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absoloutenonsense · 6 months

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Coming October 31st…

When the Trouble Comes by nonsensedarling

Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson | 80k | Explicit

Official fic post is HERE.

The Queens Trafficking case is the biggest one of Louis’ FBI career so far; eleven reported missing girls all disappeared under a similar set of circumstances. Louis has done everything he can to try and solve this case over the last nine months... while also absolutely ruining his marriage. Harry has been co-host of Banter at Breakfast for five years now and finally has the opportunity to create his own radio show with the network. Unfortunately, it comes at a time where Harry's thoughts are consumed with his impending divorce from his (caring, loving, infuriatingly thoughtful) husband of eight years. Harry and Louis have both been willing to lose themselves in their work… but are they willing to lose each other?

Or a story of (almost) exes-to-lovers.

Chapters will post on Tuesdays of each week, starting on October 31st (20 chapters in total).

(If you would like to be notified by email when it starts posting, you can subscribe here.)

Snippet under the cut:

💼🍷

With a copy of the case file in his backpack, Louis sticks his key in the door, unlocks it, and steps inside, trying to be as quiet as he can because he knows at this time of night, Harry will definitely be asleep.

Except when he shuts the door, he sees the living room light bleeding out into the hallway, a shadow moving back and forth. There’s the sound of footsteps – lots of them, very quickly. Louis stares at the light and for a brief moment panics that he’s walked into their apartment to find Harry with someone else.

He hears light murmurs. Louis leans forward, feet frozen but his ears straining, until he recognizes the murmurs as Harry singing. Louis sighs in relief. Harry isn’t with someone else. He’s singing and probably dancing in the living room, maybe with his headphones in, which is why he hasn’t stopped or popped his head out between the doorframe when Louis opened the door.

Louis isn’t going to look in. He’s going to walk right past the doorway and head straight to the guest bedroom and review the file again, and then go to sleep so he can meet Perrie early in the morning.

He isn’t going to look in.

He really doesn’t mean to look in. A motion pulls his attention in his peripheral vision and his head turns without him realizing it, then his whole body stops moving.

Harry is dancing, wireless earbuds in and a glass of deep red wine in his right hand. There’s a pink tint to his cheeks, which tells Louis that the one in his hand is at least his third. He’s wearing just his boxer briefs and one of Louis’ hoodies.

Well, it was technically Harry’s hoodie originally. It’s heather grey, worn in to just the perfect amount of softness with a faded Greenbay Packers logo on the front. The first time Louis stayed over at Harry’s, he got cold just before they were going to bed. Harry took the sweatshirt from where it was draped over the top of the closet door and passed it to him.

When Louis pulled it on… he can’t really explain it, but there, in Harry’s dreadfully small room in his four-roommate apartment, wearing a hoodie that smelled exactly like him (like he’d been wearing it all day, soaked in the scent of his shampoo and body lotion and fabric softener)... Louis had the same feeling he got when he first visited New York when he was a kid. Like he was home. Harry had agreed. “Looks better on you then it ever has on me,” he’d said with a smirk. And from then on, it was Louis’ hoodie. Harry never tried to take it back.

So the fact that his husband is wearing it now makes Louis feel all sorts of things. Before he has even a second to figure out what any one of them is, Harry opens his eyes.

“Shit fucking Christ,” he exclaims, opening his hand automatically. It’s like Louis watches in slow motion as the glass falls and breaks, shattering in so many different directions. He pulls his earbuds out quickly. “Hell, Louis, you scared the shit out of me!” he scolds.

Harry rises up onto his tiptoes, and Louis’ hand immediately goes out in front of him in a stop gesture.

“Don’t, don’t move,” Louis says. “Stay there.”

He turns quickly towards the kitchen, throwing his backpack somewhere off to the side as he rushes to grab the dustpan and broom, as well as the roll of paper towels.

“I’m coming, stay still,” Louis shouts as he starts jogging back.

He keeps his eyes on the ground as he puts one paper towel down to soak up the wine there, then balls it up so he can sweep away the shards. He does the same as he works his way towards Harry’s feet.

There’s red wine all over his toes, that’s got to be uncomfortable. Louis grabs one of the paper towels and goes to dab his feet to wipe it off.

“Stop,” Harry says. He sounds angry.

Louis glances up and sees that he looks angry. He holds his hands up in a surrendering motion, not wanting to upset him anymore.

“I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Well don’t,” Harry spits out.

He stands up slowly. Louis doesn’t know if he’s ever seen Harry this angry with him. Even the time Louis accidentally threw out his favorite pair of boots it wasn’t like this. Louis isn’t prepared for this bitterness coming from his husband, and he didn’t think divorce brought on something like that when it wasn’t there before, at least not before they’d even filed the paperwork.

#(almost) exes-to-lovers #*screams*#i've never posted a fic as a WIP so we'll see how that goes!#what a time #it is actually insane that this is only 80k- i know i complained at literally every step about it but omg writing PLOT is so MUCH #the way it's been 2 years since this AU started i'm so excited to get it OUT of my documents #updated #first posting date will be October 31st!#means the fic should be fully posted (hopefully including epilogue) by mid-March #we’ll see if I get trigger happy and post any chapters early/sooner than anticipated but no promises!!!!

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dreamsofminnie · 1 year

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“Ethereal Paintings”

*:･ﾟ✧Scaramouche X Fm!Reader-> Social media au

“Bastards who want to learn art should respect it’s origin”

Main Synopsis-> When you were required to help the new transfer student the history of art from the two weeks he missed. He didn’t know you were the one artist he was inspired by. You grow fond of each other but stay at a flirting stage. But finding out that he’s a dreaded a.i user; your mortal art enemy; everything in your relationship is obliterated. Will he be able to reconcile and steal your he-art♡ once again?

Genre-> College art students, strangers to crushes to enemies to lovers, college setting, crack and slight angst, gremlin scara, soft scara

Warnings-> Swearing, alcohol, obsessive hate, kms/kys jokes, rants, suggestive(will show warning), more to be added. . .

Notes-> This all came to me when I was raging over an A.I. art article then brain went on from there. [REDACTED] = A.I. Art. Scara smau’s are always enemies to lovers💔 but they are still fun to read. This is my first Smau!! Pls be nice eueue.

Status-> mind is blank in agnst

The 5 pillars of deprivation{Y/N’s} || Accounts

Death’s door is close {Scara’s} || Accounts

{☂️/☔️=Written}

I SKETCHING. . . {S-trangers}

01~ Copyright is a thing | 02~ Transfer students and a task☂️

03~ Denied | 04~ Caffeine overdose

05~ Extra sausy | 06~ Inconspicuous(not) ☂️

07~ Convenience ☂️

08~ Closet Uno torture method | 08.5~ Gremlin beauty standard

09~ Fire and ice do(n’t) go together | 10~ Drunken haze party ☂️

II PAINTING. . . {P-assion}

11~ Hang(out)over | 12~ Study dater | 13~ Free art exhibit

14~ Be my muse co-artist☂️ | 15~ She’s what?!who?!

16~ Shy scarameow | 17~ Touch grass

18~ Inazuman reunion☂️ | 19~ Let me ask you one thing…

19.5~ Given name | 20~ Corkscrew board of emotions☔️

III RENDERING. . . {R~esentment)

21~ Stage one denial☔️ | 22~ Feels like shit

23~ Suffocating in quicksand | 24~ Pressure me

25~ Anxiety attack | 26~ Do not perceive my impending doom☔️

27~ Sickness in health | 28~ Beauty in recollection

29~ Running away is easy | 30~ It’s the leaving that’s hard

IV PRESENTING. . . {P-artners}

31~ Dandelions | 32~ tba. . .

33~ tba. . . | 34~ tba. . .

35~ tba. . . . .

Art show finale*:･ﾟ✧

Taglist-> Ask to be added!! {Open!!} 41/50(?)

@akagism2 @pokidot @feiherp @kyouzki @rmiyuki @infe-risk0 @sakurapeach @bluebelony @kichiyoshi @mikctp @kur44pika @cupids-chamber @crucnhice @neigesprincess @scaramoo @gojoandelsalovechilde @childeslegstrap @sakiimeo @d4y-dr3am3r @m3gitsune @scarletttcroww @sashiette @beriiov @rizakari @xiaossocksniffer @lxry-chxn @bryai003 @eunchaeluvr @goj0h @the-ghost-0f-t0m0 @sketcheeee @ozzierenato @ohmyfinggod @kiyomi-hoku @hutaosbootao @ynverse @featuredtofu @reinoodle @angeilix @yxcade @keizuk

#astronetwrk #genshin impact #genshin smau #social media au #scaramouche x reader #scara x reader #scara smau #scaramouche #genshin x y/n #text fic #genshin screenshots #scara social media au #genshin impact smau #scara x y/n #scara x you #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x you #masterlist*:･ﾟ✧

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josephquinnswhore · 7 months

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Fuckin’ Brat

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader.

Summary: you’ve had a bad day and taking it out on Joel leads to primitive measures to fix your attitude.

Word count: 0.6k

Warnings: swear words, reader having a mental breakdown I guess, Joel using pet names like angel, brat.

alternative thoughts to the other little blurb I posted about this pic. Bonus pic for better effect.

You were so fucking tired, so worn and aching and sweaty and irritated. The combination usually wouldn’t have been that much of an issue on a normal day; you were great at handling your emotions and worked through them like a champ.

Today things had fallen apart; a handful of otherwise tiny manageable things that all add up in what becomes a cluttered mess that accumulates like a fire hazard. The more things that go wrong; the more flammable you become.

And fuck you were about to blow up.

First it was Janice, the old hag from down the street, complaining about your dog, burnie, a well behaved border collie, he was a bit stupid sometimes; he liked to chase the birds that flew through her garden. That became a you issue. She was lucky he didn’t chase her.

Then, as you get to the hall to start volunteering for the lunch service, cooking for all the guys coming home from patrol; nothing had been started. No prep, no cooking. No cleaning. You roll up your sleeves and pick up the slack; because you’re a fucking people pleaser who can’t say no.

Lastly, you get home, just wanting to relax and read a chapter of your romance book. Only to find it had tea spilt all through it; the pages were now a damp shade of brown, soaked and completely ruined. Ellie had looked at it last night after showing some intrest, neglecting to put the precious book back onto its respective shelf.

Ellie said she’d clean up after herself, you understood she was just a teenager and she probably just forgot.

But you couldn’t help but just explode, it was the final fucking straw. The match that had lit the impending internal explosion.

In that exact moment your brain had decided to short circuit into a fit of rage, Joel walks through the door, walking snow all through the house as he sits on the lounge, groaning loudly.

“Couldn’t even take your fucking boots off at the door?” You scold angrily, gesturing to the mess he’d walked though the house.

Joel stopped untying his boots to look at you; he raises his eyebrow, giving you an unspoken warning.

Don’t speak to me like that again.

But you got the message, you just push further, knowing he would snap eventually.

“Thanks for letting the damn dog out this morning too, now Janice is on my fucking ass as always!” You grumble, starting to pace a little.

Joel stood off the lounge, bending at the knees a little so he’s more your height and he rested his palms on the top of his jeans on his thighs. His head was tilted as he watched you ramble, waiting for you to realise you’d fucked up.

“She’s that obsessed with you, she’s got to take her shit out on me, maybe you should just go over there and stuff her full of your co-“

Your rambling is cut short by a large hand roughly gripping your chin, your eyes widen at the sudden action and he jerks your face towards his, you stumble forward two steps. He doesn’t take his eyes off you.

“Fuckin’ finish that sentence, angel.” He growls lowly, warning you against it. He waits, looking at you expectantly.

You freeze, blinking dumbly at him. He hums.

“You really want me to go over there and stuff Janice full of my cock, huh? Show her what she’s missing, why she’s rightfully jealous of you?” His tone was husky. His eyes hadn’t left your own.

Your eyes water at the thought, your shoulders droop as you shake your head no.

“‘S what I thought. Listen to me real careful now, angel.” His voice is softer, but still demands that you comply with his orders.

He softens his grip on your chin, but still maintaining that eye contact.

“You’re gonna come sit on my lap, tell me what happened today, and you’re gonna stop being such a fuckin’ brat. Understand?”

You nod frantically, tears welling in your eyes, Joel knew you needed him to put you in place, to break you down so you’d stop pushing all your problems down to bury them. So you’d finally open up and embellish in the support you needed. He would listen, and help however he could.

“Repeat it, baby.” He orders firmly.

“I’m gonna sit on your lap and tell you why I’m upset..” You trail off for a moment. “And stop bein’ a brat.” You mumble.

Joel let’s go of your chin, sitting back down on the lounge where he pats his lap. You sit on your throne and cry to him; about everything that had happened.

He spends hours with you; in his arms, letting you cry and rant about all the stress you’d harboured. You were thankful for the stern and loving man that was Joel Miller.

#pedro pascal #joel miller #tlou #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller blurb

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rosewaterandivy · 1 month

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Everyone But You - a Life as We Know It au

Ch. 2 - I've Got That Lefty Curse

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Summary: hey, you know what a funeral is decidedly not for? gettin' your dick wet. | OR eddie munson's no good, very bad lay. Pairing: e.m. x f!oc w.c.: 4.9K warnings: NSFW / MDNI, immersive second person narration w/ a name and background but no physical description mentioned, grief, character death, funeral, jason carver mention, badly repressed emotions, poor emotional regulation skills, bathroom antics inspired by the moves of Paris Geller and that one scene from Catch & Release tagging: @powderblueblood for coming up with Eddie's nickname for the rover 😘

The garage door trundles open as Eddie twirls the keys in a flourish. You squint behind your sunglasses, bringing your phone closer to avoid the sun’s glare as you triple-check the directions to CPS.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.” Eddie grouses as the car comes into view. It’s big, some kind of SUV, a Range Rover apparently, if his grumbling is to go by, one that is impeccably clean.

“What’s the problem?” You walk toward the car as it chirps to unlock, “Keys,” You point to his outstretched hand, “Driver,” You point to him and finally gesture to the car, “Vehicle.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, “Right, sure. Lemme drive this car that’s worth more than my life, that’ll go real swell!” He choruses in false cheer before his face falls, “Yeah, no. Think fast,” He lobs the keys toward you which you step to avoid, and the pair of you watch as they rattle to the floor.

“Well shit, Sherlock, y’know you’re supposed to catch things as they’re thrown at you.”

You roll your lips between your teeth and raise a brow, “I don’t drive.”

“Riiiight,” Eddie says, scooping down to collect the keys. “Of course you don’t, your majesty. Wouldn’t want to sully ourselves with something so pedestrian.” He yanks the driver’s side door open and hauls himself inside.

Settled in the passenger seat, you buckle your seatbelt and pair your phone to the bluetooth in the car. Eddie adjusts the seat and mirror before deciding on a Sirius station for the fifteen minute journey to downtown.

“For the record,” He says, pulling out onto the residential street, “I have a driver’s license, not a boating one. This thing is a goddamn behemoth.”

The car lurches forward as he navigates toward the stop sign at the end of the block, the seatbelt seizes against your chest, jerking you backward into the seat.

“Munson, sort your shit out! There’s going to be an actual baby whose well-being we’re responsible for in here, you know.”

He kisses his teeth and huffs in exasperation, “Sorryyy, I can’t figure out the damn clutch on the S.S. Fuck The Planet, princess. Jesus H. Christ.”

You make a mental note to have the insurance policy switched over and update the title on the cars as well. Swiping over to the notes app, you tap out a reminder and add a trip to the grocery store for good measure. The list is titled: HOW TO SURVIVE IN HAWKINS and has such gems as: whole foods - where?, research moving co.’s NYC, check out brownstone, contact attorney & set up will, utilities & electric??, and baby books!!!

While you prepped for the impending arrival of Zoë and a prolonged stay in the Midwest, Eddie prattled through the house like Jacob Marley’s ghost shuffling from one vacant room to the next. He’d sent something off to his agent and editor via email about pushing the deadline back for his current novel, and had thrown his duffle in one of the spare bedrooms upstairs, the one furthest from Chrissy and Jason’s room, naturally.

You’d settled in a room close to the nursery and across the way from Eddie. The guest bath was conveniently at the end of the hall just before the staircase. Neither of you bothered unpacking after Max left, just threw your bags upstairs and scrambled to the garage to pick up Zoë as soon as possible.

The ride smooths out, eventually, Eddie seeming to get a hang of the clutch or whatever it was, and soon enough you’re being escorted back to the caseworker’s office at CPS.

She instructs you to sign the form with your intention of temporary custody just until the court can set a date with the judge to award full custody. Until that time, a caseworker would be checking up on Zoë and your care of her, the findings of which would be presented to the judge at a later date.

“And if you’ll sign here as well, Mr. Munson.”

Eddie scribbles off his disaster of a signature just as Zoe is brought in.

“Oh,” You sigh, relieved as you rise from the chair. “There she is.” You adjust the strap of your tote on your shoulder and leave the room, gently taking her from a woman with a nod of thanks. Keeping your voice soft and low, you greet Zoë. “Hi, sweetheart. Hi sweet girl!”

It’s rare that Eddie ever hears you like this, voice pitched just so as not to hint at any sadness you may be grappling with currently. And Zoë, she looks so pink and cute— footsie pajamas decorated in little hearts.

“Oh, honey. It’s so good to see you.” You brush back her downy blonde hair just as she begins to fuss, blue eyes falling to Eddie, who is rendered speechless in the office. He sniffs to clear any welling tears and quietly thanks the caseworker before joining you in the waiting room.

“I know, I know,” You soothe, rocking her back and forth, watching as Eddie steps beside you.

Zoë continues her soft cries, not nearing meltdown territory yet, but rather expressing her confusion or discomfort. Eddie’s hand cards through her wisps of blonde hair as you turn and say, “Hey, look. Hey, look – it’s Uncle Eddie!” Which seems to placate her somewhat, as chubby arm reaches toward him.

Lifting her from your hip, you continue to narrate: “Wanna go see him? Good, he’s right here.” And place her squarely against his chest, his hands coming to grip her sides as she tucks herself against him, little fingers gripping the worn fabric of his shirt.

You watch as he holds his goddaughter, her soft cries falling away to nothing as she nuzzles into his neck. “Okay,” You breathe, “We should really get her home.”

The car seat, however, proves difficult. Eddie has grimaced and groused his way through various belt to lock combinations, determining all of them to be useless.

“Who designed this thing, a fuckin’ Space X engineer?”

Leaning against the car with Zoë, you decide fifteen minutes is more than enough time for Eddie to dick around with the car seat. “Shove over Elon, this is getting ridiculous.”

Seamlessly, you set Zoë in the car seat and buckle her in. “See?” You ask, a taunting lilt to your voice, “Was that so difficult?”

“Well, that’s because I eliminated all other possibilities, so obviously you—”

“Shut it, Munson. And drive.”

You’re nearly back to Loch Nora when a cop lights up behind the rover. “Really, today? C’mon man!” Eddie pulls off to the side of the road, going for his wallet before stopping short. “Oh, shit.”

“Oh shit? What do you mean oh shit?!” You whisper frantically, “This isn’t really on ‘oh shit’ type of moment, if you hadn’t noticed!”

“God, would you shut up for, like, two seconds so I can think?!”

“Please, let’s not pretend you think.”

An intentional elbow jabs into his ribs with enough force for him to hiss. He’s about to snarl something not fit for tiny ears back at you when two raps on the window shocks you both into silence.

Eddie reluctantly rolls down the window with a pained smile.

“Morning officer, what seems to be the problem?”

There’s a pause before a bellowing laugh. “Munson!? Well, of all the gin joints in all the world—”

Eddie’s face flushes pink, “Uh, right. Hi there, Hop.” He clears his throat, “How are… things.”

“Bout to ask you the same thing, kid.” He pockets his aviator glasses and leans against the door, propping one arm to rest on the roof. “D’you know you rolled through that light down on Main before turning onto Pinebow?”

“Uh, no. Sorry, must’ve been distracted.”

“I’ll say,” The officer peers into the car, gaze falling on you. “Morning ma’am. Mind getting me the registration from the glove box?”

“I, uh,” You supply, uselessly. Eddie leans over to do it himself before you can ask what a registration would even look like. Your eyes dart back to Zoë still sleeping soundly.

“I need to level with you Hop,” Eddie says, handing the paper over to him. “This is not my car, this is not my beautiful wife, and my license is expired.”

“It is!?” You ask, furious. How could he be so irresponsible? There is a child riding in the backseat! Before you can rip him a new asshole, the officer chuckles.

“Can’t say I’m surprised Ed. Shame about the wife bit though.” He reads the registration and passes it back to Eddie. “But considering the circumstances … I’ll let this one slide.”

“The circumstances?” You prompt, wondering how the hell a traffic cop would know about Chrissy and Jason’s accident.

“My condolences,” He says with a frown and furrowed brow, as if the very idea of their absence unsettles him. “It’s a small town, I’m sure everyone’ll know by day’s end.”

Hop puts his glasses back on and steps back from the vehicle. He nods to you with a small smile, before his eyes narrow on Eddie. “You need to get this taken care of, Munson.” Slapping the roof of the car, he turns on his heel and walks back to the cruiser, “See you Friday!”

Eddie waves him off and pulls back onto the road. Offering positively zero explanations as to why this man you’d never met before today would be showing up to the house later this week.

“Munson, why does that cop think he's coming by the house later?”

“Hmm, oh, Hop? He’s not just a cop, he’s the Sheriff.��

As if that made it any better.

“Do I want to know why you’re friendly with the boys in blue, er, khaki? Thought you were the commander and chief of ACAB.”

“That,” He says, punching the button to open the garage as the house comes back into view, “Is a story for another time. But for now, just chalk it up to the fact that Hawkins is a verrrry small town, princess.”

By Friday, your bags still remain unpacked by the door to the guest room. It would be so easy to call a car, book a flight and just leave, like it had never happened in the first place.

You’re pretty sure that’s what Munson is expecting you to do. He doesn’t trust you, nor you him. How can you? It’s not like you were ever friends. And it’s not like you’ve seen him in that way since—

A soft knock from the door has you turning to find him holding Zoë in the crook of his arm. She’s smiling and sleepy, fresh from her bath. One that had left you positively drenched, prompting a hasty retreat to find a change of clothes.

“They’re, uh, driving up now.” Eddie mumbles, and though he hasn’t said it, hasn’t complained one bit, you can see how exhausted he is. Essentially dead on your feet from your first night with Zoë.

She’d cried and wailed all night, or so it felt, and you were sure you’d wake up to a noise complaint or violation of the HOA’s quiet hours or some such shit. Eddie had volunteered to stay with her that night, elected to sleep on the couch in the nursery because he’s “slept on worse.”

He’s said it as if he didn’t already have dark circles under his eyes, as if they hadn’t been awake for over 24 hours, and you want to refute it, to say you can keep the baby monitor on you instead, but the look in Eddie’s eyes tells you this isn’t just about staying the night with Zoë.

It’s that he wants to make sure Chrissy’s daughter is safe, to protect her daughter in the way he wasn’t able to protect his best friend last night.

“Could you just sleep in—” You tilt your head toward Chrissy and Jason’s room, it’s closer to the nursery anyway. But you don’t get to finish your thought before he’s swept in to the room and settled Zoë in her crib for the night. The conversation effectively over.

“Right,” You say, peeling off the door frame to leave, “Forget I asked.”

But that was last night, and you’d be remiss to say that you’d made it much longer on your own. The room was far too quiet, the sheets too stiff, and you couldn’t find your sound machine to save your life.

It’s two o’clock when you stumble into the nursery, nearly tripping over Eddie’s prone leg because he’s too tall for the small couch, but he doesn’t wake. You make yourself comfortable on the plush white rug, the one Chrissy had sworn felt like a cloud and rest your head on the pillow you’d snuck in from the guest room.

Maybe it’s the white noise machine looped to Zoë’s crib, or maybe it’s the proximity of being close to her that brings a sense of calm that’s enough to lull you into sleep. And maybe, it’s the soft snores and snuffles that fall from the tangle of limbs precariously close to slipping off of the couch.

Regardless, you and Eddie had somewhat survived your first day as guardians. Had struggled through feedings and diaper changes, nap time, and seemingly endless loads of laundry. You’d read Chrissy’s parenting books and ordered more to be delivered tomorrow. Eddie had returned victorious from a Target run and you’d each set about slapping sticky notes and scribbling furiously on a huge tear away calendar— you’d even assigned colors: you were purple, Eddie was neon green, Zoë was pink, naturally.

Max, Eddie’s friend and the estate attorney, had apparently rallied the troops for a family dinner for that evening. You and Eddie were to do nothing, under strict instructions from someone named Nancy to relax and focus on Zoë. You could hear the front door opening as people made their way inside for dinner.

Gently, Eddie passes Zoë off to you and helps you wrap the sling around your torso. After watching several tutorials on YouTube, you felt confident that everyone would feel more comfortable this way. Plus, your arms were killing you— who knew carrying a baby around could be so tiring?

Once downstairs, introductions are made. Eddie names off everyone in attendance as they stare at you like a new exhibit at the MoMa, or maybe the zoo is more accurate. Immediately, you can see that you don’t belong. Everyone is dressed down casually in jeans and t-shirts, their shoes kicked off by the door.

Whereas you, on the other hand, announce your presence with the click-clack of your heels on the floorboards. Swan into rooms with impeccable posture and sport dresses never more than a season old, unless they’re archival vintage, of course. A bold lip and manicured nails, not a hair out of place.

To the assembled people of Hawkins, you sure cut the figure of a Stepford wife.

“Hi,” A voice pipes up from the man to your right, “I’m Ste—”

A metallic clang sounds out, muffling whatever he had to say. Quickly followed by an exasperated, “Oh, goddamit!”

You smile at him, “The pleasure is all mine. Dean, you said it was?”

“I, uh,” He stammers out, unable to land his gaze anywhere on your person.

“Right,” You say primly, hearing more cursing from the kitchen, “If you’ll excuse me.”

And, of course, the source of the cacophony is none other than Munson himself. He’s got the hood fan going on the stovetop, and there’s smoke pluming from the oven. Company has been here all of ten minutes and he’s already going to burn the house down.

You grab the sheet pan he’s using to dissipate the smoke from the alarms on the ceiling and narrowly avoid smacking him upside the head.

“I never took you for an arsonist, but hey, there’s a first time for everything.”

He coughs into his shoulder, his hand waving through the air uselessly. But before you can tell him to shove over and let you handle things, people stream into the kitchen. Eddie is shuffled from the stove by a kind woman named Joyce, only to be pulled away by an older man, his uncle Wayne, while Hopper takes over in the kitchen.

Windows are opened by Max and Lucas, allowing the smoke to dissipate. And eventually, Joyce offers to take Zoë and put her to bed after her dinner of mashed peas and carrots. Begrudgingly you let her, dropping a kiss to her downy blonde curls before she’s whisked away.

Dinner is nice as is the company, even if conversation is a bit stilted and awkward given the circumstances. You don’t say much and no one expects you to, but every so often Wayne will catch you gaze and offer a small smile. It’s easy to appreciate his silence, to see it as a comfort because god knows his nephew is normally anything but.

You’re on your second glass of wine for the evening, listening to Robin as she details the various hijinks of what she refers to as the Scoops Troop. But she keeps mentioning someone named Steve and you have half a mind to ask her who that could possibly be. Dean, for all his lack of being mentioned in these stories, laughs along good-naturedly.

It’s when you yawn for the second time in five minutes, that Eddie suggests: “Hey, you should go up and get some sleep.”

You scowl, confused and pleasantly buzzed but stand up all the same. “Fine, but no promises, Munson.”

It had been decided that you’d give the eulogy for the service today. Eddie sits with Zoë in his lap – she's dozing off and you’re thankful – and when Eddie stares up at you, you can feel your heart in your throat. Initially, it seemed that Eddie would deliver the eulogy, this was, after all, his hometown and this church was full of people he’d known most of his life.

But when he’d come to you two nights ago after Zoë had finally fallen asleep, shaking like a leaf with crescent hollows beneath his eyes that the moon would envy, and he’d said in a voice so broken and empty: “I just can’t do it. Please don’t make me.”

And so you didn’t.

Halfway through, while the crowd is chuckling sadly, politely, at your anecdotes about Chrissy and Jason. Things are going well until Zoë begins to hiccup and throws a tantrum. Ellie, Chrissy’s mom, scoops her up into her arms easily and carries her out of the church. Over her shoulder, Zoë’s arms stretch out toward the front of the church, her face crumpled as she cries for her mommy and daddy.

Me too baby girl, me too.

You force yourself to look back at Eddie, and his eyes meet yours. It's a moment of understanding that goes straight to your gut and steals the breath from your lungs; Chrissy wasn’t ever coming back.

The wake is held at the house, a tasteful catered affair courtesy of Jason’s parents. Everyone thought it best for Zoë to be in a familiar setting to try and stick to her routine. People mill about downstairs stopping every so often to shake your hand and offer their condolences, thoughts and prayers, or claim that their hearts are with you during this difficult time.

It’s all you can do not to scream as you hold Zoë like a life raft. So, instead of snapping something at someone’s handsy uncle who has had you cornered for the last five minutes or so, you talk to Chrissy in your head.

What were you thinking Chris? This wasn’t the plan at all, in fact, you’ve jumped the gun by about sixty-odd years y’know. If you care to recall, we said we’d outlive our husbands and buy a place on the Cape. Descend into spinsterhood in style, and then haunt the shit out of that property, as is our right.

Ellie checks in on you with a soft touch to the arm, ushering pervy uncle toward the hors d’oeuvres. Small miracles. You can feel the tears gathering on your lashes, and you know that your tolerance for these platitudes is quickly dwindling. You haven’t seen Eddie since he fed and changed Zoë an hour or so ago.

He’s been distant since that night, the one where you’d refused him and drawn your line in the sand.

Catching sight of Robin, you tell her that Zoë is going for her nap and she promises to make your excuses. She latches on to that guy she seems permanently attached to, (Dean, you wanna say?) and they begin to spread the word in an attempt to clear everyone out.

You take the stairs slowly, not wanting to shift the dozing girl in your arms too much, as you step onto the second floor landing. Turning into the nursery, you set her down on the changing table and rid her of her funeral dress.

No little girl should ever have one, much less be given the opportunity to wear it.

Back in her comfy pjs, you sit on the rocking chair and kick off your heels. Zoë nuzzles against your neck as you hum softly. Sooner than you’d anticipated, the rhythmic rocking to and fro has eased her into sleep. Rising as gently as you’re able, you lay her down in the crib, turn on her sound machine, and step out of the room with baby monitor in hand.

Downstairs, you can hear rumblings of conversation overridden by a male voice: “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here!”

Chuckling, you duck into the guest bathroom before any of the hangers on can spot you as they take their leave. Back hitting the door, you allow yourself a moment or two to breathe. Surrounded by people all day on what has arguably been the worst day of your life to date. Smoothing down the skirt of your dress, you pull the shower curtain aside and step into the basin of the bathtub. Once settled, you draw the curtain closed again and let your head rest against the tile wall.

“Why did you leave me alone like this, Chrissy?” You say, voice ricocheting off the bathroom tiles. “You know I can’t handle anything without you.”

Not two minutes later, and someone comes barreling in. Huh, guess you never did lock that door.

Before you can alert them of your presence, a high-pitched giggle sounds out followed by the scuffling of feet. The door is shut, and the lock is thrown as the giggle turns into a high, breathy gasp. They sound closer now, if the wet sounds of tongues battling for dominance is anything to go by.

Rearing back, you sink into the corner of the tub and will it all to go away. The noxious, ringing laughter continues unabated only punctuated by the sounds of a belt buckle clinking against the sink, a zipper being pulled down.

If you were so inclined (which you are decidedly not), you could simply turn your head to the left and feast your eyes on the shadow sexual escapades of one—

“Oh, Eddie.”

For fuck’s sake! As if this day could get any worse.

But, oh wait, it does.

“Sock it to me!”

Biting the heel of your hand to quell the rising laughter, your eyes blow wide at her litany of ‘sock it to me’s’ – it’s as if that’s the only thing her poorly wired brain will allow her to say mid-coitus. Eddie’s laughter, understandable given the circumstances, devolves into an attempt to shush his conquest from what has got to be the most unimaginative dirty talk you’ve had the misfortune to be privy to.

When she finally reaches her peak (“Yeah! That’s so good!”), you’ve already mentally catalogued the ways in which you could have a) killed yourself in the interim, b) killed Eddie, and c) killed this poor woman, in all likelihood saving her from a life of mediocre sex at funerals.

“Thanks.”

Well, at least she’s polite.

“Uh, you’re welcome.”

Eddie sounds embarrassed, voice tight and you can imagine he’s doing that thing where he drums his fingers against his thigh, impatiently waiting for this all to be over. His lips are probably tucked between his teeth while she washes her hands, eyes anywhere but on her.

There’s the sound of the door being unlocked and the throw away line of “Call me,” and with that, she’s gone.

The sink runs again, Eddie muttering to himself under his breath, and for the briefest of seconds when you dramatically pull the shower curtain open, you could’ve sworn you saw something akin to regret (or was it disgust?) as he looked at himself in the mirror.

“Fuck!”

He jumps back, startled at your Houdini-esque appearance. All too calmly, you step out from the bathtub, gaze fixed on him all the while. You pluck the joint from his fingers and stow it in your pocket.

And you haven’t launched into him yet, so maybe this isn’t the verbal crucifixion that Eddie thinks it’ll be. There’s a curl to his lips that says he’s going to be a problem, that he’s going to make a joke out of this, as if he hadn’t buried his best friend earlier today and then gone and screwed a cater waiter in the bathroom of her house during the wake.

“Well, well, well, if it isn't my Lady Disdain,” He drawls, arms loosely crossed against his chest, “Are you yet living?”

It is only in deference to Zoë that you don’t go scorched earth on his ass right then and there. There’s a soft squawk from your other pocket where the baby monitor is as she likely rolls over in her sleep.

“I am only going to say this once, Munson, so you better get it through that abomination you call a skull.”

Briefly, someone attempts to enter the bathroom, the door nudging open only to be forcefully shut as you, in an impressive feat of balance, slam one Manolo Blahnik clad heel against the door and shove it closed.

“Occupied!”

You wait a beat or two, leg slotted against the door to be sure that whomever was on the opposite side did not attempt further entry.

If only your yoga instructor could see you now.

Releasing your hold on the door, you flip the lock and take measured steps back to Eddie who is now crowded back against the pedestal sink.

“Did ya have some fun? Get you rocks off? Add another notch to the bedpost?” You seethe, and he knows better than to interrupt when you’re like this. “What a fitting way to send off Chrissy, huh? By defiling her home because you lack something called self-restraint.”

“Hey, that’s not—”

“What, is that not accurate Munson? Because from where I was sitting, it sounded like you couldn’t wait bust your nut into the next woman who batted her lashes at you, who maybe, juuuust maybe,” You take one step closer, a mere breath away from him. “Suffers form an undiagnosed brain injury and lowers herself to slum it with the likes of you.”

“Tell me how you really feel, sweetheart,” He sneers, “All those years of therapy seem to be doin’ wonders for your self-esteem. Because you’re too high and mighty to count yourself one of the crowd, right?”

“You have no right—”

“I have no right? Are you kidding me? I'm not the one who shuts down at the first opportunity, who would rather run away than stay here and deal with this!"

"It's not like I’ve left! I'm here, aren't I?"

"How the fuck am I supposed to know that?" He demands. "We are not just playing house here! And you can’t pretend that we’re not partners in this. If you’re so scared, why didn't you say anything?”

You storm toward the door, unlocking it as you turn the knob to leave. To get away from him and his pitying looks, his judgment.

"Because I don't need you!"

Eddie’s hand covers yours, “Maybe I need you!" He snaps, almost shouting. "Maybe I need you to work with me instead of against me. Maybe I need you to stop doubting yourself, because there's already so much to worry about and I can't help worrying about you. Maybe I need you to stop being so damn independent and self-absorbed. Maybe I need you to realize that you're not the only person here who lost a best friend."

The heartbreak on his face is so painfully clear that you can feel it in your chest; you can't believe you didn't noticed it before.

The door creaks open.

"Hey, are you guys – oh, sorry."

You turn from Eddie to see Robin on the stairs, hesitating. You clear your throat and blink away any tears, as you step through the door. "Can I help you?"

"I didn't mean to interrupt."

"You're not interrupting," You say, turning toward her and smoothing down your dress.

"Okaaaay." She looks doubtful. "Everyone’s cleared out, leftovers are in the fridge. I checked on Zo and she’s still zonked out."

You nod, “Thanks, for everything.”

“Happy to help.”

You wait until her footsteps fade away, and the front door shuts. Gritting your teeth, you watch as Eddie steps away from you and avoids making eye contact, your jaw clenched tightly enough to hurt.

There's something empty and aching at the base of your throat, and no matter how much you swallow, it won't go away.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fafic #eddie munson x oc #stranger things fanfic #modern!eddie #fic: eby

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iovetecchou · 1 year

Text

Oblivious.

Part 7.

Oblivious Masterlist!

Pairings… Tecchou Suehiro x Reader and Jouno Saigiku x Reader

Contains… fluff. sexual themes. cuddles, angst. (with comfort), jealous!jouno, confession of feelings, non-consentual marking (hickies), one slap (reader is NOT on the receiving end), fake relationships. messy feelings, manhandling (?), choking, boners canon complaint.

AFAB Reader she/they pronouns used.

5,040 words.

boy oh boy, buckle up. this chapter is… something else. also the bracketed bit is a flashback from the reader’s pov!

You wake the next morning, basking in the warmth illuminating from your bedroom window. Still embraced within Tecchou's arms. Enjoying the feeling of his bare body pressed against yours. Tecchou was still asleep, you can tell by his faint breathing. You listened to his steady heartbeat from where your face rested against his chest. You just smiled to yourself, nuzzling into him further. Enjoying the sounds of his beating heart and quiet breaths.

Usually, Tecchou is an early riser… I guess getting him to come so hard like that last night was the best way to make him sleep in. You giggled to yourself at that thought, which caused Tecchou to stir awake. “Y/n…? Are you awake angel? What time is it…?” Ah, his sleepy voice had warmth swirling in your core. It was so deep and raspy, fuck everything about him truly astounds you. “Oh, uh! Let me check my phone really quick...” You pulled away from his warmth to check your phone, which was resting atop your night table. Already missing the feeling of his nude body against yours.

Your eyes widened as you bolted up from where you sat. Startling Tecchou in the process. He was fully alert now, sitting up himself, leaning over you to see what had you reacting like that. “Tecchou! It’s a quarter after six! Fuck we're gonna be so late for work!” You wasted no more time, shooting out of the bed before hastily rustling through your drawers. Looking for a clean work uniform, and pulling it on yourself in a hurry. “Oh shit, Fukuchi is really going to be pissed at us now…” Tecchou said before climbing out of bed as well. Making fast strides towards your bathroom where his uniform was discarded yesterday. Making quick work of putting it on. Looking slightly disheveled in the process.

You exited your bedroom, grabbing your work backpack which was resting on your countertop before meeting Tecchou, who was now lacing his boots up at the front door. You shot him a quick smile before doing the same. “We have to hurry, come on baby!” You swung your front door open, grabbing Tecchou's hand in the process. Before making a quick dash out of your apartment complex, and to your car. Tecchou's face felt warm. Everything that happened last night was playing out in his mind. You were really his now. Officially.

You and Tecchou arrived at work over an hour late. Hoping that no one noticed your absence. But of course, you both couldn’t be so lucky. Teruko approached the both of you where you stood at the front doors of HQ. “Tecchou! Fukuchi is asking for you in his office. and he is NOT happy. you better get your ass in there, now.” Tecchou only nodded, giving one last look your way. Offering you a tight-lipped smile as he walked down the hallway toward his impending doom. Teruko focused all of her attention on you next before asking, “Y/n! why are you and Tecchou so late- better yet, why did you both arrive together… don’t tell me you-!” You quickly cut her off, not wanting anyone to overhear your conversation, especially not at work. “Teruko! Not here, let's go shopping this weekend and I'll fill you in then, kay?”

You were hoping she would just drop it for the time being. You knew Jouno was listening, you could just feel it. Teruko gave you a pointed look before she reluctantly agreed. “Fine… but don't spare any of the juicy details this weekend! I want to know everything!” You just nodded at her quickly before walking towards the meeting room… wanting desperately for this conversation to be over. The second you walked through the doors, you felt tension. Your blood ran cold in your veins and you felt the anxiety rising within you. Tachihara’s eyes went wide the second he saw you, trying to gesture to you that Jouno was in a mood. You were grateful for the heads up, but you knew immediately. It wasn't hard to tell. Jouno was sitting in his chair with his head down. Bangs covering the top half of his face, and his lips were pulled into a straight line.

Oh, this was not good. He slowly rose from his chair, walking over to you. Fuck your heart was pounding in your chest, he was about to let you have it, huh? You didn’t dare to look up, finding your feet to be way more interesting at this moment. That was until Jouno's voice cut through the air. “Y/n, you’re over an hour late. Not to mention you left three hours early yesterday evening. With no warning. I don’t care to hear whatever excuse you’re about to offer me. This is strike two. If you slip up a third time, I'll have no other choice but to punish you. Do you want me to punish you, y/n?”

You finally dared to look up at him and the face he held had you shaking slightly. His lips were curled into a devious grin, and his closed eyes seemed so dark and shaded. His face was really twisted at this moment. Fuck, he was enjoying this. I bet he wants me to slip up once more so he can punish me… his visage says it all. “No Sir, I’m sorry for being so irresponsible, it won't happen again.” You squeaked out, feeling so embarrassed under all of your colleagues' watchful eyes. And well, under Jouno’s intimidating presence. He just ‘tisked’ at your response. Exiting through the meeting doors before expressing. “Follow me, y/n. We’ve been paired up for another mission. I do hope you have all your necessities in that backpack of yours because this is an overnight job.” Your face fell. An overnight mission… with Jouno of all people. What was your fucking luck right now?! Why couldn’t you have been paired with Teruko or Tachihara! Ah, you were screwed.

The car ride to your mission's destination was so awkward. He hadn’t spoken a single word to you. Usually, you two would share pleasant small talk on the journey to your missions. But I guess that was before everything that…happened between you two. You’re sure he’s still pissed about the way you treated him in the closet yesterday. And you honestly didn’t blame him, you were pretty harsh. “Jouno, listen… I’m really sorry for the way I acted toward you yesterday. It wasn’t right, and I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.” You spoke, trying to break the painfully awkward silence. “That's Sir, to you y/n.”

Your heart sank. That's all he was going to say to you? Wow… you really messed up. He’s always been stern with you, but not like this. You felt torn at this. Biting your lip and focusing your eyes back on the road. trying to distract yourself from the tears that were brimming at your lash line. Listen, you knew that a lot went down between the two of you with the whole last mission and all but,

You two genuinely built up a friendship over these last few months of you being a part of the unit. He was someone who inspired you, after all. The whole reason you even wanted to be a Hunting Dog. Jouno would let you in on all his little tricks and secrets when it came to combat or making a bad guy squirm. And he would always say, “Don’t mention this to any of the other dogs. This is our little secret, dear y/n.” It made you feel special like he valued you as well to some degree. But now? Was everything you had just broken? Ah, you felt so helpless. Why did it bother you so much? You knew why. But you didn’t dare to think about it.

Jouno could tell you were distraught. He could hear your heartbeat and your tears as they rolled down your cheeks. Were you really this upset by him simply asserting his authority over you? He was your superior after all. You would have to just toughen up. Especially after the way you made him feel yesterday. He wasn’t going to forgive that so easily, no. You were going to have to work for it. He was going to go easy on you when you came into work today, honest! But then you arrived with Tecchou, and an hour late at that.

He was fucking livid. He knew immediately by the way your heartbeat picked up when Teruko was interrogating you over it. You couldn’t lie to him, Jouno knew everything. There was no doubt in his mind that you and Tecchou were a happy couple now, nothing says making it official like showing up to work smelling like sweat and sex. It made Jouno sick to his stomach, the worst thing that could have happened did. Well, at least that's how Jouno felt. He could be so dramatic at times.

The rest of the ride was silent after that. No other words were uttered between the two of you. That was until, “Were here, S-Sir.” You adjusted your backpack on your shoulders, before stepping out of the car and following Jouno inside what seemed to be a… motel? Just what was this mission anyways? Usually, Jouno would fill you in on the way there. But he didn’t even give you that much. He must really hate you now… as you reached the front desk, you were both greeted by a shady looking receptionist. “One room for the lovely couple?” Your eyes widened at the receptionist's words, about to correct her before Jouno beat you to it. “Yes! It's our honeymoon so we’ll take the nicest room you have to offer.”

Your- WHAT? Just what kind of mission was this?! I guess if you would have shown up to work on time, you would have known. Jouno just snaked his arm around your waist. Pulling you in close as the receptionist lead you out towards the ‘honeymoon suite’. This is so fucked up. But Jouno is a good actor, pretending that he’s in love with you like this when in reality he hated your guts. At least… that's what you assumed. “Have fun you two. And try not to break the bed, will ya?” Was the last thing the front desk lady said before shutting the door. Leaving you alone and confused... with Jouno.

“Um, Sir? Just what type of mission is this exactly?” You asked, walking over to where Jouno was standing inside this stuffy ‘suite’. “Oh, you don’t know? Maybe if you looked over the report, you would've known. Here, read the file. But be quick about it. We don’t have any more time to waste, thanks to you.” His voice was laced with venom as he pulled the report sheet from his bag, tossing it over to you before rustling through his belongings once more. Pulling out a change of clothes.

Apparently from this report, Jouno and yourself were supposed to be undercover as a newlywed couple. The perpetrator was staying at this motel as well. He was a gang leader, stationed out here. Making highly illegal weaponry with his ability. Trading his dangerous creations for goods. Your mission was to capture him and arrest him at once. But the man was on high alert at all times. Hence the undercover role.

Jouno began changing right where he stood. Unbuckling his pants before pulling them down. His uniform shirt followed shortly after, he unbuttoned it all the way before shrugging it off of his shoulders. “J-Jouno— what are you doing…?!” He paused in his actions. Turning in your direction before approaching you slowly. The same way a predator approaches prey before they rip their throats out. In one swift motion, he had you pinned against the wall. His one hand clasping around both of your wrists pushing them above your head. While his other hand came up to your throat. He wasn’t hurting you, but he had a firm grip on you. So you wouldn’t struggle.

“That's Sir to you, y/n. I’m getting sick and tired of correcting you… that's it. I’ve had it. That was your third and final straw. Were you really so eager for punishment?” Your face was heating up from having Jouno's half-naked body pressed up against your own. His voice tickled your cheek when he spoke from the close proximity. “I’m sorry S-Sir… I really am, I know you’re upset because of yesterday, and that's partially why you’re acting like this, but, J-Jouno… I really do value our friendship— I don't want all of this to get in the way of that.” His grip on your throat tightened. Your eyes widened, heart rate picking up. What did you say that pissed him off even further…?

“Friendship you say. You are kidding, are you not y/n? Don’t tell me you’re really that dense…” Jouno paused inching his face closer to yours, noses brushing against one another before he continued. “Y/n don’t you see? I’ve... had romantic feelings for you ever since our first encounter. In that treacherous closet, all those months ago. You can’t tell me that after I made you cum so hard on Monday that you truly don’t feel just the slightest bit of love toward me. I heard your heartbeat, y/n. You can’t lie to me, please don’t forget that.” Your face is on fire at this point at his confession and bold words.

You meant to tell me that… all this time, Jouno has been pining for you…? And you had no idea…? Is that why he got so worked up on Monday and came in his pants while he—? Oh god. This is not good. You’re with Tecchou now. You’re finally dating! You can’t entertain the idea of being with Jouno… but you can't lie to yourself either. Ever since the intimate moment you two shared, you’ve had these confusing feelings bubbling up inside of you. There's no way you could go back to just being friends after all of this... but then what did that mean for the two of you?

His grip around your throat loosened up a bit. Awaiting your response. “I-I don’t know how I feel… you’re right, I can’t lie to you Jouno… I did feel something for you at that moment… I’m not sure I would call it love, but maybe it was a side effect from the aphrodisiac, Jouno.” His face fell slightly, pushing in closer to you so his lips were ghosting over yours. “Very well… time for your punishment.” You gave him a puzzled look, it's not like he could see it anyways... but you were stunned. He’s being serious, isn’t he? Shit.

“Question number one. Did you and Tecchou fuck?” You were taken aback. Was he kidding? This was his form of punishment? “Jouno are you—?” He cut you off by pressing his partially naked body further into your clothed one. Squishing you against the wall. “Answer the question like a good mutt, y/n.” Your mouth fell agape at his term of endearment for you. That wasn't endearing at all, might you add. Before stuttering out. “N-no.. not exactly…” He quirked his brow at this before prodding further. “Not exactly? Elaborate y/n… I’m all ears.” You were shifting your gaze awkwardly now, not sure where to look. Is he really going to make you say it in full detail? He was so intimidating like this. Towering over you, face mere centimeters in front of your own, with his breath fanning against your lips. Heat involuntarily spread to your core, causing you to clench your thighs together. And this didn’t go unnoticed by Jouno. His face went smug at your reaction. Seemingly enjoying this form of punishment very much so.

“Well… I s-sucked his dick… and I let him f-fuck my breasts… that's why I said not exactly.” Jouno scowled at your words. His smug look was short-lived, not enjoying what he heard one bit. You’re supposed to be his. And to hear you doing such obscene things with another man made him bubble up with bitterness and envy. His grip around your neck tightened up slightly. “I see… question number two. Did Tecchou pleasure you?” Your face was ablaze, you tried to turn away so you didn’t have to look directly at him while you answered. But Jouno didn’t let you get so far, moving his hand that was resting against your throat up to your jaw. Turning you back his way firmly. Before you stuttered out, “Yes… he f-fingered me…” Jouno's smirk came back at your words, not giving you a second to recover from the embarrassment before asking,

“Question number three. Did he make you cum as hard as I did?” Fuck. Why was he doing this to you? You felt so humiliated and ashamed. You knew you couldn’t lie to him, it would only make things worse. And the worst part is that you did cum harder for Jouno. You just wanted this punishment to be over with. “N-no… Jouno, he didn’t…” You could feel tears welling up again, looking down at your feet to get away from his patronizing smile. But that was a mistake. The second you looked down, you could see Jouno's erection straining against his boxers. Leaving very little to the imagination. Jouno's grip on your jaw tightened, before pulling your gaze back up to face him. Jouno was fully aware that you saw his hard cock poking at his underwear, but he didn’t care. He was enjoying listening and feeling you squirm far too much. “Good pet. Now, would you like a reward?”

And before you could answer back, Jouno's lips were against the side of your throat. Your eyes went wide in shock, and you gasped as he leaned in further. Tilting your head with the grip he had on your jaw for easier access. He continued nibbling up the expanse of your neck, making sure to leave a few marks in his wake. He placed a few kisses against your jawline next, before moving up further. You could feel the smirk he was wearing brush up against the corner of your mouth. You both shared the same air for a few moments. A Slight push and your lips would be moulded against his. You tears were spilling down your cheeks now. You managed to free your wrists from his grasp. Bringing your dominant hand up to slap Jouno across the face, harshly. He pulled away from you at the impact, now focused on the stinging sensation coming from his cheek. He brought his hand up to nurse his wound, before you hiccuped out,

“How dare you Jouno? You’re so cruel. I thought you were different. I actually did care for you, but now? I’m not sure how I feel… why must you make the people you love the most suffer like this?” You were sobbing now. You needed to be alone for a second to compose your feelings. You were on a mission after all. And you wanted to do the job right, not clouded by all these confusing feelings. You quickly made your way to the motel bathroom, grabbing your backpack on your stride over before slamming the door harshly. Locking it in your wake. Jouno’s face had completely fallen.

He let his jealousy get the best of him, and he took it out on you in the worst way possible. Ah, what has he done? You definitely hated him now. Your words rang throughout his brain making him feel sick.

“Why must you make the people you love the most suffer like this?”

He didn’t know himself if were being honest. His best defense mechanism is making the person that hurt him, hurt worse. It's sick, he knows this. But that's just the kind of person he’s always been. Jouno stood there facing the wall for a few minutes more. He could hear you sobbing from the bathroom and his heart ached. He went too far. Jouno walked back over to his change clothes, making quick work to put them on before exiting the motel room. He knew you needed space. So he figured he would go scope out the perimeter as he left you be.

You heard the front door close, and you assumed Jouno had left. But you didn’t want to exit the bathroom just yet. You felt safe there. You took a few deep breaths, turning on the sink before splashing your face with cold water. Trying to regain yourself. You slapped your hands against your cheeks softly a few times before you shook yourself out of your funk. You were on a mission. The show must go on. And so, you pulled out a sleek black dress from your backpack and a pair of strappy heels. When you said you came prepared, you weren’t kidding. You quickly got dressed, fixing up your face so it didn’t look like you were just bawling your eyes out. Before doing your hair the way you liked. You took one last look at yourself in the mirror. Making sure you looked well put together before exiting the motel room.

You began walking around the motel, looking for any signs of suspicious activity. And that's when you saw Jouno, who was now dressed in a white button-up shirt, and black formal trousers. He was surrounded by a few men with guns hidden under their shirts, you could tell from their bulging sides. As you approached them, you caught the last part of their conversation. The one man's voice boomed through the air.

“You’re on your honeymoon pretty boy? Then where is your partner huh? If they don’t magically appear here in five seconds, I’m going to shoot you dead, you understand, red tips?” Jouno was fuming, but he was undercover, he had to remain calm until he got to the head of the problem. Then, and only then, would he torture them in the worst ways possible… yes that would be fitting for these oafs. Your eyes widened at the man’s words, you needed to act fast or your cover would be blown… the show must go on…

“Honey? what are you doing over here? I thought we were going out to eat- oh, who are your friends baby?” Now it was your turn to snake your arm around Jouno's waist. Causing him to stiffen in his place before he quickly eased up, not wanting to come off more suspicious. You placed a small kiss on his cheek to sweeten the pot. Hoping it would count for something considering it felt like pulling teeth having to do so right now. “Oh I do apologize, darling, I was just wandering around this fine establishment before I came across these lovely gentlemen.” He smiled eerily sweetly to the brooding men. Before entangling his hand with your own.

The show must go on.

“Oh, I see! Please do forgive my husband, you see he’s blind. So sometimes he happens to stray away from me, anyways we must be going now. So lovely to meet you!” You announced before dragging Jouno off by your interlocked hands. Walking steadily towards your car. He could overhear the men talking about you from this distance. It made his skin crawl. “That's his partner? Damn! It's a shame he’s blind, that's one hot bitch!” You opened the passenger door, shoving Jouno in rather harshly before stomping over the driver's side of the car. Getting in and slamming the door before you scolded.

“Jouno you idiot! This is a two-man undercover job. You almost got yourself killed! You should have just waited for me." He didn’t say a word, simply crossing his arms and scowling to himself. Turning his face in the opposite direction from you. You just scoffed. Starting up your car, and driving off down the road. “What do you think you’re doing…?” Jouno questioned, feeling the car moving in the opposite direction of the motel.

“Well? I told them we were going out for food. And I am pretty hungry. Plus with how much of a jerk you were to me before, you kinda owe me.” That's all you said before focusing your attention back on the road, looking for any food joint. He just turned in your direction. Looking sort of dumbfounded, before returning to his silence. But you didn’t mind it one bit. You were still really upset, so the less talking from Jouno right now, the better. You pulled up to this old-school-looking diner. Located right off the highway before parking the car and entering the joint.

You were seated at a booth near the window. You slipped into it before sighing. These heels were pretty uncomfortable. Jouno wordlessly slipped in on the other side of the booth. Before you began reading the menu aloud so Jouno could hear the food options, knowing damn well these crummy menus weren’t accessible for him. After everything he’s put you through today, you’re still being so nice to him? Why? He knows he doesn’t deserve your kindness at this point. He realized it too late, that he’s taken you for granted. And he’s regretting it deeply now. Wishing there was some way he could turn back time and do things the right way. He finally spoke up.

“Y/n… I’m deeply sorry for my actions. I should not have treated you so harshly. You’re not my enemy, you’re my comrade. It was wrong of me to put you through punishment the way I did. I understand if you want nothing to do with me after this mission.” You peeked over at him past your menu, he looked so defeated. You’ve never quite seen him look so… pathetic? His face was resting in his hand, head turned toward the window side with a small frown adorning his face.

You sighed, placing your menu down before responding. “Jouno… I don’t hate you, I don’t think I ever could. Even after the shit you put me through, I still find you to be extraordinary. Jouno, you astound me. You saved me from danger countless times now and gave me the motivation to give a purpose to my life. I owe you for those things. But at the same time… you can’t treat the people closest to you like that, ever. You really made me cry twice today you asshole!” You chuckled aloud before reaching over the table and slapping his shoulder playfully.

He was facing you now, a slight blush complimenting his features at your words. He was smiling too, like, an authentic smile. Your face softened up upon seeing his. “Y/n. I hope I can make all of this up to you. I’m sorry for forcing myself on you like that. It was truly despicable. But I won't apologize for my feelings towards you... I never will.” You reached for his free hand that was resting against the table, clasping it against your own before speaking once more. “Hey, you’re buying me dinner, aren’t you? That's a good start!" He squeezed your hand softly at your words as a silent ‘thank you for being the most amazing person in the world’ before responding. “I suppose you're right. Now, can you read the menu back to me once more? I was distracted the first time. Hey- don’t laugh y/n! It's not that funny….”

________________________________________

You ended up having a really great time with Jouno at the diner. Talking with one another like old times, and gossiping about your fellow colleagues. Your heart swelled. You’ve been in denial with yourself this whole time. You’ve always had feelings for Jouno. You just weren't aware of how deep it went. You truly were oblivious. Always pawning off your feelings as ‘what you would feel toward a mentor’ but that wasn’t the case. You see, one detail you forgot to mention to Jouno when you met again at the Hunting Dogs HQ after those years was that he left an impact on you in more ways than you let on.

[ The horrible man that tried to rob you was writhing in pain, as Jouno towered over him. Twisting his arm further and pushing him to the ground. In one fell swoop, he had the man lying on his stomach, handcuffing him faster than you could blink before radioing for a car to come take this sorry asshole for booking. As soon as Jouno took care of that, he made his way toward you. Kneeling down to meet you at eye level. You were sobbing, scared over the whole situation. The nameless policeman reached up to wipe the tears away from your eyes with his gloved hand before he spoke. “Don’t cry, everything is under control now. This man won’t harm another soul for as long as he lives.” Adrenaline was coursing through your veins. You bolted up, wrapping your arms around the policeman's neck. Sobbing into his shoulder harshly before hiccuping out. “Thank you, mister policeman, I'll never forget your kindness.” He stiffened at the sudden gesture from a stranger. But he sensed earnestness from you, and let you sob for a few moments longer. Before asking “What's your name, Sweetheart?” You pulled back to look at his face, wiping your still-flowing tears with your sleeve. “It's y/n… what's your name, Sir?” He offered you a kind smile before responding. “It's Jouno Saigiku. Part of the Hunting Dogs Military Division. Come, stand now dear, this ground is filthy. Only mutts like him deserve to be groveling against it.” You nodded at him before standing up, his hands were embraced around your forearms. Helping you on the way back up. Your legs were so shaky still. “Jouno Saigiku. You have no clue how much your service means to me. I promise. I will become strong, and repay you one day! Mark my words!” The white haired man just laughed earnestly. Patting you on the head before saying. “Alright y/n. From your heartbeat, I can tell you’re being genuine. I'll hold you to it, darling. I look forward to being equals in the future.” He then reached up to take his left earring out. Leaving the right one remaining. “Here y/n, consider this a parting gift. Now every time you look at it, you’ll be reminded on why you’re still fighting.” With that, he bowed his head at you once more before turning on his heel. Approaching the criminal as the police car pulled up. “Until we meet again, y/n!” He shouted back. Offering you one last smile before he was gone. You clutched the earring for dear life. You would treasure it for as long as you lived. “Jouno Saigiku… thank you…” ]

You felt it then. You did. But you pushed those feelings to the side. More focused on becoming strong. And meeting him again in the future. Under better circumstances. I think that's how they got lost along the way. But they were always lingering. It just took the events on Monday to unlock those dormant feelings from your heart. Things were so complicated now. How could you love both Tecchou and Jouno without anyone getting hurt in the process? Ah, you’re doomed.

yeah… i really like this chapter! i feel like jouno’s disability is glossed over in canon. so i’m trying to shed some light onto that part of him a bit. nonetheless, i hope you all enjoyed this chapter (: thank you all for your continued support!

taglist: @coco-goat-milk @madelynwolff @tecchoufr @saharei @lyrstybsd

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mushroommanstan · 1 year

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Spilled Coffee

Shigaraki x reader fluff

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The representative straightened his tie nervously, trying yet failing to meet Shigarakis gaze as they waited in silence. He could feel the fabric of his shirt darken with sweat the longer the tense silence continued, hoping to god that whoever they were waiting for would just show up already so they could get out of here.

He decided to busy himself by proofreading his progress reports, again, for the fourth time, just in case there was something he missed. He’s never had to stress this much about a simple progress update, but this year was different. This year, Rikaya had decided to bestow co-ownership of the MLA to Tomura Shigaraki, the most notoriously unstable, itchy-trigger-fingered man in all of Japan. Why? Good question.

And of course, that means that he’s now included in said progress reports, since it’s all about information for the higher ups.

But hey, no biggie right? I mean, Rikayas still gonna be there; he’ll be able to stop Shigaraki before he infamously does something he regrets. Except he isn’t there. Rikayas battle wounds took a turn for the worst, and now it’s just the representative and Shigaraki, alone, with no one around to hear him scream.

He took a sip of coffee, trying to steel his nerves, as Shigaraki fiddled with a pencil, tapping it against the desk obnoxiously. Finally, the door opened and you walked through, pulling at your shirt.

“Sorry I took so long! Some idiot spilled coffee on me an-“ you stopped abruptly, locking eyes with the wide eyed rep, mouth gapping slightly as his face paled. You both recognized eachother immediately.

He was the idiot who spilled coffee on you

It happened just a while ago. The rep was so anxious, having just gotten word that Re-Destro was going to be absent that he didn’t look where he was going and bumped right into you. He was already running late and he didn’t have enough time to apologize so he just took off without a word, hoping not to see you again. Yet here you were, perched on a serial killers lap, eyes twitching with recognition.

Shigaraki leaned back, his displeased posture easing with your presence.

“We can deal with that later. For now I just want to get this over with.”

The rep cleared his throat, worst case scenarios flooding his mind and forming a lump in his throat. Fucking shit, he spilled coffee on Shigarakis girlfriend. He’s heard of people getting dusted for way less. Fuck. He’s going to die. He’s actually going to die.

He felt his eyes water a little, breathing becoming shaky before he calmed himself down. Clearly he doesn’t know about it yet. I just need to talk the whole time without giving her a chance to speak, run out the clock and leave before he learns about it. Simple as that.

He steeled his nerves, taking a deep breath as Shigaraki waited impatiently. I mean, come on, this isn’t some big presentation. You’re not preaching to the choir just fucking go already.

With a shaky tone he began, going over the planned introduction with a generous amount of stumbling over his words. It got better as he continued, focusing more on his report rather than his impending doom.

Meanwhile shigarakis head rested against his palm, painfully obviously bored. You tapped away at your phone, leaving all the contribution to the discussion to your boyfriend, making the rep wonder why they waited for you at all.

He finished a section of his speech, sliding over a written analysis of statistics and budgets, which even though it took weeks to prepare, was merely skimmed over by Shigaraki before being set down and forgotten. But hey, he’d take apathetic boredom over murderous rage any day.

As he prattled on, he noticed your movement out of the corner of his eye. He looked up from his notes, watching as you took his report and one of the miscellaneous pens laying around ReDestros desk.

The aforementioned hours of work put into the carefully produced report was put to waste as you scribbled over it, making quick pen strokes as you wrote that made the rep stumble over his words. It was obvious you were writing something, at least a paragraph. Is it a correction? Did he do something wrong? No, that’s impossible! He’s looked over that countless times! But what else could you be writing?

His confident words were reduced to mumbles as you slid the paper back to Shigaraki. He took a much longer look than before, eyes moving as he studied what you wrote before grinning maliciously.

The rep was sure he peed himself a little at that look. That’s the face Shigaraki makes when he’s about to murder someone. Eyes gleaming, mouth stretched into a wide, unnerving grin. He felt his throat constrict even more when Shigaraki let out a dark chuckle.

Shit shit shit, you told him. You told him and now there’s no escaping his fate. He watched Shigaraki lean in and whisper something in your ear. You giggled, taking the paper back and scribbling something else down. Probably different ways that they’re going to kill him before he gets dusted. He is known to be cruel, at least with people that hurt his friends. So the rep can’t imagine how he would act to someone hurting his girlfriend. (I mean he just stained her shirt but, whatever)

He could feel bile rising in his throat as he saw the look you two shared. Giddy and content, as if plotting his murder was just a table game to them. They hadn’t even realized he stopped talking until he knocked over his water bottle, the metallic clatter ringing throughout the room, making Shigaraki visibly jump. He looked up from the paper, the glare he gave to the rep almost making him pass out.

He rolled his eyes, about to say something before you leaned in and whispered something into his ear. This time, the rep was able to hear her. You needed to go to the bathroom.

Shigaraki nodded, insisting to the rep that they should take a break, and he couldn’t agree more. As soon as they left the room the rep scrambled to get the paper. He had to know what was going to happen to him, see if there was anything he could do to prepare.

He closed his eyes, preparing himself, trying to find the strength to see his death sentence. He peeled his eyes open, looking down at his ‘edited’ work.

There, on the side of the page, was a crude doodle of a corgi with sunglasses on a skateboard. That was it. That was the entirety of your additions. A drawing of a dog on a skateboard. What. The. Hell.

He let out the biggest sigh of relief he’s ever had, letting the paper fall from his hands as he slumped back into his chair. Thank god, it was just a doodle.

They entered back into the room, returning to their original places, Shigaraki with his chin resting against his hand, you on his side, rubbing his back.

“Alright. Let’s finish this. We gotta go clothes shopping after this, thanks a lot by the way.”

The rep gulped. So he did know.

“…I’ll pay for it…”

“Yeah. I know. And it’s not gonna be cheap. But just be thankful I’m feeling generous today and not making you pay in blood.”

The rep sighed, nodding with a relieved smile. Yes, his bank account is gonna take a hit, meaning he’ll have to hold off on those car payments he needs.

But hey, could’ve been much, much worse.

#shigaraki tenko #my hero academia #shigaraki fanfiction #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x y/n #my hero academia shigaraki #boku no hero academia tomura #shigaraki fluff #shigaraki tomura

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thelarriefics · 1 year

Photo

STRANGERS TO LOVERS FIC REC, Part II: Below you will find more fics that have Harry and Louis barely knowing one another before intimacy. (Part I)

📖 Let Your Heart Be Light by @cyantific (77k)

Louis Tomlinson, a self-proclaimed holiday-hater, loses his job two weeks before Christmas. Broke and desperate to see his family back home in England, he takes the only job left at the mall as one of Santa’s helpers. Harry is an unconventional mall Santa, the youngest one they’ve had in years, but with as much holiday spirit as any other seasoned Saint Nick. He’s determined to un-Grinch the new guy in Santa’s Village if it takes until Christmas, then he finds out the devastating reason Louis has lost his Christmas cheer. Will Harry be just the thing Louis needs to help him get his sparkle back?

Featuring Liam as the manager at Santa's Village, Niall as an easy-going Irish elf and Harry's best friend, grumpy Grinch Louis and his best friend Zayn and one matchmaking Mrs. Claus.

📖 where the tide takes you, i will follow by @pinkcords (53k)

There’s no way around his departure, their inevitable fate. Harry will leave and he will return to London and when he sits in his new flat, wherever it might be, he will think of this summer and the warmth the sun brought him and the way it felt to be loved. He will compare all his future relationships to Louis and when they fall short, he will be disappointed. Harry knows this.

Or, Louis lives in Gloucester and Harry tries to find a way to stay.

📖 You're The Christmas Wonder, That Makes Me A Believer by @lousluv91 (44k)

There were two things that every person in Louis Tomlinson's life knew for sure.

First, he was a perfectionist. A hard-working person, a caretaker who took his responsibilities seriously and often appeared to be kind of intimidating. Though those he trusted also knew his very soft and loving side.

The other thing they all knew was that Louis hated Christmas.

or the one where Louis is a grinch and Harry teaches him to love Christmas. Maybe Louis falls in love with more than just the holidays.

📖 Purring In My Lap (The Kitty Fic) by @yoursolosong (40k)

Louis and Harry are two strangers who find an abandoned kitten at the same time and argue over who's going to keep it. Begrudgingly, they decide to co- parent because they're both stubborn and don't trust the other to take proper care of the kitty.

📖 now you're in my life (I can't get you off my mind) by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed (32k)

In reality, it’s a little different. Because as much as Harry loves the concept of dating, the reality sucks.

📖 Ding-Dong! Daybreak by @thinlinez (28k)

All it took was a flat bike tire, confusing usernames, pumpkin flavored biscuits, a chaotically supportive dog and food deliveries at daybreak for Omega Louis to fall hard.

📖 Sweet as Honey by @teamlouis2023 (21k)

Louis has always been shit at cooking. When he discovers Sweet as Honey on Instagram, owned by chef Harry Styles, he intends to mock him by recreating his recipes with his awful skills, posting photos on his own Instagram account, Nailed It. It's all fun until Harry asks to meet him.

📖 I Just Want To Start a Flame in your Heart by @peachbootylouis (21k)

Harry’s impending album release meant promo season was in full swing. While at an industry party with his manager, a harp player catches his eye and Harry is instantly bewitched.

📖 Checking Them Out?: How To Use Your Library Science Degree To Get an Alpha by @insightfulinsomniac (20k)

When a flirty, attractive alpha patron checks out an entire shelf of literature on omega behavior and omega rights, Harry can’t help but wonder why the man is so interested — is he a really attentive partner, or is he just a creep?

It doesn’t help that this alpha visits weekly to exchange his books… and that he smells absolutely divine.

Whether he likes it or not, Harry has a crush.

📖 lucky me, lucky you by @sun-lt (17k)

He wants to let Louis have that—have him, on his knees, easy and good and willing—badly.

📖 Be Mine? by @softfonds (11k)

Getting dumped the week before Valentine's Day wasn't in Harry's plans, and neither was being dragged to a concert to forget about it. But a sign Zayn brings manages to turn his night around in more ways than he hoped for.

📖 i need something, so tell me something new by @alwaysxlarrie (10k)

Louis goes on vacation to New York City to enjoy the good weather and good food - he even has a list of restaurants he wants to eat at. Much to his delight, his first restaurant stop includes a gorgeous curly boy and his nosy but supportive best friend. Maybe he'll get more than what he came here for.

📖 Wait by the Light of the Moon by @jaerie (5k)

Being a single parent of a newborn was not in Harry's plan. He can barely keep himself together doing everything on his own. He can't explain why he finds comfort in his neighbour next door, but apparently it's mutual.

📖 Get Nesting & Soft Knots by @pocketsunshineharry (5k)

AU where Omega Louis who runs a nesting materials Youtube channel meets Alpha Harry who knits his own blankets

📖 Perfect, For Now by @parmahamlarrie (4k)

Moving to a new city is always hard, being away from home, finding your new community - none of it is easy. Dealing with all of this while being touch deprived is even more difficult.

That is where omega Harry Styles finds himself a few months into his move to Brighton.

Then a mysterious alpha's scent enters his life, and he finds that he can't stay away.

📖 Unplant by @hellolovers13 (4k)

Louis should've looked where he was going, then he wouldn't have to desperately try to save a little flower now.

📖 She is Beauty, We are World Class by @exquisitelycloseted (3k)

A 70's London AU where Louis loses himself, and Harry finds him before he gets lost.

📖 Netflix Original by @allwaswell16 (1k)

Harry's hot neighbor overhears that he doesn't have Netflix.

#strangers to lovers fic rec #hlcreators #hljournal #1dsource

170 notes · View notes

unlikelyjapan · 9 months

Text

s2e4 rewatch notes

I'm a bit tired, please forgive the typos:

At the intro, we get a montage of the permits and files and drills, the sense of urgency - the furiousness of the work and notes begging Carmy for something (that was probably already set on his list in the last episode). I guess I stopped paying attention to the timelines - they're now 7 weeks out with no walls and we haven't really gotten into the meat of the series yet - meaning we don't really see Carmy flake the fuck out until 1 month from opening.

Sugar's "don't tell anyone - this is my problem" bit is so sad, watching her castigate herself for bringing another her/carmy/mikey/donna/their dad into the world. I also hate the way such a heavy moment was turned into such a "womp womp - wall fell" moment, as the situation (and Sugar) deserved a lot more gravitas.

But this is a show through the male lens. Richie feels vindicated that he "guessed it". Carmy doesn't know how to show his concern (and to be fair, she'd probably pummel him if he expressed anything in that moment), but the fact that he still lets his sister shoulder so much of the restaurants burdens alone through the rest of the series shows the level he disassociates from his family (even his only caring/loving family member) at every turn.

Marcus is such a good son - I hope in season 3 we get a (posthumous, I presume) look at who his mother was, what shaped his character, how his brother/father play a role (if any) in his current family dynamic etc.

The Chester + Marcus pairing is a magical talisman that protects the show from a deluge of male-on-male emotional evasion, jousting and toxic co-dependency. I don't care that Chester is about as believable as Claire as a character, mainline that shit into my veins.

I love that Carmy ensured that Marcus would have the identical experience he had when he staged in Copenhagen (as described in Fishes to Mikey) - this is in no way coincidental, he would have had to make plenty of arrangements/requests to Marie for things to play out that way. He wanted Marcus to see Copenhagen through the same magical lens he did, knowing Marcus needed the inspiration and a break from his own version of family strife.

The invisible cat (Coco), the looming presence of Marcus' mom on the viewers minds, and the bike scene are three great examples of things that feel foreboding (like the other shoe is going to drop on Marcus) but never actually amount to anything. Whether existential or hopeful, I like it.

"Do you know how to make Shisho Gelee?" - this is such a gentle test to see how insecure Marcus is in this environment. Passing him the recipe as he's googling was an awesome act of amnesty. It immediately brings out Marcus' curiosity in the next scenes - he's asking all the right questions and looks so joyful when Luca gives him concise answers.

The scenes played out to Otis Redding's "I've Been Loving You Too Long", starting with "You're tired - and you want to be free" playing as Marcus walks home. Temporarily free from the impending death of his mother at home after a long illness. Free from the constraints of the (up until now) low-level jobs Marcus' has held down in kitchens with minimal inspiration and nowhere to go. Free from loneliness? The next cut is Sydney interviewing staff, as if on cue.

The quenelle - the heavy-lovin' part of the song as Marcus' is immersed in his work with Luca, falling in love with the ritualization of his craft. Things in Marcus' life haven't exactly been going right, but this is a place of solace. He follows this up by calling his Mom - professing his love for his craft, as well as for her.

Sidebar: The minty snickers bar is almost a sexual release scene during the ballad. I get why so many folks were led down the road to hell that is Marcus x Luca fanfic, as weird as I think that is (no hate! do you!)

The song ends with the pastry dissection on the boat. This man found love/spiritual release in Copenhagen, just like Carmy. "Mission accomplished, I guess."

Fak saying "Dude! We're best friends, we don't tell secrets!" re: the alliance stuff. So....every dude at The Beef/Bear is his best friend, Sugar is Mommy, and Sydney (and Tina, for that matter) are ????

I feel like Fak may be the thing that continues to insulate The Beef/The Bear as a Berzatto clubhouse for wayward boys at this juncture, but I'm originally from Canada (and thus have been force-fed Matty Matheson a.k.a Fak-Light since the mid-aughts) so there's probably some bias creeping in here.

Luca started as a chef 14 years ago. If he entered the profession and competed against Carmy at the same level/experience as a high-school graduate, that makes him and Carmy in the rough age range of 29-32, adjusting for education sans A-levels in the UK. We can put away that screenrant article and die in peace now.

Mikey was "Really tight, but also really out of his fucking mind, and he wanted to open a bakery". Something something Berzatto parallels.

Luca says "I've got a younger sister, somewhere, yeah" after asking about Marcus' family. Luca's got a case of the family damage, the trouble in school, a past-tense case of the ferocious mopes - all the same watermarks as Carmy. Meanwhile, Marcus was just sharing his mothers prognosis, and speaks of his brother with no ill will (even though he doesn't appear to be in the caretaking position with his mom) - are they foreshadowing that Marcus' doesn't have the damage that makes a truly great/ritualized/masochistic chef in the long run?

Luca's may have learned more lessons in life than Carmy has (in part by being thwarted by Carmy) but the habits borne out of family evasion/searching for something else are so engrained with that backstory. Or maybe Marcus' represents the happier/new way of doing things, breaking the toxic cycle (more thoughts on this down the line).

Luca worked to keep up with Carmy after he came to a place of acceptance that he'd never be the best, and that ended up being enough for him. Maybe a blessing is that Marcus' gets to sidestep the whole toxic cycle and just absorb knowledge (from Luca, from Carmy, from Syd) - he's not in a running position, just like Tina.

But of course, we never worry about Tina - she's too self-possessed. Marcus is emotional and easily influenced, so I have a feeling his narrative could turn on a dime.

Luca says "At a certain stage, it becomes less about skill and more about being open....." In summary:

Marcus - Open, but I fear could easily become closed in the wrong environment/trauma.

Carmy - Closed, doesn't really understand how to open when not hiding behind the guise of the restaurant/Syd/emotional fabrications

Sydney - Wants open, but always closes instinctively for self-protection.

Natalie - Open, with the limited emotional tools she has at her disposal.

Richie - *learning* to open, but that's a long fucking road.

Tina - Open

"It helps to have good people around you, too" - see above. The Bear represents the inherent goodness of people, with familial history run roughshod over it.

Marcus asking "Was It worth it? The time you put in" quickly followed by Luca saying "I dunno....ask me tomorrow"

Isn't this the feeling of fecklessness that almost everyone has with their creative craft being converted to labor? There's been a lot of theories floating around that Carmy doesn't like cooking anymore/never liked cooking - could it just be the long-standing feeling of irrelevance when you've taken a deep-dive into your craft for so long that you can't see the forest (inspiration, caring for people) through the trees (red tape, skill level, trauma etc.)?

The man on the bike could also represent saving someone the way that Marcus can't save his mom - it alleviates some of the feelings of powerlessness, and the exchange of comfort in the hug a reciprocity he can no longer experience with her.

"Are you sure you want to get back on the bike?"

A bad thing happened, but the man feels compelled to keep moving - as Marcus said to Syd in S1 "just keep moving" - there are a bunch of metaphors for just proceeding with the restaurant here.

Syd is literally just being goofy and talking to Marcus like a friend when he first calls - I guess I imagined there being a little more heat/aloofness there on her behalf, but it's giving friend-zone. She wouldn't act so familiar if there was a crush, I don't feel its in her DNA....

Marcus sharing the nightmare about his mom's impending death with Sydney is huge (again, the other shoe dropping) - Sydney tries to give an empathetic response (she's not great at anything with a whiff of mortality to it, but she approaches the topic with optimism) and caps it off with a "ugghh - I miss you man" as a reassuring gesture - he's her friend and a great source of comfort.

He nods quietly, waits a beat, and says "I miss you too" - and you can tell the pregnant pause has let Syd know that there's gravity/consequences to her words. She diffuses with the freeze humor because what the hell else are you going to do once a guy tells you about his dying mom nightmare, you spurt out a casual "I miss you bro" and he responds back tenderly that he misses you too. Unenviable.

"Okay, goodnight dude" - Syd hangs up immediately. Oof. Everyone talks about Syd getting a love interest in season 3 to level the stakes with Carmy, but I want Marcus' to bag a hot expediter or something just so there's a bit of joy in his life without a crazy dramatic subplot ensuing.

The mild smile on Marcus' face is so peaceful when he masters the dessert. It's such a quiet satisfaction you can only get when you create things. What a nice way to end the episode.

Holy crap, this was far too long. If you stuck it out, thank you!

#the bear fx #the bear season 2 #the bear spoilers #the bear #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #marcus brooks #syd x carmy #marcus the bear #the bear s2

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alphabetboyluvr · 10 months

Text

back to you | knj

REQUEST | @btsgotjams27

VIBES | angst

SOUNDTRACK | back to you - alexander stewart

HOLLY'S NOTE | tense jaw namjoon gets me feeling a certain type of way so thank youuuu for requesting this!! no warnings - references to shagging cos ofc and approx (1) questionable reference to Saint Augustine lmao. also joonie is 25 in this!! don't shout at me!! i know he's not 25 irl!!

WORD COUNT | 2.5k

Namjoon watches the metronome on his desk tick... tick... tick..., ignoring the glare of the monitor screens in front of him.

There are two. One's open on the definition of a word that's been lodged in his frontal lobe for months, now, and the other is crammed full to the brim with dark grey producing software that he's sick of seeing. The windows open encase remnants of love songs that he can't seem to finish.

It's not for a lack of trying. Just impossible, he thinks.

They're an amalgamation of a love he never thought he'd lose, and the hopes of a future basking in it; notes of adoration dedicated to a devotion he didn't realise was quite so delicate, until his clumsy hands got a hold of it.

Mementoes for memories he can't bring himself to relive, they sit; solemn, unchanged. It's been like this for months. They're artefacts, now. Relics. Souvenirs. Trophies of a conquest he never entirely won; a bygone era in which his hair was lighter and the sun shone more frequently. Eventually, they'll be laid to rest in the paper waste icon down in the far corner of his screen.

No good. Not fit for use. Discarded before they've reached full maturity.

"Maturity," he mimics the screen with great contempt. He's 25. Brain's developed. Science says so.

And yet the loss he's mourning is all thanks to his perceived 'maturity,' or lack thereof.

It's not like you're dead, or anything dramatic like that. He knows he's being irrational. Knows his immaturity is shining through as he wallows in self-pity, four empty takeout cups of coffee waiting to be thrown away on the edge of his desk. He only leaves the studio to shower.

Doesn't even really sleep much these days. Has grown a little stubble; wonders if maybe that would make you think he was more mature. More grown-up. He sneers a little as he jots down a lyric idea; something about fine wine, how it ages, and how it was ironic you preferred cheap-as-shit soju instead of the bottles in his cooler.

In fact, when he really thinks about it, Namjoon thinks you were fucking mad to cite 'maturity' as a reason for you to break up.

He's old before his time; grew up quickly cause he didn't have a choice. Took it as an insult when you said 'we're at different stages in our lives.' Knows damn well he'd have stood on any stage with you. Fuck Wembley, fuck Jamsil, fuck SoFi. Fuck 'em all if they meant he couldn't have you.

But Namjoon would never give it up. You knew this at the time, and truthfully, so did he.

You would have never asked him to - but you can't dictate your life around him, and his plans, and his obligations. You've desires and goals of your own. Five years his senior, the impending pressures of your friends settling down - celebrating milestone anniversaries, moving back to your hometown to raise their families after their wild twenties spent in the big cities - was getting to you. It felt like you were lagging behind.

Whether either of you liked it or not, your relationship was a huge factor in that. You couldn't even tell your friends you were dating him. It's not like you ever wanted a huge legacy, but the erasure of your history together hurt.

A year of your life has been lost to a relationship that you can never speak of. There's an NDA. And even if there wasn't, you've too much respect for him to ever go against his wishes, or put him in a situation that could implode everything he's worked so tirelessly for.

So yeah, maybe you were out of line when you said he was immature, but no adult woman wants to live her life in hiding.

Nor does he - but he thinks the fact he that makes the conscious choice to live his life so privately is mature. Thinks if you were ever to call him, he'd block you. Show you what immature really looks like.

But you never do, so he never will.

Instead, he just scoffs again. "Immature," he mutters, shaking his head as he slouches into his desk chair. It spins ever so gently, Namjoon too irritated to stop it - but then he's facing the sofa and he's right back where he started.

See, Namjoon has been thinking a lot about you lately. It's time to submit his mixtape to the company; time for them to approve it for release. Trouble is, he hasn't been able to work on it since you left.

You've been in California for eight months. Since last August. Eight fucking months, and he hasn't touched a single thing, because it's all tainted with you. Stained. Ruined.

It's your favourite classical symphony sampled beneath the opening track; your lyrical suggestion in the bridge of his third track; your name he wordplays into obscurity on his fifth track. No one would ever be able to decipher it. It's just for him.

A little bit of you preserved forevermore; from a time when you were still his.

Kind of like the folder his mouse is hovering over.

It's password protected. Called 'drafts'. Looks inconspicuous. Just another plain folder icon. Nothing interesting. At least, it looks that way.

He can't bring himself to get rid of it - and yet the tick... tick... tick... of his metronome becomes the click-click-click of his mouse as he follows the electronic pathway back to you.

Namjoon enters the password. Knows he shouldn't. Knows he should also change the password, because typing in your birthday is fucking painful at this point.

There are six files in the folder. Voice notes. Audio files marked with dates and time stamps of last summer.

Above anything, he knows he shouldn't press play.

But he's 'immature'. Of course he'll do what he shouldn't - or at least that's how the voice in his head taunts him as he presses down on the play icon.

"Is it going?" Your voice echoes into the room. You giggle. Namjoon hears himself confirm that it is. He can picture it now. Remembers the shirt of his you'd been wearing after he'd snuck you into the company building. Knows exactly which part of his studio sofa you'd been on. "Okay, okay. Cool. What do you want me to do?"

"Just speak."

His voice sounds tender. Far softer than it does these days. He thinks he's grown since back then. Thinks he's matured. Thinks maybe if you'd have met him now, instead of then, perhaps it would have lasted.

"About what?" You had said with a laugh, and Namjoon finds himself burying his head in his hands at his desk.

"Anything. Everything. Your mind fascinates me, gorgeous."

"You're the one with genius-level, IQ," you had fondly teased him. "No one more fascinating than you. Did you really have to wear those sweats, though? You know they turn my mind to jelly."

"I can take them off, if it'll help."

"Keep them on," your voice had lowered. In the studio, Namjoon groans into his hands. Knows what's coming next. "Wanna see how much of a mess I make when I ride your-"

His nimble fingers race to the space bar, pausing the audio clip. Has listened to it enough times to know exactly what happens afterwards.

It's not like he needs the recording to remember. He remembers it all.

Remembers the semi he'd had at the time, and how the way you'd looked at him had him growing to full stiffness. Remembers the way you'd carried on talking nonsense when you were straddled across his thigh; and the way the conversation had dissolved into you being incredibly vocal about exactly what you wanted him to do with you. To you. For you.

And so it had become a goal: he'd been after the perfect moan to hide deep within the layers of his closing track. Would record you every now and again in the midst of a fuck. Would tell you how good you sound, how much he wants the world to hear you. Would say shit like 'you've got a voice that'll ruin lives, gorgeous,' or something about Augustine, and how he'd have never converted to celibacy if he'd have met you. Would whine along with you, and thank the lucky stars his apartment spanned over two floors - his poor neighbours probably would have complained, otherwise.

He puffs out his cheeks and sighs. Tilts his head back against the top of his chair, and lets his hand fall to his crotch. He palms it slightly; firm from the thoughts of your clammy body sticking to his, and the musky scent that he wished he could have bottled up for times like these.

"Get a grip," he berates himself, and spins back to the desk. He needs to get his feelings out. Speak them into existence. Admit that he misses you, and that he's been a bit of a mess since you've been gone. His mental block isn't going away anytime soon, so he may as well try a little honesty in its place.

He opens up the software for the mic that he keeps on his desk for rough recordings, and clicks on the red circle. Kind of feels kind of like a stop sign to him.

"Stop what?" he questions into the void. "Thinking about her? Avoiding her favourite coffee shop, even though it was mine too? Wasting all this fucking space in my brain like it's a storage unit for memories of her? I don't want them. I don't need them. Why can't I let them go? Why is she still in my head? And why am I scared of the day she won't be?"

He rambles and he rambles. Cries not once but four times. Goes on and on about why you're the fucking worst, and then he spirals into how much he loves the way you laugh, and how he's never felt anything better than your arms wrapped around his waist. Gushes about how committed you are to your work, and how much he's in awe of the way you prioritise yourself. Is proud when he mentions your achievements; is pissed off when he mentions the little quirks of yours he didn't love.

They're lies, of course. He loved everything you did - but it makes him feel better to feign hatred.

Makes him feel like it was his choice. Like he's the one who left.

He's pulled from his thoughts when his phone begins to ring. It's on loud, so he lets it ring for a bit. Knows it could sound good on the recording. He reaches over for his phone and rubs his spare hand over his face to psyche himself up.

It's probably just Yoongi, he thinks, like it normally is, wondering if he's at the office building. He doesn't check the caller ID - just answers it and automatically switches to speakerphone.

"Wassup?" He says into the receiver, far chirpier than he was during his rant. He's still a little dry, but he's performing now. Pretending like everything is fine.

There's a moment of silence. Namjoon's eyes flick to his phone screen. Checks the caller ID. Blood runs cold.

And then, there's a 'hey.'

Namjoon is the silent one, now. Doesn't know what to fucking say - and thankfully, you hate empty spaces in conversations.

So you fill it.

"I quit my job," you tell him.

Why you think he would care is beyond him.

But the last he knew, you loved your job. Something feels... uneasy within him. He remains silent. Lets you speak.

"There's a red-eye flight that leaves in four hours. LA to Seoul. I know it's..." You cut yourself off, struggling to find the right words to say. "Look, I know it's been eight months, and I know it's been rough. I thought I could do this whole 'life' thing without you, Nam, but... Fuck. I don't think I can. I... I think maybe I was the one who needed to mature. I know I put you through hell, but if I get on that flight, will you be there at the other end?"

It's a simple question, really - yes or no - yet it feels so much heavier than that. Feels like commitment. Feels like something he isn't ready for. Feels like something you rescinded your right to a long fucking time ago.

And so Namjoon laughs. It's cold. Is guaranteed to make you cry. He doesn't care.

"No."

The call ends, his finger forcefully tapping on the red button of his phone. He knows it'll hurt. Thinks 'good'. Reckons you deserve it.

But then he's scrambling; dialling your number back, holding his phone to ear, stomach in his throat, heart in tatters, swallowing back tears that threaten to fall on his part.

Being a cunt was much less satisfying than he thought it would be. In fact, if anything, it makes him feel even fucking worse.

All he wants is to see you. It's the only thing he wants.

You take a while to answer. He was right. It did make you cry. Mainly because you know you do deserve it.

There's no 'hello' when you answer. You say sorry, instead. "It was out of line for me to ask."

"Yeah," he says. "Kinda was."

"I just... I had to know. Eight months is a long time, isn't it? It's really fucking long."

Namjoon pauses. Bites down on his lip as it shakes. Sighs. "The flight... when does it land?"

"Nine-thirty."

"A.M.?"

"Yes."

"Into Incheon?"

"Uh-huh."

He can hear the tears you're fighting. Wonders if you can hear his.

"Get the flight," he finally says. "I'll meet you there."

"Wait... are you sur-"

He doesn't let you finish. He's had eight months of fucking torture without you. Eight months to think about all the things he wishes he could have done differently, eight months to play scenarios in his head. Eight months.

He can't go through it again. Can't be without you. It's too fucking hard.

"Get your ass on that flight," he says, stern in his tone.

"It's one-way," you warn him.

And even though you can't see him, you know there's a dimple in his cheek. Know he's smiling. Know it feels like a weight has lifted from his chest, because it feels that way for you, too.

"It better fucking be."

#namjoon fanfic #namjoon angst #namjoon ff #bangtan ff #bts fanfic #bts ff #byholly #so grrrrr @ tagging still !!

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dystopicjumpsuit · 4 months

Text

Stars Beyond Number - Chapter 20

A Whimper

Rating: M - Minors DNI

Pairings: Echo x Riyo Chuchi; Gregor x OFC Cerra Kilian

Wordcount: 2.4k

Warnings and tags: the shit hits the fan; mentions of Plan 99 (spoilers for TBB season 2 finale); angst; suspense; canon-typical violence (bearing in mind that in canon Mando cuts a dude in half, soooo... adjust expectations accordingly); references to torture; choking; blood and injury; character death; language.

Suggested Listening:

Summary: Echo deals with the fallout of Plan 99; Cerra has a polite conversation with the Empire.

A/N: This story shares continuity with Martyrs and Kings, "Double, Double Boil and Trouble" (part 2 here) and "Do It Again," but all the fics can be read as stand-alones.

…Not with a bang but a whimper.

—T. S. Eliot, “The Hollow Men”

Echo sat motionless in the cockpit of the Marauder, staring blindly at the navigation controls. Tech was gone. They’d lost. And all of it had been for nothing. They had no way of locating Hemlock or his base—no way of finding Crosshair. Echo hadn’t just failed to bring one brother home; he’d lost another.

He mentally replayed those fateful moments in the railcar again and again. Could he have worked faster? Could he have done anything differently? Could he have changed the outcome? He didn’t know, and that uncertainty haunted him.

He turned to stare at the empty pilot’s seat. For an instant, Echo could almost see Tech there. He swallowed hard, pushing down the overwhelming grief that tightened in his throat, choking off his breath. His head hurt; his chest ached; his eyes burned with unshed tears.

Gonky shuffled into the cockpit and squawked so quietly that Echo didn’t hear him at first. The droid moved closer and honked a little louder, trying to get Echo’s attention.

Echo blinked and looked away from the vacant pilot’s seat. “What is it?”

Distantly, he heard a familiar rumble, and his heart began to race. He launched out of the co-pilot’s seat and sprinted out of the Marauder. He spotted the Venator hovering over Ord Mantell City and immediately commed Hunter.

“Hunter, the Empire's here.” No answer came. “Hunter, do you copy? Wrecker?”

There was no reply; nothing but static on the comms.

Kark.

Cerra stumbled as the TK trooper shoved her into the corridor. She subtly tested the binders on her wrists, but they held fast. She fought down the tide of panic rising in her chest and tried to ignore the way her breath was beginning to spiral out of control.

Exhale. One, two, three, four, five. Inhale. One, two, three, four, five. Oh, god, what if I never see Gregor again? Exhale. One, two, three, four, five. Don’t think about it. Inhale. One, two, three, four, five.

She forced herself to focus on solving her immediate problems. First, she needed to get out of the binders. Impossible. Next, neutralize the trooper and take his blaster. He’ll blast me before I ever touch the deecee. Next, get to the hangar, steal a shuttle, and hit up the first Starcups she could find.

Piece of uj cake, she thought. Kriff, I’m going to die.

Her sense of impending doom only intensified when she reached the torture chamber—or rather, “enhanced interrogation room.” A stocky man in an officer’s uniform waited next to a table fitted with numerous restraints and an array of control panels and sinister-looking instruments. A tray of surgical tools and hypo-syringes sat next to it, neatly arranged.

At least he’s organized. I’d hate to be tortured to death by someone who was sloppy.

“Agent Daivik, I presume?” she asked.

“Ah, Miss Kilian. So good of you to join me,” Daivik said smoothly. He turned to the TK trooper. “Take off her binders and get out.”

“Can’t wait to get me alone?” she quipped as the trooper unlocked the manacles.

“Hardly,” Daivik sniffed. “You are only useful because of the information you possess. Please lie down.”

“Aren’t you going to buy me a drink first?” she asked, rubbing her wrists to get the blood flowing to her hands again.

Daivik smirked, then his fist slammed into her shoulder and sent her careening backwards, the backs of her legs colliding with the interrogation table. He grabbed her by the throat and shoved her down onto the table. She kicked her feet desperately, but he pinned down her thighs with one of his legs as he forced her to lie flat on her back. She scratched and grappled with his hand that clamped around her throat in a vise-like grip.

“Ju—Ch—” she sputtered as her airway closed.

“Ready to talk so soon?” he snarled. “I’m just getting started.”

Nevertheless, he loosened his grip enough that she could speak.

“Choke me harder, Daddy,” she rasped.

He snatched his hand away with a revolted curse, and she saw her opening. She headbutted him with all the force she could muster, and his nose made a sickening crunch as her forehead smashed into his face. He staggered backward, and she seized a scalpel off the surgical tray and plunged it into his neck. Blood sprayed out of him instantaneously, spattering thickly over her hand, arm, and face, and she lost her grip on the scalpel as the hot, slippery fluid coated her fingers.

Daivik’s pale blue eyes opened wide with shock, but he staggered toward her, his hands outstretched toward her neck. She clenched her hand into a fist and pounded the scalpel deeper into his throat, then curled her legs up and kicked him away with both feet. He lurched backward and fell, landing with a heavy thud. He went abruptly still as his head collided with the durasteel floor.

She leaned forward on the edge of the table, bracing her hands on her knees as she gasped for air. Her vision blurred, and with her clean hand, she wiped Daivik’s blood out of her eyes. The door hissed open, and the TK trooper rushed into the room. Cerra lunged for another scalpel, but before she could strike, she saw a flash of blue, and the trooper collapsed to the floor. A clone in gray and white armor stood behind him, blaster still raised. Cerra crouched in a defensive position, scalpel clutched in her fist. The clone smacked the control panel to close the door behind him, then lowered his blaster.

“You know, if you wanted to see me, all you had to do is comm,” he said as he removed his helmet to reveal a familiar scarred face and mismatched eyes: one brown, and one a cybernetic silver.

“Wolffe?” she gaped, her voice hoarse and ragged from Daivik’s bruising grip on her throat. “What are you doing here?”

“Saw you on the security holofeeds and thought you might need help.” He spared a glance at Daivik’s corpse. “Looks like I was right.”

“I had it under control,” she lied, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

“You were about to bring a scalpel to a blaster fight,” Wolffe said pointedly.

“Kriff you,” she replied without heat.

“Kriff me yourself, coward,” he grinned.

“Holocams?” she asked.

“Surveillance feeds are off for this room and the corridor outside. You all right?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?” she asked, pulling off her jacket and using it to wipe the blood off herself as much as possible.

“You don’t look so bad,” Wolffe said as he quickly began to strip off the TK trooper’s armor.

She moved to help. “Been better, been worse.”

“What’s your plan for getting out of here?” he asked.

“Steal a shuttle,” she said.

“I like it. Simple, straightforward.”

“Want to come with me?” she asked.

He shook his head as they wrestled the TK trooper out of his compression suit. “I’ll stay here and cover for you from the command deck.”

“You sure?” she asked doubtfully. “They’re going to suspect I had help.”

“I’ll stay,” he repeated. “I have… other duties to fulfill.”

He turned his back to give her privacy as she changed into the black body glove, then handed her the armor one piece at a time as she suited up.

“It’s a hell of a coincidence, you being on the exact ship they brought me to,” Cerra observed.

“Sure is,” he said, not meeting her eyes.

“Almost like someone knew I got captured and sent you in after me,” she said.

“That’d be quite the twist, wouldn’t it?” he agreed noncommittally. “Good thing neither of us knows anyone who would do that.”

“Good thing,” she agreed as she settled the helmet onto her head. “How do I look?”

“Not bad,” Wolffe replied. “You might want to take this, though.”

He drew one of his blasters and offered it to her.

“I’ve got his deecee,” she said, gesturing toward the unconscious TK trooper. “I’m good.”

“Trust me, you want this one,” Wolffe said.

She glanced down at the blaster in his hand, and her breath caught as she recognized Jesse’s modifications.

“I could only find the one,” he said. “But I knew you’d want it back.”

Her throat tightened, and she swallowed hard before she managed to reply, “Thanks.”

He nodded, his eyes sympathetic. “Ready?”

“Any time. It was good seeing you, buddy.”

“You, too, kid,” Wolffe said, sliding his helmet firmly into place. “I’ll see you around.”

“That a promise?” she asked.

“Clone’s honor.”

They stepped into the corridor, and Wolffe closed and locked the door behind them. With any luck, nobody would discover Daivik’s body and the TK trooper until Cerra was safely off the Venator. With one final nod at each other, they parted, Wolffe heading to the bridge while Cerra made her way to the flight deck.

She forced herself to walk at a normal pace to avoid drawing attention, though her instincts screamed at her to run. Her heart pounded, and she was grateful for the helmet that hid her face from the Imperials she passed in the passageways; she didn’t think she would be able to disguise her anxiety without it.

The hangar was nearly deserted when she arrived—no doubt thanks to Wolffe. Nobody noticed an extra TK trooper in the shuttle bay. Cerra selected a shuttle, then quickly located and disabled its transponder beacon. Once she powered up the shuttle, the Imperials would know something was wrong. She would have an incredibly narrow window to get out of range of the tractor beam. There would be no time to program the hyperdrive navicomputer; she’d have to use the last inputted coordinates and hope for the best. She took a deep breath and boarded the shuttle.

Settling into the pilot’s seat, Cerra began running as many of the pre-flight protocols as she could before engaging the sublight engine. This is it, then, she thought, beginning the power-up sequence and maneuvering the shuttle out of the bay.

The comms crackled almost immediately. “Nu-class shuttle, you are not cleared for takeoff. Return to the—”

She muted the transmission, then punched the thrusters to top speed, blasting out of the hangar and into space. The Venator opened fire, but as soon as she was clear of the ship, Cerra jumped to hyperspace. Safely away, she yanked off her helmet and leaned back in her seat, gasping for air.

“I can’t believe that worked,” she said aloud with a short, incredulous laugh.

Riyo stared at the flickering hologram of Echo’s face, feeling as though all the oxygen had been forcefully ripped from her lungs.

“How?” she whispered. “What happened?”

“The Trandoshan sold us out,” Echo replied, his face grim and twisted by grief and anger. “We barely made it out alive.”

“Why would the Empire take Omega? What do they want with her?”

“I don’t know. That Imperial—Hemlock—he said something about Nala Se. He said she’s still alive.”

Riyo frowned. “Could she have escaped the destruction of Tipoca City? Halle Burtoni told me there were a few Kaminoans scattered throughout the galaxy, but she didn’t mention Nala Se.”

“If Nala Se is working for the Empire, that can only spell trouble for us clones,” Echo said.

“I agree. We should discuss this with Rex. When will you be back to Coruscant?” Riyo asked.

Echo glanced away, refusing to meet her eyes.

Her heart began to pound. “Echo?”

He took a deep breath before he replied. “I’m not coming back to Coruscant.”

She blinked. “... What?”

“I’m staying with Hunter and Wrecker,” he said quietly. “Omega is still out there somewhere, in Imperial hands. We have to find her.”

“Cerra is still out there, too!” Riyo protested. “We need you here! We need you—”

“Riyo,” Echo said gently. “Rex and the others are doing everything they can to find her. I trust them, and I trust that she can take care of herself until they find her. Besides, if I know Cerra, she’s already making whoever took her wish they were never born. But Omega is only a child. We can’t abandon her.”

He was right, of course. She knew he was right. But knowing he was right didn’t make the crushing weight in her chest feel any lighter. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She bit back the selfish words that sprang to her lips, knowing that speaking them aloud would only make things worse. Nevertheless, they reverberated in her mind.

I need you. I love you. Come back to me.

Echo reached for her through the holocomm, and she closed her eyes for a moment, imagining that she could feel the warmth of his touch.

“We will see each other again,” he said. “I swear it, Riyo. This isn’t the end for us.”

Without her comlink, Cerra had no choice but to use the shuttle’s communicator to contact Rex. Not only were the shuttle’s comms not secure, it was possible that the Empire was actively monitoring them. She keyed in the details for one of the team’s burner comm channels.

“Code kilo-three-two-seven. Scrapper to Monarch, come in,” she said. The minutes ticked by in agonizing slowness as she awaited a reply. When none came, she tried again. “Monarch, this is Scrapper. Please respond.”

The comm was silent. Fighting down her rising panic, Cerra ran a diagnostic to make sure it was functional. All systems were normal. She was just about to try a third time when the voice she loved most in the entire galaxy crackled through the speaker.

“Scrapper, this is Watchman. Good to hear your voice.”

Gregor. Oh, thank kriff. Tears of relief stung her eyes, and she hurriedly blinked them away as she responded.

“Back at you, Watchman.” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed. “Really good.”

“What’s your status?”

“I’m all right, but I could use a ride. Any chance you’re free for a pickup?” she asked.

“Affirmative. Head to delta-one-alpha-eight-two. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Copy that, Watchman. Fly casual.”

“You, too, Scrapper.”

Gregor ended the transmission, and Cerra let out a shaky breath. It was over. She was going home.

---

Next chapter

#echo tbb #captain gregor #captain rex #riyo chuchi #oc: cerra kilian #echo x riyo chuchi #gregor x oc #clone trooper nemec #clone trooper fireball #star wars #the bad batch #star wars fanfic #tbb fanfic #stars beyond number #dystopicjumpsuit writes #Spotify

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stevengrant-enthusiast · 1 year

Text

Drunken Confessions

note: Hello!1 I'm having brain rot and currently procrastinating on my research paper. and instead, I wrote this. This is the first fic I've ever written, so please be kind! Please excuse any grammatical mistakes (I wrote this at 2 am). I don't know if anyone will actually read the shit that I post here, but I'm just gonna use this blog as a creative outlet. Love ya'll and enjoy

SUMMARY: You are sad because of Jake Lockley. You are drunk. You tell him that you are sad in your drunk state. That's it.

Pairing: Jake Lockley x gn!Reader (Marc and Steven mentioned)

Rating: fluff! and angst?? Kissing. idk

Warnings: ***I DO NOT HAVE DID** Unrealistic depiction of DID. If I wrote something that is offense, please let me know and I'll fix it ASAP. mentions of alcohol. Established relationship. No use of y/n.

Word Count:900

♥ ♥ ♥

Drinking when sad is never a good idea. But when your friends drag you along their bar hopping adventures on a Saturday in London, you already knew that getting pissed drunk was inevitable even before the night began.

Your shit attitude tonight didn’t arise from the fact that you were late to your work today or because your boss chewed you out for a mistake your co-worker made on a report, but rather something- or someone- else. Jake Lockley.

It’s so stupid. You know Jake. He’s a night owl and your schedules don’t really match up. He didn’t mean for it to happen but you guys have just been out of sync lately. And before he knew it, it had almost been 2 weeks since you last saw each other. But as the days went on, you couldn’t help but feel that a piece of you was missing- like a black and empty void growing bigger and bigger everyday.

You guessed that tonight (plus the alcohol) was the final straw, the tipping moment that sent you into a dizzy nightmare of paranoia. Or more realistically, your sobriety had left you along with your rationale and critical thinking skills, because by the end of the night, you had fallen into the deep conspiracy that Jake was avoiding you. He didn’t love you anymore and never wanted to see you again.

And before you could clear your head of this catastrophe of a thought, you were at their doorstep. Still drunk and wobbly.

Slowly, you give three knocks on the door and it opens almost immediately- it’s Jake. You figure (even in your drunken state) from his hat and tie that he is on his way out for the night shift as a cab driver. It’s Saturday night, so yeah. A lot of drunk strangers are probably looking for a ride back home at this hour.

But right now, you see him. In his white shirt. A little scruff of a beard. You didn’t mean to cry, but you couldn’t help the tears that fell fervently at the beautiful sight of him.

“Mi vida?! What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Did someone hurt you?”

Of course his mind would go to that. But instead of answering, you just look at him with glassy eyes and a slight frown. His eyes are blown open with concern and his brows in a furrow. His hands are readily reaching out in a desperate attempt to comfort you.

You subside the tears for a moment to gather the courage to ask him the impending question that has been bothering you for the past couple hours.

“Jake.. Where have you been? I missed you..”

His face relaxes and tilts slightly up in realization. He pulls you inside the flat by the waist and holds you close.

“Lo siento mi alma… I’ve been so busy lately. I’ve neglected you.”

Your heart breaks silently at his words. Here’s Jake, busting his ass on his job. Dealing with annoying drunks every night and coming home at the crack of dawn. And you’re selfishly centering yourself in his problems. You look up at him with a face somehow sadder than before.

“No, no. Don’t be sorry. you didn’t do anything wrong. I- I just thought you didn’t want to see me anymore. I’m sorry.”

“That's insane mi corazón, you know that. But I'm so sorry for making you feel that way. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“It's just.. just sometimes I'm too sensitive I guess. And.. I feel like I'm not there for you when you need my support or anything else.”

You choke on your words as they come up. In an attempt to fight the tears that are on the verge of spilling, you bite your lower lip and bury your face into his chest, soaking up his white shirt.

Jake gently cups your face in his big hands and tilts it to meet your gaze. He looks at you with his puppy dog eyes that kind of remind you of Steven. But unlike Steven, his look carries a sternness behind them. It's a bittersweet look, but it tells you that he's here for you. And he is serious about you.

“No. You’re perfect for me. You don't owe me anything. And I’ve missed you too, angel. so much.”

“I care about you Jake. I wanna know what you’re up to, y’know? I wanna hear about your day..”

“I know love. I’ll come out more often I swear. I guess I didn’t want to bother when you spend time with Steven or Marc.”

Your heart swoons at him concerning over your relationship with the other moonboys. You love them all equally so so much.

And the truth is, of course Jake missed you. Everything about you. But for him, just seeing you through the eyes of Marc and Steven was enough. The mere sight of you gave him all the strength he needed to go on about his day. He just forgot for a second that you also need him as well. The thought makes his heart warm and he smiles.

“I wanna spend time with you too, dumbass!” you reply.

You both start laughing and before you know it, you’re kissing him. It's a little sloppy, given your state, but it's with earnest conviction. You kiss him like he’s water and you’re dying of dehydration on a blazing desert. It’s a kiss that’s gentle yet powerful, both parties so needy but cautious. It’s crazy. You didn’t know you were capable of giving and receiving so much love before meeting these three. And you thank the stars for letting their paths cross with yours.

To your disliking, you part from his lips.

“When do you have to leave?” you ask.

He checks his phone for the time.

“In thirty or forty minutes? Why?”

At his response, you crash your lips back onto his face and push him to the bedroom.

♥ ♥ ♥

THANK YOU FOR READING. Maybe ill write a part two if I can gather the courage to write smut.. As of now, I can't do it without getting into a laughing fit all alone in my dorm, making me look like the JokerTM. (I think my roommates are worried).

#moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #jake lockley x gender neutral reader #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fic #oscar issac #marvel #mcu #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you

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oblivious-idiot · 1 year

Note

Hi there! I love your Lockwood&Co. stories! If you're still after prompts, would you do a Lucy x (fem or gn)reader fic where they both run into each other in the kitchen late one night, because they've both been having nightmares and can't sleep? And maybe they end up falling asleep on the couch together after staying up late talking?

Have a great day!

Sweet Nothings

AN: This is so sweet, thank you Clair!! I hope you like this <3 (I had to rewrite it so many times until I liked it haha)

Pairings: Lucy Carlyle x fem!Reader

Word count: 800~

Warnings: fluff, hurt/comfort, mild language

Lockwood crashed down onto the floor as his rapier flew away from his hand, George passed out a few feet away. Lucy cradled your body as a phantom closed in over the group of you, your eyes a milky white colour from being Ghost Touched. Lucy sobbed as the impending fate of your group enclosed...

Lucy suddenly awoke from her nightmare, cold sweat rippling across her body, her heart in her throat. The last case the group battled was a close call, but her mind couldn't stop imagining worse situations while she slept. The thought of losing you to the Ghost Touch, someone she was so close to, someone she thinks she loved, she couldn't bare it. This group, Lockwood, George, and you, it was all she had and she was so afraid of losing it.

She arose from her bed quietly and grabbed her sweater, trying not to wake anyone else in the house, before slowly descending down the stairs to the kitchen. Spending some time in reality with a cup of tea will help her tired mind, reminding her that everything was okay.

What Lucy wasn't expecting when she arrived downstairs was to see the kitchen light already on. As she opened the door, her eyes met your body by the kitchen window, staring out into the garden as you filled the kettle. "Can you put in enough for two?" Lucy called out to you quietly, although still making you jump. You turned around to meet her eyes, your zip-up hoodie loosely hung over your shoulders, eyes clearly also burdened from lack of sleep and nightmares "yeah of course", you say giving her a soft smile.

"Bad dreams?" You ask her, resting your body against the kitchen counter as the kettle slowly boiled "I think 'bad' would be an understatement" she replied with a forced laugh, tugging at her sleeves. "Oh Luce..." you hold out your arms to hug her, which she gladly accepted, snuggling her face into your chest "I've been having them too, its okay..." your voice tight, almost as if you were telling yourself it was okay. Lucy wrapped her arms around you tightly underneath your hoodie, breathing in your comforting scent of cloves and vanilla.

The kettle eventually making its click sound to indicate it's finished boiling, you and Lucy slowly pull away from each so you can make the tea. You reach up to one of the top cupboards of the kitchen to pull out a box of sleepy herbal tea "If Lockwood knew you had that, he'd go ballistic" Lucy chuckled from behind you, "And that's why us girls aren't going to tell him, we both know that boy runs purely on extra caffeinated black tea" you reply, your soft smile making the edges of your eyes scrunch up. Lucy loved seeing you like this, sleepy but inviting. Were you flirting with her? God knows, but it made her heart ache.

Once the tea you had made finished brewing, you and Lucy headed into the living room where it was not only warmer, but also so much more comfy. Lucy pulled out a blanket from a nearby basket and you both snuggled into each other on the couch, her head resting on your shoulder as you both sipped your tea. "Do you want to talk about your dream, or would you prefer to think about something else?" You ask her, your voice soft and gentle so she knows that she shouldn't feel any pressure. "Something else, I really don't want to think about that.." Lucy replies quietly.

So the two of you start talking about all the stupid shit Lockwood and George have done since you both joined the agency, the both of you slightly delirious from the lack of sleep. "I swear neither of those boys had ever been around a girl when I first came here, this place was a mess" you laughed, telling Lucy about the constant piles of laundry and dirty dishes around the house, "oh oh, the state of the attic when I moved in, ugh!" Lucy added in, which made you look down at her "Luce, the attic was still my room too when you came" "Oh, so it was" she replied, sending you a cheeky grin.

Eventually you both started to become sleepy, the need for rest slowly taking over your bodies. You snuggled into Lucy as she rested her head on your chest, her arm cradled around you, almost as if so nothing would happen to you. Neither of you remember falling asleep, but it was the most peaceful sleep the both of you had for as long as you two could remember.

#allie writes #lucy carlyle x reader #lucy carlyle #lucy carlyle x fem!reader #lockwood & co #lockwood and co #anthony lockwood #georgenotfound #lockwood #lockwood and co imagines #lockwood and co x reader

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gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot · 9 months

Text

Paulatim sed Firmiter (Slowly but surely) - Tuesday night

Warning: Tuesdays are slow and boring

Mood: https://youtu.be/JQSUDAL0iYE

Tag (because they asked): @glitterypirateduck

Previous / Masterlist / Next

Tuesday night

Sergeant Christine Vega’s room

Price told me your mission got extended. Take care.

No, that wouldn’t work. Riot exhaled an exasperated huff and deleted the text, staring at the empty chat screen, only now realizing that they had never texted.

They had each other’s numbers, and there was even a rarely used Whatsapp group – apart from the Super Sergeants one – which had the five of them, but they had never exchanged texts privately. They hadn’t even talked on the phone, not even once.

Of course she knew why. Unless there were chores, or meetings, or training drills, they spent their whole time together, in various combinations. Ghost and Soap. Ghost, Soap and Gaz. Ghost and Gaz. Ghost, Gaz and her. Gaz and Soap. Gaz and her. Soap and her. Gaz, Soap and her. Ghost and her. Sometimes the four of them together. Most of the time working in silence on their respective paperwork, listening to Soap and Gaz throwing insults and quips at each other, just… co-existing.

Got in trouble for insulting an officer. You should have seen Price’s face.

No, that wouldn’t work either. It sounded as if she were writing a journal. Delete. Exasperated, she almost threw the fucking phone against the wall, but she just dropped back down on her bed instead, looking at the ceiling. For God’s sake. She was almost thirty. Ok, almost twenty-nine. She was way too old to act like a teen.

She closed her eyes, trying to remember his voice. That deep, gravelly voice, sometimes gruff, always scorching, making her melt as if it were lava. Lovie. Doll. There’s my girl. I’ll be back before you know it. You’re a menace, Vega. She was wearing his t-shirt over her pyjama shorts and it still smelled like him and it was making her stupid. It had to be that.

She grabbed the phone again.

I miss you

It even hurt to read it.

Her fingertip hovered over the little arrow. Lovie. There’s my girl. His small chuckle when calling her a menace. His eyes when telling her he would be back soon. His palm cupping her face in a forest in Belarus. His arm around her while sleeping on the plane. The warmth of his shoulder under her cheek.

I miss you

Delete. Riot tossed the phone on the bed and buried her face in her palms.

‘‘Mierda. Mierda mierda mierda mierda MIERDA MIERDA (shit)’’

Why. Fucking why. Three words. Just three words and it was so fucking easy to send them. Three words and it would be done. Three words and maybe she’d be able to sleep.

Three words and he would know, and maybe take the reigns because she was so fucking lost.

What if he left his phone? She wanted to laugh at her own stupidity. Of course he would have. None of them brought their phones on solo missions just in case. What was she thinking?

You don’t deserve it

Chuckling sadly to herself, she got out of the bed and walked over to her desk, where she sat down and put her headphones on after plugging them into her laptop, trying to ignore the voices in her head to try and study some vocabulary.

Impending impact

She froze, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. She could smell the cell, smell them, the walls of her room becoming smaller and closer, smaller and closer, smaller and closer…

‘‘No. I’m not there.’’ She thought, opening a web browser and then Youtube. ‘‘I’m not there. You can’t take me there again. I won’t go’’

Slowly, she typed in the search bar, chose a compilation video, and hit play.

Fight fire with fucking fire.

141 common room

‘‘You had dinner two hours ago’’ Gaz couldn’t help but laugh seeing Soap devouring a bag of crisps. ‘‘And ate enough for a whole platoon’’

‘‘After that fucking lunch of shite what did’ya expect’’ Soap grumbled with his mouth full. ‘‘And dinner was pasta. PASTA. That doesn’t fill a man’s belly’’

Both of them were slumped on one of the sofas of the common room that Price had deemed private for the officers of the Task Force. It wasn’t a big one, but enough for the five officers to meet for some downtime and not have to use the mess hall, it even had a small kitchenette and a fridge where they could store all kinds of snacks for the times where the canteen’s food was atrocious.

‘‘It was a good thing lunch was horrible though’’ Gaz smiled, going over a list on his notebook with Soap leaning against his side, looking. ‘‘Everyone was queuing at the burger joint and the office building was deserted’’

MacTavish’s smile was a devilish as his while the both of them sniggered.

‘‘How much time do you think it’ll take for Robinson to realize?’’

‘‘As soon as he sits down tomorrow’’ Gaz smirked, dutifully crossing the first and second lines of the list the three Sergeants had put together the day before. ‘‘And the rest as soon as temperature starts to rise’’

Soap barked a laugh, tossing the empty bag into the bin and then grabbing his phone.

‘‘I’m going to call Riot to see if she wants to come hang out’’

‘‘Won’t she be sleeping?’’

‘‘Nah’’ Just in case, Soap checked the hour before browsing his contacts and choosing the one he needed. ‘‘At this hour she’s stuffing her brain with vocabulary from whatever language she’s obsessed to learn now. That or she’s watching kitten and puppy videos.’’

He put the phone on speaker, waiting. She didn’t answer, and Soap frowned, while Gaz shrugged.

‘‘Maybe she is sleeping’’

‘‘Never this early’’ Johnny tried again, sitting upright on the sofa. ‘‘And in any case, she’s a light sleeper and never puts the phone in silent mode. If she sees it’s me, she answers. If I see it’s her calling, I answer. That’s our deal’’

‘‘What happened when either of you were deployed before, then?’’ Gaz looked at the screen of Johnny’s phone, seeing the call going unanswered again and his friend’s carefree expression vanishing.

‘‘We warned each other so we’d know. We sneaked a text here and there anyway’’ Soap stood up, glaring at the phone. ‘‘I’m going to her room’’

‘‘Mate, you’re going to get in trouble if someone catches you in the women’s wing’’ Gaz shook his head, watching MacTavish as the Scot made his way to the door.

‘‘I dinnae care’’ Was Soap’s faint answer as he left in a hurry. Gaz sighed and went back to his notebook, reading again the crossed lines.

- Unscrew chair’s wheels

- Hide fish and eggs in air vent

Johnny rushed through the corridors, still trying to call and getting disconnected after countless tones. He didn’t know why he was worried, though. She was fine. She had to be. His blood froze just with the thought of losing his person.

He barely looked around when he reached the female officers’ wing, starting to search in his pockets for the copy of her room’s key. Both of them had copies of each other’s rooms, just in case, just for safety, but in reality they both knew it was because they were each other’s safe shelter. Countless times in boot camp one or another sneaked into each other’s room to sleep, and now was no different.

When he reached the middle of the hallway he heard her ringtone going off. Thunderstruck. ACDC. She had had the same ringtone since she was sixteen, per her words. So her phone wasn’t on silent mode but she wasn’t answering.

‘‘Please, please, please…’’ Johnny fumbled with the key, trying to get it into the lock and turning it, pushing the door open.

Christine was there, hunched over her desk in front of her laptop, with her head buried in her bent arms, her fingers tugging at her hair, headphones on. He closed the door and locked it before approaching here quickly, seeing her flinch, but it didn’t look like she noticed his presence.

‘‘What the…’’ He looked at the screen, to find a video running on Youtube. ‘‘What are you…?’’

There was a sudden flash of fire in the video, and seconds after, she flinched again, her fingers grabbing her own hair more roughly. His eyes went wide and he grabbed the headphones’ cord to yank it off the laptop and slap it shut.

‘‘Yer aff yer heid, what are you doing???’’

She whimpered weakly, still in the same position, and Johnny kneeled beside her chair to pull her forcefully into his arms, tearing her headphones off and tossing them aside. Christine blindly clung to him, burying her face in his neck while he held her.

‘‘For fuck’s sake, listening to explosions? Really?’’ He pressed his cheek against her hair, rocking her body and trying to get her to breathe slower and steadier. ‘‘That’s my thing, you know? Not yours. What were you thinking?’’

She tried to pry away from his arms, but he held her firmly, and slowly got up, forcing her to her feet with him. Then, he lifted her up, and that was when she seemed to wake up.

‘‘What the fuck are you doing here?’’

‘‘You weren’t answering yer fucking phone!’’ Johnny grunted while carrying her to the bed, where he sat down with Christine on his lap, his arms holding her in place in spite of her protests.

‘‘I’m fine!’’ She tried to get up, but he forced her down again. ‘‘You don’t have to worry about me!’’

John Ian MacTavish was a nice lad. A patient lad. Friend of his friends, and of his friends’ friends. He had a smile and a good word for everyone, a friendly quip, always saw the funny side of things. Never getting angry, laughing the loudest, being as supportive as he could. Slow to anger.

Beware the fury of a patient man

‘‘The fucking fuck does that mean!?’’ His voice thundered in the small room, keeping her caged in his arms, her back to his chest and his cheek pressed against hers. ‘‘How… how dae ye dare say that!?’’

Christine tried to protest again, but the only sound that came from her mouth was a sob, and Johnny’s heart broke. He could count with the fingers of one hand the times he had seen her tears or heard her cry, and he still would have fingers to spare. He lay down on the bed with her still in his arms, and forced her to turn around and face him.

‘‘Gimme yer right leg’’

‘‘What?’’

‘‘Gimme yer fucking leg’’ Johnny raised himself on one elbow and hiked up the left leg of his cargo trousers before pulling his sock down as far as he could reach. Then, he grabbed her bare right ankle when she was trying to get away and get out of the bed and dragged it over his left. On both was the same design, a simple black triquetra. ‘‘What thae fuck does this mean!?’’

Her eyes welled up, staring at their matching tattoos. It had been a juvenile, cheesy thing to do, but at the moment, when they were to be separated and destined to different units, it had seemed appropriate. To still be with each other in their own way, even in the distance.

‘‘A fucking promise!’’ Johnny’s deep blue eyes bored into hers, angrier than she had seen in years. ‘‘We fucking promised to take care of each other. To be there for each other. Don’t fucking dare tell me I dinnae have to worry about you. Yer my family. Yer my sister’’

‘‘You already have three sisters, Johnny’’ She smiled weakly, still teary eyed, and he sighed and dropped his head on hers until their foreheads were pressed against each other.

‘‘Awa' n bile yer heid’’

They stayed there in silence, both calming down until Christine sighed.

‘‘I’m drowning, Johnny, and I don’t know how to stay afloat’’ She felt his hands in her hair, soothingly brushing it back from her face, their foreheads still touching. ‘‘I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing and it’s not getting better. It’s so slow. I can’t do slow. I need to be me, I can’t do this, I need to be better’’

‘‘Then talk to me. Please! You can’t do this to yourself. Seriously, listening to explosions in your free time? For what, trying to make yourself not scared of them again?’’ He grumbled, feeling her body relaxing while he kept running his rough fingers through her hair, untangling some knots in the blonde locks. ‘‘You’re always so patient with everyone, lassie. With the recruits, with the civilian personnel, with the higher ups, with me. Why can’t you dedicate some of that patience to yourself?’’

She sniffled, rubbing her eyes to try and make the tears go away before they fell, when Johnny’s phone went off with a text message. Grunting, he took it out of his pocket to check.

‘‘It’s Gaz. We were in the common room, plotting, and I was calling ye to see if ye wanted to come’’ He sat up, dragging her up with him, his usual grin back. ‘‘So go wash your face and get dressed, we’re going to plan naughty shit’’

Christine laughed despite herself, and wrapped her arms around Johnny’s neck to kiss his cheek, laughing more when he pretended to gag.

‘‘I love you, Johnny’’ She whispered against his skin, smiling. ‘‘I don’t know what I would do without you’’

When she released him Johnny brushed his thumb over the scar on her cheek, grinning.

‘‘I love you too. You won’t get rid of me anytime soon, lassie’’ He slapped her on the thigh, pushing her up from his lap as she laughed. ‘‘Come on, Gaz’s waiting’’

She grabbed some clothes to go to the bathroom to get changed, in a better mood. When she stood up the too big black t-shirt she was wearing covered her legs until mid-thigh, and Johnny just stared until she disappeared in the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

He could have sworn he had seen that t-shirt somewhere.

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