#and the angst it has give us is everything

[lilghostiequinni]

Remember When

Main Masterlist Lando Masterlist

Pairing: Piastri!female oc (Eliza;Lizi;Liz) x Lando Norris

Warnings: Fluffy, little Angst, Pregnancy talk, Indications of smut

Summary: She's older than her brother. She doesn't drive for the sport, but she does follow the sport, and has been even before her brother's appearance with McLaren, who she's been supporting before her brother joined. She has friends on the grid, but one thing she does that isn't conventional or has anything to do with her everyday life is... collecting scale-model racing helmets from her favorite teams and drivers. She also designs helmets and redesigns already-worn helmets. Even though this has nothing to do with her job and lifestyle. But what happens when she predicts a maiden win in Maimi after her brother invites her to the 2024 Maimi Grand Prix?

Requested: NO / yes

"Liz, I know you are hours away, but can you come to Maimi?" Oscar asks his older sister over the phone after he lands in Maimi for the 2024 Maimi Grand Prix.

"I wouldn't be able to get there until late Friday, early Saturday. Maybe even midday on Saturday," Eliza told her brother as she walked around her classroom on the other side of the phone.

Oscar wanted his sister to come because the first time he got a pole position, she called, and the first time Max won a Grand Prix and the first world championship, she called before the second race even happened.

He's hoping her coming will bring luck to McLaren.

Also, he knows that his sister is a fan of Lando's and has never met him, even though she's been to several Grand Prix since 2019, Lando's rookie year.

Though most of the time she was either there with Red Bull or on her own in the stands, which has been the case for the two races she had attended so far, Saudi Arabia and Australia.

"Please, I'll see if Max will let you use his plane. Please, Lizi, I want you here," Oscar begged as he ran his fingers through his hair; he had talked to Zak, and everything was ready; her birthday was on Quali day, Saturday, and he had worked months on what he wanted to get her and a surprise, which involved her hobby of designing and collecting helmets and her first meeting with Lando Norris.

Granted, the driver had no idea that he was a part of the surprise, yet anyway, at least.

Oscar just needed his sister to agree to come to Maimi from New York to get her to travel almost the 1,300 miles between the two distances.

"Please, I want you here. That way, I can give you your present from everyone on time and not on Monday when I would've come," Oscar pulled the 'It's your birthday card.' He knew it was one way to get his sister to fold, but he played it with the 'I want you here' card in his, 'but I'm your little brother voice.' All of these are strategies that he has learned will make his sister fold and agree.

So, maybe his hope to not use a little persuasion didn't go as planned, but he had seen no other way.

"You'll get full VIP Paddock passes," Oscar finishes off; yeah, there was no way his sister would say no.

"Fine, I'll talk to my boss. I was going to come to Italy and Monaco, you know that, right?" Liz says to her brother as she finally caves.

"Yeah, but do they fall on your birthday or even close to your birthday?" Oscar questions his sister.

"No," there's a moment of pause on the line. "Hey, Osc, I have to go. duty calls. I'll see you Saturday."

"See you then," then the phone is hung up.

Oscar does a little dance and pumps his fists as he turns to the door and sees an amused Lando.

"What are you doing?"

"Celebrating."

"Why?" Lando looks at his teammate in confusion.

"My older sister is coming, and the last time she was actually in the Paddock was last year," Oscar says.

Oscar did ask Max to get his sister from the entrance and give her her pass to get in as he was called over by Zak just ten minutes before she was set to arrive at the race.

Max was happy to do it because the older Piastri was one of his best friends, probably his best friend outside the grid entirely.

Max stood near the entrance as he texted the woman, who quickly told him she was waiting at the entrance when he looked over and saw her.

He walked over to her and swiped the pass, allowing her through before giving her the pass, "So, I know we usually say no presents for the other's birthday, but you got me one last year, so I'm giving you won this year."

Liz looked at the Dutchman and shook her head as she followed him to Red Bull after quickly texting her brother, letting him know that she was there, and making a quick stop in Red Bull to get the present from Max.

"Here," Max handed her a box, which she took and set on the table. "Happy Birthday."

Eliza looked at the taller man with a bored look as she went to pull the top of the box off, and Sergio came over.

"Hello," Checo said as Liz waved and continued to open the box.

Eliza looked in and saw it was the scale model of a helmet she had designed and had only given the sketch of the helmet to Max, she looked to her friend with wide eyes, and he motioned for her to keep going.

She did, finding not one but three more scale model helmets she designed and gave Max, and also two of his scale model helmets she didn't have.

She again looked to Max and threw her arms around him with tears in her eyes.

Sergio smiled at the scene, "When you're done, I also have something for you."

Liz let go of Max and looked to Sergio, a little skeptical, "You didn't have to get me anything. I hardly let Max get me anything."

It wasn't that she didn't like the Mexican, Sergio was one of her favorites, just that she rarely liked getting presents, usually only from her close family, as they wouldn't let her say no.

She doesn't like presents because they're surprises, and in the last 10 years of her life, she has developed a dislike for surprises after the Year 9 incident, which resulted in her move to America.

"I know, but I heard you talking to Max about books you wanted a few weeks ago in Australia, then I heard Max say it was your birthday today, so I got you some," Sergio, ever the sweetest at least when not competing.

Eliza smiled at the man as he as well turned and grabbed a box, he put it next to the one Max gave, and she opened it to see the books she had only been raving about for the last three months, at least.

She hugged Sergio and told him thank you before Max once again drew her attention back to him.

"I may have also gotten you another present, but I gave it to your brother to give to you because he asked to see it, and then before he gave it back, I was told to come get you from the gates," Max says as Sergio is beckoned away.

Liz nodded at the statement that was made and saw someone trying to get Max's attention from behind him, "You are wanted. I'll see you later, and I'll talk to Osc about that other present you wanted to give me."

It's Max's turn to look behind him then nod, giving his best friend one final hug before turning and going to the man that was beckoning him over as Eliza walked out of Red Bull with her two boxes.

She made her way through the paddocks and to McLaren, where she saw her brother waiting for her just outside of the paddock.

Oscar grabbed the boxes from his sister as he led her through the paddock to his driver's room to set her boxes down, then led her to another room in the back of the paddock where she saw Zak Brown and Lando Norris.

Liz looked at her brother, highly confused as to why she was there because, to her, what was being discussed might be important, and she didn't want to interrupt.

"It's okay, Zak was helping me and..." Oscar was interrupted by the McLaren principal, "I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday."

"Thank you, then," Liz says with a small smile to the man.

"Lando is here because I needed a few things from him for your present and because I noticed that you have never met him, despite having been to many races since his rookie year and never met him," Oscar says, walking over to the table in the room.

Liz waves at Lando and follows her brother.

"This is from Mom and Dad, just Mom, just Dad, our sisters, Grandma, and me," Oscar says, pointing to each of the boxes as he says so.

Liz nods, "Okay, Max said he had another present, but you stole it before I got here and didn't get it back before you sent him to get me."

"Yes, that's true, but I wanted to show it to Zak and Lando." Oscar goes over to the other side of the table and grabs the smaller box that he hadn't pointed to, well, one of them.

Oscar hands it to his sister, and she opens it, finding another scale model helmet, one she designed for the current race, the Maimi Grand Prix 2024.

"But I only gave the design to him a few days ago," Liz looked at her brother, puzzled.

"Yeah, but I had access to your tablet weeks ago when you told me it was finished," Oscar points out.

Oscar took the box from her and shoved another into her hands. He did this until she got to the present from him.

Opened it to find books she wanted, this pair of sneakers she had told her brother about ONCE but wanted for several weeks, and, of course, scale model helmets she had been missing from his helmets and just one from Lando's, but also a few she designed for her brother.

Lando had stood to the side, and did nothing until Oscar pointed to the box next to him, which Lando picked up and gave to Liz as Oscar took his gift from in front of her.

Liz smiled in thanks to Lando as she took it from him.

"I told Lando you collected helmets and that he was one of the few drivers you collected all of them from. I told him which ones you didn't and..." Oscar said as his sister opened the box to see the few she was missing.

"Thank you," Liz said, looking to Brit, who nodded at her thanks. "My students just love looking at them, and I love using them as scale models."

Zak then stepped forward and pushed the last two boxes across the table, "This is from McLaren with the help of your brother."

She opened the boxes to find they were also helmets she had designed for the Maimi Grand Prix, just for Lando and Oscar.

"Your brother had seen them, finished when he saw Max's, and said he wanted the scale models made and the normal helmets, not for a race, just to have," Zak told her.

There was a knock on the door, and both Zak and Lando were beckoned out. Oscar was told he would be soon, too, but he told them to give him a couple minutes, and he would be out.

"I also got a few of the Lando helmets you design made, but I may have shipped them to your apartment," Oscar told her as he pulled Liz into a hug.

"Thank you," She whispered into his ear as he held her close.

"You're welcome."

The two pulled away before Oscar started to talk again, "So, who's going to win, you think?"

Liz laughs and rolls her eyes, knowing it was coming since he called her, "Not you and not Max. Max is going to get second."

Liz hands over a piece of paper to her brother with her predictions. Oscar looks at it and shakes his head, "Of course, you think it's going to be his maiden win."

Liz chuckles again at her brother as the two make their way out of the room.

Liz watched as her brother fell through the rows of cars after the safety car was pulled out onto the track. She also watched as Lando Norris took the lead over Max Verstappen and was gaining a substantial gap between the two.

She watched as Lando won his first Grand Prix and took place in the 1st place spot, with Max in 2nd and Charles in 3rd.

She watched as he ran to his team and jumped into the crowd of orange papaya with the biggest smile on his face.

She watched as he got blasted in the face with champagne from the other two drivers and his engineer.

She watched as her predictions about the race came true.

She watched as Max came over to her and asked her to join the partying tonight.

She watched as Lando got plastered as she herself got drunk to.

She watched the flashbacks of the night before coming back as she woke to the pressure of an arm across her middle.

She looked in the direction it came, and she saw Lando Norris next to her in the same state of dress, nothing but the blanket on the bed.

Not knowing how to respond to whatever happened that she only knows bits and pieces too, she carefully got up from the bed, careful not to wake the new race winner.

Only to try and stand and fall to the ground, effectively startling the Brit awake.

"Are you okay?" Lando asks as he looks over the side of the bed to her.

".... No. I need help. Please," There were a few moments of silence before her response.

"Were you trying to leave?" Lando asks as he gets up and then goes to pick her up.

"No, I was trying to go to the bathroom, then leave," Liz tells him as she's picked up, and Lando brings her to the bathroom.

Lando sets her down and then leaves the bathroom to give her privacy. No, he doesn't go far, but he does leave the room.

After she was done and mostly regained her balance, Liz left the bathroom and went searching for her clothes, which were still scattered, as Lando walked back into the bedroom area of his suite.

"Here, you can use this, as your dress is here and partially ripped. Sorry," The sorry was clearly an afterthought as Lando handed her both a shirt and her dress from the night before.

Liz nodded in thanks, "I should go before my brother starts looking for me, and I have to be on a flight in... 4 hours."

Lando just nodded at what she said, "Can I get your number from what I can remember of last night, you're pretty cool."

Liz blushes as she nods and grabs her phone from the bedside table, giving it to the McLaren driver, who texted himself to get her number on his phone.

It had been months since Maimi, and she had talked to Lando plenty of times over those months, often meeting when he flew over to New York in secret.

But now school was out, and there was no need for her to stay in New York all the time. She stayed with her parents for a few weeks before going to Monaco during one of the breaks between races, staying with Lando.

Lando was currently out of his apartment, having left earlier to do some errands or something, but Liz was still in the apartment, having woken up after Lando left.

She was currently on the phone with one of her friends in America, and she was telling her how she hadn't been feeling the greatest and everything hurt.

"You sound pregnant," was the blunt reply from her friend.

"No, that's not possible. I haven't slept with anyone in months," Liz denies.

"You're telling me that you are staying with a Formula One driver, one you have previously slept with, and you are not sleeping with him now," Her friend, Clara, deadpans on the other end.

"Well, he's kind of my boyfriend, and we agreed that we should take things at a relatively normal pace, so no, I am not," Liz responds.

"Well, how long ago was Maimi?"

"Five, almost six months ago."

"Well, I can't tell you what to do, but you should at least check," Her friend says before continuing, " How long ago was your last period?"

Liz looks down before answering, "Right before Maimi. I thought it was stress, you know with the end of the year for both the college and high school I teach at, then the moving around the globe a lot in the last few weeks."

"It's okay, I can stay on the line as you get through this, I helped you pack. Remember, what do I always do?"

"The usually unnecessary pregnancy test."

"Yes, now go grab it, take it, and keep talking to me."

Liz did just that. She waited for what felt like forever, an eternity that wasn't going to stop. Just kept going and going. Time slowed for her as she waited for this little stick to determine the rest of her life.

When the timer finally rang, she turned both tests over and showed the camera, which had Clara's face, as they turned to FaceTime when the timer started.

"Babes...."

Liz heard the tone of voice and started to cry as she turned them over to see they were both positive.

"I don't know if I'm ready for this; I don't know if this is what he wants. Clara, I don't know what to do," Liz says as she fully starts to cry.

"You should call your mom, but I will always be here for you. I'll move in with you if I have to; I'll move all the way over to Monaco. I don't care. I will be there for you," Clara states as she looks on at her crying best friend nothing she can do with actions as she watches from the screen of her phone across an ocean in America.

Liz nods and quickly says goodbye before calling her mom, who answers relatively fast for the time difference.

Liz is just bawling when her mom answers the phone, making her mother worry for her eldest child.

"Mommy, I don't know what to do."

Then Liz explains and comes clean about everything that's happened since Maimi and her mom just listened.

"Tell him, honey, tell him, then go from there. That's the only thing that can solve this," Her mom says.

She's on the phone with her mom until Liz hears the door of the apartment.

They say goodbye, and Liz stands and wipes the tears that were barely remaining on her face, having stopped crying midway through her rant.

She wipes her tears and grabs the two sticks, going to Lando, who is smiling as she walks out of the bathroom to him in the living room.

Lando turns at the noise of the door opening and smiles even wider before it falls as he sees the remnants of tears on her face.

"What's wrong?" Lando walks over to his girlfriend as she's once again reduced to tears.

Lando brings her into a hug as she buries her face in Lando's shirt.

"Hey, you have to tell me what's wrong I can't make it better until you tell me what's wrong," Lando says as he kisses her forehead before he pulls her away to look at her face.

She calms a little and asks, "Remember Maimi and what happened after your win?"

Lando nods, rather confused as to why she's bringing up that night, almost six months later.

Liz pulls the tests from her back pocket and hands them to Lando, who looks at them and takes a moment to realize what they mean.

"I am nowhere near ready for children..."

Liz tries to hold back tears as Lando says that, and she starts nodding, thinking he's going to reject her.

"... But if this is what you want, if you want the baby, I will be there, be here, right by your side, every step of the way. I'm not going to leave."

Liz almost doesn't hear what he says but takes a moment and almost breaks down again.

"I'm not ready either, but I want them. I can't get rid of them, not when they didn't do anything wrong," Liz says. Lando nods and brings her back into his arms, holding her tighter than before and whispering sweet nothings into Liz's ear and occasionally kissing her temple.

A/N: A few hours later than I wanted, but it's also longer than I expected. I could do a part 2 if you guys wanted. I actually really liked the way this one went.

Tags: @poppyflower-22 @samantha-chicago @hellothere9597

If you want to be removed from a tag list, let me know, so I don't keep tagging you. If you are striker through, I don't know if you want to be tagged, but just let me know if you want me to continue or stop

#lando norris #formula 1 #mclaren #f1 #ln4 #mclaren formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula one #formula one imagine #formula one fanfiction #formula one x reader #lando norris x y/n #quinni talks #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fluff #lando norris imagine #lando norris x oc #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #mclaren f1 #miami gp 2024 #f1 2024 #oscar piastri #oscar piastri sister

[nanaminokanojo]

Between 7:00pm and 8:31pm | gojo x you

TW/CW: mentions of death/dying | shibuya arc | misanthropic thoughts | just angst | strong language

"For the greater good? Fuck that."

Four pairs of eyes simultaneously darted towards you, devoid of judgment. More or less, they understood what you were getting at, but you knew what they meant without words. You weren't supposed to say that. Such was your duty and purpose as a jujutsu sorcerer. But you did anyway, giving a voice to the white elephant in the room, acknowledging what everyone was afraid to even give a single moment's thought.

The greater good? Who does it serve anyway? At whose expense? Your friends' lives? Why? Because you were stronger than the rest of humanity? The strongest for the preservation of the lives of the weak?

You were strong. That should be the end of the conversation. You didn't owe anyone for it. You chose to be strong, and those who were born like you weren't there to play the role of anyone's savior just because they have the means.

Fushiguro Megumi was right: you weren't heroes. You may choose whom you want to save. Your addition to that was the fact that you can choose whether to save others or not. That's the cold, hard truth you wanted to live by without having to apologize for it, but that would shake the very foundations the jujutsu society stood for.

You looked towards Gojo. You knew he was looking at you even with his blindfold on and the lack of physical indication that his attention was on you. And somehow, it seemed to weigh more than any of the looks every one else in the room gave you. It angered you that he was resigned to it all when he was the best out of all of you, the strongest, the honored one. He can do whatever the hell he wants and yet he was there with you, wholeheartedly accepting orders to deal with whatever was happening in Shibuya at the moment.

Alone.

"Now isn't the time to –" Nanami spoke, and you usually wouldn't dare with the degree of respect you held for him, but you interrupted him.

"No, seriously. What does this have to do with us?" you asked, stunning them further. You looked at Nanami who was able to escape this life but came back anyway, confusion and rage glimmering in your eyes despite your calm manner. He could have a good life away from everything, but what the hell was he doing there?

And now they're thinking of sending Gojo alone to play along with whatever schemes the enemies are brewing? They're letting him walk into something that – although he was possibly capable of putting an end to – was, by all means, a trap? You refused to stand for it.

You didn't understand. Ever since you were a child, you were taught and trained to become what you are: a jujutsu sorcerer before you were a human; a tool for this greater good – whatever that meant – before you're a feeling, living being. But as time passed by, watching all the people you knew, good ones, lose their lives for this one-track cause, the less you knew. Why do you have to save them? Lives begin and end. It's just there. Why should those people's lives matter more than yours did? Because they're good? On whose standards?

"Y/N," Yaga warned, evidently seeing the ghost of someone he thought he knew well from last year. "This has already been decided by the higher-ups."

"And nobody dared question it?"

"You're treading dangerous waters there," the principal stated, raising his voice. "This is what we do. It's what you chose to do. Have you come to resent it?"

"There lies my mistake."

Shoko placed a hand on your shoulder. "You don't mean that."

"Geto was right." There, you said it, distabilizing the very principles you all stood for.

"Don't go there –"

You gave everyone a sweeping glare, silencing even Yaga. "His methods will never be right, but he knew what he was talking about." You chuckled bitterly. "He always did. And now he's gone."

You started walking out of the room but paused by the bench where Gojo was seated, still looking unbothered. "I never cared that you were the strongest. To me, you're just Satoru."

You looked behind your shoulder. "That applies to you all."

"Where are you going?" Nanami asked.

"You will excuse me if I do not wish to have a hand in murdering my friends or myself for that matter."

**

"You underestimate me."

You blew the cigarette smoke you were holding in as you stared at the clear signs of veils laid out over the busy streets of Shibuya from where you stood on a building rooftop. Without acknowledging the presence behind you, you finished the last drag of smoke, the burn in your throat and lungs feeling better than all your bitter thoughts and feelings towards the world you've come to know.

"'Just Satoru', eh?"

"You're purposefully being an idiot if you didn't understand what I meant by that." You glanced at Gojo when he came close enough. "Even more so if you think I'll ever underestimate you."

He chuckled. "So, you don't want me to go?" he asked in that melodic, carefree voice, slightly bending down towards the side as if he needed that to take a better look at you. "You have so little faith –"

"Faith, I have too much in you, not because you're strong, but because you are you. What I don't have is sympathy or trust for anyone who thinks they can rely on you all the time to straighten things out."

"And proud?" You let out a humorless laugh. "There's nothing to be proud of in death. There's never any ounce of dignity in it whether you die saving others or if you get snuffed out meaninglessly. It all ends the same way."

His weirdly glossy lips protruded at your sentiment. "Aren't you proud that people are able rely on us?"

"This is wrong." Everything was conveyed in those three words you uttered without any need for elaboration. Gojo merely smiled.

"So, you're scared of dying?"

"No. Dying is easy. That's all where we're headed at one point. You know what's terrifying though?"

"What?"

You finally looked at him. "Giving your life to this cause knowing it changes nothing."

"How very nihilistic."

You shrugged. "A hundred years from now, curses will still be around, kept alive by the very beings we're fighting for at present. And for what? For future generations who will produce curses, stronger and harder to fathom and defeat? All because they can't accept they're just products of a chance in their search to have higher purpose and superiority in life.

We ourselves are cursed. We control that very form of energy to prevent it from evolving into monsters, but it eats us up for the very same reasons."

"Those reasons being...?"

"We're stronger so perhaps we should be responsible for protecting lives around us. Whoever thought of that was fucking cocky, but really, who are we kidding, Gojo?"

He snickered, no doubt thrilled by your unfiltered thoughts. After him, you were probably the biggest thorn on the higher-ups' side with your radical thoughts, at least by their standards. But he still wanted you to jump all the hoops. "Thus your belief that Suguru was right?"

"I'm worse than him. I just don't act on it. I'm super sold on the fact that humans are the scum of the earth, sorcerer or not."

"You're human and a sorcerer?" he pointed out, trying to vex you.

"Exactly."

Gojo patted your head. "And yet you're still here for the very purpose you dare spit on."

You smirked at him. "I don't want you to have to kill another one of your friends for insubordination and subscribing to the ideologies of our realm's Lord Voldemort."

"Suguru had hair and a nose though?"

"He's prettier, too, that cult-leading fucker, but not the point, dumbass."

It was both funny and sad how you speak of the fallen Geto Suguru so fondly as if he didn't kickstart the most massive chaos in recent jujutsu history. But like Gojo, to you, he was just Suguru.

Just then, Gojo pulled you into his long arms, giving you a bear hug that annoyed you more than anything. "You've always been our sweetest Y/N even if you act like Ryomen Sukuna's spawn."

You pushed Gojo off of you, straightening your hair out in irritation. "He's my ancestor after all."

You both made disgusted faces at that little detail about you, but as always, Gojo was quick to recover into his cheerful façade. "Don't worry. I'll be back."

He said that, but not even an hour later, you were hearing Itadori Yuuji screaming from the top of a building in the middle of the deserted Shibuya.

Gojo Satoru has been sealed by none other than the very person – or at least whatever now resides in him – whose beliefs you agreed were right.

#gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jjk #jkk x reader #jjk x y/n #gojo angst #gojo satoru angst #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk angst

[navia3000]

i m i s s y o u , i ’ m s o r r y

Includes : Aaron Hotchner

Genre : Angst?

Warnings : Mentions of hospitals, stitches, bombs, injuries, naked people, cursing, not proof read

Based on : I Miss You, I’m Sorry by Gracie Abrams

Part one Part two

Her head was pounding as though she had woken up with a nasty hangover -wait, no, that’s not it. Her head was pounding as if she was hit by a truck, curb stomped, and then beat repeatedly with a bat. Yes, that’s a better description.

Hushed voices come into focus. Her eyes are closed shut. Her throat is parched. Her body hurts all over. Why does her body hurt? Why can’t she remember anything that happened the day before?

She tries to remember. She remembers arguing with Spencer, no, Morgan. She argued with Morgan. She left. She got to the house, then… Nothing. Everything goes black after that.

Her ears try to make out what the voices are saying and who they belong to. Has she been kidnapped by one of the unsubs? No, that’s not possible. She attempts to ground herself. She’s on a bed, she hears beeping, and it is freezing cold. She must be in a hospital.

She pries her eyes open, her vision clearing after a few seconds. Sure enough, she’s in a hospital. She sees Hotch and Emily standing at the door of her bed, speaking in hushed tones with the doctor. She tried to make out the words coming out of Hotch’s mouth, “how… doctor… concussion… bomb…” Bomb.

Upon hearing that word, panic struck her. She began hyperventilating, rushing to pull the needles out of her hand, alerting the doctor and Hotch and Emily of her state of consciousness. They rushed to her, spoke to her, tried to calm her down, but she couldn’t hear them. All she could think of was the bomb she now remembered.

Suddenly, two hands grabbed her face, two brown eyes coming into view. His soft voice calmed her. His gentle touch soothed her shaking body. Her hearing came back, “it’s okay. You’re safe now.” He repeated those words over and over until her breathing regulated.

Exhaustion hit her like a ton of flying bricks, the doctor telling Hotch to give her some space so she could rest. Her eyes closed again.

⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹

The next time she awoke, nobody was in the room with her. It was dark out, and the lights were off, so, she assumed it was well past midnight. Her head hurt less than before, but her body was still sore. She took the time to examine the bruises and stitches and gashes that littered her body under her hospital gown. How she survived, she didn’t know.

A knock at the door startled her. Hotch stood leaning against the doorframe, coffee cup in hand. “Hi,” he gave her a smile. He sat on the chair next to her bed, facing her directly.

Her throat was dry and scratchy, and he seemingly knew this, offering her a glass of cold water. A few minutes went by before she spoke, “what happened?”

She watched as Hotch took a sharp breath. “We got a call that a federal agent had been injured in a bombing. When we got there, the house was practically gone, and you were lying a couple feet away from it. You’re lucky you left the house when you did, but, you still got pretty hurt. You have a concussion, one broken rib, and a bruised lung.” He examined her as she took in all this information.

“How long has it been?”

“What do you mean?”

“How long was I out for?”

“It’s been three days,” his words made the situation start to sink in. Tears sprung to her eyes as she thought about how she almost died. She should’ve been more careful. “God, Y/N, what were you thinking?” It was as if a switch was flipped in him, his usual calm demeanor being replaced by one of sadness and despair. “Why would you go over there by yourself? You should’ve told one of us, or one of your teammates.”

She became angry upon hearing him scold her. “I didn’t have much choice, Hotch. It’s not like I could’ve gone to any of you guys. You hate me, all of you hate me.” He shook his head.

“The team doesn’t hate you.”

“Really? Cause it sure feels like you do. I know I made some mistakes, damn it, but, I’ve tried to apologize, I’ve tried to fix it and you won’t let me!” Her head pounded as she yelled at Hotch, but the emotions took over her.

“They don’t hate you, they are just hurt because of you leaving. They all sat outside in that waiting room while you were in surgery begging God for you to be okay. Morgan and Spencer refused to leave until I ordered them to go get some rest. They have been beating themselves up for everything that’s happened. Morgan blames himself. That’s not hatred, that’s love. And yes, they were wrong for how they treated you, Y/N, but you left a whole in the team after you left that we haven’t been able to fill. They loved you, still love you.” She was speechless. For a while she didn’t know what to say, it was all too much for her.

“What about you?” She whispered, “do you hate me?”

His voice broke as he said, “no. I don’t hate you.”

They spent the rest of the night in silence.

⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹

She was released from the hospital after a week. The team had come by to see her, apologies on hand and relationships mending. Hotch didn’t want her to be alone, insisting on taking her home and making sure she was alright.

So, now she is stuck in her apartment with Hotch. Not awkward at all.

“Alright, make yourself comfortable if you’d like. I’m going to go shower,” she began walking towards her bathroom, limping throughout most of it until Hotch’s words stopped her in her tracks.

“I’ll help you.”

She thought he must be joking. “What?”

“You can barely walk, I don’t see how you’d be able to get into the shower.” So, he’s serious. When they dated, they never got to the point of seeing each other naked, and the image of him helping her take her clothes off made her blush.

“Where are you going?” She asked as he shook off his suit jacket and walked towards her room.

“To draw you a bath.” He came back a few minutes later, and basically manhandled her, lifting her arm onto his shoulders and allowing her to use him as a crutch. They made it to her bathroom, where she was shocked to find the bath running, epsom salt in the water, and a lit candle. She knew he was drawing her a bath, she just didn’t know he would put in the extra effort to make it more comfortable for her.

He slowly turned her around, silently signaling for her to lift up her arms. At her hesitance, he assured her, “I’m not going to look. I just want to help you.” She silently lifted her arms as much as she could without pulling her stitches, and he made work of taking her shirt off. His touch was gentle as he took off her clothes, as though he was afraid of her breaking from the mere pressure of his fingers. He stuck to his promise, his eyes never drifting anywhere she didn’t want them drifting to. She had to admit, she felt something during that moment. She couldn’t put a name onto what she felt, but the concern in his eyes and the strain in his brow did something to her.

Once he was done, he helped her into the bath. She expected him to leave after that, but he leaned against the counter facing the door, letting her take her time.

After a while, she couldn’t help herself but ask, “why are you doing this, Aaron?” She never used his first name, however, it felt right at that moment.

He didn’t answer at first. In fact, she thought he was going to ignore her or pretend he didn’t know what she meant, but, she knows better than that; she knows Hotch better than that.

“I’m doing this because I care about you.” He finally met her eye. “And because I feel guilty.” This confused her.

“Why? Guilty about what?”

“About everything. About how I ended things with you, and how I was the one who drove you to leave the team.” She was about to speak, but he cut her off, “I don’t regret going back to Haley.” His statement made her break eye contact, the mention of how he left her for someone else bringing the hurt back up. “I don’t regret it because I was able to live with Jack, and see him often. I didn’t have to share him. But, I will admit, what me and Haley once had, died. Even when we got back together, it wasn’t the same. We loved each other, but we weren’t in love. She knew it, and she also knew I was in love with someone else.” Oh my God, she thought. She didn’t know what to say, what to feel, what to think, she didn’t know anything. Her heart was racing, her lungs constricting, her throat bobbing, her hands shaking, and it’s all too much, everything is too much, he is too much. “I was in love with you, Y/N. And I need you to know that.”

All her feelings came rushing back, all her emotions breaking out of their cage and rushing to take over. All she could say was, “You were in love with me?” Her eyes pleaded with him.

“I still am.” And it was as though a bomb went off all over again.

#aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch fluff #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds masterlist

[purple-babygirl]

fallen

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x guardian angel!f!reader

Word count: 1,395

Summary: Steve thought Bucky falling out of that freight train was partially his fault. What if there was another unseen side to the story?

Warnings: angst, crying, mentions of violence including being captured by the war enemy, torture, blood, angel wings snapping, imprisonment, cryo freezing, suffering and nightmares.

A/N: i don't know what i'm doing. I'm sad. i don't even know how I'm gonna continue this story. i have nothing prepared for it. again, I'm just sad. i love you tho.

~

Guardian angels, beings as old as time. They exist and protect without getting bored or fed up. They are there even if people have created too many wars until they have stopped believing in them and in gods altogether.

She was the same, and although she wouldn’t know, she was a piece of art. Lilac hair and eyes, skin softer than silk and a voice so sweet it could melt mountains.

She had no name or age. She had a number. Angel number 11 was who she was. She had no family or friends.

But she had a human.

He was assigned to her and she was made for him. Her only purpose as a creature of the light was to look out for him and keep him safe.

What she wasn’t supposed to do though, was fall in love with him.

Unlike her, he had a name. He was James Buchanan Barnes. This handsome, brave, young man who got enlisted and was about to go fight for his country. He was so kind, so charming and so so far away.

She was very worried, her angelic heart only ever knowing these feelings for him, yet confident in her powers. She would never let anything bad happen to James, or Bucky as he liked to be called.

War or not, she had his back. He could walk through fire and she would get him out of there unharmed.

A

Sadly, all of her planning was burnt to ashes when her ‘superiors’ found out about her latent feelings for the human she was assigned to guard since birth.

It has never happened before. Or at least that was what they had said.

It was all the same with each and every one of them. They get assigned to a baby human, be it male or female, they look after the human all their life until they no longer have one and then they move on to another human.

No angel has ever broken the rules, let alone to this extent.

Why did she think she was going to get away with this? Why did she think she was any different? Who did she think she was trying to carelessly cross the clear boundaries?

The night they were sure she had those forbidden feelings for a lesser being, she was chained and temporarily deprived of her powers, and Bucky was captured by the enemy.

They left her alone to wallow in the dark and cry in worry about her beloved, wishing she was strong enough to get out of her shackles and go be with him in this time of war; in his time of need.

When they kept her there for days to give her a chance to have a ‘change of heart’, Bucky was experimented on and tortured by Hydra.

And when she begged, swearing on all things holy that she was past her silly feelings for him and was ready to go back to serving her part and her part alone, Steve had found Bucky and brought him back with him.

She saw the bruises on his face, the dried blood down his ears and she cried and cried until her eyes were out of diamonds.

She blamed herself for being sloppy with her feelings. She had to be careful if she wanted to stay by Bucky’s side. She had to step on her heart and suppress her emotions if she wanted to keep protecting the man she was in love with.

The way she was unknowingly being monitored, however, ruined everything for her and ended her life as she once knew it forever.

Bucky was being the good friend that he was, going with Steve to fight again, looking more courageous and more handsome than any human ever has.

She was so proud of him and her smile wasn’t missable.

They noticed the focus on her face as she made sure the rope Bucky used to descend on the back of the train held up. They noticed her angel heart and how its beats accelerated with every bullet she dodged for him.

They noticed and they had to stop it.

“You lied,” they said, coming prepared with stronger chains to lock her in.

“He needs me. Please let me be with him,” she begged instead of  finding a way to defend herself.

They didn’t care, hands already on her wings and others on her neck.

“It’s over. He’s on his own from now on and it’s your fault.”

They were punishing Bucky for her mistake. He was going to get hurt and it was all because of her stupidity.

“Please, no!”

They didn’t hear her pleas or her cries, or pity her heart-wrenching screams as they snapped both of her wings off her back at once.

The second she fell to her knees, bloodied and broken, Bucky fell off the train, her last sight of him being him trying to reach for Steve’s hand and failing.

“You’re gonna be in there for at least 80 years, better try to forget because when you’re out, he might be gone.” They advised with little sympathy as they threw her inside the dark cave-like cell.

If this was heaven, what was hell supposed to be like? She can’t be feeling her heart get crushed over and over like that in the one place that was supposed to be void of such bitter feelings, could she?

She cried and cried, day and night. The bright lilac of her pupils turning dim and dull.

Has she just caused Bucky’s death? Did she just kill the one man she was created to protect? The one man that had gotten her heart to beat?

Screaming until she couldn’t breathe, she mourned the man she has known and loved all her life.

Nothing mattered anymore. Not her wings or her imprisonment. Nothing made sense without Bucky. Her life didn’t make sense without Bucky’s.

They let him die. They let her watch him die. Her heart ached with the memory for nights on end even though she could still feel their bond as if Bucky was still there. It was weaker, but it was present.

She became quieter as the years passed, no longer singing or screaming or even talking. The heavens didn’t miss her though, but James sure did. They had too many of her kind, but James only had her. Such thoughts would attack her every night year after year until she would cry herself to exhaustion every night, eventually losing sense of time.

20 years later, she started having nightmares. Terrible, horrendous dreams of her long-missed beloved hurting others.

Her once gentlemanly, well-mannered, kind man was now ending lives in cold blood in her nightmares.

James looked different. His hair was longer, his face grimmer, his eyes darker and his left arm shinier. His warm gaze was replaced by a dead one she never knew.

Had she not known him with her heart before her eyes, she might have not recognized him.

She knew it was her James. She could feel him. She could never forget him even if she wanted to.

Their bond felt strained, weighed down and suffocated. She had no idea what that meant. She thought she was turning crazy, her mind conjuring up an evil version of James to make her fear him or hatr him or leave her memories of him behind for good.

But she would never. Let her turn crazy, she was still going to be in love with James until her last breath no matter what.

Another 50 years and her nightmares have been recurring visions that she was used to, and even waited for.

Any glimpse of James was welcome even if he was acting nothing like the James she had known and loved.

The hardest visions where the ones where she saw him get hurt, his pained screams pulling her heart out and shattering it.

It all felt so real and that made her hate it all more.

It took her a while but she eventually figured out that James was still alive. She didn’t understand how he didn’t age until the cryo-chamber visions came on. Her heart ached for him, bled and sobbed inside her chest for the man who was suffering because she couldn’t be there to protect him; because she let both herself and him fall.

~

Tag list:

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#guardian angel!reader x bucky barnes #bucky barnes x guardian angel!reader #bucky x guardian angel!reader #guardian angel!reader x bucky #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x female yn #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky angst #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes ff #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #guardian angel #fallen angel #purple writes

[covetyou]

a dress up!Joel interlude

tomorrow (29th May) I'll be posting the next part of dress up!Joel, lovingly titled ghosted.

in the meantime, have this interlude of sorts that I've been sitting on for weeks (and honestly thought I posted back in April, whoops.)

main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

rating: Explicit (18+ only!) word count: 969 warnings: more brotherly shenanigans, sex toy talk, mild relationship angst, alcohol consumption summary: Joel's egg hunt couldn't have gone worse, and so he confides in the one person who has his back no matter what - his baby brother.

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Shooting the shit with his little brother wasn't something Joel Miller ever thought he'd enjoy. But, with age and maturity, there wasn't anything quite like sipping cold beers in his backyard, his brother yapping away about work, or girls, or the playoffs, or just about anything else, as they relaxed at the end of a long week. Tommy could talk, and Joel could listen, and that's how it'd always worked.

"Hey, you still got that thing I gave you," Tommy suddenly asks, after giving Joel a blow by blow of his latest conquest - some blonde he met at a bar and didn't even know the name of.

"What, this pain in my ass? Yeah."

"Very funny. Nah, I mean that ballpedo thing. Turns your balls into a torpedo."

"Balldo."

"Yeah! You still got it? If you ain't usin' it, ain't no use in it goin' to waste."

Joel lifts his beer, the condesation leaving a dark ring on his jeans, and takes a sip, averting his eyes from Tommy.

"Still got it."

It was stuffed at the bottom of his sock drawer upstairs. After Christmas, and his uncomfortable walk back home with the thing still strapped to his balls, it took him a little while to pry the thing off. The lube he'd spread over himself was turning tacky combined with your juices, and wetting it just made everything too slippery. But, eventually, he was free, and he cleaned the thing up and left it to dry, as if there would be any opportunity to use it again.

It was a happy coincidence that Sarah was with her mom again on Valentine's day, and your calendar for that day was empty - he noticed when he was fixing a drip in your kitchen sink. Given you enjoyed Christmas, he thought you might like something else too, and he was happy to be right. On Easter, he was going to leave a note for you for his little egg hunt, hoping you'd wake up Saturday morning and make your way over to his place to find the final prize.

He hadn't expected to get caught, and he hadn't expected things to be left as they were afterwards. Now the memory of all of it left a sour taste in his mouth.

"Can I go grab it? I'll take it off you."

"Nah... nah it's okay," Joel says, with a non-commital wave, as Tommy stands, taking a few steps to head inside.

"C'mon, if you ain't usin' it, I can take it. Mom never teach you to share your shit?"

"I'm always sharin' my shit with you, I said no," Joel shoots back with finality, unable to stop himself from mumbling into the rim of his beer. "You wouldn't want it now anyway."

Tommy was never one for being quick to catch on, and for that Joel was grateful. Though, maybe this time he underestimated his little brother. Tommy still makes a move to head inside, likely to rifle through his shit to find the toy he'd given Joel so long ago, but he stops in his tracks before pulling the patio door open.

"Holy shit," is all Tommy says. "Holy shit."

"You remember you're an asshole again?"

"You used the fuckin' ball thing?!"

Joel's silence says all Tommy needs to know.

"You gave yourself a dick for balls and you didn't tell me? Fuck I've been wonderin' about that thing ever since I gave it to you. It good?"

Joel doesn't really know what to say. He doesn't want to say anything - he wants to keep his fuck up with you his own tragic little secret, but now the balldo's out of the bag, he can't exactly dodge the question. Tommy was a persistent bastard when he wanted to be, and Joel knew that he was going to be extra persistent with this.

"It... yeah. Yeah, it was good."

"Wait... fuckin' wait a minute. This mean you got a girl?!" Tommy's face lights up as he asks, and Joel can feel the color drain from his. "You got a girl and you didn't bother tellin' me? You wound me, brother."

Shaking his head, Joel takes another swig of beer, hoping it'll wash the memory of the taste of you from his mouth. It doesn't.

"Nah. Didn't get the girl."

"You fuck it up that bad?"

As much as they could piss each other off, they always had each other to fall back on. Usually, of course, it was Joel picking up the pieces for Tommy, but there was an unspoken agreement between them that meant no one was keeping score. No one owed anyone anything, they'd always be there for each other, whether it was one time or a thousand times. So, against his better judgement, Joel tells Tommy everything and, for once, Tommy listens.

"Only one thing I don't get," Tommy muses when Joel finally finishes with a sigh. "If it was a misunderstanin', what the fuck are you doin' here with me, and not over there with her, explainin' yourself?"

"She told me to leave. I don't wanna intrude any m-"

"You broke into her fuckin' house, brother, think you're long past that."

Tommy slides the patio door open, half inside, half outside, and looks back at his big brother.

"Take it from an asshole who knows - doin' nothin' ain't gonna do shit. You don't get the girl, you don't get your shit rocked. Talk to her. You got nothin' to lose. If she don't want anything to do with you, nothin' changes, and if she does, well... you get the girl, and you get your shit rocked."

He hated to admit it, but Tommy was right, and Joel had never felt so fucking stupid that he didn't come to the same conclusion sooner.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he'd make this right.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #pedro pascal characters #coveted fics #big bawl jawl #never forget the balls #fic: dress up joel

[bunny-lily]

Tether Me - Chapter 4

Pairing(s): Geto/Gojo/Reader

Summary: Sweet, cold, saintly watermelon spread over your tongue and you ascended, tilting your head back as you nursed the popsicle like it was the ambrosia of the gods themselves.

Satoru skewed over and dropped his head on your shoulder, making you lour at him. You very much did not need someone else’s muggy body heat worsening the already unbearably humid air.

“Fan me,” he demanded, and you poked his cheek with your popsicle, leaving a sticky spot behind.

“Fan yourself,” you rejected.

Suguru chuckled to himself. “You’ll get used to it and learn how to manage.”

“Speak for yourself,” the man using your side as a bed snarked. “Been here my whole life and I still feel like I’m dying.” CW: No y/n | polyamory | slow burn | slice of life | alt au - no curses | fluff | light angst | eventual smut | forgive me, there's internal monologues | I like using big words... | Gojo & Geto are whipped for you | emotionally constipated reader | (most of the tags have been condensed, you can find the full list on my ao3 here) AN: arachnophobes beware, there is a spider in this one (it’s fairly early into the chap tho) (also v tiny boi, not even really described). Summer has arrived! No other notes for this one, lovelies ♥ except some more second-hand embarrassment. A bit more Suguru focused in this one ♥ Ch: Prologue | Ch: 1 | Ch: 2 | Ch: 3 | Ch: 4 WC: 14k

“Has this house really been abandoned for only 20 years?” You grunted as you forced a scraper under a crumpled section of a newspaper that might as well have been glued to the ground on purpose. Your arms trembled from the strain, knuckles drained of blood, your hands fighting for their lives to finally free the paper of its wooden prison.

With a shallow yelp from you, the scraper came loose, only taking a quarter of the browned paper with it. The section ripped partially through the head of a baseball player, giving him a rather unfortunate face lift.

“That’s what everyone says,” Suguru confirmed as he worked on scrubbing a chunk of the floor like he was trying to avenge someone. His nose wrinkled in disgust when he lifted the rag and observed the dark grime stuck to it. “I asked my gran, she said that she can’t remember the family’s name, something starting on ‘Fu’. Father, mother, and their son. The mother was diagnosed with some sort of illness that the village doctor couldn’t manage, so they had to go to the city.”

“Oh,” you frowned as you sat back on your heels. “Did she survive?”

He shrugged, dipping the rag into the bucket of once clean water beside him. “No idea. They weren’t super close with any of the villagers here, so there weren’t any updates after they left. I assume she didn’t, since they never returned here.”

“That’s sad,” you spoke low as you tossed the piece of ew away in the bag beside you. “I hope they’re okay, one way or another.”

The two of you worked together in the living room, peeling useless bits of goo and gunk to clean the house inch by inch. You'd already finished with the first pass of the kitchen, hallway, and master bedroom. After getting the go-ahead from Uncle Han a bit ago (you felt weird calling him that, but he insisted), you decided to start indoors to spare yourselves from the ever rising sun. With summer approaching, the lawn had been dealt with promptly, the three of you moving through it surprisingly speedily with teamwork.

Satoru, for all his rich boy credit, was actually helping. You were honestly expecting him to maybe work for five minutes, then laze around and whine about being bored, but you were pleasantly surprised by his productivity.

For one, he’d been gathering various architecture and designer house catalogues; stuff that was in, stuff that was out, and everything in between. Whatever might strike your fancy, he was there to offer his input, whether asked or not. You could tell he was having fun showing off expensive house designs, even if it was way too early to be looking at paint colors and matching furniture. He was acting like it was his house that was getting renovated.

He was also helpful with the physical labor portion of fixing this mess up, putting those beefy biceps to good use. He’d done some wondrous work in the kitchen.

That’s not to say he didn’t whine about boredom and hardship and whatnot, but at least he was working while doing so.

Presently, he was in the smaller room opposite to the master bedroom, addressing the tatami issue. Said issue being that the material was practically cemented to the floor below, strangely crunchy for being stiff as a brick, and very much showing its age.

He was experimenting with various methods for prying it off, at his own assertion. It gave him the opportunity to lean into that primal urge to break shit, and who were you to take that away from him?

Every few minutes, you’d hear a muted thud, some strangled noises, and a delightful little swear here and there. You’d learned that he quite hated tatami as a kid, annoyed that he had to be careful with it. He was grumpy that he couldn’t run about and stomp his feet like the spoiled child he was because it’d get damaged, then his folks would get mad. Now, he had the perfect excuse to take all that pent up anger out on some actual tatami.

“You think he’s having fun in there?” You asked as you lifted off another slice of the paper, turning it around in the tight pinch you held it in. Most of the words had faded off or bled from whatever liquid got onto it years prior. You could barely make out a cut-off phrase that made you snort. Left fielder is short!

Suguru sneered at the floor. “I sure hope not.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not having fun, so he doesn’t get to have fun, either.”

You rubbed your cheek against your shoulder, fighting the desire to scratch at the itch with your grubby, dirty hands. “Are boys always at each other’s throats like this?”

“Yes,” he answered bluntly, earning a half-laugh, half-cough from you.

You smiled apologetically at him. “I’m sorry. You really don’t have to do this.”

He shook his head as he got up, stripping off his yellow rubber gloves. “I’m not going to back out now after saying I’d help you. I’m gonna keep my word to you. But, I will go grab a drink and think about my life choices outside for a few minutes.”

You breathed out through your nose and waved lazily at him as he stepped out of the open front door, disappearing behind the wall. It was his idea to bring some options for hydration with him, and you lauded him as a genius for it. Even if a quarter of the options were cheap beer. 

Deciding you earned yourself a break, too, you tossed whatever else you managed to free from the floor away, along with your gloves, and got up, shaking out your numb legs with a wince. Ow.

Sure, you’d done next to nothing compared to Suguru, but, oh, your back and arms felt so sore. Poor you. He could forgive you, couldn’t he?

Figuring you should check on Satoru, you trod down the hallway and stopped in the open doorway of the room he was occupying. He was turned halfway towards you, hunched over as he scratched aggressively at the floor with something you could only tell was made of metal. Sweat stuck to his forehead in a thick layer, droplets beading and running down his temples and the curve of his jaw. White hairs were plastered to his cheeks and brow, pale lashes clumped together, lips pulled into a wide grin.

A shiver dashed up your spine.

He looked positively feral.

You should probably leave him be, you didn’t want to get caught in his crossfire, lest you end up the target of his destructive goal. 

You began to creep away, easing off the doorframe, hoping to avoid–

“Mochi!”

Damnit.

“Heyyy, buddy,” you greeted cautiously, meeting his gaze. His winter blues were alight with an untamed sort of fervor, sunglasses folded into the collar of his button-up. Had the moisture on the small of your back always been there? “How’s it goin’ in here?”

“It’s fuckin’ stubborn, but look!” He waved frantically to a boxy pile of…something. Vaguely tan and clumpy and gross. Listen, you weren’t very peeved out by nasty stuff as a kid, but even child you wouldn’t dare touch it.

Gojo, meanwhile, looked ecstatic, seemingly having figured out a method that worked. More or less.

The corners of your lips twitched upwards into a watery smile. Mainly because you were afraid that he’d pounce on you with that brutish glint in his intense stare if you didn’t show the appropriate amount of enthusiasm for his hard work.

“Wow!” You exclaimed, a smidge stiffly. “You’re doing a great job!”

Satoru ate that shit up. He glowed, preening under your praise, even if it felt like you were talking to a six-year-old kiddo wielding a hammer.

“I know!” He cheered. “This is fun!”

You questioned how long that zeal would last. You also debated whether or not you should tell Suguru that the maniac was having fun. You were curious to see what would happen, but you didn’t want to get dragged into the potential brawl they’d have.

The boy in front of you was panting, the collar of his shirt dampened by the droplets of effort he wiped off with it, and the temperature outside was rapidly rising. As hot as this image was, minus the eugh-factor of your house, you weren’t keen on him dying of exhaustion and leaving you short one extra pair of hands.

How noble of you.

“Wanna come take a break with me and Suguru?” You asked.

He glanced at where he paused his work, back to you, the floor, then you one more time before nodding. “Yeaaah, I did a lot, I deserve a lil’ break.”

He groaned as he pushed on his knees and rose up, absently dusting the front of his pants. You rolled your eyes at his show of theatrics, what with him stretching and whining. Not like you were any better, though.

“C’mon, you big baby,” you stepped out of the doorway, rotating to make your way down the hall. 

That was, until you noticed something on the wall beside you. A black dot, or speck you hadn't seen before. A stain, perhaps; a blotch, something dark stuck to the old paint. You could've gotten it dirty(ier) while you were cleaning at some point. You leaned closer to try and decipher it, squinting–

Legs. 

Not two, four, or six. Eight legs.

With a gagged gasp, you screeched and immediately booked it out of the house, adrenaline pumping through your system at mach speed. You nearly slipped as you banked the corner, your sights set on the open front door.

The blinding white of day was burning into your retinas, but you couldn’t care, you needed to get the hell out! 

Instinctively, you threw yourself into a surprised Suguru’s arms the moment you stepped past the threshold as he peeked into the house, concerned by the commotion. He stumbled back a few steps, eyes wide, then released a humorous chuckle as his arms wrapped protectively around you. Sturdy, strong, safe.

“There, there,” he soothed, stroking a hand up and down your back, fingertips pressing into pressure points along your vertebrae. It was easy enough for him to figure out what got you so panicked. “You’re alright, it’s just a spider. I’ll get rid of it for you.”

“Oh, my god!” You squealed and shook like a leaf, air whistling past your larynx. “Suguru! It’s giant!”

He cooed sweetly at you, obviously entertained by your frazzled state. “It won’t hurt you, you’re fine.”

“I am not fine!”

His laugh rumbled low in his chest, right under your ear as you squeezed the life out of him. “I can’t remove it for you if you don’t let me go, angel.”

You bared your teeth at him. “Don’t you dare leave me.”

Suguru opened his mouth to respond, only to get preemptively cut off by a girlish scream originating from within the house. Seconds later, Satoru was dashing out, colliding directly with you and Suguru. A mix of stifled noises of shock erupted, and all three of you toppled right over onto the hard-packed soil.

Suguru’s arms encased more firmly around your form when Satoru tackled you, one thick arm coming to cradle the back of your head while the other constricted your waist until you were pressed immovably to his front. He pillowed your fall, even though it meant taking the brunt force of the ground’s swift ascent by himself. Satoru collapsed on top of you, leaving you sandwiched between the pair.

This was not how you imagined you’d experience your first yukadon. 

Cheek pillowed by a rigid tit. Spine crushed by a dense body. Lungs utterly squashed. Lavender, cypress, and musk overwhelming your olfactory senses. Super sexy.

“Are you fucking stupid, Satoru?” Suguru hissed out, voice strained with pain, compression, and thinly-veiled anger.

“It’s fuckin’ huge, Suguru!” Satoru shrieked back. “Massive! Like, a meter long!”

Amber eyes glared over your head, still clutched to his pec. “Get the hell off, you’re crushing her. And me. You’re heavy as fuck.”

Gojo lifted himself up enough to peer at you, blinked, then laid right back down on top of you. Your wheeze of suffering did nothing to deter him. “But this is so comfy.”

“I will castrate you,” your personal airbag threatened.

Cyan eyes filled with spite as he finally rolled off of you and to the side, allowing Geto to loosen his hold until you could breathe freely. While Satoru was busy grumbling to himself and looking for his glasses, the pair having been flung off in the clamor, Suguru gazed down at you with worry pooled in his softened hues.

“You okay?” He asked.

You wiggled your toes and fingers, then nodded. “Thanks to you. I should be asking you that.”

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” he put away your disquiet with a smile.

You frowned at his attempt at paying no heed to the subject. “That was a pretty bad fall.”

He snorted. “I work on a farm and grew up with Satoru. I’d hardly consider that a fall.”

“Oi!” Speak of the devil. The snow-haired boy had located his glasses, it seemed, as they were resting on the bridge of his nose, free of dirt and dust by some miracle. “Get up already, lovebirds.”

Fire exploded across your cheeks and the tips of your ears as you realized the position you were in – straddling your friend’s waist, chest-to-chest, his strong arms enclosing you to keep you close. 

You yelped and scrambled out of his hold, keenly aware that you were only able to leap off of him and stagger away because he let you do so. He was laughing breathlessly as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, endeared by your embarrassed reaction. He grabbed the hand his best friend offered him, their palms clapping as he got tugged onto his feet.

Meanwhile, you were fanning your face in a hopeless attempt to cool the steam lifting from your head, swearing up and down that it was the budding summer heat and not because you got stacked like pancakes by two unreasonably attractive men.

Yeah, that’s what it was.

The sun.

The literal sun, not the sun incarnated in the form of a man that was currently busy brushing off his pants, aided by Satoru clearing his back of debris.

Thank the gods you had tossed the murderous stepping stones off to one corner of the house just a few days prior. You did not want to think about what would have happened to Suguru’s pretty body if you hadn’t.

“You sure you’re okay?” The above-mentioned man with said pretty body called out to you.

You startled in place and cried out the first thing that came to mind. “You’re hot!” Fuck. “I-I mean, it’s– it’s hot! Outside! Right now! We should, uh, stop here for the day!”

Good save.

Dumbass.

You would have smacked your own head with a brick if it wouldn’t attract their attention and make them think you were crazy. Or worse. Turned on.

Suguru and Satoru shared a glance, exchanging in a silent conversation, then Satoru was walking over to the bag of snacks the former brought along, digging around it for a can of soda. He retrieved a separate can of light booze for the other boy, passing it along as they both shortened the distance between you. 

“You sure you wanna call it for the day?” Geto asked, his drink opening with an acute crack and tss, shortly followed by Gojo’s. Thank God they seemed to worn to tease you for your slip up.

Breathing deeply to settle your nerves, you dipped your head twice. “Yeah, it’s starting to get too hot for me.”

For too many damn reasons.

He hummed, sipping his drink as he peered at the chalk-haired boy, who took a sizable gulp in comparison. “Fine by me,” he ground out past the tingle of carbonation, fingers threading through damp, white tresses. “I don’t wanna die of heatstroke.”

“How about we head to the park, then?” Suguru suggested as he stepped away to shut the front door, like that’d prevent intruders or something. The extra security was unneeded, the house itself was enough of a deterrent. “We can stop at Granny’s on the way.”

“Sure,” you assented rather easily. You liked the park. Sitting in the shade, surrounded by the sweet fragrance of the flora there, sounded like a wonderful idea.

Satoru was not as keen. “In this heat? No way.”

His best friend patted his shoulder, gulping down a swig of his drink before responding. “You gotta touch grass at least once in a while, dude. C’mon, it won’t be so bad.”

“Fine. But if I die, I’m haunting you.”

“You’re not gonna die, don’t be a drama queen,” he said pragmatically.

You simpered to yourself as you went to grab Suguru’s backpack, zipping it up to keep everything inside. The last thing you needed was to embarrass yourself more by spilling everything. You grabbed one of the straps, ready to hoist it over your shoulder, just for a big hand to grab it by the top handle and tug it out of your palms.

You didn’t even get a second to prepare to fight for it, the coarse material easily slipping from your grip in a pathetic display of weakness. Your guard wasn’t up. You never stand a chance.

Your head snapped up to find Geto himself, his bag resting against his back as he held it by that same handle, fingers half-closed near his shoulder. He gave you a charming grin, eyes squinted from the squish of his cheeks. 

“Hey!” You gaped, hopping up to your feet. “I can carry it, I’m not helpless!”

The hell you aren’t.

He tipped his head back to finish off his drink, his Adam’s apple bobbing and causing more sweat to form on your brow, then tucked the empty can into his pocket to properly toss out later. “You aren’t,” he agreed, ruffling your hair affectionately with his now free hand, “but what kind of gentleman would I be if I let the lovely lady do all the work?”

All the work? You barely did any work. But, you did like being called lovely, so you supposed you could let it go this once.

Satoru scoffed. “Gentleman? You watched Shoko lug a heavy ass box of shit up two flights of stairs just last week. Hardly call that gentlemanly.”

“You think I’m going anywhere near Shoko and her medical supplies?” Honey-toned irises shifted from you to him. “Hell no. She’d have my head on a pike if I even got close to them.”

“You won’t hold the door open for Utahime,” he accused.

“I’ve held the door for her before. The only person I wouldn’t hold the door for is you, Satoru,” Suguru’s hand drifted to rest below the nape of your neck, scorching the exposed skin there.

He pressed lightly, urging you to start walking with them in the direction of town.

The 6’3” child moped, his eyes drooping. “My own best friend hates me. Practically my brother, and he wants me to die.”

Geto rolled his eyes and bent down to stage-whisper to you. “Drama queen.”

“I heard that!” Satoru exclaimed.

“That was the point.”

You sighed with levity, shaking your head. “Could you two at least try to not kill each other until we get to Granny’s?”

“No promises,” they both responded in unison.

They bickered back and forth over your head, one using you as a shield while the other used you as an excuse to ‘behave’. Not that it stopped either of them from hurling immature threats and insults, each one making you think about how a butterfly felt more scary than either of them.

Or, your presence was taming them after all, and they were more vicious when they didn’t have someone standing guard. What would happen if you were on the other side of one of them? Would the result be the same?

Since when were you into psychology?

“Oi,” a finger jabbed into your cheek, bringing you back to the present, where your trio was crossing over the bridge. “Don’t zone out. Pay attention to me.”

You sent the offending boy a sidelong glance, meeting his intensely cobalt, insisting stare, yet he reveled in it all the same. Attention was attention.

“I’m not zoning out,” liar, “I’m just thinking.”

“About what? About us?” He teased, poking your cheek again.

He squawked and jumped back when you bluffed a strike at him, your teeth snapping dangerously close to his finger.

“Not like that!” He hissed, nursing his finger to his chest. He went as far as pressing the digit against the likely lukewarm can of soda he still had, exaggerating his obvious injury. You know, the one that didn’t exist.

Suguru barked out a laugh. “Like I said; drama queen.”

Satoru harrumphed, mumbling incoherent grievances as he pressed the rim of his drink to his lips, presumably to ‘politely’ muffle his quips with sips of carbonation.

You wanted to bully him a little more, ribbing him when you had the high ground was too much fun.

Geto would probably have more material for you to work with.

“Hey, Suguwu, do you–” you abruptly cut yourself off and slapped a hand over your mouth.

So much for high ground.

Satoru snorted his soda out through his nose and yowled, crying out in pain between guffaws as he clutched his hand over his lips in a hopeless attempt to catch any spare liquid.

Suguru raised a brow at you, a bemused smile spreading lazily across his face, turning his eyes into mirthful, mischievous crescents. “Pardon?”

Your entire face glowing a deep shade of vermillion. “I– can we just pretend–”

“Suguwu!” Gojo wheezed, arms coiling around his stomach, free hand grasping the side of his shirt for dear life. “Y’hear that, Suguwu? Think the lady has something to say, Suguwu. Hah!”

“Don't tease her so much, Satoru. I think it's cute,” he said, adjusting his backpack to hang on his back by one strap.

“Can you, please, just let me die now,” you grumbled, hiding your face with your hand placed flat along the side. You felt like you pulled the pin on a flashbang but forgot to throw it.

Gojo wiped his mouth with the back of his forearm, coughing out whatever liquid had gotten caught down the wrong pipe. You could hear him crooning at you, but you were trying desperately to focus on your destination as it came into view, hoping and praying that Granny would save you.

Or someone, anyone, else.

“Hello!”

Prayers answered! For once!

Your head perked up at the sound of a familiar voice as you approached the store, and you were immensely grateful for the divine timing of your arrival. Candied reprieve kissed your skin, easing your humiliation right away.

“Iori-san!” You called back, returning the wave she sent you in greeting. Spotting a head of brunette hair next to her, you shifted your attention to her companion, lighting up further with both relief and joy. “Oh, hey–”

“Aha!” Satoru jogged forward and spun around, throwing his arm around a less-than-amused Shoko’s shoulders. “This is Ieiri Shoko, she’s the doctor I warn– told you about!”

“Ah, we already met,” you grinned at Shoko, who gave you a ‘can you believe this shit?’ look.

“Wait, what?” He blinked at you. “Really?”

You nodded in confirmation. “Yeah. She called you an idiot.”

Suguru snorted into his palm, briskly facing away to poorly conceal his swallowed back laughter. 

Satoru balked, blinking between you and your mutual friend when she shoved his arm off her. “When was this?”

“Uh…” You pressed your curved index against your chin, calculating. “Same day you and I met, actually.”

He looked completely aghast, utterly betrayed. “Wh– that was ages ago! Why didn’t you tell me!?”

You lifted and dropped your shoulders, grinning sheepishly. “Didn’t cross my mind?”

Deflating with a wispy wheeze that imitated a sad balloon, he pouted and turned his back on the entire group. “Can’t trust anyone around here. Keepin’ secrets, callin’ me a drama queen and an idiot.

Shoko rolled her eyes. “You are a drama queen and an idiot, Satoru,” she grunted and shook her head, then shot a relaxed smile your way. “Thanks for the macarons, by the way. They were delicious.”

“Yeah!” Utahime bobbed her head. “You’re an amazing baker.”

You scratched your neck with one hand and patted Satoru’s back with the other to comfort him. “I actually only know how to make macarons.”

Utahime shuffled closer to you, mouth parted with disbelief. “What? No way! I bet you’d make a great baker! Nothing like that idiot over there,” the bridge of her nose wrinkled with distaste as she sent the whining baby a scathing side-eye.

“I told you she bullies me!” He was looking your way in an instant. “It’s her fault I’m like this! How is any of this fair?”

“She’s older than you, so she gets to bully you,” Shoko stated. “Sibling rules.”

“We are not siblings!” Utahime shouted, nose and forehead flushed red with anger. “Shoko! How could you say that!”

Satoru took that statement and ran. “By that logic, I get to bully Suguru!”

“You already do,” Geto responded.

You blinked, and found a face unexpectedly very close to yours. “What about you, huh?” Ocean blues pierced into the depths of your soul. “You bully me a lot, too. Does that mean you’re older than me– agh!”

He clutched the back of his head where Iori had landed an expert hit, delivered with a precision mastered only after years of training. “Jerk! Don’t you know not to ask a woman her age!?” 

“Why is everyone abusing me today? What did I do to any of you, huh?” He sniffled, bottom lip jutting out as he pinned his watery, puppy-dog eyes on you.

Okay, now you were starting to feel bad. Letting go of a shallow, defeated exhale, you opened your arms to him.

His expression changed to glee faster than you could realize, and within seconds, you were being crushed against his chest. You didn’t give consideration to how strong he was, woefully unaware that his forearms alone could exert enough pressure on your limbs to make a few joints pop. 

“Yippee! I knew someone cared about me!” He stuck his tongue out at everyone else, then nuzzled himself deep into the crook of your neck.

Too hot, too hot, too hot!

“Yeah, yeah,” you hacked out, patting his back. “You can let me go, now.”

“No way,” he refused, breath tickling your collarbone. “This is the least I deserve.”

Shoko was in your peripheral, a wicked smirk on her lips as she stuck a cigarette between them. You mouthed help me to her, and gaped when she pretended to get distracted and miss your S.O.S. request. 

Screw Shoko, Utahime was your favorite person now. She was by you in a snap, prying the arms of steel keeping you caged off of you. Her strength was impressive, especially given that Satoru was actively fighting her on it. There was a hand on your shoulder, coaxing you to duck down under their arms, and dash into the safe haven that was Granny’s shop.

Sweet, sweet AC.

You visibly shuddered as a blast of arctic air hit you. Heaven was in all the things easily taken for granted.

The chime of the bell summoned the old lady out of thin air – or it might have been her ‘you’ senses, she had a keen perception for when you’d be coming.

“Oh, hello!” She welcomed you warmly, wholly ignoring the second person with you as she scurried across the floor to reach you.

Granny grasped you by the shoulders and pulled you close, pressing a couple wet, loud kisses on your cheeks, right in front of your ears, making your eardrums pop. Your theory that the sound of kisses grew louder with age was gaining credence.

“How are you feeling, dear? You aren’t working too hard, are you?” She planted the back of her hand against your forehead, steamrolling right along and not giving you a chance to respond. “Oh, my, you’re so warm! Are you feeling feverish? Sick? I’m telling you, you should leave that house to the men who are used to working in those conditions.”

“Granny–”

“Sit, sit, let me get you some water,” she nudged you towards the familiar stool you’d taken respite on many times now, ready to zip away to retrieve that promised glass of water.

“Hey, Granny,” Suguru interrupted that plan by raising a hand in greeting, only to be subsequently pummeled by an angered grandmother. “Ow–”

“Some man you are, letting a lady get ill!” She shamed him.

You immediately hopped up, bolting to his rescue. “Granny! Granny, I’m not sick, it’s okay! It’s just hot outside today.”

She stopped her volley of attacks on the poor, innocent man to take in your appearance. She lifted your arms, eyeing down your figure carefully, then hmphed.

“My apologies, darling,” she reached up to pinch Suguru’s cheek, which somehow looked more painful than the fairly weak smacks she delivered earlier. She was easily able to tug him down to be eye-to-eye with her. “But you have been taking care of her, haven’t you?”

Still, he put on a smile and nodded. “Of course, I have been.”

She smiled broadly at him and released his cheek, patting it gently twice. “My, what a good boy you are. But, if I hear you’ve been mistreating her, I won’t hesitate to beat you with my geta and bury you beside that fish of yours.”

Suguru grimaced as he rubbed the tender spot she had pinched, rising back up to his full height. “Ouch, Granny. Don’t worry, I’ve been keeping an eye on her.”

You planted your hands on your hips, eye twitching with irritation. “I’m right here. And, I can take care of myself, you know?”

“I carry extra bottles of water because you always underestimate how thirsty you get,” he fired back. “You sweat it out faster than you think you do.”

You coughed into your fist. That was fucking embarrassing. Now you were worried you had a sweating problem. “Maybe I’m a little forgetful, but it’s not that bad.”

This time, Granny was on your ass. “You need to take better care of yourself!”

“Granny–”

“What if you didn’t have such a dependable, strong, young man to take care of you?” She tutted in disappointment. “What about when your husband is away at work?” – HUSBAND!? – “Will you forget to drink water then, too?”

You half-inhaled your spit, looking up towards Suguru for help in getting out of your pseudo-grandmother’s scolding–

You almost questioned if you were imagining the flashing dots outlining him – or, rather, where he used to be. A quick twist of your head proved he had already sauntered off somewhere towards the back of the store, if the thump of a fridge door was anything to go by.

“Are you listening to me, young lady?” Holy shit, for being an older woman, her pinches hurt.

“Ai– yes, I’m listening,” you assured her, wincing. Looks like you had no savior to get you out of this one. There was some muffled yelling outside the glass pane behind you, implying that the three that didn’t come in were too busy squabbling to see you getting reprimanded.

Though, knowing Satoru, he’d just use this as ammunition against you.

She jiggled your cheek. “Very good. You’re a beautiful woman, you need to take care of yourself. Lots of water, avoid direct sunlight, make sure you eat well, all that. Understood?”

“Understood,” you assented.

That good-natured smile of hers was back, and you were pulled into yet another hug. “D’aw, I can’t stay mad at you, you’re too sweet. Don’t go letting anyone take advantage of that.”

There was only so much of the embrace you could return when your arms were pinned to your sides by your unnaturally brawny kinda-grandma, leaving you to awkwardly prop your chin on her shoulder. “I know, Granny.”

That was a lesson you learned a long time ago.

You observed Suguru as he walked between the aisles while he grabbed some stuff, his head sticking out high above the shelves. When he emerged back out at the front, you were seated on the stool that basically belonged to you at this point. He carefully set his gathered spoils on the counter next to the cash register, then slipped past you to go behind the counter. 

His hand briefly rubbed your knee, something you noticed he did from time to time. While he wasn’t nearly as touchy as Satoru, who didn’t know the definition of personal space, he did often give you comforting nudges like that.

You noted with curiosity how familiar he seemed with ringing up his products by himself, working swiftly to tally them. Based on Granny’s lack of reaction when she returned with a mug, she trusted him to pay properly.

Smooth ceramic was placed within your palms, and you brought it up to guzzle down the life-saving liquid within. Damn, Suguru was right, you had no idea how thirsty you were. In terms of hydration, anyway. You were painfully aware of your other shortcomings.

“How’s that house of yours coming along?” She asked, resting a weathered hand on your upper thigh.

You hummed past a gulp, then answered. “Good, I think. We’re still washing the floors, but we’ve already cleaned up a lot. Satoru’s been dealing with the tatami in one of the rooms. It’s been stubborn as hell so far.”

“Try soaking it for a while beforehand,” she suggested. “And ventilate well. Goodness knows what’s been in there.”

Comforting. “We have been, don’t worry. Suguru managed to get all the windows open, which has been a huge relief.”

The elder leaned in close to you, ‘whispering’ in what could have only been a singular decibel quieter than normal talking. “See? Reliable, strong man. He’d take good care of you, I’ve known him since he was a child. Very dependable.”

Wha–

Was she trying to set you up with him!?

You glared at him when you heard him laughing under his breath, having heard her suggestion. It’d be more shocking if he didn’t.

Instead of coming to dispel her wild offer, he stuffed his goods away into a bag and walked towards the exit. You got up to follow after hastily finishing your drink and letting her take the empty mug from you, fully intending to give them both a piece of your mind the next chance you got. “Thank you for the water, Granny. We’ll head out, now.”

“I left some extra cash for you, Granny,” Suguru said as he held the door open for you. “From my mom, paying you back.”

She clicked her tongue. “I told her not to worry about it. Be safe, you two. Suguru, tell your mother to sleep with one eye open.”

“Will do,” he agreed too easily for such a casual threat, pushing you out into the humid summer air, and you were tempted to return to the sanctity of her air-conditioned shop. 

“You’re back! Thank God!” Utahime ushered you further away from your salvation, to which you whined and peered back at it forlornly. “Come with me to the shrine! I found more mythological history books recently, and you promised to tell me about Sne– sneguh– snah?”

“Snegurochka,” you corrected.

“Yeah! Her!”

A limb wrapped around your middle, drawing you back into a board chest. “No can do, Utahime!” Satoru shut her down cheerily, pressing his cheek against yours. “She already agreed to go on a date with me to the park.”

Utahime’s appalled expression was mirrored in your own. Her upper lip lifted in a snarl directed at your captor and…date, apparently.

“Like hell! I’m not letting you corrupt my friend!” She growled.

“Corrupt?” He fluttered his lashes. “Me? Why, I’d never.”

Suguru crossed his arms over his chest. “With us, Satoru. Don’t forget about me.”

“Hard to when your head is so big,” the other boy snapped in return.

You gawked at Geto, disbelieving. He was supposed to be your savior! “It is not a date! Don’t go making Iori-san and Shoko think the wrong things!”

“Welp, I gotta head back to the clinic,” Shoko said as her name was called, beginning to walk past. She patted your bicep on the way. “Good luck.”

“Shoko!” You cried out after her. “Come back here!”

She merely waved over her shoulder with her cigarette pinched between her fingers, blowing out a stream of smoke.

Utahime cupped your face in her hands, expression taut with seriousness. “Blink twice if they’re holding you prisoner.”

You heard ‘blink’ and went with it, fluttering your lashes rapidly.

“I knew it!” She bayed, tugging at Satoru’s arms – but she couldn’t free you. “Let go of her, you dog!”

He jerked his head towards the hill her shrine sat atop and gasped theatrically. “Oh, no! Is that a fire near your shrine?”

“What!?” She whirled around in horror, opening up the opportunity for him to tow you away, one arm staying around your waist while he led you into an unwilling sprint.

“Ohp, so sorry, guess I was wrong!” He yelled back, giggling at the rage painted all over her twisted expression.

“Satoru!” She shrieked, watching with grit teeth as Suguru jogged to catch up. “Yeah! Get him, Suguru–” Her jaw dropped when he grabbed your hand with his free one, making you run faster. “Oh, Heaven’s sake, not you, too!”

What the fuck! You didn’t agree to extra exercise today! And poor Utahime! You really hoped she wasn’t assuming things about your relationship with the men.

“Hey– guys! Slow down, damnit!” You heaved out. “Ugh! You two are awful!”

They simply laughed, hauling you right along to the park. Their long ass strides made this hell for you, and you were certain that if the park wasn’t so close, you would have eaten shit and died from the amount of times you stumbled. Their tight grips kept you from falling, and you partially wished they’d just let you collapse.

Pavement gave way to grass, the impact of your shoes becoming dulled. After running a few steps further, they finally gave you mercy and let go of you, slowing their gaits to a stop.

You slapped your hands against your knees, greedily sucking in air through the ache in your throat.

“You two–” pant, “really–” pant, “fucking–” pant, “suck.”

Satoru snickered and smoothed a hand over your messy tendrils, ignoring your death stare, finding it humorous in your current state. “Aww, come on! That was fun!”

“You’re gonna give Iori-san and Shoko the wrong idea,” you groaned, wiping wetness off your brow.

He feigned innocence. “What idea?”

Bastard.

“That we– tch,” you took in one more deep breath to catch your breath. “Nevermind. Shut up.”

“Don’t be like that!” He purred, right on your tail as you trudged to a nearby maple tree.

With the impromptu run, plus the season, the heat was finally getting to you. For all of Satoru’s bravado, you took solace in the fact that it also looked like the temperature was affecting him.  

You flopped down under a maple tree you picked out and loafed back on your palms, trying to survive the immense wave of evil weather that chose to sweep across the valley. You felt like you were turning into a prune, or a sponge that got tossed into an oven set on broil, despite all the sweating. You weren’t a stranger to high summer temperatures, but this was asininity.

Somehow, you survived the trip to the park, mourning the glacial morning dew that had long since evaporated, leaving the grass tepid at best. But you’d take anything, whatever it cost to keep you from roasting like a fine crème brûlée.

Satoru dropped down beside you, not doing much better than you, and Suguru slumped against the bark of the hulking plant, taking respite under it.

The shrill songs of cicadas took presence everywhere, chirping and pestering the females in hopes of copulating and passing along their live-underground-for-17-years genes.

You were immensely happy that you managed to clear out most of your lawn before the true harshness of the season kicked into full swing. You would not have lived through that, and doing it at night would have been too dangerous.

Work was very far from what you wanted to think about, though.

“Why the fuck is Japan so hot in summer,” you lamented, lethargically fanning yourself with a slack hand. It did zilch to help. “How do you deal with this?”

You squealed when something chilly touched your forehead and squinted up to see Suguru holding out a popsicle to you. You grabbed it without a second thought and ripped off the plastic covering, stuffing the crumpled ball back in his awaiting hand.

Sweet, cold, saintly watermelon spread over your tongue and you ascended, tilting your head back as you nursed the popsicle like it was the ambrosia of the gods themselves.

Satoru skewed over and dropped his head on your shoulder, making you lour at him. You very much did not need someone else’s muggy body heat worsening the already unbearably humid air.

“Fan me,” he demanded, and you poked his cheek with your popsicle, leaving a sticky spot behind.

“Fan yourself,” you rejected.

Suguru chuckled to himself. “You’ll get used to it and learn how to manage.”

“Speak for yourself,” the man using your side as a bed snarked. “Been here my whole life and I still feel like I’m dying.”

You chomped off a bite of your snack with your molars, flinching at the slight sting, then relaxed as the chunk rested on your tongue. Bless Suguru and his mother hen tendencies. Towards you, anyway. He seemed to find humor in his best friend’s suffering up to a certain point.

The newly purchased, refrigerated, highly-sugary fizz he bought while at the store showed he did care at the end of the day.  

Summer in rural Japan smelled nice. That was about all the praise you were capable of giving this hellish landscape when you were getting steamed like a damn dumpling. Winter you could deal with; in winter, you could just add extra clothes or blankets or whatever for more warmth. You could only get so naked in summer before you were melting into a gross puddle.

“I wanna skin myself,” you slurred around your icy treat.

Suguru snorted. “That’s morbid.”

You bored into him blankly, examining his clothes – light-colored long sleeves and full-length, loose pants versus your tank top and flappy shorts. “How the hell are you dealing with this so well?”

He simply shrugged and gave you that closed-eye smile that always had your insides doing funky things they flat-out were not allowed to do. “I’ve always preferred summer.”

Hm. It added up. You always associated him with the sun – warm, inviting, making you want to lay somewhere soft and bask in his glow. But that feeling was warmth, not sweltering fire making your muscles shed off your very bones. 

“You’re a beast,” you mumbled, unsure if you were admiring or fearing him. “What ‘bout you, Toru?”

“Ehh?”

“Season.”

“What about it?”

You whined and placed your head on his. “Pay attention, idiot.”

“Well, excuse me, princess. I’m busy trying to not die of heatstroke over here,” he pinched your thigh, making you yelp.

You flicked the back of his hand in retaliation. “What’s your favorite season?”

“Oh,” he pried his limpid orbs open and eyed you from over the rim of his sunglasses. Those glistening, forget-me-not hues never failed to whisk your breath away. “Spring.”

“Good choice,” you approved.

Suguru bent down from the tree, angling his head to the side as he pointed a finger at himself. “Oh? Is my choice not good?”

“Ask me again when I don’t feel like I’m evaporating,” you muttered, taking another bite of your ice snack and plainting at the sharp pain radiating in your teeth for a few seconds. He merely laughed in the voice that had you feeling twice as flushed, instantly soothing the pain away.

“Don’t eat it like that if it just hurts you,” the silver-blond grumbled, his eyes already closed again as he fought to fend off the temperature mentally, if he couldn’t spare himself physically.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you huffed pettishly.

You partially closed your eyes and lazed back on your free palm, absentmindedly licking up the melted drips before they landed on your hand and coated it in residue. More than they already had, anyway.

A welcomed breeze rustled through the leaves of the trees surrounding you, a relieving balm against scalding skin that had all three of you sighing in alleviation. It rustled the yellow of the leaves above your head, creating a mesmerizing show of dancing golden fans, their edges dipped in crimson.

The droning chirps of cicadas, the tweets of birds calling to their brooding mates as they brought back food from a successful hunt, the fragrance of blooming flowers being pollinated, having their nectar gathered in preparation for being turned into honey – all of it surrounded you in a deep serenity you didn’t know you were capable of feeling.

Your head was optimistically empty, merely taking in the ambiance in fine detail. The lush, fluffy grass underhand tickled your wrist and the back of your hand, and the pleasant silence with your closest friends made you…happy. 

You’d been happy for a while now, but never stopped to notice it until this moment.

You found two idiots and two other kind-of-normal people to call friends, and you always ardently anticipated hanging out with them, rather than dreading it. You were pouty when they were busy, and ecstatic when you could all gather together.

Especially these two dumbasses, Tweedledee and Tweedledum. You spent most of your time with them, doing things that reminded you of the nostalgic highschool and college years you didn’t recall having.

You ruminated on how different your life would have been if you knew them from childhood; if you went to school with them, grew up as neighbors, mourned when Satoru left for his studies, celebrated when he returned. Would you have still ended up like this, a paranoid kite that was running out of thread to cut?

Or would you have been normal – or, at least, normal-adjacent? How would being raised in Japan differ from your home nation?

…

Home nation.

What was your home nation, again?

All that came to mind was here, now, with your best friends on either side of you. You knew where you were born, but that seemed so far away, now. You didn’t remember what the sky looked like over there – if you caught a glimpse of it at all in the first place.

Reflecting back left an odd emotion welling in your chest, like you were forgetting something. You wouldn’t say melancholy, nor yearning. It wasn’t nostalgia, either, seeing as you were semi-nomadic for a good portion of your life. You didn’t stay in one place long enough to form attachments to anyone or anything. 

When you tried to think about your childhood friends, you saw Geto, Gojo, Ieiri, and Iori. The boys were smaller, childlike, with chubbier cheeks and brattier attitudes, but your boys regardless. You remembered how Satoru was the class clown that frequently set off your teachers, while Suguru egged him on from the backlines, purposefully getting on his nerves. 

Shoko was there, too, watching with a shit-eating grin and not doing anything to help. Utahime at least tried.

And then there was you.

You didn’t really know if you were there or not. Just a spectator, possibly, but it didn’t seem like that. Not an empty, silent, emotionless observer, no. You couldn’t put your finger on it. What you were was there, on the tip of your tongue, you just didn’t know the word for it.

These memories weren’t real, you knew that. But it didn’t hurt to imagine they were, especially when they felt like they were.

You could see yourself growing up with them, spending days lazing under the shade just like you were now, losing half the water in your body under the unforgiving summer sun and turning into a sort of sad excuse for a cucumber. You could remember the sharp sting of a wadded up piece of paper hitting your temple from across the table, your head shooting up so you could glare at jubilant Satoru that concluded throwing notes at you from two feet away was a better use of his time than just whispering or, gods forbid, studying.

You were certain he did it specifically because it pissed you off, and because he was unafraid of repercussions from the teacher. Discipline didn’t exist in his dictionary. Suguru would grab the wad from your other side to toss it right back and nail his best friend in the center of his forehead, leading to a paper ball fight that you were, unfortunately, directly in the middle of.

Shoko and Utahime, the lucky bitches, were smart to choose seats a few tables back, safely out of the firing and collateral range. 

You tried to join the two several times, yet the boys somehow always managed to sit you right back between them. You were their ‘mediator’, even though you tended to exhort them rather than soothe. You did calm them down, but only after you, Shoko, and Utahime had a good show. It was payback for all the times they dragged you into their messes.

Other memories filtered in bit by bit, sporadic sections popping up as they pleased; dying on the track field together, sparring against one another, learning vague concepts in a classroom that scarcely had anyone in it. You and Satoru would crack stupid jokes until you were both in stitches, Suguru would be there when your thoughts became too much to handle, Shoko was the one to mend you with a touch that felt both toasty and mellow at the same time.

There weren’t a lot of you, but you had each other, and that was all you needed. You had your friends by your side, and you were complete.

You were pulled from your woolgathering when you felt someone pluck your popsicle from your hand, your eyes flying open to gawp at Suguru in disbelief as he took a sizable bite out of it, then returned it innocently, as if he hadn’t just robbed you blind.

“Hey!” You cried out. “Thief! That was mine! You said you were fine in summer!”

“I said I prefer summer, not that I’m immune to it,” he corrected you, licking off a spot of juice from the corner of his mouth. Such a simple action from him legally wasn’t allowed to be that devastatingly attractive, yet here he was, casually breaking the law and sending you into disarray. “Besides, I paid for it.”

“Unfair,” you pouted, staring down at your now half-gone heatstroke preventer. “You can’t just give me something, then take it back.”

He chuckled and knelt beside you. “Relax, I’ll buy you another one.”

You instantly perked up. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Will you buy one for me, too, Suguwu?” Satoru batted his long eyelashes and jutted out his lower lip.

“No.”

“What!?” He sprung upright. “Now that’s unfair! It’s favoritism!”

Suguru snorted and dropped the bag between your knee and Satoru’s, which the latter took to like a raccoon to a dumpster. He dug around inside the plastic until he located his drink and held it up like Arthur did with Excalibur.

Only Gojo could down this amount of sugar in a single day and not suffer the consequences, you mused, watching him greedily gulp at the borderline dessert. Maybe there was some merit to his body being godly, after all.

“Hey,” Gojo called out after chugging a solid 2/3rds of the soda. “What are those, uhhhh…maple syrup snow candies called?”

“I think they're just called maple syrup snow candies,” you filled in.

“Maple candy, or maple taffy,” Suguru enlightened you. “Popular treat in winter in Canada.”

Satoru gave a thumbs-up in appreciation. “Yeah, those. I want one of those.”

You lamented. “It’s the middle of summer”

“But they sound so cold and good. Mm…I can taste it already. I just know they'd save me from this god awful heat. Thanks for the soda, by the way, Suguru.”

Geto hummed in acknowledgement.

An idea flittered into your mind and you sat ramrod straight, clapping your hands together and grabbing their attention. Satoru grunted, slipping partially off you. “Let’s go to the river!”

“Hm,” Suguru considered it. “Not a bad idea, might help us cool down.”

You celebrated at obtaining his approval and passed the rest of your popsicle to Satoru, who devoured it in a single chomp.

A large hand was offered to you in way of assistance and you grabbed it, getting pulled easily with a short ‘hup’ from your aide. He inspected your form for a moment, then plucked a fallen leaf from the top of your head, twisting it between his digits. When a gale lifted, he released it, letting the unseen hands of the sky carry it away.

Satoru was up on his feet, too, the plastic bag in his hand crinkling from the shift in position. “Let’s go!”

He took the lead, speed-walking through the park to reach the shallow slope that allowed easy access to the river. For someone who was about as dead as you minutes ago, he obtained an infectiously energetic zest out of nowhere. Motivation is a hell of a drug.

You caught up to him and skipped forward, unburdened by needing to carry anything like the pair. Already able to feel the refreshing bite of the water as it came into view, you picked up the pace, racing towards the cure to your ails.

You tore off your tank top in the process and threw it somewhere carelessly, stumbling out of your sandals as you neared upon the shoreline of the river. Leaving them behind on a boulder, you skidded down the bank to the icy waters and jumped in, dressed in your shorts and sports bra.

A shrill cry and jubilant hoot echoed in the valley as goosebumps coated your skin, prickling the hair on your arms and nape. Frigid liquid surrounded you, abruptly replacing torrid solstice with frozen tundra. 

“Fuck, cold!”

Satoru was rolling up his pant legs, his own button-up having been disposed of like your top. Just as eager to experience the same liberation you did, he toed off his shoes and ripped off his socks, then he was kicking up water next to you as he joined you. The crystalline liquid came to about mid-thigh for him, but that didn’t stop you being able to see all the hairs on his body stand on end all at once.

“Cold!” He echoed you.

You laughed, running your wet hands through your hair. “That’s what I’m saying!”

Not wasting a second, he threw a handful of water onto you, making you twist your body to avoid the splash. You shrieked from the pellets of frost raining down on you, his icy-toned orbs brimming with mirth at your reaction.

Suguru was still on the shore, more composed and patient than either you or his best friend. He went about methodically locating both your and Satoru’s shirts, setting them down on the ground beside the bag and his backpack, then focused on his own clothes. 

He slipped off his shoes and socks, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and legs of his pants, and stepped into the river.

Just to get grabbed and pulled further in by Satoru before he could get acclimated to the pressure of the running stream.

He took in a shallow breath, bounding forward to keep his balance and not fall splat into the rapid. “Satoru!”

“Come on!” Lanky fingers pushed back ivory hair. “Relax a bit, would ya?”

Chestnut eyes narrowed. “There’s a difference between relaxing and getting waterboarded.” 

Gojo huffed. “Yeah? How would you know what getting waterboarded feels like?”

“How many times have you nearly drowned me in your hot spring?”

“Doesn’t count.”

“It does count!”

The two were distracted, arguing about drowning technicalities, which meant they weren’t paying attention to you.

Perfect.

You sank down into the flowing water, shivering from the hibernal wet as it surrounded you. Once you were absolutely certain they had no idea what you were up to, you made your move.

Crawling along the riverbed, you let the flow guide you, using the sound of water breaking to further creep up on your companions.

You could hear the Jaws theme slowly ramping up in your mind, each beat growing louder as you neared. Trembles wracked your body, caused by a mesh of the nippy waters and budding adrenaline.

A little further, you were too far…still too far…almost…

“Rrah!” You jumped out the moment you were within range of your target, unleashing your fiercest battle roar as you threw yourself onto Satoru’s back and wrapped your arms around his neck.

The man choked in surprise, and based on the way he promptly lost balance and dropped like a rock into the waters with a heady splash, you could proudly say you caught him off guard. You both surfaced with deep gasps of breath, and you were on top of him as soon as he sat up.

Using your position of straddling his thighs to your advantage, you skipped past the torture and went straight for the kill.

Your fingers grabbed his sides and started lightly scratching at them. 

Satoru hiccuped and howled, writhing and trying to shove you off him as you attacked him with endless tickles. “Wait! S-Stop, no! That tickles!”

“Give up your throne, Gojo Satoru!” You demanded, doubling down on the siege on his crown. “Name me king, or I will never stop!”

He easily turned into a blubbering mess despite his attempts to stay stoic and strong. “N-No way! Oh, god– stop! Please!”

“Not until you hand me your crown!”

“Never! I’ll–” you pinched his hip and he yowled. “Okay! Fuck, fine, it’s yours, just spare me! Please!”

“Yes!” You released him at long last and threw your arms in the air in victory. “I’m the king of this valley! Haha, suck it!”

You climbed off Satoru as he took deep breaths to calm himself, turning your focus on Suguru, who was losing his shit on the shoreline. Wheezes slipped past his lips, the boy barely getting a chance to inhale before he was cackling all over again.

Standing with your legs shoulder-width apart and one fist on your hip, you pointed at Geto authoritatively. “You! Surrender to me now or face the punishment of one thousand tickles for defying the king! 

“Oh, god,” he heaved, arms clutching his ribs to keep himself together. Bunny lines formed on the bridge of his nose, brows pinched tight, tears springing to the corners of his amber eyes. “I can’t, the threat of tickles is too much. I surrender, I surrender!”

“The king is triumphant! All hail the king!” You thundered, throwing your head back to unleash a demonic chortle that soon turned into real laughter. “Mark my words, on this da–”

Powerful hands pushed against your side, and you went crashing unceremoniously into the river.

Poor Suguru was wiping away more tears at the point of you reemerging, flushed red from head to toe from the exertion.

“This is a coup!” Satoru announced. “I’m taking back the crown!”

“Wh– no fair!” You objected, wiping your face free of water. “I won that fair and square!”

He beamed down at you, summer skies reflected in his spring eyes. “Come and get it, then!”

An all-out war was waged then between you and Satoru, a motley of screams, hollers, and demands getting thrown back and forth at one another. The activity and sweltering sun kept your blood thermal within the oasis of the numbing waterway.

This pearl of time belonged to the three of you and the three of you alone. The seconds slowed infinitely, and though they never came to a true stop, they lasted longer than the birth, life, and death of a distant star. This, to you, was paradise. Your skin was frosty, but your heart was blooming as you skylarked and frisked with people you’d met only a short time ago, but treated like you’d known one another all your lives.

The limits of your joy seemed to shatter with each passing day, expanding more than you ever thought possible. Hell, you never so much as considered that experiencing exultation to this degree was possible in and of itself, but you basked in it all the same.

As long as it lasted, you would savor it.

The sun was beginning its descent when your trio chose to end your excursion, feeling sufficiently chilled.

“Brr,” you quivered as you made your way out, squeezing water out of your hair. “My fingers are like icicles.”

“Come on, ladybug,” Suguru offered you his hand, which you took gratefully, allowing him to guide you out of the river. “That’s enough for today, you’ll catch a cold. Let’s go get you warmed up.”

You moaned in complaint at the thought of having to walk all the way back home. You really should have considered it before deciding to take a dip. Curse your spontaneity. “I forgot, Satoru’s house is on that damn mountain.”

“We’re going to my place,” he corrected nonchalantly, as if it’d been long decided. “It’s closer, and my folks are out for the weekend.”

A hand towel was dropped on your face by Satoru, probably one Suguru brought with him when packing his backpack earlier in the day. 

“Dry off, princess,” Satoru instructed you as he crouched down by Geto’s backpack, popping open a bottle of water to knock back. He tossed a second one towards the noiret, who caught it with ease.

He waited for you to finish rubbing as much water off your head as you could before he twisted the top of the bottle off and handed it to you with a pointed look. A veiled threat to drink before I make you.

Well, jokes on him, you actually did want to drink water. 

You took it from him and gulped down half the fluid inside it without hesitation. By some boon, you had the self control to stop before you got sick, and returned the water with a thank-you. Suguru took it upon himself to finish the rest of it.

Satoru snatched the towel from you, replacing it with your tank top (also placed on your head). You blew him a raspberry and tugged it on, cringing at the feeling of your dry (sorta) clothing getting caught on your damp skin. Maybe you should have considered bringing a towel. You would have, if you’d known beforehand that you’d be making a stop at the river.

You hooked your fingers into the back straps of your sandals when they were handed to you, the other two following suit. The village was kept clean, so none of you were worried about stepping on anything concerning, especially since Suguru’s house was right nearby.

“Ready to go?” He asked you, and you nodded.

His palm had returned to its normal calidity, something you noticed as he helped you up the slope. The boy’s body ran like a damn furnace, even after playing in the stream for a couple hours with you. Granted, he somehow managed to keep himself dry above the knees, but regardless.

All three of you were tired out, and you were looking forward to unwinding for the evening. The two boys didn’t bicker much, some light teasing in quieter tones, and – as promised – the trip to Geto’s home was short. You were standing within the genkan of his house in no time, waiting patiently while he disappeared further in to grab a couple towels.

His house resembled the buildings around the middle of town, sitting on the side of the river your house did. There was a stretch of land behind it, but you didn’t get a chance to see much, having been ushered into the cozy abode. 

Being a bit nosy, you peeked around. There was a staircase leading up that hugged the wall of a turn to your left, leaving only the bottom few steps visible to you. The hallway straight ahead was clean and minimalist, likely leading to a dining room, if you had to guess. 

Each home had its own unique smell, and his smelled of spices and something faintly earthy, like fresh soil.

“Here we go,” Suguru announced his return, rounding the corner with a few towels in tow. He tossed one down at your feet above the genkan, motioning for you to step onto it. Obeying, you moved out of the pit, allowing him to layer a second towel around you before tossing the last one to Satoru.

“You can shower first,” he said to you.

You grabbed at the towel, pressing it into your hips and thighs to absorb the water that remained in your soaked bottoms. “Are you sure I can go first?”

He nodded. “You can take a bath, too, if you want.”

“Just a shower is fine, I think. I don’t want to take too long, since you two need to shower, too.”

Satoru sidled up to you, his smug ass grin coming into view as he hovered his chin over your shoulder. “Or, I could shower with you.”

Frankly, you were too drained to let that statement fluster you.

Suguru placed the tip of his index between Satoru’s brows and pushed his head away. “Leave her be, creep. Dry your legs, dude, you’re getting water everywhere.”

“You’re no fun,” the towhead pouted, but retreated anyway.

“Come on,” Geto settled his hand on your nape, guiding you inside. “Don’t be shy, the walls don’t bite.”

You snorted. “New fear unlocked.”

He snickered, shaking his head in amusement. “Relax, I won’t let any walls bite you.”

He took you around the bend, past the stairs, which opened up directly to the living room. While following a more traditional structural style, the interior was comfortably modern. A plush, gray couch was pushed against the wall, with side tables on either end. You immediately noticed that the place was littered with a bunch of plants. Some hung from the ceiling, a few were situated on floating shelves, and a potted shrub was situated near the flatscreen opposite to the couch.

You gawked around shamelessly with parted lips, intrigued by the domesticity of his home. “Your place is so nice, Suguru.”

He chuffed beside you. “Don't go making fun of me while you're my guest, now, angel.”

“I'm not!” You gasped, affronted. “I swear! I like it. Lots of plants.”

“My mom’s an avid plant parent,” he explained.

You hummed in appreciation. “It’s homely.”

He exhaled through his nose and pressed his thumb and first finger into your trapezius. “Thank you. Go shower; second door to your left down the hall. I'll lay out some clean clothes for you in a little bit.”

He pointed towards an open sliding door on the other side of the shrub, bumping you forward. You needed no further prompting, trotting off in the direction he showed.

Thankfully, you didn’t get lost on the way, his instructions easy to follow. Finding the bathroom, you went into it and closed the door. Your fingers hesitated over the lock on the knob, debating. He said he’d bring clothing, but didn’t mention where he’d put it…

You chose to leave it unlocked and hurriedly got to work shedding your drenched clothes. Placing the towel down on the sink counter, you unabashedly peeped the details of the bathroom while you dropped the pieces of your outfit onto the towel.

Just like the rest of his place, the bathroom was well taken care of, also adorned with a few plants, albeit smaller and out of the way. He wasn’t kidding when he said his mom liked plants.

The ceiling light gave off an inviting glow, subconsciously helping you relax. Naked, you fiddled around with the shower knobs until you got hot water to blast out. You squeaked in surprise, adjusted the temp to be your desired level, and hopped right in.

It felt like years of stress were dissolving right off you. His shower might not have been high-techy and super modern like the one you used back at Satoru’s, but the familiarity in its style brought you a kind of comfort you didn’t know you were missing. You melted into the rising steam, sighing deeply and simply doing nothing for a minute to unwind.

It was a good day, the chaos with Granny, Shoko, and Utahime included. You’d have to reassure those two later that Satoru and Suguru were just teasing. Well, Utahime. For Shoko, you’d probably have to convince her, and you didn’t have faith you’d succeed.

You glanced around, spotting a bottle of body wash that looked like it belonged to Suguru on an inset tile shelf. You grabbed it, hoping he wouldn’t mind you using it.

Reading over the label, you admired his choice in soap: lavender and green tea, both for scent and the benefits they provided. 

You couldn’t help the giddy little burst of vim you got knowing you were about to smell like him, too.

You squeezed some onto your palm and lathered it between your hands, then started rubbing it onto your body. The day’s strain, dirt, grime, and weariness lifted with it, washing off in thin and slow waves of white streaks down your figure. You felt lighter and lighter with each pass over your chest, waist, hips, and thighs. 

Tension thawed from your shoulders as you scrubbed your hands along them, muscles loosening with each bit of cleanliness you gained. It felt nice. Really nice, a calm time away to yourself to let go.

His shampoo also smelled like green tea, and you were occupied with massaging it into your hair when there was a knock on the door.

“Yeah?” You called out.

The door cracked open. “Just me,” Suguru responded. “Brought some clothes for you. I’ll leave them on the counter.”

“Oh, thank you!” What’d you do to deserve a friend like him?

There were some rustling noises as he spoke. “It’s no problem, I’m not gonna leave you hanging without something to change into. Do you mind if I take your clothes to toss in the wash?”

“That’s fine,” you permitted. “I’ll be out soon.”

“Don’t worry about it, take your time,” he said, and then the door was closed once more.

Even if he told you to, you still didn’t want to hog the shower to yourself, knowing that Satoru got just as river-bathed as you did, and he was wearing pants to boot.

You rinsed off the shampoo and followed it up with the matching conditioner, using your fingers to delicately comb out any tangles. Though they weren’t your own products, they felt amazing, making your tresses silky smooth. You would have to ask him where he got his products.

You were out as soon as you were done washing your hair. You cocooned yourself in the clean, fluffy towel he also provided, loving the texture. It was soft yet absorbent, coaxing away any droplets that clung to your curves and planes. 

You wanted to steal it.

But, reluctant as you might have been, you refrained. You used it to dry your hair some, and folded it to set aside after you were sufficiently devoid of liquid. Checking the clothes Suguru provided you, you noted he gave you a pair of sweats with a drawstring, allowing you to adjust the waistline as needed. Ever the observant mother hen, you were grateful for his foresight.

You slipped on the t-shirt first, pleased by the material as it came to rest against your freshly washed skin. It was noticeably oversized, but in a sleepy-Sunday sort of way, big enough to be cute and snuggly.

The sweats were huge on you by comparison, what with his absurdly long limbs. You tugged the drawstring to your preferred tightness, then rolled up the legs until they were out of the way and you wouldn’t trip over them.

All dressed, you opened the door with your used towel in hand and walked out to find Suguru waiting for you, leaning against the wall beside the room. He smiled warmly at you and pushed himself off his support, holding out his hand to take the towel from you. 

A quick sweep over your form showed he was appraising your outfit with an approving eye, pride undisguised. “That shirt looks good on you.”

You were probably ideating the hint of possessiveness in his tone.

“Ehehe,” you giggled fiendishly, channeling your inner menace as you lightly tugged at the fabric of the top. “Mine, now.”

His expression softened into a smile that had little cupid wings fluttering on your back, a smile you only ever saw him give you. “All yours, angel. You can go sit down in the living room, I’ll be right back.”

“Sure,” you nodded and followed his instructions, making your way back to the flora-infested room.

Settling down on the couch, you exhaled and closed your eyes. You heard the shower start up again before it became muffled by the door, presumably because of Satoru. You weren’t left waiting long, the five or so minutes you were alone flying by. The padding of feet signaled you to Suguru’s return, your eyes prying open halfway to peer languidly at him.

“Here,” he jutted his chin towards you. “Sit on the floor, I’ll do your hair.”

Finding no reason to object, you stood and let him take your place on the cushion before plopping yourself down between his legs. He tilted your head forward, then got to work. His touch was ever so gentle, fingers diligent in their movements as he treated your hair with a knowingness you didn’t expect him to have. 

Amicable silence filled the space around you, just the shifting of clothes and the slick sound of leave-in as he spread it evenly through your tresses. It gave your mind the freedom to drift away undisturbed.

As he was carefully drying and styling your hair, you thought about how Suguru often reminded you of a cat, considering his tendency to groom you. Or a bird, like a crow or a raven, that liked to preen you.

If you were all some sort of animal hybrids, you could easily imagine him being either some sort of corvid, a vulpine, or a big cat. A black leopard, to be specific.

If Satoru was a big cat, he would be a snow leopard. You refused to take any other suggestions. The tall freak was touchy, cuddly, and so proficient in hiding himself within an environment that did not suit him that he could be breathing down your neck and you'd be none the wiser.

The more you thought about it, the more you could picture them as their respective animals. Satoru would undoubtedly sunbathe with his belly up, paws curled, tail flicking side to side happily, unafraid of showing his biggest weakness. 

You compared and contrasted between your options for him. He did like to give you small, shiny things, and you'd never refuse because oooh, shiny! His hair reminded you of crow feathers when it caught the light from the sun. It bore a faint iridescence, a chrome that shifted between emerald and the time just between midnight and dawn, in the earliest hours of the morning where stars still sparkled brilliantly. You could picture him preening his feathers, plucking out the pins and fluffing the downy fuzz. 

Though black leopard might have suited him better. He tended to rub his cheek against yours or the top of your head whenever you embraced. You could easily picture him loafing under the shade, licking his paw to smooth out his fur and ensure it matched the rest of his satiny complexion. He had the personality of a laid back, lazy feline that could turn from a sweet teeny baby kitten into a merciless predator in the blink of an eye. 

You'd seen the way he behaved when he wanted something – the narrowing of his eyes, the set of his jaw, the concentration in his brow. 

It made a tremor flit up your body, especially when he set his sights on you like that. He was capable of being a silent stalker, an expert in scaring the ever living shit out of you any chance he got, just like Satoru.

That soursop boy was surely the type to roll over and let others do things for him. Feed him, rub his belly, comb through his fur. You hadn’t seen him when he was prowling, searching for a meal to hunt down, but sometimes you got a flicker of something similar to it in his eyes. Like a passing rumination, where he considered if it was worth exhausting energy to chase down his prey. 

…Could the reason you’d had yet to witness his hunt be because of his ability to camouflage? Because he didn’t want you to see?

The concept gave you chills.

You suppressed your reaction at the introspection, remembering that Suguru was behind you, gently drying your hair with tepid air and tender touches. You didn't want to embarrass yourself by giving him the impression that he was pleasuring you.

Which he undeniably was, but he didn't need to know about the prickles and tingles traveling all the way from your crown to your tailbone.

You continued your train of thought.

Satoru the Snow Leopard would spend his days grooming you endlessly, licking at your fur until it stuck out in all kinds of wild angles. After that, Suguru would mend the spiky hairs until you were glossy and sleek like him.

What did that make you in comparison to them?

Standing side by side with them, it was clear you were prey – unless you were a black-footed cat. But given your dynamic and how the two of them liked to coddle you, you doubted you'd resemble any kind of predator.

If you had to be prey, then what? A doe, or gazelle? 

No, those were unfortunately too majestic, and you weren't nearly as graceful as those lovely creatures. Your habit of tripping over your own feet proved case enough.

Okay, so if you weren't either of those…you supposed you could still fit into the cervidae family. Pudu deer was a possibility. 

You tried to imagine it, but sadly, you couldn't put yourself into deer hooves.

Were birds prey? Some of them had to be, like doves, right? 

If you were a bird, then Suguru had to be, too. You only trusted him to primp and help you maintain your feathers. Satoru would just chomp on them.

Alright, so no-go on the birds, then. Field mouse?

No, too small. You were short, but not that short. They’d also likely accidentally swallow you whole if they tried to mend a stray whisker.

Fennec fox? 

You contemplated it, then mentally shook your head. You weren't high-pitched and energetic enough to qualify for that. Satoru would beg to differ, and you’d let him, because it’d be funny. Also, they were predators, anyway.

A brief memory flashed in your mind of something Satoru said, back when you first met Suguru.

‘I don't know,’ he hummed in deliberation. ‘I prefer bunny. Or mochi.’

Bunny.

Bunny…

A rabbit with floppy ears and an upturned tail. Fuzzy and velvety, obviously small and squishy, as much as you grimaced at those choice words of his.

Flumped right between either of their front paws, or stuffed in the middle of their bodies when they curled up to nap. Or chilling on one of their backs, your little paws on their head to watch the world from an angle you could never see on your own.

Bunny fit perfectly, a glove with no rips in the stitch.

You three together would consist of a snow leopard, a black leopard, and a small rabbit that they decided to keep as a pet and not dinner. For whatever reason that could be. Fish are friends, not food.

You had no idea why you chose to start daydreaming about being animorphs. Imagining being squished by their hulking forms in the afternoon rays, or being wrapped up in their fluffy tails for warmth on autumn nights. They were fun images to entertain.

“You seem to be quite deep in thought,” Suguru's breath brushed against the shell of your ear, spooking you. You hadn't even noticed he was finished. “Care to let me in?”

“Eep!” You squeaked, rotating partially to give him the stink eye for doing the thing he and Satoru always did. No way were you going to let him in on your weird brain doing weird brain things. “It's nothing important, just fantasizing a bit. Zoned out.”

Ohp. 

And there was that hungry gleam in his eye, the shimmer in his black tea hues. You hit the nail on the head with the black leopard comparison.

“Fantasizing about what?” He purred. Cat. “About me?” 

Your lashes fluttered and you whipped your head back in the other direction, tucking your newly dry and enviously soft hair behind your ears. “N-No?”

Man.

You were such a bad liar.

He, merciful god that he is, elected to only tease you and not try to dive into the unreasonably bizarre pool of thoughts that swirled and whirled in your consciousness like the godsforsaken mess you were. 

Nor ask about why most of them revolved around those two boys. Bless him, your hero. Satoru would have tormented you until you gave in out of desperation, just to make him shut up. Then, he'd tease you about those ideas for the rest of your days. Probably double down on the bunny related nicknames, poke right above your tailbone and make jokes about how he should make you wear a pair of bunny ears and a tail. And then make the tail option extremely not family friendly.

Heaven’s mercy spare you if you give him any more ideas beyond that. Like a skimpy outfit that barely covered your tits and had a crotch narrow enough to give you a wedgie-induced friction burn where friction burns did not belong and would not wish on your worst enemy.

Well, no, maybe you would, but that's besides the point.

You chuffed out your nose and let your head fall back against the cushion between Geto's legs. His fingers found their way back to your scalp, massaging and lightly scratching at it until you were pushing into his hands like a needy kitten.

“Comfortable?” He asked with an amused lilt in his voice, to which you chirped merrily in answer.

You really were. Limbs like jelly, squeaky clean, tired out after playing in the river with them. You felt good, truly and genuinely good.

Aversion to permanent routine or not, you’d welcome every day with open arms if they were like this. Peaceful contentment after a long stretch of sunlit hours, able to let loose and uncoil any strain in your body, it all sounded so…

Happy.

You were okay with being happy like this.

You were okay with forgetting your past and what drove you here in the first place. You didn’t mind having your eyes shift shut, lashes sweeping over the highs of your cheekbones. You were alright with one of your best friends playing idly with your hair, and you were fine with listening to him hum some melody to himself as he did so.

It was okay.

This was okay.

You were okay.

banner by cafekitsune ♥

taglist: @kimi01985

#Tether Me #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #geto x reader #suguru x reader #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #satosugu x reader #jjk x reader #chimera writes

[x0xomady]

But Daddy I love him! (pt.2)

(part 1)

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

warnings: smut, 18+, phone sex, angst, sex toys (this gets kinda filthy at the end lmao)

summary: after graduating from high school, harry decides he wants to move back to England for University. (long distance relationship)

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

watching harry get ready to leave is terrifying.

as i stood watching harry pack his belongings into the box, my body tensed with unease. there was something about the way he moved that filled me with uneasiness, and i couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was. finally, i spoke up, breaking the heavy silence that had settled in the room.

“why do you have to go?" i asked harry, my voice low and laced with vulnerability. he looked up at me, his face betraying signs of tiredness as he let out a weary sigh.

"i miss london," he said, his tone carrying a hint of nostalgia. "and i have to go to medical school. it's something i've always wanted to do, and this is my chance to follow my dream.” harry meets my eyes for a second before leaning back down to put his clothes away. “plus… ya know being a doctor will make me loaded someday.”

as he spoke, i could see the passion and excitement in his eyes. i knew how much he had always wanted to go into medicine. we spent countless times together with harry ranting about how badly he wanted to become a doctor. he has always had the natural urge to help others, which is ironic considering he sells weed to make extra cash.

i couldn't begrudge him for taking this opportunity. but the impending feeling of loneliness and separation only grew heavier. i sit down on his bed and cross my legs watching him pack.

"but what about me?" i asked, my voice hitching in my throat. i felt a pang in my chest as tears welled up in my eyes. "what am i supposed to do without you?"

it felt horrible being this vulnerable in front of harry. i know i should smile and cheer for him, but the sense of abandonment i am feeling outweighs the excitement.

harry let out a sigh and stepped closer to me, his expression sympathetic. "you’ll be fine," he said, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. "we can make it work, i promise pretty girl." he pulled me into a hug, and i buried my face in his chest, feeling the comforting beat of his heart against my cheek.

even as he held me, i couldn’t shake the feeling of anxiety and doubt that persisted in my mind. but for now, i chose to bask in the warmth of his embrace, treasuring the moments we had left together.

"you just don’t get it, do you?" i said, my voice tinged with frustration. i was tired of his nonchalance, as though everything was so easy and simple. i stood up, my fists clenched at my sides. "you're leaving me behind, and you're just acting like it's no big deal!"

harry looked at me, his expression a mixture of frustration and exasperation. "that’s not fair," he replied, his tone equally defensive. "i’ve had this planned for months, and you knew about it the whole time. you can’t expect me to just abandon my dreams."

"that’s not the point!" i shouted back, feeling my emotions rise to the surface. "i’m not asking you to abandon your dreams, but sometimes dreams can change. what about us? what about our relationship? can’t you just go to university here? there’s plenty of good schools. you don’t need to go to london!"

harry ran a hand through his hair, clearly growing frustrated. "it’s not that simple," he said, trying to maintain his composure. "i’ve been accepted into one of the best medical schools in the world. this is my chance to study with some of the top doctors in the field. it’s an opportunity that i can’t pass up."

i felt a rush of anger and disappointment wash over me. "so that’s it then?" i said, my voice cracking with emotion. "you’re just going to go halfway across the world because it suits you, and i’m just supposed to be okay with that?"

"what do you want me to do, y/n?" harry retorted, his patience starting to fray. "i can’t just give up my dream because it would make things easier for you."

i turned away, tears welling up in my eyes. "i don’t know what i want," i muttered, feeling defeated. "i just want you to understand how hard this is for me. i’m not just some afterthought in your life."

harry’s expression softened, and he took a step towards me. "you’re not an afterthought," he said, his voice quieter now. "i know this is hard for you, and believe me, it’s hard for me too. but we can make this work. i promise."

i turned back to him, my gaze locked with his. "how?" i asked, feeling desperate and uncertain. "how can we make it work when you’re halfway across the world? we’ll be stuck in different time zones, and we’ll barely get to speak."

harry gently took my hand and pulled me close, his expression earnest. "we’ll find a way," he said, his voice full of conviction. "we’ll talk every day, text each other any chance we get, and facetime on the weekends. we can make it work, i know we can."

the stubborn part of me wanted to resist, to continue the argument, but the look in his eyes made me falter. i knew he truly believed that we could make it work, and i didn’t want to hurt him any more than i already had. i let out a shaky breath and nodded, reluctantly giving in to his optimism.

"okay," i said softly, feeling a mixture of frustration and resignation. "we’ll make it work."

even as the words left my mouth, i couldn’t help but feel a nagging sense of doubt and uncertainty about the future. but i pushed those thoughts aside, choosing to believe in harry's optimism and trust in our love. besides, he didn’t need anymore stress at the moment.

and with that, our argument ended, leaving behind a strained atmosphere. we continued packing up his belongings in silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts and concerns about the impending separation.

as i'm helping harry pack up the last few items, the sound of the bedroom door opening interrupts our silence. harry's mother, anne, walks into the room, her expression a mixture of sadness and excitement.

"harry, it’s time to go," she says, her voice tinged with a hint of urgency. "we don’t want to miss the flight."

harry nods, zipping up the last of his luggage. i can feel the tension in the air, the realization that the moment we’ve been dreading is finally here. i glance over at him, my heart heavy in my chest. the sight of my beautiful, loving, sarcastic boyfriend hits me like a gun. this is the last time i’ll be with him until christmas.

“come give me a kiss, pretty girl” harry’s usual flirty tone returning, masking the sadness both of us are pushing away. he gives me a playful smirk and holds out his arms. the sight of his bright green eyes looking at me is enough to pull me into his arms.

harry places sweet little kisses all over my face, making me laugh lightly despite the situation. he peppers my cheeks, eyelids and forehead with delicate kisses. as he peppers my face with kisses, harry whispers "i love you" in between. he pulls back, his expression filled with affection and adoration.

"i love you, y/n," he says, his voice full of sincerity. "always have, always will."

he takes my hand in his, intertwining our fingers.

harry smirks and leans forward his lips against my ear whispering so only i can hear. “and i’m especially gonna miss that sweet little-” i instantly cut him off by smacking a hand over his mouth.

“harry edward styles!” i can’t help but giggle at his words, despite his mom standing in the doorway. he grins smugly and places a kiss on my lips.

“alright lovebirds, we need to head out soon or harry is going to miss his flight. let’s get going.” we hear harry’s mom call out, her tone filled with affectionate reproach, she smiles at the scene in front of her but nods for harry to hurry up.

harry just gives me one last kiss before turning to his bags, picking them up and heading towards the doorway. “oh! i have one last present i need to give you baby-“ harry turns around and faces me.

i can’t help but raise an eyebrow in curiosity, watching as harry searches through his pockets. he withdraws a small black bag, a cheeky grin spreading across his face. “don’t open it till you’re at home”

his words are accompanied by a wink, leaving me to wonder what his surprise could be. i take the bag cautiously, feeling the weight of whatever is inside. i’m about to question him further when harry’s mom calls out again “we really need to get going”.

i nod, pocketing the gift into my purse, before letting him pull me into a tight hug. his arms wrap snugly around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder. i bury my face in his chest, taking in his scent and memorizing every little detail of him.

with a sigh, harry reluctantly pulls away, knowing it’s time to say goodbye for now. his thumb gently brushes against my cheek, a silent gesture of reassurance. “i’ll call you as soon as i land, okay?” he reassures me.

i nod, mustering a small smile, trying to hold back the tears threatening to fall. harry leans in and places a tender kiss on my forehead before stepping back. “i love you curly” i smile and kiss his cheek one last time.

harry grins at the nickname, his eyes softening. “love you too, pretty girl. don’t worry, we’ll make this work.” and with that, he turns and follows his mom out of the room not without throwing me a dramatic little kiss and a wink.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

i lay on my bed, boredom and restlessness gnawing at me. i can't help but think about harry. i SHOULD be doing something productive like cleaning my room or hanging out with my friends, but for the last 7 hours i’ve done nothing but sob and stare at pictures of harry and i. oh and of course, listen to lana del rey like i’m in a heartbreaking movie.

so far, life without harry was not thriving.

i was feeling incredibly anxious about everything. what if his plane crashed? what if someone kidnapped him? i know he’s a muscular 6’0 man but, it’s possible!

finally, my phone breaks the silence, a chime signaling an incoming call. i quickly grab it, my heart skipping a beat.

"hello?" i answer, my voice carrying hints of anticipation and nervousness.

"hey love," harry's deep, familiar voice replies, instantly erasing my doubts and fears. i can practically hear the smile in his voice, and i can't help but feel a wave of warmth wash over me.

"how are you holding up?" he asks, his tone filled with concern and compassion. i can hear the soft hum of music playing in the background, and i imagine him sitting in his dorm room, surrounded by his belongings, making a new life in a foreign country.

"i've been better," i admit, my voice cracking slightly. "i tried to convince myself to be productive, but all i've done is cry and look at pictures of us." i can hear the sound of his soft chuckle on the other end of the line.

"i know it's hard," harry says softly. "i miss you too." his reassuring words calm me down a bit, but the ache in my heart remains.

"you know, i bought this new phone case in the airport just because it had sunflowers on it." harry suddenly blurts out, causing me to giggle.

"yeah? what's so special about sunflowers?" i ask, my curiosity piqued. harry laughs on the other end, his voice sounding fond and amused.

"they remind me of you," he says simply.

i can feel my face heat up at his words, a mixture of happiness and shyness coursing through me. "why's that?" i ask, my voice still a bit shaky. harry takes a moment to respond, and i can sense him contemplating his answer.

"well, sunflowers always turn towards the sun," he explains, his voice tender. "and you have this way of brightening up every single room you enter. you're like my own personal ray of sunshine…. plus you’re always chasing the sun so you can tan.” i can practically hear the smug smile on his face.

i can't help but burst into laughter, harry's dumb sense of humor never failing to put a smile on my face. "yeah, yeah, very funny," i reply, still giggling. "but i can't help it, sunbathing is like a way of life, you know?"

"oh i know trust me," harry responds, his tone full of familiarity and affection. "i've seen pictures of you on the beach, don’t think i've forgotten." i can basically hear him smirking through the phone.

my cheeks flush at his words, a mix of embarrassment and fondness washing over me. "yeah, you've been stalking my instagram, haven't you?" i tease, my voice laced with playful accusation.

"i wouldn't call it stalking," harry replies, his tone filled with mock defensiveness. "more like admiring from a distance." i can practically hear the cheeky smirk in his voice, and i can't help but smile.

"yeah right," i say, rolling my eyes even though he can't see me. "i know you're secretly glued to your phone, checking my insta every five minutes." i can hear harry chuckle on the other end of the line, his voice full of amusement.

"guilty as charged," he admits, his tone full of playful admission. "i just can’t help myself, my girl just happens to be so fucking pretty." i can feel my heart flutter at his words, a warm feeling spreading through my chest.

“yeah okay h.” i smile and roll my eyes at his words.

“oh speaking of- have you opened your present yet?” harry asks.

i’m taken aback by the sudden change in subject, but intrigued all the same. “my present? no, not yet. what is it?” i ask, unable to hide my curiosity, glancing over at the black bag harry had given me. i was too busy crying earlier to open it.

i can practically hear harry’s cheeky grin on the other end of the line. “oh it’s nothing special,” he says, trying to play it off nonchalantly, but i can tell there’s a hint of excitement in his tone. “just a little something to remind you of me.”

i feel a mixture of curiosity and excitement wash over me. i’ve always loved surprises, especially when it came from harry. “well, now you’ve got me intrigued,” i reply, my voice filled with eagerness. “i can open it right now, if you want.”

my mind can’t help but feel a little bit concerned at the gift. sure harry was a great gift giver, but he always liked to give me sex-related jokes to annoy me. there is a 50% chance that’s a dildo.

“yeah, go ahead,” harry says, a smile in his voice. “but you have to let me hear your reaction.” i can hear the anticipation in his tone, mirroring my own eagerness.

"okay, i'm going to open it now," i say, nerves and excitement mixing together. i grab the black bag from my bedside table and start to carefully pull out its contents.

as i pull out the contents of the bag, i am instantly hit with a smile. i find a little baggie of weed from harry with the note ‘light up 4 me ;)’.

i can’t help but laugh at the sight of the baggie, a mix of amusement and fond exasperation washing over me. “really, harry, weed?” i ask, still laughing. he chuckles on the other end of the line, obviously pleased with his gift choice.

“what, i thought it would help keep you entertained while i’m away,” harry replies, his tone playful. “plus i had to get rid of my stash before i flew on the plane and i knew you would use it wisely”

"oh, so you were just trying to get rid of some excess baggage, huh?" i playfully retort, shaking my head at harry’s antics. "but i guess i can’t complain, it’ll definitely help me unwind after my emotional breakdown earlier."

“see, i always know what you need,” Harry says, his tone pleased. “and how could i not get you some weed? it’s part of our love story after all.” I can’t help but laugh at his reference to our past, remembering all the memories we made together while high.

"oh yeah, how could i forget,” i say rolling my eyes and smiling. “our first date was basically a joint and a make out sesh. romantic.”

“hey that was fun!” harry is practically cheesing through the phone. his playful tone instantly makes me feel better about this whole situation. “oh and theres something else in there”

"oh really?" i say, lifting up the small black bag and checking inside. my hands brush against something small and my heart races a bit. could it be-

i gingerly pull out the object, instantly bursting out laughing when i see a vibrator. harry never failed to make sex jokes in serious situations.

“really?” i ask, unable to keep the laughter from my voice as i eye the vibrator. “harry, if you wanted me to use this, you could have just come right out and said it…” i tease, waiting for his reaction.

“oh trust me, if i was there, i would be the one replacing that thing,” harry teases back, his voice low and seductive. “but since i can’t…” he drawls, his playful tone making my heart skip a beat.

“harry i seriously can’t believe you casually handed me a bag of weed and a sex toy in front of your mom.” i burst into a fit of giggles at the randomness of harrys actions.

“what?” he responds casually. “my mom practically raised me with weed and sex toys. she understands the importance of self-care.” i can practically hear him winking on the other end of the phone.

"god harry. what would i do without you?" i ask, feeling a rush of affection for this ridiculous man. i am so in love with his dumb cheesy smile, bright green eyes, and unbrushed mop of curls.

“probably be bored out of your mind,” he teases, his voice filled with confidence. i laugh in response, knowing he’s probably right. “but don’t worry, i’ll make sure you never have to find out.”

“yeah yeah okay calm the ego down.” i smirk and roll my eyes teasingly. harry’s deep chuckle comes out the speaker and i can’t help but smile.

“oh cmon! open the vibrator babe” i can hear harry’s smile.

“are you seriously trying to have phone sex with me right now, h?” i continue giggling at his words.

harry scoffs playfully. “um duh. open that thing up.”

i hesitate thinking about the fact that my VERY strict parents are asleep down the hall but harry’s voice convinces me.

“fine fine” i put the phone down and connect my headphones so i can do this hands free. my hands pick up the vibrator and i look at it curiously. “you sure about this h?”

“fuck yeah baby. cmon y/n reach down there and play with your little clit for me.” his deep voice sends shivers down my spine as i follow his words. my hand reaches down beneath my pink sweatpants to my panties.

“just how i would do it, love. play with it like you know i would if i was there with you.”

i imagine it was harry’s hand instead of mine. reaching beneath my panties and pushing between my legs. i gasp softly as my fingers reach my bundle of nerves.

“o-okay” i mumble as i close my eyes, wishing it was harry’s hand searching between my legs.

"bet you're wet for me, aren't you pretty girl?” he murmurs into the phone. i hear him unbuckle his belt as it hits the floor on the other side of the phone.

“yeah…” my cheeks flush as i feel the wetness beneath my fingers. i gently trace my slit gathering my fluids.

“oh fuck…” he groans out. my hole flutters at his noises as i imagine his tattoo and ring clad hand taking ahold of his thick cock. “taste y’self for me baby…”

i obey and bring my hand from beneath my panties to my lips. my lips instantly wrap around my two fingers just like i would if harry was here instead. i hum at the taste and clench my legs together in search of relief.

“good girl. my mouth is fucking watering at the thought of you baby… wish i was there in between your legs right now.” he lets out another soft groan making me moan quietly in return.

my hand moves quickly from my lips to my panties desperately looking for that feeling. as my fingers reach my silky clit i gasp softly. without hesitation my fingers start rubbing tight circles on the sensitive area.

“shit… h-harry” i bite my hand to muffle my moan as my other hand stimulates my bundle of nerves.

“that’s it pretty girl… i’m throbbing at the thought of you playing with yourself.” he mumbles into the phone. “pick up the vibrator for me y/n.”

i obediently pick up the pink vibrator sitting on the bed next to me. confusion hits me as i look at the vibrator trying to find how to work it. “h? how do i- ”

“don’t worry bout that baby… i’m gonna control it on my phone.” harry says smugly.

blush instantly scatters across my face when i hear his words. i should’ve expected it though, harry always like to be in charge. “o-oh.”

“good. put it in for me baby.”

i bite my lip and do as he says, moaning loudly as i push the vibrator inside of me. i can practically see harry’s smirk as the vibrations start inside me. the throbbing at my center increasing as the sensations fill my body.

“there ya go pretty girl… push it all the way inside.” harry moans out. my thoughts are filled of him and his fat cock filling me up as i push the vibrator all the way up.

the dual tips of the vibrator hit my clit and g-spot at the same time making me release a pitiful whine. it doesn’t take long before harry is turning up the vibration speed even more.

my body shakes with pleasure as harry plays with the different settings. “fuck harry!” i gasp as he turns it on all the way.

“yeah? does my girl like that?” he lets out a whimper that sends shocks through my body.

“so much harry- shit!” i whine fucking the vibrator into my sopping entrance quickly.

“oh- no fuck this i need to see your face when you cum baby.” harry quickly hangs up the phone before calling me back through facetime. i smile a little and pick up the phone.

“fuck there ya are” harry’s bright green eyes and flushed face meets my own pulling a smile out of me.

i instantly let out a whine as harry situates his phone on his bed. his large fat cock now visible to me. i do the same with my phone and continue fucking the vibrator into me.

“that’s it good girl.” harrys face scrunches up in pleasure as he fists his cock steadily. i match his pace feeling my climax approaching steadily.

my droopy eyes are fixated on harry’s bright red tip and thick shaft. his creamy pre-release dripping down the sides of his cock deliciously. i let out a muffled moan as i watch him move his hand at the same pace i’m moving my new vibrator.

i watch harry do something on his phone and i’m instantly hit with the strongest vibrations yet. “f-fuck!” i groan into my hand and buck my hips up into the vibrator.

“that’s it pretty girl” harry watches me carefully through the phone, his own hand unrelenting. “how’re you so fucking wet?” he lets out a little laugh “i’m flattered baby- i mean i’m not event there and you’re making a mess.” he teases with a smirk.

i’m too focused on the pleasure coming from the powerful vibrations on my clit to come up with a retort.

“h- i’m gonna cum” i whimper out and press the vibrator as far as it goes. the dual vibrations on my clit and the spot between my walls is too much.

“yeah? good. cum with me beautiful.” he throws his head back and leans against the wall. harry’s hand grips his cock tightly as he quickens the pace. my eyes are locked on the way his body reacts, his pants, the way his hips buck up in pleasure, i just want to kiss him.

it only takes a few more vibrations from the vibrator for my cunt to clench tightly around it and release. i let out a whine as i fuck myself through my orgasm. harry finishes himself moaning through the last few strokes.

after the sensitivity gets to me i pull the vibrator out and watch as harry releases onto his stomach. his ferns being painted with his cream.

“damn- ” i giggle and clean myself up as harry sits there with a smirk still panting softly.

“yeah damn is right.” he chuckles and picks up his phone. “that was a good way to celebrate me being in london.”

i smile and laugh softly getting back beneath my covers. “i love you harry.”

“you know i love you, pretty girl”

#harry styles #x0xomady #harry styles smut #harry edward styles #one direction #fanfiction #smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #dom harry styles #hs #hes #harry smut #long hair harry #frat harry #fbh #but daddy i love him #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #one direction imagine #one direction smut #1d

[golbrocklovely]

complicated // colby brock (pt. 2)

A/N: hilariously when i first drafted this, i was gonna make it a lot meaner/hate fucking like, with a lot of jealousy thrown in. but damnit, bridgerton has foiled my plans again and has really turned me into a lover lol so i made this a little bit softer than originally planned. hope yall like it regardless, and please let me know what you think :) see yall with another fic real soon !

prompt: time has passed since you and sam hooked up, and all seems well. except now… colby is upset with you for some unknown reason. || fem!reader x colby brock

trigger warning: SMUT, angst, jealous!colby, possessive!colby, he's still really sweet tho, you guys were out clubbing so... tipsy/drunk sex, mentions of: baby, good girl, darling, cursing, quasi-public sex, could almost get caught, lots of teasing (both sexually and non), mentions of colby having seen you and sam hooking up, sweet ending :)

word count: 3066

~~~~~~~

The morning after Sam and I had sex was awkward to say the least.

We both ignored each other, which was easy since Sam and Colby had many calls and business related things to do. And I, being their assistant, had my own tasks at hand for the following week to start.

But when Sam and I were finally able to sit down and talk about it, it went surprisingly well.

We came to two very important conclusions: one, while we had fun, we weren’t going to ever do it again. We cared too much about our friendship to let sex ruin it. Plus the spark really had only been there that night.

And two, we were to never tell Colby.

Everything seemed good for a while. Life got back into the swing of things; Sam and Colby were traveling, I was handling the business side while they were gone. Normal, boring life occurred.

But all the while, I had this strange feeling. Maybe it was due to the fact that Colby had grown cold towards me, almost standoffish. He sometimes would keep to himself, that wasn't unusual; but his demeanor around me became stiff, almost like he was upset at me.

I wanted to confront him, ask him what was wrong, but it never felt like the right time. When the right time finally did come, it was during a couple days stretch where the boys had off. One night when we went out and both came home empty handed, I decided to finally ask him.

His answer was not at all what I was expecting, but in a way it was the one I wanted to hear all along.

I wanted the truth and now I was finally getting it.

~~~~~~

“No way. I cannot believe you used to run away from cops for a living.” Nicole, Sam’s new… friend, said as we walked into Sam and Colby’s house.

A playful look rested on Sam’s face as he nodded. “Yeah, and we did it pretty well.”

“Up until you got arrested.” I chimed in, smirking.

She gasped. “Oh my God, you got arrested? For what?”

“Breaking and entering. And fake ids.” Colby explained.

“Woah woah, the fake ids were just a you charge, Colby.” Sam replied defensively.

“And that was the first and last time Sam and Colby were separated ever again.” I quipped.

Colby turned to look at Sam, a faux-pained expression on his face. “I just can't quit you.”

“Me neither, brother.” Sam sniffled, pretending to hold back tears. The both placed hands on each others' shoulders, giving a tight squeeze.

Nicole glanced back and forth at Sam, Colby, and me, amused. “You guys are so funny. I have been having such a blast all night.”

“I'm happy to entertain you for as long as you'd like.” Sam lowered his voice to an almost sultry tone, moving to her side.

She bit her lip, looking into his eyes. “Maybe you could do that alone? Upstairs, perhaps?"

Sam gave a cheeky look at me and Colby, "I'll see you guys later."

Nicole giggled as she pulled Sam up the stairs, Sam following suit as he whispered something to her and snickered. I peered over at Colby, waiting for Sam's door to shut before speaking. "Well, she seems nice."

“Yeah she's sweet.” Colby agreed, pulling out his phone. He began to walk to the kitchen, and I followed him.

“So... what do you plan to do the rest of the night?” I asked.

He mumbled. “Might order some postmates, then call it a night.”

“Exciting.” I deadpanned, slightly annoyed at him. I changed the subject, thinking that was the cause, “That new club we went to was a lot of fun. The live music was so cool to hear.”

“Yeah it was.” Colby didn't look up, continuing to scroll through his phone.

I sighed, exhausted. “You know, you've been acting this way all night with me.”

“Like what?” He exhaled, finally looking up.

“Short. To the point.” I stated.

He shrugged. “I don't feel like being social.”

I scrunched my face at him, “It was your idea to go out tonight.”

“My social battery ran out really fast then.” Colby blinked, frowning.

“It's not just tonight though. You've been like this for over a week at this point. I thought maybe it was because of work, but....” I trailed off, unsure.

He pursed his lips, “What?”

“You're icing me out. What did I do?” I questioned, stepping towards him.

He moved back, shaking his head. “I don't want to talk about this.”

I followed him. “Well I do. So talk.”

“Okay, if you really want to talk…” He rubbed his eyes for a moment, finally speaking. “Do you have something to tell me?”

My heart stopped. “What?”

He repeated, his eyes icy. “Do you have something to tell me?”

I sucked my teeth, knowing exactly what Colby was referring to. “...I'm gonna kill Sam.”

He chuckled darkly, “Oh, no no. Don't get pissed at the guy that told me what happened.”

I huffed, “We promised each other not to tell you.”

“He folded real quick on that.” Colby crossed his arms, leaning against the counter.

I stared up at him, puzzled. “When did he tell you?”

“A couple days after it happened.” He informed.

I groaned, spinning to yell towards the stairs, “He really went behind my back and just flat out told you. What the fuck, Sam?!”

“Why didn't you tell me?” Colby argued.

I turned back, “Oh, c'mon Colby. You know why.”

“No please, do tell. I would love to hear why.” He jeered.

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my composure. “Do you think I want to tell one of my best friends 'hey just so you know, me and your other best friend, who is also my friend, fucked'? Of course not!”

“Why? You shouldn't feel uncomfortable doing that. Since you did it so publicly, in this very room, might I add.” He shot back.

My eyes widened for a second. “He told you we fucked in the kitchen?”

“No. He's too nice for that.” Colby stepped towards me, almost looming over me. “Do you remember a couple months back when we thought someone was trying to break into the house, so we got extra security cameras installed?”

I crossed my arms defensively, “What does that have to do with this?”

“We didn't get the cameras installed just outside the house. We also got some installed in the common areas. One in the living room....” He leaned down, whispering. “And one in the kitchen.”

“You're kidding.” My breath hitched involuntarily. 

“Any and every movement that happens in these areas gets recorded. When Sam told me you two fucked, I thought he was joking. But I checked…” His voice fell off, an almost smirk coming to his face.

I stuttered, “Y-You-?”

“You really know how to put on a performance.” Colby spoke condescendingly, staring into my eyes with a mischievous glint.

I scoffed, putting space between us. “Fuck you.”

He rolled his eyes, “You wish.”

I glared, exhaling harshly. “You know, you're acting like a jealous boyfriend.”

“Really?” He sassed.

“Yeah. Why the fuck do you care if I slept with Sam? You've never cared about who he hooks up with. But you suddenly care when it's me?" I scowled.

“I care who he hooks up with.” He argued.

I placed my hands on my hips, “Name me literally one girl he's gotten with within the last month or two. Any of them.”

“Nicole is upstairs with him now.” He remarked sarcastically.

I narrowed my gaze, “She doesn't count.”

“Sorry I don't memorize all of their names. I don't need to really remember them since I'm not the one sleeping with them.” Colby bickered, turning away from me.

I thought for a moment, a realization appearing in my mind, “Any time I've almost hooked up with someone, you've always been so aggressive towards them afterwards. But now since it was Sam, you're angry with me.”

“I'm upset because you didn't tell me. Instead, you wanted to keep it a secret from me. That's why I'm pissed.” He rebutted, facing me once more.

“But what's the difference between Sam telling you or me telling you? You've known basically since it happened, why are you still holding it against me?” I sneered, “Unless, of course, you're jealous.”

He queried angrily, “Jealous of what, exactly?”

“You're jealous I didn't sleep with you.” I hissed.

He shook his head, his voice faltering. “Give me a break, Y/N.”

“No no, be honest Colby. Why else are you pissed? You found out a week ago, and have held it against me just because I wasn't the one that told you. You found out regardless, so what is there to be pissed about?” I searched his eyes, but he tilted his head away from my glare. “It's none of your fucking business who I sleep with, whether it's Sam, the guy down the street, or a random guy at the club. You're not my boyfriend. I'm allowed to fuck whoever I want to!”

I spun on my heel, but Colby's hand gripped my wrist, spinning me back to him. My eyes locked with his for a brief moment as he grabbed my face, kissing me deeply. I shuddered a breath, taken aback by how passionate the kiss was. Colby wrapped an arm around me, pulling me against him, as his other hand pulled on my hair lightly.

“You're right, Y/N. I hate how fucking right you always are.” He nipped at my lips, a low groan leaving his mouth. “Do you know how frustrating it is seeing you with other guys? Seeing them put their hands on you, when that's all I can think about doing?”

“Colby!” I gasped quietly, our mouths meeting again. He pressed me against the counter, the spot feeling eerily similar on my back.

Was this the same spot as-?

“I shouldn't have been a dick to you, I'm sorry. But I will never apologize for wanting you all to myself.” His voice came out in an almost growl, “I want you to be mine, and mine alone.”

My mouth fumbled over my words, my hands gliding up his back. “W-Why didn't you just say that? Why now?”

“Seeing you fuck Sam in here weirdly was the wake up call I needed,” he chuckled bitterly. “I thought that maybe all this time I was just overly protective but no... I am jealous. I don’t want to see you with anyone else ever again.”

Colby's hand lifted up my leg, wrapping it around his waist. He slowly inched his fingers higher and higher until he was under my dress, tickling the lining of my underwear. “Let me show you how badly I want you. Please.”

My knees almost buckled at the sound of his voice. The desperation. I nodded, unable to form words, and his hand slowly slid up more until he pressed his palm against my sex. I squeaked unintentionally, a smirk coming to his face. He rubbed slow circles into my clit, my back arching instantly.

“You're already soaking through your panties... Fuck me.” He grunted.

I bit my lip, “Seeing you jealous is honestly kind of a turn on.”

He raised an eyebrow, “Oh really? You like making me jealous? You like me being possessive of you?”

“I like hearing you admit you like me, so if that does the trick…” I trailed off, teasingly.

He pressed harder into my clit, a moan ripping through me when he did. He moved his mouth down, sucking on my neck in time with his movements.

My hands snaked down his torso, touching every muscle on my way to his belt. I clutched the buckle, loosening his belt from his pants. I slipped my hand inside, cupping his growing bulge. He gasped, grinding his cock into my hand.

He closed his eyes tightly, “Fuck baby, that feels so good.”

My cunt clenched at the sound of his voice, needing him deeply. “Please Colby. Fuck, I want you so badly.”

“I need you too, Y/N.” Colby exhaled harshly, “Spin around for me.”

I glanced at him for a moment, shocked by the hunger in his eyes. I turned around, placing my hands on the counter. The cool surface felt like ice against my hot skin, the hairs on my arms standing on end. I heard a package ripping, Colby sliding a condom on that he grabbed from his wallet. Suddenly his hands were on me, pulling the skirt of my dress up until it rested above my ass. He rolled my panties down, his hands massaging my thighs on their way back up.

“You ready for me?” His voice dripped with an aching need: me.

I breathlessly sighed, “Yes, please.”

He pushed my legs open, the tip of his cock teasing my entrance. I mewled at the feeling, backing my hips up until my ass hit his crotch. He groaned, his one hand gripping my hip while the other rested on my back.

Slowly he glided his cock inside of me, both of us holding our breaths as he did. I stretched around him, his size bigger than what I was used to. He filled me up more and more, my eyes fluttering in ecstasy. His body relaxed against mine once he was all the way in, a shuddering 'fuck' falling from his lips.

“Move, Colby. God, please!” I begged.

His hand moved around me to cover my mouth jokingly. "Shh, you can't be too loud. Don't want Sam and his girl to know what we're doing."

I rolled my eyes, knowing that they were lost in their own world and would give no shits about us fucking in here. Colby smirked against my skin, kissing and nibbling my neck and shoulders. His hand drifted back, running through my hair, tugging lightly. His hips began to move in low thrusts. I bit my lip to not moan loudly, but it was so hard. He felt like heaven, and way better than all of my dreams had imagined.

“God, you feel amazing, Y/N.” Colby whispered lightly, “So wet for me.”

I gripped the counter, holding myself into place as he bucked into me. I moved my hips in time with his, meeting him with each thrust.

His hands cupped my hips, his thumbs rubbing circles into them. “You are fucking gorgeous, baby.”

I hummed a moan, my head lulling back. Colby's hand collided with my ass quickly, slapping it. I let out a small shriek, surprised by the impact.

“Colby!” I giggled, looking over my shoulder at him.

He grinned, his dimples appearing briefly. “Can't help it. Wanted to do that for so long.”

“Really? So you've been staring at my ass all this time?” I questioned.

“Oh yeah. Every chance I get.” He raised his eyebrows smugly.

“Perv.” I joked.

Colby laughed, sliding all the way inside of me and stopping. He pressed me against the counter, his hand drifting down and rubbing my clit. “And you're just like me.”

My eyes almost rolled back into my head from the pleasure. “H-how?”

“You're letting me fuck you right in the same spot Sam fucked you in. They could come down any minute and catch us. You want that to happen, don't you?” He grunted, his voice sounding like pure sex.

His fingers on my clit made it hard to think, let alone respond. I stuttered out a curse. His lips were against my ear, “You're mine from now on, you hear me? No one will ever touch you like this again besides me. Say it. Say you're mine.”

“I-I'm yours.” I whimpered.

“Again.” His hips started back up, fucking me harder against the counter than ever before.

“'M yours.” I slurred, my orgasm growing closer and closer.

He slapped my ass again, “Tell me one more time, darling.” 

“I'm yours! Fuck Colby, I'm yours!” I exclaimed, unable to hold back.

“That's my good girl! Fuck yourself on my cock. Do it.” Colby demanded.

I bounced on his dick, his fingers still rubbing my clit over and over again. I was panting, unable to hold back any noises that escaped my throat. My hand slid down to his hand on my clit, pressing him more into me. I gripped his wrist, my nails digging in.

“You close baby? You gonna fucking come for me?” He cursed, his thrusts picking up speed.

I cried out, “Pleaseeee Colbyyy, I wanna come!”

His other hand wrapped around my throat, lightly squeezing for a second. He taunted, “Shhh, you can't scream, Y/N. Even though I know you want to."

Colby pounded into me harder, guttural moans and the sounds of our skin slapping together filling the room.

His voice was hoarse, hungry. “I'm close, darling. Ffffuck you feel so good!”

I desperately whined back, white knuckling the counter as my high grew near. "I'm gonna fucking-!"

“That's it, Y/N. Come for me. Soak my cock and come!” Colby thundered.

My body exploded into an orgasm, my vision blurring. I cried out in ecstasy and pleasure, my hips bucking helplessly around his cock. Colby picked up his pace, thrusting into me passionately. His husky groans echoed in my ear as he came. His hands dug into my skin, his fingers curved as he rubbed my clit through my orgasm. I shook against him, my body finally relaxing against the counter as my pleasure subsided a minute later.

He rested his forehead against my back, spreading lazy kisses and licks across my shoulders and neck. I smiled, catching my breath slowly. His hands moved, softly caressing my skin as he stood up. He picked me up off the counter, spinning me back to face him. Resting me back against it, his body still against mine. His eyes scanned my face, taking in every detail.

“Hi.” He whispered sweetly.

I grinned, “Hi.”

“You okay?” He asked, lightly brushing my hair out of my face.

“Never better. You?” I giggled.

“I'm great.” Colby pecked my lips, pausing briefly. “I wasn't kidding when I said all of that, you know."

"I believe you." I breathed.

"So... you're still mine, right?” He murmured.

“Of course." I lowered my gaze bashfully, "And you're mine?”

He nudged my face up, our eyes locking. “Absolutely.”

<< part one ||

#colby brock #sam and colby #colby brock x reader #colby brock smut #colby brock fic #colby brock fanfic #colby brock fanfiction #colby brock one shot #colby brock oneshot #colby brock angst

[steviewashere]

If It Has to Happen, Let It

Rating: Teen and Up CW: Emetophobia, Vomiting, Panic/Anxiety Attack, Negative Stimming as a Form of Self-Harm/Self-Regulation Tags: Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Sick Steve Harrington, Traumatized Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Has Migraines, Steve Harrington Has Emetophobia, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Cuddling, Steve Harrington Has Good Parents

Okay, I wrote this while enduring a migraine. So we'll see how good this actually is. But I couldn't shake this idea, so here it is. Also, this is based on experience and I have pretty debilitating migraines and emetophobia. I'm asking y'all to be kind about this, that's all. <3

Read On AO3

🤢—————🤢 Steve used to have normal, everyday headaches when he was younger. They’d last a few hours. Be kind of an annoyance, prickling him with an undercurrent of ache. Sometimes make it hard to focus on tasks at hand. But they weren’t life changing. They didn’t affect every aspect of his day to day life. They didn’t linger or take over or knock him down for the count. His headaches used to be normal.

Now they aren’t. They’re debilitating. Humiliating. All consuming.

It wasn’t the concussions that resulted in the migraines, surprisingly enough. Everybody seems to think that and they’re not wrong, not really. But his mom had them. And his dad had them. And his nana had them.

The migraines started out as being mainly genetic. It sucked, sure. They’d come and go. Once every few months, maybe. At most. Just for a day. Isolate him to his bedroom. Leave him to spread on his bed with an ice pack on his forehead. That sort of thing.

Then the concussions came. One after the other after the other. They got worse. Astronomically worse. It wasn’t just a day that the migraines would hang around. It was multiple days. It was an entire week. Even once, it was three weeks in a row. He was sensitive to everything, sometimes nothing. The smell of Robin’s perfume. The sound of Dustin’s voice. The lights inside Family Video, inside Scoops Ahoy, inside his own house. He’d hole away. Lay in the expanding darkness of his bedroom. Curtains closed. Bed stripped of his sheets. Ice on his head, under his head, wrapped around his neck. He’d sleep shirtless, sleep nude, sleep fully clothed—his body couldn’t regulate. Would barely get up because the world would swirl around him like he was standing in the eye of a hurricane.

Worst of the worst, though, was the nausea.

When he was little, he remembers his nana taking him out for his seventh birthday. Pancakes—Mickey Mouse shaped pancakes, topped with fruit and whipped cream and as much maple syrup as he wanted. He drank orange juice, bubbled the liquid with his straw, took bites of his nana’s egg salad, giggled and snickered and cried with joy. It was fun. A good day. And then no less than eight hours later, he couldn’t keep himself standing. Could only kneel, stripped to his dinosaur themed underwear, hair stringy to his head, his mom cooing softly in his ear—hurling and spewing and coughing on and off for hours. Until, eventually, he landed himself a pretty uncomfortable spot in the emergency room, IV in his vein, and tears on his cheeks.

He remembers the all consuming fear when his stomach would flip. When his mouth would begin to salivate and his throat would burn with the bile that came up through burps, and how his hands would shake. Remembered all the times between being seven and now where he’d kneel on the tile of his bathroom, head stuck inside his toilet bowl, clamping to the porcelain with his slick palms, heaving until there was nothing left to give. And then he’d hack some more, just to see if he was done. If it was over. If he could be relieved instead of walking on glass.

He’d ruined plenty of Pyrex bowls. Dirtied plenty of blankets. Stained several mattresses. He’s apologized through tears as his mom helped clean up the carpet in his bedroom. Let her pet his sweaty hair and say it was alright, even though he knew it wasn’t. Even though it would scare her when he’d dissolve into hysterics.

Steve doesn’t do nausea. He doesn’t do throwing up. He doesn’t even do burps. That’s how afraid he is.

The migraines don’t help. If anything, they make him anxious. Make him trapped inside his own body, shaking and breathing shallowly. Knobby knees and burning tears. Flapping his hands out at his sides as if the stupid movement could will the feeling away. Sometimes, when he’d get really upset and he couldn’t calm down, he’d take to slamming his closed fists over his thighs. Trying to distract himself with another sensation. Something else that should bother him. Steve would slam his palms into his chest. He’d claw at his stomach until he’d either bleed or tire himself out. Would tangle his fingers into his hair and pull, hard enough to leave long strands in his palms. He’d hurt and hurt and hurt until he could forget what it was like to have bile coat his throat.

And he knows, by all means does he know, that to any ordinary person he looks like a basket case. He knows that sometimes it seems like he’s overreacting. That he’s making something out of nothing. But he can’t help it. He can’t help the little freakouts or the rapid breathing or the sound of skin smacking against skin.

Sometimes he knows how to regulate. When he’s feeling even the slightest bit sick. Open a window, stick his head out and take several long gulps of cold night air. Stick himself under a near third degree burning hot shower. (Because his mom had said that hot water helps. Not this hot, but she doesn’t need to know.) He keeps a case of ginger ale. Has a new addiction to peppermint gum. Shoves his big head between his knees and just prays. He’ll say over and over in his head: “You will not throw up. You don’t need to throw up. You aren’t sick. You won’t throw up.” 

It’s all worked. Kept himself puke-free since sixth grade.

But now he gets migraines.

And today’s the worst one he’s ever had.

——— If he doesn’t open his eyes, he won’t throw up. Because if the light gets in his eyes, the pain will worsen. And if the pain worsens, he’ll throw up. But he won’t. Because he doesn’t do that.

It’s 9am on a Monday. He woke up nearly four hours ago, head throbbing, lights infuriating, and body aching. His sheets have been pulled away. And his blanket is tossed somewhere on the floor. Down to his underwear and nothing else. Very briefly, he considers stripping those off, too. He’s sweating, even though the A/C is on, even though his window is open, even though it’s something like forty-three degrees out.

He can’t take the smell of himself. Or the pillow under his head. Laundry detergent, sweat, and the lingering ghost of cologne. His stomach is churning like crazy. Every little movement makes his insides flare. And he thinks, at any moment, he’ll upchuck onto his mattress. Maybe he should go lay on the cold bathroom tiles, wrap himself around the base of the toilet.

I won’t throw up, he thinks behind the deep furrow of his eyebrows, I can’t throw up. I don’t need to. Don’t throw up, Steve.

He should get up. Get an icepack. Something to snack on. His medicine.

But if he stands up, he’ll be slammed by vertigo. If he’s dizzy, he’ll throw up. And if he throws up, he probably won’t stop. And then his heart will try to burst out of his chest and he’ll still be throwing up and then he’ll have a heart attack all by himself, but he’ll be covered in his own puke. He gently turns his head into his pillow, where the cold is running from him, and groans.

Something clatters to the ground downstairs. Followed by the thud of several footsteps. But he can’t get up. Vertigo means throwing up. I won’t throw up, I won’t throw up, he repeats, a mantra.

Then, all at once, his bedroom door is swung wide open and the bright amber light in the hallway is bleeding into his room. It’s lighting up the hand by his head, the hairs dangling over his eyes. He doesn’t bite back the whine that erupts from him. Somebody’s walking closer, their shadow overbearing and large over him. Their body heat like the lick of a freshly lit campfire. He’s burning in their orbit—crisping, boiling, ready to be eaten alive.

“Christ, Steve,” the person states. The person is Eddie, once he hears the voice back in his head. A familiar rasp in his voice. And that’s when Steve picks up on the scent of a recently lit cigarette. He kind of wants to reach up and strangle Eddie, choke him until he promises to never smoke again. Maybe this is how Robin feels about him, too. “It’s fucking freezing in here. Why is your window open?” He steps away towards the window, the light coming back full force. “You’ve got a shift today, y’know? Robin’s already there. Called me to come get you because you’re late and—“

“Shut up, Eddie,” Steve finally gets himself to grumble. It doesn’t have the bite he wants it to have. Weak and small and breaking. He opens his mouth again to add more, but his mouth begins to salivate. He shuts up, swallows and swallows and…It doesn’t work. His stomach clenches harshly and he whimpers, hand traveling down towards his overheated middle, digging into his soft flesh, nails sharp and biting. I won’t throw up. Don’t throw up.

Eddie heaves a disappointed sigh. “Dude, you have to go to work. I’m sorry if you didn’t get enough sleep, but you have to go.”

Steve’s chest rises and falls a little too quick. He can’t catch his breath. Can sense the tremor in his hand through the back of his neck. Too hot. Sweating. Drooling onto his pillow. Kind of wants to cry, but can’t do that. Can’t do that in front of Eddie—he won’t understand. Won’t be able to calm him down like his mom can or give him words of comfort like his dad sometimes does.

Instead of dignifying Eddie’s conversation with a response, Steve sits up hastily. Legs dangling over the edge of his mattress. Vision swimming. Tears prickle in the corners of his eyes. His stomach swoops deep, then sloshes up towards his lungs as if it’s trying to break free. The throbbing is back full force, pulsating and overwhelming. He can’t see, he can’t breathe, he can’t get himself to wade away the nausea. I won’t. I can’t throw up. I can’t. I can’t.

He groans, reaching up to the sides of his head, gripping himself harshly. Fingers in his hair, pulling and tugging and pulling and tugging. Head tucked towards his knees. Swallowing and swallowing and…He tugs as hard as he can on his hair, eliciting a loud whine from his throat.

The window doesn’t close. The curtains don’t even move. But Eddie does. His body swarming Steve, his heat engulfing him as if he’s a house on fire. Hands flittering out. “Steve? You okay?”

“Mi—Mi—“ Steve stutters before gagging. He cries through a quick exhale from his nose. He can’t make it all stop. His heart’s beating too fast. His chest hurts from how fast his breathing has gone. He can’t. He can’t.

“Sweetheart? Are you gonna be sick? I can get you to the bath—“

“No, no, no,” Steve rushes out. “Not gonna—Won’t throw up. Can’t.” He tries to take a breath through his mouth, but with his lips agape and his tongue working to make words, saliva floods out of him. The heat of his own spit warm on his thigh, it glistens in the little bit of light from the hallway. “Head,” he whimpers, “hurts.”

“Shit,” Eddie softly curses. He crouches down in front of Steve, his hands floating above his trembling knees. “It’s a migraine. Okay,” he whispers, “what can I do, sweetheart?”

Steve sobs. “I dunno,” he wetly murmurs. Another wave of nausea crashes over him and he leans forward with his next gag. He’s not going to throw up, but the more the pain increases and the more his stomach flips and the warmer he gets, he may just do the opposite. That thought alone makes him cry harder. He detangles his fingers from his hair, flaps his hands out in front of him like mimicking a bird, and then thrashes them down onto his thighs. In front of him, Eddie visibly winces. But he does it again, harder.

He can’t see that well, but notices the way Eddie’s hands scramble out to stop him. But he flinches away. Fisting his hands tighter, enough that his nails bite into his palms, and punches down on the surely forming bruises. “Steve, stop it. You’re hurting yourself, stop it,” Eddie scolds firmly. But Steve doesn’t. Eddie visibly is shaken up, rocking forward on his heels, hands stuck between actions, and his voice warbles when he speaks. “I think,” he states slowly, “we should get you to the bathroom. And you should go ahead and try to flush out your system—“

“No!” Steve yelps with a whine. “No, I don’t need’a—“ He takes a quick, shuddering breath. Chest caving in with his panic. His thighs are sore and his hands sting. But he slams down again. “—don’t wanna—“

“Stevie,” Eddie murmurs lowly, placating, “you’ll feel better if you let it out. I promise, sweetheart, you will feel better, okay? I’ll sit with you. Put a cold rag on your neck. I’ll—“

Steve’s saliva dribbles from his mouth again, more this time. His stomach gurgles. And it’s like somebody has an iron grip on his brain, squishing the organ between their fingers, toying with it like Play-Doh. I’m going to throw up, he realizes in panic. “Eds—Ed, ‘m gonna—Gonna—“

Gently, though purposefully, Eddie grabs Steve by the elbows. Half-walking, half-dragging them to Steve’s ensuite. He shoves them down in front of the open toilet bowl. And lays his left palm flat on the center of Steve’s back, wincing at the first jarring wet-heave that comes from the back of Steve’s throat.

He pets his palm up and down Steve’s spine. “Get it out, Stevie. I’m right here. You’ll be okay.”

With Eddie’s words and the soothing touch, Steve finally allows himself to expel. Bile burns through him. And he shakes through the first splatter into the toilet bowl’s water. He could never stand the smell, the sound, or the look of vomit. Yet here it is, sour and salty and yellow. Chunky and swirling and fresh. The next heave makes him start crying again, but he doesn’t care anymore. Doesn’t care about breaking down in front of Eddie because he now has to deal with this—the overwhelming anxiety that floods through him, out of him with each hurl. The rabid beating against his ribs and the gasps through sobs.

There’s so much coming out of him. Too much.

“Jesus,” Eddie mutters, “holy…You’re okay, Steve.” He leans across to the toilet paper dispenser for a few sheets. Folds it with one hand and wipes away at Steve’s face between short bursts of vomit. Barely draws his hand away before it starts up again.

Steve spits big globs of saliva-puke. Angles his head so Eddie can catch his eyes. Meekly says, “‘M sorry, Ed. ‘M sorry.”

“Shhh,” Eddie soothes. “Don’t apologize, sweetheart. You gotta do this, it’s alright.”

“Yucky,” Steve sighs. “’T’s…I hate this.” He closes his eyes as vertigo slams sideways at him, T-boned by the dizziness. Takes a burbling breath through his mouth.

“If you have more, let it out, Steve. It won’t do you any good to keep it in.”

He cries softly with his next exhale. “‘M sorry,” he keens. And then he’s convulsing forward with his next gag.

Time stretches, it feels like, for hours. His knees ache and his skin is cold and his hands are slipping with how wet the toilet bowl is from his sweat. Throat sore and stomach empty. But the malaise from gagging for so long lingers, making him dry-heave when there’s nothing left to give. He rests his forehead over his left forearm over the back of the toilet seat. Sniffs and keeps his eyes closed. Shaking through the last bit of it.

Distantly, the sound of the sink goes off next to him. He’s so out of it, he didn’t even realize that Eddie stood up and left him momentarily. Wishes he could leave this, too. Wishes he could step outside of his body and not experience this anymore, for the rest of his life, for the rest of time itself.

Eddie crouches down beside him again. Gently grasps him by the chin and pulls him up to be face to face. He runs the lukewarm rag over his chin, his lips, and under his nose. “Good job getting it out, Stevie,” he whispers, “how are you feeling now?”

“Tired,” Steve mumbles, “and gross and in pain.”

He gets a nod in return. “Okay,” Eddie mutters, “let me get your migraine things, alright? I’ll take you back to bed.”

Steve sighs. Closes his eyes in exhaustion. “‘M embarrassed, too.”

The rag and Eddie’s hand slowly comes off his face. The cloth is crumpled in Eddie’s palm when Steve glances. “Why’re you embarrassed, Stevie? It’s okay to throw up. It’s fine.”

He shrugs. “Just—“ And Steve looks down towards his lap. At the mottled bruises on his thighs, peeking out from his two day old underwear. The light scratch lines on the soft give of his belly. “—It’s stupid, isn’t it? I’m afraid of vomiting. Of vomit. I—I have a meltdown like a toddler when I feel like ‘m gonna puke and…and I get all hysterical and whiny and I sob like crazy. And I—I dunno. I was overreacting and I made you have to take care of me and it’s just…I’m just being dumb.”

“Hey,” Eddie says softly, that scolding edge back. “It’s not dumb, Steve. Vomiting is traumatic, I get it. And—Before you try and interrupt me—you didn’t make me help you. I helped you because I noticed that you were struggling. And had I not, you probably would’ve made a big mess in your room. I wasn’t going to just leave you in a state like that.”

“But it is stupid, Eds,” Steve urges, voice wavering. “It’s stupid because I’m a grown fucking adult. And I should be able to handle this. I should—“ The tears come back. “—Just fucking look at me. Crying, again. I’m so—“ He groans in frustration, fingers clenching into his palms, cutting them up again.

Gently, Eddie unfurls Steve’s hands. “Look at me, Steve.” He does. Fiercely, softly, Eddie continues, “You are sick right now. You didn’t feel good. You were scared. You were anxious. In no way, shape, or form were you stupid for reacting like this. Alright? Steve, you were overwhelmed with it all. I’m not going to judge you because you’re afraid of vomit. The only thing I’m concerned about is the hitting, but we can talk about that a different time, okay?”Eddie’s thumbs work tenderly into the backs of Steve’s hands. There’s a glimmer of protectiveness in his eyes and Steve latches onto it. Lets himself begin to believe that it’s actually okay. Even if his circumstances are concerning. “You wanna know a truly dumb fear?” Eddie murmurs lightly.

Steve almost wants to cry more with how caring Eddie is, but he pushes it to the side. Favors the distraction. “What?” He mumbles.

“I’m afraid of birds. And not them existing or being in my space or landing on my shoulders. I’m afraid of birds flying above me and pooping on my hair,” he states genuinely. Steve can’t help but snort, albeit weakly. “See? It’s kind of dumb, y’know? When have I ever cared about my fucking hair, Steve? Never, that’s when. Well, unless there are birds nearby.”

“I guess it is a little dumb,” Steve whispers.

“I know,” Eddie murmurs, grinning. “Vomit isn’t dumb, though. I promise, Stevie. We can talk about it later, if you want. Or never, if you prefer. Let me get you settled in bed and I’ll grab your stuff.”

He lets Eddie guide him back to bed. Fluff his pillow. Lay him supine. When he returns, he’s holding three ice packs, a bottle of prescription migraine medication, a plate of toast, and some water.

Steve watches in silent infatuation as Eddie lays it out all careful on his bedside table. As he tucks the icepacks where they need to go. Helps Steve take his medicine, eat, and drink. And almost begins crying again when Eddie rubs gentle circles on his chest.

“Lay with me?” He quietly asks.

Instead of making up some long winded excuse, Eddie immediately strips down to his t-shirt and boxers. He slides right next to Steve, not touching, but not too far away, either. Rolls over onto his side to face Steve and gently places his hand over the cold compress on his forehead. “This okay, baby?”

He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly as he tries to relax back into his pillows. “Yeah,” Steve whispers, “‘m just nauseous still.”

“Okay,” Eddie mutters, “I’ve got some Altoids in my jacket if you want them. Your chewing gum might agitate the migraine more.” He reaches over the side of the bed and fishes out the tin can of mints. Pinches three with his index finger and thumb. And requests, “Open your mouth, Stevie.”

Steve lets him place the mints on his tongue. He spreads them out so that one is in the center and the other two are on either side. “Will this help?” He asks around the Altoids. As if to mock him, a feeling of malaise washes over him. Immediately, he lays his hands over his stomach and digs his fingernails in.

“Hey, hey,” Eddie whispers urgently, abandoning the ice pack and grabbing Steve’s hands instead. Soothingly rubs his thumb up the back of his hands and down to the underside of his wrists, where his pulse is hot, fast, and concerning. “No more of that. No more making yourself hurt.”

“Don’t wanna be sick,” Steve pants, breathing heavy through his nose.

“You won’t be sick,” Eddie says like a promise. Somewhere deep within Steve he knows Eddie’s saving face, saying something false. But he can’t bring himself to come to that realization. It sounds like the voice in his head. I won’t throw up, he thinks in tandem. “Just keep your eyes closed, alright? I’ll keep the door closed. I didn’t shut the window. Focus on the icepacks for me, sweetheart.” Steve squeezes his eyes shut as tight as they’ll go, relenting when it only makes the migraine pulse alive. He tries to center the cold spots. “Where are they, Stevie?”

“My…My forehead.”

“That’s one,” Eddie whispers, “two more.”

“And my neck. And—“ He takes another deep breath. “And under my head,” he breathes out.

“Good,” Eddie praises softly. “That was good, baby.” He gently squeezes Steve’s palms. “Tell me what usually helps. Let me help you through this so that you don’t…I don’t like seeing you hurt yourself.”

Steve quietly whines. Digging back into the icepack underneath him. Breathing out the last little bits of nausea from that particular wave. But he knows it’ll be back. It’s how his migraines always are. “I like the cold air on me,” he confesses near silently. “And I need to make sure I have mints or gum in my mouth. And I—It’s stupid.”

“Nothing’s stupid, just tell me.”

He huffs. “I have to tell myself I won’t throw up. Like I need to hear that I won’t, I guess.”

Gentle and nimble fingers massage his hands and wrists. Small circles, little vertical stripes, horizontal strokes. “I’m getting the box fan from your parents’ room. And then we’ll just lay here. You won’t throw up, Stevie.” As Eddie gets up, he leans down and presses a chaste kiss to his cheek—even where it’s sallow and tacky.

There’s something in the way Eddie says it, nonchalant but not dismissive, that makes Steve believe he’s right. Something in the way he’s not disgusted or afraid of Steve’s everything after, something in that kiss like a vow. So he indulges. Lays with his eyes shut, the box fan eventually blowing the cold air from his window onto his too warm skin, and Eddie’s fingers massaging his hands. Every single time he tenses, Eddie soothes him with that same promise.

He keeps Steve away from harm. Squeezing his hands firmly when he tries to hit or scratch at himself. Pets his hair and coos softly in his ear. And holds the icepacks when Steve goes boneless with sleep, mouth agape and drooling, snuffling softly into the calm silence stretching between them.

At the end of the day, he’s still afraid of vomiting. It’s probably something he’ll never get over, something he’ll be challenged with for the rest of his life (or however long these migraines last). Though, Eddie doesn’t judge him. Doesn’t let the negative in. He’s braver with Eddie. Safer. Afraid, but comforted.

That’s all he could ask for while going through this.

🤢—————🤢

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #tw emetophobia #tw negative stimming as self-harm #angst and hurt/comfort

[destielbeatlesminibang]

Title: While My Guitar Gently Weeps

Author: eyesofatragedy67

Artist: witchy-worm

Rating: Teen and Up

Summary: Cas's deal with the Empty broke Dean's heart. And no matter what they tried, they couldn't get him out.

They did manage to take care of Chuck, though, and with him out of the picture, Dean finally hung up his gear and built a life for himself. Or whatever passes for life when the one person you want to share it with most is out of reach.

But Dean's got his bar, Charlie at his side, and his guitar to keep him company on the nights memories pull him under.

And he hopes against hope that someday Cas will return to him.

Tags: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Charlie Bradbury, Dean Winchester & Original Female Character, Past Major Character Death, Temporary Character Death, Canon Divergent After Episode 15x18, Fix It Fic, No Rebar Was Used In the Making of This Fic, The Empty Deal, Songfic, Dean Winchester POV, Non-linear Storytelling, Flashbacks, Nightmare Containing Non-Graphic Suicide, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dean Winchester Needs a Hug, Dean Winchester/Castiel First Kiss, Cas Gets By With A Little Help From His Friends, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Loosely Inspired By Across the Universe, Finale What Finale

Posting on June 26

Keep reading for a short excerpt.

Arms laden with bags, Dean carefully closes the hood of Baby's trunk and makes his way to the bunker entrance. The lock sticks a little as he turns his key, and he makes a mental note to get some lead shavings so he can loosen it back up.

As he steps inside, he hears laughter echoing off the walls and quietly sets the bags down so he can have a moment to himself, a moment to just enjoy his loved ones taking a well-deserved break after the insanity of Michael and Belphegor and a fucking zombie apocalypse.

He can see Sam's mane of L’oréal commercial hair tossing as he uproariously laughs at something Cas said. Dean doesn't catch it, but whatever it is probably isn't meant to have Sam giggling like the teenage girl he is.

The look on Cas's face is one Dean has a strong affection for. That confused puppy head tilt that is sometimes genuine bafflement, but other times his way of indulging his favorite humans. Dean would give a lot to keep looks like that on Cas's face. Fuck knows he's been the cause of enough sadness and disappointment for the guy. Seeing him happy, at home, is everything to Dean.

But he can't tell Cas that. He can never tell Cas that he wants him to have every ounce of happiness he deserves.

Because he can't lose him. Dean can't lose the goddamn love of his life to happiness. And how fucked up is that?

So he takes these moments as he gets them. He treasures every single fucking smile, every small laugh, every gentle touch… and he doesn't say the words that have been scorching him from the inside for so damn long.

Some day that deal Cas made – the one Dean isn't supposed to know about – is going to come out in the wash, and Dean is going to lose one of the most vitally important people in his life.

But not today, dammit.

Dean smiles down at them, quietly chuckling as Jack walks into the room with a look so similar to Cas's that it's hard to see Lucifer in the kid now.

Leaning on the banister railing, Dean just watches them for a bit. There's nothing perishable in the bags, so there's no reason he can't just sit back and soak in this scene of his chosen family doing normal family shit.

The love he sees there, and the love he's hiding, are weights in his chest that he's not willing to give up. He'll fucking fight for them; he'll blow up the goddamn world if it means he gets to hold onto this.

He swipes away the stupid man tear that’s trailing down his face and focuses on the now. Because moments like this are what keep him going. This ragtag bunch of idiots are his motivation.

He'll be damned if he's gonna lose them. Even if it means he loses a bit of his heart in the process.

#destiel #supernatural #the beatles #destiel beatles minibang

[nkirukaj]

The Radio Demon & the Billboard Doe (20)

Pairing: Alastor x Fem! OC

Warnings: Swearing; Sexual Activity & Graphic Depictions of Violence

Genre: ANGST/Fluff SMUT (& Humor!)

Word Count: 8.6K

<Chapter 19

I just want to thank everyone that has taken the time to come on this journey with me. There were times when I wanted to quit, but your likes, reblogs, and kind comments made me want to keep going. This would mean much less without you all. Without further adieu, I present:

20. V is for Voe; the Billboard Doe

art by @hazbinhotelie

“Alastor?” Charlie looks around the room after everything goes quiet “Where’s Voe?”

Alastor is wiping off his sleeve, still stewing with rage “I took care of her darling,” is all the response he gives her

“Took care of her?” Angel tiptoed back in the front doors “That definitely ain’t good”

“You didn’t…kill her did you?” Charlie covers her mouth

Alastor’s smile is the stiffest it’s ever been “Of course not dear Charlotte. I simply disposed of her, nothing to worry your pretty head about,”

Vaggie furrows her brow, opening her mouth before Charlie speaks instead “Um, actually no? Anything that goes on in my Hotel is my business,”

Alastor chuckles dryly “I assure you, Charlie, it’s none of your concern,”

Charlie’s expression turns angry as she stalks toward him “It’s all my concern Alastor, now tell me what the fuck you did to Voe.”

He sighs as if she’s being annoying “If you insist on obtaining this information, I simply removed her from the property,”

“But like, you didn’t give her a chance to explain herself! Or apologize! Or anything!”

“I did what was best for the hotel. We don’t need anyone sneaking around or keeping secrets,”

Vaggie scoffs loudly “Oh bullshit! You going on your little outings? Or keeping the fact that angels could be killed until you could use it to get a ‘favor’ from Charlie?”

“That is not this!” He asserts

“Right!” Charlie yells “That was worse!”

Alastor sweetens his tone “Now Charlotte...”

“From the first day, you stepped in here, you’ve belittled, degraded, and mocked the idea of redemption, telling me directly and indirectly that my dream is hopeless. But then you also walk around this place like you own it! Newsflash Alastor, you DON’T, yes you’ve helped to make my dream more feasible, but it’s NOT your property, it’s NOT your name on the line, and it’s NOT just one of your little projects to entertain you. You walk around here like you’re judge, jury, and executioner! You’re not better than anyone here just because we believe in the goodness of damned souls. If anything it just makes you miserable! THIS IS MY DREAM! MY PURPOSE! YOU DO NOT HAVE THE RIGHT OR AUTHORITY TO OVERRIDE ME. AND YOU WILL NEVER HAVE THE AUTHORITY TO KICK ANYONE OUT! AND SINCE YOU CAN’T ACT LIKE A TEAM PLAYER THE NEXT ONE TO LEAVE IS YOU!”

The bass in her voice overshadowed everyone and everything in the room as the Princess stood before the red demon, horns pointed, tail swinging, and eyes blazing red. The entire room knew that this was only a fraction of the younger Morningstar’s power, and did not want to see the rest of it. Vaggie stands behind her girlfriend, staring with love and admiration, her spear ready for combat. Alastor stares down at the women, stiff and poised.

“Who will manage the hotel?” he asks calmly 

“I will, it won’t be that much different anyway”

His smile drops slightly as he exhales, but he picks it back up before anyone can notice. “Very well,” and he dissipates into the shadows.

Charlie takes a deep breath and returns to her normal form. She turns to Vaggie and opens her mouth, but before she can speak Vaggie throws her arms around her girlfriend.

“I love you so much!” and Charlie blushes and smiles back

The acid rain had ended by the time she had walked across Pentagram City, but she was already soaked from her hair to her feet.

“Voe Voe!! Can I get a picture? Hey Hey!! Bitch,” a demon called out from down the street

Voe continues walking as cameras and smartphones flash around her, but she ignores them. Someone runs up to her and gives her an unsolicited hug. Voe’s immediate reaction is to toss them, but she isn’t focused on how much strength she is using. The demon flies back into a building, shocking even Voe.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” 

“DO I LOOK LIKE I WANNA BE TOUCHED?!” Her eyes flashed as more and more demons crowded around her, clearly not getting the message. Some of them screamed her praise and others wished for her demise. The noise became too much to the point that she ended up covering her ears and running, running, and running through the swinging doors. The cold air makes contact with her wet hair and clothes, making her shiver. She hangs her head down to avoid the bright lights and she runs into something hard, her eyes snap open and she looks up.

“What the fuck!” Vox looks up from his phone and then down at the doe. When he sees who it is, he cracks a grin “Voe? Voe the Beau? Oh this is rich,” he stifles a laugh “How may I help you dear?”

She stares up at him with rage “I need a place to stay,”

“You what? Sorry, I couldn’t hear you, the betrayal must’ve been clogging my ears”

“How did I betray you?”

Vox shrugs “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Run along, we don’t have space for you,” he starts walking past her “Since Voe’s always right,”

“Wait,” she says. He turns to her, smirking “What do you want?”

He ponders the thought “So..what happened? Did you get thrown out of the hotel? Guess they must not like traitors”

“You know, it was bad enough that you ruined my afterlife, but then to make fun of me about it is cruel,”

“Okay okay, but just tell me one thing…how did our dear friend Alastor react, when he found out?” Vox’s eyes glint with joy

She turns away from the TV demon “He never stopped smiling, but he’s never seemed so..hurt. I could see it in his eyes,”

Vox begins to cackle as the tears rise in her eyes. The warmth in her chest turns into a burning flame, the tears and the rain stinging her eyes

“Head up to Velvette’s studio, I’m sure she’ll have something for you,” he tosses over his shoulder and walks away “Wait,” he stops “Give me that,”

“What?” 

He flips the chain around her neck “I want that necklace,”

She takes a step back “Why?”

“You really think I’m going to let you wear that man’s name around your neck when you’re in my building?” he opens his palm in front of her

Voe recoils “I’ll take it off, but I’m not giving it to you,”

Vox closes his fingers one by one “I don’t want to see it around your neck” Voe slowly removes it and places it in her pocket “That’s better, I want that pretty little neck bare,” he trails his sharp fingers down her throat

“What? So you wanna fuck me now?” she asks with a somewhat annoyed expression

Vox smirks and walks away without answering the question

“Now Alastor, what did I tell you about that? You can’t just override people’s authority!”

The stag huffs “If you don’t want me to stay here then I won’t!” he raises his volume

Rosie furrows her brow and lowers her pitch “Now hold on,” she scolds him as if he is her own child “I didn’t say you couldn’t stay here but you are not going to speak to me that way on my property. You’re the one that got yourself kicked out, that’s nobody’s fault but your own, so control your tone, young man,” she flattens her lips, letting him know that she means business

Alastor lowers his head “I apologize, I am under a certain amount of…stress,”

Rosie scoffs “I can see!” she moves out of the doorway to allow him in, closing the door behind him. She moves to sit on one of her couches, patting the spot next to her. “Tell Auntie Rosie what’s wrong,”

He sits down next to her “I just need a moment,”

“For?”

“I….I’m, heartbroken,” he mumbles

Rosie shakes her head as if she didn’t hear him “Pardon?”

“I am heartbroken,” he stumbles over his words “And I-I don’t even have the words to describe how I feel inside,”

Rosie blinks, looking up at the air. She’s not sure what to do, this has never been an issue that Alastor has come to her about. “Would you like a hug Alastor?”

“I suppose a small one,” 

She opens her arms and he falls into them, leaning on her chest as she wraps her arms around him. They sit in silence for a few beats before Rosie hears low and soft broken breaths. She looked around to locate the source of the sound, only to discover that it was coming from inside her arms. She turned her ear down and heard the sobs of the Radio Demon. She had no idea what to say. She sat and held him in her arms, this was territory for her too.

Alastor sits up and removes his monocle, he rubs the small amount of tears from his eyes. He replaces the monocle “I apologize for how I’m acting, I just did not know…what to do with myself,”

“Wanna tell me what happened?” 

“I do not think I am in the right headspace to think about it. Let alone, talk about it. Again, I apologize for being rude to you. I have not been feeling like myself for these past few months,” He stands and dusts off his clothing, and walks further into the building, leaving Rosie sitting and wondering what in all of Hell could have her best friend like this.

“I’m honestly so glad that you finally came to your senses and showed up! This is going to be bloody fucking amazing! Now that I have you all the time, that’s less time we have to spend getting you prepped and ready! Honestly, you should have done this from the get-go, but sometimes it takes something drastic to get people on the right path. Ugh, what is this? Are you covered in acid rain? Let’s get you cleaned up. TANYA! RUN HER A BATH!”

Velvette talked on and on, as Voe just sat and absorbed the words into her skin, but not through her ears. Voe had never known what to call this state that she was in, even when she was alive. The state where her body was doing everything it was supposed to do to continue existing normally, but her mind was somewhere else. Her mind was back at the hotel, replaying different versions of the scenario. Versions where something, anything had gone different. Maybe if Angel had given her the remote, or if she had gotten downstairs first, or maybe if she and Alastor would’ve had sex instead. Even a version where Vox doesn’t do the show at all. Or one where she was a completely different person, who would’ve never even considered doing something like this to someone.

Sometimes she wondered what it was like to live without that nagging and gnawing voice telling you that you’re not good enough. That voice that tells you if you don’t do something big then you might as well not exist. She wondered if other people had to live with it, but she was never a good indicator of what other people had to deal with. She knew that voice quite well, and the only way to quiet it had always been temporary solutions that increased her status and made her feel big, but always at the expense of making someone feel small. These moments of reprieve never lasted long, but she’d do anything to never feel like that lost and ostracized baby ever again. Even if she had to make that baby, someone else. But as she said, the feeling never lasted. And in the end, she always had to give something up, but she had never felt it mattered this much.

When she comes back to herself, she’s in a bathtub, basically sitting in her own broth. Velvette bursts through the door, while she’s stewing.

“How’s my favorite model doing?” Voe stared off into the distance, her expression solemn and bare “Oh come on, what’s with the pout? Hmm?” She tilts her head up “You still can’t be on Alastor,” she scoffs “You did it, it’s done. It’s over now. Chin up, you have better things to worry about,” she places her hand on Voe’s back “Hurry up with your bath love, and I’ll get you something to eat, I just know you’re hungry,”

When Voe is silent once again, Velvette groans and rolls her eyes, leaving the bathroom. Once she leaves, Voe lets out a long whistle.

“What’s going on with your precious little trophy?” Vox smirks 

Vel rolls her eyes “She’s still stuck on Alastor I guess,” She waves her hand

Vox rubs his ‘chin’ “Well maybe we can…take her mind off of him?”

Velvette’s sneer slowly turns into a sly smirk. 

Rosie was so unaware of what to do, or what was happening anyway. She gathers a tray of coffee and brings it to the room Alastoe chose to stay in. She knocks on the door and leans in, listening. There’s a light groaning coming from inside. Rosie lightly pushes the door open.

“Alastor?” she peers in to see him lying on the bed in a ball, his coat on the floor and his shoes strewn about. Okay, now she was worried “Alastor!”

He groans in response, not even moving when Rosie places the tray on the nightstand and sits down, dipping the bed next to him.

Rosie reaches out to rub his back, but then thinks better of it, placing her hand on the bed next to him. “Alastor, please. Tell me what’s wrong, I don’t like seeing you like this, I’m worried,”

He shifts his head toward her, his expression still covered. He mumbles into his arm and Rosie leans down to hear him.

“Hmm? I can’t hear you, sweetie,”

“I don’t like feeling this way!!” he yells

“What are you talking about sweetie?”

Alastor rips the bracelet off of his wrist and throws it to the ground “This meant nothing!” 

Rosie goes to where he threw the bracelet and picks it up, examining it in her slender fingers “Who’s Vera?” she turns back to her friend

“The heartless woman that crushed me,”

Rosie is more baffled than when she walked into the room. She raises a brow “I’m sorry, what do you mean by that?”

“I take it you haven’t seen Vox 2-Nite,”

“Alastor, I don’t even have a TV,”

He sighs “Voe told Vox everything,”

“Everything?”

“Everything!” he screams “Everything I told her, she told him!”

She holds the bracelet and returns to the bed “Oh Alastor, I’m so sorry. Would you like a hug?” he groans and Rosie takes it as a yes and envelopes him as much as she can. 

Voe sits in the bed they gave her, fiddling with the necklace. She reads Alastor’s name as she runs her thumb over it, feeling the metal’s smoothness and the letters’ curves. She thinks back on when he gave it to her. How his fingers wrapped around her throat and he sunk his teeth into her skin, leaving a myriad of hickies all around. She breathes in and fantasizes that he’s here to forgive her, to save her from this place where no love grows. Her fingers trail over her skin and she imagines they’re his, digging her nails deep just as he would. One hand travels to her neck and the other down to her core. She takes a second to smell herself to understand what it was that Alastor had always gone crazy for before returning her fingers to her slit, slowly trailing up and down as he would. She slides a finger inside the open hole, hers not being as long but willing to use her imagination, carefully slipping in another.

“Vera, tell me how this feels,” she hears his voice as she curves one finger inside of her

It feels so good.

“Good,” his voice whispers, she pushes his fingers deeper “And this?”

That feels amazing.

“Wonderful,” she hears in his delicious low growl as if he were right there with her. She closes her eyes and leans back on the headboard, imagining Alastor’s fingers in place of her own, before the door creaks and her eyes snap open, her fingers flying out with some of her juices still left on them.

It’s Velvette, she enters the room wearing a long silk robe, not closing the door all the way before turning to the doe.

“So you are still up? Amazing!” her voice is deep and seductive. She assesses the situation “I see you’re already getting started. Well, no shame in that,” She drops her robe on the floor, revealing a black set of lingerie. She crawls into the bed and sucks the juices off of Voe’s fingers, making her cunt twitch as she watches. With a blank look, Voe reaches for her face and Velvette swats her hands away. “Ah ah ah,” she wiggles her finger. “Come to me,” and she does. 

Velevette tilts her chin up, kissing her with the utmost intensity. A beautiful kiss from beautiful lips, but she needed more. It was not enough. She removes Voe’s shirt, then shorts and panties, laying her down on the bed when the door opens once more

“Wow, someone’s eager. You’ve already gotten started!” It was Vox, entering the room shirtless, his deep voice carrying around the room

Voe does not know what to make of his appearance, she stops and takes a look at Velvette for an explanation. When Vox begins removing his pants, then it makes sense. 

“So you’re joining us?”

The Overlords light up “There she is!” Velvette exclaims, kissing her chest

Vox smirks “I was starting to think that mouth stopped working. And yes, I will,” His boxers come off and reveal a thin dark blue erect cock. Voe takes a long look at it before Vox tongues her, moving behind her to lick every inch of skin he can reach. He reaches in front of her, palming her breasts from behind. Voe closes her eyes, trying to relax when the door busts open. Obviously, it’s Valentino, who’s completely naked, leaving nothing to be desired.

“Come on! Why do you guys always start without me?”

“Why do you insist on being late!” Vel scolds him

“At least he’s already ready,” Vox breathes on the back of Voe’s neck, making her shiver

“Wow…those are some moth…balls” was all Voe could think of to say

Valentino gives a sly grin “Why thank you,” he purrs 

His dick is already up as well, which did not surprise her. Val’s probably horny more often than me, she thought. When she looked back at his face, she was filled to the brim with anger, why should he get to explore her body? Why should any of them? After the shit they pulled? She wanted this, but she knew she didn’t deserve it, and it disgusted her the looks they gave each other and her as if they…deserved it. Like it was owed to them. 

Voe is on her hands and knees, kissing Velvette passionately before she feels sharp fingers on her waist. It’s Vox, he pulls her backward and onto his erect penis. Voe gasps once it slips inside her and moans when he starts to bounce her on it. Voe throws her head back, angry at herself for loving how his cock felt inside her.

“Yeah, that’s right, like you much better like this,” he grunts to her, wrapping his hand around her throat “Maybe I’ll put my name around this pretty neck. How do you feel about that dollface?”

Voe doesn’t answer, only rolling her hips against him. The thought of wearing Vox’s name felt enraging like he was claiming ownership of her, like she was property and not a person. She starts bouncing more intensely on his dick, eliciting loud moans from him.

Velvette reaches out for her and her hands land on Voe’s breast, massaging it for a few, before bringing it to her lips. She begins suckling and Voe presses her head forward. Voe turns to Valentino and signals for him to come closer, when he does she pulls him by the chain connecting his nipple rings, before whispering

“Bite me,”

He runs his thin tongue over his sharp teeth “I wanna hear you beg amorcita,” 

Voe’s eyes roll so far back into her head that her pupils are invisible for a moment. “I don’t have to do shit, you’re not the boss of me,” He gives her a wild grin before he sinks his teeth into the supple flesh of her earlobe, traveling down her jawline, past her throat, and to her chest, leaving bites all along the path. He uses two of his arms to keep her back straight while Vox is still thrusting into her cunt.

“Isn’t she such a good fucking girl?” Velvette asks, running her hand down to Voe’s clit

“Yes, she is,” Vox grunts “She takes my cock so good,”

Voe closes her eyes to try and tune them out. Fuck them. She hated them. But it felt so good.

“Alastor,” Rosie starts slowly, knowing that the next thing that she says is going to be difficult for both of them “Do you want some advice?”

“Yes,” he mumbles into his elbow

Rosie sighs “Then I need to know how you feel,”

“I already told you I’m…heartbroken,”

“No,” Rosie corrected him “How do you feel about her?”

Alastor lifts his head up and stares at her “Well, I hardly see how that would help,”

“Okay. Alastor what are you upset about? The fact that this information about you has been revealed or that Voe did it?”

He stares at her blankly “I am certain that both things are upsetting to me,”

“Right, but normally, you would be angry. Which one has you crying?”

Alastor lowers his head back to the mattress after a moment of thought about the question “That she did it,” he mumbles

“Right, so for me to help you, I need to know how you feel about her.” Rosie leans forward “You must like her a lot!”

He raises an eyebrow “Why do you say that?”

“Alastor, I have never seen you sob in a ball in my house. Plus you told her all the things that you’ve only told me. You never let people in, especially not that fast, and you’re wearing her name on your body. This is no casual thing, you have never behaved like this before,”

“I must say I did have very strong feelings…now I’m not so sure,”

“Does that mean you don’t have any feelings for her?”

He breathes out “I don’t know anymore,”

“Oh Alastor, you need some time to think. Don’t make such rash decisions in this state,”

“I don’t know, I just don’t know,” he groans

Rosie cracks a smile “Is it possible that maybe she feels bad about it?”

Alastor looks at her like she’s insane “Am I supposed to immediately forgive her because she feels bad? Does that just make it all better?”

“Now I never said that,”

“Then what should I think Rosie?”

She shrugs “I don’t know,”

When Angel went to work, he went in searching for some sign of Voe, anything at all to know if she was alright. Once he was able to get away from Val, he snuck up to Velvette’s studio, getting a glimpse of the inside through the window on the door. She’s sitting on a chair with no expression, crossing her arms. Angel taps on the window hoping to get her attention. It takes about a minute for her to look up and acknowledge him. he gestures for her to meet him outside, she rolls her eyes and walks out the door.

“Hey,” Angel greets her awkwardly “What’s going on?”

She looks around “Nothing. Velvette is off doing business and I’m just sitting here because she doesn’t have anything for me to do,”

“But, how are you feeling? I know everything that went down was…pretty crazy. I- well we all wanted to know if you’re okay,” He shuffles on his feet

Voe purses her lip “All of you?”

“Yeah,”

She raises her eyebrow “Everyone?”

He nods “Yeah,”

“I highly doubt that,” 

“Well you wouldn’t know, you haven’t been there in a while,”

Voe just blinks

Angel sighs “Look, I’ll just go. I just wanted to see how you were.” He turns to go “Stop by the hotel anytime,”

“Angel,” she calls after him with no observable tone

“Yeah?” he responds quickly, hoping to get something that he can tell the others

She purses her lips and then speaks “Don’t come in tomorrow,”

He raises his eyebrow “What?”

“Do not come to work tomorrow. Even if you are called, do not come.”

“Why?”

“Just don’t,”

Angel looks around as the doe keeps the straightest of faces “Is that all?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s been two weeks and all you’ve said to me was a thumbs-up emoji! We’ve been worried sick about you!”

Voe blinks for longer than usual “Well you won’t have to worry for much longer,”

“Voe you’re scaring me,”

She gives him a small smile, her tone still unchanging “Don’t be scared, it will all be fine. Bye,” she waves and disappears into Velvette’s studio without another word.

“Do you believe in fate Alastor?”

He scoffs dismissively 

“I’m serious, do you?”

“No,”

“Well, I do, and I’m going to use fate to help you,” Rosie pulls out her smartphone that she very rarely uses “I’m doing this for you Alastor,” it takes her quite some time to unlock, and navigate the device but once she has she opens Sinstagram. “Look,”

Alastor lifts his head and gets irrationally annoyed “Rosie dear, why would I want to see that?!”

“I just want to show you something, listen to me,”

He does, with his eyebrows still furrowed

Rosie closes her eyes and states “If Voe is live right now, that means that she’s sorry about what she did, and you need to at least give her a chance to apologize,”

“Rosie…”

“No just wait, if I’m wrong then I’m wrong,” she scrolls through the feed for a few minutes coming upon Voe’s icon, blurred out and reading ‘LIVE’.

Alastor’s ears perk up and he leans in “How did you know that?”

“I didn’t,” Rosie gave him a smirk

“Do you know her schedule?”

Rosie raises her right hand “Alastor I swear to you that I haven’t used this thing in months. I had no idea. I’m telling you, this is fate,”

His ears twitch “Do another,”

Rosie gives him a soft smile “You do one. Let’s say, Voe cares about you, if…?” she looks to him for the condition

Alastor’s ears won’t stop moving, along with his twitching nose as he thinks. His grin grows wider as he thinks he’s finally stumped Rosie “How about if she’s wearing red?”

“Why red?”

He sits up further “It’s my color darling,”

“That’s my Alastor! Now how much red are we talking?’

“Any,”

“Okay!”

Alastor was certain that he had beaten Rosie at her own game, he knew that Voe only wore the color pink, so he knew that when Rosie pressed that live he would see…

“Now Voe, you haven’t done a live in a while. For you to remain marketable, you have to stay connected with the public. So tonight you’ll be doing one here in the studio. Alastor is trending right now, so Vox wants you to talk about him more,”

Voe long blinks “What more could he want me to say??”

“Maybe about what he’s like in bed or something,” The doll shrugs

Voe blushes and looks away “That’s private,”

“Yeah well, that’s showbiz,” she turns to walk away “Oh by the way, Vox wants you in blue,”

Voe is confused “Why blue?”

“That’s Vox’s signature color, so he wants you to wear it,”

She crosses her arms “Why is he acting like we’re dating all of a sudden?”

“Oh no he’s not, he just wants you to follow his rules. You know men.” she waves her off

“Yeah, but he’s talking about me wearing his name and now his color,”

Velvette is flippant “Eh. He says he had the outfit he wants you to wear sent to your room,”

Voe groans and turns away from her

“Don’t be all pouty, it’s just a live. You can even make things up, nobody will even know the difference,”

“I don’t want to talk about that!”

“Well you need to talk about something, it’s going on in 20,”

Voe is unnerved “20?!”

Vel nodded “20,” and walked away, staring down at her phone. Voe enters her room, seeing the dress Vox had picked out lying on the bed for her. Accompanying it is a typed note reading ‘Hope you have a good live cutie 😉. Welcome to the Vees’ and a box with a necklace that reads his name. She paused, this man was serious??

I am not wearing that. She tosses the necklace somewhere she can’t see and examines the dress, something feeling off about it. Everyone knew that pink was her signature color, which was fine before. Now he wanted her to match him. She held the dress against her body, unsure it would fit. Voe groans, blue just didn’t do it for her.

Voe slips on a red dress with lace trimmings around her neck, longer in the back than in the front and some red wrap-around pumps. She gives herself a once over, deciding that something is missing. She pulls out her gift from Alastor, watching it shine in the light. She fastens it around her neck and for the first time in two weeks, smiles. 

She stands her phone up on her tripod, setting it the perfect distance and starting the live from her Sinstagram with the entire studio to herself. She sits on a chair, her legs crossed, showcasing her shoes and her ankles. She sits in silence, waiting for the viewers to come in.

Of course, the questions come in immediately.

oh shit!!! where you been bitch?????

wat u been up 2?

u look sexy

bout 2 spill more ☕️??

wats gud bitch

“Hey guys, I know y’all haven’t seen me in a while. Sorry for the hiatus, I’ve been absent for a while trying to rethink and reevaluate things going on in my life. Who missed me?”

🙋🏽‍♀️🙋🏽‍♀️🙋🏽‍♀️

🙋🏽🙋🏽

🙋🏽‍♂️🙋🏽‍♂️🙋🏽‍♂️🙋🏽‍♂️🙋🏽‍♂️🙋🏽‍♂️🙋🏽‍♂️

🙌🏽🙌🏽🙌🏽🙌🏽🙌🏽

“I’m here to give everyone more information on Sinstagram’s #1 trending topic,” she spreads her arms “The Radio Demon,” she smirks

OH SHIT

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSSS

YAS QUEEN GIVE US THE TEA!!!11!!!!!!!!11

“I was instructed to talk about the time I spent with him and the things I’ve learned, you know besides all the shit Vox said on his late-night show,”

The Vees enter the studio together, shocked to see that Voe had already begun the live, and definitely shocked to see what she had on.

“Why is she wearing that? I told her what to wear!” he whispers to Velvette

Velvette shrugs “I don’t know, I told her what you wanted!”

Valentino puts two of his hands on his hips “Is it just me or does she look kind of sexy?”

Voe glances up over her phone, seeing the Overlords by the entrance, she smirks knowingly, putting a confused and frustrated expression on Vox’s face.

“And I will discuss it, but before we get to that I see that a lot of people are still asking me about becoming an Overlord,” her eyes scan the phone screen as Vox turns to Velvette in anger on the sidelines. Velvette shrugs, unaware of what is going on either. Voe stands slowly “As I was told earlier, there are two main ways of becoming an Overlord,” Vox begins to approach the doe “The first is obviously by collecting and owning souls, and the other is by” Vox reaches out his hand and places it on Voe’s shoulder as her eyebrows furrow. She lowers the pitch of her voice “Killing other Overlords,”

Voe grabs Vox’s wrist with both hands, swinging him around and launching him into the wall behind them. Valentino and Velvette’s jaws are on the floor, giving Voe time to transition into her much larger demon form. With full force, her dragon wings carry her headfirst into Valentino, her horns piercing his chest.

She pulls her horns out of the moth who doubles over in pain. Velvette takes off to protect herself. She returns to the camera with the Overlord’s blood dripping down her horns and head “For now, a few words about Vox!” she grins “You all know Vox, right?” She gestures to the TV demon in the corner, who is now struggling to stand after the pain and shock of being thrown “Vox is…” she purses her lips. “Immature, as I’ve been told. I mean clearly, you all don’t give a damn that he has cameras literally everywhere since he can’t control the narrative without knowing literally everything that’s going on all the time, but Vox!” she laughs and turns to him “You’re pathetic!”

Valentino sneaks up from behind, grabbing her with all of his arms. She struggles to get free, squirming and kicking when Val rips the skin off her shoulder with his teeth. Voe screams out in pain and yanks on one of the moth’s arms. He grabs her, lifting her up by her throat, squeezing tight. 

“Dumb bitch!” he snarls as Voe’s legs flail in the air and he reaches to pull her apart.

Voe yanks the arm holding her as hard as possible, ripping it clean off the moth’s body, more of his blood spilling all over the place as he falls backward. Voe lays on the ground, catching her breath and prying the fingers from around her throat.

“What was I saying?” she gasps, running over to stomp Valentino and yank off another of his arms “Oh right Vox.” she wipes hair from her face “Vox!” she catches the Overlord trying to flee. Superspeeding to his location she gives him one quick punch to the screen, leaving some broken glass lodged in her knuckles, and a forceful kick to his chest, launching him to the center of the room. “You’re the one who’s obsessed with someone who doesn’t even THINK about you! Like, how embarrassing! You even dress like him! I mean seriously, imitation is a form of flattery but this is just a fixation! You just hate Alastor because you’re the over-saturated remake and he’s the original that you wanna hate fuck. Yes, we ALL know about your body pillow Vox! Alastor had more talent and charm in his pinkie finger than you have on your entire screen! Ever wonder why he’s such huge competition when you have all these flashy visual gimmicks and all he has is his VOICE?! That should tell you something you piece of tangled-up HDMI cables!”

Voe stands over Vox with her foot pressed down on his ankle, hearing it break, and Vox bellows in pain. Blood dripped down her face, over her chin. She turns to the camera that’s surprisingly still standing.

“You know what? I miss my mom too. My mom, my dad, and my little sister!” She steps on Vox’s other ankle, her heel digging into his flesh. “Sometimes, I feel like shit as well, but then I remember that I’m…that…BITCH!!” she waves around Valentino’s detached arms

She hears a loud CRACK and feels a sharp pain in her leg, blood dripping down it as she collapses shrieking. Her hands tremble as she removes them from the wound, a massive amount of blood pouring out of her appendage. She looks up and sees Valentino, smoke wafting from one of his handguns, a giant smirk on his face. He fires again and hits her square in the arm, knocking her down again, her screams echoing throughout the building. She struggles to breathe as the pain takes over her entire body. 

“You know I’ve killed bitches for less than this!” Valentino sounds pissed and amused at the same time. He stalks over to her, ready to finish the job, Voe lifts her head off the ground and weakly spits out “Cheater,” 

Valentino shrugs “Cheater or not, I still win chica,” grinning as he cocks the gun ready to shoot. Voe blinks twice, mustering all the strength she has to inhale and let a ragged cry rip through her gut, an inferno erupting from behind her lips and launching at the large bug.

“AAAAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHH!” he screeches, falling backward, flailing and twitching as he burns, dropping the gun on the ground

Voe sits up and uses her wings to hover over the Overlord. She scoops up the gun and shoots him once in the torso “That’s for shooting me bitch,” then spits on him. He’s not dead quite yet, however. Voe returns to the camera, taking deep breaths between each phrase. “And just like I’m that bitch, Alastor is that dude, that guy! And I’m sorry…” she stares into the screen with genuine remorse “I’m sorry that I ever doubted it, and you know what if y’all ever doubt it…” her voice gets deep and gravelly “You’ll be sorry too,” She pushes a file cabinet at Val, who is trying to get up once more her “If he doesn’t make sure you’re sorry, I will,” she floats toward Val, who is pinned to the floor by the cabinet. Voe tries to pretend she’s not out of breath “Hey Val,” Voe gets up close and personal with the moth whose remaining arms are bound “This is for Angel.” and using her teeth, rips his head clean off his shoulders.

Voe hovers back in front of the phone, which is now stained with blood. She shows off her trophy to all of her fans, who are going crazy in the comments.

YOOOOO

THIS BITCH CRAZYYYYY

YO WTFFFF

IM SCARED FR

🫢🫢🫢🫢🫢🫢

IMMA BE SICK 😱😱😱

🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮

GET HIM VOE!!

HATE THOSE MOTHERFUCKERS!!!!

Voe catches her breath, her wounds still bleeding profusely and her body running on pure adrenaline. Her voice comes from the depths of her body and she screams 

“From this point on, when you see the letter ‘V’ you think of me! ‘V’ is for Voe; the fucking Billboard Doe!”

She approaches Vox, who is clinging to life with his broken and warped screen. She steps on his stomach, looking down at him with disgust.

“I gave you what you wanted,” he sputters out

Voe shrugs “Wasn’t worth what I lost,” her sharp nails pierce his flesh, as she rips his heart directly out of his chest. The TV Demon falls dead, his heart dripping in the Billboard Doe’s grip. She turns to the camera once more and says “It would be totally badass if I just took a bite of this, but I won’t because that would be gross,” she observes it more “Hmm, thought it would be blue,” and just drops it on the ground with a SPLAT.

She goes over to her phone and ends the live, sitting on the floor as her blood begins to pool. She tries wiping the blood stains off her phone, and smears it more, which frustrates her. She groans and limps into the room they had given her, into the bathroom. She wets some tissue and sits on the toilet to breathe. She gets her phone clean and searches the bathroom for first aid equipment. She uses tweezers to pull the bullets out of her wounds, then cleans them as best as possible. She wrapped the bullet wounds in gauze and slammed a large adhesive bandage over the bite. How many injuries did these bitches get during sex? She takes the time just to sit and take in her new situation, preferring to leave the blood on her, feeling kind of tough after that entire ordeal. She leans back on the wall when her ears twitch, she’s silent when the door outside of the bathroom creaks. Slowly standing, she leans out to see what made the noise, and Velvette launches herself at the doe with a dagger, knocking her back into the bathroom. She and her boss struggle, as the doll tries to stab the doe, the dagger shining in the light. Voe grabs the rubbing alcohol and throws it in her boss’s eyes, causing her to stumble backward, slipping on the blood and landing on her back.

Voe wrestles the dagger out of Vel’s hands and tries to subdue the doll.

“After all I’ve done for you! This is how you repay me?” she spits

“Done for me? You were using me the whole time! For influence, for sex, and revenge!”

“You got what you wanted, didn’t you? I’d say that’s a fair trade! Don’t act like you’re all innocent, you used Alastor the same way we used you. You belong here!”

Voe squints and punches Velvette square in the face “Difference is, I regret it,” she gets off the doll and starts to limp away, when the doll grabs her ankle making Voe fall on her face. She turns to make eye contact with the other demoness.

Velvette spits out a glob of blood, lifting her head as her arms struggle to keep herself up “You can’t kill me. The most you can do is defend yourself because no matter what you do, I still own you.” She smiles, a few of her teeth missing. 

At that exact moment, the air was filled with loud static, and the sky turned green. Both women look around in confusion before long black tentacles shoot through the windows enveloping everything. The building is then lifted off the very ground and tilted. Velvette grabs Voe’s hand as they both slide across the floor and out the window.

Once they’ve slid out the window, Voe uses her wings to keep them both from falling flat on the ground. Velvette grips her fingers as she dangles in the air, Voe takes a breath and is hit with a familiar and beautiful smell. She slowly turns and takes in the entire sight. Thick black tentacles wrap around the broken building, sliding and squirming. Her eyes trace them back to a giant version of a familiar red pinstripe suit, giant antlers, and radio-dial eyes.

Voe can barely see through the sting of the tears in her eyes “Alastor?” she calls out instinctively

He turns to her, dropping the building callously, “T̷̛̠̜̫̜̄͑͋̈ͅH̴̢̛͕̗̆̍͛I̶̺̞̱͒̃̉S̵͉̼̖̞̥̖̪͕̓̕̚̚ ̸͚̫͔͖̻͌̏̈I̶̤͗̂͛S̸̤̳̞͔̿̅͒͛ ̷̱̦̪̗̱̟͈͎̋̉́̈́́̽͆͝T̶̮͛̊͆H̶̛̥̮̼̥͕̞̽̍̑̌̇̽͐Ě̸͖̻̞̼̮̼̗̂͂͂̉͐̏̕ ̸̠̦̞̙̊͌̾̔̈́̈́ͅE̷̬̘͉͎͉̔̾̄̂̿̓N̸̤̈́͒̈́D̸̨̳̣̈́̎̕̚ ̸̪̙̗̬̲̭̆̃̌̎̉͝͝Ǒ̵͙F̵͙̙͍̰͈̿̋͂̀͗͒͝ ̵̧̪͔̭̯̫̙̗̀̚̕T̷̜̬́͌͝H̸͍̞͉̺̼͕̲̣͂̒͊͂̃̔͋E̸̟̟͙͕̣̭͓̋͌̔͝ ̷̖̮̟̆͒̈́͆V̴̞̥͓̻̮̙̦̼͘͘E̸͈̅̈́Ë̸̡͚̰̺̩́̀͌̒̈͝S̴̪̟̝̲̰̪̍̐͂͠!” the words filled every facet of the airways, through speakers, radios, cellphones, and televisions. His voice was heard by every soul in the pride ring.

Velvette slipped out of Voe’s grip and into the grip of one of the wriggling tentacles, where she came face-to-face with the giant wicked grin of the Radio Demon. 

“Alastor! Don’t kill her!” He stops in his pursuit, dangling Velvette over his open waiting jaw. The doll demon sweats and shivers in fear, but the Radio Demon does as he’s told “I can’t kill you, but he can. Now, you can either free me or die” She stares into the doll’s eyes “Which is it gonna be?”

“FUCK YOU!” Velvette 

Voe waves her off “Yeah yeah, been there done that. Now make a choice!” She shrugs “I win either way,”

“I GAVE YOU WHAT ASKED FOR! WHAT YOU WANTED!!”

“What I thought I wanted,”

Velvette flails, realizing there’s nowhere for her to go, with a defeated scowl she pulls out the signed contract and hands it to Alastor, as a last ‘fuck you’ to Voe, flipping her off in the process.

Voe claps and smiles “Okay great, go ahead Alastor,”

Velvette’s eyes shoot open “WAIT, WHAT? BUT I-!” her words are cut off as she’s swallowed by the Radio Demon, finally putting an end to the Vees and their reign of terror.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The walk back to the hotel was silent and awkward. When they walked in Charlie charged them with tears in her eyes.

“Oh my gosh, I was worried sick about you two! I saw everything online! Are you all okay?!” she pulls Voe into a tight hug

She recoils in pain “Ow!”

“Sorry sorry sorry!” Charlie notices the blood all over her “Oh my gosh are you okay?”

“Well, I’m starting to feel the pain the longer I stand here…and the more you touch me,”

Charlie pulls her hands back “Sorry!” she turns to Alastor, who stares down at her, and she stares up at him.

Alastor clears his throat “Charlie…”

“Alastor,” she adjusts her stance

“I owe you an apology. I am terribly sorry for overstepping and overriding your authority.”

Charlie tears up “Oh Alastor, are you apologizing?”

Alastor’s eyes dart around “Yes?”

“Oh Alastor!” Charlie walks toward him with her arms outstretched

“Charlie…Charlie-oh alright,” he stiffens when she embraces him “Charlie dear, your tears are getting on my coat,”

“Sorry,” she sobs. Charlie wipes her eyes “Oh! Welcome back!” She pulls out a golden bracelet and fastens it on Alastor’s wrist. It reads ‘It Starts With Sorry’. “I’m starting to give out rewards for milestones!”

“I’m also sorry, for not taking this seriously and for putting my desires over the…collective?” She thinks and decides that’s what she wants to say

“Apology accepted to you too!” She says to Voe

Voe holds her arm “Thanks,” and purses her lips. She walks up to Angel and waves

“Look who’s back,” he smirks

Voe pulls out his contract and holds it out for him to take.

“What’s this?”

She smiles “Your freedom,”

Angel takes the contract smiling and tears up. He hugs her tightly with all six arms.

“Ow,” she squeaks

“Sorry,”

“She was going to bring his head, but I talked her out of it,” Alastor mused behind them

“Thank you,”

“You’re welcome,”

Alastor places his hand on Voe’s shoulder “Come now, let’s get you cleaned up,”

After a long and warm bath, Voe sits on her knees in front of Alastor at his mercy. She sits with her palms on the floor and her eyes on her fingers. 

“I’m so sorry,” she speaks wistfully.

“Hmm?”

She doesn’t even look up to see his expression “I’m so sorry that I hurt you. I’m sorry that I took advantage of your kindness and used them for my own gain. For what it’s worth, the moment I truly knew you, I regretted it. I know it doesn’t mean anything, but I mean it,” She watches his shoes as he paces before her. Once his feet cease moving, the sweat begins rolling down her forehead. His hand approaches her face and lifts her chin to look him in his eyes.

“Stand up,” he orders and she does, his hand still on her chin “Watch me very closely.” She swallows heavily as Alastor pulls out the contract that states his new ownership of her soul. He doesn’t even bother to unravel it before throwing the paper in the fireplace. Voe blinks back tears as they both watch the paper burn into nothing but ash. She cannot stop the tears from flowing down her cheeks as she looks at the Overlord before her.

“But Alastor-“

“I may have spoken rashly while overcome with emotion. I took the time you were gone to reconsider my statements and where you stand in my….heart” He states, “You seem genuinely penitent of your actions and recognize them as the mistakes they were, and I came to this conclusion.” He turns to face her “You are flawed, and you are beautiful.”

“So does that mean I’m-?”

“Forgiven. Indeed it does.” Voe fought the urge to rush the red demon with physical affection, and as if he could read her mind he spoke again. “You may embrace me if you like.”

She rushes him with a hug that Alastor was only mildly prepared for, jerking at the amount of force his body was hit with. Once over the initial shock, however, Alastor dissipates his cane and wraps one of his arms around his doe, using the other hand to stroke her hair.

“Thank you,” she speaks into his chest, rubbing her face into it.

“You’re welcome. Did you mean those things you said to Vox about me?” She blushes and looks up at him with a shy smile, nodding. “Well, then you wouldn’t mind helping me clean up that fiasco you unwittingly caused. I do still have a reputation to uphold.”

“Um, okay. How?”

“Figure something out, my dear!”

She stops to think for a few moments, digging deep down into her brain “Maybe we could lean into it?”

“Explain.”

“Maybe…we could be a thing?”

Alastor raises his brow in confusion “I cannot court someone I am not in love with.”

“We wouldn’t be ‘dating’, we’d be…partners.”

“Partners?”

“Yeah, we’re closely involved with one another. But I wouldn’t be your ‘girlfriend’” She rolls her eyes at the thought. 

“What’s the difference between that and a friendship?”

“There are rules, or well commitments that each party has to follow up on to keep this a partnership. You can’t just go off all willy-nilly. Well I guess you can if you want to” she laughs “It can be as chaotic as you like.”

Alastor tilts his head “That sounds confusing.”

She doesn’t miss a beat with her mischievous smile “So are we.” Alastor takes a moment to consider her words “Listen we both know you have…feelings for me and I have…feelings for you. We might as well embrace the inevitable. It was bound to happen anyway. “

He stands in front of her thinking about it, debating on if this is good for him and his image. 

“To lay down some rules then.” He sits down and crosses his legs “From this moment forward, you are not to bless anyone else with your…company. “

“What? What am I supposed to do when it’s not mating season?” She stepped forward “I can’t just wait to have sex for a few months every year!”

“While I normally do not crave sexual intimacy, I am perfectly content with fulfilling your needs. Besides, there are other things outside of penetration, my dear.” His smile turns into a smirk

“Okay.. well what else?”

“You are allowed to continue to touch me..with the exchange of you no longer touching others.”

“In what way?”

“Intimately or sexually of course. I’m not a monster.”

She smirks back at him “Ha. You and I both know that you are.” She leans on the wall “Tell me the rest.”

“Only a few more.” He closes his eyes while gesturing with his hands “I will not engage in public displays of affection. And lastly, I do enjoy kissing you, so that will continue.” He lays his hands back down on his knees “That is all.”

Voe crosses her arms and shifts her weight to one side “Can I sit on your lap?”

“Yes.” He speaks factually while uncrossing his legs

She approaches and takes a seat on him. “Okay…so some rules for you..” she thinks “No calling me by my given name in front of people. When you speak to me, no radio filter, and take pictures with me. If I ask you to spend time with me, then you do. Lastly, I would like you to touch me more.”

“How would you like me to touch you?”

“Any way. Just not rough, keep that in the bedroom. I’m soft.” She places her hands on her stomach. 

Alastor uses his sharp fingers to climb up her back. “Is that all?” he asks, his voice devoid of filter

“Um, call me a good girl.”

Alastor chuckles deeply “You and I both know that you’re not,” grinning smugly

“Just call me one!”

“Fair enough.” He puts his hand on her shoulder and smiles, staring into her eyes. 

“No contracts?”

He breathes deeply “None.”

They look at each other with understanding, grabbing each other’s hands.��

“Deal.”

Alastor gently grabs Vera’s face and rubs his nose against hers, which she happily reciprocates.

THE END...

(just because! lol)

#headcanon #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin angel dust #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin oc #hazbin hotel fandom #alastor the radio demon #the radio demon #hazbin hotel oc #original character #black oc #alastor x oc #hazbin hotel fanfiction #radio demon #alastor #original female character #oc fanfiction #black protagonist #black writers #hazbin the vees #hazbin lucifer #hazbin velvette #hazbin vox #original character fanfic #I love these two so much #I ain’t done with them yet ;)

[callsign-joyride]

Fortnight | J.H.S

Summary: You realize that things with Jake aren't going to work out. Content Warnings: Angst (LOTS of it) Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x reader Lyric: "Thought of calling you, but you won't pick up. 'Nother fortnight lost in America." A note: I've been loving TTPD so I've decided to write fanfics inspired by the album! Each fic will be based on a different track/lyric, and they will all be about different characters! Some will be smutty, others not so much.

You thought that you were happy with Jake. Really, you did. Despite the fact that both of you were out of town, you had managed to stay together for almost a year and you were already moved in. You had met each other’s families a few times, and everything seemed to be going good. That was until you started to have work trip after work trip with your promotion, and he had what felt like back-to-back deployments.You only had two months and some weekends together out of the upcoming year, as far as both of you knew. 

It was starting to get to a point where you were considering leaving and moving back home. Maybe this wasn’t a lifestyle that you were cut out for. Penny would come by the apartment a few times a week when you were both gone to dust and make sure that nothing was stolen, but it wasn’t an ideal situation at all. You finally broke down and cried three months into Jake’s deployment.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore… I did the math and we’ll barely see each other over the next year. We both travel a lot for our jobs now, but I didn’t think it would be like this,” you said, over wine with your girl friends from work.

“Aw, hun, I know exactly how you feel. Things on your end should be calming down in the next few months. I wasn’t home much in my first year, either,” Estelle said.

“But that’s the thing, I don’t know if I can make it a few more months. I feel like I’m missing out on what the other couples are doing because my boyfriend is overseas doing God knows what and I’m always on another plane.”

“You should try to give him a call when you sober up. Tell him what you want.”

You finished your glass of wine and went back up to your hotel room. Calling him late at night would be too much work, and you were too tired to even try it. So, you tried to call him in the morning when you were feeling better, like Estelle said.

“Hey, this is Hangman. Leave a message.”

You sighed and heard the tone beep before taking a deep breath and taking a moment to think of what you were going to say.

“Hey, I really need to talk to you about something. It’s important. Call me back when you get the chance.”

He have good enough service to check his voicemails and text messages until it was around dinner time for you. And of course, his phone was barely working, so all he could get from the message was that it was from you and you were upst about something. 

“Rooster, man, I need to borrow your phone! My girl called, she was upset about something.”

“Alright, but make it quick. I told my wife I’d call her as soon as I got the chance.”

“Thanks, I owe you.”

Jake sat on his bed before he dialed your number. It was so relieving to hear your voice, and you didn’t sound so upset this time.

“Hello?” You asked.

“Hey, it’s me. My phone’s being a piece of shit right now so I only heard part of your message. Is everything okay?”

You sighed and sat on the hotel bed.

“No, actually. Jake, I’m sorry. I don’t know if I can make this work anymore.”

“What… What do you mean by that?”

“I love you, but I don’t know if all of the distance and us traveling all the time will work out. We’ll hardly be seeing each other at all this year, I did the math. And, you know, I thought being a Navy girlfriend would be easy, but that was before I got promoted. I know that none of this has been planned, but I’m traveling so much that I don’t know if this relationsip will work anymore.”

“Fuck, okay, well, maybe there’s something I can do, right?”

“I don’t want you to lose your job because of me, and I don’t wanna jinx it but, it seems like I’m the only reason you’d come home early, and there isn’t an emergency.”

“So, what’s next?”

“Well, I’m gonna start looking for places soon. There’s a chance I’ll be moved out by the time you get back. I’m really sorry, Jake. Truly.”

“I am, too.”

You weren’t in a rush to move out, but you did start to put non-essential things in boxes while you looked for apartments. There was a brief moment where you thought of moving back home to New Hampshire, but it wouldn’t really work out because of your job. Between traveling for work and awkwardly exchanging texts with Jake and the Dagger Squad, you were finally moved out after a month and a half. 

The last time that you saw Jake, it was when you met up to fill out paperwork to be removed from the lease. You still felt awful about everything. He’d try to call you over the next few months, but you never answered. You never read any of his texts, either.

“Hey! If you’re hearing this, I’m busy. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you!” 

He quickly got used to hearing your voicemail, and eventually stopped calling.

Taglist:

@littlebadariell @cycbaby @luckyladycreator2 @idontcare-11 @blue-aconite @maverick-wingman @shawty-fenty @littlemisstopgun @rosiahills22 @katieshook02 @justanothermagicalsara @caitsymichelle13 @smoothdogsgirl @adoringsebstan @cherrycola27 @alexxavicry @mrsjaderogers @mak-32 @thefandomimagines @tallrock35 @caatheeriinee07 @bradshawseresinbabe @atarmychick007 @3sriracha @genius2050 @halstead-severide-fan @withakindheartx @Lolliepops2501 @avengersfan25

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#hangman x reader #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #x reader #top gun maverick #reader insert #top gun #the tortured poets department #ttpd

[pansy-picnics]

I really want to say this somewhere but honestly, my favorite part of Varigo is that it can really go both ways.

Like they have that soft fluffy thing going for them with that first love energy and it’s absolutely adorable in whatever it’s done with. And very believable.

But then they can also have this side where these two hate each other, but they want to MAKE OUT SO BAD IT HURTS TO WATCH. Like major enemies to lovers vibes and it’s very believable.

Maybe it’s just because Hugo technically never existed but any dynamic that any fanfic or art gives them just MAKES SENCE TO ME.

they are enemies AND lovers……... it is the funniest thing to me tbh i cannot see them being super lovey-dovey all the time after they get together, like its not that they AREN’T sickeningly in love, it’s just that they can flip between that and calling each other ugly whores within 5 seconds and they’re completely unfazed. as funny as it is i personally think it’s because at their core they are both kids who were forced to grow up too fast, and they bring out each others inner child in a way…. cuz like, their rivalry/hatred for each other has never been, in any way, Reasonable or Mature

hugo was suspicious when they met, sure, but i don’t think thats really why varian disliked him- i think that’s just the reason he used to justify it in his head. Really he just thought hugo was cool as fuck and he was really mad about being outshined on HIS coming of age quest. like. HE’S the main character bro. Who does this blonde bitch think he is. Goddamn. /j

and….Hugo was the same way lol. like despite his awful circumstances and all the angst going on in his head he only initially antagonized varian because he was a 19 year old boy and wanted to look cool and act like he knew everything. THEIR WHOLE RIVALRY WAS SO CHILDISH! AND THATS WHATS SO SPECIAL ABOUT IT I FEEL CUZ….NEITHER OF THEM HAVE EVER REALLY HAD THAT BEFORE.

ITS EXACTLY WHAT YOU SAID!! it’s that they’re each others first love…but they are also simultaneously each other’s first best friend and also each other’s first Enemy. Neither of them have REALLY done any of that before like ever. varian had friends but he’s never had friends HIS AGE, yk? its completely new for both of them, each for separate reasons, and because of that they are both acting like stupid fucking 12 year olds about it.

even after they get together i think the core of their dynamic is that….they were kind of each other’s (incredibly belated) childhood best friend. and they will always be best friends first and foremost Yk? they bring out each others inner child. it’s why even when they’ve been married for 40 years they tease each other like theyre two middle schoolers fighting on the school bus over pokemon cards. its why they always know exactly how to make the other laugh or cheer them up after a long day. they know EXACTLY how to push each others buttons but they also know when is too far, which is why they can just say the most vile things to each other without even hesitating because they KNOW they don’t gaf. They share one braincell together but they’re also both genius mad scientists so they COULD take over the world together if they wanted to but they’re too busy playing jenga with glass beakers in their pajamas at 2 pm. Idk. They need to be shot.

#pansy rambling again #varigo #vat7k #varian and the seven kingdoms #varian and the 7 kingdoms #varian #hugo vat7k #hugo rottewange #tts headcanons #ask #tangled ask

[farfromstrange]

Do No Harm

CHAPTER TWELVE: Oh, Chaos!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: You have an eventful day at work rekindling with a new acquaintance and dealing with a peculiar trauma case, but the most prominent thing on your mind is dinner with Matt, and you could really use some advice from someone who knows a thing or two about dates to keep you from canceling.

Warnings for this chapter: slight angst, self-hatred/doubt, mentions of past abuse, mentions of injury

Word Count: 5.3k

A/n: I'm sorry this took so long. I took an unexpected hiatus, and I couldn't break out of the writer's block, so this took close to a month to finish. I read this a dozen times, and I fixed what I could. This is rather "boring" compared to what came before and what I've got planned, but there is plot in there that will become important again later down the line. Just so you know what you're getting yourself into in advance. 'Kay, thank you!

Read Chapter 12: Oh, Chaos! here on AO3

Four missed calls, and twenty text messages. The chat is full of one-sided advances. ‘Claire’ is written on top, but her contact resembles an empty void in contrast. 

I don’t know what I did to deserve this radio silence, but I thought you would like to know I asked Matt out again. I like him. We’re having dinner on Friday. Do with that as you will. 

Hope you’re not dead in a ditch somewhere. 

Call me when you can. Please. 

I’m worried about you. 

Love you. 

It has been like this since Matt called you when you least expected it. Whether he was looking for support, professional advice, or just the sound of your voice, you’re not sure, but it warmed your heart to know he thought of you and no one else, and he picked up the phone to call you. 

Before, you tried telling yourself that there isn’t much between you. You tried telling yourself that perhaps, it would never go anywhere and not to be disappointed because from the start, Matt has been too good to be true, but after sharing a glimpse of your past, you feel closer to him, and you don’t want to let him go. He is the first good thing that has come to you in years. 

Claire’s radio silence hurts. You don’t want to admit it, but sending text after text to your best friend and receiving not even a ‘read’ sign both concerns and upsets you. Ever since she took you under her wing when you came to New York, you’ve—sometimes involuntarily—shared your anger with her, your sadness, your pain, and those rare moments of happiness. 

She was the one who told you to go for it, so her behavior remains suspicious. You want to ask her; you want to confront her about everything and get the truth out of her, but unless she answers your contact attempts or shows up to work, there is not much you can do. You tried from the moment you got home to the second leading up to your next shift at the hospital. So far, nothing. A few days ago, you would have called the police and said that this was nothing like Claire, but now, you’re not so sure anymore what to believe, and it is pissing you off when you should be excited.

Things are looking up. You don’t want to look down and ruin this for yourself, knowing there is a chance your thoughts will most likely turn against you again at some point. You have to enjoy it while it lasts. 

Glancing down at your phone, you walk down one of the hallways at Metro General. You shake your head. It’s been hours. Perhaps after you get off work, you will head to where Claire is staying. Just to check on her. The nagging feeling that shit is about to hit the fan won’t leave you, and it seems like the right thing to do, even if just to ask her what her problem is. 

She’s always so quick to tell you what’s good for you. She gives you advice you never even asked for, but you end up appreciating it regardless. She knows what she’s doing, and she is a lot smarter than you are most of the time. You know her as well as you possibly can after two years; Claire is hiding something, and that is unlike her. If she gets herself in danger because of something she feels like she can’t talk to you about, or if she has an opinion afraid to share with you, you need to know because it is important to you. Your mind is disordered and distorted; you are well aware that sometimes, you don’t see things as clearly as you should. Claire’s rationality is a blessing and a curse. You’re dependent on it.

“Hey, Doc,” a familiar voice sounds from the nurse’s station.

You stop in your tracks, looking up from your phone to the man standing across from you. You haven’t seen that face in a while, even though he spends a lot of time here—almost as much as he does at work. You doubt he ever goes home to sleep. 

Your face lights up, and you stuff your phone back into the pocket of your coat. “Ben!” you exclaim, your lips curving into a smile. 

“Long time no see,” he says in an attempt to match your delighted reaction.

You hate to admit it, but Ben Urich looks worse for wear. Dark circles under his eyes match the deepened wrinkles of exhaustion, and his lips are cracked in more places than one. His shirt shows the slightest of coffee stains he tries to cover with his visitor badge. You doubt he has had the time to do his laundry in a long time. And there is that expression of agony he usually knows how to hide, but the walls he once built around himself are starting to crumble. 

The sympathy you have for this man cannot be put into words—because your feelings are unpleasant most of the time, too, and unless you have been in an impossible situation, all you can have is empathy. You, however, are not a stranger to despair, and the people around you all seem to be carrying too much of it, too. 

You clear your throat, putting the file in your hand aside to shake his. “How have you been?” you dare to ask. 

He shrugs. “Could be better, but… I’m alive. Healthy,” he says. It’s a modified standard answer you do not buy for even a second. 

Your eyes soften, but you try to keep the mood light. God knows what he has been through since the last time you saw him on this very floor. “Yeah? That’s good. The Bulletin still giving you a hard time about the things you want to write?” You chuckle. 

“Ah, you know how it is.” Ben leans against the counter. “Readers these days are apparently more interested in celebrity scandals and gentrification than true crime.”

The pen scratches against the chart you have to sign. “Well, just know that you will always have a loyal fan of your true crime section in me, and I would tell that to Eric’s face if you ever need me to.” You offer him a smile of pure honesty, and his eyes actually light up this time. 

He chuckles. “Can I quote you on that?”

“That depends. Am I getting paid?”

“I’m afraid the only form of payment I have is cheap office coffee.”

“You’re in luck then,” you say, “I am a sucker for cheap office coffee because it’s still better than cheap hospital coffee.”

His face contorts. “Yeah, I’m not going to argue with you on that,” he says. 

Again, you chuckle. The question rests on the tip of your tongue, but only when the silence stretches out painfully long enough to prompt a drop of sweat to run down his temple, you ask, “How’s your wife?” No pain or pity in your voice—you know he doesn’t need it. 

Ben swallows in response, scratching his fingers through his hair. “Uh, hanging in there. They told me she’s had a good day today. Lucid,” he tells you. 

“That sounds like progress. You know, with her condition, every good day is a success.”

“Yeah, yeah, I, uh… I agree. But… she’s not the only reason I’m here. Shelly called me here today to, uh, discuss my wife’s future at this hospital…”

The muscles in your shoulders tense and stiffen. You slowly lift your head. “Oh,” is all you can muster up to say. You know where this is going.

“Yeah,” he says. “I tried convincing her to keep her here a little while longer. But apparently, you guys can’t accommodate her much longer, and she wants me to look into hospice or some other form of long-term care.”

“I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s not your fault.”

But what else are you supposed to say? You clear your throat. “I, uh… Shelly’s under a lot of pressure, you know? We’re having funding issues in every department, and she is just trying to make due, but… I know your wife’s been here for a very long time, and she’s dependent on the care. Alzheimer’s can be incredibly cruel, and I’m sure hospice is a lot more expensive than what your insurance covers if she stays here, so it isn’t fair. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” says Ben. 

“Can I help in any way?” you ask. 

“Well, unless you can win the lottery or find a cure for Alzheimer’s in the next seven days, I’m afraid not.”

“Believe me, people are trying, but—”

“I know,” he cuts you off. “I still appreciate it. You’re one of the few doctors here who still care about the people.”

You shake your head, saying, “It’s not that easy. The system is rigged against us. We’re all aware of it, but some of us just… fall off the wagon because they think the only way through is to become what we hate the most. Selfish, egotistical money-makers always chasing recognition rather than caring about the patients we’re supposed to serve,” you explain. “These new fancy medical centers only those with millions in their bank accounts can afford are where all the funding goes, and those who cater to the underprivileged and uninsured—like us—have to suffer the consequences because we don’t chase after money. I would know; I did my residency at one of those hospitals, and I hated how some of these people treated their patients, so I always tried to use the resources we’ve got to help people, even those who couldn’t afford it. Of course, not all of my fellow residents stayed on that path with me. The more high-risk surgeries, the better the payout, even when unnecessary. Upcoding and needless tests were the standards we were held to. I’ve always hated that. Public hospitals are at the bottom of the food chain, and the patients end up pulling the short straw, but most doctors don’t start with the mindset that it’s just something we have to accept. That lethargy comes with time. And the system.”

“Kind of reminds me of that kook in the black mask,” Ben muses. “With his disbelief in the system and his…his twisted sense of justice.”

You scoff. “Well…”

Your mind flashes back to the other night in that alleyway. The way he interfered when he heard you in trouble. The cockiness he seemed to exceed, but it quickly vanished when he realized you may have risked your life to save someone else’s, but you were not going to leave another person injured. You don’t have a lot of trust in the justice system, but that man seemed… different; like the only way he could believe in justice is when he does something against the persistent injustice that so many turn a blind eye to. 

But it’s not just Hell’s Kitchen, which the Man In Black seems to gracefully ignore. He does what he needs to where he thinks he has to, but it is not just the system in his beloved city that is wired against the people it is supposed to protect and serve. It’s not just the justice system or society overall, it’s the government, too. And you truly believe he knows that, too, he simply does not have the manpower to fight all battles at once. No one has. 

Ben eyes you curiously, up and down. “What, you don’t agree?” he asks. 

You sigh. “I don’t think he has a twisted sense of justice, no.”

“Why? You met him?”

Saying yes would make you an accessory to his crimes. “I’ve heard the same things you have, Ben, and I think he really is trying to change something,” you answer instead. 

You find a sudden determination in his eyes as he leans closer. “You treat his victims, right? You’ve seen what he can do with his bare hands. Taking out entire syndicates that have been bothering Hell’s Kitchen for decades, going up against bad seeds and corporations, and he never backs down,” he says. 

“If you’re trying to say it’s a bad thing…” You trail off. 

“I think it’s a grey area. A fine line.”

“Well, as fine as that line may be, I don’t feel as much empathy for the people he puts in here because I’ve seen what they can do just a few blocks from here,” you state and close the chart in front of you on the counter. “I had to watch lives and families get destroyed. The ones responsible for serving justice either didn’t have the evidence, or they were too late, or the only witnesses died on my table, or—and that happens quite frequently, too—they just didn’t care,” you say. “The times I watched them make arrests, the legal system ended up failing the victims anyway. Now, I’m not saying I condone violence, but this city needs help. Depending on the area, police sometimes don’t even bother to check, and that pisses me off because a lot of the time, tragedies could have been prevented if first responders just got there on time. Or if the perpetrators involved in a crime suffered the consequences for their actions instead of bailing out the same day on a domestic violence charge. I know that the police can't be everywhere at once, but… A lot of people feel safer with this guy out there because they know he tries.”

Ben desperately scribbles along on a small notepad you’re not sure where he got it from. He’s not even wearing a coat. 

“It’s like David and Goliath,” you tell him, too animated to pay closer attention to your surroundings. “It’s a contest wherein a smaller, weaker opponent faces a much bigger and stronger adversary. I just… I don’t know. In this city, there are a lot of metaphorically weak individuals who don’t have the means to fight back against the big guy. Like I said, a system rigged against its people does not help the people live a safe and happy life in a city that makes them feel like all their advances are futile.”

“That’s excellent,” he murmurs.

You glimpse down at his hand, frowning. “It’s just my opinion.”

“There’s nothing ‘just’ about it. I know a lot of people feel the way you do, and yes, that’s fucked up. But that’s why we need people like you to speak up. People with more influence than the little guy. People who serve the people.”

“Ben,” you try to get a word in.

“Hear me out,” he says. “If I can get Eric to sign off on it, I want to write a think piece for the public. About the man in the mask. About Hell’s Kitchen and New York, and the things no one likes to talk about. And I’d like to get you on the record.”

“With all due respect—and I do love the concept—I don’t think interviewing me would be such a good idea.”

“Why not?”

Your pulse has inevitably gotten higher. Because if my ex finds out where I am, he’ll kill me. The thought screams like a banshee, echoing like the trajectory of a bouncing basketball. It takes you a moment to realize that the thudding is your heart. Dull, aching, and infused with a panic as old as time. 

You squeeze the pen in your fist, feeling the plastic crack under the weight. “I can’t have my name or face on the record,” you confess. “It’s a, uh… protection thing.”

The most human thing to ask would be, ‘Protection from what?’ You don’t have to read minds to know that those are the words forming on Ben’s lips the second you offer him an explanation that is not quite the truth. It couldn’t be further from it, but your truth is a tank and tanks can take down everything in their path without suffering as much as a scratch. 

You take the stage before he can ask—before you can ride yourself further into this pile of dirt and lies. “I treat people for a living, and my opinions out there… I need to protect myself if someone ever wants to file a lawsuit against me for prejudicial behavior because they could easily use an interview I gave as evidence,” you say. “I could lose my license.” Your license, and your life. 

He releases a strangled breath. “Yeah, no. Of course,” Ben says. “I knew that. But I could always refer to my source as anonymous. Most of the time, people don’t care about who said what anyway. They just want something to talk about.”

You want to scream. The alarm is blaring loud enough for the nerves in your body to hear it. The rage is so hard to swallow. Not at him though. It isn’t Ben’s fault that even now, you have to live your life as if it was never yours to begin with.

“But,” he adds upon seeing the look on your face, like a deer in bright headlights, “unless a certain Man in Black decides to leave another stranded criminal on my doorstep, Eric will never sign off on it. I’m sorry,” the exasperation in his voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard. “I didn’t mean to jump this at you. I know you have more…important things to do than worry about an old journalist who knows damn well his best days are behind him.” 

The shake of your head follows in an instant. His confidence lies drowned in the invisible puddle at your feet. “You don’t always have to go with the flow of time,” you tell him. “If you want to write something, you should. People’s tastes change, but there will always be someone out there who wants to read what you have to say.”

Ben smiles at you. “Does that mean you’ll think about my offer?” he asks.

You return the gesture. “When I’ve done my important things, maybe I will.”

And chances are, you will think about it. You will think about it, and then you will cry over a bottle of wine and wish you were never born or that, once again, he killed you when he had the chance. You will wish that you didn’t run, and you will curse John and your entire existence to hell and back because without him, you wouldn’t have to guard your heart like a maximum-security prison, and you wouldn’t have to hide who you are like a secret from Pandora’s box. In the end, though, you know you will have to decide if he doesn’t forget what he offered you—and knowing Ben Urich, when he is allowed to write about what he wants, he won’t forget the sources he tried to recruit along the way. 

You look up suddenly when the sirens start blaring above your head. 

Attention all staff, Code Red, Emergency Department. Code Red, Emergency Department. Trauma team to the Emergency Department immediately.

“That sounds bad,” Ben comments. 

You turn back to him, but before you can open your mouth and excuse yourself from the conversation (and your internal self-hatred party), one of the nurses behind the counter picks up the phone with a knowing nod. A second passes and all color fades from her skin before her features contort. “I’m sorry, what?!” she damn-near screeches.

You frown back at her. “Hey, Evie,” — you snap your fingers — “What’s going on?”

She moves the speaker away from her lips. “Um,” she stammers. “Have you ever seen Texas Chainsaw Massacre?”

“Oh, my God.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s 11 am!” you say, your eyes darting between her and the wall as if that would change anything.

Ben cuts in, “That doesn’t mean much in a city that never sleeps,” he says. “People are always crazy ‘round here.”

You scoff. “Apparently! I’m so sorry, but I’ve gotta–”

“Yeah, no. I know.” He nods, his eyes softening in an instant. “Go!”

With a grateful nod, you leave your work on the counter and head into a sprint down the hall. 

A life-saving surgery can take up to several hours. There really is no margin for error, so you tune out the noise of the world outside and focus on the chaos you have to control. You focus on what you know and what you have learned because if you don’t, the person you are cutting into with a scalpel could die at your very touch. For those few critical hours, you are nothing but a doctor, but the world doesn’t stop or disappear in real life when you cease to exist; when you come back after those few hours, the world is still falling apart, and you still have to go back home and face the reality you are forced to live in. But how can you think that when people are fighting for their lives every day before your eyes; when you can try as hard as you want to help them, but you fail more often than you do not? Mental scars often out-rule the physical scars of a trauma patient, and whenever you tell them it gets better, you feel like you are lying to them. Because it never gets better, it feels like.

People are dying and falling apart, and so are you, and it hurts that nothing ever seems to change, not even when you try to tell yourself that people are dependent on you and that your world can’t stop again because this is your job; you signed up for this. But you didn’t sign up for this kind of life. You fell in with the wrong person, craving a love like in the fairytales you used to read as a little girl. You missed the feeling of being loved because the people who were supposed to love you died and fell apart, and you were left fantasizing. It’s a downright mess in your head and everywhere around you, and you are continuously stumbling over the broken glass on your floor, falling into the shards and cutting yourself over and over again until you’re bleeding out but never fully dead. 

You spend the next six hours in the operating room, forgetting about Matt and the implications of your dinner. The one you asked him out to. You forget about Ben and his offer, and you think finally, finally, you can breathe. Human anatomy isn’t quite as complicated as this. The one thing you have been worrying most about, the person who has occupied your every waking thought for days now, fades into the shadows for a little while, but then you’re threading the needle through the skin of the man whose life you have saved, and your second to breathe turns into a riot.

Ben’s words return to your conscience; the masked individual he seems most fascinated with moves to the forefront of your fragile mind. He is all over you again, and it sends a thrill down your spine that positively terrifies you; it terrifies you that it doesn’t terrify you. He shouldn’t matter, and you shouldn’t lose another thought to him, but Ben Urich knows how to cast out a net to catch even the most unlikely adversary. 

You redial the last number on your phone. Standing in the emergency room that has grown quiet for the afternoon, you feel the weight of the world sinking back in. The clock keeps ticking closer to the end of your shift and inevitably, dinner. Forgetting is a blessing until you realize that thinking about it would have prepared you more, and now you barely have time. 

You want to cancel. You should cancel. Claire has not been picking up, and you’re worried about her. But she’s an adult, isn’t she? She pushed you into doing this, and then she bailed. A good friend would at least give you a reason for her change of mind. She hasn’t said a word because she refuses to answer, and it’s starting to leave a bitter taste in your mouth. 

“This is Claire. Leave a message,” her voicemail greets you. 

You sigh. “Hey, I don’t know why you refuse to pick up my calls, but I could use your help. I’m, uh, freaking out about this stupid dinner that wouldn’t be happening if it wasn’t for what you said, so the least you could do is call me back and help me pick a dress, maybe talk me off the ledge,” you say. Your voice cracks. “Please, Claire, call me back.” 

The silence is defeating. You put your phone down, staring at the paperwork before you. You have a lot more of that in your office, but you can’t be bothered to be entirely alone right now. Not when you are fighting a war with yourself inside your head. The one soldier you thought you could count on has retreated from the frontlines. 

You look up when your peripheral vision picks up on movement. “Trouble?” one of the nurses asks, motioning to your face.

“Depends on the definition,” you say.

“Hit me with it. Maybe I can help.”

You couldn’t shut up even if you wanted to. “Well… Do you know anything about proper date attire?” 

She grins, dropping whatever she was holding before to turn her undivided attention to you. “A date?” she asks. “Well, well, Doc. Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Oh, just… a guy I met. A good guy.” You smile sadly at the thought of those beautiful brown eyes, and the green forest that he hides in his irises whenever the light hits his beautiful face just right. The wrinkles, the dimples, and the faint freckles on his nose, too. He is so beautiful. 

She leans forward on her elbows on the counter of the nurse’s station. “The good guy who left your number here the other day?” 

You raise your eyebrows, flabbergasted. “Wh—” The blood rushes to your face, and you suddenly feel very warm as you gape at her. “Does everyone here know about that?” you ask, your voice bothered on a high-pitched siren of embarrassment. 

The nurse only smirks. “He is very handsome,” she states. “It’s hard to forget a face like that. And he’s come here twice. One of those times he sat by your bedside. Now, I don’t know about you, but I would marry a guy like that in a heartbeat. Bodies in the basement included.”

You hope he doesn’t have bodies in his basement. What if he does though? What if he is just another bad choice waiting to be made? What then? You can’t imagine it, and the things you’re feeling… you have only felt them in your mind because nothing you had was ever real, but you love feeling them now more than you thought possible. It’s the fact that you love that treacherous feeling so much that you feel like you’re not thinking clearly enough to make rational decisions. But you don’t want to make rational decisions, you’ve realized. Life shouldn’t be about that. You can’t turn the voice in your head off and make it stop screaming at you, but you know how to feel. If you only knew how to channel that without falling apart at the hands of your self-doubts though. If only you knew. 

You run a wary hand over your face. “Okay,” you murmur, closing your chart so you can look at your colleague. “Claire isn’t answering her phone and this date… it’s freaking me out. She said I had to get back out there, but she bailed on me,” you tell her. “I don’t know what to wear or how to behave because the place we’re going to is… fancy? And I don’t even know how to pay for it. I… I don’t know if I should go because the last time I was on a date… let’s just say it didn’t end well. So, if you could just tell me that this is a bad idea and I should take on a second shift instead so I won’t feel bad about lying to him, I would be forever in your debt.”

She shakes her head, not having missed a second of your rambling. “Oh, hell no!” she exclaims. 

You match her incredulity, propping your hands up on your hips. “Excuse me?” you ask.

Her head stops, and the way she stands there reminds you of your English teacher from high school. Tall, brunette, and sassy. “You are not bailing on that date like Claire bailed on you just because you’re experiencing anxiety,” the nurse tells you. She’s insistent. You doubt you will get a word in that isn’t an utterance of agreement. 

“You don’t understand,” you try to convince her, or are you trying to convince yourself? “I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can.”

“Did you miss the part where I said my last date ended in disaster?”

“So what? I’ve had a lot of disastrous dates.”

“That’s not…ugh!” It is your turn to shake your head, looking at the sterile wall as though it were a screen. 

A life built on a lie is not much of a life at all. You have as good a reason as anyone to bail on this date, and it’s not just a disastrous date. You didn’t pick the wrong guy off of Hinge and fall in love with him. What happened to you was different on a level you can’t easily describe, but it also shouldn’t define you; she’s right. Your insecurities are going to be the death of you one day.

“Let me ask you this,” she says. “Do you like him? Or do you just think he’s a really good guy because he was nice to you?”

Your jaw slacks. The Audacity. “I… I think he’s a great guy. Nice. Forthcoming. That’s all,” you answer. It’s not a lie, but it is not the full truth she wanted to hear.

“Uh-huh. I may not be a human polygraph, but I can smell a lie from miles away like a bloodhound. And you, Doctor, are lying and therefore interfering with your treatment.”

“I’m not a patient.”

“Are you though?”

You sigh. You should not have confided in her, but also, perhaps it was the best choice you could have made. 

“I like him,” you confess upon looking into her eyes. “Okay? I like him. He’s not just a good guy. He’s… different, and that’s why I like him.”

She stands up straighter, a newfound energy filling her veins. “That’s more like it. Now, let’s forget the whole ‘canceling and using work as an excuse’ thing. What’s the vibe?” she asks.

The change of subject throws you off for a second. You’re walking on eggshells, fragile train tracks you could fall off and electrocute yourself with if you only take one wrong step. But that doesn’t mean you can’t take risks. 

“Fancy-ish,” you answer. You don’t have any strength left to fight. “I don’t know. It’s dinner.”

“Dinner’s romantic. Put on a silk or velvet dress because those are the fabrics with less risk of becoming a sensory nightmare, possibly some jewelry, but you don’t need much more than that. He’ll fall in love with your personality first. The rest is just… for your confidence and his imagination.”

She looks so proud of herself. You can’t deny that it’s good advice. It’s not the sound of your voice filling a voicemail to the brim or a solely blue chat history; it’s something you can work with. 

You nod slowly. “If I didn’t have mountains of paperwork waiting for me, I would kiss you,” you say.

With a chuckle, she retorts, “Save that for your date.”

“I’m not kissing him.” You grab your pile of work. “It’s just dinner. I don’t even want to kiss him.”

On your way to the elevators, you catch a glimpse of her smirk. She’s not buying it. You don’t want her to. You don’t even trust yourself to tell the truth.

“I don’t,” you say, loud enough for her to hear but mostly to yourself. “I don’t want to kiss him,” you repeat because you don’t.

You don’t want to kiss Matt Murdock.

Except that you do, and you would do anything to make that happen—if your world wasn’t so unfair to begin with. 

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @thatonegamefish @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @danzer8705 @kakamixo @littlehappyperson @atemydadforbreakfast @stevenknightmarc @zheezs14 @shouldbestudying41 @kiwwia-wiwwia @writtenbyred @echo-ethe @kezibear @peterbarnes

#matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fluff #daredevil x reader #charlie cox #reader insert #doctor!reader #do no harm

[redhoodinternaldialectical]

🖤 + ship of your choice?

kissing while crying / goodbye kiss / desperation

I keep thinking "I'm so bad at writing angst and anything upsetting, I hate leaving my stories as anything but lighthearted :/" but then I consistently end up writing angst into everything, including fic chapters that are supposed to be comedic and fluffy so uhhhh lets see how I do when deliberately going for emotional devastation :D !

And since I've been thinking about it lately we'll go with a premise of:

A Jason who knows he's come back from death many times but has no guarantee he'll come back from death again volunteering for a suicide mission and Tim knowing this might be his last chance to confess

There's nothing graphic, but this is all hurt no comfort, angsty as fuck sad shit with an ending that leaves it ambiguous as to whether or not this death sticks. Hope y'all enjoy!

Jason states in a flat, calm tone, "It needs to be me."

They all turn to look at him, their bodies backlit by the glow of the reactor's slowly worsening meltdown.

"What the hell are you talking about," Dick asks, while Tim's blood turns to ice in his veins.

"I didn't survive that plane crash into the meteor. I didn't survive that fall into the ocean. I didn't survive the warehouse. I've been killed over and over and come back from it every time, so if one of us has to die tonight it needs to be me."

"A terrible argument," Damian declares resolutely, standing firm despite his trembling, "We have no reason to suspect that those instances were anything other than circumstance. Random chance and dumb luck runs out. What we need is certainty, and... and Father would bring me back again. We all know it. I can take it."

"I did not come back just to throw another kid to their death! Maybe when you're gnarled and grey and about three hundred years too old to live without a lazarus pit we can talk, but until then I am not about to let you die in my stead."

Damian backs down quietly. He looks relieved, and guilty.

"Then let me do it," Tim demands, trying and failing to sound light and fearless, "Everyone else has had a turn with death, seems a little unfair doesn't it? Hogging all the afterlife experiences for yourselves?"

Jason says with quiet vehemence, "If that's how fairness works, then I will be as brutally unfair to you as I can be."

A long silence stretches between them as they stare each other down. Tim fights to keep the lump in his throat from spilling out into tears and Jason struggles between the need to see himself grieved and the yearning to comfort him and make this all easier somehow.

Finally Dick breaks the silence, "What would you like us to do for your funeral this time?"

"I want to be cremated on the bank of the Ganges with proper rites. Mild preference for a Shaivite or Shakta sect, but I'm not really picky."

And that was it. His fate was sealed.

"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""

Tim grabs his hand before he can step into the airlock leading to the reactor's emergency maintenance tunnels.

Jason glares at him, "You aren't stoppin-"

"I know!" Tim lowers his voice to a whisper, "I know..."

"Then what...?"

"I'm sorry if this isn't anything you want, but I can't let you go without saying it. I- I love you. I'm in love with you."

He looks stunned, shocked, almost hurt. Then he kisses Tim fiercely, pressing every bit of affection he can into him with the slim moments they have left. Salt stings their dry lips and they cling to each other with vain desperation until their arms ache.

When he finally pulls back Jason roughly scrubs the tears from his eyes, "Fucking cruel of you to give a dying man something to live for."

"Promise me, please, if you can, if you get a choice, if you're at all able to, please promise me you'll come back?"

"No. I love you more than bread and wine, but my death is mine and I utterly refuse to allow your feelings or anyone else's to sway me in this. However..." Jason's voice grows soft, and he lifts Tim's hand to tenderly kiss at his palm and wrist, "If I am brought back? I swear that it will be you I come back to. I swear that I will give you my heart and everything else you ask of me; this will be the only thing I ever deny you."

Tim grips him tight, squeezing his eyes shut, tears and sweat rolling down his cheeks as the reactor burns itself ever hotter. Then he shoves Jason away, into the airlock chamber.

"I hope it's quick," He knows it won't be, "I hope it doesn't hurt," He knows it will, "I hope you get what's best for you," Just as long as it's not the end you want.

"Goodbye Tim. I love you."

"I love you too. So, so much..."

The blast door swings shut between them.

#jaytim #jason todd #tim drake #damian's tomfoolery #thank you for the ask :3 #I hope you enjoy the angst! #featuring my headcanon Hindu Jason #also I should probably actually content warning tag this for #suicide #like it's fictional and non-graphic but still #as with the other one I'll also upload this to AO3 #sorry this took so long lol

[kory-dany]

I have seen a couple posts defending Dick's response of 'I don't know' and his reasons for not telling Kory about his vision. I completely agree with all of those posts. However, I am posting this to highlight Kory's reaction and why I believe the dickkory scene in 4x06 might be one of her most vulnerable.

I disagree with people who don't like the scene. I think it represents dickkory really well and demonstrates this frustrating, at times, dynamic they've had since season 1.

Kory has always been the more emotionally intelligent one between them both. However, I think there are two topics Kory finds hard to talk about and deal with in her usual straightforward way; her powers and her relationship with Dick.

In season 1, Kory made it her mission to get Dick to open up to her. Partially for her own amusement and partly because she was curious about him. She has never been afraid to call him out on his shit and push him to recognise his emotions. In a way, she has been this emotional beacon for Dick since the beginning. However, Kory only ever guides Dick when the feelings he is figuring out are about himself, his past, or whatever trouble the team is in. She has never tried to push him to express how he feels about them as something more.

I think this is because even though Kory is strong and self-assured, just like Dick clearly has these insecurities about whether Kory would even want to try again. So too, Kory is scared about whether he wants a romantic future with her. And if I am being honest, I can't blame her. So many people don't recognise just how much bullshit Kory has had to put up with because she cares about Dick.

I am not blaming Dick for the state of their relationship; they've had so much to deal with, and I understand why neither of them has tried to pursue anything. However, Kory has had to deal with Richard's dismissiveness in Gotham, his regression into his past self, and his rekindling with Barbra. With everything Kory had to witness in Gotham, it's fair to say that she probably lost some hope of them rekindling.

But now, fast forward to season 4, Dick is better. He is more involved with the team, attentive, and co-leading with Kory. He's a better Dick than when he was in Gotham. However, He is still hardheaded Dick Grayson, and even after everything, he still doesn't "believe" in prophecies, visions, and destiny.

All things Kory does believe. But now imagine being Kory and listening to Dick continuously go on about how none of it is real. How all of it is bullshit and how they shouldn't take the book and everything else seriously. Only for her to have a vision, a vision of their future, a vision Zadira is saying is her destiny. Any hope Kory might have lost came back at that moment because she does believe, no matter Dick's cynicism. And because it is a future that she knows deep down, she wants.

But then Rachel tells her that Dick also had the same vision, that he also saw their little girl. This whole situation isn't heartbreaking for Kory just because he didn't tell her. It's painful because she has had to listen to Dick dismiss any chance of visions and destiny being real all week. But now she knows he has been saying all of this after experiencing and seeing the same thing she did.

Now onto the conversation they had this episode. I don't think Kory wanted to speak to Dick; like I stated earlier, how Kory handles her relationship with Dick differs significantly from how she handles other aspects of her life. I think some of the reasons why Kory hasn't initiated a conversation with Dick about them and the status of their relationship is that she doesn't want to push him when he's not ready. Additionally, I think she wants him to do it. She doesn't want to be his emotional guide when it comes to them; I think she wants to be fought for and chosen.

But she had to initiate the conversation this episode because if she didn't, Richard never would. Although he is far better than season 3 Dick, he is still emotionally constipated and scared of what it all means. However, how the conversation goes fits them very well. Kory doesn't go in with an antagonistic attitude (not that I expected her to), nor does she actually express her thoughts on it. Although she initiated the conversation, she seemed to want Dick to lead it (again, she is guiding him). Even during their discussion, Dick dismisses destiny. And where most people would probably feel defeated by this continuous dismissal and not say anything. Kory still tells dick about her vision of Mar'i. I think she still decided to tell him because she is an optimist, and I think she still had hope that no matter his beliefs in destiny, Dick believes in their vision and that he possibly wants it.

However, Dick doesn't react the way she wants him to. Even though his response might be honest, it reaffirms why she never wanted to be the one who started a discussion like this. (This discussion about Mar'i is more than just 'oh, we had a shared vision.' It is literally everything they have been avoiding bubbling over). I think to Kory; Dick's response, coupled with him saying destiny isn't real, is the final thing that makes her give up. This is why she finished the conversation spitting his words back in his face. I think unintentionally, Dick confirms to Kory that he doesn't want them to try again.

This scene is heartbreaking because Kory doesn't precisely speak her mind on the situation. But it is so evident that she is asking Dick to reassure her, to tell her that this thing she has been sitting patiently for (the two of them together) will happen. That he wants it to happen. This is one of the most vulnerable scenes she has had. And even though the scene isn't that long and the dialogue isn't that heavy, it says and expresses so much. This is why I can't understand the dislike for this scene; within such a short conversation, both Dick and Kory are emotionally exposed to each other and to us; Kory is left seeing Dicks shame and uncertainty. While Dick has to witness Kory's anger and hurt.

#titans #kory anders #dick grayson #dickkory #this is so unnecessarily long #but I had so many thoughts about the scene #and just how brilliantly it showcased korys emotions #this scene remind us that kory is human #that dick isn’t the only one who’s scared #it reminded us that dick does love kory #this scene in my opinion was perfect #the acting was brilliant #and the angst it has give us is everything