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solarmorrigan · 6 months

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omg I'm obsessed with your latest "don't fucking touch me" prompt. Would you continue it?

Hello! I know this is actually from earlier in the week than the one I answered a couple of days ago, but I was saving it because, while I don't exactly have a continuation, I do have a little stobin interlude I wanted to share

I'm still working on the "fix it" part of this idea, but at least in the meantime Steve gets a hug?

[Part 1]

It isn’t unusual for Steve to show up at Robin’s house well after any reasonable guest would come knocking. It isn’t unusual for him to do it by climbing the side of the house and knocking on her window (she hasn’t told him that her parents don’t really care anymore if he’s there in the middle of the night; she figures the physical activity counts as some kind of jock enrichment). Unfortunately, it isn’t even unusual for him to appear out of the dark because he’s upset.

What’s more unusual is the way he sits silently on her bed after she’s let him in, the way he’s almost folded in on himself, the way he won’t quite meet her eyes – as if there’s anything he can or even needs to hide from her.

What’s fucking unheard of is the way he starts crying when she pulls him into a hug, his face pressed to her shoulder and his arms wrapped around her waist like she might disappear if he doesn’t hold on.

Robin doesn’t even understand what’s happening at first; she can feel Steve shaking against her as she rubs a hand up and down his back, but when his shoulders start to heave like he’s having trouble drawing in breath, a cold bolt of uncertainty lances through her gut. She tries to pull him back to look at him, to see what’s wrong, but she only gets him far enough away to hear one very quiet sob before he’s hiding his face again and she realizes–

“Oh. Oh, shit– okay, this is happening. Okay.” Robin resolutely does not panic as Steve sobs into her shoulder, even though crying isn’t something Steve does (not that Robin’s ever seen, and she’s seen Steve through a lot); instead, she goes back to rubbing a hand up and down his back, bringing her other up to pet his hair, and tries her best to project literally any kind of comfort. “Okay, you’re okay – well, you’re obviously not okay, but I’ve got you. You can just let all this out and when you feel up to it you can tell me what’s wrong because you’re kind of freaking me out, but not until you’re ready, okay? I’ve got you.”

She feels maybe her success is mixed, but Steve doesn’t complain and he doesn’t seem to be made more upset, so she can’t be doing too badly.

All told, Steve’s breakdown is unsettlingly quiet. Robin tries not to think about why he can cry so silently, and instead focuses on finding the transition from actively sobbing to sniffling and trying to catch his breath. The next time she tries to pull him back, he lets her, still not quite meeting her eyes and automatically bringing a hand up to wipe at the tear tracks on his face.

Robin has seen Steve all manner of beaten and bloodied and bruised, but somehow, sitting here in her room, still half-curled into her space with his face blotchy and wet from crying, she thinks this might be the most upset she’s ever seen him. She can only imagine what’s happened to cause it – at least until she can get him to tell her.

“Get it all out?” Robin asks, as gently as she’s able (she’s never been great at gentle, but Steve’s used to her by now, she thinks he’ll get it).

Steve shrugs, but then gives a little nod.

“Okay, so here’s what we’re going to do: I’m going to give you some tissues so you can clean yourself up, because I love you, but I’m not going to wipe your nose.” This gets a congested laugh from Steve, and Robin allows herself an answering smile. “Then I’m going to go downstairs and get you something to drink, and then you’re going to tell me what’s wrong, because I am this close to being seriously alarmed.”

“Sorry,” Steve says gruffly, ducking his head, moving to pull away.

“Nope, we don’t do sorry here, nothing to be sorry for,” Robin insists, grabbing Steve by the shoulders and keeping him close. “I just want to know what’s wrong, okay? I want to help. So here.” She shoves the box of tissues from her bedside table into Steve’s lap and gets up with one last squeeze to his shoulders. “I’ll be right back.”

Robin slips out of her room and sneaks down to the kitchen (her parents don’t really care about Steve’s late night visits, but they will be grumpy if she wakes them up), poking around quietly for some kind of suitable post-breakdown sustenance. She ends up with a bottle of Gatorade from the fridge and a half-eaten package of Oreos from the pantry – the late night snack of champions, she decides.

Back up in her room, Steve has shucked his sneakers (no shoes on Robin’s bed, it’s a cardinal rule) and settled himself up against the pillows; his face is dry and his eyes aren’t as red, but the tiny smile he gives her when she passes over her spoils still makes him look just as sad as before. Still, Robin valiantly lets him get through half the bottle of Gatorade before she elbows him gently in the side, demanding answers.

“Right.” Steve caps the bottle and rolls it nervously between his hands, watching the highlighter fluid yellow slosh around inside. “So, uh. You know how I’ve been seeing Eddie?”

Robin’s heart sinks. “Oh, shit, did you two break up?”

“Actually, it turns out…” Steve clears his throat. “It turns out that there wasn’t anything to break up. Apparently, we’ve been friends with benefits this entire time and I’m just a delusional idiot who made up an entire relationship in my head. So there’s that.”

There is nothing Robin can think to say to that. There’s entirely too much to unpack, and none of it makes sense.

“What,” she finally manages, a little flat.

“Yeah, he said that, uh. I’m not the type of guy you have a relationship with, and that I’m hot, but I’m just a good friend, and we’re just having fun.” If Steve’s voice cracks on the last word, Robin doesn’t mention it.

In fact, she’s too busy being consumed by rage to really notice. “He said that to your face?” she demands.

Steve clears his throat. He won’t meet her eyes. “Not– not exactly.”

“Steve.”

“The guys were over, and I went out to get some air, and that’s… what I heard Eddie saying to them when I came back in,” Steve says. “So now they know how pathetic I am, too, which is. Great. That’s fucking great.”

The world goes still. Suddenly, everything makes perfect sense. Robin reaches out and squeezes Steve’s wrist. “I’m going to have to leave for a few hours, okay?” she says. “I have to bike down to the trailer park and fucking kill Eddie.”

In a flash, Steve twists in Robin’s grip and grabs her by the wrist in turn. “Don’t leave,” he says quickly.

“No, he doesn’t– he doesn’t get away with this,” Robin hisses. “He doesn’t get to do this to you and not face consequences!”

“He wasn’t trying to– I mean– I was the one who–”

“Are you defending him right now?”

“No, I just– fuck.” Steve lets go of Robin and shoves both hands up into his hair, grabbing and pulling. “I already feel enough like some fucking – loser reject, okay? I don’t want to be alone right now. Please just… stay.”

The rage doesn’t abate (if anything, there’s probably more of it), but Robin’s priorities do rearrange, and she settles back on the bed next to Steve. “Fine,” she huffs. “Munson gets a stay of execution.”

She pushes the package of Oreos into Steve’s lap and orders him to finish the Gatorade. She doubts if he’s going to escape tonight without a migraine, but dehydration on top of stress will only make it worse.

They sit quietly for a while, munching on cookies, shoulder to shoulder on Robin’s bed, before Robin breaks into the silence.

“You’re not a loser, Steve. You’re my best friend, and you deserve to be loved, okay?” she says softly, reaching over to wrap her hand around his wrist again. “And one day it’s going to happen. I’m choosing to believe in love, too.”

For a long moment, Steve says nothing. When he finally does speak, his voice has gone a bit rough. “If you make me cry again, I’m dumping what’s left of the Gatorade over your head.”

Robin snorts, squeezing Steve’s wrist. “There’s that mean girl I know and love.”

Steve laughs, too, small but sincere, and Robin takes it as a win.

Part 3

#platonic stobin #steve harrington #robin buckley #stranger things #solar wrote #answers from solar #anonymous #I hope this is okay!#as I said earlier this week; I would definitely like to continue that idea I'm just still kinda working out how...

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nataliasquote · 3 months

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Tattoos for troubled minds | n romanoff

Summary: Natasha struggles to trust anyone when it comes to touching her body. But that becomes rather difficult when a tattoo idea comes into her mind that she just can’t shake

Warnings: mentions of scars, tattoo needles, slight internalised homophobia

wc: 3.6k

note: I don’t actually have tattoos (despite wanting one so badly) so this is probably really inaccurate. I do apologise if this doesn’t make sense. also, I hate this so much but the guilt of not posting is eating me alive so I’m sorry

-⧗-

Natasha was a quiet soul. She kept to herself, usually sitting at her own table in the Shield cafeteria, eyes focused on her plate of food as she ate quickly, just wanting to get out of there. None of the other agents dared make conversation with her, too spooked by her fighting skills to approach. But that didn’t bother her. Her hyper independence made her hesitant to trust people.

Clint was the only one she spoke to outside of working hours. They weren’t exactly friends, but she tolerated him enough to flash a small smile if she saw him in the hallways or feel slightly relaxed if they were paired for missions together.

And he liked her too, especially since her first words had been a jab at his choice of weapon.

“Bow and arrow? What did you do, get your training in a forest?”

But he didn’t take offense to it. After all, he’d made the call to save her and she owed him her life. Which is how, two years later, she was sprawled on his couch, chewing on take out pizza for the second time that week with a scowl.

“I think I want a tattoo.”

Clint frowned at her, wondering where her brain cells had disappeared to. “What?”

“You know, the permanent drawing-“

“Yes I know what a tattoo is Tasha,” he rolled his eyes at her teasing smirk, already over her sarcasm. “But you know it’s a bad idea for spies to have unique markings like that.”

Natasha shrugged, tugging up her sleeve to reveal a strange shaped scar across her bicep. “I’d say I’ve got enough of those naturally. And it would be hidden on my ribs or something.”

Clint just shook his head and turned back to his food. He was used to Natasha’s odd comments and her tattoo phase probably wouldn’t last in his eyes. Just like her ‘wanting to be blonde’ phase didn’t.

But it didn’t end. A month later and Natasha had fallen down the rabbit hole that was tattoo designs on pinterest, courtesy of a fellow agent who introduced her to the app. She didn’t understand it at first, but now it was 3am and her tablet screen was still glaring bright in her face, a plethora of images scattered across her screen.

She saved a couple to a board, now set on design and placement, before placing it to one side with a grin on her face. Natasha climbed out of bed and padded over to her mirror, pulling up her shirt and smiling softly to herself. But the dim lamplight made her scars glisten and she caught herself, a sudden feeling of repulsion shuddering through her body. She looked like a freak and no tattoo artist would want to go near that. Her scars weren’t normal and she wasn’t ready for the questions yet.

Tears glazed her eyes over and her arms snaked across her stomach, her reflection in the mirror now blurry. Even as the salty tears dripped down her cheeks and soaked the collar of her shirt, she didn’t step away, too engrossed with how disgusting she felt in her body.

That stubborn hope that the redroom failed to squash out had ignited inside her once more, except this time she just wanted to laugh at it. Natasha would never be normal. She was what they’d made her into, and a tattoo was never going to change that.

Clint noticed the change in her demeanor when she sat down at breakfast. Natasha barely engaged in her usual small talk, more focused on her food in front of her.

“Did you do anymore tattoo research yesterday?” He asked, knowing that would catch her attention. But instead of the usual spark, she remained dejected, stirring her yogurt half heartedly.

“Yeah,” came her response, albeit rather forced.

“There’s probably a lot of places in DC that would kill to tattoo a shield agent.” Nat shot him a look. “Just saying!”

“Sure. But I don’t think I can anymore.”

Clint looked at her with a frown. “Why not?”

Natasha just looked down and tugged at her sleeve, suddenly feeling exposed in her tight fitting suit. The image in the mirror from last night came into her mind and she pushed her food away, no longer hoodie. And beside that, she didn’t trust people she worked with, so how would she trust a complete stranger to add something permanent on her body? Getting a tattoo would be nothing but a dream for her, she knew that, but it still crushed her.

Clint studied his best friend for a moment in thought, before he placed his hand gently on her arm. “I might know someone who can help.” Natasha looked up, now interested. Her face was still stony but Clint knew she was excited. “A friend of Laura’s, we helped her out even before you came here.”

“An agent?” Clint hadn’t mentioned anyone like that before and it confused Natasha.

But Clint shook his head. “No, nothing like that. She came to Laura and I when she was a teenager and had nowhere else to go. And you know my wife-“

“Can’t let anyone suffer,” Natasha finished for him, warmth spreading in her stomach at the thought of the soft woman she’d grown to adore. Laura really did have the biggest heart out of everyone.

“Exactly that. Y/n was fourteen, I think, parents kicked her out of the house. How she got to ours, I’ll never know, but she just appeared on the doorstep one night and Laura melted at the sight of her.” Clint’s expression softened at the memory. “But anyway, what I’m saying is that she’s a tattoo artist. She’s got trust issues just like you and I think she’ll help.”

Natasha scowled at the last part, wanting to protest his comment. But she knew he was right; her trust issues were what got her into this mess in the first place.

“But she’s a kid?”

“No, almost the same age as you,” Clint said with a laugh. “You’ll like her, but she can be a little scary.”

“Scarier than me?”

Clint smirked. “Oh, you’d be surprised. That glare of hers rivals yours.” This vague description intrigued Natasha and Clint could see the cogs turning in her mind. “She knows what we do and she’s seen my scars. Trust me, they won’t put her off.”

Natasha’s head shot up, staring at her best friend with confusion. Was she that easy to read? Or did he just know her too well?

~~~

With the news of her favourite girls coming back home, Laura had been in a frenzy of cleaning and preparing. Clint had texted to say he was only minutes away so she left the dishes to soak and headed to the porch, anxiously staring at the track beside their house as she waited.

Anyone would have thought she was married to Natasha over Clint by the difference in reactions she gave them. Sure, Clint got a kiss and a hug, but Natasha truly got the special treatment, with Laura scanning her to make sure she wasn’t injured and quizzing her about how she was. Poor Clint was left to grab their bags as the women disappeared into the farmhouse.

Tea was poured and snacks were eaten in the cosy kitchen before the doorbell rang and Laura excused herself, leaving an anxious Natasha on her own for a moment. Muffled voices could be heard but she tried to go against her instincts of listening in and instead busied herself with a loose thread on the tablecloth. She heard footsteps approaching and turned in her chair, ignoring the way her heart thumped loudly in her chest.

The woman who walked in the kitchen doorway was stunning, Natasha couldn’t deny it, and her eyes darted to the patchwork of tattoos that littered her exposed arms. Their eyes met, and Natasha swore she could see the walls up in the other woman’s mind. But it didn’t scare her off. No. It brought her a weird sense of comfort and her body started to relax.

Clad in a black cropped tank and black cargo pants, Y/n hesitated in the doorway, duffle bag slung over her shoulder hitting the wall gently. Laura appeared behind her, gentle hands falling to her shoulders.

“Y/n, this is Natasha, the one I told you about.” The y/h/c girl made no effort to move. “She’s Clint’s partner.” Clearly not much of a talker, Y/n just nodded, not hiding the fact she was scanning Natasha from head to toe. She didn’t trust strangers, but she trusted Laura and Clint who seemed to love Natasha. So maybe she wasn’t a threat.

“Hi, you can call me Nat if you want.” No one called her Nat except Laura, but it was a feeble attempt to make the atmosphere more comfortable. Another nod came but Laura smiled.

“Do you want to go set up? All of your stuff is still exactly where you left it,” Laura addressed Y/n who adjusted the grip on her bag and disappeared down the hall without a word. Natasha’s eyebrows raised at Laura who watched her go, a fond look in her eyes. “She does speak, I promise.”

Natasha shook her head, brushing her off. “It’s fine, don’t worry. I can tell you care about her a lot.”

“She’s like a daughter to me, kind of like you are.” Natasha’s cheeks flushed at that. “She doesn’t have anyone except us, so I worry. She’s a real sweetheart though, she’s just been through a lot. Kind of like someone else I know.”

“I’ll be kind, don’t worry.”

Laura couldn’t help but smile as she stirred her tea. “Oh I know. She already likes you, you don’t need to worry about that.”

Natasha let out a sigh and started to play with the hem of her zip up jacket. It suddenly felt real, the whole tattoo thing. And whilst she weirdly trusted Y/n, it didn’t help ease her nerves any less.

The redhead sensed a new presence before she spotted her, standing in the doorway just like she was before.

“Ready when you are, Nat.” Her voice was slightly raspy from lack of use and she spoke quietly, almost as if she was scared she’d get into trouble. Natasha smiled softly at the sound of her nickname and squeezed Laura’s hand before she followed the y/h/c girl down the hallway of the house she considered her second home.

Clint’s office had been turned into a makeshift tattoo studio with all new equipment and furniture decorating the small space. The tattoo bed had a fresh paper layer on top and Y/n gestured for Natasha to take a seat.

“Ok, do you have an idea of what you want? And where?” Y/n sat down at a small table and picked up her pen before looking at Natasha expectantly.

“I’ve got a couple of reference pictures on my phone.” The small device was handed over and Y/n swiped between them, nodding in approval before setting it down. “The last one is just for placement ideas.”

“I’ll work up a sketch and you can tell me what needs changing.” Luckily Natasha’s design was incredibly simple and it didn’t take long for Y/n to hold up her page.

Natasha slid off the bed and slowly walked over, not wanting to startle the skittish girl. But Y/n just moved over, clearly welcoming the redhead into her space.

“I love that a lot,” Natasha praised, studying the simple lines. “But maybe it could be a bit smaller.”

“I can scale it down when I make the stencil, no problem. But is the design alright? Remember, it is permanent so I want you to be completely happy with it.”

Natasha studied it for a moment, a smile tugging at her lips as she imagined it on her body. Y/n had talent, anyone could see that even from such a simple drawing, and Natasha nodded before she slid the notebook back to her.

“I love it, I really do.”

Y/n nodded, grabbing her stencil paper from a drawer by her leg. She wordlessly began making the stencil and Natasha took this as her cue to return to her seat. She peered around the room, admiring a few pictures that were on the walls. Incredibly complicated tattoos which she guessed Y/n had done.

The young girl sketching away in the corner thoroughly interested her and something inside Natasha was drawn in. She wanted to get to know her because aside from the shy and hesitant exterior she was effortlessly cool and seemed sweet. Maybe Y/n could be the start of Natasha’s project to make friends.

“If you lie back on the seat and lift your shirt, we can make sure this is exactly how you want it before I start.”

Natasha took a deep breath and slowly lifted her shirt and lowered the waistband of her sweatpants so her hip bone was exposed. She shivered despite the room being warm, fully aware that her nastiest scar was on full display on her lower stomach.

But Y/n didn’t care. Or at least she didn’t make it obvious if it bothered her. “Is it ok if I touch your hip?” She asked, looking Natasha straight in the eyes. The redhead almost melted at her words, not used to ever being asked that question.

“Of course, do what you need.” Y/n’s fingers were soft and delicate as she placed the stencil on Natasha’s skin. She didn’t touch anywhere she didn’t need to and worked quickly, making sure it was fully stuck down before stepping back to allow Natasha to step over to the mirror.

Although it wasn’t permanent, Natasha’s heart was racing as she saw the way the black ink stood out against her pale skin. The symbol was small but perfect in her eyes, and she turned back to Y/n with a grin.

“It’s perfect!”

“Then I’ll get started.”

Due to the design being so small, it took no more than fifteen minutes for Y/n to complete. Her hand was incredibly steady and Natasha’s pain tolerance was so high she barely felt it. The room was silent aside from the faint buzzing, no conversation stemming from either woman. Questions spiralled around Natasha’s head but she knew this wasn’t the place to ask them.

Completely lost in her head, Natasha failed to notice the silence or the fact that her hip bone was no longer burning. Y/n kept working, wiping away the excess ink and making sure she hadn’t missed a spot. But it was perfect, as usual, and she gently tapped Nat on the thigh to snap her out of her head.

“You’re now free to look.”

Natasha grinned and hopped off the bed, holding up her shirt again as she looked in the mirror. Tears almost sprung to her eyes as she admired the finished product, and they probably would have tumbled down her cheeks if she had been alone.

A small spider sat on the front of her hip, legs slightly bent. It looked so delicate on her skin and for the first time in her entire life, Natasha actually liked looking at herself in the mirror.

“It’s so beautiful,” she began to ramble, unable to tear her eyes away. “You’ve got real talent Y/n, I can’t thank you enough. It’s so perfect.”

Y/n blushed and couldn’t stop the smile that graced her lips, catching Natasha’s eyes in the mirror and making the redhead freeze.

Her smile.

The young woman hadn’t smiled the entire time she’d arrived, but seeing her now was like a breath of fresh air. Smiling looked so good on her and Natash couldn’t get enough.

“If you want to show Laura, you can, but you’ll need to come back so I can wrap it safely.” Natasha glanced at her new addition and nodded, but hesitated once she was by the door.

“I think you should come too. The artist and her artwork.” Natasha spoke with a smirk and Y/n couldn’t ever imagine saying no to that woman. So she nodded again, her usual response, and meekly followed her back down the hall, pulling off her gloves as she walked.

Laura was already waiting for them in the kitchen and she placed her reading glasses in her hair to get a good look at Natasha who still hadn’t dropped her shirt down. She’d never seen the Russian with such a wide grin before, her usual collected expression completely out of the window.

“It looks beautiful, Nat, truly. You did such a good job Y/n.”

“You never told me how talented she is!” Natasha stepped to the side to allow Y/n to come forward, but the humble woman stayed where she was, already hating the attention. She didn’t see her art as talent, more like a form of escapism. But it made people happy and that was all she wanted.

“I wanted you to see for yourself,” Laura replied. “And besides, she never believes me when I tell her how good she is.”

“You’re really easy to tattoo. You don’t squirm or cry like other people do, so really I should be thanking you.” Laura was taken aback by Y/n’s comment, not used to more than three words coming out of the girl’s mouth. But the more she observed her, the more she saw her change. The darkness she’d noticed since Y/n was a teenager had lifted a little and she seemed a lot less guarded, looking over at Natasha with a soft expression.

And Natasha looked back at her just the same, purely in awe of how gentle she was. As Y/n gestured for them to return to the office and offered to hold Nat’s shirt, Laura felt like squealing like a child.

Two of her favourite people in the world had found each other and, despite both being so broken and fragile, fit together so perfectly it was like they were made for each other.

Natasha was strong enough and sure of herself enough for the both of them, and Y/n treated her with such delicacy and care that it slowly broke away Natasha’s trust issues and allowed her to open up. And Natasha’s protective nature came out around the other woman, wanting to keep her safe from the world.

With a quick word about going to show Clint, Natasha disappeared into the front yard with her newly wrapped hip, leaving Y/n to find Laura again. The older woman welcomed her with a hug and pulled a chair close to her own.

“You like her, don’t you?”

Y/n kept her gaze on the crossword Laura was doing, not wanting her eyes to give her away if she looked up. “She’s nice.”

“Hey,” Laura said softly, carefully taking Y/n’s hand in her own. She didn’t miss the way she flinched but unfortunately she was used to that by now. “You’re not back there. You’re allowed to like her if that’s what you want and feel. She’s a good person, but so are you, you don’t need to be scared.”

Y/n’s eyes followed where their hands were clasped up to Laura’s face, trying to find any hints that showed she was lying. But all that came back was the soft and caring face she’d grown to love, one that didn’t lie to her and didn’t hate her for who she was.

“I don’t like her like that.” Call her a hypocrite for lying, but Y/n had her reasons. Loving a woman was still unnatural in her eyes, despite her contrasting feelings that longed for it.

“Y/n…” Laura’s ‘mom’ tone was one she was used to and she knew she was caught out. “I’m not asking you to tell me now, but you deserve happiness, as does she. And I haven’t seen either of you that relaxed in a really long time. So please don’t push her away.”

Y/n didn’t know what to think. How could she? Her whole life had centred around hating who she was, so how could anyone ever like her like that? It messed with her head and Laura could see that.

But what was Natasha if not a life saver. She came strolling into the kitchen, her tshirt now tucked up into the band of her sports bra to allow her tattoo to be on full display. Y/n smiled slightly at the sight.

Sinking down into the chair beside her, Natasha noticed the clasped hands of the women and wondered what she’d interrupted. But that wasn’t her place to ask, so she turned to Y/n.

“How can I pay you? How much do you charge?”

Y/n shook her head frantically, pulling her hand away from Laura. “Nothing, honestly. You’re a friend, it’s no big deal.”

“Absolutely not. If you won’t take money, at least let me repay you another way.”

“Nat-“

“Dinner? How about you let me take you to dinner next week. You’re from the city, right?” Y/n nodded, her brows creasing. She turned to Laura for help but the older woman just smiled widely and nodded, giving her as much non verbal encouragement as she could. “Please, Y/n?”

She’d said yes before she could even process what was going on. After all, they were just friends going to dinner. People in the movies that she’d seen did it, so she could too.

What was so wrong with that?

#natasha romanoff #fanfic #marvel #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x female reader #natasha romanoff fluff #tattoos #clint barton

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jayflrt · 1 month

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𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝟕𝟖𝟔 34. in too deep

WHEN YOON JEONGHAN TAPPED JAY'S SHOULDER, HIS BRAIN WAS TOO MUDDLED TO EVEN THINK PROPERLY.

He underestimated how casual the gesture of tapping someone to get their attention was, and it was evident when he was looking back at Jeonghan with a confused gaze. Jay had spent the entire day freaking out over whether he was going to get a seat in the Order, and now that he was face-to-face with one of their members, he couldn't even grasp that he was being offered a spot.

Jay was in the middle of reading your frantic texts about getting a seat from Sungjin, sitting at an empty booth in the library so that he could charge his laptop. The very thought of Sunghoon being left behind had him so baffled that he could only gawk at Jeonghan for a few seconds. The senior only seemed amused, hardly even realizing that Jay had far more weighing on his mind than being tapped.

"Congratulations, Jay," Jeonghan said with a broad grin stretching across his face, "welcome to the Order."

Every word he could have used to finish his sentence died on Jay's tongue, and instead he croaked out, "I—huh?"

"Yeah, I'm not sure how else to dumb it down for you."

He wasn't sure what snapped him back into reality—maybe it was the whistle of the wind in his ear, or perhaps it was the fear that Jeonghan must have thought he was a crazy person—but Jay immediately straightened up and let out a forced cough.

"Sorry," he got out immediately. "Thanks. I just thought—"

"That you wouldn't get in?" Jeonghan finished for him. "Yeah, I thought so, too. We were debating between you and Kazuha for nearly an hour. It took a lot of manipulation to convince them that Kazuha wasn't the right choice."

The corner of Jay's mouth picked up in a grin. "Manipulation?"

"Let's just keep that between us." Jeonghan gave him a wry smile and handed over a thin, black folder with a few sheets of papers tucked neatly inside. "You can open that later. It's just a welcome letter and a notice about sending us details so we can coordinate your initiation night."

"Huh..." Jay trailed off; his mind was still stuck on his bid rather than the folder in his hands. "I didn't think I'd get in after that interview."

"Are you kidding? They loved your answers, especially when you said you'd punch Sunghoon."

"But—I didn't even know the answer to whatever seven-eight-six meant, though."

"That's the whole point," Jeonghan said. "You're not supposed to know everything! What we believe is that it's valuable to admit that there are answers you haven't found yet, but you also did your best to draw a conclusion with the little information you had."

"So... what does it mean?"

"We don't know."

"What?"

"We don't know," he echoed with a shrug. "We think the founder chose it to represent us because he claimed to have decided eighteen of the characters on the Kryptos sculpture himself—on top of the ones that're already deciphered."

"Interesting," Jay replied with an inquisitive hum. He then gave Jeonghan a strange look. "Are you supposed to be telling me this, by the way?"

"Sungjin didn't want us talking with you guys too much, actually. We're supposed to just tap you on the shoulder, hand you the file, and leave." He scratched the back of his neck aimlessly. "I have to stay on campus until my next class, though, so I don't really have anywhere else to go."

"If they ask, I'll let them know that you were very, very mysterious."

"See? I told them that was what the Order needed: loyalty."

Jay felt his stomach twist. He was probably the worst example of that, but seeing that Jeonghan held him in such high regard, he couldn't bring himself to object. Instead, he brushed off the senior's words with a shy grin.

Jeonghan continued, "I swear, they were deliberating for so long that I—"

"Jeonghan—wait, Jay?"

To Jay's relief, you walked up behind his table, looking between the two men several times before you seemed to piece together what was going on. The determination that had darkened your eyes seconds prior started to melt away.

"You got a seat?" you breathed out, and before Jay could nod, you were shooing him further down the cushioned bench so that you could sit next to him. Your gaze immediately landed on the black folder in Jay's hands. "Oh!"

There was an awkward pause. You looked up at him for a brief moment, and it looked like you had a lot more to say instead of opening and closing your mouth over and over again. Jay's throat felt tight. Your sideways look at Jeonghan made Jay wonder how what your true reactions would've been if you two were alone.

Since you clearly hadn't anchored yourself back into reality, Jay slapped his folder onto the table to take Jeonghan's attention away from how distracted you had gotten.

"What? You didn't think I'd make it in or something?" he teased you, although he was quite aware that that wasn't your intention.

"No," you insisted with a scoff, kicking Jay's shin under the table.

Jay hissed through his teeth, nudging your leg back with his shoe. Unbeknownst to Jeonghan, you two were in an intense battle of trying to kick the other; your attempts were always stronger than his.

"Oh, that's fucked up," Jeonghan joined in, leaning forward onto his elbows. "Were you hoping someone else would get in over Jay?"

He rolled his eyes, realizing that Jeonghan was just hungry for a morsel of gossip. However, anticipation was swirling in Jay's chest as he prepared himself for whatever your answer would be. After your text about Sunghoon's situation, he wouldn't have been surprised if you were more concerned about your ex-boyfriend.

You huffed. "No, I think Jay deserves it out of anyone who interviewed."

His heartbeat was somehow quicker. More intense. Jay couldn't understand why your words left little electric currents running under his skin, but he was just grateful that you couldn't see how much of a mess his head was.

"But what the hell, Jeonghan?" you continued, sharper. "Why did Sungjin give me his seat?"

Jeonghan let out a dry laugh before shaking his head. "Can't give you our reasonings."

"Weren't you just talking about mine?" Jay cut in since he was equally curious about where Sunghoon's predicament was going.

"Well, that's—" The senior cut himself off and screwed up his eyes as he processed his next words. "Okay, you're technically right, but I gave you my seat, Jay. I didn't give Y/N my seat, so I can't tell her why she was chosen by Sungjin."

You and Jay stared blankly at Jeonghan for a moment, who was slowly losing his resolve to keep quiet.

"Okay, fine." Jeonghan sighed heavily. "Tell anyone about this, though, and you two won't be having a fun initiation process." As Jay swallowed thickly at the thought of being hazed, Jeonghan leaned over the table and lowered his voice to say, "I don't know much because we don't really question Number One, but he just said that he didn't want to extend his seat to his brother anymore. Something about wanting Sunghoon to make it on his own."

Jay frowned. "Number One?"

"That's what we call our president," he replied. "Only the members of the Order know about Number One's identity for the duration of their office."

"You're really a loudmouth, Jeonghan," you sneered.

Jeonghan held up his hands in mock surrender.

"Then did Sunghoon get a seat or not?" Jay asked. "He had to have gotten a tap, right? It'd be ridiculous if he didn't."

Jeonghan only shrugged in response. "The finalized list of our new members will be emailed out tonight. You'll find out then."

You and Jay exchanged uneasy looks. Waiting to hear back from Sunghoon appeared to be their only option, and it only made Jay feel more at war with his head and heart.

For one, Sunghoon was a crucial part of the mission. Something happening to him would definitely affect you, and although that made Jay feel a twinge of bitterness, he recognized that you two had a previous connection that he couldn't get between.

On the other hand, he felt that he was in too deep—so deep that he wasn't sure how he would pull himself out when this was all over. Jay remembered it every time he turned white-knuckled when he would text his client; every time he laughed around Heeseung; every time he had to take a few seconds for his rage to simmer around Sunghoon; and every time he looked into your eyes and felt some semblance of peace.

And it made him feel terrified.

next | masterlist | next

SUMMARY ▸ private investigator jay park just wants to complete his mission quietly and move on with his life. you, his new assignment who keeps consuming his thoughts, don't make that very easy for him.

TAG LIST ▸ @zdgx1 @smouches @heesdazed @teawithbucky @leep0ems @peachpie4you @niniissus @kgneptun @jaeyunluvr @zerasari @sophiko22 @iselltulips @hoondiors @baekhyunstruly @jays-property @woninluv @heerinnie @fakeuwus @yizhoutv @theothernads @y4wnjunz @dammit-jjk @en-happiness @mari-oclock @soonyoungblr @jakeslvt @taetaenic @jebetwo @fairysungx @hsgwrld @shmooooo @ineedsomezzz @mrowwww @enha-stars @seongclb @lockburn-castle @alyssajavenss @enczen @calumsfringe @w3bqrl @luvyev @uhsakusa @luvnicho @wildflowermooon @navsnct @hooniesuniverse @enhalov @enhypens-baby @isawritesss

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hobvitr · 1 year

Text

pavitr prabhakar x reader

gn! reader.

genre/warnings: fluff, angst if you squint, stabilized relationship, reader has anxiety, mention of wounds, blood, just a lil blurb

sinopses: you discover you boyfriend is spiderman, but just because he has nowhere to go to treat his wounds.

what else to do on a tuesday night instead of sketch some stuff and finish your homework, right? your boyfriend occupied for god knows how long due to his "grown up" responsibilities who you wouldn't even question too much, knowing he as well might have his privacy and you trust him blindly.

you draw stern lines with your pencil above the paper, headphones on and you hum along some of your favorite songs. a light thud catches your attention, looking up from the paper to look at your right... nothing. then your left..

"what the- WHAT THE FUCK?" your voice comes out first at a normal volume, then coming more like a whisper-yell as you look at pavitr entering your room through your window. but the problem is, you live in a building at the sixth floor, and he's using a spiderman suit.

"hey babe" he starts with a slight smile, holding his mask in one hand and the other pressing firmly at his side, blood coming out of the wound. "I'm sorry to bother you-"

"pav you're bleeding, what happened?!" you frown, worried sick as you come closer to him to help him hold the wound, not even processing he's literally Spiderman. you scold him to sit on your bed, a hiss coming out of his lips. "wait here, I'm getting a aid kit"

you don't even wait for his response, running to the bathroom and getting everything that you needed. as you got back into your room, you could hear your heartbeat fastening with worry, breath hitching and fingers trembling holding the gauze as you kneel in front of him.

pavitr could read your body language and even sense the unhealthy amount of anxiety you were experiencing right now. "hey- hey, look at me" he placed his unbloodied hand on your cheek, making you look at his face. "it's okay, i'm okay... it'll be fine" his voice coming out soothing and making you stead your breath. "thank you for helping me, hot stuff" the nickname made you let out a brief laugh, being able to concentrate on doing the best bandage you could.

the second you were done with the bandage, you clean the other small cuts he had on his face and arms. you let out a sigh once you're done with the cleaning, looking at his eyes now. "I can't believe you addressed being spiderman as 'grown up responsibilities', really" you said casually, not yet being able to assimilate who your boyfriend was.

"it was the best i could come up with" he said with a chuckle, patting his side at the bed so you could sit up with him instead of kneeling on the ground. "you do sound a bit unimpressed" he leans back a little, his hands back on the bed for support.

"sorry, didn't have the time to freak out about you being a hero, was kinda busy with you dying from bleeding out" you said in a teasing manner, now analysing him in his suit. "that explains so much, actually... that's why i always found spiderman so attractive" you kept teasing him, now with a grin.

"so you have a crush on spiderman and didn't tell me?!" pav said faking offense laying his hand on his chest after a laugh burst out of him, arms coming to hold both your sides in a warm hug. you hug him back, careful with his wounds. "you know i'm gonna worry about you like, three times more, right?" you say, head buried on his neck, taking in his fresh scent.

"i know, but now i'll be three times more careful to come back unharmed to you" you could feel him smiling against your head. he leaned slightly back, making you look at his eyes, which was looking directly at your lips. you let out a small chuckle and kissed him slowly and softly, making him smile in the process.

as you remember you actually need to breathe, you reluctantly pull off, making pav whine jokingly. "nooo, i need more kisses from my sunshine to get better faster" you giggle, mumbling a 'good point' against his lips and taking his request, cuddling with him for the rest of the night.

#pavitr prabhakar x reader #pavitr x reader #spiderman atsv x reader #pavitr prabhakar x you #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman india #gn!reader #fem!reader

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suzukiblu · 5 months

Text

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for resplendeo; Billy and Damian and the whole soulmate thing.

Batman pulls his cowl back up, because he’s Bruce Wayne and people would recognize him if he didn’t, and Billy flees as adult-ly as possible back to the meeting room. Everyone else is still there, including a very clearly tense Robin, and Billy has absolutely no idea what to say.

“Um, so–” he tries to start, and Robin immediately bristles and draws himself up to his full height.

“Silence!” he snaps, baring his teeth at him. “I want nothing to do with you. I have nothing to do with you.”

“I mean, that’s not actually true?” Billy says, trying not to wince. “Like the soulmate thing is definitely a thing. If you don’t want me around, I understand, just first can I try to–”

“I do not want you! You are superfluous!” Robin snarls, and, well, at least Billy knows why he’s picking the specific insults he’s picking this time. Though he doesn’t really know why Robin is so convinced of that even thinking that they’re familial soulmates. What’s wrong with having more family members?

Like, ones who aren’t asshole uncles who’ll steal your inheritance and leave you homeless and destitute on the street just for kicks, he means. Obviously.

Maybe Robin’s had an asshole uncle or two in his family. Billy can understand that. But also, like . . . that’s really not what’s happening here, so . . . he really needs to figure out how to, like, spin this or something. Or . . . something.

“I would really like to talk to you first,” Billy says. “Like–just if you let me–”

“No!” Robin snaps, clenching his fists as his shoulders stiffen. “You are unnecessary and I want nothing to do with you! I have a father, and he is neither dead nor derelict in his duties and I have no desire for–Father, I want nothing to do with him, don’t give me to some other–I am your son and I don’t want a different father!”

“Oh,” Batman says quietly, and Billy cringes in guilt. Oh. Okay.

He really, really didn’t mean to make Robin feel like his dad wouldn’t want him just because he had a soulmate.

Shit.

Batman opens his mouth and starts to say something, but the speed of Mercury and also guilt gets there first.

“Please don’t freak out, I promise I’m not your dad,” Billy says with another cringe, half-covering his face with a hand, and Robin–pauses, and frowns.

“Wait, what?” Green Lantern says with a frown of his own. “You said you were the kid’s soulmate.”

“I mean . . .” Billy winces, then drags his hand down his face. “I am? Just, uh–right, okay, so I maybe kind of joined the Justice League under pretenses that in a certain light might appear to be false and I am so sorry for how weird I have made . . . literally all of this, pretty much, pretty much everything ever? Also, um. Shazam.”

The lightning hits in a blinding flash. Captain Marvel disappears.

Everyone says absolutely nothing. A whole lot of nothing.

Then Green Arrow falls out of his seat.

“Marvel,” Flash says, just staring at Billy. “What the actual, literal, entire fuck.”

“What the hell, Cap?!” Green Lantern yells. Billy, since he’s now not incapable of acting like a sassy little bastard with a heart of brass at best, just shrugs and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

“Should you guys be swearing in front of the children like that?” he asks skeptically. Green Lantern makes a strangled noise. Green Arrow manages to fall out of his seat again without actually having successfully gotten back into it.

“Is this your true form?” Wonder Woman asks, looking perplexed. Billy shrugs. Black Canary puts her face in her hands.

“You–you are grounded, Mister,” she says.

“No I’m not,” Billy says, making a face at her. “You can’t ground me, my parents are too dead for you to tell on me, and I’ll just Captain Marvel myself away if you try and stick me back in foster care. So there.”

Black Canary keeps her face in her hands and makes a very pained sound, for some reason. Superman looks very, very stressed out.

Robin just tilts his head, looking much less upset than before. So that’s something, Billy figures. Like, that was what he was going for here, with ‘fessing up to this and all. He really was not intending to confess to this before Robin happened.

“I see,” Robin says after a moment, narrowing his eyes assessingly as he looks Billy over. Billy resists the stupid urge to straighten his hoodie. “So you are a romantic soulmate to me, not a familial one. And you are also a nigh-unstoppable force of magic in possession of incredible godly powers.”

“I . . . technically, I guess?” Billy says, not sure how to take that.

“But you are also a literal twelve year-old,” Robin says, his eyes narrowing a little more.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Billy says with a grimace. Robin frowns.

“I really don’t know how I feel about this,” he says.

#resplendeo #wip: billy and damian and the whole soulmate thing #long post

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chr0llossexygf · 2 years

Text

SHE IS ART

PAIRING eddie munson x fem reader

SUMMARY eddie accidentally ruins your art and tries to make it up to you by sneaking into your room and drawing it again. all though he has no artistic skills, it’s an excuse to spend time with you and admire your beauty.

NOTE yall wtf why did my last post get so many likes i’m literally crying wtf thank u sm it means so much to me!2&:93737

WARNING cuss words!!

“ or a game where you toss balls into laundry baskets!” eddie yells walking on the table looking at the jocks, “ you want something freak?” jason says. you smile looking down at your drawing, you had your headphones on listening to the smiths. “ fuck i have to do it again.” you mumble under your breath reaching for your eraser, due to holding the pencil for so long your hands were sweaty. dropping the eraser, you bend down to grab the eraser.

you jump quickly taking off your headphones leaving them to rest on your neck and looking back up to see eddie walking on your table. “So as long as your not into parties!” he yells looking at the ‘cool kids’ table. he steps on your drawing, ruining it. with his dirty boots, permanently damaging the paper. “ no no!” you say putting your headphones down on the table. you look at the drawing and pout.

eddie looks down and quickly stumbles off the table earning a few laughs, “ loser!” someone yells. “ oh shit.” eddie says quickly getting up and looking at you. “ i didn’t mean to-” eddie says looking at the drawing he damaged. “ it’s fine.” you mumble biting your lower lip upset. eddie directs his attention to you, “ i swear i didn’t see you- no i mean i did- i just didn’t think- i’m so sorry.” he says quickly sitting down in-front of you. “ it’s fine don’t worry.” you look up at him.

holy

crap

jesus

christ

eddie’s eyes widen, you were the most beautiful girl ever. like literally ever. he’s never seen someone so beautiful in his life, as stupid as it sounds you were the most perfect girl he’d ever seen. he thought it was crazy, how he doesn’t even know your name yet his heart is pounding. your eyes, fuck they were so pretty to him. your lips, your lips, your lips, your lips, your beautiful lips that were in a pout that he thought was the cutest thing ever. he doesn’t even know who you are yet he’s so inlove with you.

“ no its not fine! i mean look at yo- this look this!” he stutters almost blowing his cover. “ this is amazing art and i ruined it.” he says again grabbing the paper he ruined. you cover your face with the sleeves of your jacket, your face heating up. no one had ever complimented your art. eddie smiles, he can’t take this anymore your so adorable oh my god oh my god.

“ it’s not.” you whisper still hiding your face, eddie gasps dramatically. “ what?! this is the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen.” lie, you were the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

you put your hands down smiling, “ thanks.” you mumble, your face red. “ d-do you seriously like it?” you ask biting your nail nervously. eddie grins, he looks down at the drawing. “ yeah of course. i mean look at it.” eddie says admiring the piece of art, trying to actually focus on the ‘art’ and not your face. because you honestly are a work of art. “ i dont i guess people think drawing is for children and it’s a waste of time.” you say biting your lower lip. “ yeah well i’m eddie the ‘freak’ munson so i don’t have the right to judge people, and honestly if i were to judge-”

he suddenly flew back off the table, he puts his hand on his heart dramatically. he then suddenly points at your art, “ that has got to be the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen!” he exclaims out loud. you look around the cafeteria and everybody was staring at you, you cover your face giggling. you grab your eraser and throw it at him, “ get back here!” you whisper yell your face bright red. eddie grabs the eraser and chuckles, “ sorry sorry. couldn’t control myself.” he sits back down infront of your. “ let me fix it.” he says. you tilt your head to the side confused, “ what do you mean fix it? you can draw?” you ask quickly sitting up. eddie starts laughing, “ no no i’m more of the guitar guy. but i mean i can try to fix it.” eddie says covering his face with his hair shyly. you smile, “ yeah! yeah of course? just uh how.”

“ easy i can just sneak into your room.” he says letting go of his hair, “ w-what? my parents are home!” you whisper yell crossing your hands. “ i can be a quiet.” he says covering his mouth with his finger. “ yeah but i’ve never snuck anyone in my room before.” you say nervously looking down at your jeans. “ hey hey it’s okay i don’t have to-” you look up. “ no no i want you too!” you blurt out, “ no i mean yeah of course just be really really quiet. like extremely extremely quiet.” you say grabbing your sketchbook and pencil case, eddie breaks down laughing at your nervousness. “ oh so you do want me there?” he says standing up crossing his hands. “ shut it.” you start running to the cafeteria door, “ i live in 2536 maple street! the house with the swings out front!” you yell waving at eddie smiling.

eddie nods waving back. he looks back down at the table and sees the ruined drawing, he smiles grabbing it and gently folding it putting it in his pocket. he ran back to his table and quickly sat down, everybody was staring at him. “ what was that?” dustin says. “ what was what?” eddie says looking at dustin. “ you talking to y/n?” dustin says raising an eyebrow. “ what about it?” he asks. “ nothing nothing.” dustin throws his hands up in defeat. he couldn’t bring up the fact that, that little interaction was the happiest he’d seen eddie.

at home

you were laying in bed reading a book and listening to the smiths. you quickly close your book and turn around to see eddie banging on your window. you stand up and run to the window opening it. “ h-help me out.” he groans, you grab his hand pulling him in. he falls. you laugh covering your mouth. he stands up and takes a deep breath in, “ see told you very quiet.” he says looking back at you. “ yeah very quiet it’s very fascinating.” you giggle. “ soo this is your room..the smiths? really?” he says crossing his hands walking around your room.

“ yes the smiths! i don’t listen to matellica and the black sabbaths eddie.” you say sitting on your bed, “ yeah i mean clearly.” he whispers. you throw a pillow at him, “ what do you mean ‘clearly’?” you say using air quotations. eddie smiles, “ i mean look at you, your like the most gentle person i’ve ever seen. you have this soft aura and energy you know.” he says sitting down on your bed, on the edge. “ what about me? is it obvious that i listen to heavy metal?” he says looking at you raising an eyebrow. you laugh again. god your laugh is so angelic

“ are you seriously asking me that? i mean look at you! you have like the coolest hair in the world, and like you have those really pretty tattoos.” you say pointing at his tattoos. pretty? pretty? you think his tattoos are pretty? his heart just exploded.

he turns around feeling his face heat up, he coughs. “ so uhm the art thing!” he says trying to change the subject. “ oh yeah hold on.” you say standing up walking to your desk grabbing a sketch pad and your pencil case. “ here.” you hand him a pencil. he grabs the pencil and smiles, you open your sketch pad. you lay down flat on your stomach with your sketch pad infront of you. eddie repositions himself so he’s fully on the bed sitting infront of the sketch pad. you two begin to draw.

you cover your face trying to hide your giggles, eddie looks at you then back at the drawing and starts laughing. “ d-do you want me to help you?” you ask through giggles. “ first of all i’m offended and yes i actually do need help i don’t know how to do this.” he says laughing. you sit up and scoot next to him. “ okay so uh, here hold onto my hand.” you say.

you gave him butterflies, so so so so many butterflies it’s crazy.

eddie wraps his hand on yours gripping the pencil, “ okay now we are gonna draw gently.” you say dragging the pencil across the paper. his hands were sweaty and shaky but you didn’t care. you liked having his hand on you. it made you feel…safe and warm? oh god..

“ perfect!” you say looking at the drawing before laughing, eddie shook his head looking down at the paper. he wasn’t paying attention to the drawing, he was looking at you the entire time. admiring your wide profile, how pretty you were. he was mad himself for noticing you. you were so so dang beautiful.

“ that looks horrible.” he says. “ it’s not horrible it’s definitely something though!” you say trying to catch your breath. you let go of the pencil and eddie quickly wipes his hand on his pants trying to get rid of the sweat. you rip the drawing from the sketch pad and grab tape, you rip a piece of tape and tape the drawing on your wall. “ perfect!” you exclaim clapping gently. eddie smiles, you jump on the bed and sit down. you grab your markers and grab eddie’s hand. “ can i color in your tattoos?” you ask shyly.

“ yes yes yes of course!” he blurts. you smile grabbing his hand placing it on your lap. you roll up his sleeve and start colouring in his tattoos, eddie was going crazy. in the inside of course. he hoped you couldn’t be able to hear his heart beating, cuz it was literally going crazy. like batshit crazy. he bites his lower lip unable to contain his smile. “ look this is bob.” you say pointing at the dog you drew. “ oh no way that’s sick!” he exclaims out loud. you immediately put your finger on his lips, “ shh quietly.” you whisper. eddie looks down at your finger and nods gently, “ bob looks really cool.” he whispers, he grabs your finger. you two stare at each other

he slowly places your hand on his chest. “ this-this isn’t normal..” he whispers still staring at you. you drop the marker still looking at him. “ why does my heart keep pounding y/n..” he whispers gently tightening the grip on your hand. “ i-i don’t know eddie..” you whisper. “ i don’t know what’s happening to me. i don’t know what you keep doing to me y/n but it’s driving my crazy.” he whispers letting go of your hand.

“ go!” you say. “ w-what?” eddie says confused. “ go go go eddie go!” you say grabbing his hand rushing him to the window. “ i don’t understand what’s happening?” he says tilting his head to the side. “ my dad is coming i can hear his footsteps!” you quickly open the window. “ go go go eddie he’ll kill me!” you say again. “ fuck fuck okay!” he says going through the window. “ hold on!” you grab onto his hand. you look back at the door then back at eddie. you lower yourself and kiss his cheek. “ okay go go go!” you giggle. eddie stares at you dumbfounded. “ eddie!” you yell as you hear the door opening. “ fuck sorry! love you- i mean no i don’t no i do okay bye!” he yells jumping. he falls on his ass making you laugh, “ i’m good i’m good!” he throws his thumbs up before quickly standing up dusting his ass off. he quickly runs off.

you laugh watching him run, “ bye l/n! see you tomorrow!” he yells from across the street. you wave back smiling. your door opens and you immediately turn around, it’s your dad. “ sweetie lower the music please.” he says. you quickly shut the window close. “ yeah yeah of course dad love you.” you say covering the window. “ alright.” he closes the door.

you jump on your bed grabbing a pillow screaming into it, your legs kicking the air.

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hairmetal666 · 10 months

Text

Steddie She's All That au????

Steve pulls up to the Munson's trailer, a secondhand acoustic across the backseat. Can't believe he's here; that he's actually doing this. He shouldn't. Absolutely should not; knows he let his still-simmering animosity with Billy Hargrove push him to this, to trying to date Eddie Munson, to proving that he's still popular enough to win prom king with the Freak on his arm.

Munson doesn't deserve it, is the thing. For all his weirdness, his off-putting behavior, Steve thinks he might be nice. Or kind, maybe? Steve's noticed how he gathers the freshman who have no one else, gives them understanding, a place to belong. And those kids, they remind him of Dustin, Will, Mike, Lucas, and he can't help but feel something warm towards the Freak, some kind of kinship.

He puts the car in reverse, can't go through with pretending to like this guy who did nothing wrong but be too much himself.

Before he gets his foot on the gas a head pokes out the front door.

"You came," Eddie shouts.

"Said I was." Steve surrenders to his fate and puts the car in park. Eddie watches him as he grabs the guitar case, hauls it up the stairs, only moving to step out of the way.

Steve's eyes scan the living room and kitchen, something in his chest loosening as he does. There are mugs and hats covering the walls, a worn sofa, clutter on every surface. It's home in a way Steve has never experienced. He loves it.

"Alright, let it out, Harrington. I'm poor, etc."

"No!" Steve startles; hadn't realized he'd been staring so obviously. "I like it."

Eddie makes a face, but offers him a beer and guides him to sit on the couch.

"How much do you know?" Eddie asks without preamble.

He strums a couple of notes, things he picked up at summer camp ages ago. Munson nods. "Better than I expected."

Eddie runs through notes and chords, helps Steve get his fingering right. He's patient, almost kind, and he laughs softly as he gently corrects Steve's mistakes.

And Steve's fingers, they won't behave, keep slipping off the strings. Eddie arranges himself to drape around his shoulders, fits their hands together. He's warm, fingers long and callused, his rings slightly colder than Steve's skin.

"Like this, Harrington." And he and Steve strum in tandem, and Steve is caught by the light glinting in his curls, the softness of his dark brown eyes, the fullness of his pink lips. He wonders how soft they are, what they taste like, if Eddie would cling to him or take control.

"You with me, Steve?" Eddie asks, shocking him back to the present.

"Yeah, yes, right here. Sorry." He throws himself into learning, but can't stop stealing little looks at the man teaching him.

And Steve, he knows it's not a bet anymore. He'll tell Hagan and Hargrove he's out, take whatever shit they give him, and Eddie never has to know.

---

A month in, Steve walks into the trailer and sees those little figurines, like the kids have for their game, scattered on the coffee table; sheets of paper with scrawled writing and doodles lining the floor; one of those weird manual things that Dustin always lugs around sitting open on the couch.

"Fuck, Stevie, I'm sorry. Lost track of time." Eddie's face turns pink as he gathers the looseleaf and slams the book closed.

"You play that dragon game?" He asks. He picks up one of the figures, studies the meticulous paint. It does something weird to his heart.

"What did you think Hellfire--Wait." Eddie pauses. "Why do you--Steve Harrington--know about dnd?"

"The kids I babysit play."

Eddie stares at him openmouthed. "Shit, sweetheart. You've been holding out on me. You ever join them?"

"Nah. To tell you the truth, they're pretty intimidating about it."

Eddie laughs, drawing Steve's eyes to his slender neck. "You scared of children, Stevie?"

"You haven't met them, man. They're terrifying."

"You know," Eddie's eyelashes flicker. "I run a campaign with Hellfire after school every Friday. You could--if you wanted--you could come. You're probably busy, I know, but if you find some free time and you wan--

"Eddie!" Steve laughs. "I wouldn't miss it."

"Really?"

"Promise."

---

He shows up that first Friday to some mixed reactions from most of the Hellfire members, and Eddie's shy, pleased smile. They make eye contact and Steve's stomach swoops.

"You came," Eddie says when they get a second alone.

"I told you I would." Steve laughs.

"C'mon, you're going to tell me this isn't a hopelessly lame way for King Steve to spend a Friday night?"

"Maybe." Steve nudges Eddie's chest. "And maybe I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."

Steve watches them play and is transfixed. He's never seen Eddie totally in his element. His voice goes deep and rumbly, doing accents, shouting, jumping around, banging on the table. Steve can't pull his eyes away, doesn't want to, can't stop smiling.

"What'd you think?" Eddie asks when the session is over and they're alone. His hands shuffle through his notebook, eyes fixed firmly on the table.

Steve grabs his wrists, soft, careful. "Amazing, Eddie," he says. "You were amazing."

"Really?" Eddie's throat bobs. He finally looks up, meets Steve's eyes.

"Never seen anything like you." His eyes drift to Eddie's mouth. The space between them shrinks.

"Eddie?"

"Yeah?" his voice waivers.

"Can I kiss you?"

He thinks Eddie might pull away, freeze up, but instead his eyelashes flutter, his lips shaping into a gentle smile. "I'd be disappointed if you didn't."

Steve laughs, slips his fingers through Eddie's hair, closes the distance between them. It starts sweet and soft, until Eddie's tongue brushes his bottom lip and Steve opens for him, lets him take control, as easy as anything. For the first time, he lets someone else lead, sinks into it, into Eddie. It's perfect.

---

Prom court nominations come out with Steve number one on the ballot for king. The other nominees are Billy, Tommy, and some weirdo religious zealot junior Steve barely knows, Jason Carver.

He doesn't think much of it, having slipped so easily into a version of himself that sits at the Hellfire table at lunch, spends evenings at the Munson trailer and nights in Eddie's bed. Sure, he catches Hargrove glaring at him throughout the day, but pays it no mind. Billy Hargrove's always pissed about something, anyway.

So, he's unprepared when Hargrove and Hagan corner him that afternoon as he's waiting for Eddie to finish up a deal. There's a kick in his stomach, a swirl of nausea, at their presence. He didn't ever tell Eddie about the bet, figured it didn't matter since they were together, since they both started falling.

"Think you're hot shit, Harrington?" Hargrove asks. Hagan laughs like he's never heard a real joke before.

"I'm out," he says in way of answer. "Bet's over."

"Stevie-Boy, I don't think you understand," Hagan says.

"Nah, I'm not doing it." Worry prickles at his scalp. Eddie will be done soon, and he needs Billy and Tommy gone.

Hargrove pinches Steve's chin in his grip. "We made a bet, and you're seeing it through."

"Hey, hey, hey," the last voice Steve wants to hear right now shouts. "What the fuck is going on here? Get the fuck off him, Hargrove."

Billy's wrenched away, but he's laughing, and Steve is frozen at the train wreck unfolding in front of him.

"Harrington tell you about the bet?" Billy asks.

"Bet?" Eddie's nose wrinkles in the cute way Steve loves and he's terrified of what comes next.

"Uh-huh. Hagan and I bet Harrington here that he couldn't date the biggest dud in school and still wind up prom king. Little did we know, I guess."

Steve watches as the words hit Eddie, as he processes them, as his face falls. His gut twists as he watches his boyfriend go tense.

"What?" Eddie's eyes widen with panic.

Tommy's face contorts into a cruel smile."You didn't think Harrington was actually into you, did you?"

Eddie doesn't respond, won't look at any of them, draws into himself.

Hargrove snickers. "That's what I thought. Have a good night." He gives them a pageant queen wave as he walks away.

Steve's crosses to Eddie as soon as the other two are gone, but Eddie flinches, stopping him in his tracks.

"Was I bet, Steve?" He asks. His voice cracks.

"It wasn't like that, Ed, I swear. I swear." He grabs Eddie's shoulders, and again, he's pushed away.

"You didn't answer the question."

"It was real for me," Steve babbles. "It was all real for me. I promise."

"Answer me!" Tears limn his eyes. "Was I a bet?"

"It wasn't like--"

"Was I a fucking bet?" He yells and Steve can't take it. Can't take the hurt all over Eddie's face, the betrayal. Wants to erase it, to make everything okay, to get back to where they were last night, wrapped in Eddie's bedsheets, giggling.

"It started as a bet, okay? It did. I messed up by not telling you. I know I did. But I like you so much. I--I--" Steve loves him. He knows without any doubt, but he can't say it not now, not for this.

"Fuck you, Harrington," Eddie says. His voice is even but his face is a wreck.

"Please, Eddie." Steve begs. "Please. Give me a chance to explain. You're everything."

Eddie doesn't respond. He climbs into his van, drives away without a second glance.

---

He tries to apologize.

He tries to apologize, but Eddie isn't at school, not at first, and the death glare he gets from the Hellfire guys lets him know he's no longer welcome. When Eddie does come back he won't so much as look at Steve.

He goes to the trailer park where Wayne--Wayne who he watched sports with, Wayne who liked him--stands on the steps and says, "I don't think you have any business here anymore, kid. Not if you know what's good for you." And Steve nods and goes home and cries.

---

Steve stands on the stairs of the Munson trailer in his tux with a bouquet of flowers that are so purple they're almost black and a self-recorded tape in his hands. Prom is tonight but he has no interest in going to the dance that started all this bullshit.

Music pounds from inside; Judas Priest, he thinks. Eddie's van is in the driveway and Wayne's car is not.

The music quiets at his knock, and his heart pounds in the silence. Eddie frowns when he opens the door, but it morphs into something infinitely sadder when he sees Steve.

"Aren't you supposed to be at a dance?" Eddie asks.

"No, I--I didn't want to go. I wanted to say--Eddie, I'm sorry. I should've told you the truth from the beginning. I was afraid of losing you, and you learned the truth in the worst possible way."

Eddie doesn't speak or move, so Steve barrels on.

"I--uh--I ordered these for you. Before we broke up. And I just thought--you should still have them. That you would like them."

Eddie takes the flowers like he's in a daze.

"And uh, this too," Steve places the cassette in Eddie's hand. "It's um, stupid, probably? But I miss you and I'm sorry and just--take it."

---

Steve's been at the quarry for two hours, staring up at the stars from the hood of his car. He should go, probably. Eddie clearly isn't going to show. But he can't make himself. If he stays here, looking at the sky, losing Eddie won't be real.

He's dozing off, almost asleep, when the shine of headlights has him blinking alert. A familiar van trundles to a stop next to him, and Eddie climbs out. He's wearing a snug black button-down with a deep purple rose pinned to his chest, tight black jeans, and shining black boots.

"You came." Steve scrambles off his car, graceless in his relief, his gratitude.

Eddie nods. "Wasn't sure if I should but--" he shrugs.

"I'm glad you did. Thank you. I--" he swallows. "Eddie, I'm so sorry. I'll do anything, anything if it means you'll forgive me."

"Anything?" Eddie's mouth turns up at the corner.

Steve nods, firm. "I promise."

"You learned 'Rainbow in the Dark' for me."

"I did."

"That's a really hard song." Eddie smiles but tears track down his cheeks.

Steve laughs. "It's so hard."

Somehow, without Steve noticing, their fingers are entwined. Eddie lifts their joined hands, studying them. "Oh, baby, your calluses."

"Yeah." Steve blushes. "It was important I got it right."

Eddie's mouth drops as he stares, studying Steve's eyes.

"I know it took you a lot to trust me," Steve says. "And I know I broke that, but please, please try to believe me when I say that it was real for me. From the beginning. It was all real."

Eddie clears his throat. "When did you know?"

Steve's smile is soft. "That first guitar lesson. You arranged my fingers and you just--you were so beautiful."

"Oh," Eddie breathes.

"I was an idiot, Ed. I fell in love with you, and thought I could back out of the bet, that you never had to know. I never meant to hurt you."

"Wait...love me?"

Steve freezes. He hadn't meant to say that, not yet, not when things are so tenuous. "Yeah. I--yeah, I love you, Eddie."

"That's funny, sweetheart. Cause I love you too, and four hours ago I thought falling for you was the worst mistake I've ever made."

Steve's smile matches Eddie's now. "Dance with me?" he asks.

There's no music; just the whirr of early spring insects, the rustle of leaves, but Eddie still smirks, and pulls Steve close. They sway against each other, beaming, glowing, brighter than the stars.

"You're missing your prom, Stevie," Eddie says.

"Nah. I'm not missing anything. I have you."

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bubblybloob · 4 months

Note

I dare you to draw smitten with either cold or the beast, you pick.

This is because I said I hadn’t gotten many asks for the Smitten, huh?

This might actually be a bit more Cold focused, long thing I wrote below.

There were fights, a lot of fights, actually. How could there not be? Eleven voices given form, only to be cramped back into one space. At least this time it was a house, not a body.

It wasn’t a bad thing, far from it; Hero wagers most were thankful for the permanent, familiar company, while the rest indifferent. Hero himself quite enjoys chatting or playing games with the others, it isn’t uncommon for him to seek out one of the voices simply so his stirring thoughts can have an outlet.

However, sometimes the others don’t click. Usually it was fine- Broken, Hunted and Contrarian seldom got physical. Opportunist and Paranoid might if they felt strongly enough about something to throw away their pretenses or fear, but they weren’t often the issue.

The rest tended to jump to bold accusations and wild conclusions, looked forward to it even. Skeptic occasionally found himself going from relatively mundane quarrels to all out brawls from causing accidental offense. Stubborn and Cheated had a tendency to get too excited about coming out on top in one way or another, and the other two…

Sometimes it felt like they only ever fought each other.

Okay, that was lie, Cold purposely ruffled the other’s feathers out of pure boredom. Hero wondered if he had made up some sort of challenge to see if he could get the non confrontational voices riled up for a fight, given how often he pushed their buttons. Once he flat out punched Contrarian in the face just to see if he’d retaliate.

If Cold couldn’t get them to crack he’d sigh with something akin to dejection and approach someone like Cheated, maybe Stubborn if he was feeling risky- pretty much anyone with a shorter fuse so he could get some form of thrill.

But they weren’t his go to, that would be- of course- Smitten.

“You vile, wretched thing! I won’t hear another word of nonsense out of you. Begone! Foul creature!”

“Call me all the names you like, you won’t get the response you’re looking for.”

It happened just about every other day: Cold would say something off putting, Smitten would respond with something that would offend anybody else, a bit of snarky back and forth later, and suddenly hands were being thrown.

“What are they arguing about this time?” Cheated grumbled, coming up to stand beside Hero, whose eyes were encircled by dark shadows.

“I ‘dunno, woke up to them yapping at each other, or at least Smitten’s yapping, I don’t think Cold has ever raised his voice.” Hero yawned out, scratching at his horn tuft.

“With how often those two are at each others throats, I think we should count ourselves lucky one is so soft spoken.” Cheated stretched his arms and body upwards, his wings instinctively snapping outwards and flapping as he tried to relieve his muscles. The large wings smacked Hero’s side as he did, which had the heroic voice stumbling backwards as Cheated mumbled a small “sorry” out.

“It’s fine. I think it’s less that he’s soft spoken and more that he’s sharp spoken. He talks like he knows where all your vitals are.” Hero responds, shivering at his own words.

Cheated shrugs. “Probably does, he’s our resident freak after all.”

“How is it then that you feel nothing? Without feeling one will rot away, yet you’re still here.” Seems Hero had missed part of drama during his and Cheated’s little chat. Smitten had now grabbed Cold by the chest feathers and was looking ready to tear into him.

“Who knows, really? Maybe I’m like a ghost, haunting the remains that our godly self expelled. Or maybe we simply can’t die, I haven’t eaten in a while.” Cold replies with a sharp whistle.

“Ooo, he shouldn’t be so candid about saying that out loud, never know when Hunted’s listening.” Cheated says behind a wicked smile. No doubt the avian had tucked the information away for blackmail, or to get a favor from Opportunist, who also found a new joy in digging up dirt on the others for his own benefit.

Hero was about to step in at this point. Smitten looked ready to let loose, and Cold seemed to be passively soaking in the drama of it all. But before Hero could open his mouth, Smitten’s hold relaxed, and his head hung low.

“No, I see through your tricks, scum. I will not loose myself to anger over frivolous things such as this. Leave, now, I must prepare myself for the morning time.” Smitten let’s go of Cold’s feathers, which were not bunched together and frayed. Cold hums something tired.

“Weak willed of you, can’t approach her killer?” Cold tilts his head.

A flinch. “I know what you’re doing, I won’t fall for it this time, villain!” Smitten whips around, and goes to walk from the conflict.

Cold’s wry smile falls flat on his face, he turns his head toward Cheated.

“Not today pal, Paranoid seemed extra twitchy though, probably didn’t get much sleep. It’s still early and he isn’t fully alert in his head, might be able to start something up with him if you push hard enough.” Cheated suggests. Hero punches him in the arm, just when he thought there would be no morning fight to put down.

Cold’s brow raises, evidently interested in a fight with someone who rarely raised his hands. He moves past the two, already on the prowl for their jumpiest member.

“Troop on, you emotionless fuck- ow, stop that!” Cheated yelps when Hero punches him again, this time a little harder.

Cheated’s words seemed to have stopped Smitten in his tracks however, he mutters something to himself, and whips back around. “You can’t be as dispassionate as you claim! You’re merely afraid of your own feelings!”

The accusation makes the Cold stop dead. His expression is hidden, but Hero swears he sees his feathers puff out. He expects them to quickly flatten back down.

But they don’t.

Cold slowly turns the upper half of his body, his face looks… almost strained. His composure had finally cracked.

“Hmm?” He darkly hums. It’s an oddly moderate response, given how Cold takes any and all opportunities to tease whomever he talks to, especially for outlandish claims such as this.

They were outlandish… weren’t they?

Hero had a bad feeling in his gut, one he couldn’t explain.

“I’m right.” Smitten looks a little surprised, before a damn near elated expression creeps onto his face. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

Cold doesn’t respond, still half turned to leave. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t swayed in the past ten seconds. Hero wonders if he was still breathing.

“You aren’t unfeeling at all, are you? You’re full of emotion! What’s is it then that makes you push them under the deep, dark waves of the heart? Fear? Want? …Guilt? I can guess what it’s for.” Smitten continues with his theory, the Cold still hasn’t retaliated.

“Ooo, might be onto something there, Smitty.” Chester looks almost excited as he says this. His words seem to encourage Smitten further, who puffs up under the praise.

Cold stands there.

“Go on then, tell us the harsh truth, fiend. You’re no emotionless husk.” Smitten moves closer and closer to Cold’s position. Hero wonders if he should put himself between the two, but he can’t say he isn’t interested to where this is going.

Smitten stands face to face with his Cold counterpart. Hero swears Cold shrinks back under the close attention.

“You’re afraid.”

For a moment, they stand there, a stare down. Hero briefly hears the faint phantom sounds of glass breaking under the weight of godhood.

In a blink Cold draws his arm back, and his fist connects to Smitten cheek.

—

WoooOooO cliffhanger that might never keep going.

I’m unsure if this is common theory or whatnot, but I’ve not for a moment believed Cold was emotionless. I think he’s hurt by what’s happened to him, so much so that he thinks being emotionless, acting only to entertain will bring him some form of twisted comfort.

I think he’s too afraid to let himself feel, so he pushes his feelings far, far down, and pretends he feels nothing. He’s so good at it that he believes it to be true.

He’s so good at ignoring both physical and mental feeling that he himself believes he is nothing but a thrill seeker. In reality, his emotions, his physical needs, it all hurt him, so he squashes both.

Think about it, you usually get him by killing the princess in cold blood, and then subsequently stabbing yourself. Both hurt him. He only knows hurt from both, so he throws them aside.

#slay the princess #stp voices #voice of the smitten #voice of the cold #voice of the hero #voice of the cheated #art #my art #writng #asks #requests #too many goddamn tags #that’s what the fandom should be called

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fangirldreams101 · 6 months

Text

Coming Home pt. 7

DBF! Daryl, Rick, Shane & Negan x Reader

TW: Severe age-gap w/ older men, smut, consensual sex, handjobs/fingering, groping, some aggression, alcohol usage, piv (unwrapped, reader is on pill though), mentions of r*pe and m*rder (nothing actually happens though), goes from fluff to angst to smut, you chose the enter this emotional rollercoaster, they may be hot but they are hot with feelings, dub-con (technically consent is given, but its morally grey), oral (fem receiving）

Chapter Index

Throughout the rest of Negan's stay, you both became rather close. You gave him a proper tour of the small town you now called home and showed him all your favorite spots. He took you out on a few dates behind your dad's back, you both enjoying your time together. He loved to treat you after fucking your brains out, having you walk around without any panties so he could pull you into a dark corner and fuck you against the wall. He devoured every part of you that he could, it was like he wanted to memorize your body for when he would have to go back home. You had zero unrealistic expectations about your relationship, you were both just there for a good time until Negan had to fly back to Washington. He might not choose to take the job and you were not planning on getting tied down when you just started college anyway. But although you two were on the same page, it looked like some others did not get the memo.

Daryl shared what he saw the night of your birthday with Rick and Shane. Shane was just mad that someone got to you first, but Rick and Daryl were furious. How dare some dumb shit come in and fuck you when they couldn't? And then they had to see Negan parade you around like he just won himself the prized pony at the town fair. You were too innocent, too good for a man like Negan. Sure, they didn't know a thing about him, but they were more than certain they could treat you a million times better than he ever could. So they attempted to hatch various little schemes to make Negan look bad. However, none of them made it past the drawing board. The saying, 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend,' did not apply at all to them. They would end up bickering amongst themselves and not a single plan came to fruition.

Any semblance of a truce between the three of them broke one fateful night.

Your dad was out drinking with some coworkers and you were at home, working on schoolwork. Suddenly, you heard the doorbell ring. Cautiously, you crept down the stairs and looked through the peep hole to find out who it was. It was Rick, bloodshot eyes and messed up hair. You quickly unlocked and opened the door, worried about his mental state.

"Hey is everything ok," you questioned, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

His head shot up at the sound of your voice, clearly not expecting you to be the one to answer the door.

He didn't say anything which made you uneasy, so you lied about the whereabouts of your dad, "Were you looking for my dad? I can call him if you'd like."

He just stood there, looking at you. Honestly, it freaked you out, murder and rape statistics where the culprit is someone you know flashed through your head as you began to slowly backtrack on your words.

"How about you give me a second and I get my dad. He's upstairs, but it'll only take a second-," you began but Rick suddenly collapsed to his knees.

"Jesus! Rick, what's wrong," you cry out, running to his side.

His hands shoot out, pulling you into a rough kiss. Your body stills in shock, before struggling and pushing him away.

‘HEY," you yell, before softening your voice, "You are not in your right mind right now. Either you calm down and speak, or you leave."

Rick's bloodshot eyes began to tear up and you never thought you would see the day the man would be so vulnerable like this.

"Lori's takin' the kids," he shakily breathed out.

"Oh fuck," you gasped, "Oh god, Rick, I'm so sorry."

He buried his face into his hands and began to sob. Wrapping your arms around him, you pulled him into the house and led him to a couch. You sat down next to him, pulling a blanket over his shoulders as the poor man broke down. You just held him, allowing him to cry out all his frustrations onto your shoulder.

After a while, his cries slowed to a stop and he pulled away. You offered him some napkins to wipe his face and he did so.

You both sat in silence for a bit before you broke it, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not much to talk about," his voice was rough, guarded, as if he was disappointed in himself for letting you see him like this.

"Is there anything you would like me to do," you asked, your voice kind and gentle, and completely undeserving of the storm running through his head.

"Can I kiss ya," he asked.

"Rick...," you said hesitantly, "You didn't want anything to do with me before and I'm worried that you'll regret it if you do something now. I don't want to take advantage of what you're feeling right now.“

He leaned close to you, eyes pleading, "I swear 'm not gonna regret it. I need ya, darlin'. Please."

He leaned in and pressed his swollen lips to yours. You didn't kiss back but after a moment of him running his fingers into your hair, mumbling words of praise and desire, you gave in.

"As long as you are sure," you said between his kisses.

"'m sure, 'm so sure. Wanted ya for so long, darlin'. Ya got no idea, how hard its been," he groaned out.

"Woah, there cowboy, I got a bedroom y'know," you gave a small smile, pulling Rick up and walking him up to your room.

As soon as the door was closed, he was on you like an animal. Desperate kisses placed against your neck and hands wandering all over your body. You moaned in response, your own hands tugging at the buttons on his shirt. Prying your clothes off each other, you take a moment to appreciate the handsome man on top of you. He pressed himself into your neck growling at the sight of Negan's marks littering your body. He begins to suck and bite over them, as if he was trying to cover up any evidence that Negan had you. Your naked bodies tumbled onto the bed, hands groping and pulling at each others' flesh. Rick lifted your hips, moving down your body, placing kisses as he went.

You offered to take care of him instead, but he looked up at you with his big eyes and pleaded to let him do this. With a nod of confirmation, he dug his face into you, eating you out like a man starved. Low groans of appreciation left his lips, his eyes closing in bliss as he licked a long stripe up your lips. He began to suckle on your clit, causing you to flail at the pleasure. You panted and moaned loudly, Rick having to force your hips down lest you accidently kick him. You reached your peak quickly, waves of pleasure crashing over you but Rick turned it into a tsunami as he continued to finger your slick folds and circle your clit with his mouth.

"Rick, 's too much," you moaned out at the overstimulation, trying to push him away.

He looked like a man possessed, like not a single word you were saying was getting through to him. As you tried to move away, his grip on your hips tightened, leaving marks as he just tugged you ever closer to his face. He kept mumbling incoherent words, you only picking up, "so pretty," "all mine," and, "waited so long." The desperate, sinful phrases he uttered sent vibrations through you, reaching another crescendo as you came again.

"Rick," you cried out in a long-drawn out moan, "Please."

The man blinks, looking like he fell out of a trance. He pulls away, allowing you to slump down in relief.

"'m sorry, darlin'," he said, wiping the glisten off of his face, "You just tasted so good."

"It's okay," you panted, still trying to catch your breath.

Rick takes that as his cue to continue, and he surges forward, spreading your legs and rubbing the tip of his cock between your folds.

"Wai- oh," you moan out as Rick plunges into you with one hard thrust.

He's girthy, stretching you out despite all of the wetness on you. It takes your breath away, but feels amazing and you cling onto his shoulders, pulling him close.

Without hesitation, Rick begins to move, thrusting in and out of you at a harsh pace. Once again, he acts like a man possessed, violently humping you. He bites and sucks on your breasts, pinching and pulling on your nipples. He switches from thrusting to giving shallow thrusts while grinding against your clit. It's like he is trying to be as deep inside of you as he can. He halts his assault on your breasts, and wraps his arms around you, pulling you as close as possible.

In return, you wraps your legs around his hips, helping him reach deeper inside of you. You both moan out sweet nothings, words of empty affection and desire. Eventually, Rick grunts, pushing in deep and stilling, as white hot ribbons pulse out and line your walls.

As soon as he feels that every drop is in you, he slowly pulls out before quickly plugging you up with his fingers, causing you to cry out. He moves his head back down again, lapping at you while his fingers push his cum deeper inside. He tastes the mixture of you both and it makes him happy to know that there is such physical evidence of you together. You cry out one last time, lurching upwards as Rick helps you ride out your high. He finally pulls away completely and you let out a small laugh in absolute disbelief of how good that was.

"That good, huh, darlin'," Rick grinned and you nodded, reaching down to pull him in for a kiss.

You both relaxed into the bed, giddy and cuddled up next to each other.

After a bit of peace, you looked up at him, "Are you feeling better?"

He smiled, leaning down and kissing your forehead, "Much."

"Thank you," he murmured into your hair and you smiled, "Anytime."

The serenity you both created was broken by the sound of the door to the house closing and your dad's voice booming out, "Hi! I'm home!"

Whatever little pocket of peace, the temporary paradise you bestowed upon each other, was shattered with those three words. Rick rolled away from you like a man on fire, dropping to the ground in an effort to scramble for his clothes.

"Fuck," you whispered and the man muttered unholy mantras under his breath as he struggled to put his clothes on.

You put on a nightgown you owned and a robe, "Calm down. He doesn't come into my room without knocking and you left nothing downstairs that would be evidence you were here. You're going to have to wait for him to go to his room before you can slip out the door anyway."

You heard your dad call for you again as his footsteps were heard coming up the stairs and down the hall towards your room. You and Rick looked at each other in a panic.

"I can jump outta the window, a fracture never hurt nobody," he said, already pulling at the window.

Your dad knocked on the door, "Sweetie? Everything okay? Just got back from hanging with the guys."

You signaled to Rick to stop moving and to stay quiet, before calling back out to him, "Yeah everything's good! Just woke up from a nap is all! I'll be down in a sec!"

Your dad yawned, "No worries! Take your time too, think Imma take a shower 'n freshen up."

You could hear him move away from your door and towards the bathroom. Neither you nor Rick moved a hair until the sounds of the water rushing caused you to both sag in relief.

"Were you really about to jump out the window, just to avoid him," you quipped, quirking an eyebrow.

Rick did not look amused, "I really don't want to hurt him."

You put your hands up in a surrendering motion, you really didn't want to redo this conversation again, "Okay, okay. Let's get you out of here."

You poked your head out of the room, double checking that the coast was clear and then motioned for Rick to follow you. You guys climbed down the stairs and reached the front door. You both went out onto the porch and he began to move away.

Quickly, you grasped onto his arm, "You're not going to start treating me coldly again, are you?"

"Pretty sure it was you doin' that, darlin'," he chuckled, but stopped seeing your expression.

"You know what I mean," you pouted.

Rick sighed, before reaching down and pecking you on the head, "I do. And I won't."

You gave a bright smile, practically blinding him. Leaning up on your tiptoes, you planted a sweet kiss on his lips.

"I look forward to seein' you around, then."

Rick nodded, a slight blush covering his face, "Wouldn't miss it for the world, darlin'."

He stepped away, turning to watch you reenter the house before going back on his way home. Life kept draining him, but you kept him going like a solar-powered battery.

Next up:

"YOU DID WHAT TO MY KID?" Your dad roared.

Taglist:

@eternalrose81 @belaballs @lonely-girl2423 @thewitchesofart @theoraekenslover @raininhell @juleshaters @blackvelveteen1339

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hp-hcs · 7 months

Text

the rules (Chapter One of The Doll) — slytherin boys x gn! ‘the boy’ (2016)! reader

Requests: open

tws: dolls, obviously; reader referred to as ‘it’ (presumed inanimate); mentions of past child character death(s); mentions of a house fire—implied arson; violence; & murder

based entirely off of the 2016 film ‘the boy’. very few things in this world are able to scare me more than that fucking doll

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“This house is freaking me out, man,” Theodore grumbles, setting down his trunk in one of the guest bedrooms. Mattheo snickers from his spot where he’s leaning against the doorway.

“What, you afraid it’s haunted or something? We went to school with ghosts for eight years, dude.”

“Oh, shut up,” Theodore rolls his eyes. “Not haunted, just… offputting. This feels like the kind of house that has like, secret stairways and trapdoors and shit.”

“The L/Ns didn’t draw their inspiration for their house from H. H. Holmes, dipshit,” Blaise scoffs as he elbows his way past Mattheo to get to his room.

The trio snicker at each other as they all drop their suitcases and trunks in their respective bedrooms and reconvene in the foyer of the massively ancient house.

“I’m just saying,” Theodore was explaining to Blaise as they made their way downstairs. “Nobody chooses to make their house look like a Victorian dollhouse if they aren’t fucking crazy.”

“Guys?” Enzo interrupts timidly. “We have a fucking problem.”

“Oh, I so called it.”

“Shut up, Theo. What’s the issue, Enz?” Mattheo drawls.

Enzo holds up the note that the L/Ns had left them that provided instructions on how they were to take care of and clean the house.

The boys had opted for this choice—staying in and cleaning up some wealthy family’s creepy house over the summer—instead of serving time in Azkaban for their stances in the war.

(It had seemed like the better choice at the time.)

“They’re even more insane than we thought, guys,” Enzo shakes his head. “They got a creepy as fuck doll that they think is their real kid, or something.”

“Yeah no, I’m out,” Theo mumbles, putting his hands up in an ‘I surrender’ pose and taking a step back.

“Fuck you, if we have to do this, you have to too,” Mattheo snaps. “Where’s this doll?”

Enzo points to one of the faded decorative chairs that flank the doorway to the parlor. Sure enough, a terrifying, two-foot tall, porcelain doll sits there, dressed up in an expecting-company outfit with tiny little leather oxfords to match.

“Yep, I agree with Theo. I say we get the fuck outta here,” Blaise mumbles, shaking his head with wide eyes.

“Its name is…” Enzo scans the letter. “Y/N. Oh, wonderful, the L/Ns wrote out its entire daily schedule for us. That was so thoughtful of them.”

Enzo falls silent as he skims the letter further, shaking his head the more he reads. “They’ve got some weird rules, guys,”

“Do I dare ask what they are?” Theo mumbles weakly.

“‘Number one: No guests.’ Well there goes my weekend plans,” he mutters sarcastically. “‘Number two: Never leave Y/N alone.’”

“We’re so getting murdered here,” Blaise grumbles, receiving a sharp glare from Mattheo.

“‘Number three: Save meals in freezer.’”

“Country house. That makes perfect sense,” Mattheo scoffs flippantly, ever the skeptic.

“‘Number four: Never cover Y/N’s face.’ Oh my Merlin, we’re going to die here. ‘Number five: Read a bedtime story.’”

“Honestly, you’re all so dramatic,” Mattheo rolls his eyes. “This is probably just some weird way for them to deal with some trauma they have. Do we know if the L/Ns have any kids? Actual ones?”

“Just one, but they died,” a new voice chimes in. Draco steps into the foyer, folding up his umbrella and shrugging off his soaked overcoat. “Sorry I’m late. Went into town to buy cigarettes, and the guy at the gas station told me all of the gossip surrounding this house. Anyway, why are we asking about the L/Ns’ chil- what the fuck is that?!”

“This is Y/N,” Theodore says plainly. “Come on and make your acquaintance, hm?”

“I’m good, thanks though.”

Enzo clears his throat loudly, getting the two to stop bickering. “‘Number six: Play music loud.’”

“So that we can’t hear them coming when they sneak up on us to kill us,” Blaise bemoans, pressing one hand against his forehead and mumbling under his breath something about how Azkaban wouldn’t have been that bad, would it?

“‘Number seven: Clean the traps.’ Wonderful. ‘Number eight: Only Regulus brings deliveries.’”

“I met him,” Draco interjects again. “At the gas station. He introduced himself. He’s the grocery boy for the L/Ns.”

“Good to know. ‘Number nine: Y/N is never to leave.’”

“We’re fucked,” Theo shrugs, nonplussed.

Enzo gulps. “‘Rule number ten: Kiss goodnight.’”

~~~ Chapter Two <3

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bleedingoptimism · 1 year

Text

𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘚𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵

𝗠𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗮𝘆

Robin laughs as she stares fondly at her friends. It’s been a slow day at Family Video, with people deeming it too hot outside to be locked up watching movies.

Except for Eddie, who showed up early in the afternoon but then never actually left because the AC was having a good day, and since it was nice inside the store, he decided to stay with them until the sun was a little less punishing.

She’s listening to Eddie explain to Steve why it's imperative he reads The Hobbit instead of just watching the 1977 movie, like Dustin suggested, saying he needs the whole experience to really appreciate it.

Steve is giggling, like actually giggling right now, looking intently at him as Eddie talks and gestures and openly flirts with him.

And as Robin is watching them something suddenly clicks for her and she thinks ‘oh shit’.

She carefully inspects the way her best friend gazes at Eddie, the way he tilts his head, looking confused but flustered at the same time whenever Eddie leans his head towards him, smiling and lifting his eyebrows suggestively.

When Eddie finally leaves half an hour before closing time Steve sighs and smiles like a dingus at the door for 30 seconds after, and Robin wonders why hasn’t he told her about it but then she realizes maybe he doesn't know.

“Steve…” she starts, trying to figure out the best way to ask this, “you’d tell me if you really liked someone right? Really liked them? You’d tell me, right?”

Steve looks at her confused for a second before understanding dawns on him and he looks self-conscious, so Robin keeps talking,

“You’re my other half, we tell each other everything,” She tries not to sound crushed because judging by his reaction Steve knows exactly what she’s talking about and he didn't trust her with this secret, but she fails spectacularly to keep her voice steady.

Steve looks at her, his face morphs from guilt to sorrow and his eyes are suddenly glassy, he blinks and a tear falls down his cheek. And Robin freaks the fuck out.

“Wow, wow, wow, wow, it's okay, it's okay.”

She hugs him, crushes him against her, and puts his head on her shoulder, one hand stays on his hair, while the other draws little circles at the center of his back in soothing motions.

Steve breathes deeply and calms down, he doesn’t start crying but it comes close.

“I’m so sorry,” he tells her, lifting his head to look at her. Robin doesn't say anything, just hums, wiping that lonely tear off his cheek.

“I should have told you.”

“Yes, you should’ve,” she says not unkindly. “I’d tell you I get why you didn’t, but, it’s me. It’s us,” she grabs his shoulders and squeezes. “You should’ve told me so I could be there for you.”

“I was scared. I am scared. I'm scared saying out loud will make it real.”

Robin drops her hands from his shoulders all the way to his hands and takes them. “I know, but,” she sighs and smiles at him moving his hands with hers from side to side.

“When I told you about me it was scary, yes. But it also felt good! Like, a weight I didn't know I had been carrying all my life was lifted, and you made me feel safe that day and every day after.”

He smiles shyly at her, and she keeps talking. “When we talk about girls and you ask for my opinion and we joke about it and stuff, you make me feel loved and like there’s nothing wrong with me.”

Her voice breaks out of nowhere and Steve hugs her again, and this time he doesn't let go.

Robin puts her chin on his shoulder and slowly sways them from side to side. “This might be shitty of me, but I'm actually excited I get to be here for you too.”

Steve laughs brokenly and whispers, “Yeah?”

She breaks their hug and nods at him, smiling. Steve sighs again, smiling sadly back at her,

“I’m sorry I didn't say something sooner.”

“It's okay. I’m sorry I pushed.”

Steve smiles again, contentedly this time but something flashes through his eyes as he frowns going back to looking scared,

“Am I really that obvious?”

“Not really,” she lies, “It’s just cause I know you so well.”

He looks so relieved she feels bad about her little white lie so she amends, “Anyways, you are not more obvious than him, that’s for sure.”

“What?!”

𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗻𝘂𝗲𝗱

part 1: ❤️

part 2: 🧡

part 3: 💛

part 4: 💚

part 5: 💙

part 6: 💜

part 7: 💗

☕🥐💕

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #i wrote something

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nilolol30 · 10 months

Text

Hide and seek

"C'mon it will be fun!" Macaque continued to ask the same thing over and over today refusing to accept the rejection.

"No way it would be too unfair" you turn back to face the sink finishing up washing the dishes "okay how about I wear those noise cancelling headphones? They work decently well muffles most noise" with a sigh you put the hand towel down.

"Why do you even want to play hide and seek? Are you that bored? And where are we even going to play it it's not like people casually play hide and seek in the city people would probably think you're a murderer or something" you can't help but laugh to yourself at the last part.

"Uh yeah I'm bored plus it's fun and you have been too busy doing boring stuff and we can play it at the forest near Wukong's temple it's not like the guys always there unless it's training Mk" Macaque shrugs leaning his arm on your shoulder.

"Okay fine" you sighed and smiled a little at Macaque "Ha knew you couldn't say no to me!" Suddenly he grabs your arm and pulls you into his shadow portal without warning.

Suddenly you can feel the ground on your shoes and you can see again it was beginning to get dark the sunset made most of the forest trees a warm orange then Macaque gave you a firm pat on the shoulder.

"Okay since I'm like the best I'm going to give you a bigger headstart about.... fifteen minutes and you just gotta hide for one hour easy" Macaque chuckled seeing you roll your eyes and prepared to put the headphones on.

"But quick tip!" He paused for dramatic effect "I am still faster" you stared at him for a bit "that's not a tip-" Macaque puts the headphones on.

"Count down starts now" without wasting time you booked it into the forest he was right it didn't matter if you ran and hid as far away Macaque could get to the other side of the damn island in seconds so best bet is to hide close by he wouldn't suspect that maybe.

Soon you find a pretty decently tall tree not too big but good enough and you climbed it to the top leaves hiding you from above it was good all you had to do was just put some of your weight on a branch but for extra measure you clinged into the trunk.

After a bit you can hear the faint voice of Macaque calling out "Here I come!" It didn't mean he knew you were close by but it still freaked you out.

It was mostly quiet and dark now you think you hit the twenty minute mark but you couldn't tell you left your phone at home but suddenly footsteps below you caught your attention.

Looking down you see Macaque walking past he was checking a few bushes and behind trees and then continued to walk away it took everything not to move an inch in case even a small leaf made a sound.

It was two minutes after you spotted Macaque when suddenly the tree was shaking and you lost your grip falling down with a small scream but you landed into a firm set of arms.

"Found you~" Macaque smirks drawing out his last word while effortlessly cradling you.

"Give me credit I was hidden for around twenty to thirty minutes best" Macaque chuckled pulling you closer to his chest "Actually I knew where you were at seventeen minutes" Macaque began laughing as he saw your face turned into disbelief to disappointed.

"Are you kidding me!" You playfully punched his shoulder he fell deeper into his laughing fit putting you back down and wipes away a fake tear.

"Sorry but I was being nice-"

"More like being a cocky bastard!"

"...I also purposely went the opposite direction-"

"YOU MOTHERFU-"

#lmk x reader #monkie kid x reader #lmk macaque x reader #macaque x reader

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the-darklings · 2 years

Text

──𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐢 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞 [𝐕.]

summary: "You look lonely, Dream."

pairing: dream of the endless x f!reader

wc: 3.5k+

warnings: dare I say it... soft, Dream is still Dream ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

notes: you're all actually insane. thank you so much for your support & I love you. enjoy perhaps the happiest chapter in the story : )

part one | series masterlist | ao3 |

PART FIVE: YEAR 522

“Enjoying yourself?”

You nudge the book from over your face, squinting at the tall figure looming over you. “I was till about two seconds ago.”

Your retort is lost in a sleepy yawn as you cover your mouth.

Corinthian’s tall frame casts a steep, hard-edged shadow over your body. He doesn’t move. Sighing, you unhook your legs to sit up, blinking up at him. “Where were you? I haven’t seen you in two days.”

“Performing my duty,” he replies smoothly, mockingly bowing. “As our benevolent ruler has intended. Even I get tonight off.”

“Right. Good dreams for everyone.”

Dreamfall is tonight. The inhabitants that call this realm their home—nightmares and dreams alike—have been prepping for the celebration since light first broke over the land.

Corinthian steps under the whistling willow, visibly amused by how the branches seemingly hiss whenever he draws too near. He sits down against the trunk without forewarning, grabbing your ankles resting in the shade. He lifts your legs before dropping them over his lap unceremoniously. His hat drops beside him, and you huff at his gall. Your shoe nudges his deliberately—a half kick—your sweet smile making an equally poisonous smile curl his mouth.

“Ow.”

“Sorry,” he drawls insincerely.

Rolling your eyes, you leaf through the book you were reading before your impromptu nap.

“Will you be at the celebration?” you inquire casually, not looking his way.

The nightmare clicks his tongue. “No.”

Your stare skims over the edge of your hardcover, “Why not?”

A thin, polished blade appears in his hand, looping between his long fingers. He seems too thoughtful for it to not spell trouble. “Taking a page from your book and running from things.”

This time your kick lands intentionally against his ankle. Corinthian doesn't react to it. Lately, he's been convinced you're running from things that have transpired in your extended life. It's true to an extent. You're not idiotic enough to convince yourself otherwise. Kernel of truth or otherwise, you would rather talk about anything else.

This is the longest you’ve ever stayed at the Dreaming in a single stretch. Almost a year. But this time is different. You can’t help but get a sense others don’t want you to leave. They’re concerned about you. After your last mishap in the waking world, no one can blame them, certainly not you. You were in terrible shape. If anything, you had forgotten how sweet it is: to be wanted and cared for, even if few ever express it through traditional means.

“Not this again,” you groan. “You don’t get it.”

"Oh, but I do." Corinthian's head tips to the side, facing away from you. You haven't noticed the miniature wooden piece in his other hand until his blade starts scoring through the wood. "You don't want to consider your existence. So instead, you shove everything happening to you to the side in some vain hope that it won't hurt you if you wait long enough. Tsk, tsk."

Metal scrapes on wood again; louder, with more force, small wooden shavings scattering near your feet. Corinthian turns to face you again, leaning closer, your distorted reflection visible in his shades. “But memories have teeth, Wanderer,” he continues playfully. “They always come back to bite.”

You offer him a flat, unamused stare. “Trying to freak me out? Or just being purposely annoying?”

He grins brightly, all teeth visible, one side of his mouth crooking slightly further than the other. “I’m a nightmare, darling. It’s in the job description.”

Rolling your eyes, you lift your book back over your face, his words swimming in your head.

“Annoying, it is.”

Silence blankets the clearing for a while. Miniature daisies curl around your palm where it rests on the warm ground. It doesn’t escape your heed that everything in Fiddler’s Green shrinks away from Corinthian. Everyone, everywhere, shrinks away from him. Even amongst other nightmares, he has distinct energy that separates him from the rest; bold, defiant, and destructive.

Frowning, you drop the book back over your chest, gazing up at him. Corinthian’s head rests slanted to one side, focused entirely on his work. You’ve seen him partake in woodcraft often in recent years, but only ever in private. It settles him. This way, he manages to keep his mind and hands busy. During instances like these, away from everything, Corinthian appears almost human. As if whatever cruelty he indulges in so often takes a rest during these times.

“Come with me to the celebration,” you say abruptly. “It won’t kill you to be nice for a change.”

The nightmare pauses mid-scratch. Corinthian carefully considers his handiwork, blowing away the wood dust with deliberate slowness. “I’m very nice,” he retorts. “See.”

He throws the object at you. You scramble, the wooden figurine almost hitting you in the chest. Shooting him a glare, you roll the smooth wood in your hand. It’s warm to the touch.

Miniature Corinthian stares back at you. With a gleeful grin stretched wide, glasses on, and a wooden hat over the nightmare’s head. The details are immaculate. Lovely. Somehow the thought he’s created this from nothing brings a smile to your face. So, not just a nightmare, huh?

You offer the nightmare a toothy, teasing grin. “He’s cute. Could use some friends, though.”

You toss it back at him. Unlike you, Corinthian catches the figurine smoothly, twisting it between his digits with a considerate hum.

“Friends.” There’s an abrasive edge to the way he articulates the word. “What a thought. Catch.”

You’re ready this time, but at no point did you catch him taking out a second figurine. Your mouth parts, speechless.

“This is…”

It's you. Your likeness has been shrunk to fit inside your hand—a tight knot forms in your throat. You've never had someone do something like this for you. The curse repeatedly destroys any traces of you. Fires, floods, diseases, wars. You've never been allowed to exist. Not in any significant way, anyway. But this is special—proof, as good as any, that you're real.

Wordlessly, you sit up, reaching over to hand him back the figurine.

“What?” he bites out. “Don't you like it?”

You want to smile at the prickly offence in his voice.

“I love it,” you insist. You nimbly grab the figurine Corinthian made of himself and shove it in your pocket, wiggling your brows. “But you hold onto mine, and I’ll hold onto yours. That’s what friends would do.”

You plop down on the ground, stretching your legs more comfortably over his lip. Corinthian doesn’t stir. Time glides leisurely, weaving a tapestry of tranquillity: you read, Corinthian whittles a new piece. When you’re out there in the universe, it’s memories like this one you armour yourself with.

“Can I ask you something?”

Corinthian doesn’t pause in his work. “You just did.”

You lift onto one elbow. “Why do you wear your glasses around me? You know your eyes don’t scare me.”

Even the mini replica of him has glasses on. Is he worried they make you uncomfortable? After five hundred years, few things can unsettle you anymore.

“I do. But I wasn’t born. I was made.” There’s weight to how he phrases it. Purposeful, premeditated. “The first time I became aware of my existence, I saw two things. Him, Dream of the Endless, my creator, and… you. The only one who never flinched away. Funny that.”

You lift a curious brow. “Funny how?”

A slight, mean grin edges Corinthian’s mouth. “Surely you’ve noticed? How many others around here look like me? Like you?”

Wind rustles your clothes, wrapping around your wrists and shoulders. Maybe it’s Fiddler Green’s approach in discouraging you from this conversation. But you’re not leaving. And you understand what the nightmare is trying to convey, what he’s suggesting between the lines.

That on some level—subconscious or otherwise—Dream crafted Corinthian in your image. The parallels are too significant. Your shared human attributes. A cursed human. A nightmare. Differing forms of misery. Forever.

You witnessed Corinthian's creation. He's been special to you ever since. Those jagged teeth for eyes or his corrupt nature never bothered you. At least not as much as others believed it should.

“Corinthian—”

“Hey kid, there you are,” a voice grouses through the clearing, striding hurriedly in your direction. “Geez. Do you have any idea how hard it is to track you down? Oh. Corinthian.”

Merv freezes the second the nightmare comes into view; branches and your body have kept him mostly from sight until now.

Clearing your throat, you raise your hand in a casual wave. “Hey, Merv.”

The pumpkin head balances on his heels, awkwardly looking around the clearing. “Uh, the big boss wants you back at the castle, kid,” the caretaker informs, pointing his thumb behind him. Back in the castle’s direction. “You’re the honoured guest tonight, so….”

Dream must be otherwise occupied if he didn’t come to collect you himself, considering he can pin your down in a mere second usually.

“Better run along,” Corinthian shoos, leaning back to get more comfortable. His hands are empty in his lap, and it doesn’t escape your notice.

You won’t be able to continue your conversation now; that is clear. Admitting silent defeat, you struggle back onto your feet, stretching. You tuck the leather-bound book under your arm, turning to go.

“Oh, and Wanderer?” You pause at Corihtian’s deliberately sweet call. In your peripheral, Merv’s features spasm with irritation. The nightmare grins when you turn back towards him. “Happy Dreamfall. May the Fates smile upon you.”

The nightmare’s hands clasp together lightly in mock prayer, and you shake your head. Leave it to him to ridicule human religion.

“You can’t bribe three-in-one for good fortune, Cori,” you tell him, equally as saccharine. “It doesn't work like that.”

“The veil between Worlds will be thin tonight,” he says lightly, all innocence, shrouding something darker beneath. “You never know.”

“You should be back at the castle, enjoying the festivities.”

Waves lap against the shores of the Dreaming, all things unstirring and still around you. It’s so quiet here. Even your breaths echo. Dreams and nightmares alike are celebrating. Tonight, their home is the centre of the cosmos. It’s dense in the air—that thrumming power raw imagination holds, building and swelling with the inky waves. You sit perched in the grainy, dark sand, your fingers dug in deep. A light breeze stirs beside you, and the Dream King’s dark coat whispers over your hand.

On this night, his overcoat is edged with glimmering golden flame at the hem, flaring brighter with each faint movement. Dream of the Endless at his true, unsuppressed power. The universe is paying tribute to his domain tonight. Your skin tingles at the oozing power radiating from him in such close proximity.

However, the answer to his reserved observation comes quickly: “Couldn’t miss this view.”

Light beams swirl in a multicoloured kaleidoscope through the inky sky above. Falling, falling, falling; swimming and floating. Dreams; pulsing and spinning through the lonely, silent universe to here. Their anchor place.

Dreamfall. An apt name indeed. You’re dizzy, stunned, and incredibly humbled just witnessing it. Has any other human been given such privilege?

“How many do you think there are?” you whisper.

“Billions.”

Dream’s voice is a gentle, deep caress beside you. Self-possessed as if he’s counted each one himself.

Your palm drags mindlessly through the dark sands, each grain sifting through your fingers. Dream Lord jolts at your side, breathing out deeply, but you don’t pay his odd reaction mind, settling into pensive silence.

“Can you see them?” you ask thoughtfully. “Individually?”

“See them, feel them,” Dream lists passively. His fingers outstretch slowly, aiming towards the boundless black water—no, towards the skies, towards living tendrils of joy and light dancing through the dark. “I need not take them. For they are all… right… here.”

A glow kindles in his open palm, muted, soothing light. It flutters; quivering wings of a scared bird, then settles, safe in Dream’s protective hold, forming a small sphere. A gasp climbs up your throat, but you swallow it down, jumping to your feet and brushing the sand off your palms as you go.

A woman’s figure moves in the smokey image. She’s cradling a tiny bundle in her arms, her nose brushing over the child’s nose lovingly. It’s a nurturing, beautiful scene. One to leave your heart aching with longing.

“That’s incredible.” Stepping closer, you reach to touch the glowing globe, but stop yourself last moment. No. There’s no knowing what it would do to this woman if someone like you infringed on her dream. Your fingers shrink backwards, falling back to your side, each digit curling loosely. Dream tracks the gesture intently, his features drawn, so you force lightness into your following words, “For all the splendours in this universe, the Dreaming still manages to delight me the most.”

Dream Lord’s thumb skims over the glowing sphere. Then he extends his arm and blows gently. Like his sand, the dream skips and floats away, soon all but lost in the infinite array of colours.

“On this night, all living things dream,” he murmurs, concentrating solely on the descending lights. “And those dreams all traverse the universe to find their way home. To the Dreaming. What is it?”

You blink, realising you’ve been caught staring. “It’s just… over five hundred years,” you begin with a small smile. “I thought I’d have you all figured out by now, but you keep surprising me.”

Dream’s chin slants in a slight nod—regal even in these tiniest gestures. For a second, you wonder if you glimpse a sliver of amusement, but you blink, and it’s gone. “Likewise, Wanderer.”

You stand side by side, observing the vivid display. Dream’s features are, for once, relaxed. Softer than usual.

“You love them,” you choke out, startled by the piercing realisation. “Humanity. Then why…”

He’s gone incredibly still beside you. “Why what?”

Despite the direct prompt, your mouth remains closed. A thousand thoughts swarm through your head. All this time, you had it so wrong. Dream Lord’s stoic, often cold, mien. Even his duty he so uncompromising places first.

“You look lonely, Dream.”

It slips out before you can give it much thought, talk yourself out of voicing it. You’ve seen how Dream handles such observations. How any label or implication sets his jaw and ignites an ancient flame in him. There’s a reason you’ve never defined your relationship or so much as tried to. Equal parts fear how he would take it—and more painfully—the thought he would admit you mean nothing.

But Dream Lord is lonely. It’s written in every corner of his handsome, imposing face. Displayed naked and vulnerable in the way he watches these dreams. Such fierce devotion and a need to understand them, even when he struggles with the complexities of humanity.

“I was wrong about you,” you rush ahead in a whisper, noting the slow spreading coldness painting over his features. “I once thought you didn’t care at all. That you’re above it all. But now I realise just how much you do care.”

Chuckling under your breath, you mentally reabsorb the years you’ve spent by his side. With such crushing responsibility, Dream acts a certain way for a reason.

“But to have the collective consciousness of all living beings resting on your shoulders… I can’t imagine it.” You shake your head slowly from side to side. A small, sad smile pulls at your lips. “Your sense of duty to them is stronger than anything else. So it’s easier to not show anything. To anyone. Easier to lock it all down.”

Dream displays no outward reaction to your comments. His stare, however, burns into you, simmering with some hidden, potent emotion you can’t decipher no matter how hard you try. “You created this for them,” you conclude fondly, glancing around you. “The Dreaming is your gift to life, to humanity.”

Your heart inflates, stray breaths escaping your parted lips. The coldness and the prickly displeasure have waned from his demeanour with your speech, leaving Dream Lord mute at your side. His quietude fills in all the blanks, melancholic as it is.

There’s nothing more lonely than endless existence. You’re starting to learn as much intimately.

"I'm merely abiding by the Old Laws," he says lastly. "Anything is possible here. Let me show you."

Confusion must show on your face because Dream inclines his head towards the pier to your right.

“What are we doing?” you question, following after him.

The hem shimmers with Dream's steady gait, illuminating the path ahead. He stalls at the edge of the dock, water beyond stretching as far as the eye can see.

“Creating.”

“Uh, what?” Understanding sinks in at his deliberate glance. “Dream, I… I can’t dream. I can’t create anything here.”

“You need only to imagine it,” he says. “I will do the rest.”

He gestures for you to take his place. Your feet brush over the pier’s edge hesitantly. You don’t dare to look below. Those depths are treacherous to anyone who isn’t this realm’s creator.

“How will you know what’s in my head?”

Dream Lord’s presence whispers against your back. His fingers are light when they settle on your shoulder. “When it comes to dreams, I always know.”

You huff. “Fine, show off.”

“Clear your mind,” he instructs promptly. Not like you expected him to humour you. “Here, tonight, anything is possible.”

Keeping one hand on your shoulder, Dream raises his other arm, digits extended; relaxed, elegant. With a soft rasp from Dream Prince’s lips, power surges in the air, “We begin… with a spin.”

Dream Lord’s wrist rotates, everything in sight ceasing for a heartbeat, and then the world shifts.

Water plunges inwards, forming a whirlpool, cool spray hitting your skin with a powerful gust. A startled breath wooshes from your lungs, peering down at the ravine wide-eyed.

You’re not afraid, though. You’re mesmerised. “What should I do?”

He hears you even over the roaring water. “Change the world,” Dream whispers behind you. The way he says those words makes you believe you can do anything. “Imagine you are free. Visualise it. What do you see?”

“There’s a small island.” The vision springs to mind instantly, shining brightly in your mind’s eye. “Grass that grows there is the greenest there’s ever been. And… it tastes like sour apples.”

“Are you, by any chance, hungry, Wanderer?”

If you didn’t know any better, you would presume he’s teasing you.

A breathless laugh escapes you. “Shh. I’m focusing.”

The island trickles back into your thoughts, fragments stringing together.

“The sun that shines on the island is never too hot. The air is sweet and light. The flowers never wilt, trees never shed leaves, and the sky is an endless periwinkle shade. There’s always food and drinks. Books and games. An old friend waits at the beach to greet you with a patient smile whenever you arrive.”

And as you speak it, Dream’s fingers trail over the horizon, weaving and creating what you’re relating.

“A friend.” He sounds contemplative, with faint curiosity lacing his timber. “Not family or a lover?”

“Not everyone has family, and not everyone needs a lover,” you clarify. Each word wobbles, caught in a spell of his creation. “But everyone should have a friend. The island will be there whenever someone feels lonely, lost, or desperate for an escape. It’ll be there to welcome you. To give you a corner to hide. There is no sadness there. No loneliness or confusion. There’s only…”

“... hope.”

You nod at his hushed conclusion in your ear. Dream’s palm closes gently, forming a fist. The Dreaming exhales, his other hand slips off your shoulder, and in the far distance, an island shudders in the water, settling. Waves slosh loudly, beating against the dock, smoothing into crystal clear moments later.

Your eyes burn as you stare unblinking at the unassuming island.

“Why do you weep, Wanderer?”

You tuck your face in your elbow instinctively, chuckling thickly.

"This, no, it's... uh… thank you." Each word cracks with emotion as you mumble the words. Scrubbing your palm over your eyes, you smile softly. "Thank you so much for this."

“You need not thank me,” Dream states, a wrinkle forming between his brows. “The island is now part of the Dreaming. And whenever a soul finds themselves alone or in need of that comfort, they shall find their way here. It came from you.”

Does he have any idea how precious this is to you? No words in any tongue could adequately capture how deeply this settles in your soul. You exist. You’re real. The figurine in your pocket and the island visible in the distance are indisputable proof of that. He’s been a constant, a terrible shelter, for so long. But with this, he’s knitted himself in your marrow until your dying breath.

“Sit with me?” You settle down without preamble, your legs dangling over the edge. You never want this night to end. “Just for a little while,” you add quietly.

Dream lowers his head in consideration. Much to your unspoken surprise, his limbs fold elegantly beneath him, the golden edges of his coat pooling around him.

Your head drops back, watching the falling dreams. He does the same.

You don’t speak, and neither does he. Neither of you needs to.

Everything that ought to be said is expressed in the comforting stillness between you.

an: personal hdc is that before Corinthian escaped into the human world to wreak havoc, he had other ways to keep himself busy heh.

also, be sure to savour the happiness because it sure isn't going to last : )

#the sandman #the sandman x reader #netflix sandman #sandman x reader #dream x reader #dream of the endless #dream x fem!reader #morpheus x reader #morpheus x fem!reader #the sandman netflix #tom sturridge #fic: today i bury you in me

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insertsparkleshere · 1 year

Text

Five vs One

Summary: Five times you and Rosa kissed for show, and one time it was for real.

Word Count: 2,586

Pronouns: Implied she/her/hers

Published: 12/28/2022

Author's Note: My obsession with Rosa Diaz continues

Trigger Warnings: Some swearing, mentions of drugs, general police shit

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1. Stakeout

You've been friends with Rosa for years. Ever since you transferred to the 99, she's been your partner. You work most of your cases together, you're the only member of the 99 that's actually been to her apartment, and you would say that you know her pretty well.

The silence is comfortable as you sit in the car. The two of you are on stakeout, trying to catch some poor drug dealer.

You yawn.

"You good?"

"Tired. I can't believe we have another hour of this shit."

"You want me to grab you a coffee? I'll buy."

"I won't say no to that."

Rosa comes back ten minutes later with your usual order, handing it to you as she slides into the driver's seat. "Anything new? Or is he still waiting for the buyer?"

"Still waiting, but I think he's getting suspicious. He saw me in the car, but I pulled out my phone and pretended I was calling someone, so I don't think he made me."

"Good."

You take a sip of your drink, once again lapsing into comfortable silence. The drug dealer (you can't remember his name) looks over at you again. He starts walking over to the car.

"Shit." You look at Rosa. "He made us."

"No, he didn't."

"What-?"

You haven't even finished getting the word out when Rosa pulls you forward into a kiss.

"Go with it," She says against you, but you decided to do that the moment it happened.

"Yep, doing that." You break away from her, face flushed, and look over at the dealer. "He went back."

"Good."

You both sit back into your respective seats. You're freaking out, but you're trying not to show it.

"Sorry. It was the only thing I could think of."

"It's fine."

2. Operation: Broken Feather

"Commence Operation: Broken Feather."

And with those words, everyone's off to their varying positions. And yet, nothing works. Charles spills his coffee, but the Vulture just wipes it off. Rosa flirts with him (you see red), but he moves on. For once, he's not interested.

"I can't believe I'm gonna do this." You march over to Rosa, determined and praying that Jake can get the confession soon. "No time to explain, come on."

You take Rosa through a back way. You stop where you know the Vulture will come out of the stairwell he took to get from the bathroom to the squad's floor. "Trust me?"

"Yeah."

You grab Rosa, pulling her into a kiss just as the Vulture comes out of the door.

"Woah!"

He stops for a few moments, staring, then you hear his footsteps recede.

"Damnit!" You say, pulling away once you're sure he's gone. "I really thought that was going to work."

"Uh...Yeah."

"Sorry. Only thing I could think of to stop him."

"It's fine."

3. Tactical Village

"How come you're so mad at Boyle?" You ask, creeping down the hallway. Charles is a few feet ahead of you, but you're careful. Quiet.

"He didn't invite me to his wedding."

"You can be my plus one."

"If he didn't invite me, that means he doesn't want me there."

"I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this. Just talk to him."

Rosa wrinkles her nose.

"Yeah, I know, feelings are for losers. But give it a try, okay?"

"Fine."

You hear something up ahead. Charles ducks through a side door, but there's nowhere for you and Rosa to hide.

"I have no clue if this is going to work," Rosa says, "but I need you to trust me."

"You know I do."

"I'm going to kiss you. When the perps come through, shoot them."

"Got it. You know we're being watched, right?"

"Yeah."

She presses her lips against yours, and you melt into the kiss like you always do.

Part of you wishes that you could do this more often, but you know that's not possible.

You hear footsteps, drawing closer.

"Woah. Uh, sorry."

You pull away, gun already in hand. You shoot one guy, and Rosa shoots the other. Green paint splatters across their chests.

"Don't be." You say. "It was just a distraction."

4. The Wedding

"We have a problem," Amy says.

"What's wrong?" You ask, pausing in your frosting of Rosa's wedding cake.

"Rosa's drunk."

"How?"

"Bellinis."

"I got it." You set your frosting bag down, wipe your hands on your apron, and set off for the small room Rosa's hunkered in.

"(Y/N)!" She slurs. "I'm getting married."

"Yes, you are. Which you need to be sober for. Come on, let's get you some water."

"No." She drags out the word, but you stand your ground.

"Rosa, you need to be sober to get married."

"Do I?"

"Yes." You sit down across from her at the table.

"You should have a drink."

"Absolutely not."

"You're so wound up! Why are you so stressed?"

"Because your wedding is today, Rosa, and you're currently drunk off of champagne, of all things. I mean, really, it's half bubbles."

"Yeah, but you shouldn't be stressed. This isn't your wedding."

"No, it's not. Which is why I'm going to drink my way through the ceremony and reception, but not while I am trying to make you a wedding cake."

"Huh?"

"I'm trying to make your wedding cake, Rosa."

"No, the other part."

"Ah, right. I am going to drink my way through the ceremony and reception."

"Why?"

"Because that's what you do at a wedding."

"No." Rosa gasps dramatically. "Is it because we've kissed?"

"What? No!"

"It is." Her eyes go wide. "Do you like me?"

"No, Rosa, I don't."

You hate lying to her.

She surges forward, kissing you hard.

"What about now?" She asks when she pulls back.

"Now...I need a bellini."

5. Nutriboom

"Why does this always happen?" You duck behind a door, praying the person goes away. "Seriously, every time!"

"It's comical." Rosa agrees, but she kisses you anyway.

+1. Show Me Going

“(Y/L/N), can I speak with you in my office?”

You jump. “Sorry. Startled me. Yeah, sure.” You stand and follow Holt into his office. “What’s up?”

“I wanted to ask how you’re doing. I know that you and Rosa are close, so you’re more likely to be particularly affected, what with her current involvement in the Brooklyn Heights shooting."

“Captain, I’ve been in love with Rosa Diaz for the last four years.” Your voice shakes a little, but you smile. “If I couldn’t take a little danger, I’d have broken a long time ago.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I’m okay. Honestly, I’m more worried about the rest of the squad.” You look back and see Charles and Jake talking, while Terry gets his blood pressure checked. “Seriously, Boyle’s got that vein popping out in his forehead. You know the one, when he gets stressed?” Holt’s phone rings. “I’ll let you get that.”

You leave just in time to see Charles stand. “Shots fired. Shots fired!”

“What?” Jake exclaims.

“Is anybody hurt?” Terry asks.

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, man.”

“And, you’re BP’s at 290. Oh, 350. You broke the machine.” The guy next to Terry's desk says.

“Alright, screw this.” Jake stands and storms into Holt’s office. “There were shots fired.”

“I just got off the phone. There are two officers down.”

You run to the nearest trashcan, convinced you’re going to puke, but then you hear, “Neither one of them is Diaz,” and suddenly, you’re fine.

Holt shuts his door. You don't hear the rest of his conversation, instead sitting down at your desk. It's right across from Rosa's, a fact that you desperately try to ignore. You're trembling, but otherwise normal, so you take a breath and try to focus on paperwork. You put your headphones on, despite the ban against them, and blare your music as loud as you can in an attempt to drown out your thoughts.

A few songs later, someone taps you on the shoulder. You practically jump out of your skin, but when you turn around, you see Jake. “God, dude, don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“I got pizza. Come grab a slice.”

You shake your head. “Not really hungry.”

“Come on, eat. You haven’t had anything all day.”

“Fine.”

You stand up and grab a slice.

“Peralta, why are you back so soon?” Holt asks.

“Because I wanted to do something.” Jake turns back. “Hey, guys. How’re you holding up?"

“I mean, not great, but I know you really don’t want to talk about it,” Charles says.

“No. We should talk about it. I’m really scared for Rosa.”

“Yeah.” You say quietly. “I’m terrified that she’s gonna die and I’ll never actually have told her the truth.”

“Me, too.” Terry says. “I mean, the her dying part. It keeps making me think about my kids. How do I deal with the fact that every day I leave for work, I might not come home?”

“Man, I don’t even know, Terry. I don’t have kids yet, but I know you love them. And I feel like that’s all you can really do, right? I mean, now that I'm getting married, I keep thinking if something happens to me, it'll actually affect someone else.”

“I'd get over it eventually, after a lot of therapy.”

“I was more talking about Amy, but yes, you too, Charles.”

You all sigh.

“Hey, look at that. 130 over 80.” The guy next to Terry says. “Back to normal. I can get out of your hair now.”

“Nice. Told you, Andrew. Terry’s in tiptop. Thanks, Jake.”

“Yeah.” You say, nodding.

Jake turns to talk to Holt, and Charles’s phone goes off. “Guys!” He says. “Guys, guys, guys. They just took both shooters into custody. Officers got injured in the action. They don’t say how many.”

“Call Diaz. Get her cell.” Terry says.

Jake grabs his phone. “Damn it. It’s still just going to voicemail.”

“Let me try.”

Straight to voicemail.

“Her phone’s gotta be off, but I’ll try again.” You say. “She’s always picked up when I’ve called.”

“Adorable.” You glare at Jake. “Right, not the time. Just…glad that whole thing’s over.”

“For now.” You mutter.

Fifty minutes (or a lifetime, you aren't completely sure) later, Holt comes out of his office. He’d spent ages on the phone, trying to get in contact with someone who could give him the names of the injured officers.

“Okay.” He says. “I don’t have the names of the injured officers,” You swear internally, “but if Diaz is unharmed, she should be contacting us shortly. Or, if her phone is dead, perhaps she’ll be walking out of the elevator at any moment.”

Just then, the elevator dings. Your head snaps towards the doors.

They open…revealing Scully.

“Come on, Scully!”

“You can’t be doing stuff like that, man!”

“Fuck you!”

“I was just making a copy downstairs.”

“Yeah, well, next time, think.” Jake says.

“About what?”

“I don’t know!”

“Okay, Jake. Come on, man. Go easy on him.”

“Diaz!” Holt says, surprised.

“Rosa!” You and Jake say at the same time.

“You’re okay! Where’d you come from?” Jake asks.

“Felt like walking, so I took the stairs. Also, I thought it’d be funny to mess with you guys.”

“Rosa, you know I hate pranks.”

“You love pranks.”

“I do. I really do.” Jake hugs her tightly. “You did it so good.

“Were you guys worried about me or something?”

“No.” He says.

“I plead the fifth.” You put in, holding yourself back from running to her.

“So, what happened? Did they shoot at you?” Terry says. “Were you in the thick of it?”

“It’s been a really tough day. I just want to go get a beer. I don’t feel like getting into it.”

“Are you sure? Because the journey I went on today taught me that sometimes it’s best to talk about things-”

“Jake.”

“Right. It was a stupid idea. And Holt told me to do it, so. Let’s just go get a drink and sit in total silence.”

“Perfect. First, I gotta go to the can.”

“Actually, you might want to go check out the ladies’ room up here.” You turn at the sound of Gina’s voice. “Hey, Rosa, it’s me, Gina Linetti. Welcome back. Me and Amy made a little surprise for you, and I think you’re gonna like it very, very much. Come on, girl.”

You follow Gina and Rosa into the bathroom. You feel like if you don’t have your eyes on Rosa, she’ll disappear.

Also, you want to see how the bathroom turned out.

“Ta-da!” Gina says.

“You made it sound like you fixed the toilet.” Rosa says dryly.

“Yeah, I thought maybe Amy would’ve pulled something together in the two minutes I stepped outside.”

“Hey, Gina! Look what I stole from the Barnes and…Oh, my God, Rosa! I’m so happy to see you!” Amy runs forward, dropping the toilet seat she’s holding to hug Rosa.

“Wait, are you covered in toilet water?”

“Yes, big-time. But this is happening.”

“Ugh. Fine.”

“Kinda feel like I’m lurking.”

“Gina, get in here.”

“Yay!”

You hesitate.

“(Y/N), you too.”

You grin, rushing forward to hug the three of them.

“Do you mind if I come to Shaw’s?” You ask, once you're out of the bathroom and Amy and Gina are gone.

“Whole squad’s going. Let me go to bathroom, and I’ll drive you.” Rosa offers.

“You don’t have to-”

“You walk to work.”

“Fine.” You smile slightly, and go upstairs to grab your stuff from your desk. You meet her in front of the bathrooms, and follow her out to the parking structure. When you’re sure that you’re alone, you look at the ground. “You know, if you’d died, I’d have been so pissed.”

“Really?”

“I would’ve brought you back so I could kill you again.”

“Didn’t think you cared that much.”

“Of course, I care that much. You’re my partner. Half my cases, I work with you. Can’t have you dying on me, can I?”

Rosa doesn’t say anything.

“Seriously, though, you scared the shit out of me. Didn’t want to say anything in the precinct, I know you don’t like the mushy stuff.”

“Thanks.”

You stop in front of her bike.

“Do you really care that much?” She asks, giving you pause.

“What do you mean? Of course, I care. I don’t know if anyone told you, but I was close to a nervous collapse today.”

“Why?”

You stare at her, bewildered. “Why do you think?”

“We’re friends, but-”

“Rosa, I’ve…” You close your eyes. “Never mind. Let’s just go to Shaw’s, okay?”

“No. What were you going to say?”

“It’s nothing.”

Her voice drops. “It’s not nothing.”

“Rosa, trust me, it doesn’t matter.”

“No, it does matter. If you have something to say-”

“I told you it’s nothing!”

There’s a brief pause. You could cut the tension with whatever knife Rosa probably has in her pocket.

And then she lurches forward, and you don’t have time to say anything before she kisses you, hard.

You freeze, for a split second, and it’s enough that Rosa pulls back. You don’t let her go far, though, dragging her back to you. Butterflies erupt in your stomach.

She bites your lower lip, and you gasp.

“You know,” you say, between kisses, “I’ve been waiting four years for this. I mean...Except for all the fake ones.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Just…didn’t think it would happen."

“I’m glad I made the first move then.”

“Me, too."

You never do make it to Shaw’s.

#brooklyn 99 #b99 #rosa diaz #amy santiago #the vulture #terrence jeffords #terry jeffords #jake peralta #Charles boyle #gina linetti #raymond holt #nutriboom #rosa diaz x reader #rosa diaz x yn #rosa diaz x you #reader-insert

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