged around, whispering deals, exchanging deadly glances, and clutching their drinks with one hand and a beautiful blonde in their other hand.

The parking lot outside was a stark contrast to the grimy atmosphere of the arena. Sleek, luxury cars lined the lot, an indication of the wealth and power amassed here tonight. Ferraris, Lamborghinis, and armored SUVs gleamed under the faint glow of streetlights, guarded by stoic, armed men. It was a place where opulence and danger lived side by side, giving you a stark reminder of the stakes involved.

As the van rolled in, you passed a tough security checkpoint. Hulking men in black scanned the van, checking IDs, and giving approving nods before stepping aside to let you through. You felt their eyes on you, but with Wooyoung and San by your side, you slipped past the security with ease.

Inside, thecheerful roars echoed, crowds of people swarmed the arena floor, eager for the violence that was about to unfold. San stole a quick glance at you, a soft look adorned his face before egtting replaced with intense feline eyes. A calm exterior dawned him at the intense fight that lay ahead. You exchanged a quick nod. Wooyoung, on the other hand, flashed his trademark grin, leaning in for a quick “Good luck. Don’t get caught.”

Then, you parted ways.San to the ring, Wooyoung to manage the bets, and you to find Arthur’s car.

The arena buzzed as San climbed into the ring, greeted by Arthur, a towering figure with a snarl to match.The crowd roared as the two men stood infront and eventually bowed, marking the begining of the fight while Wooyoung collected the bet money on San’s name.

The fight began with a flurry of punches, San's lean frame dancing around Arthur's brute force. Wooyoung stood at the sidelines, eyes sharp as he handled the stacks of cash betted on San, his hands moving swiftly to manage the money while keeping a close eye on the fight. Every punch San landed, Wooyoung would grin, his confidence in San palpable as he entertained the others throwing down their money.

Meanwhile, you slipped out of the chaos, nerves buzzing as you headed to the parking lot for your first mission. The weight of it pressed on you, but you held steady, determined not to crack under pressure. Spotting Arthur’s sleek black BMW in a dim corner, your heart raced, but you reminded yourself to breathe.

This was your chance to prove yourself and not get killed.

You pulled out your tools and got to work, hacking into the car’s system. The dashboard lit up as you breached its firewall, fingers flying over your laptop as you worked to corrupt the data and plant the surprise for the rival gang.

Back in the ring, San was locked in a brutal exchange of punches. Arthur's size made him formidable, but San was faster, more precise. Each strike was calculated, his movements fluid. The crowd roared as he landed a solid punch to Arthur’s jaw, sending the man staggering back. San was in control, and it showed.

Meanwhile, you worked quickly, aware that time was running out. Arthur's car system was more than just a firewall; it was the nerve center of his entire operation. As you cracked through the layers of security, you stumbled upon sensitive files detailing a massive gold smuggling ring. But these weren’t just any dealings; they were KamorraZ's—your gold. Arthur had been skimming from KZ all along.

A smirk tugged at your lips as you wiped the data clean, erasing his transactions and taking back what was yours. Swiftly, you sent a notification to Yeosang, so he could lock this all down for KamorraZ, securing your regained control of the gold deal. Gold deal acquired. First Task done!

Next, you wiped the data clean, erasing years of shady transactions, leaving no trace behind and successfully planted a virus, rigged to not only erase all his data but also lock him out of his own networks. Second task checked off!

Now for the fun part, the cherry on top if you may say.

A program designed to send a mass email to every crime boss, claiming Arthur is “switching careers” leaving the mafia life to join a bunny band. Attached was a photoshopped image of Arthur in a ridiculous sparkly outfit, his crew labeled as his "backup bunny dancers," each given a humiliating stage name. Also, every time one of Arthur’s men would try to log into their accounts or communicate, their profile pictures would automatically change to cartoon characters, everything from clueless clowns to pink bunnies wearing tutus.

It was a deadly blow wrapped in a joke. In an instant, the infamous Arthur’s crew would go from feared mafia gang to a running joke in the mafia world. Laughter would ripple through the underworld, and Arthur’s once-feared name would become synonymous with mockery.

Final task accomplished!

Wooyoung, half-focused on San's fight, checked his phone. "Status?”

“Almost done,” you replied, watching the final upload. The plan was flawless. Arthur’s reign would crumble, his gold reclaimed, and his reputation destroyed in a way no one would forget.

Wooyoung signaled San that your work was done, a proud smirk adorning his face.

Fueled by adrenaline and the successful completion of your part of the mission, San delivered the final blow, a fierce uppercut that sent Arthur crashing to the mat. The crowd erupted into a frenzy, cheering and shouting as San stood victorious, barely breaking a sweat. Meanwhile, Wooyoung threw a fist in the air, collecting the piles of cash while flashing you a quick look from across the room.

“Mission accomplished,” you texted the whole group back at the base, as you made your way back to Wooyoung, the rush of success surging through you. As you rejoined them, San had just won his match, the crowd roaring with excitement as he raised his fists in triumph. Wooyoung was already collecting cash from the bets, his grin wide as he pocketed the money.

Just then, he big screen above the ring lit up, showing a hilarious photoshopped image of Arthur and his men in bunny costumes with tutus completed with exaggerated expressions.The crowd burst into laughter, adding to the night’s chaos. Even Arthur and his crew were too stunned to react, their fearsome reputation shattered in an instant. Your little bunny surprise had worked perfectly.

Wooyoung had a playful smirk dancing on his lips. “You're evil. Perfect for KamorraZ.” He chuckled, shaking his head as the crowd continued to roar with laughter, unaware of the all the other chaos you’d unleashed on Arthur’s operation.

Taking this as your cue, you shared quick glances with San and Wooyoung. “Time to slip out,” San said urgently.

You maneuvered through the crowd, securing the winnings from the fight, the gold deal, and the chaos you'd caused. Once at the van, you jumped in, adrenaline still surging.

“Let’s get back to base. They need to know the beautiful chaos you have caused.” Wooyoung said, counting the cash with a wide grin. San nodded, starting the engine and pulling away. As the arena lights faded behind you, you smiled at the success of your first mission. One that had shaken the underworld.

Back at the base, the atmosphere buzzed with celebration as crew members surrounded you, congratulating you for your successful mission. Wooyoung clung to your side, practically bouncing with excitement. “Look at you, all badass! Ready for tonight ?” he teased, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

San leaned against the wall, a proud smile on his face. “You really nailed it,” he said, shooting you a smirk that made your heart race. It was clear both he and Wooyoung were down bad to steal you away for the night and finish what you had started back in the van.

Hongjoong stepped forward, his tough love evident as he clapped a hand on your shoulder. “Not bad for a rookie. You’ve earned my trust,” he said, his tone gruff but with an unmistakable warmth behind it.”Atleast we don’t have to kill you now.”

Seonghwa approached, a soft smile on his face. “You did well,” he said, his voice calm yet encouraging. “We knew you could handle it.”

Yeosang chimed in, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I can’t wait to see Arthur’s face when he realizes what happened. You really pulled one over on him!”

Yunho and Jongho joined the group, both grinning widely. “You’ve got guts,” Yunho said, giving you a light punch on the arm. “Welcome to the family.”

Jongho laughed, adding, “Next time, let’s make it even bigger!”

As laughter filled the room, Wooyoung leaned closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “You know, after all this, I think you, San and I deserve some private time together” he said, glancing at San, who nodded in agreement, his expression playful yet intense. Your heart raced but you shot him a playful smile with a look in your eyes that screamed approval to his request.

You could feel the crew’s acceptance wrapping around you like a warm blanket. You were no longer just an outsider, you were part of the team.

In this moment, it felt more like home than your actual home ever had.

~ ~ Chérie ☆ signin’ off

Disclaimer : This is totally fictional and not a real depiction of the ATEEZ members. It's all just for fun only so please don’t take anything seriously and keep the mood light around here.

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finelinefae · 10 months ago

Text

everything with you

synopsis: a simple, true kind of love

word count: 7.1k

contains: fluff, angst, cancer, brief mentions of sexual assault, allusions to domestic violence and a toxic relationship, normal people/one day vibes, boyfriend harry

a/n: posting this here because i love it so much and i was feeling emo. also have been away for a week so haven't had much time to finish writing things I'm still working on (there will be a soft girl sunday post tomorrow don't worry and i am also working on a tattoo h blurb as well !!)

. . .

October 1st 2017

Harry and Y/N met during freshers week at University in 2017.

"Should we make out?"

They were standing in a closet now after meeting just ten minutes ago downstairs.

"M' names Harry," Harry spoke, sitting on the couch and looking down at his first drink of the night. He wasn't much of a drinker but also feared missing out or being seen as unordinary - at university, drinking felt like it was deemed ordinary.

Y/N blushed, her cheeks pink from the humidity in the room and the fact that a guy was talking to her. She pulled down the sleeves of her dress to hide her shaky hands. She noticed she stuck out like a sore thumb with how she decided to dress, her long sleeves and knee-length skirt juxtaposed with every other girl in the room.

"'M Y/N." She responded. Harry nodded, sheepish and awkward as he tried to think about something to say.

They were sitting side by side, looking out at the other people dancing to the music that echoed through the house. "What do you study?" Y/N managed to ask and cringed at the question. Was it normal to talk about school at a house party?

"Music." He nodded as Y/N tried to think up another question despite already asking one. "What about you?"

"English." She said and an awkward silence fell between them.

Harry eventually turned to look at her, lips parting at the natural beauty even just from looking at her side profile. Her hair was in waves that fell down her back and he thought her dress was pretty too. She had a tiny bump on the bridge of her nose that led to her plump, cherry red lips.

She felt his gaze on him and turned her head, catching his eyes and looking down from embarrassment. He was beautiful like a living, breathing adonis. His eyes were a sea glass green and he had chestnut brown curls on his head.

"It's a little loud in here don't you think?" Harry spoke, his voice seemed closer to her now.

Y/N looked up and looked around at the crowd of people, "Just a little." She said,

"Do you want to go upstairs?" He wondered if maybe it would be easier to get to know her in a quieter setting.

Y/N followed him upstairs, wondering whether he knew where they were going and if he knew anyone else at the party. She had only just met him and despite his awkwardness, her trust issues were too much for her to just relax around him.

He opened the door and pulled her inside, "Um...Harry?"

He nodded, already guessing what she was about to say and looking down at her, "We're in a closet." He stated.

"Yeah." She whispered, her heart racing at the close proximity.

"I don't live here." He tried to hide his embarrassment.

Suddenly, Y/N burst out laughing, the entire situation was something she didn't see coming and she couldn't help but laugh at the predicament. It wasn't too long before Harry began to laugh along with her, the both of them standing in the closet in hysterics.

When their laughter quietened down, Harry looked down at Y/N. His demeanor changed as he admired her as she bit back a smile. "Should we make out?"

Her lips parted, "U-Um-I-I've never been kissed before."

"Me neither." He murmured, he wasn't even sure why he asked, he just felt like it was something he should be doing being at a freshers party.

Y/N thought about it for a second, she gulped down her nerves and looked at his lips before looking at him again. "O-okay." She nodded.

She'd never been kissed but neither had he, so neither of them could complain it was a bad kiss. She thought it'd be better to kiss him now to get the firsts out of the way.

"Okay." He released a shaky breath and slowly leaned forward.

Y/N stood on her toes the closer he got to her, their breaths echoed around the room as their hearts raced at the same time. The tension was thick as their lips were closer to touching. It seemed strange that the first person to touch her lips was a man she had met just ten minutes ago.

Harry reached for her hand, brushing his fingers against them and feeling how soft her skin was. Her eyes fluttered shut when he felt his fingers run up her arm, a path of goosebumps arising. Her nose rubbed against his and her eyes fluttered shut when his fingertips touched her waist.

She had the urge to press a kiss to his jawline as his fingers danced across the skin on her arm, "Harry," She whispered, her head resting on his shoulder.

Everything she was feeling right now was exactly how she thought she'd feel if someone kissed her and yet their lips hadn't even touched yet.

His lips brushed against hers and eventually, she leapt up into his arms and pressed her lips to his, arms wrapping around his neck. She whimpered at the sensation of his tongue tangled with hers, her entire body felt as though it was on fire as he continued to touch her. She tugged on his hair like her hands had a mind of their own and he released a guttural groan which made her tummy flutter with excitement.

If they were to continue, she was curious to see where things would go next but her curiosity was killed when the door opened and they pulled away from each other.

"My bad." Someone chuckled and closed the door again.

Harry was breathing erratically, looking down at the floor as his mind whirred.

"I should go." Y/N was the first to talk and before he could even reply, she opened the door and left.

February 20th 2018

Harry was late for class but he was in no rush to get there. In fact, he hoped the seminar would be over by the time he got there so he didn't have to answer any questions. He hated talking in front of people.

He decided to take a longer walk to his seminar, going in a direction he had never gone before and hoped he would get lost along the way.

As he pulled out his phone to change the song he was listening to, he ended up bumping into someone else. "I-I'm sorry," He immediately crouched down and picked up the books on the floor.

"I-It's fine, don't worry about it." A delicate hand touched his as they reached for the same book.

His head perked up when he registered who the person was, the voice was the last thing he heard before he went to sleep every night. "Y/N?" He spoke before he could stop himself.

She looked up at him, he noticed she looked different to when he had first met her. The light in her eyes looked dimmer and she seemed more on edge than when he had first met her.

"Harry?" She smiled, standing up.

"It's good to see you." Flashes of their first kiss came to mind and he quickly brushed them away.

"How's the first year treating you so far?" She tucked her hair behind her ear.

"It's been... good." He was lying but he wouldn't tell her that, not when he felt the need to impress her.

"Oh I'm glad, we should-"

"Y/N!" Y/N stilled, her head turning to look past Harry's shoulder. Her sudden change in expression made him turn to see the person who had caused it.

A man stood waving his hand in the air in the distance, he looked slightly older than both Harry and Y/N. "Who's that?" Harry looked at Y/N.

"T-That's Shaun." She muttered, holding her books tightly to her chest.

"Is he your boyfriend?" He hated how the question tasted when he asked it but wanted to know.

"Yes." She said, his heart was hurting but he tried his best not to show it. "I should get going."

She walked past him but he called her name before she managed to get away, "Here," He took out a pen and wrote on the front of the page of her notepad his number, "In case you need me."

She smiled but it didn't meet her eyes, "Thank you."

He watched her as she walked away and didn't start to walk again until she walked around the corner.

He couldn't help the gut feeling that was definitely going to need his number whether she wanted it or not.

May 15th 2018

Harry had finished his last music exam and stood in his dorm room, packing his room up since his mother would be picking him up tomorrow afternoon for the summer.

He knew other people were out partying and enjoying the fact that the first year was over but he was too keen to get home. University hadn't treated him nicely and that was just the way it was for him.

He hadn't made many friends besides a few in his music class, even then he wouldn't really consider them friends, mostly just people he spoke to now and then. He hadn't been to a party since the first week of freshers nor did he really want to.

"Fuck." He murmured to himself when he could hear the vibrations of his phone ringing. He rummaged through the piles of items he had created whilst packing and eventually found his phone under a pile of clothes.

The number was unknown but he picked it up anyway.

"Hello?" He frowned, waiting for a response from the unknown caller.

"H-Harry?" He stood straight and held his breath when the voice he hadn't heard in a while was talking to him on the phone. "I-It's Y/N."

I know. That was what he wanted to say but instead waited for her to carry on speaking. He wasn't sure as to why she was calling him now since he had given her his number three months ago. He spent the first few days waiting for a call from her but was always let down.

"U-Um, I know we haven't spoken in a while b-but I really need you to come g-get me." She was on the verge of tears as she held the phone to her ear, waiting for him to say something.

Harry cleared his throat, "Are you okay?" He asked, concern in his voice as he walked to the door.

He waited for a response, "No." She sobbed, "I'm at a party outside campus on Melville Street and I don't know anyone else."

He stumbled over his belongings as he pulled his shoes on and tugged on his jacket. "Hey, don't worry. I'm on my way and I promise I'll be there in five minutes."

"O-Okay," She whimpered, "Thank you...Harry."

He ended the call and raced down the steps to the front door, running out and making his way to Melville Street where he knew all the parties were held throughout the year. He could already see a mass of people at one particular house at the end of the road and could only assume it was the house Y/N had called him from.

He pushed his way past the other students, apologising as he did so but making no effort to stop himself from getting to Y/N. He ran up the stairs and opened the door to each room, ignoring the screeching from teenagers making out and wanting him to leave.

Eventually, he got to the end of the hallway and faced a closet door. He slowly put his ear to the door and heard the sniffles and cries of someone behind it. Carefully, he pulled the door open and looked down to see Y/N, crying into her knees as she curled up into herself.

He closed the door behind him and crouched down in front of her, "Hey," He whispered, not wanting to frighten her.

She looked up, cheeks tear stained and makeup smothered which she tried to wipe away with the back of her hand. "You're here." She whimpered and wasted no time in leaping forward and wrapping her arms around him, sobbing into his shoulder.

This was the last thing he was expecting to happen tonight but he didn't stop from holding her tightly in an attempt to squeeze the pain out of her. Sometimes people just wanted a hug and he just so happened to be the only person who could give that to her right now.

"What happened Y/N?" He looked her in the eye and was brought back to the first time they were in a closet together. He wished he could go back to that time or at least be with her now under different circumstances.

"It's nothing." She wiped away her tears as best as she could.

"I don't think you would have called me of all people if it were nothing." He cupped the side of her cheek and noticed a bruise under her eye. His heart fell out of his chest when the worst-case scenario came to mind, "D-did Shaun do this to you?"

He didn't need an answer from her because the look on her face was clear enough to tell that he was right. Y/N began sobbing all over again, "How long Y/N?" Harry asked, firmly.

She didn't answer, "Y/N, how long?"

"Since February," She confessed in a whisper and hid herself away from him.

Harry felt an incredible urge to walk out to find Shaun and release every ounce of his rage onto him but he also knew that wouldn't do anything to help Y/N at this moment. So he took a deep breath and placed a gentle hand on Y/N's shoulder.

She looked up with wide, teary eyes and tried to crack a smile, "Let's get you out of here."

She laughed breathily, "What? You don't like being in a closet with me anymore?"

He couldn't seem to find it in himself to laugh with her, "Not when you're like this Y/N."

She loved the way his voice sounded, she had been thinking about it ever since she first kissed him in the closet. Maybe that's why Shaun treated her like he did because she was lying in bed with him and dreaming about someone else.

Harry walked out of the house with Y/N under his arm, shielding her away from the party. "Do you have anyone who can pick you up from your dorm?"

Y/N looked down at her shoes, embarrassment filling her, "I-I moved in with Shaun, he didn't want me living with the other girls and he's in his second year so..."

"Fuck." Harry said, eyes wide.

"Yeah," She laughed, pitifully. "Feel free to name me an idiot for the next few hours."

Harry sighs, "I'd never call you that Y/N. Sometimes we make mistakes when we're cast out into loneliness by others."

They carried on walking in silence. Y/N wasn't sure where they were going until they got to Harry's accommodation. "We'll have to sleep here for the night."

"A-Are you sure?" Y/N was nervous, wringing her hands together.

He didn't reply as he led her upstairs to his dorm where he knew everyone else was out getting drunk. She stepped into his room and was surprised to see the piles on the floor. It was amusing and sad to see. Each pile seemed to represent a different part of him, parts she knew nothing about, and yet he was the first person she thought about calling when she was in trouble. It felt like a cruel trick, she relied heavily upon strangers to lift her up because it was easier than being seen as weak by the people she deemed most important.

"I've been packing, m' mum's picking me up tomorrow. It's a bit of a mess." He begins picking up things from the floor, underwear and pages of sheet music.

"You play guitar?" She was still standing by the door.

"A bit, piano mostly." She notices the keyboard at his desk.

"You can take the bed, I don't mind sleeping on the floor." He stands, not sure how to act with a girl in the room, especially a girl he thought about before he went to sleep.

"Why can't we both sleep on the bed?" She wondered, kicking her shoes off.

"Y-Yeah," Harry gulped, "W-Whatever makes you comfortable."

Y/N and Harry sat side by side on the bed and were immediately brought back to their first interaction. Except this time they didn't have the noise of the party to fill the awkward silence.

"He didn't rape me, Harry." She whispers out of nowhere, she was crying again and he hated it.

"I never thought he did." He lied, he did think that.

"I-I'm not that desperate."

"I never said you were."

"Shaun was good to me and then... I've never been in a relationship before. I didn't know how it was supposed to go." She confessed.

"I know," He knew she needed to talk about it but he also knew she didn't particularly want to.

"Right." The sheets ruffled beside him and he looked over to see her lying on the bed with her back facing him. Her shoulders were shaking as she cried into his pillow.

Harry didn't know what to do. He wasn't good at comforting people or talking to people or being around people but he couldn't live with himself if he just sat there and watched her cry. He twisted his body and placed a hand on her shoulder. He noticed her flinch slightly but in a blink of an eye, she turned around and buried her face into his stomach, wrapping her arms around him and sobbing into his shirt.

Harry did nothing as he ran his fingers through her hair and just let her cry for the next hour.

"Harry," Y/N whispered in the dark, the both of them lying side by side flat on their backs.

"Yeah." He whispered back.

"I wish I didn't leave the first time." Her confession surprised him. He thought he was the only one who thought about their kiss daily. He often thought how they'd be today if she were to have stayed.

"Me too." He said and felt her pinkie hook around his.

They fell asleep after that.

June 20th 2018

It was summer and Harry was in Italy with his family.

"Harry! Lunch is ready." His mother called from the patio as he sat in a hammock with his guitar.

He lugged himself out of the hammock and felt a vibration in his back pocket.

Y/N: I hope you're having a good time x

He bit back a smile, feeling giddy with the fact that she had messaged him in the middle of the day even though they'd been texting on and off since the summer began.

Harry: Yeah it's been alright, too hot for my liking.

He held his breath as the dots began to appear as she typed out a reply.

Y/N: Why am I not surprised? x

Harry: I've been working on a few songs whilst I'm out here though

Y/N: I look forward to being the first to hear them x

Y/N smiled as she looked down at her phone whilst she sat in the back room on her break from working at the supermarket. He had told her once he'd never played a song before to anyone, not even his mother. She asked him if he'd ever play something to her and he immediately replied with three letters. 'Yes'.

Y/N worked for the rest of the day and finished her shift at three thirty. She had to pick up a few things before she went back to her house where she was living with her mother and grandmother.

She went to check the time on her phone but ended up seeing a message from Harry.

A gasp escaped her lips when she noticed it was a voice note. It was a long time since she had heard Harry's voice.

She reached into her bag for her headphones and pulled out the tangled mess. Suddenly a crackling sound and the heavy rain pouring in the background began to play. She waited until she could hear the gentle strum of a guitar and Harry's voice flooding her ears as he began to sing.

There was something so comforting about his voice and a part of her felt ignited by the pure vulnerability in his voice as he sang. "Sorry, okay bye." He mumbled at the end of the voice note.

She laughed and immediately began to type out a message.

Y/N: It's beautiful.

Harry: I miss you Y/N.

Her heart stuttered from the simple text message.

Y/N: I miss you too Harry.

July 20th 2018

"Here let me take that for you." Harry grabbed her bag and slung it over his shoulder, "I'll show you up to your room.”

"It's...big." Y/N looked at the home Harry had in Italy with his family.

He chuckled, "You could say that."

He was in awe that she was here with him in Italy. He had invited her out when she told him she'd never been abroad before despite having a passport. After asking his mother, he bought her a cheap flight over to the Amalfi Coast and set up the guest bedroom, buying her candles and things from the nearest grocery shop.

"Do you love her?" Anne smirked whilst she stood at the door with her arms crossed, watching her son put face masks into what would be Y/N's bathroom drawer.

"No," He shakes his head. "No, I don't."

"Okay." She said but wasn't assured by his answer.

Harry placed her bags on the double bed and gave her time to take in the house. "Is your mum home?" She wondered.

"No, she and Astrid went to the market," Harry said.

"I can see the sea." She looked past him, out the window.

"That's funny, since you arrived all I can see is you." He whispers, looking into her eyes. She didn't have to tell him she agreed because he already knew.

Things between them had changed over the last month and they both knew it. Since Harry sent the song over to her, things between them were different. They spent the majority of their nights sleeping late and having deep conversations over the phone. Harry now knew more about her than anyone ever did and she knew even more about him.

They hadn't kissed since the night they first met and Harry would be lying if he said he didn't think about it still.

"Harry, come down and help us with the groceries!" His mother called from the kitchen.

Y/N followed Harry down the steps where his mother and sister were. "Harry!" Astrid squealed, the six year old leaping into his arms.

"Hey, Astrid." He smiles, putting her down afterwards and walking over to his mother.

"Oh goodness, you must be Y/N! Harry has told us so much about you." Anne grins and goes over to hug Y/N.

"It's nice to meet you," Y/N spoke, shyly.

"Hi," Astrid grinned, one of her teeth missing.

"Hi Astrid, it's nice to meet you." Y/N grinned.

"You're pretty." Astrid hides behind Harry as she speaks.

Harry and Anne laugh, "Why don't you take Y/N down to our beach? It's a wonderful day outside."

"Sure," Harry nodded, putting the milk in the fridge.

Harry led Y/N back to her room so she could get dressed into her bathing suit. "You don't have to come with us if you don't want to. You're probably tired."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Y/N asked, pulling out her swimsuit from her backpack.

"I want you to be everywhere." He smiles softly.

She bites back a grin, "Give me a second."

Harry walks back in once he puts his swim shorts on and halts his movements when he notices Y/N standing in front of the mirror putting suncream on. Her hair was tied back and she had removed her makeup from her face. She was wearing a black, one piece swimming costume. He could see the curve of her hips and her breasts and watched as she applied sun cream to her bare arms and legs. He didn't want to stare too long but he couldn't help but revel in the beauty of her.

"I'm ready." She smiles, covering her body with a towel.

"Cool." Harry gulps.

. . .

"It's cold." Y/N shivers when she walks further into the ocean.

"It feels good." Harry smiles, walking out into the sea.

They stood facing each other in the middle of the ocean. "Your family seems nice,"

"They're alright," He couldn't stop looking at her.

I really want to kiss you right now. He thought but tried to contain himself.

"Have you written any more songs?" She asks.

"A few, I was inspired you could say."

"By who?" She wonders.

Before he could reply, a wave knocked into them both. Y/N lost her balance and slipped underwater but Harry just managed to grab her waist and hold her before she was able to drift away.

They both started laughing, Harry's hands were on her waist the entire time as they smiled at each other.

"Are you going to kiss me?" Y/N wonders, Harry's breath catching in his throat, "At the party you had the same look in your eye when we were in the closet."

"Do you want me to kiss you?" He asks.

"I always want you to kiss me, Harry." She says.

He scoffs, smiling, "You can't say that you know."

"Why not?" She bites her lip.

"Because then I'll just have to kiss you all the time."

"I always want you to kiss me, Harry." She whispers again this time in his ear, arms around his neck and legs around his waist.

Harry shakily exhaled and leaned his head forward. He had thought of this moment for months since the first time they met and he didn't think it would happen for a while. Y/N had told him all the things Shaun had done to her during their short relationship and he knew it would affect her for a while once they had broken up.

She kissed his shoulder, the saltiness of the water on the tip of her tongue, before she leaned forward and kissed him on the lips.

Harry whimpered like he had been in desperate need of her this whole time and he was finally getting what he wanted. His hands were everywhere as he tried to hold her in the ocean, she pushed his wet hair back and cupped his cheeks.

"Y/N," He whispered over and over again, "I'd never be like him, I hope you know that."

She said nothing, just smiled and kissed him again and again and again and again.

August 3rd 2018

"Do you think I'm a good writer?" Y/N asked, her bare chest pressed against Harry's as she finally caught her breath from opening up to him in a way only he was allowed to see.

"I think you're a wonderful writer." He hums, releasing her hair from her messy ponytail so he could massage her scalp with his fingertips.

"Really?" She smiled up at him, he felt a tight feeling in his stomach at the sight of it.

"Yes." He kissed her sweaty forehead.

"I think you'd be a good musician." She played with his fingers.

"Thank you." He wasn't sure what to say besides that. He knew she had faith in him, sometimes too much.

"Harry," She started. She moved to sit up, she was naked and slouched over but it didn't phase him one bit, he liked seeing her naked, it was possibly one of his favourite things. "Y' know you're my best friend right?"

"I know that," He nods. "You tell me every day."

"I think I might be in love with you." She confesses, a sigh of relief escaping her.

"I know I'm in love with you." He admits, he'd never told anyone he loved them besides his mother and sister but with Y/N it felt different. He felt as though he was opening a part of himself that had always been locked and only she knew how to open it.

"So we love each other?" She crawls over to him, falling beside him and lying on her back, her head lolling to the side to look at him.

His hand goes to her tummy and he rubs his thumb up and down, "We love each other." His hand slowly creeps lower.

"Can we have sex again?" She asks, biting her lip.

He loved the way her cheeks flushed when she spoke about doing intimate things with her. Her eyes would turn a darker shade and the hairs on her arms would stand on end.

"Y'never have to ask." He murmured and kissed her everywhere.

January 30th 2022

Harry and Y/N moved in together when they graduated. It was an easy decision and they didn't regret it one bit.

"Morning baby," Harry hummed, kissing her shoulder and handing her a mug of coffee. She was wearing a shawl and a lace bra with his boxer shorts and he made sure to take a mental picture of her right this moment.

"Morning handsome." She whispered, tired and achy from being at her computer for a second day in a row.

Y/N was a writer or at least trying to be one. She was currently signed to a literary agent and was attempting to get a book published. She'd been spending the last few days going through the edits she'd been sent from her first draft.

He placed two hands on her shoulders and rubbed his thumbs into them, massaging her shoulders and easing some of the tension. "I'm going to the studio today, wrote a few songs last night."

"You did?" She grinned, her head turning to look up at him, "Will I get to hear them first?"

"You know you will. You always get to listen to them first you know that." He chuckles, leaning down to kiss her.

He rubbed his thumbs under her tired eyes as he cupped her cheeks, "Get some sleep darling, please."

"Can I have a kiss first?" She pouts, her eyes gazing up at him.

He snickered and kissed her the same way he did when he first met her, leaving her in a daze as he left her in the kitchen and walked out of the house to get to the studio.

"I think I want to marry her," Harry spoke aloud, his friend Mitch turning to him.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I want to marry her."

"Good for you, man. She's good for you." He gives him a friendly pat on the back.

Harry drove home with a memory stick sitting in the passenger seat of his car. He also had an engagement ring in his back pocket that he picked up on his way home. It was cheap and fake, costing him just thirty pounds, but he planned on buying her a new one when he sold some of his demos to other artists.

When he walked through the door, he noticed Y/N was no longer at her computer. He walked into the lounge and saw her passed out on the sofa, a loaf of bread was on the coffee table with a tub of butter and a knife stuck into it.

He sat down beside her, and she stirred. "Hi baby," He stroked her hair out of her face.

"You're home." She hummed, grabbing his hand and holding it to her chest with her eyes still shut.

"Come to bed, my love." He keeps his voice down when he speaks to her.

"But I want to hear your music." Sleep weighed heavy in her voice.

"Y' can hear it tomorrow darling, let's go to bed." He picks her up and cradles her in his arms as he carries her up the stairs.

"Love you," She whispers as he lays her in bed and covers her in the blanket.

"Love you too." He grins, lazily and crawls into bed next to her, holding her tightly.

September 16th 2024

He's never felt pain like this.

"Where is she?" He gripped onto her mother's shoulders, looking at her with pleading eyes.

He had rushed to the hospital, cancelling his show last minute since he was touring with the band he had written songs for. They invited him at the last minute to be the opening act for their show and he accepted despite his homesickness and desire to stay with Y/N.

"Mr Styles?" A nurse approaches with a doctor beside her.

"Is she okay? What's going on?" He was tired before he got the phone call but now he was wide awake and wasn't planning on getting sleep anytime soon.

"Mr Styles, we're going to need you to take a seat." The Doctor places a hand on his shoulder but he brushes it off, growing frustrated.

"Please, just tell me what's going on."

A sigh leaves the doctor's lips, "Miss Y/L/N has had to have emergency brain surgery."

"W-What?" He froze, unsure how to process it all.

"We found a tumour in her brain that we've had to remove, the cancer is still there but-"

He blocked out the doctor's words after that, all he seemed to hear were the words 'surgery' and 'cancer'. Y/N had cancer.

"C-Can I see her?" He had tears rolling down his cheeks.

"She's asleep but you can go in and see her." The Doctor nods and turns to the nurse, giving her instructions.

Everything blurred and moved in slow motion as he walked down the corridors to Y/N's room. He couldn't believe what was happening and whether or not it was real but the pain coursing through him was enough to tell him that his life had taken a turn for the worst.

"We'll leave you alone." The nurse nods.

Harry saw Y/N lying in the hospital bed with wires coming out of her and a bandage wrapped around her head.

"No baby." He shook his head, "No, no, no." He walked forward and fell to his knees in front of her.

He gripped her hand and squeezed tight, sobbing as he tried to think up ways to help her, to trade places, to take all the pain she was feeling and consume it himself.

"You'll be fine," He whispered, kissing her cheek, "You'll be okay." All the while twisting the cheap engagement ring he had given to her before he left to tour.

It wasn't the most extravagant engagement but it was perfect for them. Harry had taken Y/N camping for the first time but they soon realised they both hated it. It didn't help that it was pouring with rain and the tent had a hole in it.

So, they ditched the tent and bought a cheap motel room. They had dinner at a restaurant opposite the petrol station where the food wasn't too good but they had to beat soft serve ice cream.

Harry asked the question after they had sex in their motel room. A tangled, sweaty mess and in a haze, he just blurted out the question to which she immediately said yes and broke down crying because she loved him so much.

Later on, Y/N woke up in the evening with Harry sitting awake beside her.

"H-Harry," She mumbled, her eyes fluttering open and close. She was very tired.

"Hey darling," He crouched down in front of her so he was eye level with her, "M right here."

His voice always soothed her, since the very first day they met, "I'm sick aren't I?" She tears up.

He slowly nods his head, "But you'll get better."

She wasn't so sure.

December 1st 2024

"Can we go to Italy to get married?" Y/N asked, sitting at the windowsill with a book. She was wearing a headscarf over her hairless head as the sun shone through the window.

Harry thought she looked beautiful.

"I thought you wanted to get married here at home?" He wondered, they both wanted something simple so planned their wedding reception to be at their house in the back garden.

She placed her book down and stood up on shaky legs. She was getting thinner the more they did chemotherapy, sometimes she could barely hold her head up from exhaustion but she was fighting her way through it all.

She climbed onto Harry's lap who was sitting at the table writing music. "I want to go to Italy for Christmas and get married."

Harry chuckles, "I don't think people will be happy if we do all that last minute, it'll cost a lot too."

She shakes her head, a cheeky grin on her face, "I just want it to be us two."

He thought about it. He knew how much their families meant to the both of them and how important it was for them to be there but he couldn't lie if he said the thought didn't tempt him.

"What about our parents?" He asked.

"Well I assume they'd be upset for a while but they'll get over it. We can have a party in the back garden just like we originally planned." She snaked her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder, he could tell she was getting tired.

"When would you want to leave for Italy?" He wonders and she knew she had persuaded him.

"Tomorrow."

December 3rd 2024

They got married where they kissed on the beach.

Y/N was rushed to the hospital in the evening.

May 22nd 2025

Harry was alone.

He stood in front of the mirror adjusting his tie and tried his best not to get emotional.

He hadn't seen her in a while but he hoped she was giving him some reassurance wherever she was.

"My boy," Anne walked in, wearing a sleek dress, "You look so handsome."

She adjusted the lapels of his suit and cupped his cheeks, a bittersweet look on her face, "They're waiting for you."

He nodded, glanced one last time at the mirror and exhaled.

People were already standing in the pews of the church, some were already crying as he walked to the end of the aisle. He turned around and took a heavy breath, his hands shaky.

"You've got this," Mitch whispered, reassuringly.

Suddenly everyone stood up as the music began to play, waiting for the love of his life to turn the corner.

Y/N beat cancer on Harry's birthday this year.

He cried tears of joy and they celebrated by ordering two ice cream cakes and eating them both with just two spoons and Mamma Mia playing in the background.

They decided they wanted to get married again with a proper ceremony since their wedding in Italy was slightly tainted by the fact she had to go to hospital. Their mothers were also adamant they had another wedding they could actually attend.

He held his breath when she walked out in a beautiful, white dress. It was a tight fitted, mermaid dress with an open back. She was adamant about having a tight fitted dress so she could see how bloated her belly got with the buffet they had for the reception. With the chemo, she couldn't stomach a lot of food but now all she wanted to do was eat and Harry loved it.

His eyes began to water as she walked down the aisle on her own. She didn't want anyone to walk her down the aisle because she didn't like the idea of someone giving her away. No one was giving her away because she had always been Harry's right from the beginning.

"You may now kiss the bride!" Everyone cheered as the Officiant announced it.

Y/N leaned forward and smiled, tears down her face, "Should we make out?" She whispered.

"Most definitely." Harry smiled and it was the happiest he had ever been in his life.

October 1st 2027

Welcome to the world, little Matilda.

You came into this world with sun beams coming out of you and we haven't seen the rain since.

Your mother is currently asleep and I haven't got the heart to wake her up. She never ceases to amaze me with how strong she is and I've promised her months of rest since all you seemed to do was wake her up in the night with your tiny toes and little fingers pressing against her belly.

I've loved your mother for ten whole years now and it just adds to your perfection that you were born on the day we met.

On the day we met, I was awkward and shy and hated people which makes no sense since we were at a party. I had no intention of meeting your mother but she was there and I thought she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.

Don't worry Matilda, you are half your mother and will be just as pretty as she is.

She was my first kiss, the first person I opened up to and the only person I wanted to spend my life with.

Except now we have you and my world before these ten years seems non-existent.

I love you Matilda and no matter how much I say I love you, I will always love you more than that.

You have my green eyes and your mother's little nose. I can already tell you have the imagination of your mother because you were grabbing at my fingers last night and making noises with a smile on your face.

I promise to raise you with as much love as I have given your mother and I know your mother will love as hard as she loves me. Our house will be filled with nothing but love for you Matilda and I hope you hold onto that and carry it with you wherever you go.

You will always be the light in our lives from now on my sweet Matilda.

"Is she awake?" Y/N murmurs, eyes still shut.

"No, she's sleeping." Harry looks down at the little girl in his arms.

"I can't believe we made her Harry." She smiles, cheeks pink, reminding him of the time they first met.

It did amaze him how the person they created together was a product of their love. He didn't really think it possible to hold love in his hands until he held Matilda for the first time.

"I love you, Harry." She whispers, holding his hand.

"I love you too." He sighs, feeling utter bliss.

He would do it all again, he thought, the ups and downs and in-betweens, he'd do it all.

Everything with you.

837 notes · View notes

markiemelon · 10 months ago

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hiiiii~~ can i request a scenario where nerd!mark and athlete!reader are on a study date and mark finds reader so cute when they don't understand the material? also bonus points if the reader is shy and doesn't want to ask for help cus they're embarrassed

Thank you!! ur writings make me so happy

focus

genre fluff ﹋֪֢ ♡︩ · no warnings!

pairings nerd!mark x athlete!reader

4:18pm — ♡

“yn,” your math teacher addressed you, “im worried that your training is interfering with your studies.”

that wasn’t the first time you’d heard that, and yet, you still couldn’t think of a good excuse to tell. “look, yn, i’ve made it easier for you by arranging some study sessions with a classmate of yours.”

you actually felt kinda relieved to hear that. surely, some extra studying couldn’t hurt.

“in fact,” he continued, “he’s right here.” he gestured to a familiar boy walking into the room.

it was mark. you knew mark, but you never crossed paths much, considering how different your priorities were…you were all about training, and mark was all about studying…

“so i have to spend the rest of my afternoon with this nerd?” you accidentally said aloud.

“now, yn, we still have to be professional during after-school hours.” your teacher demanded.

mark just chuckled and smiled at you. his round glasses and ruffled hair added a gentlemanly charm to him that made you swoon a little.

“i’ll be off now, but feel free to stay in the classroom.” your teacher said, shuffling together some lose papers. “mark, just lock up the door as usual, i trust you as our class president.”

you widened your eyes. “he’s class president?”

“you didn’t know?” mark raised an eyebrow.

“i—uhh”

“i’ll leave you guys to it then.” your teacher nodded before he exited the room.

you approached mark. “if it makes you feel any better, i didn’t even know our vice principal until last week… so um, don’t take it personally.”

with that pathetic attempt at explaining yourself, mark sensed you were nervous. he walked up to you, his arms crossed and head nodding ever so slightly. “alright.” he said with a grin. “i won’t.” he looked at you for a second longer before pulling a chair out from the desk. he insisted that you sit, and he sat beside you.

and so the studying began… you handed mark a crumpled up page from the deepest, darkest depths of your backpack, and he looked confused “do you… want me to throw this away for you?”

“no!” you snatched it back. “that’s my calculus homework!”

“oh shoot!” he couldn’t hold in his cackle. “I’m sorry— yn im sorry.” he said it with the biggest smile on his face, weak from the laughter.

“whatever. just tell me how to solve this. or save us both some time and just tell me the answers.” you slumped in your chair.

he scanned the page briefly. “yeah, so it’s simple, really..” mark inched the graph paper closer to your side of the table.

he pointed at some numbers and rambled, of course, you couldn’t keep up. so you did the next best thing, which was letting your mind drift off to somewhere else..

“actually, he’s kinda cute..” you admitted to yourself while observing his side profile.

focus.

“it must be the glasses. he looks good with glasses.” now you were noticing things you hadn’t payed any attention to before.

focus.

“why is he so close to me…” your heart skipped a beat at the realization.

suddenly, mark’s voice became clear at the mention of your name.

“yn… focus” he cooed, not even looking up from the paper. he must have felt you staring, but oddly, you didn’t look away from him.

mark stopped his writing, but he kept his pen to the paper, holding it still as he turned to face you.

almost immediately, your confident demeanor crumbled, and now, head lowered, you depended on mark’s answer to break the silence.

“solve this one. it’s what i just showed you.” he rolled his pen to you.

“oh. okay.” you hesitantly took hold of the pen, and did your best to pretend like you understood, but mark obviously wasn’t buying it. after writing some gibberish, you gave up.

“um, mark?”

“yeah?”

“im a little embarrassed to ask… but.. can you explain it again?”

he didn’t look surprised. he looked at you endearingly. “as expected..” he chuckled, weighing his head side to side to stretch out his neck. his gaze shifted to the clock on the wall behind you. “you know, we should probably head out now.”

“already?” you looked back to see the time for yourself. he didn’t say anything for a second, he just nodded and flashed a gentle smile. “you get too distracted.” he nudged your shoulder. your cheeks burned a little when he did that. “well you’re too distracting.” you nudged him back.

mark grabbed his shoulder where you touched as if he were injured by your strength. “i’m so distracting yet you couldn’t focus on a single thing i said?” he teased you. you didn’t have a witty comeback, so you just stayed silent and stuffed some things wherever they could fit in your bag.

at that point, it was clear to both of you that the next few study sessions you had lined up, would be far more exciting…

a couple weeks of studying with mark went by, and the flirting made its way into your classes. he was getting bolder in his advances. it started with some subtle compliments but now he’s been giving you these corny winks from a across the room, and he makes it really obvious what he’s doing.

once mark started sitting next to you, hell broke loose. one time, the teacher asked the class to solve something, and you miraculously managed to figure it out before mark did. it still backfired tremendously…

“oh my gosh, i got it!” you whispered to mark. “it’s 29!”

he smiled at you for a second, before raising his hand, while simultaneously blurting out, “29! it’s 29!”

your teacher looked pleased. “that was quick, mark. as always, you never disappoint me with your calculating abilities.”

mark threw is head back laughing as quietly as he could, and you kicked his leg underneath the table.. as hard as you could.

later, you would find yourself sitting with mark, side by side, staring down at your math textbook.

“okay, so tell me, what's the answer to number 4?" mark questioned you.

you didn’t even try to hide the fact that you had no idea what was going on. “i don’t know it.”

mark paused and laughed out of disbelief. “yn, it’s a good thing you wanna be an athlete and not a mathematician.”

what he said was true, but it annoyed you regardless, so you snapped back.

“and it’s a good thing you’re cute, ‘cause that’s the only reason i haven’t killed you yet.”

“psh,” he laughed in an exhale. “are you into me or something?” he kept his eyes fixed on the paper in front of him.

you giggled, “i think that’s the first time i’ve actually known the answer to a question you’ve asked me.” you smirked to yourself, feeling proud of your smooth talking.

when he didn’t respond, you continued.

“yknow.. mark, for being top of the class, i thought you’d have a bit more common sense.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?” he didn’t even bother looking at you.

“yes, mark, i’m into you.”

he still avoided looking your way, but he couldn’t hold back his smile. you stayed staring at your cute math tutor, and you could tell it was making him shy. “yn. focus.” he tapped his pencil on the table.

you tried to pout. “but the math isn’t cute...”

he tapped his pencil more aggressively.

you didn’t try to fight back. you started jotting some things down desperately trying to figure out the equation, until he tapped his pencil again. “yn. i need you to focus.”

annoyed, you jerked your head to face him. “i am focused. im literally doing the math-” your eyes traced his features.

“no, i mean on this.”

“on what?”

he smiled and tapped his pencil to his cheek.

“i need you to focus on me.”

this ended up being longer than intended... but thank you thank you so much for requesting, im so happy to hear that you like my writingggggggggff!!!!! also sorry this took so long, im kinda backed up on requests LOL.

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rwrbficrecs · 7 months ago

Text

Thanks for all the love on the recent Readers' Choice list ✨ The May faves are a little late but hope you all enjoy these recs 💕

you turned a moment (into forever) by viciouslyqueer (book-verse)

@suseagull04: Think of the fluffiest bedsharing fic you've ever read and combine it with a college roommates AU, and you have this fic! I can't stress enough just how soft this fic is, this is the perfect fic for if you need a quick pick-me-up!

running through my mind all day by allthelovesaved (book-verse)

@na-dineee: Henry rarely, if ever, jogs. It's not something that interests him. That is until he stumbles upon Alex's TikTok profile (thanks, Pez!!). Alex, a passionate runner, shares his knowledge in a captivating way. Coincidentally, he's also the brother of Henry's colleague June, who convinces him to join their "group running thing"... This sweet, sweet story is fluffy and funny, very soft and a little silly (says the author), and it just made me very, very happy.

Wit and Wisdom by @pridepages (book-verse)

@heysweetheart-writes: A window into the future of "Little Matters" my absolute favorite story. Im so in love with this family and happy to see the woman Cat has become and how much of Alex she carries with her. I cried and laughed and EJ left me wanting more of them as usual. If you haven't read Little Matters yet, what are you doing with your life?? Haha

hymns down your sides by @smc-27 (book-verse)

@na-dineee: One of my favourite authors delivers yet again! Henry, a refined boyband veteran in his mid-30s, meets wild, lately kind of self-destructive boyband star Alex. Henry can't probably save him, but maybe he can give him a push in the right direction? This story put me through the emotional wringer. So many feelings, so much hurt, and the chemistry - absolutely gripping!

the poem you make of me by @omgcmere (book-verse)

@suseagull04: The riches found within this fic know no bounds! It's a writer Henry AU that maintains a lot of the same themes as the book (which it coveys just as well), but it adds another layer of heart with the fact that in this verse, Henry is not just a writer, but a poet.

Savasana by @iboatedhere (book-verse)

@na-dineee: Lawyer Alex has hit a low point in his career. The situation is absolutely not pretty, and understandably, Alex is skeptical about whether yoga can fix it, as June suggests. Can yoga instructor Henry straighten things out for Alex? - Alex pulls one Alex after another - it gave me whiplash in the best possible way! The story is very touching and sweet, also absolutely hilarious at the same time !! So fun to read !!

Henry Fox, All-American Hero by @tintagel-or-cockleshells (book-verse)

@suseagull04: This is an AU of a book I loved in middle school, so not only did it give me so much nostalgia, but it has all the quirkiness of RWRB too! Alex in this is so mischievous and sweet, and I love it!

A Wretched Beginning by @royalasstronaut (book-verse)

@dot524: This was a fun romp — forbidden relationship, college/academic AU, tension and angst, and loads of longing. Henry is Alex’s TA and um… things happen. Oh, and they may also be connected in other mysterious ways.

Pleasant Melody by @clottedcreamfudge (book-verse)

@zwiazdziarka: Love at first sight that feels magical in otherworldly way is one of my favourite kinds of love stories. And this fic is a spectacular example! Henry is a pirate, Alex is a very special siren, they shouldn't make sense but they do. The longing is excellent and I would gladly read ten more fics based on the same concept.

Meant to Be Yours by @affectionatelyrs & @happiness-of-the-pursuit (book-verse)

@zwiazdziarka: Definitely one of the most unhinged fics I've read in this fandom. (Warning: proceed with caution!) Alex loves Henry, Henry doesn't know Alex exists. Alex's dream is of course to meet Henry and his attempts to do so are... worrying. Second-hand embarrassment hits hard, highly recommend!

check out our past Monthly Faves here ❤️

#monthly faves #rwrb fic recs #firstprince fic recs #firstprince #red white and royal blue

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silentscrying · 1 month ago

Text

🎸 out of my mind ! 💿 track three: something about a beat

guitarist!ino x drummer!reader

summary: it's the annual battle of the bands at the fix, your college campus's iconic live music bar, and this year you're taking the stage as the drummer for indie rock group cursed technique. you know the competition is strong, but no part of you is ready for lead singer and guitarist takuma ino. you lock eyes at the edge of the stage, and something starts—something that might make you feel alive even more than the beat of the drums.

warnings: language, hopeless stupid pining, alcohol, mentions of deceased parent, maki is Fed Up, anxiety, unbearably cute dogs. || sfw. 9k words.

“OKAY, IT’S UP,” Nobara says, grinning at you over her laptop. You’re sprawled across the living room at Takuma’s place, surrounded by a random combination of your band and his while others are in classes. After spending last night mixing the single, Takuma helped Nobara set up an artist profile for the band, and now your music is available on streaming services. Just like that.

“That’s so weird,” you say, grinning as you pull up Spotify on your phone. Next Fix by Cursed Technique. Strange to see your face on there, a photo taken of all of you by some freshman when you last performed at The Fix. Nobara sends the link in your group chat, and Toge responds within seconds.

freak no. 1: FAME freak no. 1: FORTUNE freak no. 1: wait it’s not opening freak no. 1: nvm i’m just stupid

“Does he ever pay attention in class?” Nobara mutters. Maki snorts.

Yuta is also in class, but that means he’s locked in, all his devices on Do Not Disturb. You don’t think Toge’s turned DND on a single time in his life.

“I’m going to Kinji’s!” Kirara shouts from the front entryway, and Yuji leaps to his feet and disappears down the hall, barreling back out of his room seconds later.

“Wait! Can you give this to Panda while you’re there?” He hands her a drive, and Kirara rolls her eyes and takes it.

“You need to slow down every once in a while,” she says, ruffling Yuji’s hair. “Okay, bye. I’ll be back in a few hours.” The dogs follow her to the door and return the living room when she’s gone, curling up on either side of Megumi, who’s busy writing some paper in the corner.

“What was that?” Nobara asks.

“Demo drive for the radio station,” Takuma says. “Panda plays our stuff sometimes. I bet he’d play yours, too.”

“That’d be sick,” Nobara says approvingly. She turns to bother Megumi, poking at him until he takes his headphones off and talks to her, and Yuji strolls into the room and flops down directly on the floor.

“Comfy?” you ask, poking him with a socked foot.

“Mm. Yeah.”

“Ah, look what you did, Kugisaki,” Megumi says, and you look up to see Shiro trotting toward you with her tail wagging, having abandoned her post at her owner’s side.

“That was not my fault! You’re the one who moved.”

“Because you kept poking me!”

You immediately slide off the couch onto the floor, letting Shiro sit in your lap. “Um, excuse me,” Takuma says, offended. You crane your neck to look up at him behind you on the couch. His face is lit up by his computer as he works on a string of code he tried (and failed) to explain to you, and there’s laughter in his eyes despite the affronted tone of his voice.

“Favorite,” you inform him with a wide, cheeky smile. He very maturely sticks his tongue out at you.

“Toge message,” Nobara informs you all, reading off her phone. “He says omg we have four listeners do you think they’re writing slutty fanfiction about us already.” She glances at you. “Petition to remove him from the chat—oh, look, he started sending the wolf memes again.”

Hanging out like this has become natural so quickly you almost forget you haven’t been friends with Shibuya Incident for ages. You feel almost as much at home in the tapestry-covered living room here as you do in the plant-filled kitchen of your own house down the street.

Maki checks her watch, sighing. “We should get going soon. The guys will be back in half an hour.” Then you have rehearsal, even though you’re not one of the three bands performing tomorrow night. When you do take the stage next week, you want to be ready.

Nobara is trying to read Megumi’s texts over his shoulder, which isn’t working out well for her, and he tells Maki, “Yes, please, take your invasive little gremlin home.” He puts his hand right on Nobara’s face and pushes her away, and she screeches and tries to tackle him, but he’s already sitting in a beanbag chair in the corner, so it doesn’t really do much except make Kuro jump on top of them both.

You glance up at Takuma again, still stroking Shiro’s fur while the others start to stand, ready to head home. “You rehearsing today too?”

“I’d hope so,” he shrugs.

“Yes, dipshit, in two hours. If you ever read the group chat,” Megumi says.

Takuma doesn’t seem fazed by Megumi’s irritation and just shrugs. “We have a new song for tomorrow.”

“You didn’t tell me!” You poke at his knee in retribution for his secrecy. “I wanna hear it!”

“You will,” he says. “Tomorrow.”

“Skipper, help, I don’t wanna walk our gremlin home by myself,” Maki calls from the door, and you reluctantly pat Shiro on the head and stand. She follows you to the entryway and sniffs at you while you cram your feet into your sneakers.

“Maki Zenin.” Nobara turns up her nose and crosses her arms over her chest. “If you hated me so much, why didn’t you just say so?”

“Bye!” Yuji shouts from the living room, and you all call out varying goodbyes and noncommittal sounds before making your way out the door and down the block, the afternoon air chilly against your cheeks.

Nobara waits all of ten seconds before spinning around and walking backward, grinning at you mischievously. “I bet Ino wrote a song about you.”

“Oh my god. Shut up,” you laugh. “He didn’t.” You can’t imagine you’ve given him all that much to work with. What would he write, that you like coffee and drums and Megumi’s dogs?

“Why else wouldn’t he show you? Don’t you guys text each other song lyrics like the little romantic fucks you are?” Your face is flaming, and you’re suddenly very grateful for the cool of the wind against your skin. The idea of him writing a song about you plants something weird in your gut—not something bad, just something unexpected and warm and blooming.

You try not to show it and your friends see right through you, Nobara turning back to skip up the drive with a satisfied grin and Maki rolling her eyes at the both of you.

“I’m gonna write a song, too,” Nobara declares, unlocking the door and pushing her way inside. “Skipper and Ino, sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S—”

This time, you and Maki speak in tandem. “Shut up!”

—

“There’s a joke here,” Gojo says, tapping both of his index fingers together while he thinks. “About being a drummer and a journalist. Something about a beat.”

You laugh, jotting another note on the lined paper of your small spiral notebook. “I hate to tell you, but I’ve heard that one before.”

You’re not sure features qualifies as a specific beat, more of a broad category, but your staff isn’t nearly large enough to assign people to smaller specialties. Plus, it’s a college publication, designed for experimentation and growth. Nobody wants to be boxed in yet. That’ll come later, out in the monotony of the real world, and you’ll be confined to some hyperspecific beat like neighborhood crime or high school basketball.

“No!” Gojo cries, dragging his hands down his face like it’s the end of the world. “I can’t believe somebody plagiarized me before I even said it.”

“That’s not how that works,” Utahime cuts in dryly, sliding three shots across the counter to the waiting group of sophomores and then effortlessly throwing together another cocktail.

Gojo leans toward you, shadowing out your notes, and stage-whispers, “You see what I have to put up with?”

You do, actually, see what Utahime has to put up with. She long ago put down a line of blue painter’s tape to divide her side of the bar from Gojo’s, and she preaches frequently that there will be dire consequences if he crosses it.

Of course, he crosses it at every opportunity, and here he is, still.

It’s also just how the two bartenders split up the work, the customers, and you write that down too, that it’s an effective division of labor. “Don’t read my notes,” you tell Gojo as he squints at your writing upside down. “It’ll wreck the journalistic integrity.” He sticks out his bottom lip in a pout that reminds you violently of Toge, who’s taking photos of Utahime as she works.

You glance over to the stage, where Angel is performing the last number of her set, a bouncy, belty song that you recognize from a video she posted earlier this week. The crowd loves it, dancing around and singing along, but still, you think she’ll have a tougher time making it through as the only solo artist remaining in the competition.

You whoop and cheer as she hits her last note, holding it for an ungodly amount of time, and Gojo eventually has to abandon his teasing to do his job. When Toge thinks he’s got enough photos, the two of you slip back into the crowd, Panda commentating on the change of artist as you catch up to your friends.

“And now, here’s your alt rock duo, your boys, the Kamos,” he says as you come to a stop beside Yuta. “Give it up!”

Nobara very loudly gives it up.

“Hi.” Yuta nudges you. “How’s the reporting going?”

“Good.” Noritoshi and Choso settle in on stage, tuning their guitar and bass and making girls swoon in the front row but somehow remaining entirely oblivious to it. “You’re not going home tomorrow, right?”

Yuta shakes his head. This weekend is fall break, which just means that there were no classes today. You spent the first day of your three-day weekend cramming for midterms.

Toge’s heading out after this and Nobara will leave early in the morning, but Maki and Yuta will be here for the weekend. You wonder about Takuma and his band, but you can’t ask right now—they’re all backstage, waiting to go on after the Kamos.

The boys in question, when they’re not doing covers, have incredibly nonsensical song names that have little to nothing to do with their lyrics. The first track of theirs you ever heard was called Song About the Time My Dog Got Lost for Three Hours.

“Okay,” Choso says after their cover of a song by The Smiths. “This one’s called Please Don’t Tell Your Mom I Was At Your House Past Curfew.”

He and Noritoshi then proceed to play the most upbeat, energizing alt rock shit you’ve ever heard. You love these guys, and the crowd does too, the way they don’t take themselves too seriously but they’re genuinely talented. But it’s making you nervous for Takuma and his band, because only one group goes on tonight. Only one.

No, you think, shrugging it off. They got this.

When Shibuya Incident finally walks on stage, the ensuing roar of applause before they even do anything eases whatever worries you might have had. They were slotted at the end of tonight’s set for a reason. Everyone loves them.

Without prelude, they launch into a song you recognize from their EP, a fast-paced track with a pretty simple chord progression that gets entirely flipped on its head in the bridge. You let Yuta spin you around as you dance with the rest of the crowd, the lights and sound washing over you. Yuji’s in his element, Kirara is fucking killing it, and Megumi—as always—is the rock the band stands on, unerring tempo and steady presence keeping everyone on track.

After the song finishes with a crazy riff from Kirara, and the crowd takes a minute to freak out and then slowly wind down, Takuma grabs the mic to address the audience.

“Hi again,” he says, scanning the clusters of people from his place on the low stage. His gaze lands on you and your friends, and he smiles a little wider. “That was Godspeed. We’re gonna slow it down a bit for our next song. It’s a new one. We’re calling it Curious.”

Nobara practically launches herself over Toge to get to you and shake you by the shoulders. “What did I say?” she hisses.

“Oh my god,” you say, shoving her off. “They haven’t even started yet.” But you look back at Takuma to find he hasn’t stopped looking at you.

To your surprise, the instrumentals don’t start first. Most of Shibuya Incident’s music opens with a riff or a fill or at least four bars of introduction. But this time, Takuma leans into the mic and starts singing, just a low “ooooh,” and the rest of the band comes in one by one—Megumi, then Kirara, then Yuji. Kirara’s harmonizing on a higher note, and the effect is a slow, dissonant build that makes you lock in, all anticipation.

Then Takuma tugs the mic from the stand and sings,“I see your eyes, curious, curious, you wanna know why the sky’s so goddamn blue. I hear your voice, curious, curious, you’re asking me if I’d ever fall for you.”

And as you listen, Nobara’s smile just gets wider and wider, and Takuma keeps making fleeting eye contact with you, and you realize abruptly that she was right.

This song is about you.

Takuma’s said it to you before, in passing, how he likes the way you look at the world—through a journalist’s lens, curious about how everything works, always searching for unseen answers.

“Wish I could see my life like you do,” he and Kirara sing in unison. “Wish I could walk the streets each night… wonderin’ if the full moon sees you, but I just keep lookin’, lookin’ down at the time.”

You’re transfixed, just like the first night you saw Takuma perform live, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the stage if you tried. Someone should write a story about him, you think. This man could be on the cover of Rolling Stone and you wouldn’t question it.

God, you’re so far gone, aren’t you?

When the set is over, the last song finishing with a long, drawn-out chord, Takuma thanks the crowd and hands the mic off to Panda to take over. As the band disappears one by one into the backstage area, he lays out the voting process.

“The voting period will last ten minutes, assuming no technical difficulties,” he says. “QR codes, as usual, are posted around the bar. If you’re a competitor, you can’t vote. Make sure you’re logged into your .edu accounts or you won’t be able to access the form…”

Your fingers are tapping nervously at your thighs, the crowd around you already glued to their phone screens. The band isn’t back out on the floor yet—Panda will call all three artists up at the end of the voting period and announce the finalist live.

Sweat is starting to pool in the palms of your clammy hands, and you wipe it on your jeans, anxious. To you, there’s no question. But it’s not up to you.

“Relax,” Yuta says, putting a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “It won’t even be close, Skip.”

After the longest ten minutes of your life, Hana Kurusu, the Kamos, and Shibuya Incident join Panda back on stage, a dramatic spotlight bouncing between each artist as Panda draws out the announcement. “And the artist from tonight moving on to the finals in two weeks is…”

“Just say it,” Maki huffs beside you, and Yuta chuckles and nudges her with a shoulder. She tries to hide the slight upturn of her lips, but that’s not going to slide past you.

You’ll tease her later. For now—

“Shibuya Incident!”

The reaction is explosive, both on the floor and the stage. Yuji practically leaps onto Kirara’s back, and Takuma’s face goes slack in surprise before a shy smile works its way across his spotlit features, Megumi being his nonchalant, unaffected self in the midst of it all. Nobara is screaming, and you’re yelling at the top of your lungs, Toge whooping and snapping photos as the Kamos and Hana crowd the band, congratulating them on the victory.

Takuma looks out into the crowd again and you wave, smiling unabashedly, so fucking proud and excited and thinking maybe, maybe, if you make it too, you’ll be facing off against each other, and wouldn’t that be something?

Maybe you shouldn’t be so thrilled. He’s the competition, after all.

But if he wins for going up there and singing curious, curious with his eyes locked on yours, you suppose it wouldn’t be all that bad.

—

Most of Saturday passes in a barrage of classwork and inconsistent, snacky meals in between, the diet of a harried college student, ramen and chips and whatever actual food Yuta leaves for you in the fridge. He’s back from work by three, and Maki wraps up her own work around the same time you do, late afternoon creeping into evening. The three of you are curled up in the living room, the TV on while Yuta and Maki try to pretend they’re not looking at each other.

You need to get them alone.

you: are you busy takuma: not at all takuma: what’s up? you: mind if i crash your house?

You glance up and swear Yuta has somehow, in the last two seconds, moved closer to Maki on the couch.

you: i think yuta and maki need some ~ALONE TIME~ takuma: TEA takuma: sorry kirara told me to stop saying that in response to everything that happens ever takuma: it’s fun tho

“I’m going to Takuma’s,” you announce, and Maki raises a brow at you.

“Again?”

“Sue me for having friends.”

Yuta’s brows crease a bit at the word friends, but he doesn’t comment. With a furtive glance back, you grab your shoes and slip out the door, successfully leaving Maki and Yuta alone in the house for an indeterminate amount of time.

Please, you think. One of them has to make a fucking move soon.

Takuma answers the door before you can knock. “Hey.”

“No pups today?” you ask as you step past him into the entryway, kicking off your shoes.

“Sadly,” Takuma says. “Fushiguro took ‘em with him, wherever he went. Ah, man. Did you only come over for them?” His tone is teasing as he closes the front door behind you, trading the October cold for the warmth of the house. “Afraid I’m a letdown.”

“Takuma,” you scold at his self-deprecation. “You’re basically an excited puppy yourself, so—”

“Hey!” he squawks, and then thinks about it and tilts his head, conceding. “Fine. Maybe. Yeah, okay.”

“What have you been up to?” you ask as the two of you make your way to the living room.

“Procrastination. Guitar instead of homework, mostly. You?”

“Same,” you sigh. “Well, not the guitar part. But I should have been way further ahead on my homework by now.” You shrug. You’ll get it done; you always do.

You settle in easily on the couch, and the two of you boot up the Wii and play a few rounds of Mario Kart because someone left the disc in. And when you’ve both beaten each other enough times to lose count, Takuma mentions something about your single and you realize you haven’t checked the stats.

“You can see more on a computer,” he says, and you follow him up to his room, where he cedes control of the device to you. You pull up the artist profile and grin at the steady upward climb of listeners. It’s not a ton, but this only went up on Thursday.

“We haven’t even done anything to promote this,” you admit, spinning in Takuma’s desk chair to face him. “I don’t even know how people are finding it.”

He immediately looks down, which means he knows something. You nudge him with your foot. “What? What does that face mean? Takuma.”

“I maybe gave Panda a drive of the mix,” he shrugs, talking fast like the meaning of the words might elude you if he mumbles enough. “And he maybe played it at the radio station earlier today. Several times.”

A wave of affection crashes into you so fast that you jump up and throw your arms around him without thinking, laughing into his shoulder. “You didn’t have to do that!” You pull back, grinning. “That was really sweet. Thank you. Seriously.”

“Ah, it was nothin’.” He reaches up to scratch at the back of his neck, a gesture you’ve come to recognize as self-conscious.

“Not nothing,” you say softly. He smiles.

After a moment, he glances at the window and seems to come to a decision. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey yourself.”

“Wanna go out on the roof?”

You blink, processing the words, instinctively looking to his window. You’ve never really realized it before, but it opens out onto a flat expanse of shingles, a perfect lookout right outside Takuma’s bedroom.

Your grin is answer enough, and he unlatches the window and pulls it open. He glances back at you, up and down, and you feel yourself blush before you realize he’s taking in what you’re wearing. He grabs a thick jacket from the closet and tosses it to you, then shrugs one on himself and leads the way, gripping the window frame with one hand and pulling himself outside. After a moment of consideration, he reaches back in and grabs his acoustic guitar by the neck from its place against the wall, pulling it out with him.

When the window shuts behind you, you’re immediately grateful for the protection of the extra layer. Even with your hands balled in the sleeves of your hoodie, it’s chilly out here.

You’re surprised by how much of the campus you can see spread out in the distance. It’s early evening, but the days are getting shorter, the sun a misleading blaze of heat in the otherwise cold hour.

“This,” you say, “is fucking awesome.”

“Right? I called dibs on the room as soon as we toured. For this.” He grins, leaning back on his palms, legs spread out in front of him. You lie back on the roof, letting the cool surface seep through your hood, staring up at the sky.

“So Maki and Yuta,” he says, shaking his head fondly. “Are they finally a thing?”

“I don’t know, but if they’re gonna do anything about it, it’s not gonna be while anyone else is home.” You shrug, or at least do whatever approximation of shrugging you can when you’re bundled in a bulky hoodie and jacket and lying on a roof.

Honestly, Yuta and Maki are some of your favorite people on this planet, and you can’t imagine anyone else who really deserves them. They’re the de facto mom and dad of your group—as in, Yuta is the band mom and Maki’s the gruff father who won’t admit his affection for the pet he didn’t want to get but ended up loving anyway.

“Man, I’m glad I wasn’t around when Kirara and Hakari were in their pining phase,” Takuma chuckles. He pulls his legs in, sitting cross-legged, and picks up the guitar, idly tuning it as he speaks. “Then there’s Itadori, probably picks up girls everywhere he goes and has never once realized it.”

“What about Megumi?” You let your head loll to the side, looking at Takuma with the guitar settled in his lap.

“Fushiguro? I don’t know, man, he doesn’t tell us anything. He has like, resting yearning face. I’ve got no idea. I don’t even know where he is right now, just that he’s supposed to be back really late.”

“That means the dogs will be back?” you say hopefully.

Takuma shakes his head, strumming another chord, and another, fingers moving deftly across the frets. “I’m not enough for you, huh?”

“I said no such thing.”

He plucks out a happy little melody on the guitar, looking at you. “Wanna learn?”

You sit up, your hood falling back off your head in the process. “Really?”

In answer, he hands you the guitar, scooting closer to you to show you where to place your fingers. You’ve been around your bandmates enough to know the basics, but you let him teach you anyway, giggling a little when he guides you through a three-chord progression and says, “Damn, you’re a natural.”

He leans back and stares at the sky, listening to you play. Eventually you add a few other basic chords into the mix, varying your strumming patterns, already feeling the strain in your fingertips from the unfamiliar press of the strings.

“So,” you say, still idly messing around on a G chord. Takuma props himself up on his elbows, looking over at you. “What was the incident in Shibuya? Have you been to Shibuya?”

He snorts. “Nope. Honestly, it was more to make people ask the question. You know in the Marvel movies, how Hawkeye and Black Widow are always talking about Budapest?”

“And nobody knows what the hell happened there,” you say, laughing. “Ah. I see.”

“I’ve never even been to Japan,” Takuma admits. “Fushiguro has, though. Maybe he had an incident in Shibuya. Who knows?”

G, C, D. D, C, G. You play the chords over and over, strumming softly, slowly, letting your finger catch on each of the strings, then five of them, then four.

“This is a really nice guitar.”

“Yeah.” There’s a beat of silence that makes you glance up, weighted differently than the usual pauses in conversation. Takuma is sitting up now, knees pulled loosely to his chest. “Was my dad’s.”

“He taught you to play,” you remember aloud, recalling your conversation in the coffee shop. But now you’re hung up on that word: was. Part of you doesn’t want to ask, but part of you feels like his words are a sort of quiet invitation, like he wants to tell you, but doesn’t want to force it. “I… is he…?”

“He died when I was twelve,” Takuma admits, eyes fixed on the sky. “Uh, car accident. It was stupid, some issue with the other guy’s car. Couldn’t stop it.” You’ve never heard his voice like this before, taut, oddly thin. Carefully, gently, you set the guitar on the roof beside you, watching him.

“Were you…”

“In the car?” Takuma sniffs. “Ah. Yeah.”

“Oh,” you breathe, and that’s what it is, more of a breath than a word. “I—Takuma…”

When he laughs, there’s no humor in it. It’s a hollow kind of chuckle, one that says everything he can’t. “It’s why I learned to skate, actually,” he says quietly, not meeting your eyes. “I’d get everywhere that way. I didn’t—want to drive, I guess. Got my license late and everything. I think people thought I was just a slacker.”

Whatever words you might scrounge up feel inadequate for a grief this large. You don’t want to pity him, and you don’t want to dismiss him, and that’s always the problem with hard conversations, isn’t it? What a line to walk.

“You’re not a slacker,” you say eventually, and he raises a brow at you. “I mean, maybe you procrastinate coding projects to a worrying extent, but you always get it done.” You smile thinly. “You don’t give up in any way that matters, Takuma. I like that about you.”

He chuckles. “Nanami said something like that, once.” His eyes go far-away again, just for a second. “He’s kind of the closest thing… like… I don’t know. I’ve known Nanami for a really long time. He was my dad’s friend. And I guess he sort of became a father figure, after…”

He shrugs. “It’s probably a big part of why I decided to go here. That, and it’s not too far from my mom’s. I don’t know that she’d have been thrilled if I went somewhere farther.”

“You’re not home,” you say carefully, a question but not question. “For break?”

“She’s on a business trip,” he says. “So not much point. But I’ll see her at Christmas, at least.”

For a while the silence stretches out comfortably between you, like a weighted blanket. You can’t ignore it, but it isn’t unwelcome. At some point you scooted closer to him, and now you sit side by side, only the layers of your jackets separating you.

“Thank you for telling me,” you say eventually, soft, unwilling to break the quiet. He nods.

“You didn’t go home either,” he points out, an unspoken question in the spaces between words. “Is it just ‘cause you’re from so far away, or…”

“Yeah. A Friday off didn’t feel like enough of a break to warrant a flight back.” But that’s not all of it. His silence tells you he knows it, too. He’s been so candid with you all night. You can share this part of yourself, you decide.

There’s something about Takuma, anyway, that makes you want to tell him things. You want to know him, and you want him to know you—you now, here, at school, but also you there, home, in the past.

“I haven’t been home since July,” you admit, hugging your knees to your chest, mirroring him. “My town is… small. I liked it when I was little. But the older I got the more I started to feel, just—I don’t know, stifled?”

Your hometown used to feel huge, like you could explore it forever on your Razor scooter and never find all its secrets. But you grew, and the town didn’t grow with you, and suddenly you were standing outside your high school realizing you knew every corner of the self-proclaimed suburban city, every street and coffee shop and alley. You’ve always been curious. And at some point, there wasn’t anything left in that place for you to be curious about.

“I love my home. I love my parents. It’s just… I needed to get out. I don’t think they ever really understood that.”

It’s easier to admit things when you’re looking straight ahead like this, out over the lines and curves of buildings, picking out street lamps, watching a few stray cars make their way around slow corners.

“Is it what you wanted it to be?” he asks quietly. “Here, I mean.” He nods out to the vast stretch of campus, spread across the city. So many corners you’ve been here years and haven’t found them all.

Campus is weird on break, you muse, looking out over the darkness. A whole parallel world for you to explore, the shadowed version of the place. A video game map on single-player, a dead server. Hardly any lights on in the windows, no kids out on the street. Like a ghost town. But it still doesn’t feel empty to you. There’s so much promise in it.

“Yeah,” you answer after a moment, soft. “Yeah, I think it is.”

A ghost town that isn’t lonely, somehow. You could write a song about it, you think. Friends with all the dead in my ghost town. The phrase plays itself out in your head, and it sounds like something moodier than your band usually goes for. It sounds like Shibuya Incident.

You wonder if this is what it means to be in a relationship—not a romantic one, necessarily, but a friendship, or any kind of bond between two creative people. If it’s this, the sharing of intellectual property with another person to the extent that their voice and yours start to blend.

It’s in the way Nobara can finish your sentences when you’re throwing out potential verses, scrambling for rhymes. How Toge and Yuta can anticipate each other’s movements, match chord progressions without talking about them. How Maki slips into your tempo seamlessly, every single time.

And now your lyrics sound like something his band would play. Maybe Takuma’s songwriting will start sounding like yours, too.

You don’t think you’d mind.

“Can I tell you something?” Takuma murmurs after a moment, sounding hesitant.

You rest a cheek on your knees, hands clasped together in front of your shins, facing him. “Mhm.”

“That song last night,” he whispers, and he’s not looking at you, just staring out at the rapidly darkening campus. “It was about you. And how you—I don’t know, the way you look at things. Like they’re always so full of potential. I wish I could do that. You just see things and want to know more. I like… watching you, being curious.” He pauses for a beat and then quickly adds, “Not in like, a creepy way! Just—I don’t know.”

A chuckle slips through your lips against your will, the darkness hopefully hiding the color in your cheeks. Maybe you can blame it on the cold. “Watching?” you ask, teasing. “I can’t imagine I’m all that intriguing. There’s a lot of cool people around here, y’know.”

“Skip,” he murmurs, and now his eyes are locked on yours. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you.”

Every nerve in your body is hyperaware of his proximity, and his hand reaches up to cup your jaw, the touch ghosting over you, barely there, hesitant. A nonverbal question. Is this okay?

You lean into the warmth, letting his breath wash over you, mingling with your own in the space between your lips, smaller and smaller and smaller.

He’s watching you, closely, giving you a chance to pull away. So many words exchanged tonight, but you don’t need any for this.

You don’t pull away.

It’s slow at first, and soft, and hesitant. The shingles dig into the heel of your hand as you lean forward on one arm, a grainy feeling on your fingertips, in the grooved imprints left by the guitar strings. You find your free hand moving up to his shoulder, pushing, guiding him down until his back is pressed against the roof and you’re over him, lips locked with his. You look at him, and he’s so full of potential. You want to know everything about him, you want to know how he works, you want to ask questions. And you do, with your tongue along the seam of his lips, and your hand tangled in his hair, and his breath mixing with yours in the air. It’s near full dark now, feeling later than it really is, evening in autumn.

You’re not cold anymore.

He deepens the kiss, body coming up to meet yours, and you feel like maybe this roof is the top of the whole world, because how could you ever feel higher than this?

“Takuma,” you murmur, and you kiss him again, and you don’t think you’ve ever felt this way before, but you’ll do maybe anything in the world to feel this way again.

And then a sharp, deep sound makes you jump, scrambling to sit up on the shingles, breathing heavy from the kiss and the noise. Did that come from inside or out?

“What—”

“Oh, crap,” Takuma groans, pulling open the window. “Someone’s home.” He looks back at you, cheeks flushed from the cold or the kiss or both, looking a little helpless, a little apologetic, and you can’t help the small laugh that bursts from you at the absurdity of the situation. You feel like a teenager getting caught by your parents.

“We should…” He nods toward the window. You hand him the guitar, then crawl back over to the window and slip inside after him, the warmth a stark relief from the temperature you’ve gotten so used to. Your heart is a jackhammer, rapidly pecking away at the once-stable structure of yourself.

You kissed him.

You kissed Takuma.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you pull it out with still-cold hands.

utah: [1 Image Attachment] utah: dinner?

Admittedly, the pasta does look amazing, and your stomach grumbles as if on cue.

“I should go,” you say awkwardly, holding up the phone for Takuma to see.

“Uh, yeah, uh—for sure, no problem, I should go see what’s up down there anyway,” he says after a beat of hesitation. “I’ll see you, uh…?”

“Around?” you finish, laughing slightly.

“Yeah,” he echoes with an amused half-smile as you make your way down the stairs. “Around.”

—

You’re freaking out.

It’s 4:31 on Monday afternoon, you’ve been listening to the same song on repeat for an hour, and you’re freaking the fuck out.

After Saturday night, you didn’t talk about it. You kissed him on the roof and your heart turned into a hummingbird and you were warm all over, and then the front door slammed and you nearly jumped out of your skin, and Megumi was back early and Takuma had no idea why, and you pet the dogs and then slipped out, wanting to give them their space.

And you haven’t talked about it. You haven’t had time. Sunday was a mess of cramming for midterms and your housemates returning from break and you threw yourself into your studies and tried not to remember, but now…

The stupid fucking switch in the back of your brain has flipped itself on and you can’t turn it off, all worry and criticism and hypothetical worst-case scenarios and you’re giving too much too fast, Skipper, you know better than this!

How many people in your tiny town fell in love young and grew to resent each other? How many of your high school friends grew up with divorced parents? How many breakups have you seen in your two and a half years at this university, how many tears and shouting matches in public halls, how many friend groups falling apart because two people fell in and out of love?

The thing is, you know you’re panicking about nothing. Takuma hasn’t asked anything of you. It was just a kiss. He is not your boyfriend. This is not a contract.

But if you talk about it, it could be, and you don’t understand why that scares you so much. Do you have commitment issues? What the fuck is your problem?

You probably wouldn’t have a problem at all, if you’d just had the time Saturday night to figure out what the kiss meant. But now that a whole day has passed and you haven’t seen him and you don’t know for sure, your mind keeps wandering down paths it should have stayed away from.

What if it’s a friends with benefits situation and you’ve just read too much into it? Maybe this is all he wants, making out, spending late nights together getting physical. Maybe that’s all. A heated makeout session on a roof doesn’t mean he feels the way you do. And do you even know how you feel? Fucking hell.

It’s the anxiety talking, the more logical part of you says, the part that sounds an awful lot like Maki. Your friends aren’t around to tell you how stupid you’re being, so the only texts you and Takuma have sent since Saturday night are playlists and song lyrics skirting around whatever truths you’re trying and failing to articulate.

Do I Wanna Know floats from the speaker on your desk, your phone next to your head on the bed, facedown and dormant. Do I wanna know if this feeling goes both ways?

Your door slams open and you jump up, whirling around to find Maki with her arms crossed, leaning on the frame. “Alright,” she says. “That’s the tenth time I’ve heard that godforsaken song. What the fuck is up with you?”

When you don’t respond, she steps inside and closes the door behind her, pauses the music, and then makes herself comfortable on the edge of your bed. “Talk to me,” she says. “You’re driving yourself crazy.” The words stall in your throat, useless, stagnant things as you avoid her knowing stare, instead staring at the popcorn ceiling until it blurs.

Maki sighs and shifts entirely onto the bed, turning herself to face you.

“I didn’t know you were home,” you say lamely.

“You’re driving me crazy, Skip,” she tries, and she knows you so fucking well, because the guilt trip is exactly what dislodges all those words built up in the back of your mouth—she breaks the dam and you spill your soul onto the quilted comforter, rambling, a rush of truths and things you thought you’d hidden from yourself but you can’t anymore. And she just listens, not looking away once.

You tell her everything: that you know you catch feelings fast, too fast. That despite your bleeding heart, you haven’t really been in a long-term relationship since high school. That you think of the future, of all the places you want to go, all the things you want to do, and there’s no guy in those dreams, and the thought of restructuring the life you’ve planned out for yourself around a boy who might be temporary is too much to even fathom. That—

“I kissed him,” you say breathlessly, bordering on hysterical, and you feel so stupid, this worked up over something so small, something that should be good. “I kissed him and now it feels real and now I’m freaking out.”

“I can see that,” Maki says calmly. “Let me ask you something. What is the worst thing that could happen, if you date him and it doesn’t last?”

“I…” You chew on your bottom lip, mind spinning through every bad outcome. “He could end up hating me, Maki. I could get some crazy job and have to leave, or he would come with me and leave his whole life behind and then he’d grow to resent me and we’d just be in some kind of hellish limbo until one of us snapped. Or he could—he could leave me, or we could try long distance and he could fall in love with somebody else, or I could, or—or—”

You flounder for a second, realizing your biggest worry is the one most immediate, the one most central to your life as it exists right now.

You’ve been sitting here thinking about big-picture things that are so far out, trying to make the feeling curdling in your gut feel like a valid reaction to a major life event. But that’s not what this is.

You’re just really, stupidly, pathetically scared that Takuma kissed you and didn’t mean it.

“Or—I guess that’s not the issue. Not really,” you admit quietly, not looking at Maki. She probably already knows. She has a way of knowing exactly what’s bothering you and just asking the right questions, getting you to talk yourself out of whatever hole your anxious mind has dug.

“I—it was just a kiss. What if he doesn’t want something serious right now, and I like him this way and he just wants something casual? I can’t do casual, Maki,” you say, raking a hand through your hair. “And it could fuck up this thing we have going. Yuji and Toge get along so well, and Nobara and the boys and Kirara, and Megumi’s your cousin, and I don’t wanna cause some weird, awkward rift, you know what I mean?”

Because it’s been so good, getting to know them. You don’t want to fuck up the dynamic just because you caught feelings too fast.

Maki leans back against your wall, humming as she thinks this over. “Okay. First of all, take a step back. Do you actually think you and Ino dating or not dating or whatever would mean I stop talking to my cousin? Or Nobara to the guys?” She raises a brow at you, unimpressed. “Seriously. I love you, Skipper, but you do not have that much power. These relationships existed before you knew Ino. Yuji is incapable of having conflict with anybody. And Toge doesn’t give a fuck about awkward relationship drama, he just wants to play Smash.”

As she speaks, you can feel your heart settling back into its home in your chest. Maki always knows what to say. Always.

“Second: Let me put it this way.” She levels you with a serious look. “You are so worked up about all these incredibly hypothetical situations. If you shut this down now, if you don’t act on what happened on Saturday, you’re still going to be worked up about hypotheticals. They’ll just be different ones. I know you, Skipper, you’re gonna drown yourself in what ifs. So you have to pick the lesser evil. There’s an unknown factor either way. Which one is gonna be worse?”

You groan, faceplanting into your bedspread. In the process, your forehead must hit play on your phone, because all of a sudden Arctic Monkeys blasts through the JBL again and Maki is grabbing your phone and saying, “Absolutely not. Nope. We are done with that.”

You look up at her helplessly. “Do I wanna know?” you choke out, half-laughing. “Because if I’m taking this out of proportion, if he doesn’t feel this way and I’m just another girl he kissed—”

“You’re not,” she says firmly. “Are you kidding me? Skip. That boy kisses the ground you walk on.” She shakes her head, some mix of fondness of exasperation flashing across her face. “You already know. The question isn’t if he likes you, or if you like him. It’s whether you’re gonna let it play out or shut it down before it has a chance to.”

Your door slams open, and Nobara strolls in and puts her hands on her hips. She glares at Maki and then at you.

“Please tell me I’m wrong,” she says, and you know you’re in for it, “but I believe you both had significant relationship developments this weekend and didn’t immediately call me? What the fuck? Spill.”

Abruptly, you feel like the worst friend in the world. Not necessarily because you haven’t filled Nobara in—she hasn’t been home—but because Maki is flushing pink, and you left her alone with Yuta on purpose, and it’s Monday, and you haven’t even asked what happened.

You look at Nobara. “Close the door.”

She does, but she doesn’t sit down, choosing instead to pace the room as she speaks. “Exhibit A: the plants have name tags and the handwriting is not Yuta’s. Exhibit B: I just came from down the street and Ino is acting weird as fuck.”

You sit straight up, suddenly on high alert. “Weird how? Did he say anything?”

“No. Like, the entire time. That’s the weird as fuck part.”

You turn to Maki, trying to read her. “Okay, what happened with Yuta? Was it when I left? Because if I wasn’t obvious enough—“

“You were very obvious, thank you,” Maki says, her blush deepening. “Uh, we made dinner. As you know.”

“It was good.”

Maki is pointedly looking everywhere but at you and Nobara, gaze darting from the ceiling to the bedspread to the door, as if she might escape the conversation. You hadn’t even noticed the plant name tags. That’s maybe the most sappy gesture that’s ever come from Maki Zenin.

“Mm. Yeah. Uh,” she says, eloquently. “We might have kissed. We might be… together.”

“Maki!” you and Nobara both scream, which results in Toge nearly breaking down your bedroom door five seconds later.

“What?” he demands. He clocks Maki’s bright red face and grins widely. “Aha! Yes. Good.”

“Wh—”

“Yuta won’t look me in the eyes, so I figured. You wanted to tell us all at once?”

Maki nods sheepishly.

“Too late!” Toge says cheerfully. “And he’s not home. So we can take this quality girls’ time to—”

“You are a man.”

“That’s the first time you’ve ever said that to me,” Toge tells Nobara, hand over his heart.

She swats at him in response and flops onto your floor, and Toge drops down beside her, you and Maki leaning over the edge of your bed to see them both.

"I ate your love pasta," you tell Maki, and she groans.

"This is why I don't tell you people things."

After the appropriate appoint of freaking out about Maki and Yuta (of course I knew, I always know, Nobara says), they make you go through the whole of Saturday night in detail.

You leave out the part about Takuma’s dad. That doesn’t feel like your story to tell.

When you get to I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you, Nobara blinks at you, and the innocent expression on her face means whatever she’s about to say is anything but. “So he told you you’re not like other girls?”

“Oh my god,” you groan, dragging your hands down your face.

“Oh, shit, Skipper!” Toge nearly shouts from the floor. “We have to go, like, two minutes ago.”

“Shit!” You scramble off the bed, shoving your laptop into your bag and weaving around Nobara, who has made no move to get off the floor. You and Toge have your usual Monday night class time to do field reporting, and you’re meeting up with Geto and Utahime.

The front door clicks open and closed, and you grin at Maki, who goes red. Yuta’s home. God, you wish you could stay for this.

“Hi, Yuta! Bye, Yuta!” you call on the way out the door, patting him on the head, and Toge follows suit with a much more aggressive motion that messes up Yuta’s hair.

“Oh, hi! Um. Bye?” Yuta’s startled laugh follows you out the door, and then you’re on your way.

You’re always on your way back to The Fix, eventually.

—

Utahime, notably a happier person in general when Gojo’s not around, lets Toge into the back to get some photos of the storeroom. That leaves you alone with Geto, back on the same stool as last time, phone on the counter as you watch him work, talking as he goes.

“Finished inventory,” he says, typing something rapidly on his laptop, “and now it’s budgeting. And yeah, that’s about what it looks like on the day to day. What else did you want to know?”

Geto is remarkably easy to talk to. He’s soft-spoken and articulate, a good listener, and you find yourself forgetting it’s an interview after a while, lost in conversation. You learn that he studied business in school, so opening an establishment like this wasn’t much of a stretch. He handles the finances and hiring, and he’s the one working with Panda on the Battle of the Bands. Gojo and Utahime bartend, Nanami is security, and Shoko handles everything else. It’s a small team, he says, but they work.

“I wanted to be able to be home for the girls when they were growing up, and this wound up being a great way to do that, schedule-wise,” he tells you. “And now they’re here, which is great. I wouldn’t say I ever saw myself opening a bar, back in college, but now that I’m here and Shoko and I have been running the place for a while, I’m not sure where else I ever could’ve ended up, y’know?”

You nod, head propped in your hand with your elbow on the counter. “So is this the dream? The endgame?” you ask. “Think you’ll stay a while?”

“Well,” he says, closing the laptop, “I think it comes down to doing something because you love it, not because other people love that you do it. Though right now, both of those things are true, which is fortunate for me." He leans on the bar counter, head tilted as he considers his words.

"If the work makes you happy, if the people there make you feel the same way, I think that’s worth hanging on to," he says. "If I ever stop loving the work, I suppose I’ll move on. I don’t see that happening, really, but if it does, I’ll roll with it. Whatever comes after.”

“That makes sense.” You sigh, leaning back in your chair. “Man, I wish the career thing was that clear-cut now. I know I have time, but it’s weird to think about.”

“Would you ever go further than this with the band, you think?” he asks, seeming genuinely curious. “Or is the journalism thing pretty much what your heart’s set on?”

You’ve thought about it. Drumming makes you feel alive like very few other things do, but you love writing, reporting, meeting people and telling their stories. You want to go for editor-in-chief next year when Tsumiki graduates, but the reality is that you won’t have so much time for the band if you get the job. And you love your band.

Not that it’ll be the same, anyway, without Maki and Yuta. That’s something you don’t love to think about.

“I don’t know,” you confess, sheepishly realizing you’re still recording, that you’re supposed to be the one asking the questions. “I don’t think… that the band is ever necessarily going to be a professional thing. Maki and Yuta have all these big career plans. And it’s like, how much do I invest in that now, knowing it’s not… forever? When the journalism thing, the career, might be? I don’t know.”

“You know, I don’t think it matters all that much whether it’s forever,” Geto shrugs. “If it gave you what you needed at the time, wouldn’t it be worth it?”

He glances up at you, taking in the lines of your face, the tapping of your fingers against your other arm. You kind of feel like he sees something you don’t.

“Here’s some unsolicited advice, kid. On the record. Maybe life is short, maybe not. But regardless, your heart is not a finite thing.” His eyes are soft but not sad, serious but with a sort of levity that’s wise and not regretful. You think, idly, that you would find it very hard not to trust him. “If you’ve got something, love it while you have it.”

Something tells you he’s not talking about the band anymore. Or maybe that’s just you, looking for answers where there aren’t any.

“Thanks, Geto,” you say, turning off the recording. “This has been really helpful.”

Your heart is not a finite thing. And you think you’ve made up your mind.

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jjk taglist open: just send me a message!

@shutuppeter @mikikkoo @reactwithjan @theclassbookworm @lilactaro @bisforbuse @risararelywrites @idkidk32 @gojodickbig @stargazing-with-choso @anonymity-222

a/n: what is this? setup for the megumi spinoff i'm writing after this? oo (sorry he was a cockblock it was for the plot, this one AND his, hehe)

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ashascoven · 8 months ago

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❃☆ showering w/ the pyromaniac rat man ☆❃ pt. 1

☆ so hi!! um!! welcome to my first fanfic lolz (im nervous about posting this can you tell ?!?! o(*°▽°*)o)

☆ im rlly new to posting on tumblr, but ive been reading fanfics on here for a WHILE!! it's inspired me to write a silly one about my favorite lanky robber <3 if theres any mistakes, PLEASE hit my line abt it (i beg)

☆ here is part 2, which is smut/nsfw, also on my profile!

☆ FANFIC DEETS! junkratxreader ☆

reader is a female who's known for working with plants

VERY lengthy build-up fanfic (LOTS of reading, buckle up yall)

fluff??

emotional stuff, but nothing intense (??)

first time writing an australian accent, pls lmk if anythings weird!!

hope u enjoy :,D

“Hggshmmshh.. peeaachh c-c.. cobbler.. mmh.. eeheeheeheh!! Piee..”

“Dammit! Move over, rat-ass!”

You felt as if you had finally managed to doze off only a couple minutes ago.

One second you're about to drift away into a somewhat decent sleep, counting flying sheep and letting your drool start to fall.

The next, you're getting whacked in the head with a metallic hand or shoved by a wooden peg in one of your sides.

Having to share a bed with a loudly snoring pyro-freak who reeked of gunpowder and body odor was not a promising night of rest, especially in a room of pure humidity and sweat.

The mattress beneath you two was unbalanced and squeaky, the walls surrounding it adorning overgrowing vines and tears in its paper.

His twisting, turning, n’ noises didn't make it any better, but it was kind of reassuring in the sense that you weren't sleeping alone.

When was the last time he even showered anyway?

Does this man know how to?

How does he sleep like this?

The more you questioned the Australian in your head, the more his body managed to keep sprawling across the queen sized mattress you two shared.

Both his normal and prosthetic limbs jabbed at your back, his armed belt straps and gauntlets not contributing to your comfort whatsoever.

“Fucking- MOVE!”

You gripped at the bed and gave him one kick in the ass with your bare foot.

The maniac yelped himself into a giggling fit, somehow still remaining asleep.

God, what's his secret to being such a happy sleeper?

With one last scoff, you nearly pushed him off of the bed, but you didn't think twice about it.

Rolling your eyes, you returned to your previous position with your back facing him, crossing your arms and trying to let your eyes close again.

You thought about the mission you two were given together, recalling it hundreds of times in your head to hopefully quench at your inability to have a comfortable sleep.

Back at one of those Overwatch HQ meetings, they discussed wanting to try something new while still maintaining everyone's duties.

Experimenting with how different heroes and scientists worked one-on-one with one another for “observational purposes,” they said.

Gibberish about increasing the rate of productivity within our cause by cutting down our dispatched team sizes..

“More groups of heroes can get sent out on more missions if distributed differently..!”

Blah-blah-blah..

You ignored all of the blabbering at the time, your ears only ever being open for what sounded most important and intriguing.

“It'll be an educational experience for great future references-”

You reaaaallyy didn't think you'd be in one of the duo dispatches, yet here you were, somehow still in the flesh.

All that was asked of you both was to keep a watch out for anything suspicious at some abandoned town in the middle of who-even-fucking-knows.

Wooden huts n’ houses that were falling apart, yet they somehow still formed and held a small community of humble elders.

Supposedly, this place was a possible target of some well-feared terrorist group, and “Grandpa Jack” wanted you two to scout.

Discussion about exposed plans for making sure as many innocent people as possible experienced war “too” made your blood boil.

It didn't make sense to you, the whole “no pain, no gain” mindset.

Clearly these people chose to live all the way out here to get AWAY from the danger, why force that on some old people anyway?

With their lack of clean drinking water and functioning power in an empty desert, you were sure they've already seen enough.

“Haven't we lost thousands of innocent civilians already? Omnic or not, they can't just keep coming up with all of this frivolous shit and throw it at us..!”

You grumbled to yourself outloud, unconsciously turning to face the ultimate rat that was laying behind you.

“Why would they send us here if they KNEW there were people out here who needed help? Wasting precious time by sending two of us out here instead of a whole team is beyond me, honestly! We'll just keep getting killed and..”

Your eyes ended up catching onto your distorted reflection on the goggles that Jamison wore to bed.

It made you trail off and unball your fists, causing you to think about the old people again.

You thought about how much you were gonna get onto HQ's ass to seek a better home for them all.

They were sweet to you and Jamie, and you were pretty sure he would try to take one or two to keep as parents of his own.

Considering he didn't have any living ones anymore, it would check out.

Your eyes wandered off onto the flickering of the dying light bulb hanging bare off the ceiling.

The bulb hung right behind mister sleeping beauty, holding on by torn wires.

You were surprised your sleeping partner hadn't managed to somehow pull it down in his sleep yet. The thought made you smile for a bit, letting your face rest.

Then, your hand reached up to Jamison's face.

You didn't think much about it since your mind was more on other things still, but you unconsciously held his cheek.

You watched as he smiled in his sleep, gently putting his own hands on yours and nuzzling into your touch.

The feeling of his rough palm against your skin along with the metal of his other one sent a chill through your body, but you didn't pull away.

Just looking at him resting like a baby put your mind at ease for a bit.. It helped calm your grumpiness from not being able to sleep these past few nights.

It’s been the longest mission yet, and also the first one that you’ve slept together with a person you were sent with.

You ran your thumb over his lightly chapped bottom lip, your mind finally winding itself down.

You two had somewhat of a record of being assigned missions together, but you were never as close to each other as this.

Something about the way your silly acquaintance slept carelessly in front of you was strangely inviting.

You swallowed your emotions and repressed your urges to suddenly hug the rat man, drawing your thumb lower to his chin.

You ran it over his speckled face hair, still letting him hug your arm.

“Mmmmh.. G-gosh, so.. so waaarmm..! waarmm like a maarshmaallooww.. eheeh..!!”

He chuckled in his sleep as his hugging turned into more aggressive snuggling.

It made you wonder if he'd remember anything once he woke up.

Outside of those thoughts, you were heavily caught off guard.

You didn't know if you wanted to comfortingly rub at his hair, continue holding his face, or try to hug him entirely.

Internally? You wanted to do all of those things, but it didn't feel right yet.

Despite all the deep talks you've had with Jamie on the drives and flights to missions together, you guys were still just friends at work, right?

Would it be weird to treat a friend as such?

Did he think you two were even friends?

You always had a tendency to overthink the simplest of things.

Questions would fog your mind the split second a minor inconvenience popped up, you struggled to help that “problem” all your life.

Yet, your time spent with him so far made it feel like your questioning wasn't a problem at all.

You always wanted to know the specifics and the “why” or “how” in anything that interested you.

Jamison was similar. He fed into your talks about figuring out what's after death, your master-list of alternatives to milk JUST for enjoying it with cereal. your wonders about what being an omnic felt like, and even your rambles about plants having feelings.

He was so invested into the plant talk that he now avoids stepping on anything green to show you that he cared about nature's heart too.

He admired your outlook on everything, the way you approach things by being your real self.

He also liked that you didn't look down on him for having an explosive personality.

Everyone else at HQ had something against the lanky robber, but you didn't hate him at all. You two matched each other in the way that you were both transparent and almost always had a fixation or a story to share.

His eyes practically turned into sparkles whenever you two got into your deep conspiracy talks because no one else bothered to entertain his yappering about bombs, especially with mutual ranting about something else.

It was nice, soo..

You guys had to at least be friends, right?

“Mate! Earth’s waitin’ for your grand return! Ya aren’t dead yet.. Are ya, plant woman?”

Friends.. Yeah. You thought you two were cool buddies for all it’s worth.

“Aye! I knooow, me charmin’ physique’s too much to take in aaall at ooonce but-!”

It’s crazy how you were thinking about his eyes sparkling because.. Huh, how come they’re doing it right now?

“I can’t have ya dyin’ on me yet.. Ain’t no doctors around to come and shock ya awake!”

Gosh, who knew the local bombardier had such a twinkle to his eyes anyway?

“Is yer brain workin’? Want me to.. rewire it for ya?”

Twinkle.. twinkle.. twinkle..~

“Well, she’ll be apples! Ya goootta snap outta it mate! What is it ya want this time? An autograph? Some lollies? Aye! Aye..!”

You were so zoned out into the thought of his eyes, you didn’t even register that you were now actually looking at them; he had woken up.

Your hand was still on his face too, but he wasn’t hugging it anymore.

His robotic right hand was knocking the top of your head lightly while his skinned left one was holding your cheek.

His facial expression was one of concern despite his messy blonde hair and some drool glistening off the side of his mouth.

With the way he clearly scooted closer to you, you two were actually really close to each other this time.

“Woaahh.. Ooh.. Oh..? OH!!” You froze up again, covering your mouth and (almost literally) getting knocked out of your trance.

“Whew!” Jamison sighed in relief.

“There's me’ plant woman! Turns out me charm was too much for ya to handle afteraaalll!” He chuckled, quickly shifting into a lounging model pose and striking you a sly grin.

“O-Oh.. Oh my gosh! H-How long was I like that?” You panicked a little, wiping sweat from your forehead and quickly rubbing it into the tail of your shirt.

“Since me eyes opened up! Let's say.. ‘bout half a’ hour?”

“H-half an hour?!?”

“Yeah! Are ya alright? Did ya think me eyes were THAT gorgeous?” He chuckled, rubbing his chin.

“Pshh..” You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms once again.

“It’s alright if ya think so! I think so too! But, ya aren’t allowed to tell me fans that! Ehehe~!” He grinned, suddenly wrapping his arms around you and jokingly snuggling his head against the top of yours.

“E-eugh!! Fans my ass! Wait until they find out that you probably don't even wash yours, you stinky!” You exclaimed, trying to push your way out of his arms but to no avail.

“S-stinky?!?! Hey-! There's a’ supa’ top secret special essence in me junker way o’ livin..! T-the cleanest ya'd ever know!! How 'bout ya take a smell~!??” He challenged, immediately shoving his arm pits in your face and keeping you in his grasp.

“GOD! Quit it!! You smell terrible-! Ugh!!! Let me go right now!”

“Nuh-uh! Hatin’ on me wondrous magnificence ain't nice!”

“Your breath's gonna kill me, you bastard! Agh!! You literally need a bath!!!” You were muffling into his arms, trying to push him away even harder.

You managed to push yourself upwards, but you still were trapped in his grasp as he giggled n’ snuggled away.

As much as you hated to admit it, his silliness was really comforting, charming in it's own way even.

Yeah.. he didn't smell the best, but!!.. He was kind of fun to be around. It was hardly ever boring around the rat man.

“Fine, whatever,” You sighed, no longer fighting to leave his sweaty arms.

“Your eyes are.. nice to look at. Anyway, I'm tired and somehow comfortable in this position so if you move weirdly, I'm pushing you off the bed.”

He loudly gasped, his eyes widening and sparkling so much so that you could've sworn staring directly into them would've blinded you.

“Y-ya really m-mean it?!!?!! A-about.. me eyes?!? OoooOOoohh~! I.. H-How I could jus’ kis-”

You cut him off by wrapping your arms around his head. His face was buried into your chest while his arms were still around you.

You felt him freeze, his immediate blush against your chest practically able to burn through you. He didn't scream or pull away, just sat there for a bit, shocked at someone hugging him back for once.

You sighed out again in content, now leaning your face on top of his head. His hair felt surprisingly soft against your cheek, but he still smelled bad.

“God, you smell so terrible.. but.. you're kinda.. comfy and..- Okay you're actually very comfy what the hell.”

You gushed, your leaning turning into you practically snuggling against his hair.

The rat man stayed frozen in his position, shock taking over his body. For once, it wasn't one of those triggering shocks that turned his trauma into adrenaline; it was a.. refreshing kind of shock? The kind that was making him realize how starved from affection he really was for so long.

He felt like a deer mesmerized by headlights.

“If only you didn't move so much in your sleep, tsk tsk.. I can totally get over the strong burnt tire smell for how snuggly your hair is thoug-”

“Ihh shay..”

He suddenly muffled through your chest, but quieter than his normal tone.

“Eh?”

One of his fingers twitched.

“..Ihh shay shihh!”

“Fucking- Get out of there and spit it out!”

You pouted, pulling his face out of your chest’s cave to look him in the eyes and hear him properly.

“I-I’ll stay.. still! m-mighty still.. i-if ya keep on.. rubbin’ that pretty face on ma’ skull.. p-please? please mate!!”

‘Absolutely the fuck not!’ is what you almost instinctively said, but something about this weird man’s vulnerability around you gave you a feeling his request wasn’t ill intended.

He nudged you into a softer tone towards him for the night, so you silently raised a brow. He kept pleading, his sparkling eyes bouncing between you and the rest of the room.

“I-I ain't had anyone.. touch me ‘air, l-let alone me whole body i-in years! Feels comfortin’- so- i- uh- p-please mate! i won't be buggin’ ya’ rest any longer i-if ya felt kind ‘nough to.. perhaps grant me thee honor-!?”

“I’m doing it, so hush up.”

“Y-yes m’lady”

He quickly blurted out, before burying his face back in-between your chest with a relieved giggle.

“Hah, for someone who goes by being a rat, you're sure acting like a puppy right now.”

“Y-ya really think so!?”

“Yeah sure, but- hmph, the ‘junk’ part still applies. I'm so close to dragging you into a bath myself..”

“>:(“

“Wait.. This kinda gives me an idea..”

A mischievous grin growing on your face as you mumbled to yourself.

“Whaddya say?”

He grumbled, oblivious to your scheming. You slowly tried pulling away from him, but to no avail.. He unconsciously scooted closer into your arms with each pull.

“..nothing, ratty-poo.”

You pushed him away quickly with your hands now gripping his shoulders.

“A-ay mate! W-whaddya push me away foorrr? I was enjoyin’ me time in there.. :(“

He yelped in response, his arms now crossing with a pout.

“No more snuggling until you take a bath!”

“W-whuh!?”

“I'm not cuddling your hair until you wash it.”

“..noooo :((“

“No shower, no snuggle!!”

“:(((... Fine..”

“W-wait- You're giving in that easil-?”

“JUNK ATTACK!!!!”

He yelled, diving back into your chest with his arms around your waist once again. You scoffed, not cuddling or holding him back.

“Rat-ass.”

“Y-yes m-m’lady..??”

“I'm giving you five seconds to get off of me, or I'll kick you off.-”

“N-no!! P-please mate!-”

“I'll go and grab a bucket of ice cold water to throw at you so help me you don't mov-”

You've never seen a tall grown man back up to the edge of a bed so quickly.

“GO.”

You yelled, pointing violently at the bathroom door.

“NEIN!”

“I SAID GO!”

“NO!”

“You want more cuddles from me, right, ratty-poo..?~”

Your tone softened as you twirled your hair and pleaded your eyes at him.

“I- u-uh- y-yes m-m'lady but-”

“THEN GO BATHE!”

He whined another ‘no’ in response, crossing his legs and arms while looking away.

You sighed, before crawling across the bed and hooking your arm around his.

“Lord.. What am I gonna do with you..”

“W-well I- AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!”

“GET YOUR ASS IN THAT SHOWER JAMIE!!”

You yelled again as you held him in a headlock position.

As he whined, you held him there for a bit, thinking.

“Hmm..”

“You l-let go of me t-this instant mate! T-the junkers back in me home town w-wont be pleased with how you're behavin’ towards me greatnes-”

“What if we took a bath together?”

“-and once they find out what you've- huh-!?!”

“You and me, we bathe together. I'll literally help you clean up if it means you won't stink in bed.”

You said casually as you quickly faced him towards you and dropped him onto the bed. He landed on his back with his arms above his head while you sat on top of him.

Questionable position if you may, but you dare not complain about the view.

He was too in shock to notice it either.

He stared at you wide eyed.

He opened his mouth and put a finger up to say something multiple times, only to close it with more thought and look away, his finger curling up and down with each pause.

He thought about the offer for the long time.

Then, he rubbed his chin. You watched carefully, not letting your guard fall in case he felt like randomly wrapping himself around you again.

“Hmph.. if t-that’s what it'll take.. then I suppose a.. mighty handsome fella like me.. wouldn't mind bathin’ with a.. pretty.. f-flower woman like you!”

“Uh huh..-”

“B-but under one of me’ own conditions!”

“.. you're what now-”

“Bath cuddles?”

He clapped his hands together in a praying motion, pleading with those damn sparkly eyes again. It's like he just does it in command at this point..

“God, what are we, a couple?”

You yawned with closed eyes.

“I-I.. W-well! Your one an’ only gentleman of’uh bombardier wouldn't complain!”

He nervously smiled and blushed, his gold tooth shining comically as he said that.

It earned a giggle out of you, followed with covered mouth mumbling.

‘You’re so silly, it's kind of attractive..’

“Whaddya say, me’ pretty plant-y mistress?”

“I said, you're so silly, it's kind of.. u-uh- cool-? I guess??!? I don't- Mistress!?- I- W-whatever- C’mon, let's go! Into the baaathh we goo..! C’mon c’moonn..”

You spurted out, getting up and dragging him by the arm into the bathroom.

You didn't really think through the fact that.. this man would be so close to you while you two were undressed.

Oddly enough, he didn't give the vibe of someone who'd try anything, but it was still weird.

One second you're forced to share a bed with this guy.. And the next? You've convinced him to take a shower with you??? Weird..-o!!

When you two made it, you both kind of just stared at the bathroom and each other for a minute.

It was a decently sized room, but the entirety of it was a shower.. literal shower room?.. whatever.

There wasn't a sink or toilet like the bathrooms you were used to.

Instead, there was just one large shower head in the center of the room, a drain in a corner, and tiles that patterned the floor and walls in a creamy gradient. The two handles for the shower were next to the doorway, labeled for their temperatures.

There were also two slim windows higher up on two walls facing each other, slightly cracked for the steam.

The only light you guys had came from either these windows, or from the doorway to the room you shared, so it was acceptably dim.

Some vines creeped through corners here and there, but it was surprisingly much cleaner than the rest of the hut you guys stayed in. The non-direct warm lighting really set the vibe.

As you turned both of the handles halfway, you watched in surprise as the rat man happily stripped at whatever he had on, going for a dive on the shower floor as if it were a kid’s waterslide with a ‘yippee!!’

It immediately followed with a groan of pain from him, and a reactive facepalm from you.

With a sigh of ‘Oh, what I'll even do with him..’ (ironic), you quickly undid your hair and stripped off your clothes while he wasn't looking.

He swiveled around right as you finished, watching in awe as you awkwardly shuffled onto the floor next to him with a travel sized bottle of soap and a mini loofa.

“S-ssheesh..” he gaped, “what a beautiful woman..”

“T-thanks, b-but don't look too hard, silly guy.” You joked lightheartedly and rolled your eyes, your initiative agenda from before going out of the window because of the attractive man in front of you.

The hot steamy water combined with how it washed away some of the rat man’s dirt made his revealed skin slightly harder to not drool over..

..but you fought any urges or sudden fantasies you had right then and there.

‘It’s just the lack of sleep getting to me,’ you quickly scolded yourself in your head, ‘.. there's no way I shoul- COULD see him like that, yep..’

“You're.. not too shabby yourself..” You muttered to get it out of your system, painfully controlling your hands from wandering. Thankfully, he probablyyy didn't hear you.

With that, you were getting to work with your soap on his arms, trying not to think too hard about the man before you.

“Caaan I have me cuddlin’ time with ya noooww, plant womaaan?”

“Noo! I just started with you and I'm not done yet, rat-head.. Be patient n’ be quiet.” You grumbled, finishing his arms and scrubbing his back like a concerned mother.

“Pleeeaaaaseeee…????” He covered his eyes and whined as you made way to his torso with your loofah. The scrubber was barely holding on and you weren't anywhere near finished..

“Don't make me tie you down in here just to get you clean, bastard..” You threatened, moving from his back to his front side. You held at one side of his torso, scrubbing away.

He moved his hands from his face to his sides, looking down at you with that puzzled gaze once again. You glanced up at him with a raised brow before looking back down at your work.

You weren't actually all too irritated. Tired, yes, but it was actually kind of destressing being able to work your hands at something like this.

You were also literally.. bathing a grown ass man, but you'd be lying if you said anything about preferring to be at home, bored and alone.

At least this mission gave you some kind of purpose, and alongside an entertaining goofball as well. It could be much worse, but it really wasn't bad at all which you liked.

Suddenly, he started patting your head, a close eyed grin on his face.

“Oouuhh… M-mate, ya know.. Thanks a lot for this! I appreciate ya’, I really do!”

“Don't sweat it, poo-face, you were already sweating enough in bed anyway..” You chuckled with another playful eye roll.

“If you weren't gonna bathe yourself, something had to be done for BOTH OF us to catch some rest for the mission, and goddess KNOWS I can't sleep with a loud stinky man..” You responded mindlessly, gently grabbing his face by his jaw and scrubbing his neck.

“It gets.. hard sometimes,” he threw his head back with a sigh, “I know I'm supposed ‘tuh.. do it all me’ self but, I lose me’ mind to the world o’ bombs!” He chuckled.

“You don't say…” You coughed with sarcasm, still listening and cleaning. He's used to your personality by now, and he knows you never really mean any harm.

“Oh, but I do! Even with me’ prosthetics, it jus’ makes it harder n’.. I could never fancy the time to.. uh.. keep takin’ em’ on n’ off..”

“..It bugs me, the pain, it's a reeaall.. buggin' feeling, both in me’ arms n’ legs.. n’.. the mind. It does somethin’ to ya, makes people call ya crazy!” He gestured by wiggling his normal arm, then his robotic one in comparison.

You put his arms down like an annoyed cat, but you weren't actually annoyed, just trying to reach over him to attempt washing his hair.

“..but really ‘m not.. I.. I just resort to.. expressin’ what takes it all away.. and uh! bein’ me!, ya’ kno- Aauh.. T-that feels.. holy..” He cut himself off, sighing in relief. You had bowed his head under the running water for you to better reach him, unknowingly giving him a more direct view of your bare chest.

“A-Anything to take me’ mind off the.. A-ahem-.. the uh.. rot.. the distinct feelin’ of not bein’ the same as everyone else.. anymore.” He cleared his throat, awkwardly trying not to stare as he spoke, but you didn't think much about it.

“People stay clear of me all the time! N’ they think I don't be noticin’ b-but I do!” He ran a hand through his hair after you moved down to his legs.

“It hurts, but.. I just keep doin’ me’, I try not to stay in me’ past, live for me’ mum, n’ keep it movin’!”

“Oh! That's also why I like ya’ mate!” He smiled, throwing up finger guns.

“Whuh- Really?” You looked at him.

“Yeah! You don't treat me funny for me’ quirks! You always seemed like.. a couple screws loose in somebody’s noggin never bothered ya’! Me’ motors don't drive ya’ wild, do I?”

“Pshhh… You definitely drive me crazy, but that doesn't mean I'm never down for a wild adventure with you, rat-ass.”

“See? Ya’ get me! I know your tired n’ all, n’ I'm sorry for takin’ away from your beauty rest like this but..” He scratched his chin and sighed, looking to the side.

“Thanks mate, r-really..” He mumbled, shuffling closer and wrapping his arms around you for a genuine hug.

“I- U-uh-.. Your.. welcome? All I've done was treat you like.. a normal human being? As you.. should be?” You awkwardly hugged him back, confused.

You pulled away, your hands on his shoulders.

“Despite our friendship, I don't know what it is you've REALLY really been through, but no matter how tired or over it I may seem, I still think you're hella cool of a guy.” You warmed up to his hug, patting his back.

“Whenever you wanna chat about.. literally anything in the world, you know who to come to, silly.. Seriously, don't ever sweat it.” You smiled and yawned, going back to washing his upper body off for a second, more gentler time.

You were surprised he didn't question the hot water in hot weather or how quickly it managed to cool you guys off. It was definitely making you more sleepy though.

“T-thanks, plant woman..” He wiped away a tear, sighing with a contentful “aah” as you tended to him. He leaned back, taking in the feeling of your care.

“Ya know, you're reeaaal good at this.. are ya’, perhaps, experienced ‘n bathing other people?”

“Wh- This is.. how baths are meant to be taken, no?”

“T-together??!? Mate, I’d kill to have this luxury of bein’ cleaned by ya’ like this all the time!!”

“Whuh- No! I m-meant.. the soap and water, you fucking peanut.”

“Ooh.. W-well!” he pointed a finger up, “I don't care ‘bout standin’ under some lousy water for a’ hour! But.. ya’ make me want to if it means you'll be the one cleanin’ me!”

“You're an adult, Jamie.”

“Don't forget me’ prosthetics-”

“They're literally waterproof sealed..”

“How would ya’ even know that!?”

“You told me this in our past rant sessions, twice I might add.. Something about avoiding radiactiv-”

“Screw you, mate! ( ` ﾛ ´ )”

“..You probably would though. (>ᴗ•)”

☆ if anyone actually makes it this far, tysm for reading!! feedback is 100% welcomed and appreciated <33

☆ i promise ill get the smut out for this eventually.. ill also make a pinned request post soon!! with graduation coming up, im a bit busy :((.. BUT ITLL ALL COME!

☆ ^^ update, here it is!!

☆ enjoy ur day/night yall! eat, stay hydrated, and keep loving junkrat fr ♡( ◡‿◡ )

#jamison fawkes #junkrat #junkrat x reader #ow2 #overwatch #ow2 junkrat #fanfic #overwatch x reader

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