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metalhoops · 1 year

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Steve’s party trick was appearing sober long past the point of inebriation.

It was an act he’d perfected through observation. He’d watched his mother down wine like water and waltz into a garden party looking sober as a saint. So when everything went down at the Starcourt Mall, with the drugs and the appearance of another burgeoning concussion-induced migraine fogging the edges of his vision, he’d pushed through with professional tact.

Steve couldn’t explain how it happened. One moment he was sitting on the kitchen counter, cradling a bag of frozen peas to his bare face, freezer burn nipping at the edges of his consciousness, and the next he was sprawled out on the carpet of a stranger’s house.

What happened in between, he’d never know.

Maybe it was for the best. Ignorance was bliss, in Steve’s opinion. His life was so much easier before the Upside Down. He would’ve been a worse person and lived a worse life. Yet his life would’ve been close to normal, not the mercurial mess it’d become. He wouldn’t have spent the night locked in a secret underground soviet bunker, his face doubling as a punching bag for a man he didn’t know, while monsters roamed about the town.

The mall had burned down, Steve remembered. After all was said and done, Mrs Byers dropped him and Robin off at their respective homes. Steve insisted he didn’t need to go to the hospital, that he was fine and, more importantly, that his parents were home. When Robin sobered up, she’d realise Steve had lied.

He’d told Robin a lot of things, and after the night in the mall, so had she. She knew Steve’s parents had been out of town for months, but she’d been flying too high to use any of her admittedly brilliant brain to put two and two together. Steve loved Robin. He loved her differently after that night, but he still loved her. He was human. He needed time to lick his wounds and some space. The quiet of the Harrington house had seemed like a blessing, so where the hell was he now?

“Hey, what did you take?” A vaguely familiar voice shook Steve from his stupor.

He rolled away from the sound, burying his face in the carpet. He cringed as a spark of pain shot through the veiled numbness that’d inhabited his body since the Russian drugs had hijacked his system.

“Ouch,” Steve grumbled miserably.

His head throbbed. One eye was entirely swollen shut. Even if Steve was sober, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to place the boy through his hazy vision. All he could make out were colours, pale skin, dark hair, and darker clothes.

“I know. I know. You’ve got a real shiner, Harrington. Come on, up,” the boy instructed.

Steve felt cool skin graze against the nape of his neck, pulling him up into a sitting position. Steve remained boneless, not making the task easy.

He felt separate from his body, not sure where he ended and the rest of the world began. Once pulled up, he kept falling forward, his face making contact with the dark fabric of the boy’s shirt. The boy was more comfortable than the floor, with less carpet burn and more smooth leather. He smelled of smoke, sweat and an earthy kind of cologne that hadn’t been refreshed in hours.

“Elevator up,” Steve chuckled, laughing too hard for his own good.

His ribs ached. He felt a laugh shudder through the boy’s body as he pulled Steve back, trying to get a better look at him. He held a finger in front of Steve’s face.

“Not sure what this is meant to do but I’ve seen it in movies,” the boy commented as he moved his finger right to left, inspecting Steve’s face for something, neither boy was quite sure of.

“Alright. You’ve gotta know I’m the least likely person to narc on you, Harrington. What did you take? Special K? Some Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds? Were you Chasing the Dragon? Gotta be something stronger than weed, man,” the boy insisted.

Steve screwed up his nose and moved away from the man.

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” Steve complained, trying to untangle the string of words the guy had thrown his way.

Steve staggered to his feet, swaying before propping himself up, leaning against the wall, and feeling the whole thing tilt under his weight.

“Dude, your walls are broken,” Steve muttered, as his legs gave out and he slid down to the floor.

“We’re in a trailer, Steve,” the boy pointed out. Steve looked around the place, trying to make shapes from the blurs of colour and light.

“Oh yeah,” He noted before resting his chin on his knee.

The boy sat down in front of him, mirroring Steve’s posture, his chin resting on the bare knees of his ripped jeans.

“Do you know what you took?” He pushed on, this time taking a different approach.

“No,” Steve admitted, at last, sliding forward.

The boy’s rings had caught his attention. They were little halos of light. He curiously tugged at his hand, pulling him close to examine the shine. He ran his fingers over the rise and fall of the rings.

“Okay,” the dark-haired boy breathed, seemingly to himself.

“I think you need to go to the hospital, dude.”

“No hospitals,” Steve remarked eloquently as he returned to his previous position, face down on the carpet, taking the boy's hand with him.

“Yeah well, I’m not so sure I like the idea of you sleeping either, Stevie,” He reasoned, his voice sounding strangled.

“I’m tired,” Steve rebutted, his eyes sliding shut.

There the boy was again, taking Steve’s face into his palm and pulling him up. For a moment, the vision in his good eye cleared enough to make out brown eyes painted with concern.

“Look, I know we hated each other’s guts in high school but I don’t want you to O.D. on my carpet. It’s not good for the ambience,” the boy continued.

Steve squinted, trying to place the face. Sure, he’d been a jerk in high school, particularly before his senior year, but he didn’t remember hating anyone. Not really. Maybe Jonathan, for a time, but that had passed.

Munson. Steve’s brain supplied at last. The boy was Eddie Munson. He sold drugs and hung out on the fringes of Steve’s bigger parties back in the peak of his ‘King Steve’ era.

“You hated me?” Steve asked, hearing the hurt in his voice before he realised what he was feeling. Eddie’s eyes widened in alarm, Steve’s face still in his palm.

“What? No. I thought you hated me. I mean, you were a jock and I’ve got my whole ‘fuck the man shtick’, so it wasn’t like we ran in the same circles,” Eddie elaborated.

“Jocks are ‘the man’?” Steve questioned. He’d like to blame the drugs, but he’d probably ask the question sober.

“No. Yes. Kind of. Jocks are like... the grease for a cog in the wheel of the machine. All mass compliance to societal norms... or whatever.”

Steve blinked owlishly at Eddie, trying to make a lick of sense out of what he’d said before resigning himself to the fact that he was completely lost.

“I like Grease. It’s a cool movie,” he settled on, startling another laugh out of Eddie. He gently lowered Steve’s face onto the carpet and sighed.

“Yeah, it’s a cool movie,” he muttered, leaving Steve for a moment, tossing sheets and a pillow from the sofa to the floor beside him.

“Look, I’m going to stay up and make sure you don’t choke on your own tongue. You can stay here for the night, but I’m not letting you crash until my uncle gives you the thumbs up, weirdo.”

Eddie slid a cushion beneath Steve’s head and draped the sheet over him. Steve was bone tired. He wanted nothing more than to sleep, but the pain in his body was growing by the moment and less favourable memories were leaking back into the forefront of his mind. He watched as Eddie placed a tape into the VCR and sat down beside Steve. It took him too long to realise the film was Grease.

“Who’d you get into a fight with this time?” Eddie asked, seemingly aware of Steve’s sudden restlessness.

Steve didn’t answer. He didn’t know how to.

“Were the drugs before or after?” He pushed, searching for something Steve couldn’t work out.

Again, Steve didn’t know how to answer. Once more, Eddie let it slide.

“You want me to call anyone? A girlfriend... or?” He doesn’t mention Steve’s parents.

Maybe he was at more parties than Steve remembered, enough to know that the Harringtons being in Hawkins was rarer than a blue moon, less frequent than even Steve would admit to.

“No,” Steve grumbled, starting to feel the swelling in his lip.

Eddie nodded and let Steve have his silence. He half paid attention to the flashing lights on the screen, fading in and out of consciousness. Eddie would gently elbow his side each time Steve almost reached sleep. It was a long night, broken only by the opening of a door come sunrise.

The light was too bright, too sudden. Steve shrunk from it curling into the closest point of dark comfort. Steve realised too late he’d curled himself into a small ball, tucking his face into the familiar darkness provided by Eddie’s crossed legs.

“What in the Sam Hill have you gotten into, kid?” Steve heard a gruff voice ask in the doorway. Despite his words, the man didn’t sound angry, more amused.

Steve felt Eddie pull the sheets up to hide his broken face from the light.

“You know when I was fourteen, and I brought home that stray cat?” Eddie asked.

Steve heard a door shutting and the scrape of a dining chair sliding against the linoleum.

“The one that was sick as a dog?” The gruff voice replied. Probably Eddie’s uncle.

“Same situation,” Eddie spoke.

“You’re telling me you found a kid wanderin’ round the trailer park at night and thought you’d bring him home? You remember what happened to that cat, right?” His uncle asked.

“He went missing after a week. Then we found him half-kickin’ curled up in the back seat of the Johnsons’ cinder-blocked Austin,” Eddie muttered, stating the words as though it were a conversation Eddie and his uncle had before.

“And you didn’t leave your room for a week.”

“Your point, old man?” Eddie remarked.

“My point is, I love you, kid. But sometimes your bleeding heart is more trouble than it’s worth.”

To Steve’s surprise, the sheet was pulled off his head. The next thing he knew he was face to face with Eddie’s uncle. The man shone a torch in Steve’s eyes, echoing Eddie’s movements, placing a finger in front of his eyes. Eddie watched in silence at Steve’s side.

“He’s got a pretty bad concussion,” Eddie’s uncle supplied after a beat.

“He was on something when I found him,” Eddie said.

Steve was getting sick of people talking about him like he wasn’t there but in the same vein, he wanted to convalesce in peace. Eddie’s uncle shot him a sceptical look.

“Nothing I gave him, promise. He’s not letting me take him to the hospital.”

“He’s right here,” Steve interjected.

He watched as Eddie’s uncle levelled him under his intense gaze. For the first time since he’d entered the room, he wasn’t seeing symptoms, or a problem Eddie had dropped in his lap but a boy. A kid, in Wayne’s eyes, one that looked worse for wear. It was the goddamn cat all over again.

“I’m going to get you water and some aspirin. Eds, get some rest. No buts, kid you look like you haven’t slept a wink. Should also be safe enough for you to try to get some shut-eye, boy. I’m not Eddie, you can’t bat your eyes at me and get your way. I’m taking you to the hospital if anything happens, right?”

Steve looked at the man with narrowly masked surprise before giving him a weak nod. He couldn’t imagine his parents doing the same, not even for one of Steve’s friends, let alone a stranger.

“Come on, you can sleep in my room,” Eddie uttered, springing to his feet with a joviality that someone who’d gone twenty-four hours without sleep shouldn’t be able to muster.

Steve blinked, slowly standing and gathering the sheets around himself, acutely aware of how ridiculous he looked.

“Keep the door open,” Wayne called at their retreating backs.

That was how Steve spent the summer of ‘85 hauled up and healing at the Munsons’ trailer. A few months later, he’d return the favour. When Eddie went missing, Wayne knew where to look.

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placeinthemiddleofnowhere · 3 months

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Reign down on me - Part 7

Pairing: Ghost x Hybrid!reader (eventual poly!141)

No use of y/n or mention of gender/race

Summary: Reader is a wolf hybrid in a world that treats them like second class citizens, given a horrible start in life after being thrown into the military with no preparation. After years of struggle, they're finally taken away from their base by Ghost, now a permanent member of taskforce 141 reader struggles to come to terms with the fact that perhaps there's a life there for them - if only they reach out and accept it.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, Angst, abuse mentions, self doubt, violent scenes

Masterlist here

-🐺-

When you opened your eyes the world was drowned in darkness and you were in an unfamiliar room, sapping warmth from an oversized lump in the sheets. At first you froze like a statue, flicking your eyes around to see if you could make anything out. It was clear enough that you weren’t in your own bed, but even your advanced eyes couldn’t make a single thing out for the lack of any light.

The lump groaned and shifted, sprawling out like a tiger skin rug before retracting again. A heavy weight draped itself round your mid section, an arm you realised, that caused you to curse and pant for inside it’s unyielding hold. Ghost. Who else had arms the size of iron girders?

It should’ve been obvious to you, but your mind had been too foggy in the aftermath of your unexpected sleep. Had you taken a second to scent the air, you would’ve been greeted with his relaxing scent, but instead you’d fumbled around like a bear coming out of hibernation. At that realisation you scrunched your eyes closed and then opened them again, still feebly trying to see through the oppressive black of the room. It had to be Ghost’s room that you were in, the place was practically painted with his citrusy scent, with undertones of sage ever present and invading.

“Y’alright, Pup?” a groggy voice called out.

It sounded as if a pile of rocks had shifted from right next to you. Your ears twitched back at the sound and all at once you relaxed in his loosened grip, turning around to face him. Your noses were inches from touching. Not that you could see his, but you could feel the steady streams of his breaths trickling out from his sleepwear body.

“Um…yeah” you whispered, unsure of how to answer. “Why’d you take me to your bed?”

He yawned and uncurled his arm from your body, instead using his hand to trace little patterns up your arms.

“You seemed upset when I left you in yours. Only calmed down and stopped whinin’ when I let you curl up here,” he explained, sounding as if he was moments from drifting off again.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said hastily.

You couldn’t believe it! Why would you have whined at being left to sleep alone? Why would you stop when you got to sleep in Ghost’s bed? The revelations had you frowning and feeling markedly warmer than you already were. Your mind whirred at the idea that Ghost had witnessed you mewling like a little puppy at having to sleep in your own bed.

“I know. I didn’t want you having bad dreams after what happened yesterday, so I thought it was for the best,” he said simply, as if what he’d done was completely normal.

“I can handle those,” you said weakly.

“You don’t have to.”

You gulped down a thick lump in your throat and let the silence settle over you both. Though the room wasn’t completely quiet of course. Ghost’s steady breathing and the sound of your own pounding heart rattled around in your ears. Though your chest calmed its frenzy when Ghost drew you close again, urging you to burrow your head under his chin and into the soft cotton of his worn shirt.

The two of you stayed silent for a time after though neither of you fell asleep. Instead the time was spent mulling through your sluggish thoughts, wondering distantly if you should be trying to leave.

“I think you should reconsider your nesting situation,” Ghost said suddenly, breaking the silence.

“What?”

“You have a lot of bad dreams most nights. You were peaceful last night though,” he explained softly.

“Do they wake you up?” you asked, brows knitting together in worry.

You’d woken plenty of times before in your old barracks from others' bad dreams and in turn woken the others with your own. It wasn’t lost on you how annoying it was to try to get to sleep after being jolted awake and kicked into an adrenaline rush, lying there in the grey light of almost dawn with a pounding heart and the knowledge that you’d have to get to work again soon.

“Nah, told you before - I’m not a good sleeper. If I knew there was something that helped though I’d make sure I got to sleep properly every night.”

You huffed out an embarrassed laugh and shook your head, feeling his stubbly chin scratch the top of your head. It was only then that it occurred to you that he was maskless again. You wondered if that meant he was getting more comfortable around you, just as you were him.

“It was probably just a fluke,” you murmured, trying to hide your interest. “I’m not gonna hoard your clothes like some feral squirrel, Ghost.”

He laughed at that, the bassy tones reverberating through his wide chest and against your warming skin.

“It’s not hoarding and it doesn’t have to be my clothes. I can give you my duvet or I could get you a new blanket and sleep with it for a bit if you like, if that would make it feel more natural.”

“It’s not natural, its weird,” you huffed.

“You’re a hybrid, S’not weird,” he affirmed, stroking circled down your back. “It’s normal for you to need comforting scents and materials. My old partner used to keep a nest, we had an arrangement and it was fine.”

At that your ears flicked in curiosity. He’d never mentioned this ‘old partner’ before. All at once your mind flooded with questions and as it worked hard to process them all, you could barely hold onto one tightly enough to ask it.

“You had a hybrid before me?” you eventually said, voice small and unsteady.

Ghost paused. It was if he’d only just realised what he’d just said.

“Another wolf,” he confirmed, throat swelling and tense. “We were paired up after I passed my handler qualification. It was a long time ago - feels like a lifetime really. Spent four years together, he used to cuddle up with me just like this in my stupid little barracks bunk when he had rough nights.”

The elephant in the room stared down at you from on high. There was no avoiding it’s almost tangible bulk. So you asked the question that wanted to leap off the tip of your tongue.

“What happened to him?”

Ghost was ready for that, answering quickly. Though it didn’t sound like it hurt him any less to say it when it was spoken through gritted teeth.

“Killed in action.”

“Oh…I’m- I’m sorry.”

Was that the right thing to say? When other hybrids you’d worked with had died, there usually weren’t many mourners if any, though that was because you were under the care of Branhaven. You’d only met a few hybrids before that were in the care of handlers and it had been obvious that you’d always been intrinsically different from them, that they had far more value to their teams than you ever did as an unclaimed hybrid.

“Roach was a good lad,” Ghost said eventually. “He taught me alot in our time together, made me sharper with all his…’quirks’. Used to steal anything of mine that he could get his grubby little mitts on and drag it off to his bed, so to be honest it was a bit of a shock when I realised you weren’t going to be the same.”

Ghost laughed a little despite the sadness that tinged his careful words.

“With a name like Roach, I can only imagine what other quirks he had,” you smiled.

“Oh that one loved to get himself into trouble. I still remember the first time we went out with Price - very long time ago. Roach thought it’d be funny to steal his hat, this is before he started wearing the boonie mind you, at that point it was this old beanie that absolutely reeked of cigars. Found that out because while Price was ranting about having cold ears, I was asleep on top of it, before I got woken up by his bitching anyway. I took it out from under me when I woke up, confused as fuck as to why it was there, and then Price saw it and was going on and on about how childish it was to take it, and then I started arguing back and saying I wouldn’t do something so bloody stupid. All the while Roach was giggling to himself in the corner, the little shit.”

“He wasn’t scared of what Price would do?” You asked incredulously, trying to put yourself in the shoes of a hybrid that didn’t know the intimidating Captain half as well as you did.

“Roach wasn’t scared of a damn thing, beyond whatever shit he used to dream about anyway. It’s the reason he got called Roach in the first place, his real name was Gary. He used to run headfirst into danger and come out fine almost every time, that’s what they told me when they handed him off to me- ‘that wolf’s like a bug you can’t squash’...Course his luck ran out eventually. We got captured by an enemy group in Mexico and the bastards didn’t see the worth in keeping a hybrid around. Said they only needed me.”

“That’s awful.”

Another silence ensued. It made sense that Ghost had had a hybrid before you, he’d had a long career and he was so knowledgeable when it came to training with you that it made sense that he’d had plenty of first hand experience. Though it made your heart ache to think that he mourned for someone that was ripped away from him so long ago. The way he told those stories, you could hear the emotion etched in every word.

“Didn’t think I’d take on another hybrid on after him,” Ghost sighed, making you tilt your head in question, “but Price told me about you and kept badgering on about me being the only one in the team that was qualified to take you, kept saying that you didn’t deserve to rot away back at your home base and that you deserved a place here. I figured I owed it to him to at least go and check you out and well, I knew you had to be mine the minute I saw ya.”

“You saw a soggy mutt that was getting punished in an outdoor kennel and instantly had that epiphany?” You snorted.

“A soggy mutt that didn’t deserve to be there,” he corrected. “There was no way for me to have saved Roach while I was tied up and concussed to all hell, I made peace with that a long time ago. I knew that I was able to save you though; doing anything other than untying you and walking out of that base with the angry ball of fur in my arms felt like sacrilege.”

“Angry ball of fur,” you repeated with a tut, rolling your eyes so far back they crept into your inflection.

“You tried to bite me at least twice and you called me Mr.Bonejangles in the car. Angry ball of fur was about right, you little sod! Sitting there all wrapped up in your towel with your grumpy face and hair poking out every which way,” Ghost laughed. “I’m just lucky you calmed down after a good rest. Thought I was gonna have to take to permanently being in handling gloves after that first night.”

“I didn’t try to bite you that much.”

“You did. You were like a hungry crocodile. You had my life flashing before my eyes that day, was praying I’d get to keep all my fingers and toes.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic!”

Ghost’s laugh echoed around the room, hitting off of unseen walls somewhere inside the shadows. As much as you hated to think about a time before you knew Ghost, and actively tried to fight him, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you began to see that day through his eyes. You could only imagine what it must’ve been like to have met you then, knowing about your sketchy disciplinary file and admittedly bad track record for biting and scratching, Ghost couldn’t have had any clue what he was in for. In that moment you couldn’t have felt luckier, pressed into Ghost’s chest and getting to relax against him in his nice warm bed, when you could’ve been left to rot in those kennels.

Moments later, just as you were both settling back into the furrow of the mattress and had adjusted sheets to your liking, a high pitched alarm tone blared out and sent you both groaning. Ghost’s phone lit up from his side, finally shedding a little light into the room. From there you could see his bed was pressed up into the wall, as usual you’d assumed you’d made sure to be closest to the exit - even in your drowsy state. You still couldn’t make out much of the structure of the place.

“Suppose we better get up then,” Ghost groaned. “C’mon then.”

“I can’t see a thing in here, you’re gonna have to turn a light on or something,” you yawned, stretching out and readying yourself to start the day.

It was then that he saw fit to snatch the corner of his black out curtains and yank them back, sending you flying under the covers just to save your eyes. The duvet provided you shelter from the cold blue light and from under their safety you actively felt your pupils slowly unshrink from the tiny pinpoints they’d been forced to become.

“Why would you do that?” You groaned.

“Reckoned you needed a bit of a wake up,” Ghost shrugged, lifting the cover up so he could meet your eyes.

As annoyed as you were you were distracted from your grumpiness momentarily by his face. His smug smile was in full view, lips slanting to one side and pulling his scars taught. In the full light of the morning he looked like a weathered statue, bright highlights and harsh shadow carving out his sharp jaw like chiselled stone. You tilted your head at him and in turn he tilted his back in the opposite direction.

“See somethin’ on my face?” He joked, teeth flashing into view.

You shook your head and pursed your lips. A little heat rose to your cheeks.

“Just planning out the perfect place to bite you,” you lied.

“That so?” He asked, a sandy blonde eyebrow raising. “Sounds like I’m just gonna have to get you first then.”

At that he pinched your side and sent you yipping and scrabbling off the bed. Though that wasn’t enough to escape him. He gave chase, leaping off of the mattress, the bed groaning at the change in weight and thumped on the floor. The air blew through the fur in your ears, you ran that fast. Unthinkingly running to your own room before considering anywhere else.

With that you dove under your bed, dragging your sheets down to cover the space and yanking Simon in just as he’d fallen off the top. Ghost yanked your door open straight after, his bare feet slapping into the wood and taking careful steps forward. He sighed loudly when he reached the edge of your bed and stopped, feet stopping at your chest.

“I’d like to think you’ve been trained to evade enemies better than this, Pup,” he drawled.

You rolled your eyes, full well knowing you wouldn’t go running and hiding like that against someone you had full authority to kill.

Rather than let him crouch down and drag you out, you threw Simon up at him as a distraction and skittered out around him. In a matter of seconds you managed to gather yourself into a crouch and sprang up at his back, wrapping your arms round his shoulders and legs round his middle. From there you gently grazed your teeth against his neck in a fake bite and growled, announcing your victory to the otherwise empty room.

“Soap’s right, you’re a menace,” he laughed, untangling you from around him and bending backwards so he could set you gently back down on the floor.

“You brought work into it,” you huffed, folding your arms indignantly.

“Yeah yeah, cheap shot throwing your teammate at the hostile. Poor little fella getting sacrificed like that,” he said, holding out the puppy stuffed toy with a fake grimace.

“Simon woulda shaken it off, I had every faith in him,” you shrugged, setting him down on the bed carefully so that he rested against the pillows.

“Simon?” Ghost repeated, choking out a strangled sound that sounded somewhere between a laugh and a guffaw. “You named it Simon?”

“Yeah, after the hybrid from my books,” you said, nodding toward the graphic novels that were stacked by your bedside. “Why's that so funny?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, watching as a few different emotions crossed Ghost’s eyes. He chewed on his lip a second, eyes going wide and zeroing in on your sleeping buddy until he shook himself out of it.

“Nothing,” he smiled, clearing the awkward edge in his throat. “Good name that. Strong choice. Little Simon.”

“I think it suits him.”

“Yeah…Anyway, we need to get ready and get in for work. I’ve got a bit of a stacked day today, so we need to get you sorted. Gaz and Soap offered to take you through your exercises this afternoon and Price is gonna let you sit in his office till I can come get you in the evenin’. Pack your books so you’ve got something to occupy yourself with tonight, Cap’s not very chatty right now. Oh and remember, if you want anything for your bed just let me know, ok?”

-🐺-

Stacked day indeed. Ghost made you run laps through the assault course he’d had set up for you and just before he left, he’d made you practise some bite work with him. The irony wasn’t lost on you after your conversation that morning. He’d donned his leather gloves and neck protector and brought out a fake gun, making you attack him over and over so that you could practise non lethal takedowns.

As good as you were at the exercise, that didn’t stop Ghost from firing a couple foam bullets at you from time to time when you got too out of control, reminding you teresley that you weren’t supposed to be ripping detainees to pieces. As your wilder side took over during your work, you’d bark out raspy growls at him for the cheap shots, knowing full well he shouldn't be able to fire after you’d just decimated his fake arm. However the sensible part of your mind would echo out that it was far better than getting smacked with the plastic batons that your old trainers would carry to discourage your savagery.

“Well well well, what kinda training do you call this?”

Your head turned just as you’d brought Ghost down to the floor and you ceased your growling, tilting your head when your gaze landed on Soap. Gaz joined him at the side of the field moments later, just coming off of a phone call to see you still on top of Ghost.

“Oh yeah, we’re just having a bit of fun, Johnny. You know how much I love being mauled” Ghost grunted, tapping your thigh in short order. “You can get up now, Pup. Reckon you got me.”

You looked back down at Ghost and let out an embarrassed huff of air before rolling off him and standing up, dusting your dirty fatigues off. Some of the soft dirt smeared down them, leaving what would surely become a rough crust in its wake.

“Can’t believe you get to play with nerf guns and call it work,” Soap laughed, “That or the fact that you took the time to paint that thing black just so that it’d match your gear.”

“Well you’re welcome to take over if you think its so fun,” Ghost grinned, eyes cresting below his mask.

He unbuckled his thick leather gloves and threw them onto the grass at Soap’s feet, then tore the velcro off of his neck protector with a loud scratchy rip. Soap then looked back at you and visibility stiffened up, considering Ghost’s offer like it might be his death sentence. Gaz shoved him and laughed, going instead to approach Ghost and reach out for his gun.

“Look at this,” he whistled, turning it over and opening up the ammo compartment. “What is this? A ten round? You even got the grey bullets with the red tips. Very nice hardware, Sir.”

“Well it is the Elite Ranger PD-5 Blaster, Garrick. Fine piece of kit, so it is,” Ghost quipped. “Maybe one day you’ll earn your own one.”

“Well now I know what I’m asking Santa for,” Gaz smirked. “So, we taking over here?”

You looked back at Soap again who was eagerly looking at Ghost to find out the answer to that question. Ghost looked back at him and winked, a gesture you only caught because you knew to look out for their antics now.

“Nah,” Ghost finally answered, roughly raking his hands over your ears. “We made good progress today, I reckon we set Pup on anyone we need back alive, we’ve got a great chance of bringing at least seventy percent of the enemy still intact now.”

“Hey!” you growled. “I can bring people in just fine.”

“Oh sure, you can bring em’ in - in separate pieces of course - but you’ll get the job done,” he drawled, soon producing strangled notes as if he was choking. “‘Sorry sir, I would’ve given you the information but that damn wolf got my tongue.’”

Ghost laughed the way he always did when he was being cheeky, the rasping cackle crooning from his throat like a bear scratching up a tree. You had half a mind to do some scratching yourself, but instead you snatched the nerf gun from Gaz and shot Ghost in the chest a couple times. All of you silently watched as the foam bullets arced into his torso only to bounce off pathetically into the well trodden grass.

You knew then that you should’ve aimed for his forehead like he’d done to you.

“Friendly fire, is it?” Ghost questioned.

“Got you back,” you replied, tilting your chin in the air in defiance.

He tutted at you and mussed up your hair once again, rubbing his hands over your head with enough force to almost knock you back.

“I’ll remember that next time we train together,” he said menacingly, jabbing your side just as he’d done that morning.

You yelped and rubbed the tender spot, trying not to give into the laughter of the ticklish spot.

“For now though, you two have the absolute pleasure of learning hybrid hand signals,” Ghost said, directing his attentions toward Gaz and Soap. “Sad that I have to miss such a fun exercise, but I’m sure you’ll have plenty of giggles without me. I booked out building three and left you a handler’s manual open on the page there. I had some corporals set up a basic simulation for you, so you should be good to go once you get in. Anything you’re confused on, Pup should be able to explain.”

At that you groaned, shoulders slumping with the anticipation of the boring afternoon ahead. Back at Branhaven when they were training up new batches of handlers, you all had to take turns helping them through their coursework and modules - one of which being the hand signal module. That often meant long boring days being slowly and dramatically led around short courses and wildly gestured at until the new recruits were able to get the motions correct.

“You couldn’t have just let me do more biting?” you sighed.

Ghost chuckled and picked up the rucksack of things he’d set off to the side.

“What? And terrify this one half to death in the process? I don’t think so,” Ghost said, pinching Soap’s cheek playfully. “You’ll survive one slow afternoon. I’ll even sweeten the deal, you keep the nerf gun and if they get something wrong you have my permission to shoot them.”

Soap rubbed at his cheek with a glare and slapped Ghost’s arm away soon after. His blue eyes were all storms and indignation and his jaw was clenched tight as a vice. Meanwhile you were doing everything you could not to yip with obvious delight, settling instead for a slow tail wag.

“You don’t get to authorise that,” Soap said, rolling his eyes.

“What rank am I again?”

“That doesn-”

“It does actually. Have a good day, Sergeant,” Ghost interrupted, softly pretending to punch Soap’s shoulder. “Do me proud!”

Gaz laughed from next to you and waved Ghost off as he made his escape, narrowly avoiding getting hit by one of the leather mitts he’d set down earlier. Soap didn’t give chase after the failed throw though, instead he just stood grumbling to himself and eventually gathered the gear together and slung it into the holdall that Ghost had neglected to take with him. Once the bag dangled from his shoulder, he turned to you and Gaz and flung his head in the direction of the training buildings.

“So what’s this about hand signals? We gonna have to make you sit and fetch?” Soap asked.

“You tell me to go fetch and we’re gonna have problems,” you said, pumping the nerf gun’s ammo chamber for emphasis.

“Christ in heaven,” Soap muttered, heaving himself off across the field. “The things I put up with.”

-🐺-

The room was heavy with thick silence as you traversed your way around it. You might as well have been glued to Gaz’s side, one of the few sounds that were allowed to permeate the quiet was Gaz’s breathing and the metallic ting of the ancient filament lights. Every second that you walked, you obsessively watched Gaz’s hands, fixing your eyes on them as if they might hold untold treasures.

This was it, the last run through. Gaz paused at the same doorway you’d had to wait outside at least a dozen times already, and quickly held up his fist for ‘halt’. It helped that it was just the same as the standard hand signals that he’d been taught already. From there he pointed two fingers to his side and signalled for halt again. You nodded and moved next to him, looking from his hands to his eyes in quick succession while you waited for further instruction.

From there he cupped his hands by his ear and pointed at you. You twitched your ears, adjusting yourself so that you could listen out for any tell tale sounds of Soap skulking around from inside. Though there was nothing beyond the annoying skittering of the old ticking clock inside the fake office, so to confirm the silence you shook your head. Gaz then held his finger to the side of his nose and pointed at you, but you held your palm up and waved your other hand around it. Unclear. Smell was little use when you’d all run the training course together so many times, everything stank of the two men at that point.

Gaz nodded and thought for a second. Time might as well have been a sound, the continuous buzz of the lights or the shaking hands of the clock behind the door, your senses felt like they were blending into a big mush. You were glad when Gaz finally patted his back and held out his palm and then a single finger, signalling to walk back to back with him and watch his six.

You nodded again and did as asked, making quick work of slinking through the door as quietly as possible and advancing down the corridor beyond. Gaz looked right and left, checking through the first office room on the right quickly and efficiently and kept things moving down the hallway, readying to advance to the next room at the end of the hallway. This was it, there was only one place Soap could be now, you thought.

However, just as Gaz was heading down the corridor, you could’ve sworn you heard a noise. A faint almost wooden gasp, but it was something nonetheless. You grabbed Gaz’s arm and forced him to a stop, holding your hand to your ear so that he knew you heard something. He narrowed his eyes, honey irises appearing chestnut from under his shadowy gaze. After another few seconds you heard the sound of something making contact with the floor, hell you could've sworn you felt the vibrations of it at that point.

You looked up at Gaz with wild eyes and motioned your head down the hallway from the office that Gaz had assumed was safe. It wasn’t like there was much to sweep that you hadn’t already looked through on all your other runs, so he hadn’t been sloppy to dismiss the empty space. There was just a single desk with an exposed underside, the wall clock and a fake sink set up. The sink had a cupboard but it also had a slew of fake piping that made it impossible to squeeze inside. Or rather it should’ve.

As soon as you crept back down the hallway, you both stumbled onto Soap emerging from the cupboard like a spider creeping from a crack. He was all arms and legs as he tried to slyly remove himself from the tiny space and before he was able to see you and Gaz, Gaz blasted him with the nerf gun and you ran toward him, ensuring you were out of firing range and jumped up in front of him. Pieces of loose plastic piping scattered from all around the bottom cupboard, and he just about exploded from his skin when you got your face up close to his.

“Steamin Jesus! How’d you know I was in here?”

“We didn’t, I heard the cupboard opening though,” you explained, wagging your tail all the while.

Soap sighed and leaned back into the cupboard clutching his hand over his heart for a moment before sitting back up.

“I suppose I should be happy you’re on our team with those big satellites, fuzzy lugs,” Soap sighed.

“Hey!” You whined, flattening your ears. “They’re not big satellites.”

“Well not when you put them back like that,” Soap said, a sly smile piercing through his eyes before it reached his lips.

“Better big fluffy ears than big fluffy hair,” you huffed.

“Oooh,” Gaz smirked, “Get ‘im.”

“You canny insult the hawk,” Soap sniffed, running a hand through his messy locks. “Nothing you say will convince me this isn’t stunnin’.”

You rolled your eyes and sat back from Soap, about to let him get up when Gaz stopped you both. He held out his hand and demanded you wait a minute, causing you and Soap to turn to one another and frown until all became clear.

“Gotta get a good photo of our quarry, Pup. All the best hunters get their trophy photo,” Gaz explained, while holding his phone up and adjusting the angle.

Gaz adjusted his pose, tilting his nerf gun so that it crossed his chin and partially obscured his faux serious expression, meanwhile Soap sat back amongst the loose piping and accepted his fate, holding his fingers to his forehead in a fake gun gesture as if he were shooting himself. You weren’t sure what to do. No one ever asked you to be in pictures that weren’t mandated for the government website, so you didn’t know how to pose.

At the last minute you tilted your head and pulled out a cheeky grin just before Gaz took the photos, the screen flickering black a couple times before he started tapping at his screen and laughing. He walked over to you both and lowered his screen, letting you see the resulting photo that oozed chaos with the silly toy gun and you and Soap sitting atop the mess of piping.

“Ooft, sexy,” Soap whistled. “Get that up on tinder. You’ll get all sorts of tail with that.”

“Oh yeah, caption writes itself - ‘anyone wanna hold my blaster?’” Gaz sniggered, tapping away again. “That’s going on insta.”

You huffed out a surprise breath at that.

“You’re actually putting that up on your socials?” you asked, frowning.

Gaz ceased his tapping and tilted his chin up at you.

“Was gonna, why? do you not want it up?” he asked, showing you the photo again.

The screen tilted round to reveal a confirmation page with the photo sporting a slightly more dramatic filter. He’d been about to post it with a slightly less ridiculous caption at least ‘Mission success: blockage identified - Soap too big for the sink.’

That didn’t stop you from snorting at it of course.

“I don’t mind - just figured you’ll get people being strange about you showing off that you hang about with the little hybrid weirdo,” you shrugged.

“Aw, furball. You don’t have to worry about people finding you weird. Your ears aren’t that big and strange you know,” Soap said, rubbing your arm in mock sympathy. “They might not even qualify as full sized satellites, maybe just small radio towers or- Hey!”

You smiled smugly to yourself after flicking Soap on the nose, but quickly dropped the grin when Soap yanked you back by the shoulders and blew a big gust of air into one of your ears.

“No! Disgusting!” You squealed, wrestling him off and slapping him away while he laughed.

You rubbed at your ear, screwing up your entire face while you tried to work the feeling of Soap’s breath out of your fur and inner canal. The uncomfortable pressure ceased after a few seconds and finally you were able to stop cringing away from Soap enough to see Gaz shaking his head at you both.

“Aaand its posted. C’mon, we better start clearing out of here. You can fix that mess with the Pipes, Soap.”

“Fuck sake,” Soap cursed, looking around at his mess. “Thought this was gonna be worth it as well.”

His grumbling didn’t stop as he got through his work either. As he put the sink back together you sat on top of the desk by Gaz while he sat on the chair and scrolled through his phone. You didn’t really have anything to do, so you twisted the manual round that you’d been teaching the guys from and started flicking through the old yellowing pages. The corners felt like they might melt away from even just fingering through them, it was so ancient, but that wasn’t the only sign that the book wasn’t from your lifetime. After skipping to a random page, your eyes widened into saucers and your mouth almost dropped to the cold concrete below.

“What the fuck,” you breathed out loud, reading over the page contents with a dry mouth.

Gaz’s interest peaked at that. Out of the corner of your peripherals you saw his eyes drift from his phone to look over the page you’d pulled.

“Yo! What the hell is that about,” Gaz cackled, pulling his chair up and scraping it over the concrete to get a closer look. “Proper Maintenance of your Hybrid’s Hygiene? That’s nasty.”

Soap looked over from his work and frowned.

“What’s so nasty about that?”

“Nah, I can’t tell you. You gotta come over here and see this, mate.”

You frowned down at the book, casting your eyes over the frankly awful illustrations therein with a sickening mix of horror and gratitude for not having to have experienced anything depicted in them for yourself. Below the section title, In the two little boxes with smaller boxes off shooting from them were mirror images of a man standing over a bathtub with a hybrid in it, however in one box there was a female hybrid and the other a male. In the smaller boxes were close up pictures of the illustrated hybrids' tails, ears and genitals with captions that explained the proper way to keep them clean and healthy.

“As you will well know, being experienced handlers in training,” Gaz read aloud, using a posh old timey voice, “Hybrids do not have the mental capacity that humans possess. As such, they are simply not capable of keeping themselves adequately clean, which means this is a care requirement you must oversee yourself at least once a week. Following the diagrams above you must draw a bath for your hybrid and have them clean their bodies under your guidance and ensure their tails, ears and extremities are maintained to regulation. You must make sure to prevent water flooding their ear canals, as this can cause infection, you must clean and detangle/deshed their tails using a long tooth or a short tooth brush depending on their fur texture, and you must ensure their genitals/nethers are kept cleaned of any discharge, excrement, c-crust build up or- fuckin hell I can’t. This is actual slander. How did they get away with writing this?”

“This is some absolute specist nonsense,” you scoffed, taking the manual from Gaz, who was slowly losing it to soundless laughter, and turning it so that it faced you.

“So in this section it’s basically hammering it into you that I’m apparently too dumb to wash my own shit covered ass, and then in thiiiis page…” you trailed, flicking back a few pages to a title that had almost caught your interest before, “yeah here. In this section it details ‘training techniques and guides for making your hybrid competent in use of blades and blunt weapons.’ So essentially I have to be watched to make sure I get my fuckin ‘crust’ or whatever cleaned off because I’m an incompetent beast, but I can also be reasonably expected to wield a fucking machete! What kind of bullshit is this?!”

Soap and Gaz were dead silent for a few seconds, lips sealed firmly shut and eyes wide as you waved the page around that had the giant sword diagram. That is, until the moment they both looked at each other. After that they burst out into floods of laughter, clutching their chests and howling like animals themselves until tears started falling down their cheeks.

“It’s not funny!” you growled, taking another look through the ‘guide’ for anymore terrible tidbits.

“It’s not, it’s really not,” Gaz affirmed, trying to hold in his giggles. “It’s really fucked up, but c’mon, mate. Crust!”

“They didn’t even have to go into that crust shite, but the fact they went on and actually specified the parts in the diagram that had to be cleaned and all that,” Soap wheezed, “I don’t know who the experience is worse for! Where did Ghost even pull this crap from? Did he time travel back to 1945?”

You groaned and turned to the front page, ears drooping back when you found the publishing date.

“Man, this is from the fucking seventies,” you frowned, realising what torments could’ve befallen you had you been born just a bit earlier. “Wait…you guys don’t think this is Ghost’s personal copy…”

You cut yourself off. All of you were silent.

“Well its possible they could’ve just issued Ghost with an old copy rather than print new ones,” Gaz shrugged, voice weak from laughing so much already. “You know what budgeting’s like.”

“Hold the bus, I’m gonna google something,” Soap announced, pulling his own phone out his trousers and quietly muttering to himself. “Hybrid hygiene, British army regulations…here we go…from the 1960’s hybrids were able to voluntarily join the army or be transferred in from institutes for displaced hybrids and… hygiene was taught in handler training courses and monitored by…then up until 20- steamin’ jesus.”

“What?” you and Gaz sounded off in unison.

“Essentially says here that the practice of teaching hybrid hygiene and monitoring it didn’t completely end in all British bases until well after Ghost joined up which means…-”

“Ghost is probably a certified crust inspector,” you said gravely.

At that you all burst out laughing. The room practically shook, none of you could contain yourselves, the sounds ricocheted off the walls and exploded in your ears. Though you couldn’t muster the wherewithal to care. For a few moments you all laughed in a joint heap until slowly you all came back to yourselves and closed the manual, doing all you could to stop yourself from launching it out the skylight above.

“That’s fuckin awful stuff,” Soap said, finally getting back to finishing up with the sink. “Glad I never signed up for any o’ that pish. I’ll gladly take apart a bomb before I have to supervise you in the tub, furball.”

“Me too,” Gaz sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Least you’ll never have to get bathed and de-crusted. Almost puts a silver lining on Branhaven if you never had to deal with that, huh?”

“God, I never thought I’d say it, but thank you Maddox for being a neglectful dick,” you muttered, giggling after Gaz snorted from next to you.

-🐺-

Later on that day, after Soap and Gaz had dropped you off with Price, the full schedule that you’d been handed weighed heavily on you. You drooped over Price’s sofa and were barely able to read more than a few pages of your new book until you gave up and slumped fully into the cushions.

You happily dozed off with the sound of Price’s accompanying pen scratches and mutterings, your lips curving into a soft smile against the saggy old cushions. Cigar smoke and musk cradled your prone form and with just the gentlest hint of spiced citrus, you were letting it carry you off to sleep.

However, before unconsciousness could fully take you, a loud unfamiliar knock sounded at Price’s door and shattered you from any notion of rest. Your heart beat rapidly, chest thumping heavily and you sat up fully and at attention.

You looked over at Price, watching as he put down his pen and shuffled his papers. He made a brief second of eye contact and shrugged as if to tell you that he didn’t know who it was until he looked back toward the darkened door. He’d yet to turn his main light on, instead he sat commanding the room from his lamplit desk.

“Yes. Who is it?” he barked, rubbing his weary eyes.

“Captain, it’s Major Kelly, I need to speak with you about an incident involving your team’s hybrid. Can I come in?” Called a lilting Irish voice.

Your ears perked up and again you looked at Price, but he didn’t look back at you this time. He set his jaw in a tight line and folded his hands up across the top of his desk, thumping them heavily into the wood.

“Door’s open, Major,” he called, voice booming in a way you hadn’t heard it before. “Let’s hear it.”

#simon ghost riley #Simon Riley #Ghost #mw2 #ghost x reader #Hybrid!reader #reign down on me

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ethereal-night-fairy · 3 months

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This dark vampire poly!141 x hostage!reader idea is based off a comment I got on one of my works on Ao3 I would love to tag them if they were on Tumblr but I don't think they are.

Comment : Oh I'd love a vampire au! An idea for it if you are open to consideration: the 141 have been around for centuries, John pretty much turned all of them starting with Simon, then with Johnny, and then with Gaz being the youngest (although Gaz is still over a century old). Reader, of course, is human, moving to a new town to start over completely and ends up running into one of them. And they just know that reader is the missing piece that they had been looking for--the one that is the last to be bound to them. Because for an immortal creature it only makes sense that they would, in even just the name of species preservation, have multiple mates dictated by fate, instinct, or what have you :)

This sounds like a great premise for a vampire au. Also what if Knight price was turned in the medieval ages by a vampire lord he was tasked to kill and ended up being turned as he killed the last of the vampire kin for the English king. He fled obviously when he realised what happened letting his knights think he was killed in battle.

Time passes and he doesn't age, he watched his loved ones from a distance growing old and having children before ultimately passing away. It pains him that he lives like an animal hunting for blood in the forest unable to live a normal life.

But he still wishes to do, to be good . So as his powers build and the sun doesn't scorch his skin anymore. He joins the army century after century to regain some sense of humanity. (That's a horrible way to regain humanity if I'm honest, though in his defence he fell for the propaganda and thought he was doing a good thing.) But the bloodlust becomes so much worse the more he kills. The more blood stains his hands the more he longs for the chaos and violence.

He gathers companions along the way. Men like him that were on the brink of death but had so much to live for. He couldn't let them die he just couldn't! By the 21st century he had his little taskforce. His boys, his lovers, his family but someting was missing. What could it be? They lived comfortably with the wealth they had accumulated. They had their buffet layed out for them on the battlefield. What more could they want?

But something was out of place. Even with his lovers, life was becoming bleak when all they saw was violence and bloodshed. That was until they found a delicate little hostage in their capture or kill mission. Scared little thing you were tucked away in the corner of a bedroom, chained to the wall. You'd do nicely as their pet. They bet your blood tastes just as sweet as your tears.

Their reply: Oh I love it! Johnny being a warrior that at the Battle of Culloden, fighting for Scottish independence from the British, happens to die while fighting an infuriating man. Said infuriating man, dying by the Scottsmans hand, just so happens to be lieutenant Simon. Price having already planned to watch over Simon (he said he wouldn't get attached) yet he can't help but to turn Johnny too. Neither are happy at first, they have their differences, but they can't deny the bond and love that forms. Then the three of them meet Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick in world war ii. So bright and full of life, passionate about fighting for his country and ending Nazi regime. The man runs right into a fight, saving dozens upon dozens of men, and the three know they can't let him remain dead when the inevitable comes. And Gaz, well, he keeps that light within him because at least now he can make sure that the war to end all wars wasn't done in vain.

I just wanted to show off their ideas too since it's what inspired my little snippet. I not sure if I'll turn this into a actual thing though.

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filmbyjy · 1 month

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MINESTREAM

SYPNOSIS > Wanting to start a new stream series with his best friends, Jay had a bright idea of playing some simple Minecraft with them. Everything was normal, until he realises there is another person in the call with them. He quickly learns that it was ni-ki’s older sister, (name). Watch how streaming a simple game of Minecraft can dig up some interesting feelings between the main leads.

FIFTEEN – that man is a f*cking simp

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

a/n: i used papago for like the translation so please correct me if I’m wrong😭

with the night wind blowing at your hair as you walked around with jay, you can’t help but closed your eyes. it was a nice walk at night. you had spent the afternoon with him at the cafe and talked a lot about a bunch of things.

you found out he liked a bunch of older songs, especially rock songs. he played the guitar and was trying to play more often. you also learnt he was decently fluent in Japanese, which surprised you.

“you know Japanese?” you say a little in shock and awe.

“yeah, I learnt it so that I didn’t have to keep staring at the subtitle and just actually concentrate on the anime I was watching. took a long time though but it was worth it at the end. i’m still learning more phrases.”

“that’s so cool!”

“ありがとうございます (thank you).” jay replies.

“you sound like a local. i’m impressed. did riki ever accidentally speak to you in Japanese?”

“he did. maybe once or twice. i understood what he said so it was fine.”

“well, you sound natural. maybe even better than me in Japanese.” you say.

jay laughs. his laughter was truly adorable. you couldn’t help but melt at it. it made you realise that being alone with jay made you feel super comfortable. due to your past experiences with disgusting guys in japan. you couldn’t stay alone with any guy without feeling unsafe. that of course did not include ni-ki, he was your brother after all, and heeseung.

and now, currently after having a heartfelt conversation at the cafe for a long time, the sun had set. you and jay were walking around the park and towards the campus grounds. there was a cyclist coming closer to the both of you so jay grabs your hand and pulls you to the side so you wouldn’t crash into the cyclist.

“oh. thank you, I didn’t realise there was someone.” you say. jay snorts.

“maybe, you shouldn’t aimlessly walk with your eyes closed.” he squeezes your hand since he was still holding it.

“I was enjoying my peace. the night feels cool and nice so why not, you know? besides, it’s the weekends tomorrow. I just need a small breather before I have to go back to sitting in my bedroom and painting.”

jay hums. the both of you continued to walk with your hands intertwined. neither of you minded and really remembered that jay’s hand was still interlocked with yours. in fact, it actually felt comfortable like it was meant to be.

was this fate?

right as those 3 words popped into your thoughts, jay’s phone rings. he answered it with his other hand still walking with you hand in hand. you had kept quiet, just listening in to his conversation with whoever it was.

“I’m doing fine. mmm, I’ll try to visit you guys during summer break. no. I don’t have a girlfriend.” it caught your attention. you knew jay was a good looking guy, tons of girls would’ve loved to talk to him so why doesn’t he have a girlfriend.

“mom, I know you’re worried about me. I can handle it. I’m only 22 this year. yes, I’m doing well in college as per usual.” he chuckles slightly. “I don’t want to go on a blind date, mom. I want to find my own girlfriend. someone that understands me and likes what I do.”

his eyes met with yours as he finishes his words. your heart stops. you nearly had a heart attack because why would jay just stare at you as he finishes his sentence. what did that mean? there is no way he likes you…right? it was too early! he can’t like you that way.

jay finishes up his call with his mom. he places his phone back in his pocket and turns to face you. “so what are you thinking of doing during our summer break?”

“mmm, I’m not sure. I haven’t thought about it. probably more streaming.”

“do you wanna stream with me? I probably wouldn’t go out much during the break.”

“I thought you were going to visit your parents?”

“I am but we could stream together after I visit them.”

“you aren’t staying for a week?”

“my parents are usually busy, they travel around a lot so they’ll probably fly out a day or two after I visit them.” jay explains. you hummed.

“me and riki would would definitely be free.”

“perfect. I could ask the others if they’d like to play too.”

finally, you had arrived in front of your dorm’s apartment building. unfortunately, jay lets go of your hand. the warmth was all gone and you already missed it.

“rest well and don’t overdo yourself. I know it’s tempting for you to just continue doing your artwork but you need to rest.”

“yes, jay. I know. I won’t overdo myself.”

“that’s my good girl.” he ruffles your hair. “well, I have to go. the boys probably would expect me to come back soon. they can’t survive without me. the dorm would’ve burnt down by now.” jay jokes.

you laughed, “alright. before you go, can I ask you something?”

“sure.”

“can we stream tomorrow?”

“of course.”

you had stepped forward and quickly left a peck on jay’s cheek before bolting in to your apartment building. jay holds the cheek that you had left a kiss on as he watches your figure growing smaller. a stupid smile adorning his face, he was smitten.

you had opened your front door after taking an elevator up to the floor. it slams shut as you entered it and laid your back against it. your heart racing quickly, the heat flaming against your cheeks.

“oneechan, what are you doing?” ni-ki appears at the hallway, his eyebrow raised as he looks at you in question.

“oh my god, I- riki, why are you walking so softly. when did you stand there?” you say as you were flustered.

“I was about to walk to the kitchen but I heard the front door slam. what happened?”

“nothing. just went out.”

“was there another stalker?” his voice sounding a little serious.

“oh, no no. no stalker, just umm i saw a flying cockroach outside.” you lied. the worry in ni-ki’s eyes dissipated, it was quickly replaced with fear.

“we really have to move. oneechan, I’m going to find us an apartment that’s better than here and is equally as near to school.”

“umm, we don’t have to.”

“I don’t care, I’m paying for the rent. you don’t need to worry.”

“riki!”

“consider this as a big early birthday present.” ni-ki skips over to you and pecks your cheek. “only the best for you big sis!”

you had to tiptoe to pat his head, “you have to stop spending money on me, riki. I can buy things on my own.”

“not until you get that streamer money.”

“well, can you really blame me for joining an art course because it’s my passion?”

“not at all, oneechan! you just have to not feel bad every time me and yvette noona want to pay something for you.”

“but I’ll owe you guys.” you pout.

“shhhh.” ni-ki grabs you and pushes you towards your bedroom door. “you don’t have to feel bad, I’ll do anything for you and any one of my friends! trust me, I’ll even ask sunoo hyung for house hunting advice.”

“is he even a reliable source-” ni-ki stops pushing you to your bedroom when you reach the middle of your room.

“he is a very reliable source. now, get some rest! I’ll find a house by the morning and then confirm stuff by next week. we’ll be in a new apartment in two weeks time.” ni-ki blows a kiss to you and shuts the door.

you sighed. ni-ki was an amazing younger brother and you love him to the moon and back. he’s a one of a kind brother, anyone would want him. however, you felt so burdened by the fact that you felt like you owe something to him. you knew he didn’t care if you paid back or not and he always treats you. it’s just the guilt creeping up on you.

you looked down at your phone and glanced at the lockscreen, it was a baby photo of ni-ki. everything you did was for him. your parents could always trust you with ni-ki and vice versa. with them running a company back in Japan, it was hard for them to come home. hence, you had to grow up for ni-ki. of course, your parents were grateful. they always brought both you and ni-ki out as a little treat. it wasn’t a surprise when ni-ki wanted to fly out to Seoul with you to go college. he’s a constant in your life and your parents knew that. hence, they didn’t say no to ni-ki and allowed him to take the same flight as you.

you had taken a shower quickly and changed into your pyjamas before deciding that you had to sleep. you had to continue up painting before streaming again tomorrow. just as you dried your hair and then threw yourself on the bed, you can’t help but remember what you did when you came home. you hid your face behind the pillows.

as for jay…

he was busy giggling and kicking his feet in his bedroom. jake and sunghoon were confused as to why jay was just mindlessly walking to his bedroom and then they heard a ‘girlish’ giggle from jay’s room. both jake and sunghoon looked at each other in shock.

“he’s gone insane.” sunghoon says. jake nods.

“didn’t he go out with (name) just now?” jake asks.

slowly the put the pieces together, sunghoon’s eyes widened. “we’ve truly lost him.”

“that man is a fucking simp.” both sunghoon and jake say at the same time.

taglist[open]: @bldelaine @velvtcherie @shalkeren @kgneptun @yenqa @dammit-jjk @sionshiii @enhaz1 @mrchweeee @ncityzenz @autumn583 @okokok4 @ariadores @n1k1mura @kwiwin @drunkdazeded @justkatey @thatsroug @auesoooo @bunchofroses07 @j4ysluv @heeseungwifeyyy @smouches @bubblytaetae @dimplewonie @brachioanton @blackhairandbangs @heestrawberries @amesification @rizzshimura @y4wnjunz @rainyjy @pkjay @simjyunnie @imtoanonymousforyou @jungwoneez @jeongingf1 @astrae4 @heartswonn @pinkishyngs @heeseungsbabyy @in-somnias-world @ramenoil @wantmatthew @leehanascent @kayyssw @allisonleannn @kim2005bomi @saurxcream @urmomssneakylink @zyvlxqht @honeyboobear @ddazed-lhs @bee-the-loser @sunkislove @glassesyunjin @eleanorheartschishiya @jayjongie @woninluv @artstaeh @jwnghyuns @junissy @svmjaeyun @clairecottenheart @onigirik1 @woniejjang

(want to be added into the taglist? just send an ask or fill up this short form here!)

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barcalover86 · 4 months

Note

Hey idk if you want to, feel free to ignore this request- but can you maybe do a part 2 to the showering after surgery? I rlly loved the fic🫶🏻🫶🏻

Showering after surgery p.2

First part

You tried to forget about your conversation with Gavi from yesterday night.

It's true that you were nervous to see Gavi naked for the first time, but he was Pablo Gavi. Everyone knows that he is beautiful.

He's been an athlete for so long, of course that his body was breath-taking.

But when he suggested that you two shower together, you weren't even nervous anymore. You were just scared.

A lot of what ifs were coming into your mind.

The truth is that you won't be the first girl he saw naked, and the other girls all had model type of body. What if he considers you ugly?

What if he finds you that ugly that he breaks up with you?

You imagined a lot of similar scenes until Gavi finally woke up.

You couldn't sleep all night, and he could see that something had bothered you.

"You okay?"

He seemed truly concerned about your health.

That's it. An idea came into your mind.

"Just a bit sick. I kinda have a headache." you lied.

"I'm sure a bath will help you. Let me get it ready for you-"

Oh shit.

"No, no, it's okay-"

"We had to shower together this morning anyway."

He got up from the bed and walked himself to the bathroom to prepare you the bath.

You've got all anxious by now and tried to find any reason for you not to shower.

"You just showered yesterday night and it wasn't easy for your knee. You'll be in pain, Gavi"

"Anything for my girl."

"Gavi, be for real now."

"What?"

He then suddenly realised. Or he thought that was the reason.

His face immediately got sad, and he stopped.

Now you didn't understand what was going on anymore.

He walked himself back to his room and opened the TV.

"So we won't shower anymore?" you asked surprised and also really confused by his actions.

"Well, you don't seem to want me. That's for sure."

"What!? No, Gavi-"

"No, please. I don't want to argue with you, ok?" he said in a sweet tone.

"Me neither, but it's not what you think."

For some seconds neither of you said anything.

"Ok, get up. We're going to have a bath together." you said while trying to help Pablo getting out of the bed.

"I'm too tired now."

"Gavi!" you shouted. "Please.."

When you were both in the bathroom, you were the first one to get your chlotes off.

You wanted to fasten things up so that he won't get to see you naked that long. You were really embarrassed and shy.

He stopped his movements and then looked at you.

"Y/n, y/n." he then holds you. "Tell me what's bothering you."

He looks into your eyes with so much love and adoration that eventually made you blush.

He smiled seeing your red cheeks and then kissed your lips shortly.

"You know I love you, so tell me."

You try to find the courage to look into his eyes, but you fail, so he helped you while moving your chin up.

"It's just.. you are Pablo Gavi and-"

"Well that's good to know." he starts laughing.

"Please, don't laugh. " he immediately stopped, knowing that this was something serious .

"You are Pablo Gavi and I'm just a normal girl-"

"Which I love with all my heart.." he continued.

"That's so sweet of you, but please don't stop me, otherwise I won't tell you."

He nodded, clearly understanding.

"You are Pablo Gavi, and I'm just a normal girl, and you've been with so many other beautiful women and I'm really really shy and scared that you won't like my body that much and that you will judge me."

He wanted so bad to interrupt you, but he knew that you had to take it all out of your heart.

So you continued.

"And I don't wanna sound dramatic or something, but even yesterday when I saw you all in front of me, I just couldn't realise that you chose me out of all those gorgeous girls. Because you are so, so beautiful. "

He started to tear up and hugged you tight.

"Bebé.."

"Do you think I'm beautiful?" you asked him.

He then took off all your chlotes and smiled.

"You are more than beautiful."

From your face, he knew that you didn't believe him so when he undressed himself too, you got into the hot water together.

He was holding you in front of him.

"I've been with many girls, that's true. But no one felt like you. You aren't just beautiful, you are sweet and kind and a really nice company. I chose you because I love you. Your body fits perfectly with mine." he kissed your left cheek. "You are the one that is now with me at my worst. Not them. You are the one who takes care of me. Not them."

You kissed his lips lovely, before helping him shower again, because the boy was in a lot of pain because of his knee.

After you were done with him, he helped you wash your hair, massaging it.

Everything felt so good.

"Do you still have that headache?"

He laughed, knowing that you lied.

You showed him your tongue and smiled at him.

"I love you" you said, hugging him tight from behind. "And I'll make your recovery easier. I promise."

"I know you will."

#fc barca #fc barcelona #football #pablo gavi #pablo gavira #pablo martín páez gavira #gavi #gavi imagine #gavi x reader #gavi x yn #pablo gavi x y/n #pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi imagine #pablo gavi x you #gavi x you

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pinasscoladaa · 3 months

Note

I’m sick today 😭 so can u please do a Matildas x reader sick fic

Poorly Girl - Matildas x reader & Katrina Gorry x Reader

Going into training was something you usually loved to do, especially at national camp, it was something that brought joy to your day. not today though, you had woken up feeling like you had swallowed a million tiny shards of glass and the dull ache that rattled through your head was far from pleasant. So as you walked through the corridor and into the camps breakfast hall, your usually happy demeanour and radiant smile was now replaced with an uncomfortable frown, squinting your eyes to try and ease your headache, quickly realising it wasn’t going to work when you were greeted to the loud chatter coming from the room of aussies.

Avoiding social interaction was extremely unusual for you, especially with the tillies, you normally opting to be one of the loudest out of the group of girls, always making some sort of joke. So when you trudged over to the breakfast buffet and grabbed a few pieces of toast before sitting yourself at the back of the room on what seemed to be the only empty table, the girls quickly realised something was wrong.

You stared at the pieces of toast for a few seconds before pushing the plate away, a wave of nausea flooding over you with the thought of eating, Instead opting to just putting your head on the table and closing your eyes to avoid the bright Australian sun.

Your peace was interrupted with an extremely loud “Oi Oi” being shouted down your ear, quickly identifying the person as kyra as she sat next to you along with a few other people to which you assumed was charli, caitlin alanna and mackenzie, you made a pathetic attempt to lift your head and give a not very convincing smile to group of girls.

All of them circling round, loudly interrogating as to why you weren’t being social or as ‘obnoxiously loud as normal’ as alanna has stated jokingly. You looked around the room hoping to catch the eye of mini to hopefully swoop in and rescue you, your best friend always being there when your friends were being too much, frown only deepening when you couldn’t see her anywhere. Luckily for you though claire and emily had spotted you and saw your dilema, both of them also sharing a look at how poorly you so obviously were.

“thats enough girls, shes clearly not well” Claire stated, distracting the girls while emily gently grabbed your arm to help you up out of your chair, “come on, lets get you back to your room, no training for you today” mumbling a small ok as she silently led you back to your room, tucking you back into bed and darkening the room before leaving, you quickly falling asleep at the sudden silence and darkness.

Around an hour later you woke to the sound of your door opening, knowing instantly who it was as there was only one person who had a key to your room.

“its only me” Katrina stated in a hushed voice as she walked in placing a bag on the desk before emptying its contents to get what she had brought out for you. It was obvious to alot of the girls that you and mini had feelings for eachother, neither if you having the courage to tell eachother though, instead the pair of you remained best friends who where very much inlove with eachother.

“i brought you some medicine and some snacks darling.. oh and obviously the best company ever” she smiled, putting the tablets on the bedside cabinet next to you.

“oh really.. i don’t see harper?” you croaked out with a tired smirk on your face. Katrina let out an offended gasp as she climbed into the bed with you, making you let out a small giggle, your actions making here smile brightly, only your previous laugh was quickly interrupted by a harsh coughing fit. Your throat felt 10x worse now so swallowing the tablets that mini had brought felt like hell.

“c’mere poorly girl” Katrina cooed, pulling you into her embrace , your head now resting on her chest as her arms wrapped tightly around you, one of her hands coming up to brush your hair away from your fever struck face.

The comfort of minis hold had you ready to fall back to a deep sleep within seconds, eyes closing and a satisfied smile on your face, murming out a “thank you mins” before dozing off.

Mini looked down at you, admiring your sleeping state, but also in awe of how somebody so ill could still look so incredibly beautiful before kissing your forehead gently and letting herself sink into her own tiredness, knowing harper was safe and having a sleepover with charli and kyra, and her girl best friend was safe in her arms.

(obsessed with the tillies & mini atm so i loved writing this)

#woso x reader #woso blurbs #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #alanna kennedy #alanna kennedy x reader #katrina gorry #katrina gorry x reader #matildas #caitlin foord #kyra cooney cross #charli grant

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butdaddyilovehim-hs · 9 months

Text

The Divorce: Part II

Word Count: ~3k

Warnings: swearing, mentions of sex

Read Part I here

“What does winning the case even mean? How do you win a divorce?” Lauren asked Y/N confusedly. The small cafe was basically empty as the two women sat across from each other, talking in quiet voices.

“I’m not exactly sure. I think he just means that he leaves the relationship with everything he wants to keep. I’ll try and ask next time I see him, but he doesn’t usually let me get a word in. The man loves the sound of his own voice.” Y/N grinned as Lauren laughed at her description of the CEO.

“I can’t believe he wants you to go out on a date with him. He literally just got out of a relationship… he moves quickly.”

“It’s not a date! Is it? It’s just a congratulatory lunch right? Right?”

“If you say so Y/N.” Lauren giggled at the bright colour of Y/N’s cheeks as she came to the realisation that Mr Styles possibly wanted to go on a date with her.

“I don’t know what it is,” Lauren continued. “But I do know that he had a reputation before he got married.”

“What kind of reputation?”

“He was a no relationship kind of guy. He would fuck women, normally not more than once, before moving onto the next one. It’s why the media went wild trying to figure out what made Sofia different. No one knows why he gave up his lifestyle for her. Just… be careful Y/N. I don’t think you know what you could be getting yourself into.”

Y/N opened her mouth to respond as her phone buzzed.

Unknown: How’s the case coming along?

Y/N looked quizzically at the text from the unknown number. After a few moments she realised there was only one person it could be from.

Y/N: Mr Styles, how did you get my number?

Y/N: The case is fine, but you do know that I’m only assisting on this right?

“Is that him?” Lauren asked. Y/N nodded sheepishly.

Harry Styles: I have my ways.

Harry Styles: Yes Miss Williams, I’m aware that you’re an assistant. I just prefer talking to over Robert.

“Ask him what he means by “win the case.” Lauren urged. Y/N shook her head at her friends eagerness before typing out a message.

Y/N: Well since I have your number now, can I ask a question?

Harry Styles: Ask away darling.

Y/N ignored the flutter of butterflies in her stomach at the nickname.

Y/N: What exactly constitutes as winning the case for you?

Mr Styles: If I manage to keep our house, I count that as a win. I don’t care about anything else materialistic. Just the house.

Y/N: How come?

She watched as the 3 dots indicating he was typing appeared and then disappeared. After waiting, Y/N realised she wasn’t going to get a response.

“It’s probably something super sentimental. Which is strange. I didn’t take him as the sentimental type.” Lauren mused, reading over Y/N’s shoulder.

“Neither did I. But I’ve only met him once. I don’t know him at all really.”

The topic changed after that and Y/N finished her latte, bidding Lauren a quick goodbye before heading to the office for the day.

Sofia Styles, was quite possibly the most beautiful woman Y/N had ever seen. Cascading brown curls sat perfectly below her shoulders and crystal blue eyes made her look like she’d walked straight off a runway. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mr Styles stiffen as his ex-wife walked into the room accompanied by her legal representation.

“Sofia thank you for joining us. We’re aware that this is a difficult process for yourself and Mr Styles so we’re hoping to make this quick and easy for the both of you.” Robert smiled as warmly as he could in an attempt to diffuse the tension in the room.

“You can address me as Mrs Styles. It’s still my name.” Sofia sniffed and Y/N refrained from rolling her eyes.

“Not for long.” Mr Styles bit out. Sofia seemed slightly taken aback by his tone, and her eyes glistened for a moment before she blinked the forming tears away.

“Is everyone ready to begin?” Robert asked. After receiving, albeit disgruntled nods, they began dividing everything.

Y/N quickly realised that Mr Styles stayed true to his word. He had meant it when he said all he wanted was their house. He offered everything over to Sofia, their dogs, two of their cars, their holiday home in Italy and the small apartment in Paris.

“And now for the house Mr Styles currently resides in. It’s my impression you purchased this home before you met Sofia?” Robert asked.

“You could say that.”

Y/N raised her brows at the vague response, but one look at Mr Styles’ face told her that now was not the time for questions.

“Mr Styles has requested the house return fully in his name although Sofia’s name was added to the lease after they were married. Do we have an agreement from both parties?” Robert looked in between the ex couple warily.

“Hold on I don’t think-“ Sofia started to protest.

“Sofia. Please. You know how much that place means to me. I can’t lose it.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in shock as she watched the hardened man beside her plead with his ex-wife. What was it about this house that was so special?

“Please.” He said again.

Sofia’s gaze softened slightly before she nodded once. Robert exhaled quietly at the agreement, rapidly pulling out papers for both of them to sign. Once everything was done, Sofia stood, gathering her things. She walked around the table to where Mr Styles sat beside Y/N and squeezed his shoulder. He flinched slightly at the contact, and at this, she removed her hand.

“I’m sorry Harry. I really am. I want you to know that I loved you with my whole soul for a time.” Sofia said.

She waited for a few moments and when it became apparent that she wasn’t going to get a response, Sofia turned and left, her lawyer hot on her heels. Mr Styles had taken an apparent interest on the going ons outside the window, gripping the arm of his chair tightly. Robert gathered his papers and motioned silently for Y/N to talk to him, leaving her alone in the room with him.

“Mr Styles? Are you alright?” Y/N asked softly, placing a hand where Sofia’s had been. Only this time he didn’t flinch.

“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be. I got what I wanted.” He removed his gaze from the window and looked Y/N in the eye. The eye contact made her slightly uncomfortable but she held his stare.

“Well… it would be understandable if you weren’t fine. Sofia was a big part of your life.”

“And now she’s gone. I told you, everyone leaves eventually. Or I push them away. It was bound to happen and I’m ok with it.”

“If you ever need to talk about it I-“

“I said I was fine Miss Williams. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Come on, we’re going to be late to lunch.” He stood abruptly, buttoning his jacket and opening the door for her.

“Lunch? Now?”

“You agreed to come to lunch with me if we won. We won, hence the reason I’m taking you out for lunch. We have things to discuss.”

“Mr Styles I don’t really have time for this right now. Perhaps another time?” Y/N waited with bated breath for his response.

“Let’s go. There’s a car downstairs.” He continued as if he hadn’t heard her. Y/N sighed, following him into the waiting vehicle.

Just… be careful Y/N. I don’t think you know what you could be getting yourself into.”

Lauren’s words echoed in her head as Y/N sat across from the rather intimidating CEO, picking at the pasta he had ordered for her.

It had been a rather quiet affair since they had arrived at the restaurant and the silence was killing her. Y/N lifted her glass of water to her lips as Mr Styles finally opened his mouth to speak.

“Have you ever thought about being a submissive, Miss Williams?”

Y/N choked on her glass of water, spluttering and coughing for a good while as Mr Styles watched, offering her a napkin, an impassive look on his face.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I asked whether you’d ever thought about being a submissive. Personally, I think you’d be quite good at it.” He continued to stare at her, but a small smirk appeared on his face at her disbelief.

“I’m not quite sure what you’re asking me or trying to suggest Mr Styles.” Y/N’s cheeks were flaming. She obviously found him extremely attractive (she did think his attitude could use some work) but this was ridiculous. This was a professional lunch! Or so she had thought.

“I’m wondering whether you would consider being my submissive. Surely you know what it is to crave a release so strong it has you thinking about it for days. Many things at the office are out of my control as much as I would like to say otherwise. For me, the bedroom is the one place I can know for sure that I’m in control and know that my partner is willing to give up their control to me. I need a distraction for a while; someone I can rely on to be there when I need them. It would be mutually beneficial of course. I’m told I’m quite a natural when it comes to that department.” His smirk widened, but there was something else in his eyes. Desire.

“I find you quite attractive Miss Williams. I have since the day you walked into my office all flustered. Having someone I can take to events would also be helpful so as to dissuade women who have recently heard of my divorce from making a move.”

“So you want to own me. That’s what you’re saying.” Y/N finally found her voice.

“No. Well. Not completely. We could go somewhere more private for me to explain all the details.”

“You’re crazy.” Y/N pushed her chair back, ready to stand and leave but he grabbed her wrist.

“Possibly. But deep down, I think a small part of you is curious. When was the last time someone touched you in a way that had you craving more? Ever wonder what it’s like to be tied up and letting someone else be in complete control of your pleasure? Have you ever had a guy make you come more than once? Or at all? I bet all this talk is making you wet isn’t it sweetheart?”

Y/N heart fell to her ass at the way he called her sweetheart in that delectable accent of his. She had to admit he was right. Everything he was talking about had her clenching her thighs, craving a release. But what he was proposing was madness.

“This is ridiculous. You’re ridiculous. You just got out of a marriage for god’s sake Harry.” Y/N didn’t miss the way he grinned at the way she finally used his first name.

“Just… think about it.” Harry said, still holding her arm.

“I have to go. Thank you for lunch Mr Styles, I appreciate it.” She wrenched her wrist out of his grip as she left the restaurant. She knew he had let her leave, if he had really wanted her to stay she knew her strength would have been no comparison to his.

“Holy shit.” Y/N muttered to herself as she called a cab. When she had agreed to lunch she hadn’t known it would turn into this.

Y/N’s head was spinning. It had been three days since Harry’s proposal and all she could think about was him. He had been radio silent and Y/N didn’t know what to make of it. She couldn’t be considering it… could she?

She had so many questions. Many of which she had typed out in a text to Harry himself, deleting them before she could press send. On this particular night, Y/N was quite a few glasses in to the bottle of red wine sitting on her coffee table as The Notebook played in the background.

She was, once again typing out a text to Harry that she had no intention of sending.

Y/N: If I was to agree to this, you’re telling me you’d be using me for sex and as arm candy?

Reaching over to refill her glass, she groaned in frustration, as her phone slipped from her hand into the couch cushions. Y/N fumbled around blindly as she pulled it out, eyes widening at the delivered sign underneath her message.

“Holy fucking shit.” Y/N whispered to herself as the delivered sign changed to read. She waited a beat. Then two. She sighed in slight relief as the three dots indicating a response were no where to be found.

Then her phone started ringing.

Incoming call: Harry Styles

Y/N swiped across the screen with her eyes half closed as she tried to decline the call. The ringing stopped and she exhaled in relief.

“Thank fuck.” She said outloud. “I did NOT want to talk to him tonight.”

“Talk to who?” The familiar low tones of his voice rumbled through her phone.

Y/N was silent. She couldn’t believe she was this stupid.

“Miss Williams? Are you there?” Y/N could practically hear his smirk over the phone.

“… Yes.” She mumbled out.

“So it seems you’re considering my offer after all.”

A/N: HiiI!!! I didn't expect to get another part out so soon but I'm so excited to hear your thoughts! What do you guys think is the reason Harry is so attached to the house? Are you liking the story so far? Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

Read Part III here

Tags:

@lukesaprince @harrys-flower @harryspirate @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @lilyrmason12 @styleslover-1994 @stylesfever @intimacywithceline

#harry styles #hslot #love on tour #harrystyles #harry styles ceo #harry styles fics #harry styles smut #harry styles writings #harry styles fan fics #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles yn #harry styles x yn #harry styles fanfiction #harry fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles au #harry styles x reader #harry au #fic

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wntrs0ldier · 1 year

Text

An Offer · part 02

pairing: mob!bucky x reader words: 3,4k warnings: typical mafia (dark themes, language, violence, etc.), Brock Rumlow

<previous part | next part> | series masterlist

series summary: When your father dies, the only thing you can do for your family and the empire he built, is to marry a powerful man.

chapter sneak peek: Bucky’s jaw tightened, his nostrils flared, and his chest grew bigger as he took a deep breath through the nose. His mouth curved into a bitter smile. He stared at Brock for a while longer, then moved away, as if he intended to leave you two alone.

On your way to a meeting with Brock Rumlow and his father, you wondered what it would cost you to jump out of a moving car. Would something like that be worse than marrying Brock and becoming part of his Family? The Family, which was mainly in the business of prostitution and drugs? Actually, drugs were an issue that you tolerated. But the vision of a relationship – arranged or not – with a pimp made you nauseous.

And all you knew about Brock was that he was hot-tempered, impulsive and aggressive, but this wasn’t uncommon among gangsters.

You also remembered what Bucky said.

Do you honestly believe Brock Rumlow will hold up his part of the deal? Did you forget his relationship with women or are you just going to overlook it?

“Try to keep an open mind.” You heard Michael. The sound of his voice managed to stop the chaos in your head. “James can be persuasive and thinks he knows everything. But remember he is not in your situation and never will be, so try not to turn against me. Focus on the welfare of the Family.”

You restrained yourself from snorting at his words. Focusing on the welfare of the Family and business had become one big headache for you – it was giving you sleepless nights, eating you alive, and Michael was asking you for more. You were already tired, stressed and sick to your stomach.

The car stopped outside the pub that Rumlows had proposed for a meeting, and as soon as the engine was turned off, and you realised the seriousness of the situation and how close you were to it, you felt an overpowering sense of anxiety and panic. Your breathing became uneven, the inside of your hands damp with sweat.

You jumped uneasily as the driver opened the door for you.

“I need a moment.” You were able to focus enough to make your voice sound normal, and the words left your mouth almost flawlessly. “I’ll just fix my makeup.”

Being alone in the car was somehow helping, but you still couldn't bring yourself to exit the vehicle – that step led straight to a meeting with Brock Rumlow.

“What is going on?” You heard a muffled voice that belonged to neither Michael nor the driver, so you looked up at the side window. Bucky was standing just by the car door, he wasn't speaking to you but to Michael.

“She wanted a few minutes for herself.”

Frowning, Bucky looked inside the car through the window, and you could easily see the confusion in his eyes. For a moment, you just looked at each other – you with pure mess in your head, and he as if trying to read your mind from the expression on your face. He grabbed the handle, and a refreshing spring air burst inside the car.

“Hey,” Bucky spoke gently, leaning towards you. “You okay?”

“I-” you gasped. Closing your eyes, you took the biggest possible breath you could afford right now. “I'm not sure I want to go there.”

Bucky stared at you in silence, a pained concern spreading across his face. He clenched his jaw.

“I’m sorry,” you continued in a trembling voice. “I don't normally get all-... like that. I’m not a child,” you were babbling mindlessly, fearing that otherwise he would have thought you were a spoiled hysteric.

“I know,” Bucky said immediately, cutting off your train of thought. “Listen…” he began with a hesitation. He let out a quiet sigh and wetted his lips. “We go there and it'll all be over soon. You don’t have to make any decisions yet,” he stated. “I'll be there the whole time. And I won't let anyone hurt you. Alright?” His voice was soft, delicate, but firm and decisive at the same time. “We’ll get out of there anytime you want, huh?”

The longer you stared at Bucky's face, the less anxious you felt. You genuinely believed you would be safe with him. You didn't have the head to wonder why you trusted him implicitly at that moment, but one thought automatically came to you – you needed someone like him in that situation; someone who didn't pressure you.

You nodded, and Bucky smiled. He seemed to relax a little, as if a wave of relief had spread through his body.

“I don’t want to be late.” You sounded weak, embarrassed by the scene from a moment ago. But it looked like Bucky was pretending not to see anything.

“They set the meeting in a pub,” he said with a disapproval that was not far from disgust. “Make them wait.”

Brock greeted you with a smile that faded as soon as Bucky entered the building. Rumlow Senior did a much better job of hiding his displeasure, but still watched him with caution. Bucky, on the other hand, seemed to be completely calm. Bored even.

Brock invited you to a booth, where you and Michael took a seat. Brock and his father sat opposite, and Bucky grabbed a chair from another table and moved it a little closer.

“Seriously,” Brock finally spoke up, indicating impatience. “What's this clown doing here?”

“You don’t know what clowns do, Brock?” Bucky answered. “They make people smile.” He reached for the knife attached to his belt. “Wanna try? I can give you one.”

You watched Bucky and your mouth went dry. You thought it was inappropriate, to say the least – you were sitting in front of, presumably, your future husband, but it was someone else who made you need to wet your throat and collect your thoughts. You had an unclear sense of how Bucky was affecting you, but you told yourself that any handsome man would make a similar impression on you. And Bucky was just that. Beautiful with his blue, sad eyes, nose perfect in every way, and pink, plump lips. Well-built as far as your eyesight could reach. He smelled nice; not as strong and overwhelming as the men you usually came into contact with. And his hair must have been really soft to touch…

Shaking your head to get rid of these thoughts, you reached for the glass of ice water standing in front of you. You stuck your guilt-filled gaze into the table top and dipped your lips into the cold, refreshing liquid.

Michael cleared his throat. “We should get to business.”

The beginning of the conversation was similar to what you had already heard that night when Timothy Barnes turned up at your house. You all knew what the deal was supposed to be about, but Michael had been going over it from the start – he wanted to make sure that there were no misunderstandings, and that the Rumlow Family would not actually use the agreement against yours.

You wondered why Brock didn't interfere; why he didn't have questions, didn't ask for correction or clarification of any issue. And when you glanced at him you noticed that he was looking at you in a way that made you even more nauseous. You couldn't compare it to the situation when John Walker was watching you. Although he was doing it inappropriately, it wasn't harmful. Brock, on the other hand, had something so rejecting and disgusting in his look that you would rather have disappeared out of his sight.

We’ll get out of there anytime you want.

Having remembered Bucky's words, you turned your gaze to him. Yet Bucky wasn’t focusing on you. Running his fingertip over the blunt side of the knife, he stared at Brock.

“How much exactly is there to take over?” Rumlow Senior asked.

“Well…” Michael sighed heavily. “An art gallery, two casinos; one here, the other in Atlantic City, three real estates, shares in the stock market, arms dealing for Mr. Anthony Stark…” he listed for formality; most of the Mafia community knew about each of these things. Except for the location of the real estates Michael had mentioned. “The territory of all activities, the protection of businesses in that area. And political influence.” He took off his glasses and wiped them with a handkerchief from his jacket. “As long as, of course, you take care of such friends,” he told Brock. “And I must admit that we would prefer to maintain good relationships with them.”

“Cross out the gallery,” you said. “It belongs to me only, and I decide what happens to it.” You seemed surprisingly assertive to everyone in the room, and when you noticed the perplexed looks on both Rumlows’ faces, you forced a falsely sweet smile.

“If that's your only condition…” Brock replied.

“Not really,” Bucky interjected, casually scratching his back with the knife he had played with earlier. “Y/N will have a full view of what is happening with the things she owns. I'm talking about casinos and everything else,” he clarified blandly. “And one hundred percent decision-making in major changes.”

You glanced uneasily at Bucky. Since you had no idea about running your father's business, you didn't need all this. But you understood his strategy – Bucky wanted to secure you against Brock.

Brock clenched his fists and took a deep breath. Looking at him, you thought involuntarily of a bull provoked by a red rag. “What's all this? A fucking prenup?”

Rumlow Senior put his hand on Brock’s shoulder. “Of course,” He smiled mysteriously, ignoring his son's anger. “Miss Y/N will have total control over her father's business. Provided that a male descendant is born within one year of the marriage.”

You were prepared to hear this. However, it seemed to you that Rumlow Senior had maliciously taken advantage of this condition because you and Bucky had got under his skin.

“Write down your version of the agreement, we will do the same,” Michael broke the brief silence, his voice monotone. “We’ll compare both versions and reach the final one.”

Brock offered you something to drink, and hoping to still see something in him that would make the arrangement less painful, you agreed. Michael and Rumlow Senior stayed in the booth; it didn't bother you that they could have already started discussing points of the possible agreement. Bucky was sitting right next to them and you knew he would have intervened on your behalf. What you didn't know was why he was doing it. You didn't even have any grounds to guess, but you decided to go with the assumption that he wanted you in his debt.

You stood at the bar. Although the pub was closed, the bartender was behind the counter, ready to take your order.

“What are you drinking?” Brock asked. “To celebrate our new friendship?” He sized you up in a way that he probably thought was discreet.

You didn't want to celebrate anything. You needed to numb yourself out.

“Tequila?” You smiled with pursed lips.

Brock nodded at the bartender, and the man placed two small glasses and a full bottle on the counter, then poured the alcohol. You grabbed one of the glasses and consumed its content in one steady tilt. The fire burning your throat briefly distracted you from the situation you found yourself in. Grimacing, you slid the glass back to the bartender, who filled it without a word.

“That prenup, you know…” Brock started, taking a step closer to you. “You could've just asked nicely. And I would give you everything you want.” He shrugged. You didn't believe a word he said. But if he actually spoke sincerely, you guessed what he meant by ‘asking nicely’. “You didn't have to bring Barnes here to get it done for you. I'm even a bit discouraged now, to be honest.”

There was a sense of distaste in your mouth that you needed to wash away with another shot of tequila.

“You’re right. Sorry,” you said with insincere remorse, and only did so because it was some way of getting out of this confrontation alive. You believed that if you behaved submissively enough, Brock would leave you alone. But, actually, you felt like laughing. Yes, Brockie, you thought. You’re a genius; so smart, so perfect. And a fucking prick.

“On second thought… You can still ask nicely. I will listen to you in private, what about that?” He moved even closer to you. One of Brock's hands found its way to your hip. Immediately the other followed, and before you knew what was actually happening, Brock was pressing you against his body.

“Take your hands off me, please.” There was no panic in your voice, just patience.

“Why?” He didn't even pretend to be surprised by your request. “Don't you think we should get to know each other better? We don't have much time. I mean, only a year? Minus nine months or whatever,” he added, and it sounded much more disgusting than you could've imagined.

“Get your fucking hands off her, Rumlow, or I’ll break them.”

You didn't even notice when Bucky appeared nearby. The anger, although controlled, was still visible on his face. And it seemed entirely justified to you – Bucky had warned you and Michael about Brock from the very beginning.

Rumlow stepped back reluctantly. “What's the big deal? We are almost married!”

“Do you remember signing anything, Brock? Huh?” Bucky said with apparent calm. “Maybe you do because coke has fried your fucking brain.”

Trying to intimidate him, Brock stood right in front of Bucky. But Bucky turned out to be unfazed by it.

“It will happen. Sooner or later, ‘cause there’s no more profitable candidate on the market, and you know that,” Brock muttered. “And sooner rather than later I’m going to fuck her.” He nodded in your direction. “But don't worry, we'll name our first son James. Or maybe not, since that name seems to bring bad luck. I already know one James who put his daddy in a grave.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, his nostrils flared, and his chest grew bigger as he took a deep breath through the nose. His mouth curved into a bitter smile. He stared at Brock for a while longer, then moved away, as if he intended to leave you two alone.

“That’s right, Buck. Stay out of it.” Brock turned back to you. “Where were we?” He licked his lips.

He didn't manage to get close to you again. Two hands landed on his shoulders and jerked with such force that Brock fell onto a nearby table. Before he had a chance to do something, Bucky came at him, taking a couple heavy steps. With one hand, he grabbed his shirt and held him in place; with the fist of the other, he punched him in the face hard enough to make Brock stagger again. This, however, enraged him enough to regain some control – Brock attacked Bucky, and he took that gladly.

They exchanged a few blows; Bucky aimed his nimbly and precisely, Brock seemed to strike blindly. And that's probably why he ended up on the floor, with Bucky's shoe print on his dark T-shirt.

Brock was catching his breath and Bucky observed his work, but he didn't finish it off. He stood more or less in the same place from which he had pushed Brock.

You enjoyed it. A lot. It wasn't necessarily about Brock getting what he deserved, but the spectacle itself. Men punching each other – the kind of violence you loved in some twisted way, especially when there was alcohol running through your veins.

Michael and Rumlow Senior were also watching the whole scene. Neither of them intended to react, and both looked as if they were witnessing a fight between two teenagers too young to control their anger and raging hormones.

“Hey…” You turned to the bartender. “Can I get a cloth and some ice?”

Rumlow whispered something to Michael, then helped his son up. “Let’s go, you-” he growled, his mouth set in a hard line. Michael left the pub behind them, presumably to smooth things over.

The bartender placed a clean cloth and a glass filled with ice cubes on the counter. You poured them onto the cloth and folded it, making a cold compress.

When Bucky appeared at the bar, you glanced at him without saying a word. Although the redness stretching from his temple to his cheekbone was quite clear to see, you carefully studied his entire face, trying to find something else there. You weren't sure what exactly, but you were somehow satisfied to notice in his eyes traces of cooled anger slowly turning to consternation.

Again, Bucky was allowing you to come into wordless contact with him, so without any resistance you lowered your gaze to his right hand, resting loosely on the surface of the counter. His knuckles looked much worse than his face, but it didn't surprise you – he threw more punches than he took.

As you looked up at his face, you caught his eyes. They were bored into you.

“Are you going to say anything?” he asked, breaking the silence between you.

“If it was about me, I would say it wasn't the smartest thing you could have done,” you answered, reaching for the prepared compress. You enjoyed the show, but you were worried Bucky had gotten himself into trouble because of that, and it was your fault.

You lifted the compress to his face and pressed it to the side, and he didn't even blink.

“Well, it was about you,” he threw out casually, without making the slightest effort to convince you that this was indeed the case.

“Sure,” You pressed the compress harder, making Bucky wince slightly.

“I’m sorry. I’m being snarky,” he sighed.

“It’s okay. You got every right to be angry,” you claimed. “Brock shouldn’t have brought up your dad like that.”

“You’re right,” Bucky agreed, his voice bland once again. “I could have punched him earlier. Before he even started talking’.”

You smiled slightly and tilted your head, looking at him with the least believable disapproval there was.

“How's your pain?” you asked softly, nodding at his hand.

Bucky looked at it too, then lifted it off the counter, bent and stretched his fingers. “It’s nothing,” he stated, although you could see that the bloody wounds were making him uncomfortable.

The door of the pub slammed, so you both instinctively looked in that direction. You've never seen Michael so annoyed before.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” he scolded Bucky. “Do you have any idea what you just did? Now I have to somehow convince the Rumlows not to give up on us.”

“For what?” Bucky bit back. “To sell your protege to these fu-”

“Watch your tone.”

“Michael,” you began. You intended not only to express your opinion, but also to give Bucky some space; to take Michael off of his back. “You don’t have to convince the Rumlows to anything.”

Michael raised his eyebrows. “How come?”

“Well…” you hesitated, nibbling on your bottom lip. You were aware that he was trying to save your father's life's work, and you weren't making it any easier for him. But it was time to face the truth – Brock was the worst possible candidate. “I don’t think my marriage with Brock will work out. Rumlow Senior doesn’t want to cooperate, he just wants more power. And Brock couldn’t care less about business.” In reality, you had no idea if it was actually the truth. But some gut instinct told you to plant a seed of doubt in Michael.

And you knew you had succeeded – Michael was silent, considering something.

“All right,” he said. “I will contact Rumlow Senior one last time. If they agree to our terms, we will meet with them again. If they demand more, no deal will be done.”

The situation wasn't ideal, but at least you had bought yourself some time.

“And one more thing,” Michael added. “This is the last meeting you attended.” He looked at Bucky. “Whether it's Brock or any other candidate, I don't want to see you. I will not accept you messing with Y/N's head. I want you to stay away from her. Is that clear?”

At first glance, Bucky seemed unmoved. But there was something in his eyes – something strikingly similar to the way he looked at Brock before he came at him.

“Is that clear, Mr. Barnes?”

“Yeah. I heard you the first time,” Bucky answered. He headed to the door, and without saying a word, or at least glimpsing at you, left the pub.

taglist: @goldensunflowe-r @nefri-black @vickie5446

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #mob!bucky #mob!bucky x reader #mob!bucky x y/n #mob bucky #mafia!bucky #mafia bucky #mafia!bucky x reader

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nico-the-newt · 3 months

Text

Enemies to Lovers Part 2 - Ellie Williams x reader

Enemies to lovers part 2 baby!!!!

It had been almost a week since you and Jesse were ambushed by those runners. Almost a week since the pair of you had almost died. Almost a week since Ellie had hugged you.

She had been avoiding you ever since the hug - which was pretty noticeable given Jackson wasn’t that big of a town and the pair of you hadn’t gone a day without arguing in the two years you had lived there.

Normally, this would have been something you would have teased her about. In fact, you were slightly disappointed that you couldn’t. But something in you stopped you from doing so. Maybe it was the way she had cupped your face gently to look for cuts and scratches. Or the way she had hugged you so desperately upon realising you were okay. You hadn’t felt so cared about - and maybe even loved - in a long time. The one thing you just couldn’t figure out was why it had come from your sworn enemy. The girl who had gone out of the way to annoy and mock you since day 1.

Jesse and Dina hadn’t been much help either. They were both acting so smug and triumphant and victorious, that you couldn’t even try bringing Ellie up without getting smirked at and teased.

So, you eventually figured that if you wanted to quench your curiosity over the whole situation, there was only one person you could actually talk to who was capable of giving you a solid answer.

Ellie.

And so, that was how you found yourself awkwardly faltering outside Ellie’s garage on a Tuesday evening. You had wondered if you should bring her something - like biscuits or some shit - but then decided that was stupid. There was a good chance that you would be getting yelled at, and the last thing you wanted to do was stand there holding a tin of biscuits while it happened.

After a solid five minutes of chickening out, you finally knocked on her door. You waited for a few moments, listening as a great amount of clattering and movement came from behind the door, before it was swung open and you came face to face with the girl you hadn’t stopped thinking about all week.

Ellie definitely seemed surprised to see you - which had made you even more anxious but it was too late to turn away now.

“Uh, hi?” She had said, trying to sound pointy but her words still coming out awkward and hesitant.

“Hi.”

The pair of you looked up and down at each other for a moment, neither of you knowing quite what to say, but both of you knowing why you were here.

“I was just wondering if we could talk,” you finally blurted out. “…About last week.”

“Oh.”

She nodded for a second, her eyes darting around to avoid your gaze, before moving aside a little as if inviting you in. Returning her nod, you silently slipped past her and entered her garage.

You had never actually been in there before - which was pretty valid as Ellie had never liked you enough to invite you in. You had seen it from her front door many times, but stepping foot in it was a whole other story. It had a warm, comfortable feel. Posters decorated every wall, though mostly the one above her desk. There was an old couch pushed up against the garage door, behind it, fairy lights strung up, as well as a large white sheet which was half hung up and a projector coming down from the ceiling.

All in all, you loved it but you wouldn’t tell her that.

“What did you want to talk about?” Ellie asked, pulling you back to reality. You frowned slightly, wondering if she was playing dumb or genuinely didn’t know why you were there. You went with the latter.

“I don’t know - I was just wondering about when you- y’know- hugged me and stuff,” you stammered out, internally cringing at yourself. Ellie stared at you a little blankly, clearly questioning how exactly to respond.

“What’s there to wonder about?” She frowned, a little coldly. Okay, so she was playing dumb. That was just what you needed. You let out a small sigh and massaged your temples - this would be like pulling teeth.

“You hugged me, Ellie, we don’t do that,” you said, feeling irritated that she was dodging the question.

“Okay, you are reading into this,” she scoffed. “It was just a hug. People hug each other - get over it.”

“People who like each other hug,” you interjected pointedly, raising a skeptical brow.

“Exactly!” Ellie exclaimed, throwing her arms up into the air.

“Okay, but in case you didn’t notice…” you continued, only trailing off when what she had said had actually processed through your brain. “…what?”

Ellie, who was now staring blankly at you with her mouth forming a small o, turned pink and started scowling at you once more.

“What you want me to say it again?” She huffed, taking a few steps towards you so there was only a small gap between the pair of you. “I like you!”

You gave her a bewildered look, unable to quite comprehend what exactly she was trying to tell you. Ellie, the girl you had been sworn enemies with from day one, liked you? Was she being serious? Was she actually telling the truth? Or was it all just some elaborate lie to make you look like an idiot? You found yourself secretly hoping it was the former. Something about Ellie not actually hating you stirred up a strange warm feeling in your chest, but you would need to make sure she was really telling the truth before even allowing yourself to feel that way about her.

“Bullshit,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “You’ve hated me ever since we met. I mean, what sort of moron tells a lie as sick as-“

You found yourself being cut off by a soft, warmth spreading across your lips and opened your eyes to find Ellie’s face shoved into yours. She had caught you off guard, that was for sure, though to be fair, anyone in your position would be slightly startled. But, that wasn’t to say it was a bad sensation. Something about her lips seemed to stir you and you actually felt yourself begin to melt into the kiss. Every touch you shared lit your body ablaze - your lips moving against hers, her fingers tenderly spidered across your cheeks, your hands slowly sliding up into her soft, auburn hair.

After what felt like hours, you both pulled away from each other, out of breath and red in the face. Once she had had a minute to breathe, Ellie then sent you the biggest, shit-eating grin you had ever seen. It somehow annoyed you to no-end, while also making you feel a little weak in the knees.

“So, I’m guessing you don’t hate me?”

“Shut the fuck up and let me kiss you."

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #ellie x reader #tlou #tlou2

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madtotry · 6 months

Text

thinking of you, with my head underwater one. — two. — three. — coming soon.

hiccup haddock x reader

a/n. featuring toothless. gn reader. reader's dragon is one i created/came up with myself, youre welcome to ask about it! i plan for this to be a series - and to reveal more soon (if you have any questions/confusions about the plot youre welcome to pop into my inbox with those too) let me know if you want to be added to a taglist for my writing/this series

it hadn't been easy to get you to simply let hiccup look at your dragon — elsa — from afar without panicking, let alone convince you to go on a short flight with him.

so now, as you glide just above the surface of the sea, your gaze remains ahead; keeping an eye on elsa beneath you, and hiccup to your side, in your peripheral vision.

he hasn't said too much, and he probably means it as some sort of polite courtesy in an attempt to not overwhelm you, but it only serves to heighten your nerves at the possibility of him just waiting for the right time to attack you and steal elsa.

"what's her firepower?" he finally asks, at a volume that you think might have been in an attempt not to scare you, but is almost so quiet it gets whipped away even in the calm breeze.

you query a, "what?" in confusion, but he reads it as you not hearing him properly.

"firepower," he repeats kindly, and leans down to mutter something to his dragon, "like this."

a moment later, toothless opens his mouth — causing elsa to twitch just an inch away anxiously — and shoots a blast out of his mouth that flies ahead and disperses in a purple burst a few seconds after.

you tense once you understand, having never seen elsa do anything like that, let alone even just the normal fire you've caught other dragons spurting.

hiccup however, notices your sudden — extra — uneasiness, and doesn't pick up on the real reason.

"you don't have to tell me," he tries to catch your eye with a comforting smile, "i'm just asking because i've never seen a dragon like yours before."

you try to cooperate, "neither have i."

hiccup's head already spins with new questions, but goes easy on you with a simple, "could you tell me about her?" that he hopes is open-ended enough that you don't feel pressured.

elsa lets out a low, quiet, murmur that only you catch that tells you she's just as uncertain as yourself.

you don't know how he keeps being so patient and perceptive, but hiccup notices both you and your dragons' hesitance yet again, and speaks.

with a smile, he says, "this is how he got his name," nodding to toothless, who turns to look in your direction with a grin, mouth wide as he retracts his teeth and extends them back out a moment later proudly.

you can't help but feel the slightest upturn of your lips at toothless's pure joy, and a small hum from elsa and a ruffle of her wings tells you she feels the same; though appears to be better at hiding it than yourself.

"cool, right?" hiccup smiles back at you.

"i can show you more, this guy's full of secrets," he scratches a little crook in toothless's neck, who purrs happily at the affection, "aren't you!"

it slips out in a moment of comfort that you don't entirely hate, when you finally say, "she floats."

it takes a second for you to realise what you've said, and another to notice how nonsensical it sounds. but hiccup's reaction doesn't reflect this, if anything the sparkle in his eyes is just that little bit brighter - like he knows he's making progress. and his smile has not once faltered, but it has grown just a bit softer, perhaps more genuine?

he leaves room for you to elaborate, so when you don't — whether that be from the high-tide of anxiety splashing at your chest, or inexplicable embarrassment — he says:

"could you show us?"

elsa's sudden jolt away is unmistakable, and it doesn't take even a breath for you to tune into her uneasiness, and to tense yourself.

your head shakes without you realising, and all you can muster is a quick mumbled, "sorry," before elsa flies the two of you away; hopefully to somewhere you two are familiar with, somewhere safe.

you don't catch the way both his and toothless's expressions fall as you exit, nor the way he still politely stays where he was an makes no effort to chase after you - lest he scare you or elsa any further. he simply watches with a hint of sadness, and hopes you will be around the next time he flies through here.

#taking flight (my writing)#hiccup haddock x reader #hiccup x reader #httyd x reader #how to train your dragon x reader #httyd imagine

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hanniedream · 1 month

Note

YEEEEEEE IM SO PROUD AND HAPPY TO SEE YOU WRITE AGAIN

Woozi + "is this okay?"+ possibly first romantic interaction (kiss, hand holding, 👀, etc)

I LOVE YOUUUU

cherrrrryyyyy! thank you, i love you 🥺♥️

also, in my mind this is the same couple as this but can be read as a standalone.

it's been a while since jihoon has felt this nervous, his palms are sweaty, he feels like his heart is about to jump out of his chest, he feels slightly nauseous — not in a bad way, if that's possible.

"oh god, what if i throw up?" he thinks as he looks at you sitting across the table from him, looking as beautiful as ever and you seem to be glowing.

he brings the glass of iced water up to his lips with a trembling hand and starts to gulp it down. "okay, calm down. just act like how you normally would." he reminds himself.

you notice him being more restless than usual and throw a concerned glance his way, "you alright?"

this date with you is something he has been wanting for the longest time, since the two of you became close friends, and he wants everything to go perfectly because you deserve nothing less.

he places the glass back down on the table with a nod and his lips curl up in a quick smile. "yeah, just kinda nervous."

you let out a little laugh and he thinks it's the most melodious sound he has ever heard. it's the kind of sound that makes flowers bloom and birds sing. a warmth spreads across his entire body when you reach out to cover his hand with yours.

"hey, don't be nervous," your voice is soft and your eyes are gentle. "it's just me."

he flips his hand around to intertwine your fingers together, "it's because it's you that i'm nervous."

all you do is squeeze his fingers reassuringly and jihoon feels like everything is right in the world. this is where you both belong, together.

dinner went smoothly and now he's walking you home, your hand fitting perfectly in his. there's a cool breeze and the night is beautiful with a few stars twinkling in the dark sky and the moon is bright and round.

before you know it, you're both standing in front of your building. jihoon is tempted to ask if you want to go around the block again but it would be the third time and it's getting kind of late so he has to let you go.

"i had a lot of fun tonight," there's a coyness in your voice and jihoon thinks it's adorable. "thank you."

"i enjoyed being with you tonight too." he brushes his thumbs up and down the back of your hands. "it's getting late now, you should get in."

"i probably should," but he doesn't let go of your hands and you don't move away either.

jihoon's eyes land on your lips and all he can think about is how soft and nice they would feel on his own and before he realises, he's pulling you towards him and you're letting him.

he gives you a light peck then you hear him asking in a small voice, "is this okay?"

the last thing he wants is to make you uncomfortable by crossing any boundaries.

"it's more than okay," you lean in again and his plush lips move against yours slowly and you think you've never felt anything better than this. neither of you want to stop but you were starting to get breathless.

jihoon's cheeks are flushed when you both break apart. "it's cold, you should go inside," he lets go of your hands reluctantly.

you nod then press a quick kiss to the corner of his lips. "goodnight, jihoon."

he watches as you turn around to go into your building and he thinks he's never been happier than he's been tonight.

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astroboots · 2 years

Text

RED FLAGS ║ PART 3

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader (hints of Marc Spector x female reader)

Summary: For the first time since that night, Steven sleeps over, but it might not be him you wake up with in your bed. Or alternatively: Marc makes a dramatic ass entrance.

Warning/content: unease around male character, distinct lack of smex... (I know trust me when I say that I am the one most surprised by this).

Word Count: 4.6k

Series Masterlist | Astroboot's Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss' Masterlist

[PREVIOUS] - [NEXT]

For a man with a sleeping disorder, Steven sleeps like a baby, seemingly without a care in the world.

Despite his insistence that he wanted to stay up and marathon Blue Planet together, the poor man fell asleep on you (literally) not even twenty minutes in, right around when the crabs were playing football on the beach.

Honestly, it’s a miracle he managed to fall asleep at all in this position. He’s slumped over at an entirely awkward angle, head and shoulders nearly severed at a 90 degree angle, his cheek resting heavily on your shoulder.

Not that you mind. Sitting with him like this in your dimly-lit flat, as his shoulders rise and fall in sync with the sound of waves from the telly, is oddly comforting. Almost meditative. It would be nice if the two of you could do this together every night. Falling asleep together and waking up together, just like every other normal couple.

You reach down, brushing a stray curl that’s fallen into his eyes, and just marvel at him for a long second.

He looks so good like this, free from the tension that is constantly plaguing him. Not for the first time, you think to yourself how unfairly pretty he is. Golden skin, sharply defined cheekbones, curved lashes thick enough to make any woman envious. He’s a gift shop-ist, not a bloody supermodel for God’s sake! It’s entirely unnecessary of him.

You card your fingers through his hair, raven locks soft against your skin, and gently scrape the tip of your nails against his scalp. Instinctively you await the blissful shiver and sigh that usually accompanies your attention on him.

Not this time though.

He’s so still.

Tilting your head sideways, you scrutinise the sombre expression on his face.

Eerily still.

The usual nervous energy in his body is all gone, leaving him relaxed in a way that you’re not used to.

Without the wide eyes and nervous movement that bleeds into every inch of his body language during his waking hours, he looks different. Not quite like your Steven anymore.

Your chest tightens at the realisation. A moment ago, you would have attributed it to affection, but now you’re not so sure.

You’ve only seen Steven this relaxed once before.

Unease pricks the tip of your fingers, an uncomfortable heat swelling under your nails. You still haven’t been able to make sense of it. That distorted night when the man you love was not himself, replaced by a stranger who looked exactly like him but acted differently. Who regarded you like you were something insignificant—an insect to be quashed. You can still hear it clearly. That oddly-accented voice ringing in your ears.

Sweetheart, he’d called you, but his voice had held not an ounce of the warm affection that Steven’s overflows with when he calls you love.

In the quiet privacy of your bedroom, the pace of your heart quickens until it drowns out the tv, pounding painfully loud in your ears.

This was a bad idea.

You shouldn’t have asked him to come over tonight.

It’s been several weeks since that first night you spent the night in Steven’s flat. Neither of you have spoken of it. Steven, for his part, still doesn't appear to remember what happened, and you've been too doped up on serotonin of the post-night love confession. Maybe it's foolish, but you've been enjoying the honeymoon phase your relationship has been plunged into and willfully ignoring anything that might derail your happiness. Most of the time you're able to chalk that night up to a one-time disturbance brought on by lack of sleep, but...

Since then, you’ve taken care to avoid this precise scenario–him falling asleep right next to you. You always leave early from his flat now. After the first few times, you learned not to look in his direction as you get dressed. That way you don’t have to face the hopeful expression in his eyes when he invites you to stay over or watch the way it inevitably dims when you make up some excuse to turn him down.

It’s not normal, and it’s not right. You shouldn’t have to be scared to sleep next to the man you love. It’s a thorn in your side in what is otherwise a perfect relationship. Except ‘thorn’ implies that it is a small issue, and this—whatever this is—is much more than that.

It’s not a tenable situation. You know this. It’s why you invited him tonight, in the hopes that you could move past it. Past the irrational fear that you’ll fall asleep with Steven and wake up with someone else.

Your fingers drop from where it’s threaded into his hair, slipping down to the side of his arm until your hand rests on his strong bicep. Deceptively strong. Even relaxed as he is in his sleep, the toned muscles are firm under your touch. Hardly the body you’d expect of a mousy souvenir vendor spending all his day in front of a till at the British museum.

In front of you, his eyes are fluttering behind closed lids, and you’re afraid of what will happen when he opens them. Is he going to greet you with sleepy murmurs and a sweet shy smile? Or will there be that snide, callous smirk across his lips again?

Every instinct is screaming at you to leave now before the answer presents itself. There’s a reason why there are so many cautionary tales about women prying into the secrets that men are trying to hide. Every version of that story ends with the woman ultimately punished for their curiosity.

Part of you just doesn't want to find out. You have no desire to play the role of Bluebeard’s wife and find yourself at the end of an axe. But the logical, responsible part of you, the one who wants to build a long-lasting, adult relationship with Steven, knows that you’ll have to face this eventually, and sooner is better than later.

Who is sleeping on top of you right now? Steven? Or is it the other man? The stranger, who is very much not your Steven.

You don’t know what you’re planning to do until you feel the warmth of his skin against the pads of your thumb and index finger. All you know is that you need to know.

Taking a deep breath, you squeeze your eyes shut, brace yourself, and pinch down hard on the soft flesh between your fingers.

A pained yelp sounds out in your bedroom. His body jolts up and away from you, the mattress bouncing from the sudden movement. You squint your eyes open to see wide eyes gazing back at you.

“Sorry, sorry.” His words are a slur as he wipes an errant line of drool from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

The constriction in your chest dissipates. It’s your Steven.

“Did I fall asleep on you?” he asks around a large yawn, “Guess I must’ve. Sorry about that, love.”

You shake your head, and heat spreads across your cheeks at how silly you’re being. Of course, it’s Steven. Why on earth did you think otherwise?

Next to you, Steven’s already fluffing up the pillow on your side making it comfortable for you both as he adjusts himself from where he’s slumped against the bed in an effort to stay awake this time.

You watch him as he’s settling back next to you. There's no sign of irritation from him, as if you didn’t just cruelly wake him up for no good reason. His eyes remain steadfast on the screen where dolphins are playing catch, but it’s evident that he’s exhausted. It is only a matter of minutes before his head lolls forward, the gravitation of sleep luring him back in.

“Steven, it’s okay. You can–” You hesitate, then steel yourself and make the offer anyway, “You can stay here tonight. You should go to sleep. You have work tomorrow.”

“Just a little bit longer,” he says, shaking his head. “Don’t want to sleep just yet. If I could, I’d want to stay awake until morning. ‘Til you’re up."

Between the yawn that contorts his face and the soft stray curl bouncing on his forehead, any unease you felt seconds ago is gone. All you can do is smile at him. God, he’s absolutely adorable, isn’t he?

“Yeah? And why’s that?”

His eyes flutter closed, and for a second, you think he’s gone back to sleep, but then he strains them open again, only part-way managing. He looks like he’s barely awake, and his voice is so quiet it’s almost a whisper. “Don’t want to wake up to find you’re gone again.”

Your smile fades at that, and he must feel you tense because he shakes his head quickly.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “I shouldn’t have– I know you don’t like to talk about it– sorry.” He bites down on his lower lip, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

Oh. Oh no. You thought he’d just forgotten and moved past it. But it’s clear now, with his midnight confession, that it still plagues him. His only reason for not bringing it up was to not upset you.

In your own ways, you’re both still reeling from the events of your first night together. For all the lovely love declarations that were made, resolutions are not found at the end of the love rainbow.

What can you say to him in this situation? That you did say goodbye that night; he just didn’t remember it? He’d think you were a complete nutter. Or accusing him of being one, and you don’t know which is worse.

How can you tell him what’s happening when you don’t understand it yourself?

“Steven, we… um… we need to talk.”

His eyes widen, all traces of sleep vanished in an instant. “Oh god, you're breaking up with me, aren't you?”

You blink in confusion and it takes several moments for you to recalibrate your brain before you can process the sudden panic in his voice.

Oh, shit. Of course that’s what he’d think when you’ve chosen to open with the ultimate break up line. Bollocks. Not off to a great start, are you? Clearly you should’ve thought this through a bit more, but it’s too late now.

“No. No, Steven. Not that kind of talk. I’m not breaking up with you,” you interrupt, cutting him off before he can spiral further. It's a little heartbreaking that he’s still so insecure. “That’s the opposite of what I want to tell you.”

Steven’s brows knit in confusion, a bewildered expression bleeding onto his face.

“You want to tell me that… That I’m…. breaking up with you?” He starts out slowly and incredulously, but a warm smile quickly spreads across his face. The amount of open affection there steals your breath. “Now I know for a fact that is not the case.”

You huff out a surprised laugh, shaking your head “No, Steven. Definitely not that.”

“Well then, what is it you want to tell me?” He’s still smiling, but you can see the shadow of fear in his eyes.

“Well, um…”

You pause, trying to gather your thoughts. In the background, Attenborough’s voice is now droning on about turtles shagging. It's distracting to say the least.

“Hang on a tic.” You blindly fumbling for the TV remote behind you, eventually managing to turn the bloody thing off. “Right. There. Now, just listen for a moment, please?”

Steven obediently falls silent, watching you expectantly. You take a deep breath, trying to sort out what you’re going to say, and realise that you have no idea how to begin this conversation.

‘I woke up, and you were speaking with an American accent.’

That won't make a lick of sense.

“Well… um… Remember that first night? Our first night… together?”

At the reminder, those signature wide brown eyes of his darken, boring into your own as his pupils dilate.

“Yeah, I definitely remember that,” he says, voice still hoarse from sleep. Your cheeks heat as you remember staring down into those eyes, just barely visible as his mouth devoured you, hot and hungry. “Don’t think I could ever forget.”

The words are sweet, but they hit you like a bucket of cold water to the face, because that’s just the problem, isn’t it? He doesn’t remember.

“Except, well– you did forget.”

“I did forge–? What? What d’you mean, love?” He tilts his head in confusion. “What did I–?” His words trails off mid-sentence, as he looks away from you, squinting at the black screen of the telly. He huffs out a small laugh, but it’s so obviously forced that it’s almost painful to hear, and it does nothing to mask his lack of composure.

God, is this even a good idea? What if he doesn’t believe you? Or gets really upset?

You watch Steven carefully, trying to get a sense of what he might be feeling, but his attention seems firmly focused on the telly, as though its empty screen might reveal the secrets of the universe. After a long moment, he shakes his head, eyeing the appliance suspiciously like it's done him some great wrong.

Following his gaze, you try to see if there’s something amiss, but it’s just the same blank screen as before. Even when you lean in closer, all you see is the reflection of your own worried face peering back at you.

Taking a deep breath, you reach out and touch Steven’s wrist to get his attention. He flinches at the touch as if startled, but then settles his attention on you.

“So you said the other day that your memory is dodgy sometimes… That you do things you don’t remember doing? And sometimes you disappear for a while and don’t seem to remember being gone…?”

Steven nods absently, but even though he’s looking at you, he doesn’t quite seem to be following along. Despite the seriousness of your conversation, his eyes keep flitting back to the screen.

“Steven!” you call out, snapping him out of whatever is distracting him.

He jolts back towards you, shoulders hunched with guilt. “Uhm– sorry, I thought I saw–” His eyes flicker to the screen again, but then he seems to think better of it, turning his head deliberately away and settling his eyes back on your face.

Part of you is annoyed that his mind is seemingly faraway and he isn’t paying attention to you. This is not a conversation you are over the moon about either. But as you watch him, you see the nervous tension in his face. It's there in the way he swallows convulsively, the way he doesn’t quite seem to know what to do with his hands, and you chide yourself for your own impatience. He’s clearly distressed. This can’t be easy for him to talk about. You soften your voice as you continue.

“So then the other night… I think it might have been a bit like that? It was like…”

This time, it’s you who looks away, unable to look at his worried face any longer. You drop your gaze to the bedding, tracing the lines of the wrinkled sheet as you try to pluck up the courage to put your worries into words.

“You were… different. Not your usual self. You weren’t…” You struggle to find the right words, not wanting to sound like you’re whinging or accusing him of anything. “Sorry. I’m not explaining this very well…”

God, you’re making an absolute hash of this, aren’t you?

Looking up, you find Steven staring at the screen again. It’s like he’s drowning in his own reflection, face pale, eyes lost and confused. You’re not sure if he’s even hearing you at all. Maybe telling him this isn't the right thing to do.

You drop your gaze back to the covers as you try to consider your options one last time before wading into the point of no return. You feel like you're standing in front of a locked chamber, key in hand. You can still turn back, go on with your relationship as it is, hoping that nothing will happen again (terrified that it will).

But...There really isn’t another way around this anymore is there? You can’t keep pretending things are normal, that the reaper’s scythe isn’t looming over your relationship ready to fall at any moment. If you want this to work, this relationship you have with Steven, you will have to drag the figure that is lurking in the dark into the light. Unpleasant as it may be—scary even—you need to tell him, and there are no pretty, perfect words that can make this a more pleasant conversation.

“Look, Steven, I didn’t leave your place before you woke up that first night. We were both awake in the middle of the night. I talked to you, but it was strange. Like you were somebody else. Like–”

The rest of your sentence dies with a squeak of alarm when a heavy pressure seals firmly over your mouth, trapping the sound in your lungs. You jolt in surprise and rear back, trying to escape.

You don’t get far.

The iron grip of a large, strong hand is bridging the span of your mouth, fingers digging almost painfully into the sides of your jaw. It's keeping you motionless and unable to pull away.

In front of you, dark, narrowed eyes, slit in anger, are boring into yours. Whatever you were intending to say dies on your lips as he hisses out a single word of warning.

“Don’t.”

This is not your Steven.

You try to protest, but all that comes out is an unintelligible noise muffled against the flat of his palm.

The initial shock fades into indignation at being manhandled. You glower at him, squinting your eyes as you attempt to convey the depths of your scathing displeasure through your glare alone.

The man seems unimpressed at best, unmoved by your poor attempt at defiance, as his eyes pin you down with an intimidating intensity. They’re less predatory than your first encounter but intimidating nevertheless.

“Do not tell Steven,” he reiterates. His voice is flat and commanding, like he wants you to know his word is final with no room for debate. Nothing like Steven’s chipper tone.

The harsh grip on your jaw gradually relaxes, and his hand slides slowly to the side. Despite the fact that logically you know this is not your Steven (can't possibly be), despite the fact that all your survival instincts are telling you to be careful, there is a part of you that has imprinted on the physicality of the man before you. Every nerve cell has been wired to respond to his touch. As his fingers slide across your lips, you feel the faint spark of attraction singing in your veins. And God, how fucked up is that?

You should be scared shitless. This man is nothing but red flags, and you should probably turn around and run away from all of this.

Instead, you think of Steven. Of how he’s never been able to lead a normal life with the small joys that are long due to him. Simply because he doesn’t know. A protectiveness swells up inside of you that overrides any self preservation instinct you have for your own safety.

So despite yourself, the next words coming out of you are: “He deserves to know.”

Not-Steven, closes his eyes as if your very words are embedding a deep-seated migraine in his skull. “Don’t. He’s alright as he is. ”

“That’s not for you to decide.”

“Trust me on this. I’ve known Steven a lot longer than you have. He doesn’t need my mess.”

"He's got it though, hasn't he?” you exclaim before you can think better of it, your voice loud and sharp in the silence of the flat.

His eyes, dark and intense flit over your face, and you find yourself sitting up straighter and lifting your chin defiantly. In for a penny in for a pound.

“He's exhausted all the time. Missing hours, sometimes days of his life. Constantly in danger of losing his job, his flat… his girlfriend.” You think of the nasty wounds you saw on Steven's chest, black-blue bruises marring his soft skin on your first night together. “Maybe even his life for all he knows!”

You’re suddenly furious at the unfairness of it all. At the shit hand Steven’s been dealt; at all the people who never gave him a second chance when he messed up because of it; and most of all, at the man in front of you watching you with a furrowed brow and a belligerent set to his jaw. This bloody wanker who is asking you to lie to the man you love about something that’s making him unhappy.

You have to pause and take a deep breath before you’re sure you’ll be able to continue civilly.

"He's got the mess already. Your. Fucking. Mess," you say, quieter now, but with no less anger brimming in your chest despite your efforts, "and he deserves to know why."

There’s no answer. He’s just staring at you in silence. You press on before you lose your nerve.

“You’re asking me to trust you, but I don’t even know you. Not a single thing about you. The only thing I know is that you’re not Steven.”

The man looks to his feet, frustrated, and for the first time the forcefulness of his voice cracks. It's almost pleading despite the frustration that runs deep. “Steven deserves to be happy. A happy, simple, normal life. That ends the moment you tell him.”

You hesitate, and the two of you stare at each other for a long moment. Both firm in your conviction that you have the right of it, neither one willing to back down.

“Marc,” he mutters.

“I’m sorry?”

“My name. It’s Marc.” He spits it out with impatience, like you’ve dragged it out of him and he’s begrudgingly been forced to say it when you haven’t even asked for it.

“Pleasure,” you say on instinct, then think better of it. “Well, sort of anyway. But that’s not what I need from you.”

Right now, in this moment, he looks more like a sullen child than the intimidating person you had taken him for just seconds ago. “Then tell me what you need,” he demands, “because I can’t have you dragging Steven into all this.”

The command draws you up short because in all honesty, you don’t know. Should your needs even factor into this? It’s Steven’s needs that are the priority first and foremost. But... does Steven even want to know? What if this Marc is right? What if whatever’s happening—this mess that Marc keeps referring to—is something that Steven would be happier not knowing about? What is the right decision in a messy situation like this?

The honest answer is you don’t know.

The only thing you do know, the most important factor in this ridiculously complicated puzzle that you’re unable to solve is Steven’s safety.

“I need to know that when you disappear and go off to wherever it is you go and do…”—you wave your hands at him vaguely—”whatever it is you do that makes Steven disappear for days, that he’s safe. Steven that is. I need some reassurance that Steven will be okay. It’s his body too.”

“You’ll keep all this a secret from Steven if I let you know he's safe?” Those familiar dark eyes bore into yours with an unfamiliar intensity.

You hesitate, not sure you’re making the right choice, but what other choice is there?

“For now, at least,” you acquiesce with a nod.

He doesn't nod back, and there's no physical cue from him that he's accepting the bargain you're proposing to him. Instead, he turns away from you, leaning over to reach for something on your nightstand. When he turns back, he’s holding a pen.

“Give me your hand,” he orders flatly.

You hesitate, then extend your hand slowly, offering it to him.

He takes it, his touch surprisingly delicate compared to the tight grip he had on your face earlier. His fingers are warm–almost hot–against your skin as he holds your hand in his and starts scribbling on your palm.

It tickles, but you don’t let yourself squirm, craning your neck to watch him curiously as a long string of numbers appears.

Finally he finishes, capping the pen one-handed and tossing it back onto the nightstand. Then he turns your hand over in his and looks up at you.

You meet his gaze just in time to see the change happen: narrowed eyes rounding into large saucers. The sullen anger etched into every line of that chiselled face fading into a warm vulnerable softness. And there he is, your Steven is back.

“Sorry, were you saying something? I’m sorry, I think I must have slipped off somewhere for a second there.”

If only he knew how right he was.

You shake your head, lacing your fingers with his, and clasp his hands in yours. “It’s alright. I was just saying that it’s probably time for us to get some sleep.”

Steven’s lips tighten into a frowning line, clearly dubious of your answer. Even before he turns those big, round puppy-dog eyes on you, you feel the guilt in you fester.

“Is it… um…” he hesitates, and the uncertainty on his face breaks your heart all over again, “Would it be alright if I sleep here tonight? I don’t want to intrude, but I’d really like to stay. So we can wake up together in the morning.”

You want to say yes to him. You really do. But you’re still caught up in the emotional whiplash from the surrealistic events that unfolded in this very bed mere moments ago, your brain is trying to make sense of everything that happened. You don’t even know how to begin to answer him right now.

You’re sure you won’t be able to catch an ounce of sleep with him here.

But hell, you’re not sure you’ll catch an ounce of sleep with him gone either. So you fake a smile as best you can, because maybe if you manage to convince Steven, you can convince yourself that everything is alright.

“I’ll make you breakfast in the morning,” he throws in as an offer and you can’t help the way your smile melts into something real at the hopefulness of his tone.

“That sounds lovely, Steven.”

His smile spreads wider, then he scoots down to lay in the bed. You follow until you are lying on your side, with your ear pressed to your pillow as you find yourself looking up at Steven’s face. His features are soft and gentle and all so familiar as he closes the distance between you and presses his forehead to yours.

Maybe it’s just the adrenaline leaving your system, but somehow, despite the events of this evening, as Steven wraps his arms around you, you realise just how tired you are, and you let yourself succumb to it. Closing your eyes, you snuggle in closer to his chest, surrounded by his warmth and scent. As you drift to sleep, your last conscious thought is that you need to remember to write down the numbers on your palm in the morning in case it smudges.

When you wake the next morning, blankets drawn up warm around your shoulders, it’s to an empty bed. Steven is no longer there.

~ Continue ~

Author's note

This has truly been 84 years, and thank you to everyone who's still reading this. A big part of the delay (besides various irl factors such as me moving internationally) was that we wanted pre-write the whole series before we posted this next part to make sure that we don't just leave readers on a cliffhanger of an unfinished series. The first draft of the series is 90% done now. The rest of the parts should not take months in between to be posted (watch me jinx myself and get hit by a bus by saying this).

Big heartfelt thanks for everyone who has taken the time to read this series, and a special thanks to those who have gone above and beyond to comment/reblogged to let us know their thoughts and that they enjoyed the series. I know I'm rubbish at replying sometimes, but please know that we read these and absolutely gush like a little girl with a crush squeeing in excitement.

Dedications

I have a lot of people to thank for, while I've been trying to pound out the complete draft of this series: @jazzelsaur @radiowallet @write-and-buried @the-ginger-hedge-witch and @frannyzooey are just but some people who have been holding my hand when I've been screaming into the ether, duckrubbing and helping me with both plots, cockulations and vibes.

But most of all, I need to take time to thank my co-author, @thirstworldproblemss for bearing with me and humoring my roller coaster of -- despair, crying, laughing, more crying, debilitating horniness, utter despair again-- that has been me while we've been writing this one.

For listening to me whine and bitch and whine about furniture choices and sending 20 photos of the same damn reading chair in different shades of pink.

For not killing me when I keep giving her second by second live updates on how my ebay auctions for dinnerware sets that looks like vegetables.

For withstanding the weekly photobombs of replacement plants from Columbia Road, because I keep killing the ones I have.

For being the best friend a clown could ask for. Your presence in my life is one of the most precious and joyous things I could ever have asked for.

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