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yandere-daydreams · 3 months

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Title: Ferine.

Pairing: Yandere!Toji x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 4.1k.

TW: Hybrid AU, Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Slight Manipulation, Rough Sex, Oral Sex, Knotting, Mentions of Blood + Violence, Slight Breeding, and Biting.

Toji was, by far, the largest hybrid you’d ever taken care of.

Which, technically speaking, wasn’t that big of an accomplishment. This was barely your third month at the research facility, and you could count the number of hybrids you’d encountered before being hired here on a single hand. Still, even compared to the other wolves you currently looked after, Toji was beyond impressive. His long, pointed ears and stocky build set him well above six-foot, and even if he’d lacked height, he would’ve been able to make up for it with the planes of sculpted muscle circled around his biceps and thighs, laid over his chest and back. Top it all off with a set of claws each longer than your pointer finger and sharp enough to pierce reinforced steel, and he was practically fit for exhibit. Not that Toji could ever actually be a show dog, no – he’d tear the judges apart before they’d so much as heard his name. He was sweet, but he had a temper. You had to be careful not to set him off.

His fangs were impressive, too – perfectly in-tact despite years of less-than-adequate care, only a touch duller than a real wolf’s. You were careful not to let your hand stray from where it cupped his cheek as you looked for signs of damage or rot only to, of course, come up empty. The longer you spent with him, the more convinced you were that nothing could actually hurt Toji, even if the faded scar stitched into the corner of his mouth suggested otherwise.

“All done,” you started, letting go of his cheek. Immediately, Toji’s jaw snapped shut with enough strength to take off a finger, had you given him the chance. “Perfect as always, Toji. I think you might be my best patient.”

A cocky smile found its way to his lips, and you could hear his tail beating lazily against the dirt floor of his enclosure. The facility was committed to replicating the natural environments of their more exotic hybrids as closely as possible, even if Toji claimed he’d trade it all for a punching bag, or better yet, something ‘real’ to dig his teeth into, whatever that meant. “Do I get a treat, doc?”

It was asked playfully, but still, you hummed by way of confirmation, pulling your duffle bag into your lap and fishing Toji’s well-earned rewards – a generic chocolate bar and a can of some painfully acidic, sickeningly sweet brand of soda your hybrid patients couldn’t seem to get enough of. It was a meager prize, but it was as much as you were able to spare considering how strict his caretakers were when it came to his diet. You’d probably save yourself a few dirty looks if you didn’t give him anything at all, but it didn’t feel right to leave him empty-handed.

He accepted your humble offering greedily. While the chocolate bar was stowed away for later consumption, the can was pierced with a clawed thumb and emptied in one long, unpleasantly audible swig. You’d only started to push yourself to your feet when Tojj finished, letting the now empty can fall to the ground before turning his attention back to you. “It hurts my feelings, knowing you’re just gonna run off and put your hands on another animal.” His ear pressed flat against his scalp, as if he was trying (and failing) to feign disappointment. “If I didn’t know better, I’d start to think you didn’t really care about all the time we’ve spent together.”

“You’re not exactly in desperate need of medical attention,” you chided, throwing your bag over your shoulder. “And I’m on a schedule. Not all of us can sit around, grooming ourselves all day.”

That earned a breathy laugh, a coy lilt to his smile. “Well, if you wanted to take a shot at it, I wouldn’t—”

“Save it. I get enough of that with the cats.” Just thinking about it made you grimace. It was one thing to think that Toji might bite you. Knowing Satoru and Suguru – the bonded leopard and panther pair who shared a check-up date with Toji – would insist on licking any exposed skin raw before letting you do your job was a much more tangible reality. “I’ll see you in a couple of days. You’ll be good until then, right?”

“I’m gonna gut those fucking strays.” His answer was blunt, immediate, but he cracked as soon you shot him a purse-lipped frown. “Kidding, kidding. I’ll just rough ‘em up a little – make ‘em regret putting their paws on you, y’know?”

You couldn’t help but soften. Toji was rough around the edges, but he wasn’t a bad dog. He just had a protective streak and that, paired with his brash personality and tendency to bite before he barked, was enough for most people to write him off.

You really did have a long, long list of other appointments you had to get to before the end of the day, but against your better judgement, you paused as you passed him, reaching down to rake your fingers through sleek black hair. He was stoic, especially for a hybrid, but even his cool, dark eyes and wry smile couldn’t hide the way his tail moved just a little faster at the feeling of your nails raking over his scalp, his ears immediately perking up. It only took a second for him to bat your hand away, but you only laughed as you started towards the staff exit, waving to Toji over your shoulder.

Maybe, for his next check-up, you’d see if you could sneak in something special.

“Your mutt’s been unruly, lately.”

You glanced up from your clipboard, turning your full attention to Nanami and quickly finding that he hadn’t paid you the same courtesy. He was one of the senior researchers and, so far, the only one you could stand to be around for any longer than a few minutes. Since the higher-ups expected you to fill out your reports with one hand while you took a four-hundred-pound tiger’s temperature with the other, you tended to camp out in Nanami’s office when you had paperwork to file. “Toji?” Nanami nodded, and you rolled your eyes. “I’m just the vet, Kento. If his handlers aren’t doing their—”

“The problem isn’t his handlers, it’s him.”

His voice was flat, his tone icy. You laid your clipboard over your lap, crossing your arms over your chest. “He’s an animal. It’d be more out of character if he didn’t lash out occasionally.”

Nanami opened his mouth, but closed it just as quickly. After a lengthy pause, he leaned back in his seat, bringing a hand to his temples and massaging absentmindedly. “Do you know why he hasn’t been released back into the wild, yet?”

Obviously. Working with hybrids – let alone exotic hybrids – was dangerous, and your debriefing had drilled the face, name, and background of every animal in the facility into your memory. “He was born in captivity. He’s too acclimated to human society to adjust to the wilderness.”

Nanami pressed his lips into a thin line – an expression you’d learned to read as ‘you’re right, but I’m not going to say that’. Still, a degree of satisfaction accompanied his silent confirmation. “He was found in a dog fighting ring – or, what was left of one, at least. It took three rounds of sedation and two broken muzzles before our recovery team was able to get him under control.”

A knot formed at the base of your throat. Fuck chocolate, Toji deserved a blanket and as many hugs as he would let you give him. “That’s terrible, Kento. Were the organizers arrested?”

“The organizers—” Nanami straightened. “—were found mauled and stuffed into a kennel. Their bodies were so thoroughly mutilated, we had to rely on blood samples to identify them.”

“Wolves aren’t known for attacking unprovoked. It could’ve been another—”

“One of his handlers is currently hospitalized,” Nanami went on, as if you hadn’t cut in. “And two have already turned in their resignations – a resounding fear for their welfare in the workplace, supposedly.”

Your eyes fell to the floor, and that knot in your throat tightened until only the barest whisper could find its way out. “He’s not a bad dog,” you muttered, nearly under your breath. “He just— He loses his temper, sometimes. He doesn’t mean to hurt anymore.”

“He’s never tried to hurt you?”

You didn’t have to think before shaking your head. “Never.”

That, of all things, seemed to catch Nanami’s attention. For the first time, his eyes flickered briefly to you before falling back to his desk, his paperwork. “Good,” he said, marking down something on a piece of scrap paper in front of him. If he felt the need to elaborate, he clearly didn’t deem it worth the effort.

Later that day, you were informed that you were being transferred to the reptile wing indefinitely. If you’d been there for a few more months, if you’d had a little more experience to throw around, if you’d had a little more authority, you might’ve protested, but it was all you could do to nod and set to memorizing your new schedule.

It took exactly three weeks for you to see Toji again.

One of his handlers – a woman in her early twenties sporting a pressed scowl and a gauze-padded bandage on her cheek – met you at the facility’s gates and flatly told you that Toji was injured. You’d never been in the facilities (much less with a hybrid) after sundown, and in the simulated wilderness of his enclosure, it was easy to forget that you were never more than twenty feet away from a security camera, that there was only one apex predator you had to be afraid of. After checking your usual meeting spot (clear spot near the center of his enclosure – neutral territory, safe territory) and finding it vacant, you reluctantly stumbled your way to his den, dragging your feet despite the urgency of the situation. Toji wouldn’t deliberately attack you, but any animal could react if provoked. You didn’t want to set him off. More importantly, you didn’t want to prove Nanami right.

You’d never ventured far enough to see his den, but you knew what to expect. A square shell of cement occupied the deepest corner of Toji’s enclosure, bracketed off by a metal door tucked inside of a deep entryway meant to give the illusion of privacy. You approached it slowly, stepping underneath the shadowed overhang with no small amount of caution, but you didn’t get the chance to knock before a hand manifested on your shoulder and shoved you against the cold steel.

Claws bit into to the dip of your shoulder, then your wrist, too, as he caught your hand and shoved it into the small of your back. You felt hot air on the nape of your neck, heard heavy panting laced with the barest trace of a throaty growl, and it took everything you had not to panic, not to struggle, not to give him a reason to dig his teeth into your neck and tear. Toji wasn’t a bad dog, but he was still a dog. He’d still bite, if given an excuse.

“Toji,” you started, slowly, taking care to soften each harsh syllable of his name. “I’m here to help you.”

He didn’t respond, his hold only tightening. His check pressed into your back, and there was a short, airy noise – sniffing, as little as you wanted to put a name to it. “Toji,” you repeated, with more urgency. “I heard you were hurt. Will you let me help you?”

A second passed in silence, then another. Finally, he pulled away from you, releasing your wrist first, then your shoulder. He remained where he was – a little too close, a little too looming – as you shuffled to face him, forcing yourself not to consciously acknowledge that you were in a very big cage with a very poorly behaved animal. His handlers hadn’t mentioned why they’d needed you, but you didn’t have to wonder for very long. Even in the pitch dark, you could see the dark blood covering his jaw, washed over his throat and chest. It was on his hands, too, coating the white bone of his claws, and matted into his dark hair. Your waning self-control faltered then shattered altogether, your hands shooting to his head, his face, searching for bruising or swelling or broken bones, but surprisingly, all your worry earned was an airy laugh. “It’s not mine, doc.” He laid a hand over yours. “I’m doin’ just fine. Even better, now that you’re here.”

But he wasn’t. Twin sets of puncture marks were littered across his throat, his face, his arms. Something had taken a chunk out of his left bicep, and five matching scratch marks had been etched deep into the skin of his chest. The wounds looked feline, but you couldn’t bring yourself to linger on the implications. “You’re hurt,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him. Your hands fell to his shoulders, pushing him downward gently. “I— I’ve got bandages, and sutures—” You let your bag fall from your shoulder to your elbow, already reaching for the zipper. “Find somewhere to sit. We should get you cleaned up before something worse sets in.”

Panic was quickly overshadowing your better judgement, but Toji didn’t move, didn’t look away from you. He was still wearing that coy, sardonic grin – almost teasing, given your anxiety. “I already told you, I’m just fine.” His smile widened, until his pointed fangs caught in the dim light. “I didn’t think you’d actually come. They said I could ask for whatever I wanted, but—” He paused, sucked in a sharp breath. “I didn’t think you’d actually come.”

“Toji, you’re not making any sense. You need help.” Again, you pushed gently on his shoulders, and again, he didn’t seem to notice. This time, though, he shifted, leaned toward you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You scowled, shoving a little less gently on his chest, but Toji didn’t move. “Toji, please, just let me help—”

“You’re gonna be the death of me, princess.” You felt his hands on your waist, then your ass. His chest was slotted against yours, and his tongue ran unabashedly over the curve of your neck once, then twice before he went on. “Keep sayin’ my name like that, and I won’t be able to control myself.”

Something pressed into your thigh – hot and hard and, like the rest of Toji, fucking huge. Your heart fell into your stomach, the air flooding out of your lungs and leaving you dazed, breathless.

Fuck. Fuck.

You should’ve stuck with the fucking reptiles.

Toji was panting audibly, again; his tongue lapping over your neck, your cheek. You were still cursing yourself for ever applying for this shitty job in the first place when Toji fell to his knees, forcing your thighs onto his shoulders as his claws caught on the fabric of your pants, decimating the thin material in an instant. His teeth tore away your panties just as quickly, leaving you exposed, splayed out on a silver platter in front of him. You reacted reflectively – knotting your fingers in his hair and doing your best to pry him away from you, but your strength was nothing compared to his and in the end, all you earned was a throaty groan, a tight squeeze to your ass before he buried his face in your cunt. His teeth grazed against the tender insides of your thighs, his claws biting into your now-unprotected skin, but the feeling of his tongue laving over the length of your slit replaced every other sensation with pure heat.

Predictably, he was near animalistic – his thick tongue fucking into you as the bridge of his nose ground shamelessly into your clit. From a distance, it would’ve been hard to tell if he was trying to eat you out or eat you alive; every noise he made feral and wet, punctuated with rough growls and little, uncharacteristic whines. It would’ve been impossible not to feel anything, but still, you couldn’t help but hate yourself when it started to feel good. His tongue was thick and textured, long enough to fill your pussy and flexible enough to curl inside of you, abusing the walls of your cunt without mercy. It was difficult to tell how much of the gloss staining his chin and the inside of your thighs was his drool and how much of it was your arousal, but even if your mind was disgusted by every slick noise and sharp flick of his tongue, there was nothing your body could do to block out the sudden pang of heat in your core, to fight the way your legs ached to clench around his head and pull the source of your revulsion that much closer.

“To—Toji, no, st—” you tried to say, like you were scolding a normal dog, like any part of you still thought he was listening. A cracked moan cut you off prematurely, and even if it hadn’t, Toji’s only response was a bruising squeeze to your ass, a low moan just loud enough to reverberate against your sensitive clit. Blinding white flashed across your vision, and before you could stop, before you could bring yourself back from that edge, you were coming undone on his tongue, your hips bucking against his face as he nursed you through your mind-numbing climax. Rather than pull away, he forced his tongue that much deeper into your pussy – taking advantage of your hypersensitivity to drag another unwilling orgasm out of you, then another, until the dried blood smeared across his lips was tacky and dripping onto your skin. He only pulled away when your little, pained sounds began to die into half-choked pleas and your limited strength failed, leaning you limp and boneless on top of him, and even then, he took the time to drag his tongue over your slit, to lap up what would’ve been wasted slick. You would’ve given anything for him to just leave you like that – messy and covered in your own arousal, but unfortunately, Toji had never been a bad dog.

His gaze flitted up to meet yours. “Sorry, princess,” he muttered, when he saw the misery knitted into your expression. The broad grin he wore was anything but apologetic, though. “Might’ve gotten carried away after all. Can’t help it – you always come to me, smellin’ like other men, and nobody ever lets me do anything about it.” He nuzzled into the inside of your thigh, nipping at the tender flesh with just enough force to break the skin. There was a tight pinch, of bright spark of pain, but Toji tended to the minimal wound lovingly, running his tongue over the thin stream of blood. “Gonna have you nice n’ scented by the end of the night.” A sharp whimper slipped past your grit teeth as the points of his fangs grazed over your skin, and Toji sighed. “Gonna have you nice n’ bred, too, if you keep making those sounds.”

Bred. Bred. Bred. You turned the offensive word over in your mind, unable to grasp what it possibly could’ve meant, as Toji carefully lowered you onto the ground – never so much as toying with the idea of fucking you into anything other than the cold, raw earth. It wasn’t until his clawed hand fell to the hard, pulsing cock standing stiffly between his legs that you were able to fully process what he’d said, what he was threatening to do to you. Your thoughts went blank, your years of veterinary school and countless hours of animal-handling training and common sense all dissolving into total nonexistence in an instant. It didn’t matter that he was taller than you, stronger than you – you were already throwing your full weight against him, scratching at his chest with your blunt nails, doing everything in your so incredibly limited power just to get away from him. Your latest wave of resistance wasn’t enough to overwhelm him, but it earned a frustrated rumble at the base of his throat, a downward quirk to his cocky smile. Your nails caught one of the puncture marks on his cheek and, reflexively, he straightened his back, brought his hand to his face, left just enough space between your body and his for you to roll onto your chest and scramble desperately towards freedom. You’d barely gotten your knees underneath you when his hand lashed out, catching you by the collar and forcing your cheek into the soil. His chest pressed into your back, his legs caging yours in on either side, and worst of all, his cock throbbed against your ass – somehow, impossibly, harder than it’d been a few seconds ago. You might’ve jotted it down as an impressive display of canine resilience, if you hadn’t felt so desolated.

“Shoulda figured you wouldn’t make this easy on yourself.” His voice was rougher than it had been, but no less self-satisfied. That made sense. Wolves were endurance predators. He would’ve come into this expecting there to be a struggle. “I thought you’d be more of a mate than a bitch, but—” He paused, his mouth settling against the nape of your neck. “—either’s fine by me.”

You clenched your eyes shut. “Please, Toji, don’t do—”

But, it was already too late. He rutted your ass once, then twice, before his tip caught on the entrance to your abused pussy and he was inside of you, fully sheathed without a trace of resistance.

Toji was big, even for a hybrid. He was a hunter, tried and true, all muscle and agility and pure, unfaltering strength. Even with his generous (albeit, unwelcomed) prep, it was all you could do to convince yourself that his cock wouldn’t tear you apart. He was thick enough to press against every soft and sensitive spot inside of you, long enough to leave a tight knot of pressure sitting in the pit of your stomach, and when he started to move, pulling out slowly before slamming back in, the force alone was enough to scatter little black spots in the corner of your vision and leave you hazy, light-headed. The way he was fucking into you didn’t help anything, either. Keening whines slipped out of some deep, feral pocket of his chest as he took advantage of your vulnerable cunt, alternating between grinding into you with a desperate sort of clinginess and trying to bully his way that much deeper with bruising, brutal thrusts. One arm wrapped around your midriff, dragging you even close to him, while a groping hand found the delicate buttons of your top and tore, ridding you of what was left of your protection against him. He kneaded half-consciously at your chest as he fucked into you; his own pleasure suddenly his only priority.

His selfishness should’ve been a welcome change, but you were too far gone, your body too eager to find a silver lining to his rough affection. Your hands clawed mindlessly at the ground as he pumped into you, the heat of his body against yours clouding your senses and making the feeling of cock stretching you open, his dull head pounding against your cervix all the more unbearable. You doubted he’d be able to talk, even if he’d had anything left to say, but he was still vocal enough. Raspy groans and harsh grunts rung distantly in your ears, his calloused hands groping mercilessly at your chest, your stomach, your waist. Finally, his thumb found its way to your neglected clit, and with less than a full second of stimulation, you were buckling into yourself, clamping down around his cock with a fractured whimper. As humiliated as you were, Toji wasn’t far behind. With something between a moan and a howl, he was cumming inside of you – predictably making no attempt to pull out. Something hot and vile flooded into you, but it was hard to focus on that when you could feel something hard and bloated and wrong press into your entrance. Toji’s breath hitched as he forced his knot into your tight cunt, and whatever hope you had for coming out of this unscathed curled up and died inside of you.

You could feel him slacken on top of you. You almost thought he would collapse like that, leave you locked to him and trapped under his weight, but instead, he nuzzled against the crook of your neck, his fangs ghosting over your throat before sinking into the soft flesh just underneath your jugular. He stayed like that, his knot splitting open your pussy and his teeth buried in your neck, until you lost any hope of him ever pulling away.

Exhausted, you shut your eyes, sinking into yourself. You’d been right, in a way. Toji wasn’t a bad dog.

He was just a terrible terrible man.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere oneshot #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk imagines #yandere jjk #toji x reader #yandere toji #fushiguro toji x reader #yandere fushiguro toji #hybrid au

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starkwlkr · 11 months

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annoying little brothers | f1

female driver x f1 drivers (platonic) (same age as daniel so 33)

part 2 part 3

Y/N L/N BEING THE FUNNIEST DRIVER ON THE GRID

The video starts of with a press conference from the United States Grand Prix. Y/n was seated with Charles, Pierre, Daniel and Sebastian her being in the middle of all the men who she considered her brothers.

She was listening to all the questions the men were receiving from how they thought they were going to do, how’s the team doing, etc. But when a reported finally asked her a question, she completely blanked.

“Sorry, I was just thinking about my son. We were supposed to get breakfast together and he hasn’t texted me back. I haven’t seen Lando all day.” Y/‘ said making the drivers and reporters laugh.

“When did you adopt Lando? I wasn’t aware.” Daniel played along.

“2019. He was actually lost when I met him. It was during the Australian Grand Prix, his first f1 race. I found him and we did the Melbourne walk together and I’ve just kind of adopted ever since. So if any of you bully my son, I’m coming after you.” Y/n explained.

“He’s probably texting you right now saying ‘stop embarrassing me, mom!’” Sebastian went on.

“Wait, he’s over there!” Pierre spotted the Brit rushing towards their direction.

“He’s alive!” Charles cheered.

Finally, Lando arrived to their interview area with a box from a a bakery in his hand. “Sorry, I have to drop this off. We’ll get breakfast tomorrow. I got you pastries.” Lando gave Y/n the box and a hug then he was off since he was late for his interview.

“You’ve raised your son well.” The reporter joked.

“That was all me, I needed no help.”

The next clip was a fan video from 2021. Y/n had just finished her date with a guy and now she was signing autographs and taking photos with a group of girls. The girls had just finished their meals at a restaurant when they spotted the f1 driver leaving with a guy. The politely asked for a photo, which y/n was more than glad to take. Her date stepped aside to give them a moment.

“Sorry to interrupt your date.” A girl apologized for her and all her friends.

“Nothing to be sorry about, honey. I’m actually nervous because I don’t know how the date went. I’m horrible at first dates so this is kinda making me less stressed.” Y/n admitted. The girls laughed as y/n signed a girls phone case.

“Has he met Lando?” Another girl asked knowing how close y/n and lando are.

“Not yet. I’m afraid that Lando might scare him off. Everyone on the grid might, especially seb. He will definitely give him one of those ‘treat her right or I will run you over’ speeches.” Y/n signed another phone case.

“Does he knows you’re famous?”

“Oh god, no! I told him I was unemployed and that a sugar daddy was giving me money. I’m surprised he still agreed to come on this date with me.” Y/n chuckled.

Months later, the guy ended up being y/n’s boyfriend. He even attended the British Grand Prix where he finally met Lando, who was actually the one to tell him to treat y/n right or he would run him over.

The next clip started off with the intro to grill the grid. The challenge was to guess the driver’s numbers, something that y/n was semi confident about.

“So we start off with my man, Danny, number three.” She wrote down on her clipboard. “Four, my son, Lando. Also ever since I met Lando I’ve been seeing the number four quite often. It’s scary actually. Can’t decide if Lando put a curse on me or not.”

“Would he do that?”

“He shouldn’t,” y/n raised her voice slightly. “Anyways, next is … oh! Seb! I don’t know why I couldn’t think of him right away. Then we have latifi at number six then kimi at seven.” She continued writing down the names.

“Nine ….Mazepin.” She fought the urge to roll her eyes since her and the driver were never on good terms.

“Ten, my favorite frenchie well one of, we treat everyone nice here, gasly.” Y/n winked at the camera. “Eleven, the mexican minister of defense, Perez. And then we have me! Thirteen!”

“Do you think Lando got your number right?”

“I don’t doubt him ever.”

“Thirteen, my mother! Everyone better get that right.” Lando pointed at the camera menacingly.

“Fourteen, Alonzo. Sixteen, Leclerc Charles. Eighteen, stroll and twenty two!” Y/n sang the number in the tune of taylor swift’s song. “Yuki! Thirty one, Esteban, my other frenchie. Thirty three, max does he have a middle name verstappen.”

“Have you noticed that you haven’t gotten any wrong yet?”

“I’m just the best, that’s why.” Y/n laughed. “Forty four, the seven time world champion, sir lewis hamilton. Fourty seven, mick mick mick. I love to say his name.”

Y/n had completely forgotten she had to be writing the names down. She was having too much fun.

“Fifty five, carlos smooth operator sainz jr. sixty three, the man with two first names, russell george.” Y/n said as she looked down at the numbers on the paper.

“Do you know his middle name?”

Y/n gasped. “Is it another first name?”

“I believe it’s William.”

“Three names!? It sounds so british.” Y/n chuckled. “Um, seventy seven valtteri, right?” Y/n saw the interviewer nod. “I was getting worried my streak would be broken. And ninety nine, antonio!”

“You got all of them!” Everyone in the room cheered.

“Did anyone else get them all?” Y/n asked.

“Daniel did.”

“Of course. He’s good with numbers.”

The next clip was from the same grill the grid video but it was a blooper. Lando had arrived right as y/n finished filming and handed her a water bottle.

“Did you get my number?” Lando asked curiously.

“Yeah, ninety five, right? Cause you’re a McQueen fan.” Y/n teased as she grabbed the bottle from lando’s hand.

“Yeah, you remembered!” Lando played along “how did she really do?” He asked.

“She got them all right.”

“Really? I’ve got a smart mother!” Lando high fived the woman.

“It’s because I’ve got a photographic memory.” Y/n nodded with the most serious face on.

“Do you really?” Lando asked. He was surprised to hear that.

“No, I just love to lie.”

The next clip started with Daniel and Lando standing next to boards with their 2022 rankings. As predicted, Daniel and Lando’s part of the interview was mostly filled with them drawing over each other’s pictures.

Daniel them knocked over Lando’s rankings to the ground. “That’s how I feel.”

“That was the worst timing ever. Y/n is walking this way.” Lando told Daniel, who immediately picked up the board.

“Are those your rankings?” Y/n asked as she approached the duo. She then noticed that the setup and quickly apologized to the camera man. “Sorry, I’m just curious now.”

“Are you proud of me?” Lando asked, standing next to her and throwing his arm over her shoulder.

“When am I not? Wait, except that time you pushed me into my birthday cake.” Y/n pinched his side. “Can I see the pen?” She asked the guys, Lando gave her his.

“She’s adding to our masterpieces. This piece will be worth millions years from now.” Daniel said.

Y/n then scribbled little stars around Lando’s head and then signed it at the top. “Actually you both look great in your pictures. Did they use photoshop?”

“Excuse me, this is all natural.”

“Y/n! Hi, hello. What’s going on here?” Martin brundle asked the woman as she walked with her mom and pr manager, Lucy.

“Martin! It’s been a while, nothing much. How are you?” Y/n hugged the former racing driver. “This is my mom, she’s been wanting to meet you.”

“Mrs. l/n, hello. Welcome, how are you?” Martin greeted the older woman.

“Great. I’m here supporting my girl. It’s been a wonderful weekend.” Y/n’s mom smiled.

“Are you aware that you have a grandson that drives for McLaren?” Martin asked making all three ladies laugh.

“Yes, Lando is a very lovely young man.”

“How does it feel to have a daughter and grandson in f1?” Martin asked in a serious tone.

“Amazing. I’m super proud of both of them.”

“Thank you ladies for your time. Have a wonderful day.” Martin smiled at them, but before he could leave, y/n gave him a hug goodbye.

“Take care, Martin!” Y/n waved to the man and left with her mom and Lucy.

“She wins everything. Give her all the trophies. Everything is hers.” Martin said to the camera.

The final clip was consisted of y/n after a race getting interviewed.

“Do you often see your father?” Someone asked from the back.

“No, actually we’re just good friends.”

“What’s your opinion on the president of the United States?” Asked the same person.

“I don’t think about him.”

“What’s going on between max verstappen and lewis hamilton?”

“I don’t know, I just work here.”

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writingmeraki · 2 months

Text

here and now.

a kim mingyu drabble !

pairing : secret!agent!mingyu x secret!agent!reader, established relationship ( they are married )

genre : angsty with fluff :)

warnings : reader is pretty miserable, cussing, cheol is mean but annoying mean, petnames, kissing, unhealthy routines.

author's note : ohhh i can't let go of these two, i rlly jst like this au a lot lol, i wonder if you would want more set in this same au, lmk hehe :) hope you like this !! but also the fact that i have other wips but i can't get this specific couple out of my head ???? very self indulgent bcoz tell me why i want this mingyu with me rn. also third work this month...let's hope we keep balling like that!!!

set in the SAME universe as this !

word count : 1.6k

The world was miserable.

You wanted to curl up in a ball and just lay in your bed, sleeping until you could no longer differentiate between reality and dreamland.

But alas, you couldn’t. As an agent, sleep to you was like a reward. One would think a need should never be something you get once in a while but, your job was practically making all your essentials feel like rewards.

Mayhaps not the healthiest, but you were already used to it and your body as well, so you were not truly affected when you couldn’t get any of your essentials.

Though, you were sure the world felt more miserable because you hadn’t seen him in so long.

Kim Mingyu, the man you married. Your husband.Your other half, your other puzzle piece, your other- you get the point. Six months, twelve days, and ten hours since you last saw him.

He was gone on a mission that was supposed to take no less than a month, but who were you kidding? Who was your boss kidding? Top priority missions always took up time.

The thing that still pisses you off is why you weren’t allowed to go with him.

Apparently, you were needed back in Seoul and not there was the bullshit reason. You spent enough time being annoyed and angry at that, now you just felt terribly upset. Upset without him in your life physically, sure virtually he was one message away, but being on the complete opposite side of the globe also meant time zones were a pain in the ass.

Sighing, you made your way into the tall building disguised as one of the offices but it was where your agency was. You held a cup of coffee, that was just as bitter as your mood, in fact you didn’t even like coffee, but today you felt no point in trying to uplift your mood because the only thing that would was a certain person who you were not even sure when you’d meet.

It was not you who felt this way, in fact Mingyu was probably feeling worse. Having been someone whose love language was physical affection, it did not feel the same through a fucking screen. He was ready to quit actually, three months into it because he terribly wanted to see you, but you convinced him he’d be back sooner if he finished it.

You knew you were lying to him and yourself, but you had no choice. This was your duty right?

The boss’ office was still as peculiar as he was, never failing to amuse you whenever you’d enter and always finding new collections or items decorating it. Today, you saw an art piece that was of the sun and the moon.

Everything reminded you of him. He was your sun, even your moon too.

You frowned more at the thought, wondering how the heck were you not able to not think of him for a few minutes. Then again, perhaps being together for more than a decade would do the trick. You’re practically bound permanently by that point.

Sitting down on the cushion chair in front of Seungcheol, you didn’t even bother greeting him, still in thoughts until you heard a chuckle from in front of you.

“What’s funny?”

“You look extra miserable today.”

You glared at the man, annoyance changing into anger with retorts about how he’d feel if he was kept away from his partner for this long, considering he was someone who was pretty boastful about his partner.

“But- I did not call you for that. I have a special mission for you. And no, I don’t have any updates on Mingyu.”

You groaned at his words, considering what he said was just getting worse and worse as he spoke.

“For this though, you’ll have someone with you. You’ll be needing another person to complete this task. They should be arriving in a few minutes.”

“Please don’t be a rookie, I don’t have the patience to deal with one, not right now.” You figured you couldn’t not do it. It was your job after all. But perhaps he’d be a little considerate.

“Oh don’t worry, I think they are pretty experienced, maybe even more than you.” He grinned but you couldn’t quite put a finger on what he meant. His eyes gleamed with something you couldn’t tell.

“Just say you hate me, Cheol. It’s easier.” You bitterly spat out, taking a sip of the now cold coffee and frowning in distaste. It seemed it was up to par with your state.

You leaned back, looking at the watch on your wrist, seeing it’s been a few minutes already and wondering just how long this person would take.

You tried to pinpoint who it possibly was, but you were never good with names of people you might have seen in passing. That was more of Mingyu’s thing, he always remembered the forgettable things.

The sound of the door opening was what made you perk up. You sat a little straighter, feeling like perhaps you shouldn’t make it outwardly obvious to the entire population how you were truly feeling.

Seeing the chair pull, you didn’t bother looking besides you, feeling that seeing them from the corner of your eye was enough. They were a little further from you, but you could tell they were quite…large? They were wearing a cap and a mask, practically their entire body was covered with a black coat. It was suspicious and you just wondered if this was just an excuse for Seungcheol to have you murdered in a discreet way.

Seokmin…? No, he's almost my height, probably Chan?

You didn’t even realise the person had taken your coffee, pulled off their mask,took a sip of it and almost spat it out.

“Baby this is actually so disgusting, since when did you drink this?”

Wait.

You recognised that voice.

He kept the cup back down on the table in front of you, wearing that very very familiar ring on his left ring finger.

You think your brain short circuited at that very moment.

Now you knew why Seungcheol had a sly grin.

The fucker planned this.

In all his glory, Kim Mingyu sat beside you, now seeing no point in wearing the cap, he tossed it off and threw it on the table. He shuffled his hair, which was now longer than you last saw it.

“Missed me?” He had the audacity to say that with his stupid canines peaking out, wearing that stupid grin that made you feel giddy all over and the stupid glint in his eyes that shone as he took you in.

Stupid, stupid, stupid Mingyu for making you feel like throwing up in all mixes of emotions.

So in the mix of it, you just remained frozen. Eyes blank, nothing on your face physically to indicate any emotion.

“I’ll leave you two…just don’t do…stuff.” Seungcheol retorted and your hands itched to strangle him.

Before you could even comprehend you were now alone, you felt your chair being pulled to face him. Your mind still in disbelief and conflict.

“Hi.” He spoke gently, his hands now reaching towards yours and grasping them. It had been way too long since he smelt your signature perfume, held your hands in his with the same intensity, felt your touch. He thinks he might just die in peace now.

“I’m just trying to figure out if I’m dreaming.” You murmured as you blinked slowly at him, still unmoving even though he now was bent down and closer to you.

The grin on his face widened as he leaned in, and next thing you know, you felt his lips on yours.

Familiar…just like…home.

He pulled back, still smiling as he softly laughed, “Real enough, darling?”

Mingyu wasn’t someone who was caught off-guard easily but he was the moment you launched forward and wrapped your arms around him. He yelped as he held you, surprisingly not toppling over.

You didn’t even grasp you were full on sobbing at that point, your entire body shaking and held you even more tightly. He stood up, one arm around your waist and the other gently rubbing your back.

“I’m here now, I’m here.” He whispered softly as his hand caressed your hair, you moved your arms to wrap them over his shoulder as you placed your head in the crook of his neck.

“i-i really-” missed you. I felt incomplete without you. I just…I really missed you. I really fucking love you.

You wanted to say as cheesy as it may have sounded, but cheesiness be darned you couldn’t hold back, not when the time apart made you realise that it didn’t matter if it was just another way of showing your love for him. You also realised Kim Mingyu deserved all possible ways of showing your love for him.

“I know, ‘s okay baby, I know.” You only sobbed harder as you pulled back, not caring how you looked, probably a whole mess with red eyes and tears all over, his arms were still around you as you held his face with both hands.

He was there. You thought as you caressed his cheeks. He was there. You thought as he looked at you like he’d finally found his treasure,eyes twinkling, smiling at you.

And he was there, right there, with you as you tilted your head up, closing your eyes and placing your lips on his.

Because no matter what or how long, Kim Mingyu would always find his way back to you, his other forever half.

And oh, you’d make sure he was never apart from you from then on. Not even for a day.

all written works as well as images and edits (unless credited) belong to pri. do not plagiarise, repost, re-edit or claim as yours. pics mostly found on pinterest.

feedback is always appreciated 💌

links : main navi ! | svt masterlist !

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evilcowgirl · 8 months

Text

pink in the night

abby anderson/reader

summary: abby nd you have been in an on-and-off relationship since the beginning of college, when you decide you've had enough of her she always finds her way back to you. (wc: 3k)

nsfw, college au, mean-ish abby, fem!reader, dom!abby

a/n: first tlou fic !!! aaa so excited to be writing again hope everyone is doing okay mwah xox

୨♡୧

It's late, much too late for you to still be awake and on edge. Your dorm room doesn't feel like your own anymore, regardless of how many times you've slept alone in this little twin sized bed, your body can tell that something is missing now. There’s this lack of warmth that leaves you shivering.

For months now, you've fallen asleep with your legs interwoven with hers. Her hands around your middle, pulling your back against her. Your hands wrap around your arms in a pathetic attempt to comfort yourself. You miss her so much that it’s pathetic considering it had been less than a week since you last saw her. Actually, if you were going to be exact, you saw her two days ago at the cafeteria and you promptly had to leave to stop yourself from getting emotional. She had always teased you about how dependent you were on her. Kissing your cheek as she told you how helpless you’d be without her. Until now, you never knew how bad it really was.

It pains you just to think about it. All the words she threw at you, hoping to break you down just enough so she could pick up all the little broken pieces once again. This time you actually put your foot down, shocking you and her both. You’d told her to leave with tears running down your cheeks. You had to repeat yourself three times before she realized that you were actually serious this time. The shock on her face made you feel good, like you had done something to prove her wrong.

“I’ll be back when you calm the fuck down.” She said to you as she left your dorm that day. Even in her defeat she still lets you know you're not strong enough to stay away from her forever. When the door slammed behind her you flinched, the silence leaving you to really think about what you wanted. In the moment, it was peace and quiet and maybe a drink. But now, six days and a handful of hours later, all you wanted was Abby’s hands on your skin. She was always so gentle with you, completely contradictory to the way she looked to most people. Only you really got to see that softer size of her. The side that would wrap her arms around your waist and call you hers. It was easy to remember the good parts of Abby when she wasn’t there to remind you just how mean she could be.

You sighed, turning over in bed for the umpteenth time. Your blanket falling off your shoulder and leaving it bare and chilly as you gazed over at your phone sitting on your bedside table. It wasn’t a good idea by any means, but it was late and you were lovesick in the most dreadful definition of the word. You reached over to grab your phone, going to her number was second nature. Your fingers hovered over your keyboard for a while as you thought of what you should say. It was a little past 2 in the morning but you knew Abby would still be awake, she always stayed up much later than you.

“i miss you a lot”

You hit send before you could second guess your decision. Immediately you tossed your phone under your pillow and pressed your blushing face into it. Your heart was beating fast enough for you to feel it in your throat. The embarrassment had set in much quicker that you thought it would. You still had time to unsend it, you reminded yourself. She’s probably busy with her friends or something and wont check her phone until later tonight. You could unsend it and turn your phone off and forget this even happened.

“I miss you too.”

When you felt your phone buzz you stopped breathing. You half hopped that you imagined it, but when you checked the notification was plain as day. “Oh god, I’m so stupid.” you whispered to yourself as you started typing.

“come over?”

Her response was immediate, like she was waiting for it.

“On my way now.”

You tossed your phone once again, squealing a bit into your pillow at what you'd just started up.

୨♡୧

Abby knew it was going to happen at some point. To give you credit, she definitely didn’t think it would take this long. Around day 3 she actually started to get nervous, asking her teammates if they thought she really messed up this time, if she’d lost you for real. She had the tendency to take things too far, it was basically what she was known for. Whether she was working out, or fucking, or pushing her girlfriend to the edge for the millionth time, she never knew when to stop. You didn’t deserve it and she knew that. She didn’t know why she acted the way that she did, all she knew was that you seemed like you could handle her. Apparently she had been wrong. The walk to your dorm took half the time it usually does. She was on a mission to make your forgive her, she couldn’t go on like this. Not knowing what you were doing every hour of the day, not hearing your voice. It was killing her, not that she would ever admit that to you.

She used her spare key to unlock your door, cracking it open and slipping in as to not make too much noise. Your room was dark, barely lit by a little star-shaped night light plugged into your wall. There was a sugary vanilla scent in the air that she was oh-so familiar with. She steps over a few of your stuffed animals to kneel by your bed where you sit waiting for her.

Soft light from your bedside lamp illuminates her face and at that moment you think she's got to be an angel. You know better though, shes far from innocent and she had proved that to you a thousand times over. She’s looking down at your lap where your hands are fidgeting.

"Abby." You said simply. The word left your lips so naturally, it felt more right than anything else you could've possibly said in that moment. Just seeing her in front of you made your hands twitch. The need to just touch overwhelming you. You wondered if she noticed; Abby always seemed to notice everything. At hearing your voice she finally turns back to face you. The way her eyes soften when they meet yours makes you want to forget all the things she's said to you.

"I'm here," She says and you almost laugh. You probably would've if you weren't so painfully thankful. "Are you. . . Alright?" She says in a weird almost nervous tone. It's jarring to hear her like this, and a part of you knows how wrong it is that you like it so much.

"I'm okay now that you're here." You say. It's genuine and the hopeless look on your face tells her that. You look so lost without her and that's exactly what she wanted isn't it? But now, actually being face-to-face with you, she's being forced to rethink. She sighs quietly, rolling her head back a little like you'd just done something irreversible. You secretly hope you did.

“You remember what you said, right?” She asks you, her voice all soft. She pushes a large hand under your soft blanket. You inhale as she stops right on your bare thigh and leaves it there.

You nod. You knew she would do this, make you think about what you did. Make you regret it.

“You didn’t mean that though, did you? You don’t want me to leave you alone.” She tells you and you couldn’t agree more. Her hand starts to kneed at you, like she’s prying out a response. You give her what she wants.

“I didn’t know what I was saying, Abby. I need you so bad, I can’t-I can’t think without you.” You whine to her. She smiles so sweetly to remind you how she’s getting off on your pleading. Her hand is wandering now, it feels like a reward for giving up your humility for her. You don’t feel ashamed for it though. Her hand moves higher, closer to where you’re warm and growing wet just from. being close to her.

“Such a good girl” She whispers, her voice so low you almost miss it. At that, your thigh twitches, clearly amusing her. “I suppose you want me to touch you?” She says with a sick grin on her lips. You nod with your eyes stuck on her, bright and filled with hope like she was some kind of god to you. She loved it, it turned her on more than anything else. “I know, I know. . . d’you think you deserve it though?”

You debate a bit in your head for a moment, looking down and away. Did you deserve it? To have Abby make you feel good after you’d tried to leave her? She shifts closer, her face close enough to yours now that you feel her breath on your cheek. “Tell me you’re sorry, then i’ll think about touching you.” It’s the best deal anyone could offer you.

“I’m so sorry Abby, please, I need you so bad.” You plead to her with your sweet little voice that makes her swoon. Your pretty glossed lips tremble when she hums, considering let you have what you want.

“Yeah?” She asks you. A large hand makes its way to the soft material of your panties and she can feel the heat radiating from you already. “Jesus. . .” She says under her breath.

She’s got to see you, she has to. When she pulls off your blanket you shiver at the shock. All you’ve got on other than your underwear is an oversized t-shirt that definitely belongs to her, with her high school football team’s name on it in faded letters. It’s one of your favorite shirts to sleep in since she left it at your room about two months ago. The last time she saw you in it she’d gotten all possessive and fucked you until your bed frame scratched up the wall behind it. She remembered it vividly. How loud you had been for her that night, the way your hands gripped at her arms as she entered you. She thought about it a lot, it was one of her favorite daydreams. Right now though, in the present, her eyes were trained on the damp middle of your light pink panties. She crawls up onto your bed then, laying you back as she did so she could hover over your lower half. Your legs part for her easily and she kisses your thigh in return. She sucked in a breath as she brought a finger down to trace over your slit through the fabric. There's a cute little bow at the top of your panties that she toys with. She watches your stomach tenses up when she touches you like that. She brings her hand lower, stroking up and down the length of your cunt lazily. She blinks up at you and you look almost pained, eyebrows knitted together and a pout she wants to kiss off your face. God you're so spoiled.

“Abby. . .” You said shakily. The feeling of her fingers on your pussy was heavenly, but you needed more. Her skin against your skin.

“Shh, be patient.” She tells you.

You watch as she adjusts herself to get closer and you feel a burning in your stomach, knowing exactly what was coming next. She placed an open mouthed kiss right up against your clit, tasting your wetness through the thin, soaked through fabric. She loved doing this, every time she ate you out she started like this, and without fail it always got you worked up. The next time she brings her mouth down on you, you can’t keep your noises in. A high pitched sound comes out of your mouth, a sound that you forgot you could make after all these days away from Abby. You missed how good she could make you feel. You feel her smirking against you, cocky as usual about the effect she had on you. She decides to give you what she knows you want now and pushes your panties to the side with two of her fingers. Your exposed cunt aching for her.

“So pretty.” She says before licking a short stripe against your folds. Seeing you like this, exposed just for her makes her want to ruin you. Now’s not the time for that though. “You’re so wet for me, just for me.” Her mouth is on your again, pressing kisses against your sensitive clit before she starts torturously slow licks.

“Just for you, Abby. . .” You assure her, you’re all dizzy with pleasure. Looking down at her with her mouth busy on your pussy is almost too much. You feel like you could cum already.

You push your hands into her hair, it’s slightly damp still from the shower, only in a messy ponytail instead of the braid she’s almost never seen without. Your fingers comb through the shorter strands that frame her face, pushing them back as she continues to eat you out like you’re her last meal. She’s so pretty you think your could cry. She looks like a painting while going down on you, the distinct slope of her nose and the thickness of her dark lashes. You almost want her to stop just so you can place kisses all over her face. Her focus on your clit becomes overwhelming for a moment and you inhale as your hands tighten in her blonde hair. She smells clean like soap and the moisturizer you left at her place. “God, please. . . I- It’s s’good.” You ramble like this when you’re getting close. The feeling of your manicured nails against her scalp is addictive. She loves when you pet her like this while she pleasures you.

“Gonna cum for me? Go ahead, my good girl.” She says with her lips moving against your pussy. She uses her fingers for the first time, but not to enter you. She glides them through the sticky mess she’s made of your cunt. “Want you to remember this,” She says. The tip of her middle finger slides right against your entrance, circling around a bit before slipping in. “Want you to remember I'm the only one who can get you this wet without even trying.” She moves her finger in and out a few times, the thickness of her digit driving you crazy. She leans down again. Pushing her tongue into your hole, replacing her finger with it. Your hips buck up, pushing yourself on her face and she doesn’t stop you. Only placing a large hand on your hip you guide you as she moves her tongue against your pussy. She's so good with her mouth, you feel jealous just thinking about whoever taught how to go down. You can hear your wetness, it's so obscene but you love it. It doesn't make you shy, just more desperate.

The room is unbearably hot now, you feel your shirt sticking to your skin with the thin sheen of sweat that’s covering you. As you get closer to your release, you move a hand up to your tits to touch your nipples, rubbing your fingers over them uncoordinatedly. Abby would help you if she wasn’t so focused on getting you to cum on her face. She knows that she’s the only one who can really touch you the way you need. but it’s cute to see your try.

“Abby, abby. . .” You chant, your words slurring a little bit.

“Go ahead, baby.” Your heart skips at the pet name.

When you cum, it wrecks you. A strangled noise escaping you as you arch into her touch. She doesn’t stop either, her fingers still moving against you as she watches your face intensely, not wanting to miss how pretty you are when you’re finishing for her. She leans up to press a kiss to your open mouth, which you return immediately, pulling her face against her’s the second you get your hands on her. You can taste yourself all over her mouth as she sucks at your tongue. Her hair falls over her face with how you've ruined it. The strands get in the way and she makes an aggravated grunt as she pushes them back again. You can barely keep up with her as she hovers over you, only pausing for a breath before she’s kissing you again. It feels like hours pass before you pull apart, both of you sweaty and tired out. You more than her of course.

“Missed you so much.” She tells you. You laugh a little, “I can tell.”

She looks down with a bashful smile, “Shut up.” If you weren’t so angelic looking in your fucked out state she’d shove you. “I’m never letting you push me away again.” She says. You can tell it’s a promise. You want her to keep it.

୨♡୧

You both fall asleep rather quickly. Abby’s arms around you, making you feel safe. The sun is just beginning to rise, bringing enough light into the room for you to see her discarded sweatpants on your floor and her hair tie on your nightstand. Abby is still asleep, you can tell by the slow rise and fall of her chest against you. Under the blanket your legs are tangled between hers and you can feel her breathing against the top of your head. When you both wake up you'll beg her to take you to the coffee shop on campus like you both love to do when you're not mad at eachother. Today would be one of those days.

Until then, you're content with just being with her in the serenity of it all. No matter how messed up it is, you know you’d rather fight with her everyday for the rest of your life than give this up.

#abby anderson x reader #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #abby anderson #tlou fic #abby anderson tlou2 #abby anderson smut #abby anderson fluff

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throneofsapphics · 5 months

Text

the ebb and flow of fate part 5

Cazriel x f!Reader

(part one) (part two) (part three) (part four) (epilogue)

Summary: Everything made sense, looking back in time. The pull she felt to them, beyond the bounds of friendship. They’d be the reason she tore all of her hair out, this entire damned thing was a mess.

Warnings: angst, illness, discussions of death, smut, minors dni

Word Count: ~3.1k

A/N: a short one, but I wanted to update this! It’s not over yet, I promise

“I thought you would’ve figured it out by now,” Cassian shot back at her.

Azriel watched as the bond snapped. Counted the seconds it took her to reply. Fifty six. Less than a minute for his heart to crush. Maybe it was his fault, for assuming it might fix everything. Still, an angry and dangerous hurt filled him. The type of hurt that would make him reckless, that would make him say and do things he’d regret, so he left. Left her and Cassian in some kind of stand off. Did it make him a coward? To turn his back and walk away? Maybe, but it was the safe option. The option to cause the least harm.

The weight of the last several months settled on him.

You deserve it.

Maybe she had a point. Even if he didn’t regret the things he’d done in the past, it had to balance out somewhere. Why would he deserve anything good?

Azriel sought out Rhys, he couldn’t handle Cassian right now, but he needed an outlet. Some way to get all of his anger and hurt out. His brother didn’t ask questions, didn’t pry, but stayed in the ring with him until they were both covered with sweat and filled with exhaustion.

It didn’t work.

Mates. Mates. Mates. The obnoxious voice in the back of her mind repeated. She wouldn’t lie to herself, they were telling the truth. Everything made sense, looking back in time. The pull she felt to them, beyond the bounds of friendship. They’d be the reason she tore all of her hair out, this entire damned thing was a mess.

Could fate throw a wrench in plans she hadn’t actually made? She should consider herself blessed to find two mates, but she never imagined herself mated this young. Not before her first century. They probably didn’t either.

Her mind drifted to the state of their world, of the impending conflicts constantly around the corner. Could she forgive herself if she ignored them? Ignored herself? Only to have it ripped away unexpectedly.

It was not the time to make a decision. A few weeks passed, and they all made careful circles around each other. Back to ignoring, thrown back to the past, and it was miserable. She was miserable. This wasn’t the past she wanted to be thrown into.

Azriel had turned his back. Azriel walked away. Again, like a gods-damned coward. Cassian left after she kicked him out. If she accepted the bond, is this what waited for her? Constant fights, turning their backs on each other, always falling out and making up, only for everything to crash down again.

Deep in herself, she knew she couldn’t go centuries without them, but she wasn’t sure she could handle centuries of that. Miserable with them, or without them.

It started with a barely noticeable shake in her hand, followed by increased headaches. Not often, but more than usual. It didn’t impair her life, not significantly, but it was enough to bring her to Madja.

The healer looked … contemplative, and worried. She knew it would be bad news, at this point she was just waiting to hear how bad.

“I need to look into it more.”

That’s the last thing she wanted to hear. A few weeks passed, and it was all she could think about. Even pushing thoughts of the mating bond aside. She’d given up on bugging Madja, who said she’d call her if she had any news. Finally, she received a letter, a summons with little detail, and burst out of the library as fast as she could, winnowing as soon as she cleared the wards.

“What is it?” She didn’t bother with a pleasant greeting, especially when she saw the look on her face. After working alongside her for a few years, she knew that one, and her heart dropped to her stomach. “What is it?” She repeated, lower this time. Madja motioned for her to sit, she obeyed, and the female took a chair across from her.

“It’s killing you.” At least she didn’t mince her words.

“Any more details?”

“It could be three years, it could be three hundred, could be a thousand.”

“Right,” she swallowed, tilting her head towards the ceiling, willing the tears away.

“We’ll find ways to manage it, I have more contacts to reach out to.” Madja continued, gently.

“Manage,” she repeated faintly.

“Have you told your mates about it?”

She winced, taking a breath to center herself. “We’re not on speaking terms.”

Madja clicked her tongue, “it could be three years, it could be three hundred, maybe a thousand. Do you want to live the rest of your life ignoring them? Is your grudge worth it?”

No. It wasn’t. She didn’t need to say it, Madja read the look on her face, returning it with one of approval.

Tonight. She would do it tonight, before she ran out of time. Walking back to the Townhouse, she thought of how she would do it. First step would be to get the two of them alone. Then … maybe just tell them she’s ready. She didn’t bother going back to the library, there was no way she could focus. Not now.

“What if we’re not ready?”

Each word sliced into her, carving her heart open for them to see. Her eyes shuttered closed, taking a few moments to trap the tears behind, to will them away.

All she could manage was a stiff nod, before making a quick exit - nearly at a sprint, if she’s being honest. She made it all the way out of the townhouse, winnowing down to the sidra, to a secluded spot near the river, before she broke.

Knees hit the pavement, gravel embedding in her skin, her hands cradling her head as tears flowed, leaving a salty taste on her lips.

“Thought I might find you here.”

Amren. For fucks sake. Out of everyone to find comfort in, Amren was at the bottom of her list, not that she wanted comfort or company. Right now, she wanted to wallow in herself.

A small, but surprisingly strong hand gripped her shoulder, yanking her back to her feet. Silver eyes looked at her with a mix of distaste and pity.

“What?”

Those eyes narrowed in warning, but she didn’t care. Nothing could hurt now, not as she let numbness take over, and let herself slip into that void without feeling, the inbetween state where nothing mattered.

“You’re all idiots.”

A broken laugh left her, one hand rubbing her forehead. She could’ve sworn Amren’s blood red lips curved at the corners, however briefly.

“Do you have any good advice?”

Amren ignored the sneaky barb, tilting her head to assess her. As always, it felt like she was stripping her bare, somehow staring into the dark depths of her soul. “The three of you need to drag your heads out of your asses.” She scowled, that wasn’t much better. “What exactly did he say?”

“What if we’re not ready?” she quoted.

“It was a question, then.”

“Not the way he said it.”

“You make too many assumptions,” Amren clicked her tongue, finger running across her ruby necklace. Giant, almost gaudy, gems. But, the ancient creature managed to pull them off.

Azriel was conned into picking up a tonic for Mor, who was currently acting like a child over her cough, but he didn’t mind doing it - not really.

He startled when he scented her there. After the conversation a few days ago, a question Cassian meant rhetorically, she’d disappeared before they could follow her, and had been a virtual ghost the last few days. They were ready, had been ready, but resentment still lingered.

Respecting her privacy would be the smart thing to do, but bits of her conversation with Madja snuck through, and his shadows investigated. They’d been restless. Wherever she retreated to, they couldn’t find her.

“I heard back from my friend in Dawn, she said she’d be willing to take a look, but she’s not sure she’ll find anything I couldn’t.” Madja sounded a bit disappointed. To look at what?

“It’s worth a shot.”

“Have you told them?”

“I did. They’re not,” her voice cracked, “ready.”

“Have you told them about your … condition?”

“No. I won’t, they’ll probably think I’m guilting them into it.”

“It’s not going away,” Madja said, maybe a tad harshly. Azriel had a sinking feeling he knew what this was about. “As far as we know, we’re not going to cure it, this is about management.”

“You’ve already said that,” your voice was dead, flat. “It would be nice to have a timeline.”

“Like I told you before, it could be three years or three hundred. We’re in uncharted territory.”

Azriel couldn’t handle it anymore, couldn’t handle being this close to you without speaking, and strode for the door, knuckles rapping against the wood.

Madja swung it open, raising her brows.

“Came to pick something up for Mor,” he said, but his eyes darted behind her - where you sat, head buried between your hands, forearms propped on your knees.

“I think you need to talk,” Madja said, and slipped past him, leaving them alone. She didn’t look up, keeping her hands shielding her face.

Slowly, he crossed, stopping to kneel in front of her, peeling her hands away. Eyes wide, brimming with tears slowly escaping, she asked “how much did you hear?”

“Enough.”

She tried to force a smile, and it failed miserably. Shock and realization set in as he looked at her, as he tried to read the swirling emotions on her face. He’d have to watch her die. Three years, three hundred, a thousand. Eternity didn’t feel like enough time with you. He’d be haunted by the knowledge that some day he’d lose his mate. As a result of all of their actions. Of something so fucking preventable, if all could’ve swallowed their pride.

She deserves someone better. Someone who hadn’t fucked everything up. Maybe it made him a bad person, a selfish asshole, but she was his. His mate, the person destined for him - sent by the Mother, the Cauldron, Fate, or whatever. Azriel wouldn’t let go of her, wouldn’t let her slip through his fingers again.

Cassian needed to know, but they needed to figure out a way to tell him without him slipping into a pit of misery and self loathing.

“Might as well tell him now,” she read his expression, the unsaid words in his eyes. For once, she didn’t protest as he helped her up, tugging her to his chest and winnowing to the Townhouse.

Cassian took one look at her expression, at the tear stained cheeks, at the grave look on Azriel’s face and knew something was wrong. Something beyond whatever happened earlier.

Poison. Side effects. No cure. Years or centuries. He didn’t let his eyes leave you as you explained, as tears streamed down your face - Azriel filling in the words where he could, admitting he overheard their conversation picking something up for Mor.

Beautiful eyes stared at him as you finished, waiting for him to say something. Anything. He’d never been great with words, so he stood, grabbing her and pulling her into a tight hug. Squeezing until she said she couldn’t breathe, and then only loosening enough for her to not suffocate, not willing to let her go yet.

“Madja’s contacting someone in Dawn,” he said, still holding on to you, “there’s still a chance.”

“A better chance at management,” she said into his chest. Cassian didn’t want to believe it. Between all of them, with Rhys and Madja and whoever else they could get in contact with, they’d find something. He needed to cling to that hope, to hold onto it as tight as he could. If he didn’t, he’d fall deep, deep down somewhere he didn’t know he could drag himself out of.

“You’ve hurt me, both of you. Turned your backs on me more times than I care to count. How do I push past that? How do I forget it? How do I trust you won’t do it again?”

It felt like she was asking for an answer, begging for some kind of reassurance, an example that would soothe that feeling and hurt.

“You don’t,” Cassian said. She frowned at him. “You let us prove it to you.”

“You still have nightmares, right?” She tensed, as if she wanted to avoid the question, and wanted to lie about it. Azriel raised one brow, shoulder swirling around his neck. She couldn’t lie to him, even if he tried to tell them to quit spying, they still kept an eye on her.

A muscle in her jax flexed. “Right.”

“Stay the night with us. Let us help.” Azriel didn’t phase it as a question. He needed to help. Every instinct roared at him to get her closer, to protect her from any threats - visible or not.

“You can come on your own feet, or over my shoulder,” Cassian threw a grin her way.

She chuckled, shoulders relaxing at the old threat - one used several times by Cassian. “I can handle walking down the hall. If I have a nightmare, I’ll come.”

“Save yourself the walk.”

They had one of their standoffs, each of them crossing their arms - almost in sync. Azriel pressed his lips together to hold back a laugh. It was so normal. It gave him hope they could build back what they had before everything went to hell.

She might accept the bond, but Azriel was smarter than to think that would fix everything. The trust they had, it might take years to build back up again. A challenge would be good for them. Sure, it might suck, it might be difficult, but he didn’t doubt they’d come out closer because of it.

“If you don’t relax, you’ll never sleep.”

“I’m perfectly relaxed,” she snipped back. It wasn’t completely true, actually it was mostly a lie. Something about sharing their bed now, with what she knew, felt different.

“Liar,” Azriel countered. At least she could always count on him to call her out.

Cassian ran a hand up her thigh, stopping where her night dress ended. It was a particularly short one. The first one she could grab before he showed up in her room. She’d intended to walk there on her own, but he’d come to throw her over his shoulder anyway, a playful gesture as she laughed and half heartedly hit the space above his wings.

“Need a little … help loosening up?”

Gods, his mouth was so close to her ear, lips almost brushing over, breath caressing her neck. She tensed for another reason. Azriel’s fingers tilted her jaw up. Hazel eyes searched hers. Do you want this?

Did she? Fuck, she really did. Yes.

A nod, not directed at her, and Cassian’s hand drifted, fingers dragging up the hem of the silky fabric, exposing more of her skin.

Her teeth dug into her bottom lip, Azriel’s finger tugged it free, brushing over it. His knuckles ran over her jaw, Cassian’s hand made its way up. She didn’t know where to focus, not as Azriel leaned in to place a kiss at the corner of her mouth, as Cassian gripped her leg, tugging it back over her hips, dress pushed up to her hips. Exposed. Exposed and nothing worn underneath it.

She heard them swallow at the same time, vaguely seeing Azriel’s throat bob in the moonlight.

Being touched by them was safe. This was safe, she emphasized to her mind, not giving it a chance to take over her thoughts, refusing to let it cloud her senses.

Cassian was teasing, fingers drifting around the outsides, never actually touching her where she wanted to. Azriel traced her cheekbones, jaw, collarbone, around the curve of her breasts.

“This is not relaxing,” she said through gritted teeth, pushing back against Cassian for emphasis. He let out a short breath, gripping her thigh instead. A low whine left her. Now he was too far. He laughed, and her cheeks flushed. “Are you going to make me beg?”

“Not this time,” he said, just as Azriel’s hand crept under her dress, pushing back up to pinch her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Two of Cassian’s fingers ran up her folds.

Gods, this was heaven. Why hadn’t they done this sooner? His fingers swirled around her clit, Az palming her breast now, switching back and forth between the two of them. How had she gone so long without this?

Swirling, pinching, flicking, pressing, the sensations spreading across her body mixed into one. Just one state of pleasure, of confusion and overdrive. She wiggled, arched her back, let out moans she didn’t have time to think about. Her thighs clenched as one finger slipped inside of her. Who’s was it? She didn’t know, didn’t care, as long as it never left.

“Good,” Cassian murmured, “let go for us sweetheart.”

You did. You screamed - loud enough a hand clamped over your mouth, one of them laughing.

Slowly, the one finger left her, and she missed it. Didn’t quite like the empty feeling left behind. But, she was distracted as the hand - it must’ve been Cassian then, crossed over her … to Azriel.

He met her eyes as he wrapped his lips around it, tasting her. Fuck. Just one hit, one taste, and she was in over her head.

“I want to … to you-” she babbled, words nearly nonsensical.

Cassian laughed behind her, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Another time.”

She pouted. Fucking pouted. Gods they’d really turned her into a mess.

“We promise,” Azriel pushed some of the hair back from her face.

“Feeling relaxed now?�� Cass asked.

If she said no, would they do it again?

“If you lie, I'll know.”

Fine. “I’m relaxed.”

“Good, now sleep,” Cassian rested his hand on her stomach. Too appropriate of a place.

“How am I supposed to sleep after that?”

“Close your eyes, think sleepy thoughts. She elbowed him. He had some of the worst advice. He countered by pushing her towards Azriel. The male didn’t hesitate to roll her to her other side, now curving his body around hers, holding her tight enough she couldn’t escape if she wanted to. “I regret that,” Cassian muttered, but shifted closer, arm draping over her to rest on Azriel.

The three of them, curled up together, just how it should be. Fate designed it this way, the Mother put the three of them together for a reason. No matter how limited, she’d take whatever she could get.

taglist: @infinitely-kate, @foreverrandomwritings, @anuttellaa, @morelovemorepeacemoretattoo-blog, @justasillylittlegoofyguy, @starswholistenanddreamsanswered, @bookishdeer, @sidthedollface2, @mis-lil-red, @acourtofbatboydreams, @blessthepizzaman, @hallucynatiing, @summerloversposts, @i-am-infinite, @fanfiction-for-my-soul, @brandywineeeee, @oktievia, @inloveallthetime let me know if you'd like to be added! sorry it didn't let me tag everyone!

#cazriel x y/n #cazriel x reader #cassian x azriel x reader #cassian x azriel x y/n #acotar fic #acotar x reader #cassian x reader x azriel #azriel x cassian x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x reader #cassian x y/n #cassian x reader

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acerikus · 6 months

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Okay so after reading that article about what's actually happening on tumblr now:

It's not dying, they're just downsizing. I know 'skeleton crew' is drifting around but guys. In this time automattic has had Tumblr they've had around SIX HUNDRED PEOPLE working on it. That's ridiculous. That's overkill. There's no way they needed that many. Not for what tumblr is and that's probably part of their weirdly high costs.

They're not taking people away from the safety/security part of their tumblr team (and are allegedly even expanding it) - just away from new project work and marketing. So essentially, less new features and less time spent on marketing. New features could still happen, but likely smaller and less frequent.

They were contractually obliged to keep tumblr live despite everyone's hatred of it, which explains a lot. Seems like they've gotta keep it till January, and if it's still not doing better by then they're gonna 'reconsider' if it's actually worth keeping.

That DOES however mean that we need to be aware that Tumblr might push tumblr live on us more than ever for the next couple months as a last ditch attempt at making it successful. It's also possible they've given up and don't think it's worth the effort, but it's worth keeping in mind. Just a couple more months and we might be free of it.

Essentially: tumblr is gonna be treated more like the little microblogging site on the side that it is rather than a big corporate monolith with high risk high reward turnaround potential. I'm not saying there won't still be issues to call out, but hopefully things are gonna get better in terms of UI and usability, without it constantly trying to morph into a different social media.

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youcouldmakealife · 1 month

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SOTM: Lourdes Family, David; family traditons

For the prompt: Jake's sisters slowly warming up to David

The problem with Nat and David, Allie decides early on, is that they’re too alike. Not in most ways, really — she doesn’t think they’d agree on much when it comes to their taste in media, or hobbies, or any of that, and she’s sure they’d both be surprised if she said they were similar at all.

But Allie knows Nat better than she knows herself, probably, and she’s made an attempt at getting to know David, because she knows how important it is to Jake, and some of the things that make Natalie Nat to her seem to be pretty similar to the things that make David David.

They’re both quiet, but it’s not shyness with either of them, though it can seem like it unless you know them. As often as not, Nat’s quiet because silently dismantling whatever’s being said in her head, about to spring it on whatever poor unsuspecting person just claimed they ‘could care less’ or called a pterodactyl a dinosaur or something that matters to nobody but Nat.

Though mostly she doesn’t actually say it to them — unless they’re family, she corrects Allie all the time, and poor Jakey doesn’t stand a chance — she’s saying it as an aside to Allie, or recalling it later ,‘my co-worker thought Babylon was a mythological place, and when I said 'oh yeah, like Bethlehem?' he said 'yeah, exactly!'’ or ‘If I hear someone use literally when they mean figuratively one more time, Allie, I swear I'm going to snap’.

She’s quiet, and sometimes she seems checked out, but she’s always paying attention to what everyone else is saying. Allie’s learned it’s the same with David — she’ll mention something and then nine months later David will have gotten her a Christmas present based on her offhand comment. Or he’ll ask if she wants the same drink as last time, last time being like, six months ago. Allie doesn’t know if he’s got that kind of memory for everybody, or if it’s just because she’s Jake’s sister, and he’s still trying to impress all of them, but, well — consider her impressed, she guesses.

But also, she’s pretty sure he’s also picking up on the mistakes everybody else makes, except instead of ‘Allie, let me tell you the misspelled bumper sticker I saw today’, she isn’t hearing shit from him. She doesn’t think Jake is either, at least if the people making mistakes are them. And they probably are. Allie has no illusions that she makes no mistakes: if she did, Nat would have beaten that belief out of her by now.

“He thinks he’s better than us,” Nat complained once, and Allie pressed her lips together very tightly, and she didn’t say a thing, and frankly, she thinks she deserves a medal for that.

As similar as David can be to Nat, he’s absolutely nothing like Jake. If Allie was asked to list their similarities, it’d be like — ‘very athletic white dudes around the same age’, and then a bunch of hockey specific things. Beyond that, she’s got nothing. It isn’t just their personalities — they have completely different taste in everything. Different priorities, outside of similar career ones. Some overlapping friends, but Allie just attributes that to Jake being able to make friends with a table leg if he wants to. They could not be less alike.

Allie’s never been a big believer in the whole ‘opposites attract’ thing, but honestly, maybe she should be: mom and dad are a pretty good example of it, and Jake and David seem to bring out the best in each other.

It took Allie a little while to come to terms with them getting back together, but she can’t deny that Jake seems to grow when he’s around David. Maturity wise, but he also just seems to stand up straighter, like just being around David makes him more alert, or aware, or maybe even self-confident, though that’s never been something he's lacked.

It probably isn’t just David he’s like that with — Allie hasn’t seen him around the Panthers too much, but he is the captain, after all — but either way, it’s a nice thing to see Jake grown up.

He’s still the baby to her, will probably always be the baby to her — anyone she put in pigtails and pulled around in a little red wagon while telling everyone to look at her pretty little dolly is going to be a baby to her forever, let’s face it — but for all that he’s been taller than her since he was twelve, he felt like a kid to her the whole way to the show, and for awhile after. He doesn’t feel like a kid anymore. Baby, sure, he's always going to be that, but not a kid.

If anything, David feels more like one. Not that he’s childish, or immature, or whatever, because Allie suspects he wasn’t even childish when he was an actual child. Maybe more someone suddenly immersed in a foreign culture — he doesn’t know where he’s supposed to be, what he’s supposed to do, what the hell is up with the wishbone thing.

She’s seen Jake explain things to him, the traditions she thought everyone did, and the traditions that are very Lourdes specific, the way mom gives extra mashed potatoes if you're a suck up, and how if people don’t take turns opening presents it turns into a free-for-all, and how nobody actually eats the cranberry sauce.

When Jake isn’t there to do it — rare, but the dude does need bathroom breaks — Allie figures it’s no skin off her nose to do it instead, and she even overhears Nat doing it once, though she might have just been venting about someone saying dumb shit again. She does love to do that.

The important thing is that he keeps showing up, even though he’s uncomfortable every single time — though maybe Allie’s imagining it, but she thinks he’s reached the ‘almost comfortable’ stage this Christmas, like, maybe feeling a little awkward, but no more than anyone else would, spending Christmas with his boyfriend’s family. Maybe more than someone typically would if they’ve been doing it every year, but Allie knows they can be a lot, that most people have trouble keeping up with the rapid back and forth — even Jake gets left behind sometimes, then pouty when they start tease him about it.

David was a wide-eyed spectator, the first few times he saw that. Jake told Allie later that he didn’t hear the fondness in it, just the mockery, got defensive on Jake’s behalf. Allie doesn’t know how he’s survived locker rooms for so long — their love language is basically just mockery and punching each other in sensitive places, at least judging by Jake and his teammates back in the day. Probably now too. She’s met Cody Gallagher, unfortunately.

He takes it better now though, even joined in yesterday when everyone was shit-talking Jake’s recent stab at growing facial hair, while Jake tried and failed to defend himself through giggles. On the one hand, Allie’s just glad it isn’t a mustache, but on the other hand, maybe he’d do a better job with that. This morning, Jake comes down to breakfast clean-shaven. Allie isn’t delusional: he didn’t shave it because his sisters gave him shit. That was all David.

“High five,” Allie says when David joins them downstairs, and she’s half expecting a quizzical look, maybe even the ‘what the hell are the Lourdes talking about now’ one that surfaces sometimes, but instead she gets a tiny smile and a high five.

“I’m sitting right here, guys,” Jake says, but once again, he’s laughing.

#fic snippet #SOTM #david chapman #jake lourdes #allie lourdes #nat lourdes

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roosterforme · 1 year

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Old Habits Die Hard Part 6 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: The slow burn threatens so make Sugar melt, and Bradley can't remember ever feeling this way before.

Warnings: Angst, swears, smut, fluff

Length: 4800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (fuckboy college student Bradley)

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"Oh my God," you sighed when you woke up late on Saturday morning. As soon as you opened your eyes, you couldn't stop smiling. Being walked home by Bradley was like a dream you didn't want to wake up from.

His lips had been all over yours, hips pressing you back against the wall outside your apartment door. When you asked him if he wanted to come inside, he groaned, "Of course I want to, Sugar. But can we just... not? Not tonight?"

You nodded in response, and he looked so relieved, you didn't think he meant for you to feel bad about what he said. You thought maybe it was more about him than you.

As you ran your fingertips along his scars, Bradley melted into your hand. "Tell me you'll come back over to the house tomorrow. We can hang out again."

You smiled at him. "Yeah, I'll come back tomorrow."

He nodded slightly, still leaning into your palm. "Text me. I'll walk over and get you. Shouldn't be walking by yourself."

And you were still thinking about what he said the next morning. He wasn't your boyfriend. He would probably never be your boyfriend. So maybe you shouldn't be encouraging him to walk you to and from his frat house all the time, but you had already promised him he could do it again.

"You're an idiot," you told yourself as you climbed out of bed, still wearing his sweatshirt. "He's not a good idea. You should know better." But you were still smiling.

------------------------------------

Bradley was antsy as soon as he woke up. He had too much energy. You'd gotten yourself under his skin somehow, and he felt like he needed to do something about it. He started pacing around his room.

He'd been threatening to kiss you stupid, but you were the one who had managed to turn him into a brainless moron with your lips and your face and your body.

"Dude," he groaned out loud. You had invited him in last night. He knew Janessa was staying with Tyson, so it would have been just the two of you at your apartment. It was an invitation for full steam ahead to getting laid, but he had said no. As if he had a shred of dignity left to protect. Like there was a thread of virtue left inside him.

Why was it so important to him that you didn't think he was a complete fuckboy? He never cared what any of the other girls thought. He never stopped them from writing on his door. He had even once fucked a girl after she told him she just wanted to be able to get her name up there, like riding his dick one time was some sort of prize you could win.

Just thinking about it made him uncomfortable now. He couldn't even remember that girl's name or what she looked like. But he remembered that she brought her own marker.

He collapsed back onto his bed. He had to swallow around the lump in his throat. That was probably how Phoebe had become his safety net. She was there the night his face got busted up. She knew what happened and could have probably guessed why he got into a fight with Chase. She never gave him a hard time about any of it. And she never got mad when he went into a spiral where he started sleeping around more than usual.

And yet, Phoebe got away with not getting mad about the things he did, because she wasn't his girlfriend. Nobody cared about him enough to be that.

Maybe things had started to improve when he started drinking less. The past six months had been better for him, in a lot of ways. He had been taking extra classes to get his GPA up as high as possible. He had actually been enjoying school. But he kept on going along with the easiest girls on campus, the ones who he knew wouldn't give his scars a second glance. The kinds of girls he'd always chosen.

His mom would be disgusted, and he knew it. His dad probably never did this shit. He buried his face in his hands. You were supposed to text him later to let him know when to walk to your place and get you. He needed to tell you he couldn't see you anymore. He needed to stop being around you, starting today. Maybe he could get better, be better, but he'd have to try it with someone else. Because there was no way he could let himself ruin you, drag your reputation down to his level. Jeff had been right. You were too fucking good.

And then he thought about how sweetly you talked to him last night. How well you had kissed him, and how he had pressed you down underneath his body. You trusted him. Trusted him with more than just his ability to get you off.

Then he thought about you in his lap in the library study room. He wouldn't be able to tell you no if you said you wanted him. He was so weak. He had never let himself be interested in any other girl like this before.

--------------------------------------

You had finished all of your schoolwork, and it was only mid afternoon. You couldn't text Bradley yet; that would have been as mortifying as when you came apart in his lap. So you tried to take a nap, then you watched a movie. You wanted to text him while you were eating dinner, but then you frowned, because he had been the one initiating texts with you ever since you wrote your number on his pristine door.

"What the hell?" you whispered. What could his problem be? What if he hooked up with someone else last night after he walked you home? You pushed your plate of food to the side, suddenly no longer hungry.

You glared at your phone, not wanting to be the one to make the first move. And just then it lit up with a text from him, and you quickly snatched it up into your hands.

Sugar, I miss you more than I should be allowed to. Tell me to stop.

Your heart was pounding now. Stop? You didn't want him to stop. So maybe he hadn't been with anyone else last night. Maybe he'd just been thinking about you.

You wrote back, You're allowed to miss me all you want, Beer Boy. Or you can walk over and get me. Then you wouldn't have to miss me at all.

You waited for a response but got nothing. You got changed and finished putting on some makeup, and he still hadn't written back. Finally, when you were about to see where Janessa was, he replied.

I'm on my way.

You bit your lip and almost screamed. You put your dishes in the sink and thought about taking a shot of the cheap tequila you and Janessa bought before you turned twenty one. You needed a distraction. But then there was a knock at your door, and you rushed to open it.

Chocolate brown eyes, messy hair tucked under a backwards cap. Smirk that made you feel silly.

"Sugar," he whispered, leaning against the door frame with both hands and examining your face. "Tell me I'm not allowed to miss you."

Fuck that. You reached for the front of his shirt, pulling him toward you, and he released the door frame. "What if I want you to?" you asked him softly.

He groaned as he pulled you against him and kissed you.

-------------------------------

He wanted you. He tried not to. He spent the entire day telling himself no. If you had told him no, he would have been gone immediately. But you were dressed all cute again, and your body was fitted perfectly against his. And you kept giving him a green light.

"Bradley," you gasped when he ran his lips along your ear. "Feel like hanging out here instead of going to the party?" you asked softly.

His cock throbbed for you. He hadn't let himself masturbate all day, and it had been a week since he got laid. You could have him right now if you wanted him. Right here next to your front door. But he was trying so hard to do what he should. Part of him still believed he came here to tell you he couldn't be around you anymore. The other part knew he was full of shit; he came here because he couldn't stay away. He was a fucking mess.

"I signed us up for beer pong," he told you, his voice raspy as you ran your hand along his arm.

You giggled, and he pulled you closer. "I suck at beer pong."

"I don't mind," he promised, taking your hand and leading you out. He listened to you talk as you walked. You asked him questions and wanted to hear what he thought about things, just like you had last night when he took you home. When you stopped at the crosswalk and kissed his scars, it felt nice.

Tyson and Dev waved you both over to the game as soon as you got there. "You guys are up," Tyson said, handing you the ball. "Ladies first."

Bradley watched you get ready to start the game, smiling softly at him over your shoulder. And you weren't just bad at beer pong, you were terrible. But he didn't mind when you missed three shots in a row, because your little crop top was riding up higher every time you attempted a throw.

When Bradley made his shot again, you groaned and glared at him. "Told you I sucked."

"How are you possibly this bad?" Bradley asked you, taking you by the hips from behind and moving you a foot further away from the edge of the table. "You're good at math! It's like a physics problem." He let his hands linger on your body for a beat as Tyson took his turn.

You turned to look at him. "Huh. I never thought about it that way!" you said, and Bradley grinned, because he had made your eyes light up.

"See, everyone underestimates how smart I actually am," he told you as he squared your hips and let his hands ghost up the soft skin along your sides, making you shiver. "Just get used to the way the ball feels when it leaves your hand, and let it arc down into the cups." Bradley removed his hands once you were in position, and when you took your shot, you managed to get the ball into a cup.

"It's math, Beer Boy!" you told him with a smile. He could still see the fading hickey on your neck whenever you tossed your hair back from your shoulders. When he leaned in and placed his lips there, you moaned softly, and he felt weak. What the fuck was going on? If you were any other girl, he could have had you begging for him, fucked you in his room, and come back down to the party with a clear head.

"Are you guys going to stop feeling each other up and play?" Tyson called from the other end of the table with a grin.

"Sorry, man," Bradley replied, picking up the ping pong ball and tossing it effortlessly into a cup. "Math," he confirmed with a nod.

The match was close, but Dev managed to edge the two of you out on the last cup. "I've never been that good before!" you told Bradley as he led you away from the table as the next opponents were called over.

"You know the secret. Now you'll be unbeatable. Come on, let's get some of the good beers," he said with a smirk, dropping his hat onto your head. He had no idea where Jeff was, and he wanted to keep it that way. The kitchen was empty, and as soon as he had you in there away from the horribly loud music, you had your arms around him.

He took two beers out of the fridge and opened them before picking you up and setting you on the counter. "Warn a girl next time!" you screeched as he jumped up next to you.

"Sorry," he said with a laugh. Bradley couldn't get over you. "You look adorable in my hat."

He watched your cheeks flush pink. "I slept in your sweatshirt last night," you admitted with a smile, but you looked away from him.

Fuck. "Lucky shirt," he muttered, and you turned to look at him, pressing your lips together.

"What's wrong today? You seem... a little hesitant. And you didn't text me as much," you said softly, and Bradley's heart was in his throat. "Not that you need to text me or anything like that, of course," you said, fiddling with your beer before taking a big sip. "I was just, you know.... I like you."

"Sugar." Bradley took the beer from your hand and set it aside. You looked at him tentatively as he leaned toward you and brushed his lips softly against yours. Nobody had ever said that to him before. He'd never be able to stop now. "I like you, too."

You made a soft sound as he wrapped his hand gently around your neck and stroked his thumb along your jaw.

"I'm sure you say that to every girl," you whispered, and his lips touched yours briefly again.

"No, I never say that to any girls. That's the problem."

You laughed softly as his fingers drifted down your back and he gently kissed your neck. "That doesn't sound like a problem to me, Beer Boy."

"Oh, it is. It's a big problem."

"Then how do we solve it?" you asked as he pushed you back until you were lying along the kitchen counter, his hat rolling to the floor.

Bradley watched you reach out to him, and he let you pull him on top of you. "You're smarter than me, Sugar. Might have to rely on you to figure it out. I can only think of ways to make it worse," he whispered, letting his fingers meet the soft skin between your jeans and your shirt.

You reached up and ran your hands through his hair. "Then make it worse," you told him. "Kiss me until I sound so stupid. Touch me until I sound so fucking dumb."

"Jesus," he muttered as his lips crashed against yours, humming softly. You nibbled and licked until he dipped his tongue into your mouth to meet yours. Your fingers were a little rough against his scalp as he pulled your bottom lip between his teeth, and both of his hands were all the way up your shirt.

All the little gasps and moans you made were making him dizzy. You were so sweet, but Bradley already knew you were a little dirty, too. "You're the best combination of everything," he told you, stroking your tits through your bra.

"Oh, God," you moaned into his mouth when he kissed you again. You bucked your hips up against him, and he anchored your body against the counter as his fingertips found your nipple. He teased you there as his tongue found yours, and you whined his name so loudly he was practically seeing stars.

When the door opened and the sounds of the party filtered into the kitchen, Bradley froze.

"Come on, guys! That's where I make my sandwiches!" Tyson yelled. "What the fuck!"

Instead of looking embarrassed this time, you just laughed as Bradley pulled his hands back out of your shirt and sat up.

"Uh... sorry," Bradley said vaguely in Tyson's direction. "Won't happen again."

"I doubt that," Tyson said, glaring at both of you as Bradley helped you down from the counter and picked up his hat.

Bradley laughed when you waved over your shoulder and said, "Bye, Ty!" as Bradley pulled you out of the room.

"He has no right to complain, really. I'm the only one who cleans this fucking house," Bradley muttered. When he tried to lead you back into the living room, you tugged on his hands and he stopped. When he raised an eyebrow in your direction, you nodded toward the stairs.

"Let's go up," you said softly. "Your room is quiet. And I want to be alone with you."

Bradley let you lead him there.

--------------------------------------

Bradley let you take control. You paused outside of his door, which still only had the note he had written to you and your phone number on it. "Just the way I like it," you told him before opening it and going inside. The soft glow of the Navy desk lamp warmed the room just like the previous times you had been in here.

Bradley tossed his hat on his desk and ran his fingers along the ends of your hair. "Sugar." His voice was so soft, and his grin was just barely touching his lips. "I shouldn't have you. You're too sweet for me."

You shook your head slightly. "No, I'm not."

"Too sweet for anybody," he told you as his hands found the bare skin of your waist again, and you had to squeeze your thighs together. "I fucking want you so bad though. I don't know what to do."

You traced the long scar along his neck with your fingertips, and his eyes fluttered closed. "I want you too, Bradley." Gently, you kissed the spot where your fingers had been, and he pulled you against him. "I like you. All of you. You call me Sugar, but you're sweet to me."

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing against your lips. "I'm different now," he whispered, and while you weren't sure exactly what he meant by that, you nodded your head. He was different than you thought he would be.

Bradley dipped his head down and kissed you, his lips smiling against yours as he worked his hands higher on your waist. He pulled away a little bit and watched your face as he stroked along your curves with his thumbs. "That tickles a little bit," you told him, biting your lip to contain your giggles. But his hands inched a little higher.

"Want me to stop?" he asked, his thumbs finding your bra again just like in the kitchen. You'd worn your nicest underwear and a tight crop top that really had no place even being in your closet. He smiled, waiting for you to answer.

"Don't you dare," you told him, whining as his palms met your breasts, gently squeezing and kneading you through the lace fabric. You expected him to rip your shirt off, but he was taking his time. Somehow you knew this was not exactly the same guy who'd had the names all over his door. This guy was a better version. It felt like he was being better for you.

When your head tipped back, his lips found your neck, sucking and teasing you. Even though you tried to stop, you found yourself grinding your hips against him. He was already starting to get hard, and you knew you were already wet. One of his hands slid down to your butt, slowing your movement.

"Don't rush this. I want to spend the whole night making my smart girl stupid," he told you, and your body shook.

"Fuck," you said, nodding and agreeing with him as both of his hands went to the front of your jeans. He smirked as you steadied yourself with his shoulders.

"One word response. Starting to sound dumb already, baby," he said, teasing your lips with his as he dipped his fingers inside your open zipper.

You could only moan in response as he slid both hands up your body and pulled your shirt over your head. He stared at you like you were beautiful, stroking his hands over all of your newly exposed skin. You expected him to want to fuck you quickly and then get back to the party, but things were never as they seemed with him.

Then his breath hitched as he ran his knuckles along your ribs on your right side, just below your bra.

"You have a tattoo," he growled, immediately dipping his head down to kiss you there. "What does it mean?" he asked, running his tongue along your skin and making you cry out.

"Oh! It's a math equation. Called Euler's Identity," you gasped as he nipped and bit you. "It contains the most important mathematical constants making it the only perfect formula in science," you managed to say with a shaky voice. Because now Bradley was on his knees in front of you, unhooking your bra and sliding it down your arms.

"It sure does look perfect," he told you. He kissed your tattoo again before looking up at your chest and your face. "Never seen anything better." He ran the tip of his nose along the underside of your breast, his fingers never leaving the ink on your flesh. His mouth was all over you, kissing and sucking, leaving your wet nipples exposed to the cool air.

"I should have known you'd have a sexy math tattoo next to your tits," he said, scooping you up as he stood. "You're too fucking good to be true."

You squealed in his arms as he walked across the room. "It's really more of a natural sciences tattoo, if you want to nitpick," you told him with a giggle, as he dropped you onto his bed and pulled his own shirt off. His body was gorgeous.

"Oh no..." he said, shaking his head at you as you scooted back to rest against his pillows, and he yanked your shoes off. "You're sounding too smart again. I must not be doing a very good job."

You tried not to smile, but it was useless. "What are you going to do about it?" you asked, your voice shaking with need as he settled himself between your legs and stretched out over your body.

"This." He pressed his lips to yours, tipping your chin up for better access to your mouth. Then he gently pinched your chin, easing your mouth open so his tongue could meet yours. He felt warm and slippery as he explored your mouth. When he licked your open lips, you whined, grinding your hips up again and clenching around nothing.

"And this." He caressed your tattoo and palmed your breast with his big hand before letting his fingers trail down your body and dip into the elastic of your underwear. He slipped his fingers lower, moaning into your mouth as he eased one digit over your clit and through your wetness.

You were going crazy now. Making unnatural little noises and pulling his hair with your hands. He knew he was making you stupid, and he was looking at you like he loved it.

But he didn't know that your orgasm in the library was the best sex of your life. He didn't know that you'd never been able to cum with any other guy before. He didn't know how much you liked him.

"How does that feel, Sugar?" he asked, swirling his fingers along your clit just like you did to yourself when you were alone.

"Good," you moaned, shaking your head against the pillow.

"What do you want?" He licked your breasts before pulling your nipple between his lips and teasing.

"More," you whined. "You."

He grinned. "Back to one word answers, I see."

He moved so gracefully, sliding your jeans and underwear off and settling between your legs. When he slid a finger along your slit and pressed his knuckle against your pussy, you almost couldn't stand how good it felt. "Bradley," you whined, as he kissed your hips and your belly. Then he slipped his finger into your pussy.

You watched him watching you, and he looked delighted every time your body involuntarily squirmed. He added a second finger, moving them just the right way to get you worked up. When his thumb brushed you again, your back arched off the bed.

"Fuck," he muttered, working his fingers as he guided his body back over yours. "You're making me crazy," he groaned before kissing along your tattoo again. You wrapped your fingers around his wavy hair and watched his tongue glide across your chest. "Do you want me, Sugar?" he asked softly. "Can I have you?"

"Yes."

When he gently removed his fingers from inside you and licked them clean, you moaned and squeezed your thighs together. He was immediately off the bed, and you gasped, missing his warmth and weight immediately. "Where are you going?" you whined, propping yourself up.

"Need to get a condom," he replied, eyes on you as his hands shook opening a new box. "I'm coming back."

When he returned to the bed, you sat up and unbuttoned his jeans. He let you take your time guiding them down his hips and easing his boxers down as well. When you say how big and hard he was, your eyes darted up to his face. You licked your parted lips and he groaned so loudly you squeaked.

"You're huge," you told him. He was going to hurt you. The other guys hadn't been this big.

He must have heard the apprehension in your voice, because he told you, "We can stop," even as he was practically panting.

You wrapped your fingers around him and gently squeezed his velvety warmth. "No. Just go slow?" you asked, running your fingers along his length.

"Anything you want," he gasped.

------------------------------------

Bradley had never been this excited in his life. He wanted you, and you wanted him back. He'd tasted you. He knew how good your skin felt. Now he was about to fuck you.

He was completely sober, and delighted that he would remember all of this. He had never seen anything as gorgeous as your body bathed in lamplight.

You were whining his name as he rolled the condom on and got himself ready. He kissed your lips and cheeks, running his nose against yours until you were smiling. Then he whispered, "Sugar," against your lips as he pushed himself inside you.

Your lips were parted and your cheeks were flushed as you grasped his hair tightly with one hand and wrapped the fingers of your other hand in his sheets. He didn't dare move for a few seconds as you got used to the feel of him. You were so wet and tight and perfect, Bradley kind of wished he could just stay inside you like this. But then he started moving, and his own need was building. A few minutes of this and he could tell by the way you were responding to him that you were already close. He'd worked you up and now he wanted to be good for you. He needed to be so good for you so you would stay with him.

So he worked his hips a little faster, filling you all the way and then easing himself out a few inches before filling you again. "Oh God," he grunted next to your ear. Your eyes were squeezed shut, your chest rising with each whimpering breath you took. "You're such a good girl," he told you, moving nice and steady. "Look at me."

Your eyes fluttered open, bright and trusting as he caressed your breasts with his right hand. Moaning louder now, you raised your hips to meet each of his thrusts. "You feel so good," you whispered, voice hitching on the last word. Bradley pressed his lips to yours, kissing you and inhaling all of your little gasps. He pushed his hand lower to tease you, and soon you were shaking beneath him, squeezing his cock with your tight little pussy until he was grunting.

"Oh my God," you whined, shaking your head and pulling his hair as you came. Bradley pressed his lips to your tattoo and whispered your name as his last thrusts drove his own orgasm home.

He was never going to stop touching you. Every inch of your skin that he kissed and caressed was like silk. As he pressed his lips all over your shoulder and collarbone, your grip on his hair started to loosen, and your breathing evened out.

When he started to move, you grabbed onto him, holding him against you. So he wrapped his arms around you and stayed inside you, afraid to speak and break the spell.

Finally, you kissed his forehead and giggled softly. "I can't believe this was better than the library."

--------------------------

Beer Boy and Sugar.... oh man, they are sweet together.

Big thanks to @mak-32 for helping me along the way. This one's for you, Mak.

PART 7

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#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x you #rooster fanfic #rooster x female reader #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagine #top gun fanfiction #rooster bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster x reader

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quillsareswords · 1 year

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How about a Damian x reader where the reader is friends with Jon and even though she doesn’t like him, Damian gets jealous and it ends in him confessing. And maybe a kiss 🤔🤔🤔🤔

A/N: ...these were all supposed to be under like 400 words...I looked up six hours and 2,520 words later and here we are. anyway sry no kith bc I didn't feel like it 💅

WARNINGS: misunderstanding, language, argument, raised voices

MASTER LIST in BIO

You're nicer to Jon than anybody else you work with, including him. You go out of your way to talk to Jon. You ask him if he wants anything from the vending machine. You laugh at his awful puns.

He hates to say it irritates him, because Jon is a very kind person, and he deserves the same treatment. He deserves soft touch and secret jokes and a bright smile.

He deserves you. Out of everyone in the room at one of these inane hero mixers, Jon deserves you most.

Despite this, the thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

(Nevermind that you pick him immediately for missions, or that you already know what he wants from the vending machine and you memorized how he takes his coffee, or that you're the only one who laughs when he cracks the darkest joke anyone in the room can stomach. That probably means nothing.)

He plants himself in the farthest corner of the room and sulks. He catches your eyes a few too many times, so he looks anywhere else. At anyone else.

He decided a few weeks ago that avoiding you would be for the best. Hopefully, his feelings for you would wither without the sunlight of your presence. Hopefully, the bright petals of his heart would lose some vibrance and stop distracting his brain.

It's a ridiculous hope, really. It's been months since he realized these feelings, and he hasn't yet seen a day he wanted you any less. At this rate, he's positive he could lock himself away on the other side of the planet for a few years and still be able to pick your voice out of a crowd.

He'd tried to show you. In his own, roundabout way. He'd let you catch him staring. He'd seek you out when he could. He'd try to brush his hand against yours when you walked together. He wrote embarrassing poetry and hid them among your things. He did things he had seen in movies where the guy always gets the girl, because he didn't know what else to do.

He did everything he could do, except tell you to your face. He tried, once. He could bring himself to do it. He'll never admit fear, but he didn't like to think about what would happen if you didn't feel the same way.

"What are you brooding about now?"

He jerks, scowling already. "Nothing," he snaps. "I'm not brooding."

He very intentionally doesn't look at you, leaning against the wall beside him, but he does catch your reaction. He doesn't have to see you to hear the pause in your breathing, the hesitation before you reply. He's surprised you. He's not normally so curt with you for no reason, and you both know that. If he focuses, he can feel the quick once-over you give him, as if you could find that reason somewhere on his person.

"Drag of a party, isn't it?" you try again. "I tried to sneak you one of those little breadsticks at the snack bar, but I think Impulse would've bitten me."

(He had seen you, actually. Superboy at your side, chattering about something he couldn't hear, you'd skulked around, waiting for an opening, but Impulse was prepared to die defending those breadsticks. He must have skipped breakfast.)

He doesn't reply. He keeps his arms crossed, continues staring past the clusters of chattering superheroes, out the Watchtower windows. If this had been weeks ago, he would have brushed it off and told you that he'd fight for them himself if he got hungry.

You're a strong person. You've drawn lines in the sand for yourself. If you don't like the way someone treats you, you'll avoid them as much as you possibly can. You won't stand around and take it. You told him that much to his face the first time you met him: be nice to be, I'll be nice to you; pull that attitude with me again and I'll let the next guy shoot you in the face. It's how you treat everyone. He respected you for it, which is how you wedged yourself into his good graces in the first place.

Therefore, if he goes out of his way to upset you now, you'll avoid him too.

There's that bitter taste again.

"Is everything okay?" You lean forward, trying to get within his line of sight, or to get a better look at his face. "Seems like you're in a worse mood than usual."

"It's no business of yours," he grunts. "Go find someone else to pester."

At the very edge of his vision, your expression ripples. His resolve does, too. You take a moment before you speak again. "Did I piss you off?"

No. You never piss me off. I'd rather talk to you for a day than anyone else for a lifetime. He swallows.

"Listen, if you had a bad morning or something–"

"I thought I told you to find anyone else to bother."

Bother is a low blow and he knows it. You had a boyfriend last summer who'd called you that just before you broke it off with him. You confided just how much it stung to Damian after he caught you sniffling on a rooftop in Gotham.

He thinks it might have been too far, but isn't that the point? To jab at you just enough that you abandon all efforts at a friendship with him?

Your grip on his arm catches him off guard, and you take the opportunity to drag him to one of the doors at either end of the room.

You shove him out into the empty hall and make sure the steel slab latches behind you. "What is your problem?" you demand, planting yourself between him and the door.

"I don't know what you're talking about–"

"Don't play stupid, I know you aren't." Your tone is metallic in his ears, cold and hard. "You're being a dick. I wanna know why."

He is being a dick. "I am not."

You stare at him. He meets it head on, and realizes that it's the first time in the entire conversation that he's looked at you.

You're good at hiding things from people. You've got a knack for screaming internally and looking bored externally. It doesn't matter what the situation is, you always look like you've got it all under control.

He can see in that one look that you definitely aren't. Your breath is quicker than normal, your eyes are fractions wider, your posture is off-center. Your expression is wide open, waiting to receive whatever excuse he lobbies at you. You're distraught about this.

A realization lodges in his throat. Either you're so upset by him that you can't mask it, or you trust him enough that you aren't holding up that mask at all.

He looks away. Shakes his head. "I don't have time for this."

"Oh, what? Have a busy day of standing alone in a corner and staring off into the distance?" You cross your arms. "If you didn't feel like being pestered, why did you bother showing up?"

It wasn't his choice, actually. He knew you'd be here. His father tricked him anyway. Told him it was, League business, won't take more than an hour. You wanted to see the Watchtower again anyway, right?

You don't give him time to respond. "If you have a problem with me, say that. Don't talk to me like I'm some idiot who can't take a hint. Especially in front of a bunch of coworkers."

"Fine; I have a problem."

"Great, fantastic! He does have a problem." with you." You throw your hands up like you've just discovered the cure to dementia. "What's the problem, Wayne?"

He glares at you. You don't look so out of sorts now, so he holds it. "I'm sure you'd like to know."

You set your hands on your hips. "Well I'd like to know if I can fix it."

So would I. "You want to fix it?" He starts heatedly, scraping together some barbed speech about how you're too focused on what others think of you, but you beat him.

"Yes!" Your expression opens again, like clouds parting for sunlight—except, instead of brightness, he only sees the near-desperate eyes of a woman trying to salvage a friendship she didn't even know was crumbling. "You're one of my best friends, Damian. I don't want to lose you over something stupid if I don't have to."

One of my best friends. One of. Friends. He hangs on your every word, loses sleep over the slightest touch, forgets where he is when he looks into your eyes for too long—and he doesn't even rank at the top of your list. He's not your best friend or your boyfriend. He's one of a few.

On any other day, he'd take a deep breath and remind himself that you don't owe him anything. It's his problem that he did the stupid thing and fell– caught feelings, not yours.

But today? It sets him off.

"I suppose it bothers you so much. Don't you have anywhere better to be? I'm sure Jon would appreciate your company far more than I could," he snarls.

Any hurt in your eyes fizzles into confusion. "What? What are you–"

"You're right, I'm not stupid. I'm not blind, either." His voice is rising, but he's still got enough sense to keep this as private as he can, surrounded by super-powers. "I see how you act with him. I know you love him."

You reel. You can't help laughing, breathy and incredulous. "Love–? What in the fresh hell are you talking about?"

"Don't try to deny it."

"Uh, I am going to deny it because it isn't true."

He steps forward, as if he has a chance at intimidating you into admission. "You're kinder to him than anyone else. You treat him like he hung the sun. You go looking for him first at every opportunity." He's gesturing with his hands, too. "You make it so obvious, I don't know how I'd didn't see it before. Maybe I am blind after all."

"You're so wrong," tell him. You're uneasy again. Twisting away from him by fractions, inches. Just enough to be doing it subconsciously, like a guilty man in an interrogation room. You still don't back away from him, don't let him snatch the reins of the situation. All of this only fuels him more.

"You aren't stupid either. I know that. You know that." He stops for a breath, just one, and you see just how hard he's breathing

He's never been this agitated by something like this before. It's true, when he's pent up and angry about something he can't simply remedy, he goes looking for fights to pick and outlets to unleash upon. But he's never found that in you. His indirect anger has almost always spared you, a few sharp words aside.

"I'm not saying that I do feel for Jon," you interrupt, "but if I did; why would it bother you this much?"

He's never cared before. You know he hasn't—you've gone out of your way to make try to make him jealous once or twice, talking about boys you have liked or flirting with someone right in front of him, and it's never gotten you more than a raised eyebrow or an eye roll.

Something intuitive, grown from too long spent at his side, flutters to life in your mind. An idea, a theory, a hope.

For the first time since you met him, he stammers. He trips over his words once, twice, then promptly snaps his mouth shut. On the outside, his face pinches angrily, lips pressed together grimly. Inside, he screams into the void and scrambles for a handful of words he can stitch into a decent excuse. All the vocabulary of five different languages, half the vocabulary of four more, and all he can come up with are incoherent expletives.

And like the kind, patient person you are—for him, at least—you wait for him. You stand there after he's run his stupid mouth and acted like some bratty elementary schooler, and you wait for him to figure out an explanation instead of turning away from him. He told you he didn't want to talk to you and instead of telling him to get over it or writing him off completely, you tried to fix it.

It sucks all the fight right out of him.

Finally, he says your name in a way that makes your lungs seize. "You have to know," he says quietly. "You must."

You think you might. "Know what?"

Five steps away from you feels too far, so he makes it two. Not enough to crowd you, not enough to hide. "You really don't have feelings for Jon?"

You chuckle. "Jon's…nice. He's really nice, and he's a close friend, but…he's just not the guy for me," you admit. "And for the record, I definitely don't think he hung the sun."

It earns you a little smile. Small victories, you suppose.

You're still watching him expectantly. He could lie his way out of this. He could tell you that he thought Jon was cheating on you, frame it as though he was trying to save you from heartbreak. He could tell you a lot of things, frame himself in a lot of ways.

But he doesn't want to do this again. You didn't have feelings for Jon, but you just as easily could have. You'll have other men groveling at your feet eventually. You'll choose one of them, eventually. He has a chance, right now.

He takes a breath to steady himself. It's full of your favorite fragrance, and he finds that instead of making him any more nervous, it becomes a little easier to breathe.

He thinks of all those terribly unrealistic movies his sisters and Dick watch. He thinks of making out in the rain and dramatic confessions and passionate kisses. He tries to imagine himself there instead. He tries to put together something that you'll remember forever, even if you turn him down.

But he's standing here, looking at you, waiting for him like you always do.

"I'm in love with you," he says. "I'm–...I love you."

It's strangely freeing to say out loud. He anticipated anxiety. In every scenario that ran through his mind, he'd been terrified. In the worst cases, there had been tears or gunfire or both. He'd say it, in whatever way he could conjure up, and it would feel like he was stepping off a cliff.

Now that he's here, and he's said it, you're smiling at him like you're welcoming him home.

"Oh, Damian," you whisper, and your eyes are glittering like a reflection of a sunrise, and your palms are so warm on his shoulders. "I love you, too."

#QFWW #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne imagine #quillsfebuarywritingweek #damian wayne #still not rly happy with this but eh

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thetriumphantpanda · 11 months

Text

Ghost Of You | J. Miller (Chapter 3)

Series Summary / Grief is a strange thing. In the beginning it had been all-consuming. There wasn’t a moment of the day where you didn’t cry, didn’t ask yourself why it couldn’t have been you instead. And no-one ever explains the guilt you feel when it isn’t anymore. When it’s just a dull ache and you can finally breathe again, when you can start letting people get close to you again. People like Joel Miller.

Pairing / Joel Miller x Widow F!Reader

Word Count / 3.7K

Warnings / Descriptions of grief and depression, alcohol consumption but nothing else I can think of.

Series Masterlist / Main Masterlist

The next morning, Joel is hammering on Tommy’s front door as early as is acceptable. It takes him a few minutes to answer the door, frustration written on his face that Joel had interrupted his morning coffee with his wife.

“You wanna come in?” He asked, “We’ve got enough for an extra mug.”

Joel accepts, sitting down at the table with Maria whilst Tommy fixes his coffee, “So, to what do we owe the pleasure, brother?” Tommy finally asks when he’s sat back down at the table.

“What are y’all doin’ tonight?”

Tommy glances at Maria like any husband does when he’s not sure whether she’s made plans for them or not, she shakes her head, “Nothin’,” Tommy then answers, “Why?”

Joel takes a deep breath, “I asked sweet pea for a drink tonight and now I’m thinkin’ it would probably be better if there were people there she actually knew, y’know, so it doesn’t feel like a date?”

Tommy has a look of confusion on his face, “Who the hell is sweet pea?” He asks.

Maria obviously kicks his leg under the table. Joel watches as she gives him a look and then a flash of recognition is appearing on his face, “She got a nickname already, that’s fast, even for you.”

“Tommy please,” Joel begs, “I’m asking you a favour.”

“And is it?” He asked, “Y’know, a date?” Maria swats a hand on his bicep, “What?!” He exclaims, “I’m just makin’ sure I got all the facts.”

“Of course it’s not a date,” Joel grumbles, “I told you, I just don’t think it’s right she doesn’t feel like she can’t go anywhere, has to spend all her time cooped up in that house.”

“Well, I for one think it’s a great idea,” Maria adds, “Although how you’ve managed to get her to agree to it in less than a week when we’ve been trying for months I won’t ever understand.” She’s smiling though, which Joel takes as a good thing.

“I’m pickin’ her up at six so just meet us at the bar, alright?” He’s standing to leave now.

“Will do,” Maria stands and gives him a quick hug, “And thank you Joel, really, for whatever you’re doing for her.”

It’s late afternoon, Joel is sitting at the table in the kitchen, warm cup of coffee in his hands, pouring over some maps Tommy had given him of the patrol routes so he could prepare himself to go out instead of doing wall patrol. Ellie comes bounding in through the front door, dropping her backpack on the floor.

“Have fun?” He asks, she’s been with Dina since early this morning and he’s happy that she’s finally starting to make friends.

She nods, walking through to the kitchen to get herself a glass of water from the tap, “Listen, I’m heading out tonight, with your Uncle Tommy and Maria, you gonna be alright by yourself?”

“Where are you going?”

“Just for a drink or two at the bar.” He replies, meeting her eyes, “What’s that look for?”

“Can I come?”

He was about to protest, tell her that no, she couldn’t come. He never would have taken Sarah to the bar with Tommy before all this, but then that’s usually because he would spend his nights nursing a single drink whilst Tommy tried to pick someone up, before driving him and his lady back to Tommy’s place. This was different, just a family having a good time. And if he brought Ellie, surely that was more proof to you that he didn’t think of this as a date. You wouldn’t take your kid on a first date, would you?

He shrugs his shoulder, “Sure, but no alcohol, you hear me?”

She makes a cross over her heart, “Cross my heart.”

He chuckles, “Well, go and have a shower and get ready, we’re heading out at six.”

A few streets over, you’re sat on your bed with your head in your hands trying not to cry. You have no idea why, but for the first time since the outbreak happened, you’re worried about what to wear. You remembered these dilemma’s from before. Sitting with your roommates before a night out discussing which of you was wearing a dress, who was going for a skirt and which of you was wearing jeans. It never really seemed to matter beyond the fact that none of you wanted to look like carbon copies of each other, but for some reason, this matters.

You can’t place your finger on why though. You hadn’t ever cared what you wore around Mark. You weren’t trying to impress Joel – it was, after all, just a drink between friends. You’d circled the same three outfits from your wardrobe since Mark’s death – an old pair of jeans, or shorts when it got warm, and one of three plain t-shirts, two black, one white. The odd tank top for days in the garden or your thick jacket for the winter.

It was warm outside, so you’d initially pulled one of two dresses you owned out of the wardrobe. Maria had traded it with you when you first arrived – it fell just above your knee and was a pale yellow colour. Short sleeves and a low neckline. It would have been perfect. If it wasn’t for the fact that you knew people would talk. Not only were you walking into the bar for the first time since your husband died, but you’d be doing it with Joel Miller in a silly little sundress. No, you wanted to make yourself as invisible as possible, to make this as easy as possible.

Finally settling on a pair of shorts and the cleaner of the black t-shirts, you bend into your wardrobe for your boots, you’re fumbling around in the dim light but finally feel what you’re looking for but pulling them out you realise these are not the boots you wanted.

They’re a pair of simple, brown cowboy boots. Mark had found them in a house just a few months before you stumbled into Jackson. He’d remembered a conversation you’d had when you were back in the QZ, one of the very first nights you’d slept together. You were splayed over his chest, hands running circles with your fingertips, talking about what you’d buy if you could go back to outbreak day and waste your money, knowing what was coming.

He'd been practical, something about a bow and arrow to be able to get rid of infected without drawing the attention of others with the sounds of gunshots. You’d said a pair of cowboy boots. You’d always wanted some, and if this was going to be the last thing you could ever buy, it would be those.

He’d got his signature grin on his face as he pulled them from behind his back and you swear if you were remembering right that you cried. He’d managed to fit them in your backpack with the promise that one day you’d be able to wear them to a barn dance or something, when you were safe and found a community. He hadn’t been wrong. The first fall in Jackson there had been a barn dance and you’d put them on and danced until you got blisters.

They were dusty now, having been pushed to the back of the wardrobe and forgotten about in grief, but looking at them now there was a spattering of joy through your blood. You loved them. You would wear them. You sat on the edge of your bed, slipping your feet into them. They fit like a glove, almost like you’d gone straight to Nashville and had them made for you. You looked up to the ceiling, trying to imagine the sky above it and whispered a thank-you to Mark. You weren’t particularly religious, but it was a comfort to think he was out there somewhere.

As you sat and waited for the clock to tick down to six, you realized that if he was out there somewhere, watching you, that he would be horrified at what you’d become. He’d hate that you were miserable, unable to do even the most basic tasks at the beginning of your grief. He’d want you to go out and make new friends, to enjoy the life you had left, no matter how hard it might be.

“Joel, the bar is this way, where are you going?”

“We have to go get someone first.” He replies to Ellie, walking in the opposite direction.

She starts following, “Tommy and Maria?” She asks, when she’s finally caught up to him.

“No, they’re meeting us there.”

“Ohhhh,” She drags out, “Pie lady.”

“Ellie, she has a name!” Joel exclaims.

“I know, but that pie was fucking great,” She beams, “So, you’re bringing your entire family on your date?”

“It’s not a date,” Joel grumbles, “Listen, she’s been goin’ through some stuff, so I’m just try’na be nice to her, make things a bit easier.”

“Sure you are,” Ellie smirks, “You fix anyone else’s steps so far, old man?”

“Ellie…” He almost moans at her, he’d not missed this side of things, Sarah was always poking fun at him when he’d been on a few failed dates back in the day, “Just be nice to her okay?”

“I’m always nice,” She counters, “I heard Maria and Tommy talking about her a few days ago, you don’t have to worry about me.”

Joel took a moment at the bottom of your steps before he walks up and knocks a few times on your door. You’d been on the other side for a few minutes, pacing lightly trying to keep yourself calm. You waited long enough to make it seem like you hadn’t been right behind it waiting for him to knock before you opened the door.

Joel had to take a moment when you opened the door. Your hair looked freshly washed, flowing down your back and around your cheeks. You had a pink tinge to your cheeks as if you’d been rushing around to get ready and he couldn’t help letting his eyes wander to your shorts and down your legs, before shooting his eyes back to your face.

“Ready?” He asks, clearing his throat.

“As I’ll ever be,” You reply, stepping out and closing your door behind you, when you turn back around you notice that there’s a girl stood just behind him, “You must be Ellie, right?”

“The one and only,” She grins, giving you a little wave, “Nice boots.”

“Thanks,” You give her a genuine smile, “It’s lovely to meet you finally.”

Joel is shifting to walk down the steps of the porch, so you follow him, trying to choke down the nerves in your belly. Ellie is making light conversation, telling you about the riding lesson she’d had yesterday whilst Joel was building your chairs. She seems genuinely excited about it, mentioning she’d ridden horses before with Joel before they arrived but wanted to learn properly. There was something about her excitement that put you at ease. Joel was quiet but kept looking over and smiling as she spoke.

Before you knew it, you were outside The Tipsy Bison. You could hear the chatter behind the closed doors and panic was rising. You came to a stop, Ellie walking in front of you. Joel motioned for her to go inside but kept his place by your side. You could feel his hand come to your lower back, but all you could hear was the blood rushing in your ears.

“Hey, you alright?” His voice was so low and deep, breaking through the rising panic.

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes and tipping your head back, “I didn’t think it would be this hard.” You whimpered.

“It’s alright, sweet pea, I’m right here,” His hand presses further into your back, “It’s a big step, but think how good it’ll feel once you do it.”

You take a few more deep breaths, wringing your hands like you always do when you panic, before you turn your head to look at him, he’s taller than you and he’s looking down at you with those calm, brown eyes. He’s not pushing you, just waiting for you to be ready.

“Okay,” You nod, “I guess we just need to rip the plaster off.”

You take a step forward and Joel follows you, keeping his hand on your lower back. He pushes open the door and you didn’t really know what you were expecting, but no-one really stops their conversation. No-one even looks up at you. It calms you. Joel waves at a table and you can see Ellie sat at it with Tommy and Maria. Even more calm flows over you, all your friends are here. Everyone who would fight your corner for you are here.

“Why don’t you go and sit down, let me get you a drink?” Joel asks, you nod, “What do you want?”

“I haven’t been here in ages, but Shane used to make blackberry wine,” You speak, “If that’s not there then whatever you have is fine.”

You drop your head to look at the floor, trying not to make eye contact with anyone, as you head to the table. Maria greets you with a hug, and Tommy is stood squeezing your arm as you wrap it around her neck, “So proud of you, doll.” She whispers into your hair, and you can feel tears prick at your eyes. You’re damn proud of yourself too.

You take the seat that’s empty between Ellie and Maria, which puts your back to the rest of the room. It makes you feel safer, not being able to make eye contact with people. There’s quiet around the table until Joel places a glass of dark red liquid in front of you, you look up at him and smile, saying a quiet thank you before he takes the other empty seat across the table from you.

“Looks like it’s time for a toast,” Tommy beams, lifting his glass of whiskey, the rest of the table follow him, “To friends.”

You smile and you all clink your glasses together. You take a sip of your wine, trying to push away the memory of the last time you’d drunk it, just after Mark’s funeral. Maria had brought you a bottle to your house, trying to give you something to ease the pain. You’d drunk the entire bottle that evening, wiping away so many tears you didn’t know where they were coming from anymore. The hangover the next morning had been horrific, so you’d sworn then that it wasn’t the answer. This was your first drink since then.

It was warming through your stomach, sweet and sticky, almost like medicine, but you have to pace yourself. You really want to drink the whole thing in one go and go back for another, but you put the glass down and instead try and zone into the conversation around the table.

Ellie leans closer to you, “That pie was fucking awesome,” She grins, “I’ve never had anything quite like it, will you teach me how to make it?”

You look to her and smile, you really like this girl, “Of course, you’ll have to wait for me to get my next round of rations, but it’s super easy.”

“Do you always make it with strawberries?”

You shake your head, “You can make pie with pretty much any fruit, my favourite before all this used to be apple pie, my mum used to make it with loads of cinnamon, and we’d have it warm with ice cream.”

“Looks like she’s made a miraculous recovery, all of a sudden.”

Dread sinks into your stomach when you catch the voice walking behind you, this is what you’d dreaded. The opportunity to laugh and forget for a few hours and people were judging you. You were waiting for the usual comment that you’d heard before, “If she can sit here and laugh, why can’t she start contributing again.” There wasn’t time for anyone to add anything else though, because Ellie was whipping around in her seat.

“What did you just say?” She snaps, and you close your eyes, you don’t want her to get into an argument for you.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise we were being listened to.” You knew that voice, Vanessa. Her husband had been killed on patrol probably a year before Mark died. You envied her when you went through losing Mark, how she’d managed to bounce back after a few weeks, and you were sure that she envied the way you’d been given a pass to just float through until you were ready to become a real member of the community again.

“Yes, you did,” Ellie retorts, standing from her chair, “It was loud enough for everyone to hear.”

“Ellie, sit down.” You hear Joel ask, you look at him briefly, hoping your eyes could express how sorry you were for this.

“No, this is bullshit,” Ellie continues, “It’s not fair for them to say that about you,” She looks to you this time, “You have as much right to be here as anyone.”

“Ellie, that’s enough, mind your language.” Joel is standing now, as are Tommy and Maria, but you remain seating with your back to the room, trying not to let the hot tears of frustration fall from your eyes.

“How about you just head back to your table, Vanessa?” You can hear Tommy say to try and diffuse the situation, it’s muffled in your ears, the blood rushing around them again. You’re trying to listen to your heartbeat to stop the rising panic in your chest.

You assume that Tommy’s involvement means Vanessa does as she’s told because Ellie is sat next to you again, and you can feel Maria’s hand on your shoulder, “Are you alright, honey?” She asks, kneeling to grab your attention.

You shake your head, and as always, someone’s kindness towards you is what tips you over the edge, you let a single tear drop down your cheek, furiously wiping it away, “I think maybe I’ll just go home.”

Maria knows better than to push you in these situations, she squeezes your knee slightly and nods in understanding.

“Let me walk you.”

You look up to Joel for the first time, his jaw is clenched and his eyes, which are looking straight into your own, are full of guilt. This was his idea and it put you in this situation, “Okay.” You nod, standing up, leaving your half-finished glass of wine on the table. You don’t wait for him; you make a beeline for the exit and down the steps.

He catches up to you a little way down the street, no doubt making sure that Ellie would be alright with Tommy and Maria whilst he drops you off. He doesn’t speak and doesn’t try to place that comforting hand on your back either, just walks next to you in silence.

“I’m sorry.” Is all he says when you arrive at your front door.

“It’s okay Joel, it wasn’t your fault.” You reassure, leaning on the front door.

“It was my idea though, I’m sorry she said that to you.”

You shrug, “I didn’t have to agree to go with you, neither you nor I can control what other people say.”

“It’s still not fair that people think it’s okay to talk about you like though.”

You shrug, “It’s my own fault really,” You always did this, brough it back yourself and your strength, or the lack of it, “They’re not wrong, I haven’t contributed to the community in over a year, I spend all of my time trying to avoid having to go back to normal because it’s easy, it’s easy to sit and do what I’ve always done, day in and day out.”

He steps forward and takes your hands in his and for a moment you’re slightly overwhelmed by how they dwarf your own. Calloused and hard against the soft of your own skin, “Please don’t do that,” He implores, looking into your eyes, “Don’t minimize your pain, don’t say it’s easy, because it’s not,” He sighs, “People should understand that we all heal differently when we lose someone, I don’t know what her problem was, but please don’t stand in front of me and pretend she was right,” You’re almost overwhelmed by his thumbs rubbing soothing circles on the tops of your hands, so much so that another tear falls from your eye, “You never have to pretend with me.”

His next move is unexpected. He lets go of one of your hands and uses his palm to cup your cheek. He brushes away the trail of tears that had fallen a moment ago, and you feel his thumb catch the one that falls when you close your eye and briefly let yourself be taken away by his touch. No-one had touched you like this since Mark and for a moment you enjoyed it. Almost like he could sense the quickening of your breathing as panic rose through you again, he drops his hand, letting your other hand go before he pulls you into a hug.

Instinctively, you wrap your arms around his waist and breathe in the scent of his jacket. There’s a hint of the washing powder from the laundry room, there’s a hint of tobacco which you think might be from the standard issue body soap that is issued to the men in Jackson, homemade in Brenda’s kitchen, and then something that is distinctly Joel. Before you can get too wrapped up in it, he’s whispering a “Sorry.” Into your hair and pulling back. You wonder what he’s actually sorry for – what happened before? Or the way he’d touched you. You don’t ask because you’re not ready for the answer.

He pulls away and finally steps away from you, “You’re hell of a man Joel Miller,” You whisper softly, “Thank you.” Thank you for being you. You want to say. Thank you for pushing me, even though I don’t think you realise you are right now. You want to add. But you leave it where you left it.

“You’re hell of a woman too, sweet pea.”

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grandwretch · 1 year

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only i must wander

[chapter one] [on AO3]

In the months before Steve's graduation, he and Dustin had something of a routine going on. Every Friday afternoon, Steve would pick Dustin up from Hawkins Middle School and they would drive out to the McDonald's one exit over. They even ordered the same thing every week: A Big Mac for Steve, nuggets for Dustin, two Cokes, and a supersized fry. After driving slowly back to Hawkins they would eat in the arcade parking lot, and when they were done they would either spend the rest of the afternoon trying to kill each other over air hockey or renting shitty science fiction movies. Whichever Dustin wanted, really.

It wasn't anything like Steve's life had been just six months ago, but he loved every second of it. Even when Dustin was getting mud all over his upholstery and asking too many questions.

On that particular Friday night, Steve had been late picking Dustin up because Mrs. O'Donnell had stopped him in the hallway on the way out, for the third time this month. Some bullshit about him not "applying" himself, or whatever, and how she didn't "feel it was right" that Steve had passed her class when he'd obviously learned so little. Which was bullshit, Steve thought, because she taught fucking English, which he already spoke, and he'd been pulling solid C's in her class all semester.

So most of the conversation had been about that, really, with Steve complaining about how every teacher he'd ever had hated him, and Dustin scolding him just as fiercely as any teacher ever had. A typical Friday night.

Tonight, however, Dustin paused, mid-sentence.

"Are you ever going to tell me why your eyes do that when you're mad?"

Steve paused, a french fry halfway to his mouth. He looked over at Dustin, who was staring at him from the passenger seat. He was almost used to it, a kid spending every day in the seat next to him instead of Nancy or Tommy, but big, curious eyes still threw him off from time to time. Especially when they came paired with off the wall questions like this.

"Why do my eyes do what, Dustin?"

"You know," Dustin said, gesturing to Steve's face with his burger. "When you get mad they go all black and stuff. Kinda like El's do when she uses her powers, but you don't--" Steve had never seen Eleven actually fight, but he had seen her do small tricks now and again for the boys. Her eyes were more like pits, her entire face wrinkling around the deep depths. Steve felt his stomach churn just thinking about the same in his own face.

The reflection in the rearview mirror was the same as it had always been. Hazel eyes, smooth skin marred only by a few moles. Steve made himself breathe.

"I think I would know," Steve said, keeping his voice carefully steady. He was trying to be less bitchy around the kids, but sometimes they made it so goddamn hard. "--if my face looked like that. It probably-- It probably hurts, right?"

"Not really," Dustin said, with enough conviction that it tore Steve's gaze away from his own reflection. "Anyway, it's not your face. It's just your eyes. Look, I don't know what kind of Wesen you are, man, but you can talk to me about it, whatever it is. You know I'm one, too, right?"

"A-- a what?" If this was another one of those weird fantasy novel things, he was going to finally strangle the little shit, he really was.

"A Wesen," Dustin repeated, looking as confused as Steve felt. "Like-- like me and El."

'Like me and El,' Steve thought, turning the sentence around in his head. He was not equipped for this, Jesus. It had to be hard, growing up fighting monsters and stuff, and having one of your best friends be a weird ass superhero, but Steve hadn't expected Dustin to deal with it by playing pretend. He'd always been the most grounded in reality of the kids. It was why Steve could put up with him for more than a couple hours.

"Buddy, maybe you should talk to your mom about this stuff," Steve said, slowly. "Or like Mrs. Byers or somebody."

Dustin rolled his eyes, which Steve thought was pretty rich coming from someone sitting in his car and talking about made up words. "Oh my god, Steve. Look."

And then-- And then.

Steve didn't know how to explain it. One moment, he was looking at Dustin, the kid he'd become absurdly attached to over the past semester, and then something shifted. In the next breath, Dustin was... different. Light brown hair had sprouted all over his face, smooth and straight and so unlike the curly mop still on top of his head. His nose had changed, the bridge gone flatter and wider, the end still hairless but now a deep dark brown, like a dog's. Underneath his nose, his lip was cleft, opened wide so Steve could see even more clearly the gap where Dustin's teeth should be. On either side of the cleft, whiskers sprouted, white and long.

His eyes were the same, though. Dustin's eyes, staring out of a beaver's face.

Two years ago, Steve would have screamed. He would have thrown things. He would have been out of the car in two seconds flat. His flight reflex had been recently shattered, though, and now all he could do was stare and try not to choose the other option-- fight.

This was Dustin, Steve told every dark instinct swelling up in the back of his mind. This was his best friend. Not something that crawled out of the Upside Down, not something stalking through the night. His kid.

Dustin blinked at him, with a silly smile on his inhuman face. "See?"

Steve's hands gripped the steering wheel, fingernails digging into the leather. "Dustin, what the fuck is happening right now?"

The smile faded on Dustin's face slowly. "Do you not-- Steve, come on. You've seen El do this like a thousand times."

"She's El!" Steve said, his voice going higher with stress. He could feel his muscles start to shake with the effort of keeping himself in place. "She's got, like, powers and shit! She was born in a lab and experimented on! You're-- You're just Dustin!"

"Okay, ouch," Dustin said. A pout began to form on his face. "Okay, yeah, El is special, but there are people who like her who are, like, normal Wesen you know?"

"You keep saying that word."

"You know, like--" Dustin gestured between them with-- Jesus fucking Christ, with a fucking paw. "You and me."

Steve had to get out of the car. His heart was going so fast he could feel it in his ear drums, in the roof of his mouth. It took too long for his shaking hands to open the door, and by the time his feet hit the dirt, he could feel adrenaline churning his stomach. Behind him, he could hear Dustin calling his name, the passenger door opening, but it only spurred on Steve's desire to get away.

He stumbled a few feet, his legs too weak to carry him far, until hands grabbed at his jacket. Steve whirled around, ready to fight-- Your kid! A smaller part of his brain screamed at him. --but Dustin was... Human again.

"What the fuck, Dustin," Steve couldn't stop repeating. "What the fuck."

"Steve," Dustin said, deadly serious. "Are you seriously telling me you've never met another Wesen before?"

"Stop saying that."

"What?"

"Stop saying that I'm one of you! I'm not. I don't-- I'm normal. Stop saying that."

Dustin's eyes were too understanding. Steve fucking hated it when he did shit like this, when he could just look at Steve and got him, because Steve barely understood why he did what he did, sometimes. How did this fucking kid always seem to know him? And if he could, why didn't anyone else ever manage?

"Steve," Dustin said again, pitched low and calm like he was trying to soothe a rabid dog. Like Steve was a monster, crawling the junkyard, looking for blood. "Look at your eyes right now."

There was a compulsion in Steve's blood that would not let him look away any longer. He had to look, had to face his own reflection already knowing it would ruin him. Steve raised his eyes to the car window, and its distorted mirror image of his face.

For a moment, Steve almost had hope. His face was not marked or pitted like El's, nor was it covered in fur like Dustin's. It was his nose, his skin, his moles, his mouth. The scars that littered his face in the last two years were faint, but still visible. Steve could still feel one of them in the corner of his upper lip. It was almost easy to miss, almost easy to chalk it all up to a bad joke. But then Steve met his own gaze, and all illusion was shattered.

It was like a trick of the light; They were the same size and shape as Steve's own, lined with the same delicate eyelashes, but there was no mistaking the change. His eyes were black. Not the deep void that stared out of El's other face, no. At first they seemed dead and glassy, like a shark's, but the longer he stared, the more Steve became aware of something moving inside them, like smoke behind glass.

Steve didn't feel his knees grow weak or his legs buckle underneath him. He barely felt it when he landed on the ground. One moment he was standing, and the next he was on the asphalt, staring up at Dustin. Dustin, who looked down at him with such a mixture of confusion and sorrow that Steve felt, bizarrely, like his change was more inhuman than all the fur and torn flesh in the world.

"What the fuck," Steve said, his voice croaking in his throat. "What's happening to me? Dustin, what the fuck is happening to me?"

"I don't know," Dustin said, and-- Embarassingly, Steve let out a thin noise of panic, because he was absolutely fucked if Dustin was admitting he didn't know something. "I mean, I have a theory, but..." Dustin cut himself off and looked around the parking lot. They were alone here, had chosen it specifically so they could laugh and play Dustin's tapes as loud as they wanted to, but he still scanned the area with more suspicion than Steve had seen out of him in months. It made Steve's instincts kick in, had him scrambling to his feet to put himself in between whatever danger Dustin suspected of the world around them. "We really shouldn't do this here."

"Is this..." Steve swallowed, his hands shaking. "Is this Upside Down shit? Is it because of the tunnels? Did I-- Did I breathe too many spores in or something?"

Dustin considered the idea for only half a moment before dismissing it with a shake of his head. "No, if this was a symptom, Will would have displayed the same ones while he was in the hospital last year. No, this has to be... Come on, Steve, let's go home. I promise, I'll tell you everything I know. Just not where people can hear us."

"This is fucking insane," Steve muttered to himself, but he climbed back in the car, hands shaking.

The ride to Steve's house was tense, neither of them speaking, although Steve could sense Dustin throwing him concerned looks the entire way. He usually hated when the kid did that, mostly because he didn't need a thirteen year old's concern, thank you so much, Dustin, but today it rankled Steve's nerves worse than ever. Everything in his body wanted to fight something, but the only enemy he could identify was inside his own head. Dustin's gaze on him only made it worse, made Steve so jumpy he imagined, several times, jumping from the moving car.

Whatever was wrong with him, it didn't stop at his eyes.

Steve stormed down his driveway and threw open his front door. Dustin scurried in after him as if afraid to be left behind, and Steve had a brief pang of guilt, but then he caught sight of himself in the long mirror that hung along the foyer and-- He turned away, swallowing bile. "Alright, kitchen," he said. "I need a fucking beer."

They sat on either side of his mother's breakfast nook, the only place Steve ever ate alone. Steve had a beer, one of the last few he'd been nursing since his party days ran out. Dustin had a root beer in front of him, untouched. They stared at each other, unsure.

It was time to be a fucking adult, Steve decided, and unstuck his tongue from the roof of his dry mouth.

"What was that word you kept using?" he asked.

"Wesen," Dustin answered, his mouth a grim line. "That's what I am. That's what El is. Or was? It's not really clear."

"But it's what she was supposed to be," Steve said, and when Dustin nodded, he sucked in a breath. "And what I am."

Dustin squirmed on his stool. "I think so."

"So... So what the fuck is it?" Steve shook his head, confused by the very words coming out of his mouth. "Am I going to start growing fur? Or-- Or get all wrinkly or whatever, like El when she uses her powers?"

"No, it's not--" Dustin paused, his face creased with the uncomfortable feeling of having no idea how to explain something. "I only know what my mom has told me, which isn't, like, a lot. But we're not like humans."

"Yeah," Steve scoffed. "I got that."

"What I mean is, we're part of the same community but we're not all the same. We probably have some stuff in common, but I don't know how much. I can't exactly go to the library to figure this stuff out." Dustin's voice held the long-suffering frustration of a child who'd been asking the same questions for a very long time, with no adult willing to answer. Steve was usually all for it, being the first to encourage the kids to say fuck adults and do it themselves, but he was still lost in a sea of information that made no fucking sense to him.

"Can we just-- Explain it to me like I'm really stupid."

"I want you to know that I'm not making a joke right now because I can tell you're in a really vulnerable place."

"Thank you so much, Dustin."

"You remember Star Wars, right?" Dustin asked.

Steve's head tilted. "The movie you made me watch over Christmas break? With the laser swords? Yeah, I remember them."

"Alright, so, everyone in that movie is an alien, right? Some of them look like humans, but they're not from Earth. And some of them don't look like humans at all. They're all from separate planets, some of them entirely separate species, but they're all aliens."

Steve blinked at Dustin for a long moment before his face collapsed into disbelief. "We are not fucking aliens."

Dustin's glare was legendary. "No, you idiot. But we're not human, either."

"Then what am I?" Steve raised a hand to stop the answer he could already see coming. "And don't say Wes… That word. I can't just be not human. People aren't… whatever they're not. I have to be something."

"I don't know," Dustin said. "I don't know a lot of the names. My mom is kinda…"

Steve nodded. Mrs. Henderson's brand of flighty overprotectiveness was well known to the entire group, and probably most of Hawkins by now. Dustin was allowed to spend whatever time he wanted with Steve, even staying over at his house when Steve's parents were out of town, but Steve had also been horrified to find that Mrs. Henderson had woefully unprepared the kid for things like puberty or high school. Dustin said his mom didn't like to talk about things that upset her, and Steve guessed that other Wesen was one of those subjects, much like Dustin growing up or rock music.

Steve felt himself begin to calm. Whatever happened, it was bound to be easier than the time he had to explain to Dustin what a pube was.

"Do you think she might know?"

"Probably, but we can't ask her." Dustin was beginning to look actually distressed. "There's no way she would let us hang out again."

Steve's stomach sank. "Really?"

"When she found out the founder of the D&D club at Hawkins High was a Blutbad, she made me promise I would never join," Dustin said. Brightening, he continued, "Oh, wait, duh! Your parents have to know; They must be Wesen, too! Just ask them."

Bradley Harrington's eyes had never gone black, Steve was pretty sure, though they had definitely been angry enough a time or two. He couldn't imagine his mother, Sophia, as anything less than human, either. They were both so… normal, although sometimes so damn keen on being completely on-trend that Steve suffocated with it. Half of the trouble Steve had gotten himself into over the years was more about calling too much attention to himself than legitimately bad behavior. Steve was sure they would be just as annoyed by having a genius like Dustin as a son as they were having an idiot like him.

He tried to imagine what his father would say if Steve called just to tell them his eyes had changed color, and winced.

"If they wanted me to know, they would have told me," Steve said, grimly.

"Well, fuck," Dustin said, which Steve thought pretty much summed it up, yeah.

After a moment of stewing in his own misery, Steve remembered to ask, "So what are you, then?"

Dustin's chest puffed up with pride, and a ripple of fur sped across his face. "I'm an Eisbiber!"

"That means absolutely nothing to me, you gotta know that."

"We're like beaver people, basically. Mom says it's impolite to compare people to animals but–" Dustin shrugged. "I call it like I see it. I'm a beaver. Lots of Wesen have animal attributes."

"What, like a werewolf or something?" Steve asked, incredulous.

"Those are Blutbads," Dustin confirmed. His voice dropped to a whisper. "But Mom says if you call a Blutbad a werewolf to their face, they'll eat you."

Suddenly, Steve could only think of demodogs, their faces peeled open and saliva shining in the moonlight. All those fucking teeth.

He nodded slowly. "I'll… keep that in mind." Shifting in his chair, Steve thought about the tight, inner group of the Party, and the way he hadn't really been a part of it before last fall. Even within their small group, there had always been an air of mystery about El and her origins. Even Nancy hadn't had many ideas, when Steve had gotten the courage to approach her about everything post-breakup, but if Dustin had known the whole time... "So how many people know about this stuff, then? Are Lucas and Mike like you? Is that why everything happened with Will that first time?"

"I don't think Wesen are that common," Dustin said, "though that might just be a Hawkins thing? Like I said, it's hard to do research. Lucas and Mike don't know. I'm not sure how much Will knows, honestly."

"But they know about El," Steve said, frowning.

Dustin paused, looking guilty. "I know. That's the problem. Mike treats El like a superhero, and I'm not... Eisbibers aren't like Hexenbiests, especially superpowered ones made in labs. We mostly make things. I don't want him to think I'm... I mean. You know. It's bad enough, already, with the human shit."

"Look, Mike and I have never gotten along, but I don't think he would do that. Whatever Wheeler is, a bully isn't one of them." Steve knew what a bully looked like. Scrawny, angry twelve years olds didn't make the list.

"Alright, so you tell them you're a--" Dustin paused. "A whatever, then."

"I will," Steve said, "the second we can figure out what the fuck it is I'm supposed to be. What about Hop? I mean, how much would El have told him?"

"Nothing about you." Dustin shrugged. "El was raised in a lab by humans, presumably. She didn't even know what she was. My mom had to tell Hop everything, and then made him promise me and El would never be allowed to hang out alone."

Steve thought of angry little El, eyes painted to match her second face, who wanted to be with her friends so badly that she ran away to find her past. "I bet that Kali girl could have helped us."

"Good luck finding her. I'm pretty sure she was half Musai," Dustin said. Steve wished he'd just stop saying shit like Steve was supposed to understand it. Being stupid about human stuff may be embarrassing, but he refused to be bullied for not knowing the names of every single race of a species he'd just realized he was a part of.

"This is insane," Steve said. He slumped in his chair, and looked around his kitchen. It looked just like he'd left it this morning, the kind of half-cluttered that houses inevitably got when they were lived in by people who desperately didn't want to be there. Filled up with the necessities of life but abandoned just as quickly. Clean dishes haphazardly placed around the room and junk mail months old still piled on the counter. His bread box was empty, half a loaf of bread still sitting in its wrapper on top.

It should be different, he decided. Not just his kitchen, but his entire world. That's how things had been when he'd seen the demogorgon in the Byers' house-- He'd realized things about the world in that moment that had changed everything. It was fast and violent, and the next morning he had looked at himself in the mirror and not recognized the kid looking back at him. It was the same for everything he'd ever loved, even the people, and while Steve had spent a lot of time looking back, he'd always known there was no resetting time before that moment.

He was starting to think he'd preferred the violent realization to this slow roll of information. Now Steve was left with the knowledge that the world had already been just as it was, and Steve had just been unable to see it. Right under his nose. His parents, his best friend, his fucking kitchen... the same as it had always been. He'd just been looking at it the wrong way.

That was a much harder pill to swallow. The demogorgon hadn't left Steve with much choice-- swallow or choke. Get it over with. Fight until you win. But how the fuck was Steve supposed to fight this? He felt helpless in a way he didn't often let himself be, disconnected from his body and vulnerable in the haze of his own thoughts. Like his soul was hanging raw and open in the space around him, and this part of him that was a living, breathing thing was left with no one home.

"We're gonna figure it out," Dustin said. Steve blinked slowly and pulled his gaze back to the kid who'd just blown his worldview to smithereens. Dustin's face was pulled tight with determination, leftover baby fat bunching adorably in his cheeks. He looked like an angry chipmunk, Steve thought hysterically, and then corrected himself: An angry beaver.

God, what the fuck had happened to his life?

"I'm serious, Steve," Dustin said, when it became clear that Steve wasn't going to react outside of a foggy gaze. "We're gonna figure this out, okay? Me and you."

"Yeah?" Steve said, the edge of a laugh in his voice. "We're gonna, what, hunt down what I am, what my parents are, completely on our own? You literally just said this shit was impossible to research."

"We don't need that shit," Dustin said, scoffing. "When have we ever needed evidence? Or, like, adults?"

Steve really wanted to protest that; As the older party and a practical adult himself, it was probably his job to insist on both evidence and adults for pretty much everything Dustin wanted to do, whether or not it involved fictional creatures that Steve may or may not be. The problem was, though, Dustin wasn't exactly... wrong. Hop and Joyce were the only adults that had ever been any help to either of them, and that was on a good day. Half the time they kinda just got in the way. Steve was pretty sure that if cops and doctors just listened to Nancy as much as they listened to the adults, they could have figured out most of this shit back in junior year.

"Fuck, okay," Steve said, pushing his hands through his hair. "Sure. Goddamn it."

"You are literally never allowed to tell me off for cussing again," Dustin said. He sounded unimpressed.

"Sorry, is my breakdown upsetting you?" Steve shot back, but he felt his muscles unclench enough that it no longer felt painful to breathe. Dustin's snark was honestly calming, though Steve would rather die than ever admit it. Still, it was a good reminder that no matter how scared Steve was, things hadn't gotten so bad that Dustin had lost his particular brand of sarcastic zen. As much as the little shit loved to dig into the most dangerous curiosities he could find, he wasn't exactly the sort to smile calmly into the face of death, so... So whatever Steve was, he could deal with it.

Probably.

"I'm going to go home," Dustin said, jumping out of his seat. Ignoring Steve's small sound of protest, he continued, "and you're going to take a shower and then a nap. Tomorrow, once you've calmed down, we can do some tests."

"Tests?" Steve repeated, his nose wrinkling. El had never really divulged what had gone on in the lab with him, but he knew just enough for his imagination to take over. He knew Dustin wasn't exactly the government experiment type, but he still hated the concept being applied to him. "See, this is exactly the kind of shit I didn't want to happen."

"Tough shit," Dustin said, stomping his way out of the kitchen. Rolling his eyes, Steve followed.

"Do you want a ride?" he asked, because he always did and, well... Whatever Dustin thought, Steve didn't exactly want to be alone right now. Also, he just found out there was a whole new kind of monster in this town, and every protective instinct in his body wasn't exactly jazzed about Dustin riding all the way home on his bike. "What about the B-- the Bad werewolves or whatever, you were talking about? You said one lived in Hawkins--"

"Blutbad," Dustin corrected as he wedged his feet back into the shoes he'd previously abandoned next to Steve's front door. "And I think I'll be okay. I've existed in the same town as them for thirteen years and I haven't gotten eaten even once."

"Not for lack of trying," Steve muttered under his breath, and then helped Dustin put his backpack on. Dustin let him, not complaining about being able to do it himself for once, and not for the first time Steve felt a small rush of affection for the kid. He knew not a lot of people understood why he and Dustin spent so much time together. Sure, sometimes the other kids were involved, Max and Lucas especially, but usually it was just Steve and Dustin. The other kids didn't really get it, and no matter what Dustin said, Steve wasn't sure they saw him as more than Dustin's big brother. As for Steve's old friends, well, Nancy had long stopped being impressed by Steve's ability to keep a kid alive for more than forty five minutes; She probably just thought it was pathetic now. Tommy sure gave him enough shit for it when Steve bothered to give him the time of day. God knew what Jonathan thought, outside of the stern nods they traded when Steve picked Will up for an arcade trip.

They just didn't understand the warmth in Steve's chest when Dustin let him help with something stupid and small. It didn't matter if Dustin could do it on his own. That had never been the point. Helping the kid put on backpacks and jackets, fixing his hair, making sure his grilled cheeses were evenly toasted on both sides so the texture didn't turn his stomach-- No matter how much Steve bitched, he loved doing every little thing no one had ever done for him.

"Listen, Steve," Dustin said, standing nervously in his doorway. "I want you to know that it doesn't matter."

Steve dragged himself out of his sentimental reverie. "What?"

Dustin squirmed, face pinched with thought. "What kind of Wesen you are, it doesn't matter. I'm gonna help you because you want to know, and that's-- That's cool. You've got a right to know, just like El. But knowing didn't change El, and it's not going to change you. You'll still be Steve, and Steve's pretty great."

Blinking, Steve couldn't respond for a moment. Finally, he managed to say, "Are you trying to pep talk me right now, Henderson?"

Embarrassment flooded Dustin's face, creasing his brown and throwing blush across his cheeks. "Okay, fuck you, see you in the morning, douchebag."

Laughing, Steve followed Dustin out the door and onto his front steps. "Hey, Dustin?" he called as he watched Dustin clamber onto his bicycle. Dustin looked up, eyes squinted in suspicion. "Thanks, man," Steve said, a blush rising in his own face.

Dustin grinned. "Welcome to the club, asshole," he said, and then sped out of the Harringtons' driveway as fast as his little Gumby legs could carry him. God, Steve loved that kid.

Dustin kept his promise. He was there the next morning, before Steve's neighbors had even left for church, with a list of potential 'tests' to try out. None of them were the weird science experiments that Steve had been dreading. Most of them, in fact, were just Steve trying to flex muscles he shouldn't have.

"Acid spit?" Steve read, incredulous.

"That one's a far reach," Dustin admitted. Shifting through his backpack, Dustin pulled out item after item, and Steve lowered the list to look doubtfully at the large slingshot that now sat on his kitchen table. "But I didn't want to leave anything out." It wasn't a long list, Steve noted, and most of it was ridiculous. No matter what Dustin said, he was pretty sure he'd have noticed something like kisses that drugged people or the ability to lead rats around.

Probably.

"Fine," Steve said, giving up. "But we're not doing this shit outside where the neighbors can see. The last thing I need is another rumor going around about King Steve."

"It's your house," Dustin said, shrugging, and threw the water balloon launcher over his shoulder.

To Steve's complete and utter lack of surprise, he did not have acid spit or any other set of superpowers. At Dustin's insistence, Steve ran across his backyard a few times, picked up some heavy things, caught a few launched tennis balls--

"I'm not playing anymore fetch," Steve decided, dropping the last of the tennis balls at Dustin's feet.

Dustin glared up at him with all the tiny rage of a scientist disrespected in his field. At least, Steve imagined. He hadn't known too many non-evil scientists in his life. "I'm trying to determine if you have super strength or improved reflexes."

"Oh, good," Steve said, and then flopped into his usual lawn chair. "I don't."

"You picked up a grill," Dustin protested, but even he didn't sound convinced.

"I was on three different sports teams for all four years of high school," Steve said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Dustin was only trying to help, and Steve knew he should be grateful. But once the panic had faded, all Steve was left with was this... irritation. Wasn't it enough that everything he'd ever known about his life had turned out to be a lie? One more lie on top of everything else turned out to be just one more pea under the princess' mattresses, and Steve was sick to death of vegetables in his bedding. "And I've been prepping to murder interdimensional monsters for the last two of 'em. Of fucking course I run fast and pick up heavy shit. It's, like, literally all I'm good at."

"I give up," Dustin said, throwing his arms up. Paper floated down around them, escaping from Dustin's clipboard. "You're the most useless Wesen in the world! If I hadn't seen you woge myself, I'd think you were an Eisbiber!"

"Jesus Christ, kid," Steve said, "Cool it on the beaver hate. Your mom's pretty cool."

Dustin's glare was intense enough that even Steve knew it was time to shut up. They sat in silence for a moment, Steve placidly watching as Dustin squinted into the reflective light of the pool. Steve had no idea what Dustin was thinking, and didn't have enough context to guess. At this point, Steve was ready to chalk the whole thing up to a trick of the light and move on with his life. Eventually, though, Dustin shook himself out of it and sat on the other end of the lounger, close enough their knees bumped together.

"Woge for me," Dustin demanded. Steve had learned enough that wogeing meant the change, the other 'face' that El and Dustin possessed. Dustin had talked about it at length that morning, talking about the difference reasons for it and how it might point to the truth of Steve's identity. None of the tests had worked, though, and Steve's eyes had stayed human.

"I don't think it's the same thing for me, man," Steve said. When he saw Dustin about to protest, he rushed to continue. The last thing he needed was another Henderson rant about the scientific method or some other bullshit Steve wouldn't bother to remember. "I tried for hours to make it happen last night, just so I could make sure that it had actually happened. Besides, it's only my eyes-- And your thing is literally everything but your eyes. Those stay human."

"But El's don't."

"El also looks like a literal diseased corpse when she changes," Steve said, tired. "Like we've said a million times, it's stupid to compare either of us to the girl literally created and then raised in a lab."

Even Dustin couldn't argue with that logic, but it didn't phase him for long. "Fine, then we just need to replicate the last time you woged, so I can take notes of all the characteristics I may have missed the last time," he said, slipping back into the overly professional voice that Steve was almost certain he'd stolen from one of his doctors.

Resisting the urge to groan, Steve frowned. "So, what, we have to go get in the car?"

"Maybe, if it doesn't work here, but I don't think the place is really the important variable here," Dustin said, and Steve supposed it was a sign of how seriously Dustin was taking this if he didn't even pause to ruthlessly bully Steve for getting it wrong. "How did you feel the last time your eyes changed? What caused the feelings?"

"Dustin, you were literally there," Steve sighed, but Dustin was already speaking over him before he could finish the sentence.

"Yeah, but I'm not you! I don't know what instincts were happening in that big head of yours!"

"I don't know, I was... upset?" Steve asked, and when Dustin rolled his eyes, he kicked at the kid's legs. "Hey! You're the one sounding like a fucking Hollywood therapist! What am I supposed to say? I just watched my best friend turn into a fucking beaver!"

Dustin's eyes narrowed. "You think my woge triggered yours?"

"I don't... know?" Steve leaned back in the chair, brow creasing as he tried to remember what had been going through his head before the panic of not recognizing his own reflection. The primal fear hung over every second of the memory now, but he knew that wasn't true. There had been adrenaline, yes, but Steve hadn't been scared of Dustin. His instincts had been more violent, almost angry. That had been what scared him, in the beginning. It hadn't been Dustin that sent him scrambling out of the car, but his own impulses. "When you changed, it made me... I thought I had to fight you."

Dustin hummed under his breath. "Once, when we were in the city, Mom and I ran into this lizard guy in the hospital. He turned out to be really nice, but when Mom first saw him, she woged out of fear and he woged back-- I think it was probably some kind of predator-prey instinct. Maybe it's like that?"

Steve felt a pit grow in his stomach. He didn't like the sound of that. "So, I'm like... A hunter?"

"Unless you think you're the only natural prey of the North American beaver, yeah," Dustin said.

Great, Steve thought, what a way to have every fucking bad thing anyone had ever thought about him confirmed in one fell swoop. Crossing his arms across his chest, he tried not to settle into a sulk. Pouting in front of the kid you were supposed to be a good influence for was embarrassing as hell, and probably even worse than being an instinct-driven murder machine. "Does that at least narrow it down?"

Dustin made an unsure noise in the back of his throat, kicking his feet back and forth as he thought. "I mean, kinda. It means you're definitely not anything my mother will let me within five feet of, but we pretty much already knew that. The problem is that, as far as I know, most of the Wesen world is pretty dangerous. Even some of the prey animals are killers."

"According to your mom," Steve said. He loved Claudia Henderson, he really did, but she thought her neighbor's Yorkie was two seconds from killing them all on a good day.

"According to my mom," Dustin agreed. "Look, let's just woge right now, and it'll confirm it."

"You don't think that triggering my 'predator instincts' on purpose will be a bad idea?" Steve asked, shrinking in on himself. If he hurt Dustin over some stupid science experiment, he'd have to go ahead and drown himself in the pool. And he genuinely didn't think Dustin could take the extra trauma on top of everything else.

"You'll be ready for it this time," Dustin said, and twisted around so they were face to face.

'Ready' turned out to be mostly erroneous. There was no countdown, no time to prepare-- Their eyes met and then Dustin was changing. The fur, the nose, the cleft lip. It was all as Steve remembered it, all exactly as he'd played over and over again in his mind. Steve braced himself, waiting for the same rush of adrenaline, for the same muscle-clenching urge to fight.

It never came.

One moment passed, then another. Steve forced himself to breathe. "I'm not feeling any rodent murdering tendencies," he admitted, although he couldn't quite convince his shoulders to relax.

"Well," Dustin said, his tiny beaver face peering into Steve's. "Your eyes definitely changed. They're... Huh."

"What?" Steve wanted to squirm under Dustin's gaze, uncomfortable with the very intense eye contact going on right now. Even though Dustin was looking at him, in his eyes, Steve didn't feel like he was being included in the interaction. If anything, it felt more like Dustin was watching something through him, and after all the multidimensional shit they'd been through, the last thing Steve wanted to think about was his eyes being a portal. "Come on, man, you're freaking me out."

"They're reflective," Dustin said, his voice faraway with thought.

"Yeah?" Steve said, confused. "So are everybody's."

"No, they're like mirrors. I can see myself completely. Every detail." Dustin's voice still sounded lost, and Steve swallowed down the sudden lump in his throat.

"That's weird," he said, eventually, when Dustin had proven that he had forgotten to even blink. "Um, can this part be over now? I'm not great at eye contact on a good day."

After a moment, Dustin shook himself, looking just as confused as Steve felt. "Yeah, sorry, man," he said, frowning down at his notepad. "I don't know what happened. Maybe your species is good at hypnosis? Some kind of snake, maybe?"

"Do I look like a fucking snake to you, Dustin?" Steve said, gesturing to his smooth skin and fluffy hair.

"No," Dustin admitted, "but we don't really have any proof your species has an animal counterpart, either. El doesn't. And before you say it--" Steve closed his mouth. "-- I'm not comparing you to El. I'm saying that whatever a Hexenbiest is supposed to be, I don't think it was originally like me. Maybe they're not the only ones."

Honestly, Steve hated the idea of his powers being anything like El's. To put it mildly, El's powers were fucking terrifying. Not the girl herself; It had been impossible to be afraid of El after Steve had gotten to know the sweet little girl that hid behind all that trauma. He adored her, really. But her powers? Steve genuinely didn't know how El slept at night, because if it were him with all that responsibility, he'd probably just have a heart attack. The more power someone had, the more opportunities they had to fuck up. Steve was proof of that. Having as much power as El was his worst nightmare. And if Dustin was right, that Steve might be something like her...

"We should tell Hop about this," Steve decided. Immediately, Dustin groaned.

"Come on, Steve! Hopper isn't going to let us dig into this and you know it!"

"Yeah, and maybe we shouldn't," Steve said. "I don't know anything about this shit, and my parents aren't talking. But if you're right, and I have the ability to hurt someone, then Hop needs to know about it."

Dustin's face softened. "You-- It's not like that, Steve. You wouldn't--"

"You don't know that." Steve was on his feet again, pacing the concrete that surrounded his pool. "We don't know anything, and you've seen what happens when El gets angry. And what happened to Will last year?"

"That wasn't Wesen related," Dustin tried to reason, but Steve was already shaking his head.

"That we know of," Steve said, "and I think we've proven that neither of us actually know a goddamn thing about this."

"... Fine. But I want it on the record that I think this is stupid, and you would never hurt anybody, Wesen or not."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Your complaint has been recorded, and will be going directly into the trash. Do you have your walkie on you?"

They went inside to collect Dustin's abandoned bag, his walkie still packed safely inside. They had given Hopper a Party-approved walkie the year before, when he decided that in case of emergency, relying on phones wasn't enough. Steve was pretty sure he'd given up on the Upside Down being a one-time thing, and making sure the kids weren't being eaten by monsters in the woods made everyone sleep better at night. They had a separate channel, though, for adult-included emergencies, because Hopper had threatened to arrest Mike for calling in a Code Orange over being out of toilet paper.

Steve hesitated over the dial, for a moment, and wondered if discovering you weren't human was a Code Yellow or Orange.

"It's not going to call itself," Dustin said, and Steve--

His eyes shut, all usual irritation at Dustin's annoyances drowned out by fear. Because he was so fucking afraid. Afraid of himself, yeah, but also a million other things. Like, how was he supposed to look Hopper in the eyes and admit what he was? Sure, Hop was okay with El, but El was a kid. His kid. Steve wasn't sure if he'd have taken the beaver thing half as well from anyone but Dustin. Wasn't sure he would now, even, and he was fucking one of them. Would Hop think he was a monster?

Even worse, would Hop believe him when Steve said he was something to be feared? Steve wasn't sure if he hoped Hop would, or if he dreaded it.

"Can you wait outside?" Steve asked, his voice shaking. He could already see Dustin gearing up for an epic bitch fit, so he quickly continued, "Just for a second. I swear, you can come with me. I can't do this shit without you, man."

The admission made Dustin quiet. With shock or with mollification, Steve didn't know, but whatever it inspired in Dustin was enough to have him nodding and walking out the door.

Steve turned the walkie to Hop's channel, and held the button down. "Chief, are you there?"

There was a moment of quiet, and Steve thought- hoped? -that Hopper didn't hear him, that he might be busy or at work or maybe he'd thrown the stupid thing in a drawer somewhere, but eventually the speaker crackled to life. The chief's voice poured out, "That you, Harrington?"

"Yeah," Steve said, the vowels coming out reedy in the tightness of his throat. "Yeah, it's me. Um... I got a... A Code Orange? Or maybe a Yellow."

"I can never remember that stupid fucking system," Hopper said, and on any other day, Steve would have laughed. "You okay, kid?"

Kid, Steve thought, his brain buzzing, when was the last time he'd been a kid?

"No," Steve said, answering the question truthfully for the first time in years. "No, I'm not."

There was a moment of static, and then, "You need me there?"

Steve wanted to say yes. Steve wanted to sit on the floor and wait for an adult to come by and take care of it. Steve wanted a dad who would come home and make everything go away. But that wasn't the truth, and it would scare Dustin, so Steve took a deep breath and acted like a fucking grown up for once. "I was thinking that Dustin and I could come by the cabin tonight, actually. There's something there I think we might need."

Hopper made a small, considering noise. "This about all that nastiness this fall?"

"Dustin doesn't think so," Steve said, glad to be able to report some good news for once. "It's more… personal. But, you know, you have a lot in the cabin that might have answers, so…"

There was a moment of dead air, and Steve wondered if Hop was weighing his affection for El against his need to protect Steve. Hopper was obviously more of a protective dad than Steve's dad had ever been, putting even Claudia Henderson to shame with his hovering abilities, and Steve… didn't begrudge El that. Really, he didn't. But there was a lump in his throat when he thought about Hopper leaving him to deal with this on his own. And he would, if it meant keeping his daughter out of trouble. Steve knew that without a moment's thought.

He wondered what it said about him that the knowledge made his chest ache. Nothing good, probably.

"Come on down," he said eventually, and something in Steve's chest unclenched. "You'll both stay for dinner."

"Sounds good," Steve said, although they both knew it hadn't been a question. "We should be there in about ten minutes."

"Yeah, I know where you live, boy," Hopper said with a snort, and then the line went quiet.

Despite himself, Steve smiled down at the walkie as he threw it haphazardly back into Dustin's bag. No matter what changed, at least Hop would always be the same. He was the same as a father figure as he was when he had been a stranger breaking up all Steve's best parties. It was a small comfort, to see someone strong enough to not let all the craziness of their lives change him– A comfort that Steve let wash over him in the silence of his kitchen, breathing deep.

Okay, game face on, he told himself. Keeping how badly this affected him from Dustin was hard enough, and he knew it would be near impossible in the face of El's observant gaze. He wasn't entirely sure how this would affect her, but keeping as calm as possible would stop her from freaking out, and that was always good for Steve's health.

He loved the kid but, Jesus, she was scary sometimes.

"So what's the game plan?" Dustin asked as they both climbed into the Beemer. "I mean, what are we going to tell him?"

"Stop trying to game the Chief," Steve said, with the air of an older troublemaker who had long since learned better. "It literally never works."

"So, what, we just go in there and tell the truth?" Dustin said. He sounded uncomfortable at the idea, which Steve kind of understood. He'd been the same at Dustin's age, always lying and keeping problems to himself for genuinely no good reason. He was still working hard to break the habit, obviously. He didn't know why he did it, though, and Dustin probably wasn't even aware of it yet– It was just a knee-jerk reaction, something Steve had learned after years of proof that telling the truth rarely got you anything but grounded.

"If we want Hop to help, he's gotta know what's going on," Steve said, with more confidence than he felt. Dustin argued for the entire drive, less because he disagreed, Steve was pretty sure, and more because it was easier than dwelling on the mystery. Sometimes your brain needed a break from the panic spiral of the unknown, and bugging the shit out of your best friend was the perfect solution, apparently.

Steve sighed in relief when he rounded the last corner and the cabin slid into view.

Hidden away in the depths of the same woods that abutted Steve's yard, Hopper's cabin was small and plain, unnoticeable from the main roads that cut through the town mere feet away. Steve wasn't sure how many people knew about the place, but those in the know rarely came by except by appointment. Even Joyce knew better than to roll up to Hopper's unannounced. If anything, such a bold move would be a sign that something had gone truly, terribly wrong.

There was always a bit of nerves just before Steve knocked on the cabin door. Every time, something in him was convinced he would be turned away. The confirmation beforehand didn't help the anxiety, and Steve was never sure why– Maybe it was the feeling of constantly intruding on El and Hopper's new family, or maybe it was just the fact that they both could kick Steve's ass, but the initial frisson of nerves never faded even after Steve had grown comfortable in their presence.

Hopper opened the door before he could knock, leaving Steve's hand hanging awkwardly in the air.

"This doesn't look like an emergency," Hopper said, voice gruff– But his gaze swept carefully over the both of them.

Steve opened his mouth to explain, or at least offer some kind of vague reassurance that would get them in the door, but Dustin beat him to the punch, as usual. "It's not really a human-type emergency."

Hopper's eyes snapped to Steve, surprise and suspicion mixing together in equal measure. "You said this wasn't about the lab."

Steve swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry under Hopper's gaze.

"Most Wesen aren't man-made," Dustin said, suddenly huffy with offense. Steve would probably be offended, too, if he'd had a lifetime to adjust to not being human. Seemed kind of rude to start assuming people were created in a lab. "Look, can we come in? If I have to re-explain my entire society to you, I at least want to do it sitting down."

To Steve's surprise, Hopper smiled down at Dustin and took a step back, shrugging. It wasn't exactly a grin, but it was there plain as day, small and fond. "Sure, come on in. El," Hopper said, raising his voice to shout across the cabin to his daughter. "Company's here!"

El's door swung open on cue, all the proof Steve needed that she'd known they were coming the whole time. The girl all but sprinted into the main room, nearly tackling Dustin in a hug. They looked almost like siblings, all brown curls and wide smiles, and El's delight at seeing Dustin was effusive. Despite the stress of the last two days, Steve found himself sharing Hopper's smile.

The kids chattered to each other, voices soft with delight, and Hopper made eye contact over their heads. "You hanging in there, Harrington?" It was the kindest way to say that he'd heard the panic in Steve's voice earlier, and embarrassment flooded through his veins. Steve appreciated the concern. Really, he did. But suddenly the shame of his own need to be cared for was overwhelming, and Steve had to fight the urge to back out of the house with a mumbled excuse.

He couldn't figure this out on his own. This wasn't going away.

Luckily, Hopper's voice had reminded El of their second guest, and she saved Steve from having to reply by pulling away from Dustin. "Steve!" she cooed, her voice still pure childhood.

She went in for a hug, her face tilting up to beam at him, and– As their eyes met, El's face shifted. The rapidly familiar ripple of a woge, leaving behind the twisted, pitted skin of her second face.

The black of her eyes burned like coals, and the intensity of them sung in Steve's veins as adrenaline shot through his blood. His hand, which had raised to pull El into a hug, shot towards Dustin, instead–

Every cell in his body thrummed with instinct. He needed to get the kid out of here, away from the danger. He needed to put himself in between, needed to fight.

Before his hand could even land on Dustin's back, his feet were off the floor.

Steve hit the cabin wall, the entire room rattling with the weight of El's power. He could hear Hopper and Dustin's voices, surprised and panicked, but their voices were lost in the ringing in his ears. He struggled in vain against El's invisible hold, rage mounting with every futile second.

The part of him that still held on to rationality, the part that made him Steve, struggled to calm his pounding heart. He knew El wouldn't hurt Dustin, knew El wasn't the threat his body said she was, but it took everything he had just to bite down on the feral scream building in his throat.

The strings of El's power were cut just as quickly as they were woven, and Steve slumped to the floor. There were hands on him, but he recognized them as Dustin's, and he let them hold him down.

"I'm… I'm sorry," El said, her voice small. Steve wanted to cry at the fear there, even as the furious parts of him settled in smugness.

He didn't look at her. He couldn't. Instead, Steve looked up at Hopper, pleading.

"Something's wrong with me," Steve said, voice shaking. "You have to help."

Hopper's face was grim, his mouth a flat line as he looked down at them. "You feel the Mindflayer on him?" he asked El, his eyes never leaving Steve.

El was quick to shake her head. "No, it's not like Will. It was… I think it was me."

"I already told you, it's not an Upside-Down thing! He's just a Wesen," Dustin said. His hands were shaking where he had them fisted in Steve's t-shirt. Steve leaned into them, feeling them steady against his ribs.

"Like us?" Some of the unease faded from El, excitement in her eyes.

"Not exactly," Steve said, still looking up at Hopper with guilty eyes.

Dustin turned to El, his eyes sparkling with the excitement of having someone who would entertain his nonsense for once. "You noticed his eyes, right? That's the only aspect of his woge. I've never seen anything like it, have you?"

El shook her head. "I've had woges forced before, but I–"

"Forced?" Hopper repeated, and Steve slumped further into himself.

"Steve didn't, though," El said, and her eyes drifted back to Steve. He didn't like the way her eyes went unfocused when he looked back, the same way Dustin had drifted into a haze earlier that day. "I was… afraid."

"A prey response," Steve said, glumly repeating what Dustin had theorized before.

"Not of you," El said gently, to Steve's surprise. "When your eyes went black, I could see myself in them. Not my body, but my…" Her face twisted in thought. "My self."

"I did, too," Dustin said, frowning. "And Steve said he had the same initial adrenaline response, but I didn't–"

"I didn't like what I saw," El said, her words clipped in the harsh, stilted way it had been when she was younger.

All four of them sat in the silence that followed for a moment. Steve wondered if they were also trying to ignore what Steve was: The things El had done that Dustin hadn't, the things she'd had no choice but to become. He wasn't sure what El had seen staring back at her, but Steve couldn't imagine having to actually face the worst of himself. And how did his pathetic little life even compare to the things El had survived?

Eventually, Hopper broke the silence. "I didn't see anything." The skepticism in his voice was palpable, but there was relief there, too.

"Humans wouldn't," Steve said, a terrible realization creeping up his spine. "We were wrong, Dustin. It's not a predator thing. I think it's…" He huffed, trying to think of some kind of comparison. "It's like those butterflies that make themselves look like owls. They're trying to fend other Wesen off. Whatever I am, it's afraid of being hunted."

"Alright, alright. This is–" Hopper rubbed a hand over his face, looking five years older than he had when Steve and Dustin had knocked on his door. "Start from the beginning. What exactly are we dealing with here?"

Dustin and Steve shared a look.

'You're the smart one,' Steve said with a shrug.

'You're the one with the freaky eyes,' Dustin said with an arched brow.

"Alright, so… It started after I picked Dustin up from school yesterday," Steve began. He ran them both through everything, even the parts that made him cringe. The first intense need to fight or escape in the face of Dustin's woge, the changes in his own reflection he couldn't replicate.

El listened politely, sending Steve small smiles when she noticed him looking her way. Her obvious happiness when he or Dustin included her in their discussion of Wesen almost made Steve feel guilty for hating this. He knew isolation, both real and metaphorical, was the hardest part of El's slow integration into society, and having more Wesen around was probably a dream come true, but– Steve wasn't that guy. He didn't know a damn thing about being Wesen. He was just… human with a condition.

Besides, whatever levity El brought to the situation, Hopper was apparently determined to stomp out. His face was that of a man facing down a firing squad, one who was fucking pissed about it, besides. When Dustin mentioned Steve's parents, he practically went apoplectic, turning away as his face went redder and redder.

Whatever the fuck that was about.

"So we decided we should come to you," Steve said, gesturing, "because you would know what to do about… me."

Hopper's face didn't get any less angry. El, who had apparently just noticed her father's countenance, looked between them with wide eyes.

"What to do about you," Hopper repeated, voice flat.

"Yeah," Steve said, nodding. "Like you did with Will."

El and Dustin both flinched, but Hopper was made of stone. Nothing but long, uncomfortable eye contact from him. "I don't think there's anything to be done here, kid," Hopper said.

Steve couldn't suppress the full-body reaction to that, scrambling to his feet. Adrenaline was hitting him again, sending his already exhausted heart into paroxysms, but now it was true fear. Not of some imagined enemy, but of himself. "I can't just be around people like this, Hop," he said through gritted teeth.

"You're around people now."

"That's my fucking point! I have like four fucking friends in the entire world, and two of them turned out to be the exact kind of people that I'm a danger to. The only reason El isn't hurt is because she can kick my ass," Steve pushed a hand through his hair, feeling it stick up at the ends from leftover hairspray. He didn't care. He wanted to pull it out by the fucking roots. "What if I go to the grocery store and meet a Wesen in the fucking dairy aisle, Hop? What about the next time I see Mrs. Henderson?"

"You didn't want to hurt El," Hopper said, his voice calm but his face still marred by anger. "You were reaching for Dustin. You wanted to protect him."

"You can't know that for sure. I can't– I can't control myself when I'm like that," Steve said. "It took literally everything I had not to hurt my own fucking kid."

"Me?" Dustin squeaked.

"You can. I know what someone out of control looks like, Harrington. You aren't it."

"Why can't you just fucking help me?" Steve said, his voice going reedy with desperation.

Hopper sneered. "I'm not going to help you punish yourself for something you haven't even done yet."

"I think maybe we should go outside," El said, and Dustin nodded eagerly. They both scurried outside like they were being chased.

"Stay where I can see you!" Hopper bellowed after them. Steve blinked back tears, shaking in the silence the kids left behind. Hopper took a deep breath. "Look, kid…"

"I don't get why you won't help," Steve said, his eyes falling to the floor. "It's not punishment when it's El. Why can't you–"

"El could control herself," Hopper said. "She just didn't know that she needed to. She's still learning how to be a person, Steve. She's just a kid."

"Right, right. Sorry," Steve rubbed at his nose, willing his tears away. "I'm sorry I bothered you, I–"

"That's not…" Hopper sighed, grabbing one of Steve's shoulders in one big hand. "What I'm saying is that you're already a good kid. I don't have to worry about you getting yourself or somebody else hurt."

"I get myself and other people hurt literally all the time."

Hopper rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean. You're not going to hurt the kids, and I don't believe you're going to start attacking randoms in the street. You're still you."

"But…" Steve swallowed around a dry throat. He didn't know how to make Hopper understand, didn't know how to make him care. He'd never been very good at that. Half of his life, Steve had been begging people to care. None of it had ever worked. "Alright. I get it."

Hopper nodded, looking relieved. "Just go home, Harrington. Lay low for a little while. Get used to the new instincts." Steve still wanted to protest, but he agreed. "Good. Let's get outside, before those kids start some trouble."

Steve followed Hopper out the cabin door, head held low. Dustin and El were waiting for them on the porch, sitting on the edge with their knees pulled up to his chest. They weren't talking, just watching the door with their bright, expectant faces.

"It'll be fine," Hopper told them, voice calmer than it had been inside. The kids deserved that, Steve told himself. "Steve's got this."

"Yup," Steve said, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. "It's all under control."

El darted forward, throwing her arms around Steve's chest and clinging. Steve tried not to meet anyone's eyes over her head and hugged her back just as hard.

"I'm sorry I scared you," he whispered, heart twinging in his chest. Not much scared El, and now he was on the list. What did that say about him?

Squeezing even harder, El shook her head, rubbing her face against his chest. "Don't be sorry. It's not your fault," she said. It sounded like she was mimicking someone, and Steve wondered if Hopper had done that for her. If she'd been held close and told everything would be okay.

Swallowing around his jealousy, Steve held on until El stepped back and smiled up at him. "You'll have to give me some tips on how to do this Wesen thing," Steve said. "Dustin's terrible at it."

She smiled up at him. "We'll learn together."

Dinner was a simple affair. Hopper hadn't let Steve help at all, so he had sat on the couch and watched Dustin and El play card games until spaghetti was on the table. The kids were loud and chaotic, thrilled to be around each other again, and it didn't matter that Steve only talked when someone asked him a question. Somehow, he made it through the meal, even when every bite churned in his stomach.

Even when Dustin kept sending him little looks of concern, always too perceptive for his own good.

They said their goodbyes quickly, even when El begged them to stay. Hopper, laughing, had told her they couldn't stay forever, and waved them out of the cabin and into the car.

When Steve pulled into the Henderson's driveway, Dustin hesitated before opening the door.

"So, I've been thinking," Dustin said, "and I don't think I should go to Camp Know-Where this year."

Immediately, Steve knew he had fucked up. Dustin had talked about little else since the spring semester had started. No matter what problem he'd had, whether it was bullies or how boring his classes were, Dustin had changed the subject to how good this summer was going to be. And Steve got it. Really, he did. If he'd grown up in a town where no one cared about sports and bullied him for liking basketball, he'd be fucking stoked to spend some time with people who understood him, too.

But now Steve had ruined that for him, too.

"Absolutely not."

"I can't just…" Dustin looked distressed, and Steve was all the more determined to send the little shit to camp himself. "What if something happens while you're away?"

"What's gonna happen?" Steve said, even as his brain played a horror film of all the things he could do without Dustin as a buffer for the rest of the world. He tried to borrow a little of Hopper's confidence. "I just have to get a handle on my instincts, that's all."

"I don't think sitting in your house alone all summer–" Dustin started, but Steve cut him off, slicing his hand through the air.

"You're going to your shitty little nerd camp, Dustin, and that is final." Before Dustin could protest again, Steve continued, "I have to get a job this summer anyway, remember? Official Bradley Harrington decree. Even if you stayed home, we wouldn't be able to hang out all day. You can't, like, come to work with me."

Dustin didn't look convinced. "What if something happens?"

Honestly, Steve didn't know, either. "You know, I'll call…" Who? The last thing Steve wanted was to disappoint Hopper, so he and El were out. The kids were too young to help with this shit, anyway, and Steve didn't really know many other people. That only left… "I'll call Jonathan or Nancy, okay?"

"You're really gonna call your ex-girlfriend and tell her you went insane and beat the shit out of somebody?"

Steve sighed. "If I say yes, will you go to camp?"

Dustin nodded. "Honestly, I kind of hope you fuck up, now."

Closing his eyes, Steve responded: "Get the fuck out of my car, Henderson."

The rest of the spring went smoothly. Steve kept to himself at school; He had already descended into minor loserdom after everything with Billy, so it was a piece of cake to stop making eye contact with anyone he wasn't completely sure was human. Graduation came and went with little fanfare. He skipped the ceremony, and made up some shitty excuse about a vacation with his parents.

He and the kids ate pizza and watched movies all night. Steve pretended not to see the pity in Nancy's eyes when she picked up Mike and Will the next morning. He waved politely at Jonathan and closed the door.

A few weeks later, Dustin left for camp.

He started work that same week, and Steve was grateful for the distraction. Orientation was a quick affair, the manager running him through health and safety protocol and quizzing him on customer service. Steve wore his best mask the whole time, smiling at all the right times, frowning thoughtfully when he was supposed to.

"Let me introduce you to your coworker," the manager said, and led Steve into the back room. A girl sat at the table there. She was wearing the same awful uniform that Steve currently held in his hands, but Steve could still see the nerdom radiating off her. Something about the hair and the tacky thrift-store jewelry. This wasn't one of 'his' crowd, and Steve breathed a little easier for it. "Steve, this is Robin Buckley. Rob–"

"I know who he is," Robin said, and raised her head.

The woge rippled across her face, revealing fur and piercing golden eyes.

[Next Chapter]

#my fic #monster hunting and werewolves and such #but it's slow burn #steddie #steve harrington #super steve centric #also autistic steve imo #uh yeah das it #only I must wander

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captainofthetidesbreath · 1 year

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Y'know, I don't actually think Taliesin is presenting Kingsley as more competent than Fjord, Kingsley is simply much more confident. (And in the reverse, Travis isn't presenting Fjord as less competent, just more self-doubting.) The difference between them is how they see themselves and how that affects how they work, and their views of themselves heavily filters how we're seeing them here.

The entire thing is that Fjord is suffering a massive crisis of confidence and is struggling under the weight of self-doubt. Jester remarks to him that he needs to be confident, Fjord is so paralyzed by a simple question that he desperately asks the answer from Melora (then freezes mid-attempt to interpret it), he second-guesses his correct assessment into an incorrect one, he nervously seeks constant assurance from someone else on whether an idea is a sensible or good one.

Fjord is trying to transition into a new period of his life, and it's slammed him with an incredible amount of imposter syndrome. It seems that the lack of clear end goals and sudden lack of structure is making this difficult. (We've all joked Fjord has ADHD, well, lmfao.) He is openly displaying the intense self-doubt he's experiencing, which in turn is not inspiring confidence in those around him, which viciously cycles. That pervasive self-doubt is actively disrupting his ability to do, well, literally anything. It's like trying to make your hands stop shaking, so now they shake worse, making you totally incapable of that simple task that you normally can manage, even excel at.

Kingsley is nothing but confidence. He probably has never had enough personal setback nor enough life experience to fear failure. He's even so confident that he razzes Caleb about teleporting off-target. A not insignificant chunk of Kingsley's commentary is simply nonconstructive criticism, nitpicking, telling Fjord to do something Fjord was about to do or already did, snark for the sake of looking clever, or missing that Fjord is debilitatingly dissociative—so it tends to sound more put together, and criticism is easy where doing is hard, possibly just all sound and fury as they say, remains to be seen. Kingsley is untested in the role but he talks fast and big, that much is true.

Taliesin has spoken about how he plays characters who think of themselves in relationship to the world in a very specific, very wrong-headed way, and that extends very much to Kingsley. I think Kingsley has the same problem that Percy did: he believes he is the smartest, most competent, most adult person in the room because he knows approximately four things and is incapable of being anything less than overconfident.

As far as it seems to me so far, the difference is that they are opposites in experience (Fjord sailed for many years, Kingsley for six months) that are inversely proportional to their current levels of confidence (Fjord lost confidence in his ability to make even minor decisions, Kingsley apparently does not doubt himself for any reason). It's a difference, as far as I can tell, specifically born of their perceptions of themselves, and whether that perception affects their ability to work, rather than objective assessment of their relative ability and potential.

We're largely seeing Kingsley and Fjord through the lenses of how they see themselves.

#Critical Role #Kingsley Tealeaf #Fjord #Fjord CR #Fjord Stone #Critical Role things #Critical Role spoilers #CR spoilers #cr meta #Mighty Nein Reunited #posting this at the worst time but that's what morning reblog is for

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disniq · 4 months

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i havent read all of the comics post urban legends to gotham war with jason, but as far as i remember between them jason didn't really kill anyone? tfz is on my mind (he tried to kill 'bane' but didn't). i suppose he couldve been murdering off screen as well but i also have no idea if that's hinted at

anyway with tmwsl and the beast war stuff having him kill it means:

urban legends -> stops killing

gotham war -> is brainfuckedup by bruce. cant do shit

tmwsl -> joker unbrainfuckedups him, he proceeds to go ham and kill some goons/tries to kill the jokers

beast world -> still killing in larger amounts

so if bruce had left his ass alone would he still be in a holding pattern with the bats? way to fuck it bruce (though im happy. so.)

obviously the doyalist explanation is they probably realized jason was in a bit of a limbo atm and decided to shake it up again. but watsonian is soooo funny to me. good job b

Thank you for bearing with me anon, I'm finally free from work and mostly compos mentis at the moment, so!

My initial instinct when I got this ask was to disagree, because I didn't read Jason's behaviour in the last issue of MWSL as any more or less violent than he was in the earlier issues, I don't think he ever actually killed anybody in that run (though do correct me if I'm wrong on that), and I'm extremely reluctant to take the Beast World characterisation into account because it's a, uh... reductive view of Jason, at best.

But.

BUT!

As I was turning this over in my head, I realised why it was pinging at my brain.

It's because this exact thing *has happened*, back in RHatOs Rebirth.

Pre-rhato 25 my beloathed, Jason had been consistently using less-lethal methods in exchange for Bruce's implicit approval and regular interaction with the batfam. He specifically says this on panel in The Trial of Batwoman, this is a choice he chooses to make against his own beliefs;

Detective Comics #975

This holds until six months later, when Jason shoots Penguin. And then Bruce famously snaps and beats the everloving shit out of him in a brutal and notably one-sided fight.

After which, Jason changes up his outfit, swaps the guns for a crowbar and a katana, and becomes significantly more lethal again.

RHatO (2016) #25, RHatO (2016) #26

And when I thought about it, well. I think you could argue that each of Jason's more lethal spells are proceeded by an altercation with Bruce.

Brothers in Blood, where Jason plays a murderous, knife-wielding Nightwing to annoy Dick, is the first Jason story after the infamous Under the Hood showdown wherein Bruce chooses to cut Jason's throat instead of... doing literally anything else instead.

Batman: Under the Red Hood, Nightwing (1996) #118

And after working relatively civilly with others throughout Countdown, Jason goes full murder gunbats in Battle for the Cowl after Bruce's delightful little "you're broken and you'll never be fixed" hologram speech.

Battle for the Cowl #3 , Battle for the Cowl #1

Now, I absolutely do not want to come across like I'm saying Bruce is responsible for all Jason's more extreme actions at all, because I'm not about that lack of agency shizzle at all. Obviously Jason was already very much down to kill prior to his final confrontation with Bruce in UtRH, and I think he does genuinely believe some people deserve to die.

But I think this pattern of Jason reacting to Bruce's outright and often violent rejections by escalating the very behaviour that has Bruce repeatedly rejecting him is super interesting as a facet of their continuous cycle of abuse.

So regardless of Beast World, I wouldn't be at all surprised if Jason does lilt more lethal for a hot minute before he inevitably makes consessions to get back into Batman's good books.

#asked and answered #jason todd #bruce wayne critical #my meta

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the-dixon-effect · 10 months

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Evergreen

A/N: this is actually my first ever fic from a request lol. you can find the request here, thanks so much anon :)

A/N: this might just be my favourite yet 😍

era: season 3-4, prison era

summary: out on a run, the pair is attacked by a herd of walkers and gets injured fighting them off. holed up in a bunker in the woods, feelings are confessed under less-than-peaceful circumstances.

words: 2.9k

pairing: Daryl Dixon x f!reader

warnings: a little gore (it's a twd fic, come on), language

As you wrapped your arms tightly around Daryl's waist and rested your head on the length of his shoulders, he took this as an impression to speed up and the bike quickly disappeared from the sight of the watchtower. Instead of the usual back-by-nightfall runs you were accustomed to, Rick had decided to send the two of you off on a recon mission searching around the outskirts of a nearby town. The plan was to spend the night in an old apartment building, clearly indicated on the map you were provided with. If the aim was to bring back a stock of useful supplies, you would have taken a truck instead, and probably another pair of hands. But today, it was just the two of you enjoying the hot Georgian summer, and you had other things on your mind.

One night alone with Daryl far away from the rest of the group? This was the perfect opportunity to spend some one-on-one time with the archer you'd been pining over for months, and, depending on how it goes, you might just confess your feelings for him. You had to contain your excitement when Rick briefed the both of you about the plan.

You trusted Daryl, and even trusted his instincts enough to close your eyes as you rested your head on his shoulder. Just as you were getting carried away in your usual daydreams about the archer, this time with him in a little closer proximity, you looked up and diverted your attention to the situation in front of you.

"Oh, shit," you heard him say. The sound of his voice was almost completely drowned out by the familiar growling noises you knew all too well.

"Oh my God, I thought- I thought Rick and the group cleared this road!" you said, heart pounding at the sight of fifty-or-so walkers heading straight towards you.

"Yah, thought so too. C'mon, let's turn around-" Looking over your shoulder, you noticed five or six lamebrains that must have wandered into the road at the sound of the motorcycle engine. Soon enough, the entire road was blocked on either side and Daryl had no choice but to brace himself for a sharp turn into the woods.

"Hol' on, I'm gonna go slow through the trees." At this point, you had completely abandoned your train of thought, and focused on holding on tight in fear of getting hurt.

As Daryl weaved the bike in and out of the trees, you started to speculate what he thought was the best next step. Now surrounded by woodland and sufficiently in the clear regarding the herd, he slowed down for a second, keeping the roaring engine switched on.

"Daryl, what the hell do we do now?" you said with the slightest chuckle. The adrenaline still hadn't worn off, but at least you weren't surrounded by a hundred or more rotters who were hungry for your flesh.

"I think I know where we are," he drawled, stepping off the bike that was still running. "There's a bunker round 'ere somewhere. We'll have to sit tight down there for a little whi-" he was cut off by a walker that seemed to come straight out of nowhere. You leapt off your position on the bike and immediately plunged your buck knife into the skull of the walker that knocked Daryl to the ground. Dragging the corpse off of him that, upon closer inspection, appeared to be that of a former factory worker judging from the uniform, you lay on all fours over him for a moment, catching your breath. Luckily, the two of you seemed relatively unharmed. You rolled over and stared up at the sky.

Suddenly, the bike that you forgot to set upright by flipping the kickstand came toppling over and landed right on top of Daryl. You heard a yelp of pain before leaping up once again to heave the vehicle off of him. To your dismay, the bike was much heavier than you had imagined. If only the roles were reversed, Daryl would've probably been able to lift the bike off of you with ease. After struggling immensely for a few moments, you managed to lift up the motorcycle and this time, you leant it up against the nearest tree, albeit a little frustratedly.

"Damn bike..." you said, earning a snigger from the man laying on the ground. You turned to him and knelt next to him, noticing the bleeding from his upper chest. "Shit, Daryl! Are you alright?" you said, attempting to peel off the layers of fabric that concealed the wound. If you knew a little more about bikes, you might have been able to determine the specific part of the vehicle that was sharp enough to hurt Daryl in this way, how deep the wound might be and what you could do to help.

"I'm fine," he said, a little weakly.

"You're not, Daryl. Let me help you," you pleaded. He stood up on his own, brushing away your helping hand. The usual stoic presence of the man was a little diminished, and he wobbled as he stood. You also noticed his odd stance and remembered how the heavy wheel of the bike dug into his right leg. "I'm so sorry, Daryl."

"Told ya', I'm jus' fine. Bunker's that way," he hesitantly pointed in the direction the bike would've been heading. "C'mon, leave the bike here an' we'll walk," he drawled.

"Are you sure? You think you can walk that far?" you questioned his strength, considering he already appeared to be limping and he hadn't even started walking yet. You reached for his arm and draped it over your shoulder, in your best effort to help him walk. The bloody patch on his shirt was growing and thought it best to hurry to this bunker so you could patch him up.

A thought entered your head. Fuck. This was not how your day was supposed to go, you mused. You'd reach the destination, make conversation with him about this and that, occasionally giving him your best doe-eyes. Once nighttime arrived, perhaps there would conveniently only be one double bed in whatever cabin you chose to hunker down in, and your plan would be set in motion. You figured that that would all be happening right now if you hadn't dropped his own fucking bike on him!

After about 20 minutes of walking side-by-side in relative silence, you started to feel a little disheartened, though, despite the nature of this particular plan B, you still enjoyed his company and proximity. "Righ' here," Daryl gestured to a small brick structure just big enough for a single wooden door. Completely abandoned, there was moss growing on the walls and took a small shove to force it open. As it creaked inwards, you were met by a dark, damp staircase leading straight into the ground.

"After you," you spoke, somewhat hesitant to enter the dilapidated bunker.

The underground room was filthy, yet, at a glance, it seemed fit for a one-night stay, and in these circumstances, you didn't really have any other choice. It was small and cramped inside, almost completely filled with cheap furniture that was covered in a thick layer of dust. When Daryl put down his crossbow after thoroughly checking the space for any more walkers, you approached him and urged him to rest on the single bed in the corner.

"I'm fine, Y/N," he said, looking up at you as you searched for the medkit in your bag and set it down on the ground. "Take off your shirt." he obliged and you ran your fingers over the cut that stretched a little further than you had previously determined. "I'm so sorry, I did not mean for this to happen," you said softly, tracing your fingertips over his torso. "I think you'll need a couple stitches. Let me fix you up, since it's my fault in the first place."

"It's not your fault," he said, looking at you with those deep blue eyes that you adored so.

"Well, it is. It takes an idiot to get off a bike and not flip the kickstand," you said with a sweet smile shaping your lips as you prepared to stitch the wound.

He chuckled a little at this. "It's fine, done it myself countless times," he began. "At least when I did it the bike didn't crush me in the first place," he said sarcastically, and he was smiling now, too. You giggled at his response.

"Do you think your leg will be okay?"

"Dunno what yer talking 'bout."

"Don't be like that, Daryl. You were limping all the way over here."

"I'll be fine, jus' give it a day," he drawled in response.

You sighed, in somewhat admiration of his stubbornness and forbearance. You trusted his instinct yet still wanted to do anything to help him. He winced silently as you began to stitch the wound after cleaning it with an alcohol pad.

Time passed quickly in his company, and, unusually, you didn't seem to mind not being able to see how much the sun had set. You set up a dim lantern in the centre of the room, and appreciated how the soft, warm light made his face glow. It felt so good, for once, to feel totally safe from any threats from the world above your head. Perhaps that feeling of safety came from simply being near Daryl, you figured. Any feelings of discouragement from earlier that day had dissipated.

For dinner, you scavenged for anything that you could find in the cupboards that was more appealing than what you'd brought with you. Daryl had struck the jackpot you supposed, after finding nothing yourself.

"Peanut butter and jelly, diet soda, and pig's feet. That's a white trash brunch right there," he spoke up, holding his findings up proudly.

"Perfect," you said, unable to contain your grin just from looking at Daryl, and how he slowly let his guard down in front of you and relaxed.

You sat across from each other at the makeshift dining table, stealing glances at each other as you tucked into your 'white trash brunch', as Daryl called it.

"This is nice," you said quietly.

"Hm, the food?" his innocent response made you laugh.

"Oh yeah, definitely. I mean, being here, completely safe for once instead of being in the prison, where it feels like the fences could fall any second. Just being with you." you said, thinking out loud.

He smirked up at you upon hearing this. "Oh yeah?"

You hummed in response. "I, uhh- I was real worried earlier. 'Bout the walkers, then the cut. And, you," you spoke.

He was surprised at your words, but it felt good to hear that coming from someone else, to hear that they care about him. "Dun' need ta be. I should be the one worryin' 'bout ya'," he declared.

The two of you finished up and decided it was time to get some rest. Despite your best effort to persuade him to take the single bed, he resigned to the couch in his stubbornness that you couldn't argue with. You both ended up talking for a while before you fell asleep, sharing views about members of the group, and swapping stories about your best walker kills, or anything you thought worthy.

"I mean, have you ever met anybody who introduces themself by their full name to everyone they meet?"

"Rick Grimes," he said mockingly.

"I mean, I love the guy. But there's just something a little more admirable, more real, in guys like... you."

Quickly after your little confession, you drifted off to sleep, but Daryl found that sleep did not embrace him as easily that night. His head was full of you, and the last thing you said to which he'd offered no response. In truth, he too was thrilled to be able to spend this time with you, and didn't care in the slightest about your little accident earlier. He thought it was sweet how you rushed to take care of him, though he hated being the one who needed taking care of in the first place. You always seemed to be busy at the prison, chatting away with Maggie or working down on the farm. He was hesitant to approach you, in fear of saying the wrong thing or scaring you off. He thought about your gentle fingertips brushing over his wound, and the other scars on his chest that you noticed. What did you mean when you said, '...guys like you'? Do you... like him that way too?

He slowed down his thoughts. No, no, he can't start thinking like this. Not when you were turning in your sleep just a couple metres away. Perhaps, another day, he'd work up the courage to tell you how he felt. For now, he couldn't risk ruining the time he had alone with you until you returned to the prison.

When you awoke in the morning (or, it felt like the morning, you couldn't tell though due to the lack of natural light underground), you contemplated how that might just have been the best sleep you'd had since the fall began. That was probably thanks to Daryl practically sleeping next to you, you figured.

You turned over, still wrapped in the dusty sheets, to appreciate the sight of Daryl Dixon in the morning. He stood in the corner of the room, bags packed, fiddling with what looked like an arrow. You rubbed your eyes and blicked, once, twice, in an effort to get a better look at whatever he was doing. Unlike Daryl, you didn't share his anxiety surrounding telling you how he felt. If you could make it clear to him in any way possible that you care about him, you would.

You stood up and grabbed your flannel shirt from the heap you left it on the floor. Your legs were exposed as you stood across from him, wearing a pair of skimpy pyjama shorts, a tank top and your red flannel jacket. It was safe to say that Daryl liked the view.

Over breakfast, you discussed the plan for the day which involved navigating back through the forest to find the bike, and then going ahead with the original plan, which was scouting around the outskirts of the nearby town. Daryl, distracted by his late-night thoughts, couldn't help but notice your hair, your morning expression, and your clothes, in a way that he hadn't done before.

"Yeah, yeah. This time, I'll try not to drop any heavy machinery on you," you smiled.

"Mm. Better not." If it meant that you would brush your fingertips over his chest again, he would happily let a hundred bikes fall on top of him.

As the two of you gathered the last of your belongings, you exchanged glances before climbing the concrete staircase and opening the door that led to the forest floor. What you were met with, however, was a crowd of walkers that all turned to face you as if on cue. It didn't even look like a herd, just a mess of stumbling corpses circling the bunker. They must have sensed you, somehow; but there was no time now for figuring out how this happened.

Suddenly every decaying face spun and came at you from every direction, and you simply looked at each other before deciding that there was only one thing to do: run.

So you ran, and ran. You ran until you noticed that Daryl was lagging a little and you remembered his leg injury from the day before. You grabbed him and pulled him into the hollowed-out trunk of a large oak tree. Your heavy, laboured breaths were silenced by his hand reaching over your mouth. He used his other hand to make a 'Shh' sign. Looking over your shoulder, you watched as the walkers passed you by, wincing at the occasional growl or smack as they snapped their decomposing jaws shut.

You had to say something, now. Or else you'll wish you'd said something later. "Daryl," you whispered, meeting his eyes and still trying to be as quiet as possible. These may not have been the perfect circumstances for confessing your feelings for the man currently stood a couple inches away from your face, but they will have to do.

"Daryl, I- I need you to know something," he wished you would just stay quiet. If anything happened to you he would never forgive himself. "If we don't make it back, or- or if something happens, I need you to know that I love you. M-Maybe more than I should. I just- I can't help it and I had this plan of how the run would go and I didn't mean to injure you or-"

For God's sakes, Y/N, why were you still talking? There's a damn herd walking past and- Daryl knew that there was only one way to shut you up. He placed his hand on your neck and moved his lips to meet yours. He let himself get lost in the sweet kiss as soon you rested one hand in his hair and the other on his chest. He'd wanted this for so long, and he felt a pang of guilt for letting it happen in such dire circumstances, and not in some place safe, like back at the prison. You pulled away, suddenly remembering where you were.

"I, uh- Do you...?" you felt his warm breath on your neck.

"Yeah... I do," he began. "C'mon, the walkers are gone. Why don't we finish this up back home?" he smirked.

"That sounds like a great idea."

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