#worst part is coming home and explaining to everyone what I did wrong THIS time

[drottni]

JULY 29 2024

Uhh guess who didn't pass her driving test. This gal. 😑 Agh. I am so tired of it. Why can't I break this curse. Sigh.

[halfmoonaria]

not like this

pairing: tara carpenter & reader

summary: you knew tara could be cruel when she was drunk, but you didn’t know she could be this cruel.

wordcount: 9.5k

author’s note: i’m not the biggest fan of this one since i wrote it a while back, but i’m only posting because i haven’t posted in forever and feel really bad about it. my motivation is super low right now, so i don’t know what else to do.

Trauma changes people.

Everyone says that like it's obvious — like it's just something you're supposed to know, the way you know fire burns and knives cut.

But there's a difference between knowing something and watching it happen.

There's a difference between hearing the words and feeling them lodge somewhere deep inside you, where you can't ever really shake them loose.

You learned that earlier than most.

You learned it when you watched your dad fall apart after his mother died.

It didn't happen all at once.

There wasn't some big, cinematic moment where he dropped his coffee mug or broke down crying at the kitchen table.

It was quieter than that. Slower.

It was in the way he started coming home from work later and later, sitting out in the driveway with the engine running, like he couldn't make himself walk through the front door.

It was in the way he stopped laughing at the dumb TV shows you used to watch together.

Stopped making jokes under his breath while you did the dishes.

Stopped planning camping trips in the summer like he always used to, talking about them for months beforehand even though half the time you didn't even end up going.

It was like watching someone you loved slowly drift out to sea, farther and farther, until you couldn't hear them call back anymore.

And the worst part was, he didn't even seem to notice.

It was just the way life moved now.

Back then, you didn't have words for it.

You just knew it hurt in a way you couldn't explain.

That it made you feel small and helpless, standing there with empty hands, not knowing how to pull him back.

You told yourself it was something that only happened to adults.

That you'd never have to feel it happen again, at least not for a long time.

You were wrong.

Because then there was Tara.

And Woodsboro.

And everything that came after.

And you got to learn it all over again —how fast someone could slip away right in front of you, how loud silence could be when it started stretching between you, how a person could still look like themselves and feel like a stranger all at once.

Tara was still Tara.

She still laughed at stupid videos you showed her.

Still kicked her feet up onto your lap when you sat too close on the couch.

Still looked at you, sometimes, with a softness that made your chest ache.

But it was different now.

It lived in the small things, the sharp edges she hadn't had before.

The way she snapped at you when you asked if she was okay —quick, defensive, like you were accusing her of something she couldn't explain.

The way she pulled away from your touch on bad days, shaking you off without even meaning to.

The way she seemed to run hotter, angrier, like everything you said was one wrong word away from setting her off.

At first, you told yourself it was normal.

That it was part of healing.

That if you had gone through what she had, you might lash out too.

And besides, she always apologized.

Sometimes hours later, sometimes with her face buried in your shoulder, mumbling about how she didn't mean it, how it wasn't about you.

You always said it was fine.

You always said you understood — even when you didn't, not really.

Because what else could you say?

You loved her.

You were supposed to love her through the hard parts too, right?

And maybe it would've been okay.

Maybe it would've stayed manageable — just a few harsh words, a few apologies, a few moments you could both move past —if she hadn't found something else to lean on.

Something easier than talking about it.

Something that blurred the edges faster than time ever could.

Tara turned to drinking.

Not all at once — not enough for anyone to call it a problem in the beginning.

At first, it was just parties.

Just nights she said she needed to blow off steam, to feel normal, to feel young.

You never tried to stop her.

After everything she'd been through, she deserved a little normalcy, didn't she?

Even if it meant sitting alone in her room on Saturday nights, refreshing your phone every two minutes, staring at the door like it might swing open if you wished hard enough.

You stayed up for her.

Every time.

Sometimes until three, four in the morning — heart pounding louder with every hour she didn't call.

And when she finally stumbled back through the door, half-drunk and half-smiling, you were always there.

You'd help her out of her clothes when her fingers fumbled with the buttons.

Swap her jeans for soft pajama pants, pull the hoodie over her head when she couldn't get her arms through right.

You'd get her water, Advil, a trash can by the bed just in case.

You'd tuck her in like a child even when she swatted you away, mumbling rude, slurred things under her breath.

"You're so clingy."

"God, I'm not a baby, get off."

"Go take care of your own pathetic life for once."

You told yourself she didn't mean it.

That it was just the alcohol talking.

And maybe it was.

Maybe that was why it hurt so much and why you let it go all the same.

It stayed like that for a while.

Her out at parties.

You at home, waiting.

Until eventually, you started going with her.

It wasn't because she needed a babysitter — even though sometimes, when the drinks started kicking in and her patience started thinning, she made little comments about how it felt that way.

You didn't care.

You weren't there to control her.

You just wanted to make sure she was okay.

Make sure no one slipped something into her drink.

Make sure no one dragged her upstairs when she was too drunk to say no.

Make sure she made it home in one piece.

And maybe — though you wouldn't have admitted it even to yourself — you wanted to see for yourself how bad it was getting.

You wanted to believe it wasn't as bad as it sometimes sounded through the cracked speaker of a drunken 3 a.m. phone call.

You wanted to believe you still knew her.

That you could still reach her, even through the noise, even through the fog.

You wanted to believe you still knew her.

That you could still reach her, even through the noise, even through the fog.

But eventually, it stopped feeling like a phase.

It became a routine.

A pattern you could've mapped out with your eyes closed.

Every weekend — Friday or Saturday, sometimes both — there was another party.

Another friend's birthday, another "small get-together," another reason she had to go. HAD

It didn't matter if it was freezing cold or pouring rain or if she had an essay due at midnight — there was always an excuse.

Always a party just big enough, just loud enough, to drown everything else out.

And you always followed.

You didn't really drink, not like she did.

But you drank when she was watching.

You threw back shots with her while getting ready in your shared apartment, laughing a little too loudly, pretending it tasted better than it did.

You let her drag you into dance circles, let her shove plastic cups into your hands, let her kiss your mouth rough and messy when she was two beers in and her walls started to crumble.

You did everything you could to stay on her side.

To keep the night easy, to keep her smiling — or at least not snapping.

But it didn't always work.

It never always worked.

There were nights she got mad over nothing.

Nights where you said the wrong thing — like asking if she wanted to slow down, or if she needed water — and she'd look at you like you ruined everything.

"Stop treating me like a kid."

"If you don't like it, leave."

"You're such a fucking buzzkill sometimes, you know that?"

You got used to smoothing things over.

To pretending you didn't hear it.

To laughing it off when people looked at you strangely, wondering why you weren't leaving, why you weren't fighting back.

Because it was just the alcohol.

It wasn't really her.

It wasn't really Tara.

And if you stayed long enough, if you held on tight enough, you kept thinking maybe the girl you fell in love with would come back.

You told yourself that again when another party came up.

Tara had brought it up a few days before — casually, like it was just another night, just another plan you were supposed to nod along to.

You tried, for once, not to.

You tried everything you could think of to stop her from going.

You suggested a movie night — said you could pick up snacks, pull the couch cushions onto the floor like you used to.

You threw out other ideas too, desperate and a little frantic by the end — ordering takeout from that Chinese place she loved, playing Mario Kart until sunrise, even just staying in bed and doing nothing together.

But she barely even listened.

Brushed it all off with a quick shrug and a mumbled, "We can do that tomorrow," like it was no big deal.

But you knew better.

Tomorrow, she'd be too hungover to even smile at you properly, let alone spend a whole night tangled up under a blanket.

And next week, there'd just be another party.

Another excuse.

Another night of standing in the corner of some stranger's living room, pretending not to notice the way she slipped further and further away from you.

Still, you agreed to go with her.

Not because she asked — because she never asked.

You asked her.

You asked if she wanted you to come.

And she gave the kind of shrug that said she didn't care either way.

The kind that hurt more than any no could have.

But you told yourself it was better to be there than not.

Better to be part of the wreckage than left behind by it.

So now you were sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her get ready.

The room around you was dim, lit mostly by the soft orange glow of the lamp on her nightstand.

Her speaker sat on the dresser, humming low with some song you didn't recognize — fast and heavy, the kind of beat that was meant to make you move.

It buzzed in the walls, in the floor, under your skin.

You tried not to let it get to you.

Tara moved through the room like she always did — quick, focused, pulling open drawers and tossing clothes onto the bed beside you without a second thought.

She was still sober, close to it at least.

You could tell by the way she didn't sway when she bent to dig through the bottom drawer, by the way her hands didn't fumble with the buttons on her jeans.

It was one small thing.

One small reason to breathe a little easier, even if the knot in your stomach didn't loosen much.

You sat quietly, your fingers fidgeting in your lap, picking absently at the frayed edge of your jeans.

The thread unraveled a little more each time you twisted it between your fingers, but you couldn't make yourself stop.

It was something to do.

Something to keep you from staring too obviously at her.

Something to keep you from saying something too early, before the night had even started.

Tara barely glanced at you at first — just kept moving, pulling a black top out from the pile and holding it up against herself, then tossing it back with a small frown.

She was beautiful, even when she was annoyed.

Even when she was somewhere else, already halfway gone in her head.

You watched her carefully, almost nervously, feeling every second stretch out between you like a thread pulled too tight.

The air in the room felt heavier with every song that bled through the speaker.

It didn't matter that she hadn't had anything to drink yet.

It didn't matter that she hadn't snapped at you yet.

The night already felt like it was slipping through your fingers.

Maybe she felt it too.

Because after a few minutes, she finally broke the silence — her voice just loud enough to be heard over the thumping bass.

"You don't have to come if you're too nervous you know."

It was so casual you almost didn't catch the weight of it.

Almost.

You looked up at her — still bent over the dresser, not even facing you fully — and felt something sink low in your chest.

Nervous.

That's what she thought this was.

Like you hadn't been doing this — following her into party after party, night after night — for months now.

Like you hadn't seen her at her worst and still chosen to stay anyway.

You swallowed it down.

Forced a soft laugh, one you hoped sounded real enough, and leaned back on your palms to make it seem like you were relaxed.

"I'm not nervous," you said lightly.

"I've been to, like, a million of these with you."

You smiled, even if it felt tight.

Even if you hated that you had to reassure her — hated that somewhere along the line, it had become your job to make her feel okay about all of this.

Tara didn't turn around.

She just gave a short, breathy laugh — more a puff of air than anything else — and muttered, "Right."

The word was so soft you almost missed the way it caught in the back of her throat.

Almost.

It wasn't sharp, wasn't said cruelly, but it still sat wrong between you.

Still made something cold settle low in your stomach.

You didn't know what to say after that.

So you didn't say anything at all.

Just went back to picking at the thread on your jeans, pulling it tighter and tighter until it finally snapped off between your fingers.

The way she walked a few steps ahead without looking back.

The way her arms stayed crossed even when the wind picked up, even when you hurried to catch up beside her.

It was obvious she didn't even want you to come.

Maybe she hadn't said it out loud — she never did — but you could feel it all the same.

You knew her too well not to.

You could guarantee that if you stopped right now, if you said you'd changed your mind — that you were going home instead — she wouldn't fight you on it.

She wouldn't ask you to stay.

She wouldn't even frown or argue or try to pretend she was disappointed.

No.

She would just shrug, maybe toss out a lazy "whatever," and keep walking.

And if you stayed frozen long enough, you'd catch it — the tiny, satisfied smile she wouldn't be able to hide fast enough.

Because the truth was...

she didn't want you there.

Not tonight.

Not any night, lately.

She didn't want you hovering close while she drank, didn't want you keeping count of her shots or pulling her back when she started getting sloppy.

She didn't want you slowing her down.

And if you were honest with yourself — really honest — a part of you wished you had just gone home.

Wished you'd turned around at the corner and let her go by herself.

Because Tara was already in a mood.

You could feel it radiating off her even without a word.

That restless, tight energy she got sometimes — like she was vibrating under her skin, like she was already looking for a fight she hadn't even picked yet.

Her jaw was set, her hands jammed deep into her jacket pockets, her steps quick and clipped against the pavement.

Every once in a while she'd kick a stray rock a little too hard out of her way, muttering something you couldn't catch under her breath.

You knew that mood.

You'd lived through it enough times now to recognize the signs.

And you knew exactly what was waiting for you at the end of this walk —loud music, cheap drinks, too many people.

And Tara, disappearing from you one shot at a time.

The party wasn't far — maybe just a few blocks away — but every step felt heavier.

Like it wasn't your feet carrying you forward, but something else.

Something stupid and stubborn and hopeful in you that refused to let go.

You kept your head down, letting Tara lead, letting the night swallow the distance between you.

You kept your head down, letting Tara lead, letting the night swallow the distance between you.

Five minutes later, you reached the house.

It looked the same as every other party house you'd been dragged to — sagging front porch packed with people, music already thudding loud enough to rattle the cracked windows, a warm, sticky breeze carrying the sour mix of spilled beer, weed, and sweat across the sidewalk.

There were bodies everywhere — clustered on the lawn, perched on the porch railing, slumped together on the front steps.

Someone you didn't recognize was throwing up in the bushes by the door, and nobody even spared them a glance.

You almost lost Tara before you even made it inside.

The second her feet hit the porch, she was pulled into a wave of greetings — people calling her name, pulling her into hugs, laughing too loud in her ear.

You recognized some of them — people who seemed to float through every party, like they lived there — but most were still strangers to you.

You stuck as close as you could, half a step behind Tara's shoulder, weaving through the crush of bodies like you were tied to her by an invisible thread.

It was too loud to say anything, and even if you could, you weren't sure she'd hear you.

Or listen.

The house was even worse inside.

The second the door swung open, you were hit by a wave of heat and noise.

The living room was crammed wall to wall with people — some dancing, some drinking, some leaning into each other like they didn't even notice the crowd around them.

Someone was making out against the stair banister like they hadn't even tried to find a bedroom.

A guy you vaguely recognized from one of Tara's classes was chugging straight from a vodka bottle, surrounded by a circle of people egging him on.

It was chaos.

The kind of chaos you knew Tara loved now — the kind where nobody was looking too closely at anyone else.

Where you could be sloppy and stupid and reckless, and it would all just blend into the noise.

You barely had time to register it all before Tara was moving again, cutting a path through the crowd without looking back.

You followed quickly, your hand brushing her jacket once but she didn't slow down.

She made a beeline for the first drink table she could find — a battered folding table sagging under the weight of cheap liquor bottles, red Solo cups, half-empty mixers, and sticky puddles of spilled drinks.

Without hesitating, she grabbed a cup, sloshed something dark into it, and knocked it back in seconds.

No flinch, no wince.

Like water.

She poured herself another one immediately, barely glancing at what she was mixing.

Then, almost as an afterthought, she filled a second cup and shoved it toward you.

You took it without thinking.

Without looking.

Because that's just what you did now — you took whatever she handed you and told yourself it was fine.

You tightened your fingers around the sticky plastic cup and forced a smile you knew she wouldn't even see.

From there, it all just spiraled.

Tara barely slowed down, drink after drink, shot after shot, the line between sober and gone blurring faster than you could even try to keep up.

At one point, you thought you saw her lean into someone — a guy you didn't recognize — laughing too hard at something he said, her hand steadying herself on his shoulder while she tipped back another shot he offered.

Another moment, you caught a glimpse of her slipping outside onto the porch, and when she came back, you were almost certain you could smell the sharp, skunky edge of weed clinging to her jacket.

You were pretty sure you even caught her taking a drag from someone's joint, eyes glassy, smile too wide.

And the worst part was — you didn't even try to stop her.

You didn't know how anymore.

Every time you opened your mouth, the words died somewhere between your throat and your tongue.

The fear of saying the wrong thing — of setting her off — was enough to glue your feet to the sticky floor, to wrap invisible hands around your voice and keep it trapped there.

So you just watched.

You watched her slip further away from you with every laugh that wasn't meant for you, every drink slammed back without a second thought, every careless, reckless moment she chose to chase instead of you.

You followed her around the house like a shadow, cup still clutched in your hand, pretending you were part of it.

Pretending you belonged there the way she did now.

And every time you thought about grabbing her wrist, pulling her aside, saying something —

You remembered the look she'd given you the last time you'd tried.

Sharp. Embarrassed.

Like you were the one ruining the fun.

So you stayed quiet.

You stayed scared.

But eventually, you couldn't keep standing there doing nothing

You watched her tip another half-full bottle toward the red cup in her hand, wrist wobbling just slightly — and before you could even think it through, your legs were moving.

You weaved through the crowd, heart thudding against your ribs, until you were standing at her side.

She didn't even look at you at first — just kept pouring, humming off-key to the thudding bass rattling the walls.

You set your own cup down behind you, feeling the alcohol in your blood but still sharp enough to know you needed to do something.

You leaned in, kept your voice soft — calm, careful — like you were trying not to spook a wild animal.

"Hey," you said, your hand brushing lightly against her elbow. "Let's go get food or something. Yeah?"

For a second, you almost let yourself hope.

That maybe she'd hear the way you said it — not nagging, not accusing — just offering.

Just wanting to take care of her.

But Tara only exhaled a short, sharp breath through her nose and pulled her arm out of your reach.

"Stop being boring," she muttered, tossing her head back and swallowing half her cup in one go.

You blinked, feeling the words slap across your face harder than they should have.

Still, you tried again — a little gentler, a little closer.

"You're gonna feel like shit tomorrow, Tara," you said, managing a small laugh like you were trying to joke with her, not fight her.

She finally looked at you then — really looked — and you wished she hadn't.

Because there was nothing soft in her expression.

Just the flat, dull shine of anger she hadn't bothered to hide anymore.

"God, you're so fucking annoying sometimes," she said, loud enough that a few people nearby glanced over.

Your stomach twisted.

You opened your mouth — to defend yourself, to apologize, you didn't even know — but she was already turning away from you, already reaching for another drink like you weren't even there.

You stood there for a second, frozen, every instinct screaming at you to leave.

To just turn around, walk out the door, and save whatever was left of yourself before she could chip away at it even more.

But you didn't move.

You couldn't.

So you just picked your cup back up, and followed her deeper into the party — even as every step made you feel smaller.

So you just picked your cup back up and followed her deeper into the party — even as every step made you feel smaller.

Tara stumbled ahead of you through the crowd, barely bothering to look where she was going.

Every few steps, she bumped into someone — muttering a messy, half-slurred apology before moving on like nothing happened.

You kept close, close enough that if she tripped or fell, you'd be right there.

Because you knew her — you knew how quickly this could get bad.

You reminded yourself — over and over again — that you weren't here to babysit her.

You were here because you loved her.

Because you didn't trust anyone else to care if something happened to her.

Because you wanted her to be safe, even if she didn't make it easy.

You were threading your way through the crowd after her when she glanced back at you — her eyes, glassy and heavy-lidded, rolled so hard you could practically hear it.

"You're hovering," she said, voice raised just enough to be heard over the bass-heavy music, the words slurring together. "'M not a baby, y'know."

Before you could even get a word out, she turned back around — and stumbled straight into another girl, hitting her shoulder hard enough to spill part of the girl's drink.

You immediately stepped forward, instinct taking over.

"I'm so sorry," you blurted quickly to the girl, reaching out to steady Tara at the same time.

Tara swayed against you, unsteady and disoriented, and you kept your hands gentle on her arms, helping her straighten up without making a big deal out of it.

You could feel how hot her skin was, how tense she was under your touch.

But the second she was upright again, she shook you off with a frustrated little shrug, muttering under her breath, "M'fine."

You let go immediately.

The girl shot you a dirty look before disappearing back into the crowd.

You stayed standing there for a second, your heart pounding against your ribs, trying to pretend your hands weren't shaking.

You hated that this was getting normal.

You hated how much you still wanted to reach for her anyway.

You picked up Tara's cup from where she'd dropped it and followed her again — not because you didn't know better, but because you loved her too much not to.

She wove her way through the crowd, barely steady on her feet, until she finally ended up by the kitchen island.

It was cluttered with bottles and cans — some half-finished, some completely full, others abandoned and sticky from who knew how many hands.

The lights in the kitchen were a little brighter, but they only made it worse — made the glassy shine in Tara's eyes more obvious, made the deep flush along her cheekbones stand out like a warning.

She barely paused before grabbing for the first unopened beer she could find.

Her fingers fumbled over it, picking at the tab without finding the grip, squinting like the can itself was moving around just to mess with her.

You got there just in time.

Without thinking, you reached forward and slid it out of her hands.

Your fingers brushed against hers for a second — warm and clumsy and tense — before you backed off, the unopened can now sitting heavy in your palm.

Tara blinked at you, slow and confused, like she couldn't quite register what you were doing.

You gave her the smallest smile you could manage, trying to make it look like a joke.

"Maybe you've had enough of those for now," you said, voice gentle, almost teasing, like if you were soft enough she wouldn't get mad.

For a second — one fragile second — she just stared at you.

And you let yourself hope, stupidly, that she might laugh.

That she might roll her eyes and shove your shoulder and say fine, you're right, let's just chill for a bit.

But then she snorted — low and mean — and shoved a different cup off the counter into her hand instead.

"This one's half empty anyway," she muttered, already tipping it back.

You felt something pull tight in your chest.

You didn't say anything.

You didn't have to.

The ache in your chest said enough, clawing up higher with every passing second — because it wasn't just the drink anymore, wasn't just the party or the music or the noise.

It was her — this way she was standing there in front of you, swaying even though her feet weren't moving, like gravity itself had started working differently around her.

She blinked slow, heavy-lidded, barely catching herself before tilting too far to the side.

You watched her fingers slip a little on the plastic cup, her wrist buckling for just a second before she corrected it.

Her whole body was fighting to stay upright — and losing.

You could see it — how close she was to crumpling right there on the kitchen floor.

The kind of drunk where even the air seemed too heavy for her to hold up anymore.

You tightened your grip around the unopened beer still in your hand, your thumb digging so hard into the aluminum it left a shallow dent.

She'd definitely passed double digits.

You were sure of it.

And you didn't even want to think about whatever she'd smoked — some kid from her psych class had passed her a joint earlier in the night, and you had seen her tip her head back and take a deep drag without even asking what was in it.

It was more than any other night you'd ever tagged along.

More shots.

More drinks.

More everything.

And less of her.

Less of the girl who used to hold your hand under the table, who used to sneak kisses when no one was looking, who used to beg you not to leave her side for even five minutes.

You swallowed hard against the lump rising in your throat.

You shifted on your feet, chewing the inside of your cheek, then leaned a little closer to her — careful, like she was a skittish animal you didn't want to scare off.

"Hey," you said, keeping your voice soft, too soft to even carry over the music without you practically whispering it into her ear. "Maybe we should go home? It's past midnight."

It wasn't.

You weren't even sure it was eleven yet.

But you said it anyway, hoping she'd be too out of it to question it, hoping it would be enough to nudge her back toward the door without a fight.

For a second, she just blinked at you.

Long and slow, her pupils blown so wide you could barely see the brown anymore.

Her lips parted a little, her breath hot with the smell of cheap vodka and something sour you didn't want to think about.

And you could see it happening — the way the words you said hit her ears but didn't seem to land in her brain right away.

Like there was a delay between hearing and understanding.

You held your breath, waiting for something.

Anything.

Then she snorted — sharp and humorless — and tipped the cup in her hand dangerously toward her own chest before she caught herself.

"You're such a... a buzzkill, y'know that?" she muttered, voice slurring so badly you almost didn't catch it all.

It didn't have the same sharpness it usually did when she snapped at you.

No real teeth behind it.

Just a tired, messy kind of bitterness, slipping out between heavy breaths and glassy eyes.

You flinched anyway.

You wanted to argue — wanted to tell her you weren't trying to kill her buzz, you were trying to keep her from collapsing in the middle of a stranger's kitchen — but you didn't.

You just nodded, once, tightly, and looked down at the sticky floor instead.

Because arguing with her like this didn't work.

Because no matter what you said, no matter how carefully you said it, she wouldn't hear you tonight.

She didn't want to hear you.

And the worst part — the part that burned the back of your throat worse than any shot ever could — was that you knew it.

___

An hour passed. Maybe longer.

You weren't really keeping track anymore.

At some point, you stopped trying to pull her away.

Not because you didn't care — but because it was obvious she wasn't going to listen.

Nothing you said tonight would change her mind.

If anything, you were only making her angrier.

You hadn't walked away, though.

You stayed close — close enough to catch her if she fell, close enough to step in if something went really wrong — but you gave up on asking her to leave. You didn't want to make a scene. You didn't want to embarrass her in front of everyone like she claimed you always did.

You just sat yourself down at a kitchen chair tucked against the wall and tried to make yourself as small as possible.

Your plastic cup was still half full in your hand. You weren't really drinking it — just letting it sit there, something to do with your hands, something to pretend made you blend in.

You leaned your head back against the wall behind you and watched the chaos unfold around the kitchen.

Someone spilled beer across the counter. Someone else was trying to make shots out of whatever was left in the half-empty bottles scattered across the floor.

A group of guys were yelling over a beer pong table. A couple was making out against the fridge like they didn't even know anyone else was there.

You caught glimpses of Tara now and then — always at the edge of the crowd, always laughing too loudly, always reaching for another drink.

Every time you spotted her, you felt the same sharp stab of worry — but you stayed where you were.

Hovering around her wasn't helping anything.

You just kept telling yourself that the sooner she burned herself out, the sooner you could finally take her home.

You just had to wait it out.

Stay close.

Be ready.

Still — it didn't stop that awful, restless feeling from gnawing at you.

The feeling that you were waiting for something bad to happen.

The feeling that you wouldn't be fast enough when it did.

You hadn't seen Tara in fifteen minutes. Maybe more.

The last glimpse you caught of her was her weaving into the throng of people toward the living room, laughing too loudly at something someone said, tipping her body too far into people's arms to stay upright.

You stayed put, your leg bouncing restlessly under the kitchen chair, heart thudding harder with every second she didn't reappear.

You tried not to let your mind run wild — but it did anyway.

You kept picturing her sprawled across a couch somewhere, half-conscious and surrounded by strangers who wouldn't think twice about taking advantage of someone who couldn't fight back.

You imagined her crumpled on the floor, passed out cold, while the whole party just stepped over her.

You twisted the cup in your hands until the plastic nearly split in half.

You hated being here.

You hated feeling like this — helpless and scared and absolutely useless.

You had told yourself there was no point trying to drag her home anymore, that it would only make her dig her heels in harder.

You had told yourself it was better to just wait her out. That the best thing you could do was stick close, stay alert, and get her home when she was finally too tired or sick to argue.

You had meant it when you said it.

You had believed it, for a little while.

But all that careful logic shattered the second you caught sight of her again.

You barely noticed her at first — just a flash of movement out of the corner of your eye, up near the staircase by the living room.

You turned your head — and your stomach dropped straight through the floor.

There she was.

Tara.

Clutching the railing for dear life as she tried to make it up the narrow stairs without falling over.

And right behind her — walking too close, smiling too much — was Chase.

You froze for half a second, the sound of the party collapsing into a dull roar in your ears.

Because you knew Chase.

Everybody knew Chase.

Your stomach dropped so fast you thought you might actually be sick.

You knew Chase — and Tara did too.

You were sure of it.

Sober, she would have known better than to even look at him.

But tonight... she probably couldn't even tell his face from anyone else's.

Tonight, she was drunk enough — desperate enough — to follow him wherever he led her.

And he was leading her upstairs.

Away from the noise.

Away from the crowd.

Away from anyone who might notice if something went wrong.

You didn't even realize you were moving until your chair screeched loudly across the kitchen floor.

You didn't stop to think.

You didn't care if you looked crazy.

You shoved through the crowd, heart hammering harder with every step, cutting between sweaty bodies and sloshing drinks without even an apology.

All you knew was that you had to get to her.

You had to stop her.

Because you could sit quietly through a lot of things.

You could take a lot of hurt.

But this — this was where you drew the line.

You loved her too much to just sit there and watch her ruin herself.

Not like this.

You shoved through the kitchen first — the thickest part of the crowd — brushing past sweaty shoulders and half-spilled drinks.

Someone cursed at you when you clipped their elbow, but you barely muttered out a rushed "sorry" before you were moving again.

You ducked under someone's arm where they leaned lazily against a doorframe, squeezed past a girl laughing so hard she doubled over without noticing you.

Your heart was thudding so hard you could barely hear the music anymore.

You could still see them — Tara and Chase — a few steps ahead, moving slower than you would have liked, but still moving.

Tara's hand was gripping the railing so tightly her knuckles looked white under the flashing party lights.

Chase stayed close behind her, one hand reaching out once to steady her lower back when she stumbled.

You grit your teeth and pushed harder through the bodies packed near the base of the stairs.

It was even worse there — people sitting on the steps, couples making out halfway up, guys shouting over the music to their friends leaning over the banister.

You caught the edge of someone's knee with your hip as you wedged past — mumbled another "sorry" without slowing down.

A guy sitting two steps up didn't move when you tapped his shoulder, so you just climbed over him instead, your hand bracing against the sticky wood of the banister.

Someone laughed behind you, but you didn't look back.

You couldn't afford to.

You made it halfway up before you glanced up again — and your heart stuttered.

Tara and Chase had just reached the top.

She wobbled hard to one side, nearly crashing into the wall, but Chase caught her and pulled her straight again — too close, too familiar — before nudging her down the hallway to the left.

And just like that, they were almost out of your sight.

Almost gone.

You didn't think.

You didn't care if you looked desperate.

You shoved through the last few people on the stairs, ignoring the annoyed looks, ignoring the guy who shouted after you when you stepped on his shoe.

You just pushed forward, one hand tight around the railing, the other practically dragging yourself up step after step.

Because whatever happened tonight — whatever Tara wanted to believe she could handle — you weren't going to let it happen like this.

You finally hit the landing, breathless and burning.

Your head whipped side to side, scanning the mess of people spilling out of open doors, leaning against walls, laughing too loud.

And then you saw her.

Tara.

At the end of the hall.

Chase's hand was pressed against her lower back, steering her clumsily toward a half-open bedroom door.

You knew it wasn't what it probably looked like to most people — the way Chase hovered too close, the way he kept glancing over his shoulder.

This wasn't about hooking up.

It wasn't about anything like that.

It was about something far worse.

Chase wasn't stupid.

And he wasn't harmless either.

Your heart jammed itself up into your throat as you watched him murmur something into Tara's ear — too quiet for anyone else to hear — and Tara, drunk and blinking slow, just nodded.

Already slipping out of reach.

You didn't think.

You just called her name.

"Tara!"

It came out sharper than you intended — loud enough to make a few people nearby turn their heads — but you didn't care.

Chase's head snapped toward you first — fast, alert — his eyes narrowing when he saw you marching down the hall.

Tara, slower, more sluggish, turned a beat after him.

And when her blurry gaze found yours, something almost sweet crossed her face — a lazy, drunken little smile tugging at her lips.

It almost made you stumble.

Almost made you forget why you were even there.

But then Chase's hand tightened on her arm.

And he tried to pull her faster through the door.

You didn't let him.

You crossed the distance in a handful of fast, heavy steps, not even caring how many people you shoved past, not caring who was staring.

You reached out — grabbed Tara's wrist firmly — and tugged her back toward you.

She stumbled a little from the force, her body tipping clumsily into your side.

You steadied her immediately, keeping a firm but gentle grip on her arm, feeling how boneless and unbalanced she was even standing still.

Chase scowled — muttered something under his breath you couldn't hear over the thudding bass.

But you didn't look at him.

You only looked at Tara — her flushed cheeks, her glassy eyes, the confusion pulling at her features.

"Come on," you said lowly, just for her.

"Let's go."

Tara frowned when you pulled her closer, her body going stiff under your hand.

Then, clumsily, she tried to twist herself free.

"No," she mumbled, slurring the word into two messy syllables.

"I'm—I'm fine," she added, blinking slowly like the hallway was spinning around her.

Before you could even respond, Chase's voice cut in — lazy and casual, like he thought this was all some stupid misunderstanding.

"Yeah, it's all good. Chill out a bit."

He had the audacity to laugh under his breath, like you were the problem.

Like you were being dramatic for not wanting Tara dragged off into some room where no one would be able to hear her.

You felt your jaw tighten, your fingers curling harder around Tara's wrist — but not enough to hurt her, never that — just enough to keep her close.

Just enough to tell her you weren't letting go.

You turned to Chase, heart pounding, every part of you burning hotter by the second.

And you didn't even think before spitting out, sharp and low,

"Why don't you just fuck off?"

That wiped the smirk off his face.

You didn't stop there.

"Go back to selling dime bags to high schoolers behind the gas station."

You tilted your head, smiling sweetly — all fake — as you added,

"Or does your probation officer have a curfew you're supposed to be following?"

Chase's mouth opened slightly — stunned for a second.

Then he shook his head with a bitter laugh and spat out,

"Fuck you."

He gave Tara one last glance — something dark and annoyed flashing across his face — before finally shoving his way past you, disappearing back down the hall.

You didn't even look after him.

Your hand was still on Tara's wrist, feeling her pulse fluttering unsteadily under your fingers.

Tara yanked her arm free from your grip with a sharp, stumbling pull.

You instinctively reached out again — not grabbing, just reacting — but she was already moving, her boots scuffing clumsily against the floorboards as she veered farther down the narrow hallway lined with bedroom doors.

You stood frozen for a second, your heart hammering.

Then, halfway to the end of the hall, Tara spun around.

Her hair was a mess around her face, her cheeks flushed and eyes dark with something angry and reckless.

For a second, the way she glared at you almost made her look sober — like she was choosing to hurt you.

"Why do you always have to ruin everything?" she bit out, her voice slurring slightly at the edges, betraying the drunken haze she was fighting to stay sharp through.

You stayed where you were, jaw tightening, breathing carefully through your nose.

You felt the headache already blooming between your temples — the kind that came from clenching your teeth too hard for too long.

You exhaled slowly, closing your eyes for a beat before opening them again.

Trying to stay calm. Trying not to make this worse.

"I'm not going to let you take drugs from Chase, Tara," you said — low, even, the words leaving your mouth heavier than you meant them to.

You saw it the second it flashed across her face — the sour, irritated twist in her features that always came when you tried to help her after she'd already decided she didn't want it.

It showed in the narrowing of her drunk, glassy eyes, in the stubborn jut of her chin as she swayed where she stood.

"Why do you even care what I do?" Tara slurred, her words spilling out loose and uneven.

At first, you didn't even register what she said.

It hit your ears all wrong — messy, half-swallowed — and you just blinked at her, the noise of the party downstairs buzzing distantly behind you.

"What?" you asked, stepping closer without even realizing it. "Why do I care?"

You said it back slowly, disbelievingly — like you needed her to hear how ridiculous it sounded coming out of your mouth.

The question itself felt like a mockery.

Like a slap to the face from someone you'd spent the whole night — the whole year — trying to protect.

It felt so backward, so ugly, so wrong that for a second you couldn't even summon an answer.

Tara was staring at you — leaning slightly to one side like she couldn't stay balanced, but her gaze still locked stubbornly on yours.

There was a sharpness to it, a meanness she didn't usually show you unless she was drunk enough to forget who you were to her.

And then she laughed under her breath — low and almost mean — and shrugged one sloppy shoulder.

"Yeah, why?" she said again, her voice heavier now, her mouth twisting into something cruel.

"It's not like you have anything better going for you anyway."

It stung — sharper and deeper than you ever should've let it.

You knew better.

She was drunk. She didn't mean it.

That was what you tried to tell yourself.

That was what you always tried to tell yourself when she got like this — mean and reckless, saying whatever would get her the quickest win in the moment. ALWAYS

But still, you felt yourself swallow hard, your throat dry and scratchy like you'd just been choked by the words instead of hearing them.

You shifted your weight, feeling suddenly too heavy, too full of everything you didn't know how to say.

You forced your voice out before you could stop yourself — low, a little shaky:

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The words barely made it over the thudding bass still leaking up from the party below.

You hated how small you sounded — how defensive — but you couldn't help it.

Not when she was looking at you like that.

Not when it felt like everything you'd spent the whole night trying to do for her was being twisted into something pathetic.

Tara just stood there, swaying slightly, her eyes glassy and unfocused — but she didn't take it back.

She didn't even blink.

Her mouth twisted — like even she had to think about it for a second before her brain caught up with her tongue.

And then she said it — carelessly, coldly.

"It means that nobody gave a shit about you before I got with you."

The words hung between you, so sharp and cutting you could almost hear them slicing through the haze of the hallway.

But she wasn't done — she stumbled a half-step closer, her boots dragging on the carpet, her balance off.

"If it wasn't for me," she slurred, "you wouldn't even have any friends. You wouldn't even be here. You wouldn't get to step a foot into parties like this."

Her voice pitched up slightly like she thought she was doing you a favor by saying it. Like she thought it was some obvious fact you needed reminding of.

And the way she wobbled toward you — arms loose at her sides, head lolling slightly — almost made it worse.

Because even like this, drunk and bitter and mean, she was still trying to square up to you.

Still trying to win something.

You just stood there — frozen — feeling the words sink in deeper with every heartbeat.

They settled somewhere heavy in your chest, in that small, bruised place you'd been trying to protect all night.

Because the thing was — you knew Tara.

You knew she could be cruel when she was like this. You knew she said shit she didn't mean.

But there was something about the way she said this — so casually, so easily — that made it feel less like a drunken mistake and more like some quiet truth she'd been sitting on.

Like maybe she'd thought it before.

Like maybe she'd meant it more than she even realized.

You didn't say anything at first.

You didn't trust yourself to.

Because what were you supposed to say? That it wasn't true? That you didn't care?

Both would've been lies, and she would've seen right through them.

Instead, you just blinked at her — feeling like the floor had dropped out under your feet — and swallowed against the rising lump in your throat.

You didn't cry.

You weren't going to give her that.

But God, you wanted to.

You started to shake your head — slowly at first, almost in disbelief — scrambling for something to say.

Something that would cut through this, that would make her see you.

"I don't—" you started, voice catching.

But Tara cut you off before you could even finish.

"I have stuff going for me, you know?" she snapped — the words messy, her tongue thick with alcohol but her voice still carrying sharpness underneath.

"I have... I have a future," she said, waving one hand vaguely toward nothing, as if it were something she could physically point to.

"Things I wanna do. Places I wanna go. People I could—" she cut herself off for half a second, her mouth pressing into a thin line before she forced it open again — "People I could be with if I wanted."

She wobbled a little where she stood, but it didn't stop her.

If anything, it just made the rambling worse — made her voice louder, made the bitterness drip out faster.

"But you're always there," she said, almost whining now. "Asking me things. Making everything harder than it has to be. Always hogging me. Always needing something."

Her hands moved again, clumsy and too fast for her body to catch up, like she was trying to bat away the invisible weight of you.

The words tumbled out of her like they had been waiting for the right drunken moment to spill — messy, ugly, half-truths stitched together by all the things she didn't have the decency to hold back anymore.

And you just stood there, taking it — blinking through the sting of it, feeling it dig in deeper with every slurred accusation.

Because even if she didn't mean it — even if you could excuse it later by blaming the alcohol — it didn't make it hurt any less right now.

You opened your mouth again, swallowing down the thickness in your throat, trying to get the words out — trying to tell her that she wasn't the only one with plans, that you had dreams too, that you weren't just—

"I have—" you started, voice low and shaking slightly.

But it was almost like she couldn't let you speak.

Like the sight of you standing there, trying so hard to explain yourself, only fueled the ugly, drunk thing curling in her chest.

She cut you off again — sharper this time, meaner somehow, even though her words were still sloppy and drunkenly stitched together.

"I guess it's understandable though," she slurred, shrugging one shoulder lazily. "I guess when you don't have anything going for you... you wanna hog someone who actually does."

She let out a breath of a laugh — a humorless, biting little sound that hit harder than if she'd screamed.

"You got nothing," she said, voice dropping lower now, almost confidential, almost cruel in the way drunken people could be without even realizing. NOTHING

"No future. No goals. No anything."

"It's like you don't have a future," she said, almost scoffing, throwing her hand out clumsily like she was tossing the words right at you.

"You don't have plans, or—or goals or dreams or whatever. You just... hang around."

Another humorless, broken little laugh.

"You just exist. That's it."

Your heart thudded painfully hard against your ribs.

Still, she didn't stop.

"I mean, what else would you even do?" she rambled, blinking at you like she genuinely didn't know.

"Without me, you'd be... you'd be no one. You'd be...

She trailed off into a sloppy shrug, shaking her head like the idea wasn't even worth finishing.

You stood there, your brain struggling to keep up — like every word out of her mouth was another sharp blow you couldn't defend yourself against fast enough.

You didn't even realize you were shaking until you looked down at your hands.

The world around you — the hallway, the faint noise of music and voices downstairs — faded into a low, meaningless roar.

You blinked hard, willing the sting in your eyes to back off.

You couldn't cry. Not here. Not now.

Not in front of her.

But it was too late.

Because even if she was drunk — even if you knew she wouldn't remember half of this tomorrow — it didn't change what she was saying.

It didn't change how easily she was tearing you apart, how little she seemed to care.

You sucked in a sharp breath through your nose, your chest tightening painfully.

And still — you couldn't find the words to say back.

Because what were you supposed to say to someone who looked at you like you were nothing?

Your mouth opened — you didn't even know what you were going to say — but what came out wasn't strong or sharp or anything you wished it would be.

It was small. Weak.

"That's not true," you said quietly, the words catching on the tight, burning knot in your throat.

But Tara just scoffed — a bitter, drunken sound that felt like another slap across the face.

She shook her head, messy hair falling into her eyes as she stumbled back a step.

"Yes, it is," she muttered, almost under her breath, like she couldn't even be bothered to argue it properly.

Like it was just an accepted fact. Like you were the delusional one for thinking otherwise.

You didn't move.

You just stood there, feeling everything inside you scream at once.

To yell back. To reach for her. To do something.

But before you could even try, Tara spoke again — and this time, she didn't mumble.

Her voice was louder, clearer, like she wanted you to hear this one.

"You're just... a leech," she said, her lip curling in something almost cruel.

"Always hanging on. Always needing something. It's pathetic."

For a second, you forgot how to breathe.

She didn't even seem to realize what she'd said — not really — just stood there, swaying slightly, her drunken glare still pinned lazily on you like she was waiting for you to snap back.

Waiting for you to make it a fight she could win.

But you didn't.

You just stared at her.

At the girl you loved.

The one you'd spent the entire night trying to protect.

The one who, right now, couldn't even see you clearly enough to know how much she was breaking you apart.

You felt your chest hollow out.

Something in you flickered — small, tired, defeated.

But you couldn't just accept it.

You couldn't let yourself believe she meant it — not really.

She was drunk.

Of course she didn't mean it.

Why would she? She was just drunk. She didn't know what she was saying.

You swallowed hard, your voice cracking under the weight of it all as you tried — almost panicked — to force the words out.

"You don't mean that," you said, your hands half-raising like you could somehow catch the words before they stuck.

"You're— you're drunk, Tara. You've had too much to drink."

You sounded desperate. Even you could hear it

Tara just blinked at you for a second, like she was trying to process what you said — like the world was tilting under her feet and she couldn't find her balance.

And then she let out a sharp, humorless laugh.

It scraped in your ears like nails on glass.

"So what?" she slurred out, her arms thrown out slightly at her sides.

"I'm always drunk. You think that makes it any less true?"

She was smiling — but it wasn't happy.

It was ugly.

Twisted with hurt and anger and something worse — something almost mean.

And for the first time that night, you realized:

It didn't matter if she was drunk.

It didn't matter if she was sober.

Right now, she wanted to hurt you.

And she was doing a damn good job.

A single blink — that was all it took.

When your eyes opened again, the first tear broke free, carving a hot, silent path down your cheek.

You sucked in a shaky breath, reaching up almost automatically, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

Your hand trembled as you did it — barely, but enough.

Enough that Tara saw it.

And somehow — somehow — that was what made something shift.

It was like a crack split through her whole face.

The twisted, mocking smile she wore faltered.

And then it was just gone — like it had never been there at all.

Her drunken, glassy eyes widened slightly, and suddenly she didn't look angry anymore.

She didn't look smug or superior or mean.

She just looked... guilty.

Like she was waking up from a dream she hadn't even realized she was trapped inside.

Like she finally saw what she had done.

The hallway around you blurred at the edges.

Everything felt so quiet now — so much quieter than before.

You nodded slowly, almost absently, as everything she said sank in — like stones being dropped one after another into your chest, weighing you down until it hurt just to stand there.

The worst part wasn't even the words themselves.

It was how easily she said them.

Like they didn't matter.

Like you didn't matter.

Your throat burned as you turned around, blinking hard against the hot sting gathering behind your eyes.

You didn't wait for her to call after you — you didn't expect her to.

You just started walking.

One step, then another, and another — until you were far enough down the hallway that she was nothing but a shadow behind you.

It wasn't until then — until you knew she couldn't see you anymore — that the sob finally broke loose from your chest.

Silent, shaking, splintering you open from the inside out.

You kept walking anyway.

Because if you stopped — if you looked back even once — you weren't sure you'd be able to start again.

[no-144444]

telling- o.piastri

summary: your first season as an f1 driver doesn't start the best, and you quickly realise McLaren doesn't like women very much. On top of that, your race engineer is as smug as the rest of them, and you have to deal with him all the time.

pairing: race engineer! oscar piastri x f1driver! fem! reader

warnings: lots of misogyny, lando is an asshole in this, illusions to ed behaviour, reader is not in a good head space, all of mclaren is super sexist, mentions of crashes and injuries

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven | part twelve more to come...

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“You alright?” he mused, his hand squeezing yours. You nodded softly, smiling at him. 

“Fine,” you nodded. “I’m just… worried, I guess.” 

He shook his head. “Nothing to be worried about, they love you already.” 

You followed just a step behind him as he led you to the dining room. You’d been dating Oscar Piastri for 2 whole days. The sun set over Melbourne and the wonderful colours poured in from their large windows, as everyone sat down to dinner. Oscar had ‘stolen’ you away from Mae and Nicole for the day, opting to take you to meet some of his old friends and show you around his home town a bit, and you’d really enjoyed yourself. Australia was beautiful, the kind of place you’d like to live once F1 was over. The weather was warm, the sea was blue, and the people were kind. And Oscar was there. You liked it a lot. 

“What did you two get up to today?” Nicole asked over dinner. 

Oscar shrugged. “Not much, just took her to meet some of my old mates and showed her around a bit. She’s never been to Australia.” 

“She can speak y’know,” Mae sassed at her older brother, who rolled his eyes and shut up. 

You chuckled. “It was cool. Melbourne’s really nice. I usually only see it from the cockpit of the car.”

“What’s it like driving so fast?” Tim asked, still fascinated by it. 

“It’s kind of… unnoticeable unless something has gone really wrong,” you chuckled. “It’s cool though, everything just kind of whips past you.” 

“Fascinating,” he nodded. “Different from my line of work anyway,” he laughed. 

“Oh yeah, what about your parents? What do they do?” Nicole asked. Oscar stiffened beside you, watching carefully at how the question would play out. He knew about you and your parents' estranged relationship. He knew it was a sensitive subject. 

“They’re doctors, I think,” you shrugged. “One of them was a psychologist, and the other was a general practitioner.” 

Nicole’s face fell, a pit growing in her stomach as she feared the worst. “Are they passed?” She placed a comforting hand on your forearm. 

“No,” you shook your head. It was awkward to explain, but who cared? They’d probably find out anyway, just like everyone else did. It got leaked to the press in the middle of your 2nd season in F3 that you were estranged from your very famous, very powerful folks, and moreover, that they had a new family. It used to bother you. Sometimes, it still did. But Nicole wasn’t a nosy reporter, and you weren’t 17 anymore. “They just kind of… shipped me off to boarding school when I was 8 and cut me off when I was 17. We just weren’t close and it was clear they didn’t want kids at that time.”

“I’m sorry,” she squeezed your arm and you offered a soft smile. 

“Thank you,” you nodded. “Sorry for bringing the mood down.”

Hattie shook her head. “You didn’t, and anyway, their loss is our gain.” 

You smiled appreciatively at them. “Well, I did want to thank you all again for having me.”

“Any time,” Nicole smiled. “Always.”

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Oscar smiled as he pulled off your top and pressed your head against his chest. You wrapped your arms around his middle, relaxing into his touch. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice low. 

You hummed against his skin. The both of you were lit by only candles (Oscar’s favourite thing ever), his bedroom looking increasingly cosy under the light. The soft breeze coming in from the window gave you goosebumps, but he was warm enough for the both of you. “Yeah, you?”

“I’m good,” he nodded, his hands wrapping around your legs and hoisting you up so that your legs were around his waist, and your arms were around his neck. You squealed and he dropped you onto his bed with a chuckle, pressed a kiss to your cheek, then walked to his bathroom to shower and brush his teeth. He loved kissing you. It was addicting, you were addicting. He had never pinned himself as a physical touch sort of guy, but there basically hadn't been a moment where he hadn't been touching you since you'd made it official, and you didn't seem to mind.

You cuddled up in bed, enjoying the soft pillows and lingering scent of Oscar. As you heard the shower turn on, your eyes fixated on the view outside the window. The ocean flowing gently just outside, the beach in front of you, the moon reflecting off small shells embedded in the sand, it was so beautiful. 

You heard the shower stop, and your attention turned back to you and Oscar. You two were official and it felt insane to be able to say he was your boyfriend, but you enjoyed it all the same. “Osc?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, the sound warped by the toothbrush in his mouth. 

“Do you want to tell your family about us?” you questioned, playing with the hem of one of the pillows. “No pressure, of course.” 

He poked his head out from the bathroom, the towel around his bottom half dangerously low. You let your eyes wander all over him, his wet hair, his build physique, his goofy smile. “You mean it?” 

You nodded. “I mean… yeah? I feel weird being here and them not knowing,” you shrugged. “I don’t want to keep it from them, or really anyone, but especially them, right?” 

He nodded. “I agree,” he grinned. “We’ll tell them this week.” 

You smiled. “Cool,” then turned to your side and grabbed your book. 

“Are you going to act like that wasn’t a milestone?” he mused, joining you in bed, shorts on and towel-dried hair. 

“What?” you questioned, not looking up from your book. 

“You want to tell my parents about us,” he smiled. “That’s big.” 

You shrugged, unconvinced. “Is it though?” 

He nodded and pressed a kiss to your neck. “Yeah, it is,” he lay there for a moment, just watching you read. “You look beautiful,” he smiled. 

You turned to him and laughed. “You’re such a sop.” 

He rolled his eyes but smiled all the same. “Uh-huh,” he nodded and kissed you again. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“Do you want to come with us to Sydney?” Hattie offered as you two ate breakfast together. “We’re just going for like a few days, but we’d love to have you.” 

“Plus Mae will be like, miserable without you,” Eddie chuckled. You smiled. 

You shrugged. “I’d love to come.” 

“Where are we going?” Oscar asked as he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. 

“Y/n, Eddie, Mae, Mom, and I are all going to go on a trip to Sydney,” Hattie explained. 

Oscar nodded. “Can I come?” 

“Sure-” Eddie shrugged. 

“Mum wants it to be a girls trip,” Mae reminded them. 

“Come on, Y/n is my-”

“She’s our friend too,” Mae argued. 

“Yeah, and arguably, you could let Y/n out of your sight for more than three seconds,” Hattie chuckled. “She doesn’t constantly need you looking out for her. She can have a week away with her mates if she wants.” 

They were both quiet. 

“Hattie, what the fuck?” he scoffed. “If you’d let me finish, I could tell you that Y/n is my girlfriend, and I’d very much like to spend my break with her.” 

Hattie, Eddie, Mae, Nicole, and Tim’s eyes all looked to you for confirmation. You swallowed the bite of food in your mouth and turned to Oscar. 

“It’s only like 4 days,” you shrugged, and he stared back at you. “And then I’ll be back. Or I don’t have to go.” 

“Oh, I thought it was the month trip mum had planned-”

“You’re dating?!” Nicole cheered, rushing over to hug the both of you. “That’s great news!” 

“How’s he done that?” Eddie whispered to Hattie, who just laughed. 

You graciously accepted the hug, then turned back to the conversation. “I don’t mind.” 

“You go, I thought it was the month-long thing my mum wanted to do,” he explained, and kissed the top of your head. “When are you leaving?” 

“Tomorrow,” Hattie interjected. 

“Cool,” he smiled. 

“Cool,” you mirrored. 

It wasn’t exactly how either of you were planning on telling them, but it worked all the same.

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[ashkabbom]

Temporary stresses - Mouthwashing

A/n: I disappeared but I'm back. I finished school and I'm officially on vacation 😋. I had another idea initially, but then I gave up writing to Curly with that one.🎀 Tell me if I wrote something wrong, English is not my first language and I use a translator a lot.

I wanted a story with a happy ending, although it wasn't supposed to end 100% like that 😭

Versão em português no wattpad: Livro de One Shots - Mouthwashing (Conta: ashkabbom)

•Captain Curly x Fem!Reader

Summary/Synopsis: You hate being emotionally raw and your husband has been acting strange lately.

Notes: I wrote this with a happy ending, but in situations like this stress can actually be very dangerous, so be careful if you are going to do this to someone or if you are the person to receive this one day.

You were uncomfortable, to say the least.

It had been seconds, minutes, HOURS, since he had answered you, he avoided you whenever he could! The worst part is that you don't know the reason for all this, even though you told him to tell you when something was bothering him.

He's been acting kind of strange since yesterday. It seemed like you were the only one who was out of touch with all that nervousness and discomfort.

You had been a bit paranoid for some time now, because of these attitudes you didn't know if you had done something and it was eating you alive.

Searching through all your memories and finding nothing you realize you did wrong. Maybe he just got tired?

"I did everything like I always did..." You were rambling on to yourself. Maybe you said something wrong? You know very well that words, no matter how simple they are sometimes, can hurt.

This was all giving you a huge headache and leaving you a mess of emotions. You were just too exhausted.

You were out of the house now, on your lunch break from work, messing around on your phone for a few minutes, more specifically texting your husband, hoping he would answer you like he always did.

He didn't answer you properly, the messages were short and seemed more direct than ever, your husband didn't write and talk to you like that. God, you just wanted to go home.

"You've got that look on your face again." You hear your co-worker, Linda, say and let out a sigh. "What happened now?"

"This is the fourth time we've seen you with that sad, sullen puppy face in the space of 15 minutes," her other friend, Charlotte, says..

"Do you think I'm old?" You ask suddenly.

"What happened to 'Hi friend, I missed you too'? It doesn't exist anymore?" The first woman says.

"Exactly, calm down. You're not old, you're perfect for your age. And old age comes to everyone! It's inevitable." The second friend explains with a raised eyebrow.

"But now it's so different... When we met I was different, my hair, my body... My age..."

"Girl, seriously, what happened? You haven't had these low self-esteem spikes in months, you were so happy" Charlotte says with a sad tone, sitting down next to you.

"That's the problem, I don't know what happened... Since yesterday Curly has been acting a bit strange, avoiding me and being vague at times, but at the same time he's been very short and direct." You think about what your morning had been like that day.

"Oh my, don't be like that, men are a mess all by themselves. I'm not going to put ideas in your head, but let us know if you need help with that." Linda says, running her hand over your back.

"You're still as beautiful as the day you met, so don't worry. If he's going blind and can't see it, take the trash out of your house before it starts stinking up the whole house" Charlotte says, making it clear what she originally meant.

"I just don't know if something happened and he didn't tell me, if I did something and he was uncomfortable..." You love your husband with all your heart, otherwise you wouldn't have married him.

"Girl, put your cards on the table and that man against the wall, if something is going on he will tell you, he is not a lying man" Charlotte advises you in a lighter way now.

"She's right, you have to talk to him, but really talk to him. Just starting a conversation with him won't make him tell you anything... Ask what's going on and if everything is okay." Linda hugs you affectionately. Honestly, maybe this stress is just in your head? You don't know.

"Okay okay, but I'll do it after work, there's still a few more hours until it's time to leave." Grumbling you and your friends get up, heading towards the door while talking about anything now.

You don't know what you would do without them.

Hours had passed since that conversation, it was already getting dark and you were driving home almost completely peacefully.

Being with your friends relieved you a lot, but you still had a little bit of a nagging feeling, not to mention that you also knew that life is not a strawberry and anything can happen.

You were together for 11 years, dating for 4 years and married for 7 years. There was no reason for it all to go down the drain. At least you told yourself that.

You had texted him earlier, saying you were going home now... He hadn't even seen the message, but that's okay! Sometimes he's just busy with... Anything, you think.

Parking the car, you sigh, You hated feeling as tired as you had been feeling lately, you wish you could enjoy some of your time at home instead of just passing out in bed. On the bright side, you were on vacation from your job in 2 days. Just two more days.

Today you would confront him! You would know what was going on with him lately and everything would be okay! Everything has to be okay.

You open the door to the living room and notice the loud silence, seeping through your entire house. You didn't have a good feeling about this..

"Curly? Love?" You call out as you walk through the door and into the room, feeling a little anxious.

You turn to the kitchen and then–

"SURPRISE!" Some voices say/scream at the same time, scaring you at first, but then you notice the cake on the table, balloons, birthday hats, coxinha and other things on the table.

A wave of relief washes over you.

It was your birthday today.

"Happy birthday my love, you don't know how much- Wow, hey, hey! What happened? Why are you crying?" Your husband's cheerful tone soon fades, quickly replaced by a tone of concern.

You hadn't even realized that the wave of relief had brought you to tears, you were crying.

Did something happen? Is she okay?" Anya, Curly's work friend and maid of honor at your wedding a few years ago, asks worriedly, approaching.

"Honey, is something hurting?! Do you need anything? Anything at all? Do you need to go to the hospital?" He was quick to come closer, putting his arms around you as he checked your body with his tender and concerned gaze. God, this was all you wanted.

You try to explain, through your tears, that you're okay, that everything is okay now.

"I thought-" You stop to sniff a few times "I thought you were mad at me. Acting different and distant."

"I told you you sounded thick, but it's amazing how your head doesn't work sometimes." You hear Swansea's voice and let out a laugh through your tears.

"I'm so happy that everything is okay and that you're not mad at me." You explain as you wipe away your tears, soon feeling Curly's hand on your cheek while the other rests on your waist.

"I'm sorry my love, I would never be mad or upset with you, a thousand apologies darling" He says as he peppers your face with kisses, apologizing several times. "Please, I'm so sorry"

"We told him to hide it and not tell you or give you any hints about your surprise party and such, since last time he ended up telling you... But I think asking him to disguise himself wasn't... the best idea" Daisuke says as he analyzes the situation with a disappointed face.

You laugh a little and soon they join you, then a small silence arises, but it is quickly broken.

"So?" Swansea begins

""Is everything okay in there?" Anya asks, looking at you calmly and with a little concern. "Are you feeling any pain?"

"How are you and she?" Daisuke asks in the most direct way.

You sniff one last time and look down, running your hand over your belly.

"I will never make you cry like that again." He finishes with a peck on the lips and runs his hand over your belly. "I will never worry the two girls in my life again. I promise"

You look at him fondly. "We're fine, we just went through a hurricane today and yesterday." You laugh lightly. "Now let's eat this cake, I'm hungry for two."

The others laugh at your answer and soon everyone gathers around the table to celebrate your birthday.

You really hope you never have to go through that worry again, not even Curly would do it again.

You have the most caring husband and your daughter would have the best dad.

[petew21-blog]

Fitness coaching, part 2

(a different inbox request 😈) I'll refer to you as kid and combine the stories. Hope you don't mind

Warning: The kid is just a nickname. The person in this story is of age

A high school assembly where Kevij Hjenas talks about his success and motivation

Kevin (or is it Kevin really?):"Hey everyone, today I am here to talk to you about following your passing and lack of motivation. First I gotta tell you how I started. How I wasn't so different from all of you..."

Kid to himself:"Yeah, you got it easy. You had the looks, you had the muscles and no one was beating your ass when you went to high school"

Kevin continuing:"So whenever you feel like giving up, you gotta stand up to that thing and beat it. And the biggest fight there's gonna be is the one that will be in your head"

Kid;"Sure, I wanna be the one in your head. Try being me for a sec while everyone is beating your ass, looking you in the lockers and picking on you for not being good enough."

Kevin:"And if you ever have a problem, don't worry to walk up to adults and ask for help. Most of the adults are willing to help you win your fight"

Kid:"Jesus, Kevin. I admire you and yet you come to school and talk to us about this bullshit? Nobody cares. Of course they don't. They don't want to fill the paperwork, talk to the parents. It's easier not to care. Damn. I wish I could be Kevin Hjenas and him to be me so that he could see what it's like to be a kid in high school again"

BAM

Kid tries to open his eyes, but can't. He can feel... stretched? Around something. He can feel something hard inside of him. He can feel a butt? What is going on?

He tried to scream:"What happened? Where am I?"

Kevin stops his speech as the voice inside of his head now turned more louder, but it sounds different. "Kevin? Go back to being an obedient speedo, would you? I got a presentation to finish."

Kid:"Kevin? What? I am... I am a student. I was just watching Kevin. Why are you calling me Kevin? Where am I? Did you just call me a speedo?"

Suddenly a kid's in the audience gets up from his seat. "I can see again. I can talk! Somebody help me. Someone stole my body." He stares in disbelief at his previous Kevin Hjenas body, or atleast the one who looks like him. "You did that! Give me my body back!"

Teacher:"That's enough of this outburst young man, you'll come with me to the principal."

The other kids lost it and the whole auditorium started laughing. This kid is gonna get beat up today so much more than usually.

(Not) Kevin to Kid as his speedo:"Look kid. Let me finish this and I'll explain. Ok? Just stay silent and I'll fix this. Ok?"

Kevin finishes the presentation and goes to the nearby park

Kevin:"So tell me what did you do before you ended up as my speedo?"

Kid:"I couldn't believe the bullshit you were talking at the assembly. I had the worst time yesterday and I envied you. Your body, your fame. Everything. So I wished to be in Kevin Hjenas body and him to be in mine"

Kevin:"Oh... I see what went wrong"

Kid:"It didn't work, that's what went wrong"

Kevin:"Well technically you are in Kevin's body. Cause... I'm not really Kevin. I'm wearing his body as a speedo and that gives me the ability to look like him. I'm a different person. So the one screaming in your body at the auditorium was the real Kevin in your body"

Kid:"Ok, then change me back to his body then. If you have the power."

Kevin:"It's not that easy... we gotta contact this writer. He writes stories and if you ask he grants you the wish in a form of a story/transformation. He likes to play with his subjects after. But the waiting time is horrible. He works all the time and only writes a few stories a day. So that is the tricky part"

Kid:"So what if we ask him nicely? Maybe if we explain the situation to him, he might understand"

Kevin:"You really are naive, kid. But it's worth a shot. Let's go home. You gotta get used to being a speedo and there is not better time to let you learn like now"

Kevin's dick gets visibly hard

Kid:"Oh, this is strange. But... it feels nice. I can actually feel it"

Kevin:"Just a few benefits of being a piece of clothing. Just wait till you feel me stroke myself or have an orgasm. Oh jesus. How old are you kid?"

Kid:"Don't worry. I'm old enough to feel you cum onto my... fabric?"

Two months later

Author:"Oh hey Kevin. Sorry for the waiting time. You wouldn't believe what kind of wishes all the people have. There was thos guy who wanted to be merged as Hulk and..."

Kevin:"Stop. This can't wait. I need a favour. And so does this kid." Kevin pulls down his shorts and points at his speedo

Author:"Is there something wrong with the real Kevin? You still look like him so what's the issue?"

Kevin:"The issue is, that this isn't Kevin anymore. Some kid from local High school wanted to swap bodies with him and he did. Kevin is now attending school again, while he is stuck embracing my dick as speedo"

Author:"Oh... well. I don't have good news for you boys. Because another spell intervened, I can't really do much about the appearance of Kevin's original body. But... there might be a solution. You may not like it"

Kid:"I don't care, I just want to feel what it's like to be a human again. Atleast for a while"

Kevin:"The kid is on board with whatever plan you got. Depends what it means for me."

Author:"It's quite simple, guys. You might have to learn how to share. You'll both have the ability to control your body, swapping with the speedo. Only one gets to control the human body, while the other rests as speedo"

Kevin:"I'm not giving this up. I worked hard to look like Kevin"

Kid:"You can't do this to me"

Kevin:"Can't you place his soul into something else, please?"

Author:"Wish I could, but both of these spell are now combined and can't be broken. If I take his soul away, you won't look like Kevin anymore. It's either this or full reversal. And let me tell you... Kevin is gonna be really pissed"

Kevin:"Would you be ok with that? Sharing a body like Jekyll and Hyde?"

Kid:"Who's that suppose to be?"

Kevin:"Jesus you kids these days. So... like Moon Knight?"

Kid:"Oh cool. If it means I get to be human and also Kevin, I'm in."

Kevin:"Ok, let's do this..."

Two weeks later, pier beach

Kevin:"You should stop with all these carbs. We'll get fat"

Kid:"Oh shut up. I'm enjoying myself."

Fan:"Hey, Kevin. Could I take a photo with you?"

Kid:"Oh yeah. Right on"

Fan:"Thank you. Could... could I touch your biceps, sir?"

Kid:"Oh of course. Go on. I can't get enough of these things too. They are massive right?"

Fan:"Haha. Yeah. Thank you"

Kevin:"You need to tone it down a bit. People are gonna get suspicious."

Kid:"Oh relax. You'll get your turn soon. I'm just enjoying my part of the day. I still think it's unfair that you get the night. I wanna party and fuck other people too. And not just as a speedo"

Kevin:"You'll have a chance soon. Don't worry"

Who knows if the boys will learn to share

A request from Inbox story set as a second part. Guys, you two might have to learn how to share 😁

Hello today is worst day of school someone just randomly pick on me and the worst is no one at the school cared for me, tomorrow kevin hejnas is coming to our school i just wish i could be him so i could feel what life would be as a famous man.

[hyunjinsjeans]

He knows (Han ver.)

Felix ver.| Seungmin ver. | I.N ver.

MASTERLIST

Synopsis: after an unfortunate event you decide to tell Jisung that you are ready to give it another go.

Type: Fluff 🧸, angst ❤️‍🩹, female reader 💃, SFW 👍

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, description of medical emergencies and health issues, mentions of mental health issues. Uhm there is mentions of dogs being horny(?)

Word count: 3111 words (your honor, I plead oopsie daisy!)

AN: This one is a little heavier, please don’t read if you are sensitive towards the topics described in the warnings. Something about my favorite soft boy Han made my brain go “pain” and here we are, BUT I promise it gets really cute and comforting in the end. Again, I couldn’t stop writing 😭

You cleaned up the kitchen after finishing eating dinner and drank a tall glass of water. You rubbed your stomach and looked around the house. Jisung was going to be home in a few hours, probably tired from his trip to Paris. 

He had been gone for only a couple of days, not even an entire week. 

You knew this was hard on both of you, but felt like maybe he was making it harder than it had to be. It had been over a year already… he should relax a little now. But he could not, he still felt guilty every time he walked out the door with a suitcase in his hand.

With a sigh, you decided to head to bed. His flight would land almost at midnight and then Ji would have a couple days off. He was most likely going to come home and slide into bed beside you, quietly attempting to cuddle you without waking you. It always failed because you missed him too much to not notice his warmth and his gentle touch when he wrapped his arm around you and kissed the back of your shoulder. 

It all happened the year before. The boys were promoting a single and had been invited to a fashion show in New York, their schedule was crazy, they were away for a little over a month - which was odd, since they were not touring or playing shows. 

You and the other girls, the significant others, had a group chat, “SORacha”, was the name given by the boys. Everyone was a little on edge with how the American media was treating the boys, especially the disrespectful and downright racist paparazzi who seemed to start following them around everywhere. For you the worst part was coming home to a sad looking Bbama, both of you obviously missed Jisung.

You were only 8 days away from seeing Han again, things had been normal around the house. You went to work and then came back home to walk Bbama, having dinner with the fluffy dog eating behind you from their dish on the floor. Some days you went out for drinks with your friends, most of all you kept in touch with the other girls. It was like a support group while your boyfriends and husbands were away. You would help each other in the most mundane things, and you would also reach out to each other to keep everyone's spirits up.

That night you had gone out for a drink with your coworkers, but you were not drinking much since you needed to get home to read some materials for your Japanese class. Jisung had insisted it was fun learning a new language as an adult and you signed up for the course only to find that it was more demanding than you anticipated. Regardless, you were a diligent student so you prioritized your study time over having that second bottle of soju.  

It did not change much, by the end of the night you found yourself blinking away tears in confusion as you were blinded by the bright lights shining atop of you inside the ambulance. 

Your emergency contact, LeeKnow!Reader arrived at the hospital in her checkered pj’s. You were already in the ER by then and she was not allowed to see you until after the doctors were able to get you stable. Everything happened too fast, two of your drunk co-workers (sobered up by the scare and adrenaline) explained to LeeKnow!Reader what had happened. You did nothing wrong, you said your goodbyes and went to cross the road during a red light, following the zebra lines on the pavement but a car drove past disregarding the stop light. They hit you so fast you were pushed into the air a few meters to everyone’s shock. Thankfully, you landed against another car’s hood. Although it broke a couple of ribs, it meant you did not hit your head on the pavement. 

You required surgery for the internal bleeding and the doctors were clear you would be in the hospital for at least a few days to make sure you would be okay since you did get a neck and back injury. 

LeeKnow!Reader did not even ask you, she signed the papers and arranged for you to have the emergency surgery, without questions she picked up the phone to immediately call your husband, and then your mother. She knew you were not going to want to interrupt Han in whatever he was doing but this was serious. So she called him. 

When you woke up in a hospital room after the surgery, he was there with your mom and your sister sitting next to him. 

You felt awful. Not only physically but also mentally. All he ever asked you to do when he left home was to take care of yourself (and his fur baby). And you managed to get yourself ran over by a drunk driver. 

Recovering was not easy, you had a cast around your middle and on your left leg. You had to wear a neck brace for a couple of months and even after you dealt with a lot of pain from the simplest things like sitting or laying down for too long. 

Jisung was worried, to an extreme extent. He felt guilty he was not there with you when it happened. He liked to think that he would have picked you up and that he could have avoided you needing to cross the road. It did not help that you became so weak so quickly. He knew you to be independent and strong but during your recovery you were unable to walk the stairs of your two story home. You could not go out to walk with him and take Bbama to the dog park. You could no longer turn to the gym for an outlet for your anxiety, and you felt useless. 

You were different. It was obvious to your friends and to your husband. He could tell, he was not stupid and he was also not blind. He saw you shut him out, you were shutting everyone out in fact. You stopped singing around the house because you were not doing chores. Instead you could only sit and read or knit in absolute silence. You were no longer looking for playlists to have as background noise while you went outside to take care of your garden - hell, the garden was a mess you did not even touch anymore. You slept so much too, sneaking naps here and there. You avoided phone calls and texts too. And you began losing weight fast, no longer having an interest in food. Jisung had to knock some sense into you, get you off of autopilot. You could not help it when he was face to face with you, pointing out that you were in pain and it was easy to see. He felt guilty you had been hurt in his absence and he was feeling guilty maybe he was doing something wrong now that he was home. Han demanded to know if it was him and his work or both. He felt like somehow he had let you down but he wanted to make it better. 

It was not him, you were depressed from the feeling of confinement within your own body. Like you had a broken thing that did not work but you had to still push it around as if it did, only to be frustrated when even breathing was painful. You had cried to him, and he held you with the gentleness no one but him knew to have with you. What made things worse in your head was the idea that this accident had indefinitely put a pause on your lives… just when you and Han decided it was a good time to start your family. Of course you were not in shape to have a baby, this broke your heart as it added up with all the other “can’t”s that began appearing in your life since coming home from the hospital.

And while you were better today, well over a year after the accident, you still saw the hints of guilt in your husband’s eyes every time he left home for a trip somewhere far away. If he could, he would bring you along, but you were still waiting for your citizenship and couldn’t leave the country until your paperwork was processed… it would be at least another 6 months.

You took your necklace and earrings off and left them near your vanity, you twisted your wedding ring in your finger and left it there. At night, you liked to keep it on as a reminder that your husband would always be there for you even if he wasn’t in bed with you.

Jisung got in the car at almost 1:00 am, he was tired and a little jet lagged. He wanted nothing more than to sleep in the comfort of his own bed, next to his favorite girl. 

He wondered how your day had been, since you only went back to work a couple months ago. He knew you were excited about it, about getting your life back. Han was also excited about seeing you shake the gloomy attitude, and it began the second you got your casts off and started your physical therapy. Jisung loved how determined you looked, a small girl fighting a 2lb weight in each hand. But he was so proud to see you face recovery with courage. 

As of late, you were able to do everything you used to although some days you had to take it easy thanks to your back injury that was still healing. 

Jisung entered the home and was met with silence. Not even Bbama made a sound, he knew his dog must have been sleeping with you upstairs. Upon entering your shared bedroom he could see he was correct, as you slept with a peaceful expression and an arm wrapped around the fluffy white dog. 

You heard the sound of light footsteps on the floor and the sheets moved behind you. Jisung’s scent of flowers and fresh rain reached your senses and the familiar weight of his arm around your waist confirmed his presence to you. A deep sigh left your body, all muscles in your body able to relax in his company as if he was a warm bath to drown all your worries in. 

“Didn’t mean to wake you, Y/N” he whispered against the exposed skin of your shoulder before laying a soft kiss there. “You should sleep.”

“I missed you,” you confessed with your hand leaving your little dog to hold onto your husband’s hand. “You should sleep too.”

“Mmm,” he nuzzled against your neck, “I’m sure I missed you more.” He babbled a little, exhaustion taking the best of him. 

You did not reply to that, already swallowed by sleep in his comforting embrace. 

***

“Oh my God…” Jisung ran to his small dog, pulling him away from the other small dog. “Where are your manners? How are you not embarrassed?” He talked to his own dog and you laughed at it from the bench. 

“Look at this,” Jisung’s ear were bright red as the other dog’s owner approached, “it’s not a female! Put that away!” He urged his dog to calm down. 

You laughed harder as your husband apologized for Bbama’s behavior. He had been humping other dogs a lot lately, you thought it was fair to either let him have a girlfriend or neuter him. Jisung was unsure of what to do, the scene at the dog park might be the wake up call he needed. 

You covered your mouth with your hand and fake-coughed to hide your laughter as Jisung walked back with the small dog on the leash again.

“Why is he so horny?” He whisper-yelled. 

This only fueled your amusement and you giggled. “He wants to get some, let the poor guy have sex!”

“I know he humps the duck plushie regularly, but this is a lot…” Jisung complained, “and why is he humping other male dogs?” 

You looked down at the innocent looking little white ball of fur and offered your husband a kind smile. “Love is love, Ji!” 

Jisung rolled his eyes but he put his hands up in defense, “not that I don’t respect that… but seriously, what’s up with him?” 

You shrugged, looking away you saw a couple with their big labrador and a little boy. The boy held the dog’s leash and the dog seemed to know it was better to pretend the boy was guiding him. 

“Maybe he knows I want a baby…” you said before registering that the words in your mind had left your mouth, “wait!” You snapped your head back in Jisung’s direction.

You felt all color drain from your face and your blood rushed to your feet. Jisung’s eyes were opened wide and round like plates, his lips pursed together made his cheeks look even larger and more comical. 

“You want a baby?” He blurted out with incredulity. 

To him it was the single craziest thing you had said ever. Why would you want a baby? You were technically recovered from the accident but you still lived with some reminders of it. He still lived with reminders of it too. And a baby? You carrying a baby? No. He felt his mouth go dry. It was not that he did not want you to have a baby. He would be thrilled to have someone as amazing as you be the mother of his kids; but he was not sure you were in good enough condition to do it. He would be scared to see you as affected as you had been after the accident.

“Well, I said it out loud, didn’t I?” You laughed nervously. 

Han swallowed and stared, paying little mind to Bbama pulling on his leash to smell some weeds growing around a bush.

“Now? Do you want it now?”

You sought his hand and intertwined your fingers together. He looked down at your hands with the same wide eyes. It was like you were playing with his heart. 

When he felt how cool your hand was and how regular your pulse felt against his skin, while his heart raced his thoughts and his palm became clammy in an instant… he wondered how it was possible you were this confident. 

“Of course not now. Not right now,” you shrugged further, leaning your chin on your shoulder to look back at him to your right. “But last year we were ready to try, right? I want to try again, Ji.” 

Jisung let out a quiet sound and squeezed your hand in fear. He could not bring himself to shut you down, he tried to think of how to say it. 

“I don’t think we should yet.” He decided to say, pursing his lips he looked down at his lap, “it’s still too soon for you. I don’t want you to get hurt having a baby.” 

Your heart sank and your small smile slipped from your face. Would he ever let it go? He could feel your hand go limp between his fingers, his gaze fell on your features and he sighed. Everything in him wanted to say yes, to give in to your every desire… but he had to be reasonable, he had to take care of you. He loved you too much to risk losing you because he got selfish, greedy and horny. 

“I’m-” you fought yourself not to cry, this was not a temper tantrum; this was a grown up conversation, you needed to remain calm. “I’m okay. I’m not going to get hurt.”

Jisung saw right through you, he pulled you into his side and let go of your hand to wrap his arm around you, smelling the soft fragrance of your shampoo as your hair flew in the air. Lavender and vanilla. He kissed your forehead. 

“Y/N, I love you. But you just got back to work, your tomatoes are going wild in the garden and there’s yarn everywhere; I think you have enough on your plate without adding a baby into the mix.”

You looked up at him and pouted, “I want a baby quokka to dress up in that yarn all over the house!” You admit with watery eyes. 

Jisung’s eyes lit up with realization. 

You had been knitting for weeks. More like months. Not even once did he stop to appreciate or wonder how and why you kept making little pieces of clothing. If he ever had to explain it to himself he would assume they were for your pet. And now he felt stupid. So stupid. 

This was something you had been thinking about for a while. A long while. 

“Babe…” he cried as he hugged you to him with both strong arms, “why didn’t you tell me before?!”

You wrapped an arm around his slender waist. 

“I didn’t think you were that oblivious,” you admitted. “Seriously, d’you ever notice what I knit?”

Your husband shut his eyes closed and held you, placing his chin on top of your head. You were not going to drop the subject. 

So he did the best thing he could think of: throw the ball to another player.

“...we need to hear from the doctor, Y/Nie…I need to know that you’ll be okay if we get pregnant.”

You pulled away from him with hopeful eyes, unable to get past the fact that he said “if we get pregnant”. 

“Is that a yes?” You asked in a small voice. 

Han pointed a finger in your direction, “that’s a maybe.” 

And although you tried to hide how excited it made you that he was in on it, you could not help but also feel nervous about what the doctor might say. You knew you did not want to wait much longer, but if there was really something going on with you that did not allow for the two of you to have a baby soon you would be disappointed. Jisung wouldn’t want to admit it, but seeing how bright your face became at his words and how the tears you were fighting spilled freely now as you kissed his cheek…he was kind of hopeful your checkup would turn out alright and all of his fears would go away. He did want so bad to have a baby with you.

————

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[crossfandomslut]

At Peace in your Fire (Pt 4)

part 1 part 2 part 3

Summary: the after math of the meeting in Hewn City

Pairing: Eris x Archeron!Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: out of character Feyre (Keeping secrets from Rhys) slight angst, fluff 😊

Notes: Ahhhhhhhh !! Thank you everyone who is reading, liking, commenting, reblogging and asking to be on the taglist I love each and every one of you ! This chapter is a little short, but I really hope you like it ! I wanted to get something out this weekend, and cant wait to work on the next part this week !

Eris’ POV

Eris has experienced a lot of fear in his life. Plenty of terrifying moments to plague his nightmares every century of his life. But this- Y/n falling unconscious before them, crying out in agony before the darkness took her- he thought he had suffered all his worst fears by now. He was so devastatingly wrong.

He moved so fast he didn’t have time to think about what he was doing. He was to her before her head could hit the ground. But before he could pull her into his arms, Cassian grabbed her and Azriel yanked Eris back.

“Don’t you touch her.” Azriel growled.

“You’re lucky I moved as quickly as I did! None of you sprang to action and a head wound is the last thing she needs in this state!” Eris defended.

“Why do you even care?” Mor snapped.

“Okay, that’s enough. We need to get Y/n to Madja. This meeting is over.” Rhys started to walk toward Cassian where he still held Y/n’s unconscious figure.

All Eris could do was stand there dumbly and watch as they all prepared to winnow her away, and he would have no way to know how she was or what was wrong. He hadn’t felt so helpless in so long and it felt like a punch to the gut. Only Nesta threw him a look that he couldn’t quite decipher, but it wasn’t nearly as cold as she had looked at him before.

And then they were gone. And Eris had to sit down, or he may have thrown up. He was shaking with pent up energy and emotions. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her at all during the meeting, not when she has been looking at him with soft eyes that expected a good male to be standing before her. He was not good. He was tortured and twisted and wrong. He knew if he had looked into her eyes he would have fallen apart and gotten to his knees before her to ask for her forgiveness for what had happened with Mor, and even with Lucien. He usually brushed off the comments about those events, any event where his morals are questioned. But with Y/n standing there he felt such a need to defend himself- to explain. But he couldn’t. Not fully. And now Y/n will know he is a monster, and she will never again touch his hands with softness, never again look into his eyes with hopeful caution. Gods. All it took was one damn dance and Eris was a fool for her.

He had to see her again. Had to know if she was okay. For now, though, all he can do is go home to the Autumn Court, and pray his father remained unaware of his absence.

Y/n’s POV

Amber eyes, freckled skin, sharp cheekbones, and the softest red hair. Y/n had been dreaming of this face for weeks, but now, instead of a frozen lake with pain and fear in his eyes, they were on the dancefloor. He still looked at her with fear in those beautiful eyes, but this was a much more vulnerable kind of fear. Not fear of her power, but fear of her looking too closely at him. Fear of being seen. In this dream, he doesn’t turn and run away. In this dream he stays, and they stare into each other’s souls for a long while. Then, she leans into him and rests her head on his chest, and he continues to sway her back and forth until the song comes to an end.

When she looks back up at him, his face is cold. His gaze harsh and unforgiving as he pushes her away. She stumbles, but her family rushes in behind her. Eris, who was soft and warm moments ago, was now distant and cruel as he sneers and looks you up and down before exiting the dancehall.

Y/n jolted awake gasping for air. Feyre was immediately by her side, holding her hand. When Y/n catches her breath, Feyre cups her cheek and wipes away the stray tears that Y/n hadn’t noticed falling. Feyre climbs into the bed next to her. The small bed was set up right next to the fireplace, and Y/n crooned toward the heat and golden glow on her face. It was nighttime, or maybe the early hours of the morning. Feyre laid on the side furthest from the fire, her head propped up on her hand and reached the other out to comb Y/n’s hair with her fingers.

“How are you feeling?” Feyre whispered.

Y/n motioned to her throat in a request for water and Feyre jumped up to get it for her. After a few large, unladylike gulps, she set the glass down on her bedside table. “Thank you. I’m okay. What happened?”

“We were in the meeting with Eris,” Y/n’s heart skipped a beat at the sound of his name and tried to not make it obvious she had just been dreaming about him, “when all of a sudden you cried out in pain and fell unconscious.” Feyre finished.

“My head had been hurting throughout the meeting. I don’t know what was wrong, I’m sorry. That must have been so embarrassing and unprofessional. Is Rhys upset?”

“Rhys? Oh Y/n, of course not! He’s been worried sick about you. Like a mother hen. He’s terrible, honestly,” Feyre chuckled softly. It made Y/n feel more at ease.

“But we didn’t get the information from Eris about the Spring Court. I messed up the whole meeting because of a silly headache- “

“Y/n, stop, it’s really okay. Eris was being an ass anyway and- “ Feyre halted as Y/n groaned and held her head in her hands. “Y/n? Y/n what can I do?” Feyre sat helpless as her twin’s face contorted in pain. Y/n swung her legs over the side of the bed to fully face the fire raging in the hearth and she felt the pressure in her head lighten.

Feyre came to sit beside her again, and when she could think again, Y/n started to remember what happened at the meeting. She remembered being confused the whole meeting. By Eris refusing to look at her, by the history with Mor and with his brother, and the rising tension in the room and the distain that her family held for Eris. She remembered the pain in Eris’ voice that no one else could bother to hear, when he said, “not all of us were as lucky in our friends and family as you, Rhysand.” And that was when the pain in her head escalated to a point that she could not handle. Then she comes to now, when Feyre started to insult him, and the pain came back. The only to help, being the fire… Her twin wasn’t stupid. Y/n knew she had pieced it together too before even looking at her. And it wasn’t her daemati power. Y/n had worked tirelessly on her mental shield.

Y/n slowly turned to lock eyes with Feyre and was met with a knowing but weary gaze. “So… Eris, huh?”

“Ugh, Feyre!” Y/n groaned and threw her pillow at her head. Easily grabbing the pillow, Feyre and Y/n burst out into laughter. They hadn’t laughed like this together in so long. They had been so close until Feyre came to Prythian, and Y/n hadn’t noticed how much she had been missing her sister.

When their breathing slowed and they could once again keep a straight face, Y/n looked back to her sister. “I don’t know. I feel this pull to him, but I also know how much everyone hates him. I mean her tried to take you from us on that damned lake, he apparently has hurt Mor, and I don’t even know what to think about what happened to poor Lucien. And at the same time, I think I see him in a way that not even he can. He is the embodiment of fire, Fey. How could I not be drawn to him like a moth to a flame? I think… I think he might be a good male deep down. But I’m so confused.” Y/n sighed and put her head in her hands again.

Feyre rubbed her sister’s back in an attempt to soothe her. It makes sense, she thinks, for her sister to be intrigued by Eris. But she was in the same boat with their family’s animosity toward the male, it would be difficult to work around centuries of hurt, even if they were misunderstandings. “We’ll figure it out. It’ll be okay, I promise.”

When Y/n woke the next morning, it was close to noon and Feyre was gone. Likely off performing her duties as High Lady to get ready for the High Lords meeting, they were planning. As she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, she noticed a quill and parchment sat out on her desk across the room. Having learned how to read and write not long ago, she thought it might be a sign to practice. She had already missed her usual lesson with Rhys or Amren, so this would have to do.

She wrapped the plush green robe tighter around her shivering frame and sat in the large desk chair with her knees to her chest, her head resting atop them. The desk was a beautiful cherry oak wood, stained to deepen the natural red tint of the wood. The complexity of the color and the grain of the wood had Y/n’s mind wandering to a certain male who was just as complex and had hair a similar shade of red. Thinking of the way his hand felt on her waist as they danced, how warm he was, and the moment of vulnerability he showed during the meeting. She felt her heart crack slightly as she recounted the look on his face and the way his voice broke imperceptibly when he said, “not all of us were as lucky in our friends and family as you, Rhysand.”

The memories had her picking up the quill, dipping it into some ink, and pressing to the page.

She folded the parchment into a triangle shape that could be carried by the wind, and with all her power, willed the wind to carry it to the Autumn Court. Hoping and praying to whatever gods may listen, that no one else finds it.

Eris’ POV

The minute he arrived back in the Autumn Court, Eris was so exhausted that he could have wept when he saw his horse standing there waiting for him. The chestnut stallion was a clear mirror of himself. Tall, deceivingly strong with his lean frame, and a coat the color red that could only be found in his home court. A striking white blaze ran down his long face onto his soft muzzle. As Eris approached him, Ignatius lifted his head in greeting and let out a low nicker. Eris approached him with tired eyes and a small, fond smile. “Hello, friend. Let’s go home, shall we?” Stroking his neck in a few long, slow movements, Eris mounted his steed and they started on their way back to the Forest House.

When they made it back to the stable, Eris took Ignatius’ saddle and bridle off, put him in his stall and made sure he had extra gain for the night. Giving his friend a final brushing, Eris bid him goodnight- although it was likely closer to morning by now.

As soon as his head hit the pillow, sleep embraced him in a tight hold and dragged him to a land of dreams. Dreams of Y/n and her shining y/h/c hair, her soft but calloused hands in his, and her stunning y/e/c eyes staring straight into his soul. He could stay in this dream forever he thinks. Hearing her soft voice say far too kind things to him.

Eris finally awoke when a maid opened his door and startled him from sleep. She squealed and jumped when Eris shot up from his bed, and profusely apologized as she scurries away, closing the door behind her. He rubbed his eyes and rolled out of bed, making his way over to his balcony where the first maid must have come in and set out his tea for the morning. The pot was cold by now, but that was no issue for a fire wielder. Quickly, his tea was hot once again as he sat and looked out upon the grounds of his house. House, not home. As he sat and breathed in the early afternoon air, something caught his attention. It looked like a piece of parchment floating on the breeze. It couldn’t be- but it kept getting closer to him and suddenly in was within his reach. He snatched the paper from the sky and looked at it with wide eyes. He could smell her. Y/n’s scent of cashmere and cinnamon, all things warm and comforting. He closed his eyes for a long moment, just breathing her in. when he regained his composure, he sat down and unfolded the letter.

Dear Eris,

I am fine, in case you were wondering. Truthfully… I’ve been wondering about you. Maybe that isn’t appropriate to say, but I’ve already written it and I simply can’t waste good parchment to not say what I mean and what I feel. I’m confused and I want to talk to you. I don’t believe there is ever only one side to a story and I’d very much like to hear yours.

Y/n

Eris choked out a laugh and had to cover his mouth with a hand to keep himself from breaking out into a fit. He knew she was bold, but this was something he could not have anticipated. She was thinking about him. Eris shook his head to clear his thoughts and rushed back inside to his large mahogany desk. The drawers painted the shade of green of the forest after a heavy rain. After he thought through what he wanted to say, he put ink to paper and wrote out his response. He hoped he didn’t seem desperate by responding with such haste, but he too was wondering about her and wanted to know her. So, he held the letter in the palm of his hand and set it alight.

Y/n’s POV

Despite the late start to her day, she tried to regain some sense of control by tracking down Cassian for a training session, eating lunch and doing some studying that Amren assigned her in the library. By the time she got back to her room, the sun was setting, and she asked the house to bring her dinner to her room.

With her eyes half closed from exhaustion, she plopped down on her couch in front of the already lit fire. When she peeled her eyes open, she noticed a small, folded paper sitting in front of the hearth. She felt her heart jump to her throat as she scrambled to reach for it on the ground. Holding her breath, she unfolded the paper delicately. As if it might turn to ash in her hands.

Dearest Y/n,

I am glad to know you are alright. I was… worried. About you. I am also happy to see your boldness knows no bounds. You fascinate me and I find myself wanting to know you. But it seems you have questions for me too, so let us make a deal. A question for a question. What do you say, little dove?

I eagerly await your response,

Eris

Taglist: @abysshaven @myromanempiree @lilah-asteria @96jnie

@ivy-34 @minaethrym @nebarious @anxious-study @slytherintaco @talesofadragon @paleidiot @marvelbros-oneshots @mariahoedt @tenebrisirae

[reveluving]

the bump in the night ; rick flag x reader

summary: someone made Mrs Flag cry, and her family is not having it.

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, shadow-magic f!reader, reverse comfort & humour!

a/n: this AU is based on this piece I made a while back, 'cause you already know I can't do this special without hubby Rick and the kids! hope you enjoy it & don’t forget to leave some sugar! ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ

» wanna know what I have in store this fall? come & check out my m.list for 'reve's quirky reverie 🕷️'!

'For now, they had a plan, hoping it could bring a smile to your face.' ;

Coming home to his daughter's hugs had become an everyday thing if Rick didn't have to work overtime, but if the flicker of sadness in her eyes was anything to go by, something had to have happened while he was away.

“Mrs Bedford was saying bad stuff to mama while we were at the park.” 

It was the same thing she told her brothers when they got home from school, and just like them, it was enough for Rick to get the whole picture.

Ah, Mrs Bedford. Or as the neighbourhood youngsters, children and teenagers alike, like to call her 'the modern witch of the road', and not in the cool way. Her husband was no better, always bugging you at any given opportunity. The worst part was Mrs Bedford always antagonized you for it, even if she knew you didn’t entertain her husband’s behaviour. It was also extremely hypocritical of her, considering she herself has tried to make her move on Rick. A lot. Only to be met with disappointment each time. 

Her children were just as bad, too, to put it lightly.

“What did she say?” It was the green light Irene needed before she explained what had happened to a T, courtesy of her father’s eagle eye. Unlike most days, it was just you and Irene visiting the park since your sons had football practice. 

The two of you were feeding the ducks when Mrs Bedford came up to you.

“You on your own?” Was the first thing she asked you before you questionably said ‘yes’, despite Irene being there too, and the little girl realized Mrs Bedford wouldn’t have gone off on a tangent about you and your ‘possibly tainted history’ if her father or brothers were around in the first place.

“I don’t know what you did but I can see it in your eyes, Flag. You’re no saint. You can fool the others with your little flower shop and your so-called angelic kids, but not me.”

Though Mrs Bedford knew nothing about your powers or your time in Belle Reve, instead, spewing hate out of jealousy and hatred for you for being the favourable neighbour, she wasn’t completely wrong. You have hurt people, you’ve even killed some, but they were for the greater good. Since your freedom from hell on earth, you’ve barely used your umbrakineses. It wasn’t until the birth of your children, to which all three of them gained your abilities did you realized you couldn’t run from who you really were—it wasn’t right nor fair to them.

Then, telling them your story as a criminal and how their dad was once your enemy was another thing. You weren’t sure what reaction you were expecting, but it was certainly not amazement and sparkles in their eyes. As they grew older, they began to make sense of how their parents somehow knew people like Aunt Harley, Uncle Robert and hell, even Nanaue.

And at that point in time, Mrs Bedford reminded you of Waller, turning you into submission as you could do nothing but listen to her make a mockery out of you for turning over a new leaf. Irene had to watch your face drop as the woman insulted you, and she knew she had to tell her family about it. 

Irene insisted that she was fine about heading home early, even if you tried to convince her otherwise. She wanted nothing more than to do something about that glazed look in your eyes.

As soon as you stepped foot into the living room, a tear rolled down your cheek. You couldn't help but apologize to her, to everyone if they were with you then. You weren’t entirely sure if it was because you seemed weak over a bunch of words or their fate of ending up with you as the wife and a mother of their family.

Irene shook her head, hugging you with her face in your tummy.

"You're not a mean person, mama. You're the nicest and coolest mama we could ever ask for, and we love you." 

It was simple, something you've heard of thousands of times in your lifetime, but you very much needed it today.

Ever the sweet girl, she accompanied you as you lay in your bed, telling you random stories about what she painted during art class or what she ate at lunch, anything but the time Mrs Bedford’s son, Kyle pushed her off the swing while his older brother, Blake laughed and praised him for doing so. You didn’t need to know that. 

Not yet.

You listened with a warm smile, embarrassed but nonetheless thankful for how observant she was of your feelings before eventually dozing off. 

Irene was careful yet quick to jump off the bed, running downstairs to shush Richie and Ethan as they returned home. 

The more she explained, the brighter their eyes unnaturally glowed. Richie was starting to look like their father as he crossed his arms, listening to her like a police officer, while Ethan seemed like he was already thinking of ways to counter the Bedford’s undignified acts.

Basically, the Bedfords were not the greatest people. Each and every one of them. 

Though they had a myriad of ideas, they weren’t sure how much their father would appreciate it, even if it was for your sake. Still, they thanked Irene for being there for you, promising that something would be done, no matter what it would be.

For now, they had a plan, hoping it could bring a smile to your face.

After an unexpected nap, you came down to find your kids huddled on the couch, whispering and hushing each other. Curious, you approached them.

Ethan was the first to notice you, offering you a grin before showing you what was in their hands, “Look, ma, I think we got it.” 

You leaned in to take a closer look, only for your breath to hitch at the sight of life on their palms. There, they showed you the differing mass of shadows they conjured, a tougher one you just taught them about a week ago. You have always loved this trick as a kid, and it only aided your sanity when you were by your lonesome in the penitentiary. In a way, you were replacing what life truly was by making your own, even if they were temporary because there was no telling when or if you’d ever be free. 

Yet, here they were, prompting joy and pride as they held the wispy animals of their choice; Richie with what seemed to be an adorable little puppy, Ethan creatively emulated a bioluminescent jellyfish and Irene…

Oh, Irene.

She scarcely remembered how much you loved making her laugh by conjuring butterflies when she was still very little if not for the twins confirming it. 

The butterfly was as small as her hand, but the wings were majestic, idly flapping before flying over to you, leaving cloudy black trails and landing on your outstretched finger. 

You stared at their creations ever so lovingly, already on the brink of tears. You were just as mad at yourself for doubting your worth, and your potential, just because of the things you had to do in the past, for the sake of the person you were now.

You embraced Irene in a tight hug before pulling your boys in as well. You sniffled, absolutely joyous and blessed to be surrounded by the most loving people. Nothing could deter you from this, not even as the shadow puppy yipped and chased the jellyfish and butterfly in excitement. Your cat, Tofu, must’ve heard the commotion, too, as she came from the kitchen to check, only to be frightened and jump on the couch with you as the puppy came running to her.

Rick finally arrived about two hours later, coming home to hear laughter before he saw Irene running across the room, followed by Tofu and the shadow puppy in tow. The jellyfish laid on Richie’s head like a nest whereas the butterfly decided to make Ethan’s shoulder its home as they hung out with you on the couch.

“Daddy!” Irene greeted him before running over to him. He didn’t question the questioning look she gave him just yet and instead, hoisted her up, laughing as Tofu and the puppy pawed at his bootlaces.

“What’s going on here?” He raised his brows, amused by what could be described as a fever dream of a sight.

“The kids learnt how to make little lives.” You giggled, allowing Rick to sit next to you as you scooted over.

“And I got a new hat,” Richie gestured to the jellyfish, who he has now dubbed as Jelly. As if it understood, Jelly immediately floated away, leaving Richie’s hair flattened, “Never mind.”

You shared a laugh as he deadpanned before you turned to Rick, “Was work okay?”

“Yeah, the usual. Decorated the place today, actually.” He took his phone out of his pocket, opening his gallery and showing you and the kids the spookily tacky decor that furnished his workplace.

“Did you really paint ‘dead inside, don’t open’ on the entrance door?” The twins gawked.

“Fitting, ain't it?” Rick joked, prompting smiles and chuckles from you once more before falling back on the couch, “But at least I’m off tomorrow, so I was thinking we could eat out for dinner.”

“Oh! We should head to Pop’s since they’re also offering their apple betty.” Ethan suggested.

“Well, I think that’s a good idea, so,” Richie trailed off, raising anticipation from the rest of you before jumping off the couch and running up the stairs. Ethan and Irene simultaneously gasped before the former took his sister out of Rick’s arms to chase their brother together. You and Rick could only watch with delight as Tofu and the shadow creatures followed them too.

“Everything okay?” He wanted to know, but he wouldn’t pry if you weren’t ready to tell him.

“Yeah,” You nodded, gazing down for a moment before continuing, “Something happened earlier but…”

“Richie! You better not lock the door or I swear to God!” Ethan’s voice rang out from upstairs, followed by Irene’s ‘language!’, and you couldn’t help but shake your head in amusement. 

“It’s all good now.” You reassured him. You knew you could’ve told him, but it wasn’t worth dwelling on. You had children to nurture and a husband to take on the world with.

“The Bedfords?” He guessed. If it wasn’t them, then it had to be Mr Walker.

“The Bedfords,” You confirmed with a tight smile, “I’m just more upset that Irene was there to hear it.”

You didn’t explain any further and Rick took it as a sign to drop it. If they were able to make you this upset, then it was best to ask the kids instead. 

“I’m sorry,” He pulled you to his chest, planting a slow and gentle kiss on your forehead. He rubbed your back, sighing at the very mention of that family. Rick loathed that they were influential enough to be one of the higher-ups of the school’s PTA, though he was confident that money was involved in it too. He hated that they were reasons why you’d come home ranting about how Mrs Bedford bugged you again, or when he had to make sure Mr Bedford knew he was making a promise and not an empty threat whenever it involved their kids and his, "You know I can talk to them." 

It would do no good, but it was worth trying. 

"No, you know how the Bedfords are. Don’t worry, okay? Not now,” You kissed the inside of his palm before pressing your lips against his, soft, sensual and safe. Rick moved forward, deepening the kiss as held the nape of your neck. You pulled away but not before nuzzling his nose, “We should be celebrating.”

He nodded, though he knew it would only linger in his mind for a while. Still, he adhered to your wishes, standing up before offering you his hand to get ready, “Right, right. Shall we?”

You snorted, placing your hand in his the way a princess would when a prince asks for a dance. Unexpectedly, he twirled you around, wrapping his arms around you he pulled you in, chest to chest. You playfully smacked him, though it did very little to wipe off the pleased look on his face as the two of you headed to your room. 

You and the boys were the first to head out to the front yard, chatting and evaluating the decors of the houses while waiting for Rick and Irene. 

“What happened today?” He asked his daughter quietly as they stood at the front door, helping with her shoes while she slid on a jacket. 

“Mrs Bedford was saying bad stuff to mama while we were at the park.” She whispered back, swinging her arms as she watched her father tie her shoelace, “Like, really mean stuff. No one was around except us so she was kinda loud, too.”

Rick fumed, clenching his jaw as he could already hear and picture whatever nonsense she loved to spit out. 

“Mama got kinda quiet when we came home, and then she started crying. About how she’s sorry she was a criminal and how we’re ‘stuck’ with her powers.” She added. If anything, she and the boys thought your abilities were the coolest thing to have ever happened to them. 

He shook his head—who wouldn't crack after being subjected to their ways for so long? He hummed, hiding the seething resentment by ruffling Irene's hair.

"Can you help me distract your mother while I talk to the boys for a bit?" She nodded diligently, skipping over to you before Rick called out to his sons, "Need some help, boys." 

They rushed over, glancing at you before Ethan spoke up first, "She told you?" 

"Yeah." Rick replied as he locked the door.

"Can't we do something about it?" Richie asked with a frown.

"You boys are not punching Blake again." Rick reminded them with a small smile. 

"You didn't seem to mind it," Ethan mirrored his father's amusement, "He was yelling at our teammate and encouraged his troll brother to push Irene off a swing." 

"I'm mad, too," Rick was more than mad, but he couldn't let his emotions run wild, "Look, we'll think of something, alright? For now, just make sure she's happy." 

That's all they ever wanted.

The drive to Pop's was a lively one, and so was the dinner itself. Though you knew you'd be thinking about Mrs Bedford's words every once in a while, the smiles and laughter of your family were already a welcoming distraction as it is. 

Midnight rolled around, and everyone had returned to their rooms with sore cheeks and a full stomach. You were the first to slip under the covers after a shower, hoping you wouldn't be too tired as you waited for Rick, though it didn't work.

By the time Rick got out of the bathroom, you were peacefully asleep, your face just a breath away from your husband's pillow as his scent soothed you like no other. 

Rick smiled to himself, changing into his PJs before sitting on your side of the bed. The dip roused you from your slumber just a little.

"Rick?" You murmured, fluttering your lashes tiredly.

"Forgot to get some water," He caressed your cheek before bending down to kiss it, "I'll be back." 

You mustered a closed-eye smile and before you knew it, you drifted off once again, lulled by the way he patted your back.

Once the coast was clear, he moved off the bed, silently slipping out and closing the door before heading over to the twins' room. He knocked on the door, just enough for them to hear before doing the same with Irene's door and headed downstairs.

Rick sat down at the dining table with a glass of cold water, arms crossed and lost in his own thoughts before hearing light footsteps approaching.

Richie, Ethan and Irene carefully pulled their chairs back before taking a seat, and just like that, the discussion began.

But it didn't seem like they were getting anywhere and at some point, they just started shit-talking.

"Man, I wish coach would just kick Blake out." Ethan groaned, his head falling back. 

"Tell me about it. He's shit at quarterback." Richie clicked his tongue.

"Boys." Rick warned them, partially because his youngest was listening.

"Sorry." They apologized but Irene didn't seem to mind.

"How about…" She chimed in, tapping her finger on her chin, "We scare them?" 

"Like…?" Richie cocked his head, hoping she'd say more than just that.

"I don't know, I just thought it'd be cool since it's Halloween and stuff. And, well, maybe we could use our powers, but I know mama and daddy wouldn't want that." She shrugged, pouting because she hadn't thought it far enough.

"It would be a miracle to scare them without using our powers in the first place," Richie sighed, looking over to his father, "What do you think, dad?" 

No reply.

"Dad?" Ethan followed suit as the three of them raised their brows.

“How far are you in your shadow puppet practice?” Rick asked out of the blue, staring ahead as though imagining whatever idea he had played out. 

“Uh, pretty far, I think? Ma taught us how to merge our shadows into one if we wanted to make a bigger animal.” Richie answered, earning affirmative nods from his siblings. 

“How big?” 

“Like, this big!” Irene opened her arms wide to let him know just how big of a monster they would be able to make if they wanted to. They haven’t, there was no reason to, but the more their father asked, the more it piqued their interest.

Rick thought it through for a moment. It has been a while since he has seen you make that one particular lifeform, but it was worth a shot. If it were able to render Waller speechless, then it’ll definitely make the Bedfords piss their pants. 

No actual attacks, and definitely no killings. But he’ll make sure they shudder at the mere thought of Halloween. Put the fear of God in them. They had it coming, too, stomping on other neighbours’ happiness for years just for the fun of it. 

He just had to play it safe. 

He slowly broke into a sinister smile.

“You three ever heard of a hellhound?”

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

» a/n: ahh hubby rick <3 ;; gorgeous rose divider by @firefly-graphics ♡

[otomes-and-tears]

♦ an unsung melody (is mine for safekeeping) (7/7) ♦

► tags/warnings: pregnancy, past character death, angst, childbirth

► words: 3812

► A/N: The long-awaited conclusion!

Part (01)  (02)  (03)  (04) (05) (06)

► Masterlist

“Oh, you’re finally home!”

Erika smiled, her voice carrying a cheerfulness that didn’t quite match the exhaustion in her eyes. It takes effort for her to stand up from their couch, waddling over to Nevra as he stood by the entrance of their little home.

Nevra rushes to close the short distance between them, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. His arms wrap tightly around her shoulders as he breathes her in, and his eyes flutter closed as he ground himself in her presence.

That was how Erika knew his day had been particularly difficult. 

With her due date approaching, and Eldarya’s growing unrest, Nevra more often than not would only creep into their new, shared home at odd hours of the night. If he came in at all.

Those days were usually the worst.  

The ones where she’d wake up in the morning and find the other side of the bed to be too cold. On the nights he did return, she could see how beaten down he seemed to be, carrying alone the weight of unspoken burdens. It has been a source of strife, lately. Nevra was too afraid of something going wrong to burden her with any more stress, and she refused to be so helpless, wanting to do anything to help.

“I would’ve gone over to you,” he murmured into her hair. “You didn’t need to get up.”

“I needed to move anyway,” Erika said lightly, squirming out of his embrace just enough to study his face, her eyes flickering over him to check for any signs of injury. “My back was starting to hurt from sitting so long.”

Nevra frowned, brushing her hair back with a tenderness that still made her heart flip. “I thought your back hurt if you stood too long?”

“That too.” She grimaced “Honestly, my back hurts regardless of what I do. My feet too— But having to rest so much is making me antsy.”

“I can tell.” Nevra locks the door behind him, double-checking all the locks to ensure the door is properly secured. Chrome complains about how often he has to herd you back home. Lately, just seeing you outside makes him nervous.

“You’re not that much better.” 

She chuckled. Despite it bordering on annoying, Nevra’s increasing protectiveness could be, on occasion, terribly endearing.

Karenn had taken some time to explain it: it was a vampire thing. Being this close to the due date, his instincts asked him to make sure she was somewhere safe and familiar when their child was born. He’d be more over-protective in the weeks following the birth, but at the very least his attention would also be focused on their baby instead of just breathing down her neck and stopping her from walking to their kitchen for a glass of water.

Personally, Erika believes Karenn made it up to justify his, and her , bouts of overprotectiveness. 

In truth, everyone around her had been on edge since she hit her third trimester.

The morbid part of Erika’s mind thinks they might be preparing for the possibility of death in childbirth.

Eyes linger on her even more often than before, and friends, old and new, seem a little too willing to stop by to reminisce. 

No one tells her, but she knows. She knows all too well.

Nevra’s hands find the small of her back, as he gently guides her to the couch again. 

He’s exhausted, but winding down with her at night is the best part of his day.

With her pregnancy, he has avoided missions that require too much travel. As Huang Hua’s right-hand man, it’s not like such things are often expected of him anyway. It’s easier to delegate tasks, but now that Erika is on the home stretch, and the baby can come at any moment now, Nevra has been spending long hours getting his affairs in order, ready to go on leave when their child is born.

He has no hope of being able to properly go on leave, but he wants to make sure the amount of work he has is minimal, instead of the mountains of paperwork he usually has to deal with.

“You know I can’t help it. And the closer we get to the date…” He trailed off, his eyes flicking to her rounded belly with a mixture of awe and anxiety. She doesn’t comment on it but could sense a nervous energy to him, simmering just below the surface, just barely suppressed.

“How are you feeling? Have they…”

He starts, the words winding down into nothingness as the hand previously on her back moves underneath her shirt, caressing the taut skin of her belly. Erika cringes slightly at the coldness of his hands. Nevra is likely doing this both to greet their child and as a ploy to warm his hands. He has always been attracted to her warmth, which is especially annoying when her base temperature has been up, she’s feeling unbearably hot all the time, but her beloved partner insists on being all over her like a sentient weighted blanket.

“The usual,” Erika replied, resting a hand over his. “They’re still too cosy in there to want to leave, making me miserable. I swear, If they don’t decide to come out soon, I’ll reach in and pull them out myself.”

Nevra’s lips quirked into a small smile, but his lilac eyes betrayed him, still soft with worry. He didn’t speak for a long moment, his thumb tracing slow, rhythmic circles across her skin, following any tiny movement he could feel in her belly. 

He used to complain about how sombre she could be. About all the what-ifs that tormented her, the dark jokes she made at her own expense as a consequence of her past, and all the terrible misfortune that coloured their time together.

Things got much better after her pregnancy progressed and she got too focused on their move, obsessing over every little detail of their shared home, to concern herself with these things. It felt like a burst of optimism, being allowed to focus on the future for once rather than being tethered to her painful past.

But as her due date approached, it seemed like things became sombre again.

The light dimmed, a heavy fog settling in between them. She could only walk towards the light, hoping that it would lead to something good, rather than more tragedy. 

“I started writing in the baby book again,” Erika said, breaking the silence. Her voice was light, almost casual, but there was a tremor underneath it. Nevra’s hand stills for just a moment before he forces himself to continue tracing shapes in her belly.

The rhythm is broken, however. Too stilted to seem natural.

“Just little things,” she murmured, looking away. “The way you hum when you’re stressed. How you always bring me fruit for breakfast, even though you hate how it smells, the lyrics to lullabies from back home…”

“It sounds like you’re writing a farewell letter,” Nevra said softly, his voice tight.

She swallows, hard, there’s a beat where the conversation dies, too long, too uncomfortable when things around him felt so easy beforehand.

“Maybe I am.”

His grip on her tightened, his fingers curling protectively over her stomach. She distantly recognises the shapes he’s tracing as protective runes.

“You shouldn’t,” Nevra pleas, and she can’t bring herself to look at him. “You’re going to be just fine.”

“I just… want them to know me,” she said, her voice breaking. “In case I don’t—”

“You will,” Nevra interrupted, his voice firm. “You will know them. You’ll be there for everything.  And if you can’t finish that stupid book, I will. I’ll fill every single page... They’ll know you, Erika.”

She nodded, her throat too tight to speak, and leaned into his shoulder. He held her, a little too tightly, as the baby stirred between them, both of them lost in their thoughts.

—

It starts gradually.

She never expected labour to be like this. It doesn’t really matter how many baby books she read, or how many times medics walked her through all the steps of labour, the idea of it that always seemed to come to mind came from all the movies and shows she watched back home.

Things always start suddenly. A sharp pain, then your water breaks, then all hell breaks loose. In a neat twenty-one minutes, you’re holding your perfect, healthy, clean baby.

Reality is much, much more painful than fiction.

For starters, there’s a lot more waiting involved.

Waiting and counting.

Waiting until the contractions get strong enough, waiting until they’re timeable. Waiting until they’re close enough apart and last for long enough. 

Waiting until the water breaks, until her cervix is dilated. Until they can give her something to manage the pain.

Waiting, waiting, waiting .

It’s worse than the nine months that came beforehand. The wait seems far longer, heavier, and more anxiety-inducing.

Nevra was there the whole time. Labour lasted far longer than either expected, but he refused to leave Erika’s side, or their shared home until his firstborn was safe in his arms. He must’ve snapped at Eweleïn three times, begging her to do anything to do anything to mitigate Erika’s pain, before she threatened to kick him out and only let him back inside once it was finished.

He was much more compliant, then.

The early morning hours blurred together as Erika gripped the edge of the bed, her breathing ragged. Each contraction tore through her with an intensity that made the world tilt, and yet it wasn’t the pain that filled her with dread—it was the knowledge that this might be the end of the road.

The room was silent, save for the occasional rustle of fabric and Eweleïn’s hushed instructions. Erika can only barely process the flurry of movement around her as nurses and healers rush into position, getting vials filled with colourful potions into a table and preparing the station where her child is going to be examined. Why they hadn’t bothered to do so in the hours she was waiting for her cervix to dilate enough for her to be able to push was beyond her.

Erika’s laboured breaths filled the air as she clung to Nevra’s hand, her grip tight as she bordered on desperation. The birth had been harder than anyone expected, threaded with extreme caution. Her mind felt too hazy to properly process any words that weren’t “ push” and the vague notion that she had lost a little too much blood. 

She was exhausted and hungry by too many hours of labour and in terrible pain. Nevra whispered soft assurances into her skin, which made her feel a little better, even if she couldn’t understand them.

“Almost there, Erika,” 

Eweleïn said, her voice firm but gentle, though even she looked strained. As exhausted by the experience as they all were.

Erika nodded, her hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. She couldn’t waste energy on words. All she could think about was the fragile life she was bringing into a world that had never shown her mercy.  

“You’re doing amazing,” Nevra said, his voice trembling as he pressed a kiss to her damp forehead. “Just a little longer, sweetheart. I’m right here.”

She nodded, her grip tightening on his hand. 

“Nevra,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “If I don’t—”

“Please,” he cut her off, his voice sharper than he intended. He softened immediately, brushing her hair back, guilt flashing in his eyes. “You’ll be just fine. You’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever known, and you’ve come so far..”

Erika closed her eyes as another contraction hit, her scream muffled against his chest.

Eweleïn’s voice broke through the tension.

“One more push, Erika. You’re almost there.”

Part of her wanted to scream at her old friend. It seemed like she was insisting that it was just one more push for hours. 

With a final, desperate cry, Erika bore down with all the strength she had left, and then there was silence. 

For one agonizing moment, the world seemed to hold its breath, Erika’s heart pounding in her chest as a familiar dread washed over her, until the piercing, shrill, wail of her newborn shattered the stillness.

It’s like they all breathe a sigh of relief. 

Her body slumps back into the pillows, finally allowed to relax after what felt like an interminable effort, but she is still trembling from the aftermath.

Then she cries.

Out of relief they both shared, that the worst was over. That she managed to overcome the biggest hurdle and they both pulled through. All those months of dread, all those nagging thoughts that tainted every happy moment were finally proven wrong.

Nevra let out a choked laugh, his own eyes wet as Eweleïn finally handed the baby to Erika.

Her hold on the newborn is a little awkward, but with her Eweleïn’s assistance, she’s able to hold the baby securely in her weak limbs. Her dear friend wipes away her tears with a proud smile, holding back her own tears through a thin veil of professionalism.

"It's a girl"

The elf announces, her giddiness is as infectious as her smile. Eweleïn lingers around the new parents for a brief moment, the three old friends relishing in the victory of a battle well-fought, before she leaves them, caught up again in the flurry of activity inside of the room. Their time with the newborn right now is limited, before she's weighed, cleaned and thoroughly examined, but Erika is glad to have this little moment of privacy. To be inside of this perfect little bubble with Nevra and the child she finally gets to meet.

The vampire regards them both with awe, his eyes lighting up as he watches their tiny, bloody little baby squirm in her mother’s arms. 

“You did it,” he murmured, his voice raw with relief. “You’re both here. You’re both safe.”

Maybe in a few years, when this is all long past them, Erika will manage to feign being offended at his blatant disbelief, but right now, she echoes the sentiment. 

They’re both there, and safe .

She had grown too used to things being good, too good , and then being ripped away from her.

In her eyes, the past few months, where she got her life back with Nevra, was an anomaly. She lived in fear, waiting for her time to run out, for the inevitable other shoe to drop, for another world-ending event to wipe away all of those she had loved.

But now she holds her baby close. Her precious little girl, with her father’s pointy ears and her mum’s nose, allowing herself to enjoy the moment with no reservations. No catastrophising. Even if it doesn’t last, and the fear of their future crushes her again, she allows herself this one thing.

The weight of her survival was heavy, but for this moment, it was worth it.

For her.

—

The stars were scattered across the night sky as Erika sat on the edge of the cliff overlooking the forest, weeks later. The baby, swaddled and asleep, was cradled safely in her arms. The aengel had insisted on being left alone, though Nevra had hovered like a shadow at the edge of her vision, reluctant to leave her or their daughter’s side for even a moment.

She allows him to walk the familiar path with them, a few steps behind. It’s a little game— He can join, just as long as he stays out of her view. If she spots him directly before they reach their destination, he needs to go home.

There isn’t much one can do with a child this new, but Erika manages. As soon as she could, she started taking her baby on little walks around the HQ, strapped to her chest, covered in soft clothes she hated to wear. Her walks usually happened at night, when the baby couldn’t stop crying and she needed to do something to keep herself sane when everyone else was asleep, and they were both away from prying eyes and well-meaning advice she frankly did not want.

She started by walking to the centenary tree, sitting by her own statue, talking to an old friend who was long gone, hoping the dim lights and her soft voice would soothe her child to rest. Later, when she was strong enough, her feet took her to the same cliffside that had shaped so much of her recent life.

Erika was no longer fragile from the delivery, but she wasn’t whole either.

The same powers that had once healed her so quickly now seemed sluggish, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that something about them had changed , evolved, much like everything else in her life.

Her bond with Leiftan still existed, and on the worst nights she could still sense him, sending her comfort in the only way he knew how, but he had mostly blocked her off. Her senses had grown mostly attuned to her child, helping her understand her daughter’s needs without fumbling as much as she feared she would. 

It’s strange to think that she’s a mother, now.

It only feels real now that her baby is in her arms, but it’s still an adjustment to be given this new title, to the way that people now perceive her.

Nevra joined her without a word, sitting close enough that their shoulders touched. He said nothing at first, allowing her a moment of quiet if she wishes, or to tell her what has been bothering her.

He just wanted to be nearby.

“Funny, right?” Erika’s voice cuts through the night, barely above a whisper, not wanting to wake their child. “We were sitting here, seven months ago. In this exact spot. And I told you I was pregnant.”

He smiles, almost despite himself, filled with a sudden nostalgia. She knows he’s just as exhausted as she is.

“The best, most terrifying night of my life.” 

Nevra announces, which makes Erika laugh, almost despite herself.

“You didn’t seem scared .”

“I was.” He admits “I still am.”

Why wouldn’t he be, after all?

Parenthood was scary. The moments leading up to it were, and the reality hit her much worse.

She loved her daughter more than words could say, but sometimes she felt like she had a hard time truly bonding with her. Feeling like herself again.

It’s a strange thought, that defined so much of her time after she woke up from her sacrifice. Others perceived her as a saviour, as a living legend.

The last Aengel.

Her friends regarded her as a long-lost friend, someone they loved but couldn’t quite remember. An echo of a different time.

She was always so lost in the different expectations. In all the titles she was given, and how much they clashed with the reality of who she is. Or at least she perceived herself as being.

The truth, she found, is that she, herself, doesn’t know the definitive answer.

Perhaps it was presumptuous to once think she did.

She’s a mixture of everything and nothing at all. Beyond all the suffocating titles, the weight of expectations, her fears and her story, she’s Erika .

The only way to feel like herself is to be herself. To stop pretending like she’s okay and like she isn’t afraid for the sake of others, to stop acting like the perfect sacrifice. The heroine they all craved.

It’s who she wants her daughter to know her as. It’s something she’d known for a long time, what was harder was to be that person, not just simply write down those words in a journal.

“She deserves more than this,” 

Erika said finally, voice barely above a whisper.

“More than what?”

Nevra tilted his head. 

“More than a mother who will probably leave her before she learns how to walk,” Erika replied, bitterness lacing her words. “More than a father who has to juggle the world’s problems with raising her.”

Nevra didn’t flinch. He had always been steady like that, even when everything else felt like it was crumbling. He was just as scared as she was, she often reminded herself, and only recently had grown comfortable in expressing those fears to her.

“You’ve survived everything thrown at you so far,” he said, his voice firm but kind. “I know you don’t want to be the saviour again, but you’ll do it. Because you’re you.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

She looked at her daughter’s face. As how her plump cheeks are squished against her mother’s chest, deeply asleep, so serene, so full of life, and felt her heart ache. How could she bring herself to love this fiercely again, knowing it could be taken from her in a second?

Nevra rested his hand over hers, where it lay against the baby’s form. 

“She has all she needs, Erika. She has parents who love her, and people from the HQ and beyond who’d lay down their lives for her in a second if asked.” That makes her chuckle. “And most of all, I know that if something were to happen to you, you’d fight like hell to come back to us. You have before, back when you had much less to fight for.”

He said simply, the weight of his sincerity breaking through her walls. He’s right, she knows he is. She just needed to accept it.

She closed her eyes, letting the tears come.

When the sun rose, Erika stood at the edge of the forest, her daughter in Nevra’s arms as he waited nearby, shielding the baby’s eyes from the bright light. The horizon blazed with gold, and for just a moment, it felt like clarity.

It was her lighthouse, her way out of the fog that obscured her vision, out of the darkness and weariness that had once consumed her.

Erika spent so long fearing her death that it was hard to accept that, for once, she was allowed to live.

Things wouldn’t always be easy, and the calm she now knew wouldn’t last forever, but there was no use in suffering for what might be and losing all the joy of the life that she painstakingly built for herself. She had her happy ending all along, but in her fear, she didn’t even realise it.

She was tired of losses and of every single milestone being tarnished by her fear of the future. So, for now, she looked to the present. 

Erika turned back to them, her family , and smiled through her weariness.

“Just a little longer,” 

She whispered, more to herself than anyone else. When she smiles, she finds it to be sincere.

The road behind them was filled with darkness, perhaps, but she looked to the light that guided them. 

For her child. 

For Nevra. 

And most of all, for herself.

[strangersteddierthings]

Steve, Gareth and Chrissy are cousins AU (sad edition) [prologue] [part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Final Part]

"Oh Boom!" Steve cheers, stepping though the plants, "Bada bing, bada boom! There she is, Henderson. Skull Rock. In your face, man. In your stupid, cocky little face."

"Doesn't make sense," Dustin mutters, following after him.

"Yeah, yeah. Even with it staring you in the face, you can't admit it. Can't admit you're wrong, you butthead," Steve says, one hand on his hip as he looks up at Skull Rock.

"I concur," Eddie's voice is preceded by the thump of his landing, which causes Steve and Dustin to turn around to, "You, Dustin Henderson, are a total butthead."

"You son of a bitch!" a different, familiar voice shouts, and Steve watches, to his increasing horror, as Gareth rounds the rock Eddie just jumped off and beelines for Steve. He's too shocked to do anything other than watch as Gareth plants his palms to Steve's chest and shoves.

Steve goes down hard, arms pinwheeling. He hears several people call his name but the white noise his brain is generating has blocked out everything except Gareth. Gareth, who stands before him, chest heaving in his anger, hand back to his sides and fists clenched.

"Where were you!?" Gareth screams at him, and Steve can see tears threatening to fall. "Where the fuck have you been?"

"Excuse me, but who are you?" Robin asks, stepping forward and into Steve's periphery. The white noise quiets just a bit as he watches Robin whip to Eddie. "Who is he?"

Eddie says something back, but Steve doesn't fully hear it before Gareth has taken a step forward, closer, pulling all his attention again and Gareth asks again, quietly, "Where were you?"

Steve swallows, looking Gareth up and down. He's dirty, much like Eddie, and not wearing shoes. Why isn't he wearing shoes? What happened to them? He looks back up to Gareth's face. To the anger he can see, is sure everyone else can see, too. But, also, to the sorrow, the fear, the hurt underneath it all. Steve opens his mouth, a thousand questions on his tongue. Where are your shoes? How did you get here? When? I tried to keep you out of this, I wanted to keep you out of this. Why are you here? But, instead, what comes out is, "I'm sorry."

Those words seem to break Gareth. A choked off sob rips from his throat and he drops to his knees, curling in on himself. Steve, always protective, moves to comfort him at the same time as Eddie does but Eddie beats him there, kneeling down to be at Gareth's side, concern etched in every line of him. Eddie places a hand on Gareth's back, near his shoulder, rubbing small, soothing circles there.

It makes something squeeze deep inside of him, to see Eddie caring for Gareth so much, even as Eddie is now glaring at Steve in defense of whatever slight he thinks Steve has caused. Or maybe he knows. Maybe Gareth told him. Told him how Steve is the worst cousin in the world, failed to protect Chrissy. Failed Gareth, too, since he's here, barefoot in the middle of the goddamn woods instead of safe in his home.

Robin's arm hooking under Steve's own breaks him from his thoughts. He lets Robin help him stand, and watches as Eddie does the same for Gareth, and for a moment, the whole forest is quiet.

But they have Dustin with them, so that doesn't last long. "Can someone explain what the hell is going on? Why's Gareth here?"

Steve doesn't even have it in himself to scold Dustin for his language.

Eddie and Gareth exchange looks, a silent communication so like how he is with Robin that it gut-punches him, and then Eddie says, "it's, uhh, quite a story."

"Start telling it, then," Nancy says gently but still with her usual no nonsense undertone.

They get a story told by both. When Eddie pauses, Gareth picks up the tale, and the vice versa. When Gareth gets choked with emotion, such as explaining that Chrissy is his cousin, Eddie takes over and explains. He says nothing about Steve, doesn't even imply he knows more, so... maybe Gareth hasn't told him Steve is also his cousin?

Then they talk about Patrick and Nancy wants to know the time, and soon it's back to dealing with the Upside Down. Something's up with Dustin's compass they have to go investigate now, and Steve thinks everyone's forgotten the weird tension of Gareth shoving him down and demanding to know where he's been.

Everyone but Robin, it seems, who hangs back to ask about it as they follow Dustin and his broken compass.

"So, how do you know Gareth?" Robin asks, uncertain.

Steve frowns at the back of Gareth's head, where he walks ahead with Dustin and Eddie. "He's my cousin."

"Oh!" Robin's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, looking from Gareth to Steve, as if she can spot a family resemblance from the back of Gareth's head. "How did I not know that?"

"Gareth asked to pretend we weren't related when he started high school," Steve shrugs. "Was afraid it would ruin his 'street cred'."

"What a nerd."

"Right?" Steve chuckles at that and they walk in silence for a bit longer before Robin gasps like she's dying. A realization.

"Steve," she breaths out, a hand flying out to grab onto Steve's shoulder in an almost painful grip. He's so glad she's keeping quiet, as she whispers, "was Chrissy your cousin, too?"

Steve swallows and nods.

"Steve, I-"

"No. Not now. Not the time," Steve cuts her off, prying his hand from her arm. "Please, Robbie. I can't think about that now. Please."

Robin doesn't look happy about the development but she gives a nod, swallowing around the lump in her throat now.

[mackiebeth]

love is a double-edged sword

Pairing(s): Wanda Maximoff x Female!Reader (Past Wanda Maximoff x Vision)

Summary: Falling in love with your presumed-to-be-straight best friend could have been possibly the worst, most cliché thing you have ever done. But, it could also have been the best.

Warnings: internalized homophobia, coming out, occasional swearing used, brief mention of non-consensual kiss

Word Count: 4.5k

Author's Note: ahh my tumblr debut! this was the first mcu fic i ever wrote — i hope you guys enjoy.

Main Masterlist | ao3 | Wattpad

...

Since the age of six, if anyone asked you who your best friend was, you would proudly respond, “Wanda Maximoff”; she would do the same with your name.

But, you’re not exactly sure when your feelings for her become less friendly.

Maybe it was one of those times she had gone off on a tangent and explained the latest book she read, saying how much you’d “love it if you just listened to her and read the damn book.” You found her passion for stories endearing, perhaps even admirable. Maybe it was Field Day during the seventh grade; the outside air was plagued by blistering heat, but — with her long, brunette hair tied up in a high ponytail — she made sweating look good . Maybe it was the fact that, when you came out to your family last year, she had comforted you afterward; she held your face in her hands, wiped your tears with her two thumbs, and told you any girl would be lucky to have you.

You were sure at this moment that you did not want “any girl,” however, because the only girl you wanted was the one sitting in front of you.

You mistakenly let out a scoff. Of course, you would fall victim to the “lesbian falls for the straight best friend” trope. Wanda, on the other hand, thought the scoff was a response to her; thus, she pulled you into a tight hug, trying to convey how deeply she cares for you.

“I’m serious, Y/N,” she whispered into your ear. “One day, some girl is going to love you for you .”

You didn’t reply.

It was the second to last day of your junior year in high school. Thankfully, you had finished your exams, but the school required everyone to attend until the last day anyway.

It’s not like you could’ve done much for summer anyways; it has been raining all week, and it’s not like you got your license, nor do you even own a car. Additionally, you reasoned there could be far worse places to be in this moment, like home.

As you closed your locker, a mischievous brunette was lingering on the other side.

“Hello, Wanda. What can I do you for on this very fine day?” you said, sarcastically putting emphasis on the “very fine” part of the question.

She chuckled as she shook her head, “Nothing, at least not with that attitude.”

“Fine,” you gave in quickly, in pursuit of the real reason behind this conversation. “Seriously, though, what has Wanda Maximoff in such a chipper mood during school hours?”

Somehow, your question made her smile grow wider. “You’ll never guess what happened this morning,” she began. “Vision asked me out.”

Now, that caught your attention, “What?”

“Yeah, you know Tony, right? He’s that annoying rich kid in our class. Anyways, he’s throwing some sort of party for the end of the year and, since he and Vision are essentially best friends, Vision asked me to go to the party with him.”

You were only able to get one word out: “Wow.”

Noticing your lack of enthusiasm, Wanda turned her body completely towards you, “What? What’s wrong? Aren’t you excited for me?”

Truthfully, you were not excited for her. It’s not as if you did not know of Wanda’s infatuation with Vision; in fact, you could probably never forget the number of times she would talk to you about his “beautiful, blonde hair” and “pretty eyes.” Vision was not necessarily a bad kid, but you just hate that she just couldn’t like you like that.

It’s not like you could share this desire with your best friend either; ergo, you opted to put on a brave face and say, “Of course, I’m excited for you.” And, in case she didn’t believe you, you playfully elbowed her side, “If it goes well, I better be the maid of honor.”

You know that had convinced her, for she bit her lip and nodded excitedly.

“Oh,” Wanda started. “One more thing…”

As you looked at the mansion that stood before you, filled to the brim with a plethora of drunk teenagers, you uttered to yourself, “I don’t know why I let her talk me into coming to this. One day, I am going to have to stop agreeing with her on everything.”

You know you wouldn’t — if she wanted something, you’d make sure she’d get it. Nevertheless, that didn’t stop you from finding situations such as this annoying.

You walked through the front door. Immediately, your senses were overwhelmed by the strong smell of alcohol and the loud music blasting in the atmosphere. You attempted to push through to get through the crowd of people and find the person responsible for your presence. Before you could get much further, you felt another person grab and pull your wrist from behind, forcing you to turn around.

Wanda.

“Y/N, you came!” she tried to yell over the music. You could tell she wasn’t drunk, but she had definitely consumed something alcoholic. You failed to get a word in before she continued to pull you by the hand to venture further into the crowd of people, “Come on, let’s go dance!”

Moments later, you found yourself awkwardly “dancing” with your best friend. Although, she seemed to be having the time of her life. When she noticed your stiffness, she brought you closer to her, allowing you to hear her say, “Don’t worry about everyone else… Just dance with me!” 

So, you did. You let go of any apprehensions, allowing yourself to move freely with the music and the girl in front of you.

Meanwhile, Vision stood across the room with a drink in hand. Not really thrilled by what he was seeing occurring between you and Wanda, he decided to end it. Drunkenly strolling over to you two, he pulled her from your grasp and into (in your unbiased opinion) one of the grossest, sloppiest kisses you had ever witnessed. 

You weren’t exactly sure how to respond, partly due to the fact that there wasn’t exactly a reason to be envious of him anyways. So, you stood there awkwardly once more, pushing the jealousy down within you.

Wanda, on the other hand, was not thrilled by the action either. She knew he was drunk, tasting the alcohol the minute he forcefully placed his lips on hers. Quickly, she pulled away, “What the fuck, Vision? What was that?”

With a smirk aimed at you, he replied, “What do you mean?” She scowled, “You can’t just do that! Why would you ever think that was okay?”

“I should ask you the same thing.”

Now, she was the one in a state of confusion, yet hers was not fake, “What do you mean?”

“Y/N,” his retort made you look down at your old, worn-out sneakers. You weren’t entirely sure what direction this was all going, but you already knew that you did not like it.

“What about her, Vision?” “She’s obviously into you. I saw how you two were dancing together. My friends saw it, too. How is that supposed to make me feel, Wanda?”

Despite not being able to look up due to the embarrassment, you could feel the anger rolling off of Wanda’s body, “That is so not true, Vision, and you know it! Why are you acting so insecure about it, anyway? She’s my best friend, and I’m not even gay !”

You know she didn’t mean it like that , but something about the way she yelled the last part at the teenage boy came with a sort of venom — as if “gay” was synonymous with “bad.”

“You know what, Wanda? I’m done with this argument. You choose now : me or Y/N.”

That took Wanda aback, “What?”

“You heard me.”

“No, Vision,” she began. “That’s not fair, I refuse to choose between you and my best friend.”

“Either you choose me, and we can continue dating, or you choose her .”

A moment passed. In an attempt to not outwardly demonstrate the pain, you clamped your eyes shut. Honestly, you were about to walk away, accept defeat, and simply pretend this night never happened in the first place; you would have let her know later that it was alright, that if she wanted him, she could have him without someone like her standing in her way. Before she could move her feet to leave, however, she heard Wanda finally speak: “Fine, then. I choose her.”

Upon her decision being made, you finally looked up with wide eyes. Vision had the same wide eyes as you, but his face was paling from the initial rageful red that painted it moments earlier. Now, you shared two things with him: your love for Wanda and the visible shock that she chose you over him. It took every fiber of your being to not smile, as you knew now was not the time to celebrate such a victory.

Before another poisonous comment could be passed between the two, Tony stepped through the crowd that had surrounded you three. “Okay, man. That’s enough. Let’s go,” he ushered Vision away from the scene.

The crowd dissipated, leaving your best friend standing there alone. You took their exit as an opportunity to make sure Wanda was alright. You tried to reach out to her, to touch her shoulder. Maybe it was to pull her into one of your two’s infamously tight hugs; maybe it was to just let her know you were just there . You don’t know why you reached for her, but you didn’t really think before acting since it just felt like the most natural thing to do for you. Immediately, your hand was shrugged off by the brunette. Your body began to feel hot, and tears started to form in your eyes. You refused to cry, though, instead choosing to look down at your feet once more and begin your journey back home.

Within minutes you were back in the comfort of your own bed. With a harsh swallow, you continuously replayed the events of tonight over and over again. You laid there, reminiscing on just how utterly humiliated and alone you felt.

Even then in your state of depression and self-pity, you only hoped Wanda was doing okay.

Wanda left the party soon after you did. Similarly, she went home and found herself collapsed in her bed.

She didn’t bother changing out of her clothes, nor did she take off her makeup. Internally, she wishes that the bed would swallow her in order to leave the ramifications of tonight as a “potential” occurrence rather than an “actual.” She just doesn’t understand why: why he would do something like that; why the universe hates her; why she turned you away when she knew you did nothing wrong.

A brief, soft knock at her bedroom door removed her from her cyclical round of thoughts. “Come in,” she whispered, not trusting her voice to carry across the room like it usually does. 

The door creaked open slowly, revealing her twin brother standing on the other side. “Hey, сестра,” he began, approaching her bed with caution and sitting beside where her legs laid. “How are you doing?” [sestra | sister]

She doesn’t acquire the information about how exactly he learned about the events of tonight, perhaps from some friends of his that went to the party. Instead, she chuckled humorlessly, “How do you think I feel, Pietro? I think I just lost my best friend and the guy I liked in one night.”

“‘The guy you liked’? You mean, Vision?” he wondered. “Honestly, I didn’t like him anyway. You didn’t lose much on that front. But, what happened with Y/N? You guys never fight.”

“I don’t even know, Pietro. One minute, we’re just dancing and having fun because you know Y/N — she never comes to parties. I wanted to make the most of the night. As we were dancing, though, Vision walked up to us, stole me from her, and just kissed me. Not only was it without my consent and out of spite, but it was just gross.”

The latter statement made the twin brother laugh. She continued, “I pulled away quickly because I was just so angry , you know? Like why did he think he could just do that? So, I asked him, which caused us to have an argument in the middle of the party. In the end, he gave me an ultimatum: him or Y/N. Of course, I chose her because… I don’t know, Y/N is Y/N.”

He sat there next to her, listening intently. He sighed, “Yeah, but what happened between you and Y/N ?”

She closed her eyes, “I don’t know .” The statement wasn’t a lie because she truly did not understand why she reacted the way she did towards you, her best friend. The tears started flowing again, soon turning into a set of sobs that ultimately racked her body. Her brother swiftly leaned down, taking his sister into his arms; she continued to cry into his chest for what felt like hours.

After some time had passed, the sobs slowed down and transformed into sniffles. Pietro looked down at his sister, “What’s wrong?”

She refused to look up, but she knew she had to get this off her chest. “Pietro,” she released in a single breath. He affirmed to her to continue, “I think… I think I’m gay.” There was another beat of silence before she slowly proceeded once more, “I think I like Y/N.”

There it was: the beast of the truth that was unknowingly weighing her down was finally released. 

If it was even possible, Pietro pulled her closer in his embrace. Though he was aware that discussions of sexuality were becoming increasingly accepted and treated as an insignificant portion of someone’s life, he also knew that this was a big deal for her . He acknowledged such a fact, “I’m proud of you, Wanda, and I’m glad you told me, especially because I know it must have been difficult for you to realize and go through this on your own — even without Y/N… is this what caused the rift between you two? Did you tell her, and she rejected you?”

She scoffed, “Quite the opposite, actually; Vision accused her of liking me — which she probably doesn’t — but I just stood there, screaming at him that we were ‘just friends’ and that I ‘wasn’t even gay.’ You should’ve seen her when I shrugged her away after, Pietro. She looked so hurt . I hurt her.”

“You want to know how to fix this?” he asked, quickly followed by a confident nod from her. “You have to talk to her. Even if she didn’t like you, this is not something to lose such a close friendship over. For the record, though, she does like you. I’ve seen the way she looks at you, and that is definitely someone in love.”

Her head snapped up at the accusation, meeting the smirk that was plastered on his face. If he was right, she really messed up. She urgently needed to see you, to tell you once and for all how she truly feels about you; thus, she told her brother that she was going to find you and left him and his smirk behind.

Wanda didn’t have a clue about what she was going to say when she saw you; she didn’t have a script, nor did she have any guidelines to follow. She just knew she had to see you , only then would everything make sense for her.

You were on the verge of sleep when you could feel the vibrations coming from your phone. In a sleepy haze, you picked up the phone. The brightness made you unexpectedly squint your eyes, but the Caller ID was unmistakable: Wanda Maximoff. 

You weren’t sure what exactly to do in this situation. On one hand, you knew you could not face another rejection, specifically from her. It would probably break you beyond repair. On the other hand, you could never say no to Wanda, even if it meant answering her calls at the most random times of the day. 

So, you shakily tapped the green button and pulled the phone close to your ear.

“Hello? Y/N?” you could hear Wanda ask on the other side of the line.

“Hi,” you responded back. Wanda noted how soft your voice sounded. Normally, she would consider such softness an adorable trait of yours, but she knows the reason behind it. She knows it was her fault that you felt insecure at that moment.

“I’m– Um, I’m outside; can you come downstairs to open the door?” Wanda asked. Now, you were almost completely awake; the question made you raise your eyebrows in astonishment. 

Despite your initial surprise, you muttered a quiet approval that you would meet her at the door and made your way downstairs. 

To say you were nervous was an understatement. You don’t know what she’s going to say to you. You unlock the door and reach for the handle of the door, slowly turning it and pulling the wooden door towards you until you’re able to see Wanda on your front doorstep. Even with the low amount of yellow light coming from the bulb outside the door and the makeup visibly smeared on her face (probably from crying, you note), all you can think about is just how pretty she looks.

Her eyes look up to meet yours, causing your breath to hitch for a second. You weren’t certain about how to go about this, “Uh, do you want to come in? We’d have to go up to my room quietly because my parents are home.”

She accepted the invite, nodding her head hesitantly. The two of you walked upstairs, through the hall, back to where you had initially been laying in your bed and wallowing in your pity. You got back in your bed and crossed your legs as you sat against the headboard. Wanda, however, did not sit alongside you like she usually does; instead, she paced around your room. It was obvious that she was stuck in a state of stress and anxiety that you had never seen, even when she failed that one test back in sophomore year.

Your eyes trailed back and forth as you observed her pacing; suddenly, she came to a stop in front of the bed. Her body was not facing you, rather it faced the way that she had been walking moments prior. She started to play with the rings littered on her various fingers, which you had learned early on that it was a nervous habit of hers. You chose to remain quiet and to let her speak when she was ready due to the evidently difficult subject matter, but you couldn’t help your own anxiety rising. 

Without looking at you, she finally broke the silence: “I need to tell you something, Y/N. I need to tell you a few things, actually. I’m not sure how you’ll react, but I also know that you didn’t deserve what happened to you tonight, to be put in that situation. You deserve more than that; honestly, you deserve everything good, and I’m so sorry that I put you through that. I completely understand if you don’t want to talk to me or be friends with me anymore, but I would not forgive myself if I didn’t at least try to salvage us.”

You sat silently in shock but continued to let her speak: “I thought I knew myself. In fact, I was so sure I did. Yeah, I may not have known the answer to some stupid math equation in school, but I knew the kind of clothes I preferred to wear, my favorite food to eat when I’m sad or stressed out, my go-to karaoke song. I thought I knew myself , inside and out. But, I don’t, or at least not as well as I thought I did. And, honestly? That’s freaking me the fuck out because, if I don’t know myself , how can I know anything else? I know that probably makes no fucking sense, but… yeah. I’m just really scared right now, but I talked to Pietro, which helped a bit. Um, he was right. Vision was right.”

Your face fell. You thought this was it, she was finally going to reject you and leave you. 

In the deafening silence swirling around the two of you in your bedroom, she eventually decided to look at you. She saw the way your body sagged, how utterly defeated you looked; the brunette realized that you took her statement in the wrong way, “No! No! No! I didn’t mean it like that! Fuck ! I’m fucking this up. Okay, no, Vision is not right about anything other than the fact that I don’t like him. I don’t like boys… Truthfully, I’m not sure. I just feel so confused and stupid for not realizing such a big thing sooner. That’s what I meant when I said I thought I knew myself: I thought I knew that I liked boys, which I feel like is something that many people know from the beginning.”

“So, you’re… gay?” you quietly asked. You might be almost as confused as Wanda claimed to be.

You watched as the brunette nodded slowly, “I think so? As I said, I don’t know.”

“Okay,” you bit your lip, concentrating on forming something insightful to say next. “Thank you, Wanda, for telling me. I know how difficult and confusing it all is — believe me. Some people figure it out relatively early; others don’t realize it until they’re married with kids. There’s no timeline to any of it, okay? I know we’re kind of in this weird state right now because of tonight, but no matter what, I’d always support you.”

In a brief moment of confidence, Wanda turned her head to face you. You could see the water in her eyes that threatened to fall, her lip beginning to quiver. You rapidly stood up and walked over to her. With the two of you finally facing each other within a two-foot radius, she threw herself at you, wrapping her arms tightly around your neck. Your arms found their way to her waist, snaking around her and finding placement on her back. Both of you kept holding on tighter and tighter, afraid the other would try to leave. You could feel her chest rising and falling relatively fast as she cried into your neck and shoulder, repeating the phrase “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry.”

You removed one hand from her back; instead, you placed it on her head. With a trembling hand, you tread your fingers through her long hair. In an attempt to calm her down, you whisper things of assurance like “It’s okay,” “You’re okay,” or “It’s going to be alright.” You’re not confident they worked, but you could feel her breathing begin to slow down again. You moved the hand from her hair to her shoulder and pulled back in order to ensure she was okay enough to continue; shifting from the shoulder to her hand, you grasped it and squeezed. 

You moved to sit on the edge of the bed and patted the spot next to you. Wanda was noticeably apprehensive, but she sat anyway.

“Are you okay?” you inquired, your eyebrow slightly raised in concern.

“Yeah, I am. At least, I will be eventually,” she trailed off. “There’s one more thing, though… probably the hardest for me to tell you out of all of them.”

Your eyebrows raised slightly as your interest peaked, but you knew to stay quiet again. She proceeded, “I told you that I don’t like men, implying that I do like women, which is true to an extent, I guess. Um, but it’s not ‘women' as in plural. All I know is that I like one, but I’m not sure how she feels about me. I want to tell her so badly so that we could try to be more or something, but I don’t know if she feels the same. I just don’t want to ruin us.”

You nodded your head for her to continue, “Can– Can I ask which lucky girl caught your eye?”

She moved her gaze upwards, resulting in your eyes locking once more. You could tell she was battling with herself internally about whether or not to answer with the truth, for she was harshly biting her lip. Yet, what you didn’t expect was her quiet, albeit one-word, response: “You.”

At this moment, with your eyes locked and her confession having been spoken, you swear your heart skipped a beat. Wanda Maximoff, your best friend and untold love of your life, just admitted she liked you as more than a friend.

Her eyes grew concerned and her face paled since you weren’t responding. “Please, say something… Y/N?” she pleaded.

If there was a time to deal all of your cards on the table, this was it: “I like you, too, Wanda. In fact, I love you. I love you so much, Wanda Maximoff. You don’t have to say it back or whatever; I know tonight has been a lot for you to deal with, but I’ve just wanted to say that to you for so long.”

A toothy grin grew on her face, reaching from ear to ear, “Really?”

“Yes, really. Um, can I kiss you? You don’t have to say ye—“

You were stopped effectively and prematurely when a pair of lips touched yours. Not just any lips, though; they were the softest , purest pair that was owned by your love , Wanda Maximoff. It’s slow at first, neither one of you sure of the other’s boundaries and not wanting to cross wherever they lie. But, as your lips part further allowing her to deepen the kiss, you just think, Wow.  

You continue to kiss her for a minute or two before you’re out of breath and need to pull back for air. Before she can pull back completely, you give her a quick peck on her rosy lips that was probably filled with more intimacy and confidence than that initial kiss.

Pulling the brunette closer to you, you lean down and get the two of you comfortable in your bed. You’ve cuddled like this before during past nights where one of you spent the night with the other girl: you as the big spoon and her as the little one. You deeply appreciated nights like these, but you loved them even more so now that they hold a different context.

Your hand finds its spot on her hip, going beneath the shirt she wore. The two of you know it’s nothing sexual in nature, rather it’s a result of your need to just feel her. As you both began to nod off to sleep with your thumb continued to rub circles on her soft skin, you heard her voice call your name softly once more, “Y/N?”

“Yeah, Wands?”

“I love you, too.”

End.

[myechoecho]

When the Phone Rings, ep 8

I have so many thoughts on this one.

Sa Eon avoids Hee Joo's question about being a good cook. He may say it's sincerity, but I suspect it has much to do with him being forced to eat foods he did not like. I do love that the communication is more open between them, even if Sa Eon is hiding who he is. I laughed at Hee Joo mentioning them no sleeping together and Sa Eon pouncing on that point.

Sa Eon mentioned a plan, which I am thinking he's been methodically working on a way to break free of his own prison. Hee Joo is not part of that plan, so he has been protecting her this entire time.

The back hug was adorable, and we get Sa Eon's inner thoughts which parallel many of Hee Joo's. He fears that she will not accept his true self or forgive him. Hee Joo dreaming that he's left means she has insecurities around him. I adored the spooning in bed, which is a contrast to an earlier episode where they faced one another.

I did like Sa Eon chasing down Hee Joo and Sang Woo. It was surprising to learn that Sang Woo also knows that Hee Joo can speak. Sang Woo is definitely shocked that Hee Joo just goes with Sa Eon so he does not know about their relationship. He also seems genuinely confused at Sa Eon's suspicions about him.

My favourite scene, hands down, is the one by the side of the road. Hee Joo explains why she's scared, why she has doubts and that she thinks she'll be left alone when she learns his secret. What she needs to be reassured is for him to come completely clean. They both need to share their worst in order to be stronger. Sa Eon does not come clean, though he definitely gives some hints.

In the end, what reassures Hee Joo completely is the company photos where Sa Eon's gaze is always on her.

I am actually very invested in the other plot about the past. I genuinely do like In A, and I do think she is on Hee Joo's side. She definitely does not like her step mom and I don't think she's thrilled about her dad. I do also like that she does not pressure Hee Joo to talk.

Kidnapper guy sniffing up Sa Eon and saying he smells nice further still says to me that he is the OG Sa Eon. Our Sa Eon clearly worked around fish and the kidnapper has a fishy smell. Add the fact that our Sa Eon's "parents" recognized the description of the bi coloured eyes and mom gave a coded message.

However, I am less convinced of my previous theory of our Sa Eon having a twin. The pictures we see in his childhood home are only of him. The twins are still key though. Whomever Sa Eon saw being drowned by who I am guessing is the Chairman is one of the twins. The one who is the "master" of OG Sa Eon is the other twin. While I am still suspicious of the assistant, he seems significantly younger that Sa Eon.

Also, wtf happened in the past? i have so many questions:

Did the grandfather kidnap boys from the orphanage, whom he assumed no one would miss, so that OG Sa Eon would have something to torture/kill and then they'd dump the bodies in the lake?

Why did our Sa Eon's father/grandfather go along with it? It seems like he knew and he let the lake be a dumping ground?

Why did he let our Sa Eon go?

Why did Chairman Paik go to Hee Joo's step father for help, ON HIS KNEES, with a gun to his head?

Why did Hee Joo's stepfather help? Why did he make the deal and what does it have to do with the accident that killed his son and caused his daughter's deafness?

Did the Chairman know who was behind the accident and Hee Joo's stepfather was able to take revenge in his own way?

Why is everyone worried about THAT PROBLEM being still alive?

How did the grandfather/father know HE was still alive?

Who tf is HE, exactly?

I suppose I could be wrong about the kidnapper being the OG Sa Eon but I don't think so?

[thelibraryoflightandflowers]

The Reunion

After the Reader returns to save Azriel from the worst of his grief, they have a very touching reunion. (AKA some fluff and non-sexual submission to make up for the constant angst…or is it?)

Part 15 of The Hunter

Read on Ao3

Link to Masterlist (for parts 1-14)

Please feel free to comment on this post if you'd like to be added to the taglist, and specify for if you'd like to be tagged for specific characters or in general :)

Azriel crashed into the man he’d been missing for half a year hard enough to knock them both to the ground. He clutched at his mate like he’d be ripped away again in a heartbeat. They kissed each other like they had never had the chance before. It felt like medicine, healing all of the broken bits of Azriel that he’d been trying to hide for so long. Healing all of the parts of him that he hadn’t realized had been in so much pain. 

“How are you here?” Azriel barely got out through his sobs, smiling through the tears as he felt the arms he’d missed being held by so much around him. 

“I -,” his mate’s mouth moved, but no sound came out. Azriel paused, sensing that something was off, “I can’t tell you.” his mate got out through gritted teeth. 

Azriel looked, really looked at his mate, then. He saw the pale, hollow cheeks, the worried eyes. He made the decision that, although there was clearly something they’d need to figure out how to discuss, for now he was going to allow himself to enjoy the presence of the male he loved most in the world.

They walked back to his cabin, his mate held as close as possible to his side. He could see his mate’s worry for him, could sense him cataloging the tiredness in his step, the hunger for food and sleep in his body, the need for care that he hadn’t really given himself in a long, long time. 

“I’m okay, I promise.” Azriel tried to soothe the worries he knew he had caused. 

“You’re not fine, Az. You’re…fuck, Az, I was so scared.” his mate stopped, turning to face him.

He reached for Azriel, cupping his face gently like he needed to reassure himself that he hadn’t been too late, that he’d stopped what would have been the biggest mistake of Azriel’s life. 

“I’m…okay, maybe I wasn’t fine before, but you’re back, you’re here, so I’m fine now. Really.” Az admitted quietly. 

“Let’s get back to the cabin, then we’ll get you some food and rest. Tomorrow we can really start talking about all of the stuff that happened while I was…gone.” his mate decided, taking his hand as they resumed their walk. 

“I was…sad doesn’t feel like enough of a word to describe what it felt like.” Az looked at the ground, finally having someone he trusted enough to talk to. 

His mate looked at him, then nodded, listening. Encouraging him to continue. 

“I barely left the house, not unless Rhys or Cassian forced me to, and then eventually they realized that I wasn’t really taking care of myself so they made me move into Rhys and Feyre’s home. I hated it so much; I never had a minute of peace and quiet, there was always someone who wanted to check on me, or talk about my feelings. I just felt like a burden.” Az explained, still looking at the ground. 

They walked up the steps of the cabin, Azriel still talking about the past six months. 

“I drove everyone away because I couldn’t stand feeling like I was going to drag them down with me. That’s why I came up here, really. I just needed some time to myself, to figure out what I wanted to do. Rhys and Cassian come by once a day, to check on me. I think, every time they show up, they half expect to find me dead or dying. I don’t know how wrong they would have been, if you hadn’t shown up when you did.” Azriel sat down at the small kitchen table as his mate started bustling around in front of him, making him food. It felt good to be cared for, he realized. To be cared for not because he was a burden, but because he was truly loved. He hadn’t felt that in a long time; he’d missed that feeling of belonging to someone. 

“Oh, Az.” his mate was in front of him again, wiping the tears from his eyes.

“I’m just so glad you’re here again. I don’t…I don’t think I can live without you. It’s been so loud in my head all the time and I just want some quiet.” Azriel was terrified to admit such a truth, even if it was painfully obvious. 

His mate kissed him, softly, slowly, kindly. Gently, like he thought Azriel would break if he so much as looked at him too hard. Azriel let his arms wrap around his waist, drawing him closer, enjoying the safety of being in the arms of the one person he could fully trust, the one person who knew every one of his flaws and loved him not just despite but because of them. 

His mate pulled away too soon to set a plate of food down in front of him, keeping himself close to Azriel while he ate. 

When he was done, his mate gently led him to a warm bath that his shadows must have already drawn for him. He sank down gratefully into the water, letting his mate fuss over him. Letting himself slip into a floaty, calm place where he was safe and loved while his mate washed his hair, then every inch of his body. He smiled as he kissed and soothed every lingering ache and pain away. 

Azriel barely registered being gently stood up from the now much cooler water and wrapped in a soft towel before being led back to the bedroom he hadn’t slept in since he’d arrived because it held too many happy memories to taint it with his sadness. 

“Az? You with me, love?” His mate asked softly, carding his fingers through his hair. 

Azriel hummed in response, not quite a no, but not quite a yes. 

His mate smiled in response, helping him into soft sleeping clothes and laying him in bed, letting him arrange himself to curl into his mate as much as possible, his head on his chest. Azriel listened to the heartbeat he’d missed for six months, and felt his own match its rhythm. He fell asleep like that, safe and warm and quiet and loved.

Taglist: @donnadiddadog @chicaconfundidaycuriosa @sunfloweryoufeast

[nights-flying-fox]

leo for 3, 6, or 8?

Hey hey sorry for being a bit late but I got inspired and. I will write for 3 & 8 too >:] But first!! Part 1 of 3:

6 [Reverse amnesia (everyone else has no memory/recognition of your character)]

Word Count: 1540 ❀ thank you @clairvoyyages for beta reading <33

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

Leo had failed to stop the yokai’s attack. He was too slow, too late to open a portal. The yokai was running away but his brothers were frozen with a blank stare. As if some statues on top of the roof, stuck in a defensive position. “Raph, Donnie, Mikey!” Leo called in fear as he stopped right in front of them, immediately approaching the closest turtle mutant to him. He relaxed when Raph broke out of the stare and turned to look at Leo’s hand on his arm. Quickly Leo realized something was off, and he hid his panic behind his comforting smile as he talked: “Raph? Are you okay?”

Raph blinked a few times before smiling awkwardly. “Yes… I’m okay…” He kept looking at Leo, as if searching for an answer. A familiarity. Leo was confused, this wasn’t how Raph would answer if he was okay. Something was definitely wrong. Right on cue, Raph spoke and Leo was sure he misheard. For it must be that, because why else Raph would ask him who he was?

“I’m sorry, Raph’s just… his mind is really foggy… Have we met before?” He said those words so genuinely… and each of them stung so much to hear. Because this couldn’t be real. It couldn’t– He couldn’t– Maybe he was having a moment like when he went feral? Yeah, it must be something like that. He was sure Donnie could figure it out, or if it was a psychological situation Mikey would. He could see them watching him and Raph silently from the side of his eyes.

Leo turned to them, “Guys, there’s something wrong with Raph.” They looked at him puzzled. Somehow, this was enough to make Leo’s world come crashing down. “Donnie? Mikey?” Leo called, trying so hard to not let his voice shake with fear.

Mikey was first to talk, “I think there is a misunderstanding–”

“No there is not.” Leo interrupted almost immediately. “Come on guys, this isn’t funny.”

“If you could explain to us- what is supposed to be funny?” Donnie said and Leo didn’t miss how he held his bō. His twin was ready to fight, protect others. From Leo. His twin.

Leo smiled with distress, still keeping a small hope of this being a big ugly joke, “I’m your brother.”

“...What?”

Leo looked in between them. When had Raph moved closer to the others? They looked at him scared, puzzled, and worst of all as if he was a stranger. Leo wasn’t sure what to say– to do. They didn’t… they didn’t remember him. They- they didn’t. Donnie was still looking at him sternly, and Raph and Mikey still were so confused. Not giving them any answer probably didn’t help, but Leo couldn’t think what to tell them. He didn’t know what he should do. He—

His phone buzzed and he grabbed it seeing the message from April. Of course! April could help! With shaking hands (when had they started shaking?) Leo called her. Soon enough he heard her voice: “Leo?”

“April, we have a problem.”

“What did you do again?”

“What– No! I– Not that ki-kind of situation.” Leo couldn’t look away from his brothers, so he didn’t miss when Mikey turned to Donnie and asked “How does he know April?”. Leo took a deep breath, “They– a yokai did something to them and I– I don’t know what to do– they don’t believe I’m their brother–”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay baby, we can figure it out. Where are you?” April asked calmly.

“On a roof. We aren’t far from your home actually.” Leo answered.

“Alright send me the location and I’m coming.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Until April arrived, Leo managed to convince his brothers that he wasn’t a stranger and that April would make things clear. That she would explain everything to them. That there was an explanation of the situation. That she would confirm that he wasn’t a liar. He was telling the truth. He was their brother and some yokai had made them forget this. And they would figure out what was going on and fix it. Because they always did. They were the Mad Dogz, they had stopped the Shredder and the Krang. A simple trick from an every day bad guy wasn’t something they couldn’t handle.

They didn’t believe him, but Donnie agreed to look at the records once April arrived. Raph kept a distance from Leo but kept chatting with him, giving him a chance. Mikey told him how much he liked him already. “Even if you aren’t our brother you’d make a great brother!” He said. Leo wanted to scream so bad about how he already was, but instead he kept smiling.

At any moment now April would arrive and she’d tell them Leo was right. She’d prove to them that Leo was their brother. The minutes felt like hours and Mikey’s happy chatter only kept making him feel like he was sick. But finally he saw April climbing up the ladder to join them. As she got up on the roof, she must’ve noticed something on the ground because she stopped to inspect something on the hand she had grabbed the roof with. After a sneeze though she ignored it, taking a moment before approaching them.

“April! Finally!” Leo called at her. He was met with a startled look. Leo kept talking, “Please, do your magic and reveal the truth to my dear brothers.” He gestured at them.

April looked at Raph, Donnie and Mikey, and then back at Leo. “Who’s that guy?”

Leo froze. Then he turned at her, he was sure he made the disbelief he felt clear even though he smiled. “April? What do you mean who’s that guy? It’s me, Leo.”

“So you don’t know him either.” Donnie didn’t ask, he stated it as a fact.

April shook her head. The three mutants turned to look at Leo, along with her.

Leo felt like he was sinking.

Donnie raised his bō and Leo noticed how Raph changed his stance. April looked at him with a protective glare. Mikey, however, looked heart-broken.

“Please,” Leo pleaded. “Donnie, I know you record everything… Come on, just check your phone gallery or anything! Raph, Mikey, April! Please!”

Raph took a step towards him, “I don’t know what you want or what you’re trying to do, but you better tell the truth Leo.”

He had never heard his name told with such bitterness from Raph. Leo swallowed, “I am telling the truth!” he replied, his voice tiny.

Why wouldn't they just listen to him? Why wouldn't they believe him? All they saw was a stranger who right now was hurting the family with his lies. If only they would–

Raph grabbed his sais. “Last warning, kid. Either you give a proper answer and tell the truth or you leave.”

Leo looked at how Raph was staring at him. Angry, dangerous. Briefly Leo remembered how Raph also stood in the Technodrome, under control and ready to attack him. “I won't fight you. Not again, not ever.”

Raph took a step.

Leo had to take a step back. He wouldn't be able to convince them, would he? And after everything they've been through, could he really blame them? No… he couldn't. He didn't.

He had to figure it out in a different way. He had to think, figure out what that yokai did to them– how. He had to find the yokai.

“I will fix this.” Leo promised as he reached his katanas and swung them, opening a portal. “I promise.”

Before he could see their expressions or hear their responses, he left.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

He clumsily landed on another roof, away from his siblings. Immediately he dropped his katanas from his shaking hands and pulled them up to his face and covered it. He tried to calm himself down, sliding down to the cold ground with his back on the wall. It will be okay, he can fix this. He can, he can, he can—

All he needed was a bit of time to think. To make a proper plan and he’d fix everything. Get his brothers and April back to normal. He could do it.

As he calmed down, focusing on making a plan he started thinking about his next steps. What he needed right now? To find the yokai who caused this mess. But who would know such a weirdo? Sure, he could ask people in the Hidden City but to be honest Leo himself was still a criminal (which was totally unfair). He doubted Draxum would have any relations with such a guy… Oh! That’s it! Leo’s eyes sparkled with the idea: Hueso! Of course he’d know. He accepted anyone who could pay and not cause trouble in his restaurant. He probably at least would know someone who knew this troublemaker. He was sure the bone man would help him, one way or another.

Leo grabbed his katanas from the ground and got back on his feet. He sliced the air with one of them and saw the Run of the Mill right before him. Time to get some answers and remind everyone of their favorite champion!

[lixiesstorys]

Trust us Han - Anxiety series part 5

Trigger warnings: self isolating, talking behind back

scared/hurt one: Han

comforter: Stray Kids

The members would never talk about Han behind his back... right?

Han had always been a bit suspicious about people. He always thought that others would talk about him behind their backs, but when he came to Stray Kids that fear nearly vanished. Nearly.

The first time Han noticed that something was weird when they all sat at their dinner table, eating dinner (shocking I know). han didn't really remember what he said, but when he finished talking, Minho and Jeongin exchanged weird looks and started to laugh. Hey, maybe they didn't mean you, or I used a word that is an insider only those two understand he said to himself, but that was the first time he didn't trust the members properly anymore.

Since that little incident Han felt like that happened more often. When he tripped it felt like the others would laugh at him. In one dance practice for example he slipped away, but luckily catched himself before landing on the ground. Everyone looked at him (that was quite normal), but it looked like Chan and Changbin really had to pull theirselves together so they didn't laugh. Another day he bumped into the table in the kitchen and a fork fell down. Felix stood in the door and started to laugh. Behind him was Seungmin who had a smirk on his face. It seemed like nothing was like before. The members were laughing at Han no matter what he did.

The worst thing happened on a Friday afternoon. Most of the other members were in the dorm Han avoided the others as good as possible. Maybe he just made up those things but for both situations a little time-out would be helpful. But when he came downstairs from his and Minho's room, he heard laughter. That wasn't uncommon un the Stray Kids dorm but when Han came closer, his blood felt like it froze in his veins. "He is so clumsy, I can't" "Yeah, how did he even get this dance?!" "Maybe we'll never know". Han didn't listen till the end and just walked out of the door, outside into Seoul. When the door closed with a little bang, the others looked up from a video. "Is Chan-hyung home?" Felix asked. "No, doesn't look like it" "But who went out to this time?" Minho looked around "Wait. Where is our little quokka?"...

Han ran. He didn't know where he wanted to go. Just away. Away from those people he thought were his friends. Tears started tos stream down his face, but he ignored it. Just walk. Walk, walk walk, wal- he bumped into someone and stopped. "Han? What are you doing here at this ungodly hour?" he knew this voice. It was burned into his brain just like 6 other voices he loved. But did the people with those voices loved him too? "Han? Hello? Why are you crying?" He looked up in the face of his leader. It was wet from rain, which had started. Until now, Han hadn't noticed it. "Come on. We should go back and could you please tell me-" "NO!" Chan flincheed at his sharp tone and even Han himself was shocked. But he was also angry. "I don't wanna go back. You and the others hate me, I know it! You all laugh as soon as I do something wrong! You all laugh about me behind my back! Idon't want to go home! I-" "What the hell Han?! Why do you think we do that? Why should we do that?" Now Chan looked shocked and... hurt? It wasn't that obvious but his eyes spoke for themselves. "I... I don't know. It always looks like you all laugh at me. Since I talked about something and Minho and Jeongin laughed. Since then you all seem... different." His hyung looked at him with an unreadable face. "I didn't notice a difference, but in the end I only know that I never laughed at you" Suddenly another person appeared behind Han. "There you both are, we were worried sick! It's raining like I don't know and... Han why are you crying" Jeongin looked from Han to Chan and back. "We'll explain. In the dorm. Come on, I don't want you both to get ill" and with that Chan walked in the direction of their dorm.

As soon as they were back and had dry clothes on, all the members came together in the living room. "So, what is the matter?" Seungmin asked. Their leader looked at Han who cleared his throat before he started to speak. "So... I don't know how to explain that... but... I feel like... you all talk and laugh about me behind my back and... that just... I don't know..." he trailed off, not daring to look in the faces of his members. It was quite for a moment until Hyunjin spoke "why.. may I ask why you think that? Because... well I can't remember I laughed at you. But if I did I'm sorry" the others nodded and han answered "well around 3 weeks ago I guess, I talked about something at dinner. While I talked, Minho and Jeongin whispered and started to laugh and since then you all seem to be donig that." Minho and Jeongin exchanged guilty looks. "I know that doesn't make it better but it wasn't about you, Hannie-ah. It eas abut a video we watched right before" jeongin tried to explain. "We didn't want to make you uncomfortable, sorry" Han nodded, clearly more relaxed. But then he looked at Changbin and Chan "and why did you laugh in the dance practice when I tripped?" "We made a bet that I would trip at least once. I tripped at the same step as you and Chan laughed at me, not at you. It had to seem like that because we tripped at the exact timing" Changbin told him. Han nodded again. There were more situations like that, but he could imagine most of it in a healthier view now. "And one last question: why did you all laughed this evening? I came downstairs and it sounded like you laughed about me..." "No, it was actually a video about JYP doing the dance of 'Chk Chk Boom' with us, you remember?" Everyone had to smile at that memory, even Han. "So you all wouldn't laugh at me behind my back?" Nevere ever Hannie-ah! We love you so much and talking or laughing behind a friends back isn't very noice!" Felix said pretty honest and the others nodded along. Chan was the first who broke the silence again "So now for a clear view for everyone: we would never ever laugh or talk behind a members back. If there is something that bothers us we say it straight out but kind" and with that he walked over to his first Stray Kid and hugged Han, The others quickly joined and soon they all were asleep on the couch.

END

YAY, I finally made this part. It needed pretty long, I'm sorry. I don't know if I can do the next part tomorrow, because I'm with my fam the whole day, but I'll try. Love y'all <3

[cherrydyedsocks]

HII IDEA I HAD THAT I WANT TO EXPAND ON!! this goes with my part latino headcanon I have for shikadai, from temari's side. (I myself am mex-american 💖) another small note. shikadai's spanish isn't perfect because mine isn't either. (I say this because he's born in konoha and only speaks spanish at home sometimes, vs if he was from suna) (basically my situation)

Shikamaru did a once over, checking for any immediate injuries. He looked fine, but he still asks. "Are you okay?"

"Si." (Yes) Shikadai responds quickly. For some reason, he looks confused after answering.

Now, Shikamaru had spent years living with Temari. He had picked up on a good handful of Spanish in that time. Typically, even if he didn't understand it fully, he knew the general gist. He actually even learned some. Though hardly spoke it because of the way his wife would tease him about his accent.

So Shikadai speaking a bit of Spanish wasn't strange. A little out of place? Sure.

"Okay, well then let's head back." Shikamaru says, and holds a hand out for Shikadai to take.

Shikadai looks at him with a face of concern. "Pienso que algo es mal." (I think something is wrong)

Shikamaru stares at him for a moment. Huh? It takes a second to try to translate that. "Bad? Can you not speak to me in Spanish for now? It trips me up."

The boy takes in a deep breath, and slowly speaks. "No. Puedo." (I can't) "Ayúdame." He follows up. (Help me)

"….. Okay, just so I'm clear here. You physically cannot stop speaking Spanish?"

Shikadai nods.

"Well. This is going to turn into a visit to Sakura. I'll call your mom to meet us there."

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

"This is interesting. I've never seen something quite like this." Sakura muses, as she eyes Shikadai. All his vitals were normal, so it was definitely more of a mental thing.

"¿Nunca? Ni una sola vez?" Shikadai questions. (Never? Not even once?)

Shikamaru and Sakura both look at Temari. She translates. "He's just surprised you've never heard of it before."

Sakura nods in response. "It's definitely going to get some kind of entry in a medical textbook."

"No pongas mi nombre." Shikadai says. (Don't put my name) Temari neglects to translate this, and Shikadai huffs.

"Can you fix it?" Shikamaru asks.

"It should pass on its own. I heard that he went up against that man with the unique jutsu. Every person I've seen hit with it has lost the ability to speak at all, but it doesn't last forever. My guess here is that since Shikadai is bilingual, his brain defaults to Spanish so he can still communicate. None of the other victims can speak another language." Sakura explains to the family.

"See, told you that learning Spanish would come in handy one day." Temari comments.

"¿Predijiste esto?" (Did you predict this?) Shikadai asks, with a hint of annoyance in his tone.

"Watch your tone. And no, obviously not." Temari crosses her arms.

"¿Cuánto tiempo?" (How long?) Shikadai asks Sakura, resisting the urge to hit himself after realizing that he may as well had said nothing.

"I know that one." Shikamaru says, proud of himself. "How long will it last?" He asks for Shikadai.

"Two or three days."

Shikadai looks at her with wide eyes. "¡Tres días!" (Three days!) He exclaims. "¿Cómo voy a hablar con Inojin y Chocho???" (How am I going to talk with Inojin and Chocho?)

"Look on the bright side. Maybe your father will learn more from the exposure." Temari starts. Shikadai shakes his head several times.

She grabs a notepad and pen from a nearby desk. "Can I have this?" She asks Sakura. "Yeah, it's just in case."

Temari hands Shikadai them. "You can still talk to them. Just write down what you want to say."

Shikadai stares at the notepad. Then the boy begins to quickly write something out. He holds it up to show everyone.

'FIX ME NOW!! PLEASE!!'

Sakura pats his shoulder. "It'll be okay. Trust me, this is nowhere near the worst thing I've seen since becoming a doctor."

Shikadai continues to show her the notepad.

"You know who would get a kick out of this? Your brothers. Mostly Kankuro." Shikamaru says, after thinking for a moment.

"For sure. Maybe I should call him." Temari muses.

"No." Shikadai is quick to say. (No)

"At least that word is the same." Shikamaru points out.