#(and then when i asked what i should bill it under i got radio silence)

[magicalqueennightmare]

Sins & Amends Chapter 8

(Gif by @ banditthewriter)

Billy Russo x Female Reader (60 part story)

This follows pre- the punisher into the storyline of daredevil, punisher season 1 and beyond

This is NOT Canon Billy. This is decent human being Billy left with bad options over worse decisions

This was also posted to A03 under: WaywardGaPeach. That account and this one is the only place you'll see me post this. If you see it on any other platform/account know it's not me.

Chapter Summary : Frank knows just what to say to light a fire under Billy. Maria confronts you about your feelings at the same time

A few days turned into two weeks since you had any communication with Billy. You were used to radio silence during Frank's deployments so you really weren't that worried. You had work, the kids, Maria and Curtis to fill your time.

Billy on the other hand found his mind drifting to you whenever he had down time. Alice's teasing has stuck with him. What if you found someone? Someone that could admit how they felt about you? That didn't have a reputation like he did? That didn't start life out as a gutter rat and scraped and clawed just to find some sort of footing. 

You deserved the best. From the first day he met you his interest was perked and that was before he got to know you. 

Over time he'd seen you cry, seen you laugh until you got hiccups. He'd saw the way your face looked illuminated by the first rays of sunlight in the morning. He'd fell asleep with you tucked up next to him either watching movies, by a campfire a few times or just enjoying each other's company. He'd heard your worst fears and your greatest dreams. He'd sat listening as you described lives you'd saved and wouldn't take the compliment of him calling you a hero brushing it off as saying it was just your job. 

Somewhere along the way he'd fallen harder than he ever thought he would for anyone. Whether it was the way you smiled when you would brush his hair back from his face or how you'd gently encourage him to talk about the things that ran through his head instead of bottling them up.

He'd seen the way you were always there for Maria when she needed a shoulder, how you jumped in to help Curt with his physical therapy and rehab. You were the most compassionate and caring person he'd ever met and beautiful on top of all that. He truly didn't see how you were still single. 

A small part of him hoped maybe you were waiting on him but then the rest of him was quick to remind himself that how would that be fair to you?

"Bill!" He blinked a few times then turned in his cot to look at Frank "What?" "I've called your name four damn times. What the hell has you all spun up?" Frank asked propping himself up on his elbow. "Nothing man" 

He hoped Frank would let it go at that cause god knows he wasn't exactly feeling all sharing is caring at the moment. "Yea that nothing got a name or should I guess? I'm willing to bet a hundred I'd get it right on the first try" that made him sit up "what you going on about Frankie?" 

He didn't miss the grin that slipped onto Frank's face "Just thinking out loud" "about whatever is on my mind?" Frank shrugged "That and wondering whether or not Y/N went out with that truck lieutenant what's his name" 

"Hunter?" Billy couldn't hide the annoyance he felt at the mention of the guy. He'd been sniffing around you for the last two months before this most recent deployment. He was around Billy's height but that was where the similarities ended. He was blonde, blue eyed and seemed more suited to be surfing the coast in California than working for the FDNY. 

"Yea Maria said he had asked her out the last time I talked to her. Dunno if she agreed or not" he said it nonchalantly on purpose as he turned as if to get comfortable to go to sleep but had to stifle a laugh when a pillow smacked him in the head "The fuck was that for Bill?" He asked chunking the pillow back and slinging his feet around to be facing his friend.

Billy was trying to hold his tongue but he was a bit too annoyed to do so. "You've went two weeks without telling me that? God damn Frankie. What if she went out with him? Fuck man. She deserves better than some pretty boy smoke eater" Frank was grinning by that point despite seeing how much Billy was fuming. "Well damn Bill who'd you have in mind for her?" 

Billy stopped mid rant and actually looked at Frank long enough to realize he'd just let his tongue loosen enough to tell on himself. "How long have you known?" "That you're crazy for her? A while. It's not hard to see to anyone except you and her apparently" 

"Shit. What the hell am I supposed to do?" It was a simple enough question but it made Billy want to flinch at how pathetic he sounded. Fuck he was Billy the beaut. He had women stepping on each other at bars for his attention why the hell was it so difficult to face his feelings for you? "Maybe in two days when communication is back up you call her? Talk to her?" Frank was staring at him now and it took every ounce of self control to not look away. Instead he nodded "Yea I think I need to man up" 

"Attaboy. Now how's about you shut the hell up so I can get some sleep?" Frank said with a grin before flopping back onto his cot which creaked at the sudden movement. "Yea get your beauty sleep Frankie. God knows you need it" Billy barely ducked before Frank's boot zipped over his head.

You laughed watching Lisa slide around the corner in her socks giggling. She was supposed to be in bed twenty minutes ago but well bedtimes were supposed to be a little relaxed on weekends weren't they?

You'd finally bribed her and Frank Jr with promises of pancakes come morning if they wouldn't give their mom too hard of a time. You felt bad because you hadn't been able to stay over as much as you normally would during a deployment but the station house was a paramedic down so that meant you had to pick up a few more shifts. 

A new girl had been hired and fit in beautifully with the existing team so that meant your schedule could go back to normal. You'd missed Alice as your partner full time and you missed spending as much time with Maria as the kids. 

"Night aunt Y/N!" She called down the stairs and you could hear Maria rounding her up for a reading of "One batch, two batch" so you decided to clean up the kitchen.

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

You had just finished putting away the last of the dishes when you heard Maria's quiet footsteps coming down the stairs and turned towards her with a smile "Munchkins sleeping?" She nodded "They were both so wound up from the thought of getting to spend an entire weekend with aunt Y/N" 

You grinned and did a mock curtsy "I apologize ma'am" she rolled her eyes at your actions "Grab the wine out the fridge I'll get the glasses" 

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

Later the two of you were curled up on the couch watching a movie and you noticed she kept glancing your way so you finally paused the movie and turned to face her pulling your feet up underneath you "Yes Mrs Castle is there something you'd like to share with the class?" 

She shrugged then said "Communication should be back up for the guys soon" you knew her well enough to know her fishing for something tone but chose to let her wade deeper into whatever she was getting at. "Yea. They've been radio silent for two weeks. I wanna make sure Frank's in one piece. If he gets hurt i may just kill him myself" 

"What about Billy?" She asked eyeing you over the brim of her wine glass and you knew what she was getting at. You'd been side stepping it since Hunter had asked you out a few weeks before. He was cute and sweet. A bit of a goofball at times but it was nice. He was genuinely a good guy but you just couldn't see yourself with him. Why? Oh because you were hung up on Billy and the feelings you had unintentionally developed for him.

"Yea I want him to come home in one piece too" you finally admitted and she grinned "Are you two ever gonna realize that you've practically been a couple for nearly a year now without all the fun stuff?" "Ria!!" You nearly hollered then caught yourself remembering the kids were asleep. 

She locked her gaze on you and it was everything you could do to not squirm. "I've known you for many many years Y/N. I've seen you happy, I've seen you sad, I've seen you pissed. The way you look at Billy, how comfortable you are around him hell it even transcends how you are with Frank and Curt and those two consider you a little sister. All I'm saying is that it's apparent he makes you happy and that you make him happy. I can tell and more importantly he talks to Frank or rambles as Frank put it. You two need to take that leap. I think it could be worth the risk"

"And if it's not?" You asked in a quiet voice so she pulled your head over on her shoulder "Then I'll make good on my initial threat to him concerning you" and that mental image alone was enough to make a small laugh escape your lips.

You tried to push Maria's words out your head as you filled the next two days with her and the kids but when Sunday night and you were back in your apartment getting ready for work the following day all your nerves managed to hit at once. 

You were checking over your med bag when the chime starting going off from your laptop alerting you to a video chat request coming through. You sat your bag down next to your dresser and slowly walked over to your bed as if you were approaching a wild animal more than a dell. 

You smiled when you saw Billy's face and self consciously ran a hand through your hair even as you hit the button to accept. A moment later the screen gave way to an image of him smiling back at you "Y/N you're a sight for sore eyes" you bit your cheek to keep the blush from spreading across your face and mentally kicked Maria for getting under your skin before saying "I see you're still in one piece. That's very good news. I assume Frank is too?" 

He grinned "Yes ma'am. Here's across the room talking to Maria and the kids. How are you? Anything new?" "I know now two new disney songs thanks to Lisa and I delivered a baby the same night I talked to you last" you replied with a smile sliding up further on the bed to get comfortable before pulling the computer into your lap.

"Anything else?" He asked with a tilt of his head those dark eyes making you lose any train of thought you may have had. "Um nothing notable" you answered after a moment hoping he hadn't noticed you simply staring at him. Jesus Maria and Alice in your ear had really messed with your head. You'd seen him practically naked due to bad communication of shower times at the cabin before and didn't stare this much ok maybe you did but he hadn't noticed and hell who could blame you? 

"Alice still on you about being single? Cause i hear one of the firemen at your station house asked you out?" He said it like he was asking you what the weather was like but you didn't miss the slight tick in his jaw when he spoke so you decided to test of Maria's theory. If she was right that would be wonderful and if she was wrong well rejection would hurt less with so much distance and another five months between you.

"Oh yeah Hunter asked me out a couple weeks ago. You remember him right he's the truck lieutenant on rescue squad" you tentatively said and could see his jaw clench more. Fighting to keep yourself calm at the proposition of Maria being right you continued "He's a pretty chill guy to work with. He's always so sweet to anyone during calls and he even helps restock the rig if we need anything from the supply closet while we're counting down plus I mean he's not exactly ugly" it was true Hunter was an attractive guy.

You felt your heart jump when Billy cut you off by saying "Well shit if good ol Hunter is so amazing why aren't you off with him instead of wasting time talking to me?" You could see he was about to go into a full blown rant so before he could you confessed "because I'd pick you over any man in New York City any day of the week Russo"

He paused, a smile slowly working it's way onto his face "What'd you say?" "I'd pick talking to you over being with any other man in New York City" you repeated chewing your bottom lip from nerves.

"So I take it you didn't say yes when he asked you out?" He pushed and you shook your head "Told him no. He's a good guy but he's not my type. He was understanding about it" 

You wanted to cry from just how exposed you felt. You were putting a years long friendship on the line not to mention your heart. "Well what is your type then?" You swallowed hard when he asked but figured it was now or never. "Well someone who's brave, who doesn't mind fighting for what he believes in. Handsome and knows it, a bit cocky about his looks at times but still a sweetheart deep down. Someone who would hold me for hours after a bad call and make sure I wasn't alone even if I insisted I was ok" 

Your gaze fell to your hands as you felt a blush warm your cheeks. Several seconds passed during which you wanted to find a hole to climb into before he spoke again "Sounds like you've got a pretty solid idea of who you want" you nodded still not looking at the screen until he added "Well I'm sure you'd be interested to know I've already met who I want to be with too"

Your eyes flew up to the screen and your heart felt like it was on the verge of either exploding or crumbling and which one rested solely on the next words to come out his mouth "Tell me about her?" You asked quietly and he smiled softly "She's beautiful god the first day I met her she knocked the wind out of me with just how gorgeous she looked in shorts and an old t-shirt. She's braver than some of the men I serve with hell you gotta be running head first into situations like she does to try to help people. She jumped in feet first to be a surrogate parent to Frankie's kids when he can't be there. She backs those she loves with everything she has and would go through hell for anyone she considers family. Not to mention she is fucking adorable when she falls asleep leaning over on me"

You were fighting back tears of relief by that point. For so long you dreamed of Billy saying those things, of him wanting to be with you and now here he was saying it "Did she finally figure out how I feel?" He asked after a moment and you nodded "Yea she did" "So does that mean we're gonna give this a try? I've never really been a relationship type of guy but Y/N sweetheart I wanna be for you if you'll have me" you almost laughed at the honest look of uncertainty on Billy's face. You'd never really seen it on him before.

"Yea Billy I want you. I've wanted you for so long I just didn't want to fuck up the friendship we have" it felt like a weight had been lifted off your chest just saying those words. "Why have we both waited this long to tell each other?" He asked with a broad smile.

"Cause you're both idiots" Frank answered walking up behind Billy and giving him a playful shove then winked at the laptop "Y/N good to see you kid" "Hey Frank. You doing good?" You responded wiping your hand down your face. "Yea I'm good. I talked to Maria and the kids so I'm great. Tell me one thing though did you and Bill get on the same page cause I'm tired of watching a grown man pining over someone. It's kind of pathetic but pretty funny when it comes down to it"

For only like the third time since you met him you saw a blush spread across Billy's face before he said "Ok Frankie your time is up. Go call Curt and annoy him" then shoved him out of view of the screen. You tried and failed to stifle a laugh "Wait I want Frank back! I wanna hear about you pining over me. Come on Billy if you're gonna be with me the least you can do is give me a confidence boost" you teased.

He rolled his eyes then met your gaze with a look that made your stomach flip with unspoken promises "Oh sweetheart I'll do anything you want once I'm home but yes for your peace of mind I was a bit bitchy thinking about you with that damn fireman" 

"Hunter" you supplied the name and he wrinkled up his nose like he smelled something foul "Yea him. But now I know you feel the same way about me. Hell for the first time I've got someone to come home to" "On one condition" you added and saw a look of confusion go through his eyes "which is?" "I get a kiss the moment you get to my side" you answered and the look you got in response was enough to make you bite your bottom lip but not from nerves this time "Where do you want that kiss?" He asked and you had to swallow hard for a moan to not escape you. "Billy Russo. You're supposed to wine and dine me before you try to seduce me"

He shrugged "I've still got a few months before that so why not get a head start on the seducing part" you shook your head but couldn't keep the smile off your face. Billy really did want you and now it was just the wait to get him home.

Tags @intothesoul

@weallhaveadestiny

#au billy russo #billy russo au #billy russo x y/n #billy russo x you #billy russo fanfic #billy russo x reader #sins and amends masterlist

[atlafan]

Part One - “Call me Jane.”

a/n: here’s part one of nanny!H, I’m very excited about this series. I’m not sure how many parts it’s going to be, so please don’t ask lmao. Once I know how many parts it’ll be, I’ll make a master post for it. I’m just too excited not at least share the first part because Harry is just too cute in this! Feedback and reblogs are super helpful, and keep me motivated, especially when it comes to writing series. (not proofread) You can support me here if you’re able!

Warnings: none...for now

Words: 4.1K

Pairing: Harry x OC (Jane Watson)

Master Post

Harry found himself in a real bind. He was twenty-six years old, had an early childhood education degree, and the daycare he worked at was going under. He had just been promoted a month prior too, how could things go wrong so quickly? Times like this he really hated that he stayed in the states. Childcare services weren’t nearly as fucked up back home. His dream was to save up enough money to open up his own pre-school at some point, but it was really tough.

There was this weird stigma that if adult men wanted to work with babies and toddlers then that made them a pedophile or something of the sort. That wasn’t the case with Harry. His minor in school was psychology because cognitive development intrigued him. He also loved babies and little ones. He loved watching them learn and discover.

Only now, he was without a job in an already struggling field. He and the other employees weren’t exactly given a big notice before they were told the business was going under. Harry mostly felt bad for the parents of the kids that had to find new child care centers. He knew he’d have to compete with his co-workers for any available jobs, and he knew they were bound to find places before him because they were women. It was their fault, and he knew it. He was experiencing a prejudice that they must face all the time.

He looked into Care.com, but none of the jobs on there seemed like long-term gigs, and he didn’t want to just be a glorified baby sitter. He figured if he could find a well paying nannying job, he could do that for a bit until finding a job at a new facility, or even set up his dream pre-school. During his search on Indeed, he saw a position for a live-in nanny – jackpot! Live-in meant long-term, and long-term meant lots of money. It also meant he could get rid of his apartment and not have to pay rent for a while. He clicked on the ad that was posted only a couple of weeks ago.

Live-in Nanny Needed for Help with Eight-Month-Old

Minimum requirements:

·        Bachelor’s in either early childhood education or elementary education

·        At least two years’ experience working babies/children

Three professional references required

Applicant is subject to thorough background check for the safety of the child and mother.

Other tasks as needed include:

·        Cooking

·        Light cleaning

·        Grocery shopping/running other errands

If applicant is selected, they will be paid a flat rate of $1600 bi-weekly, will live in “in-law” section of the house, and a car will be provided for them. A resume, cover letter, and three professional references may be sent directly to [email protected]

After reading everything over, this seemed like Harry’s best bet. Some of it seemed a little too good to be true, but this was a risk he needed to take right now. He just hoped the position hadn’t already been filled. That night he spent some time updating his LinkedIn, making sure all of his privacy settings were up to date on all of his social media, and then wrote out a resume and cover letter. The last part was his least favorite because he knew a proper resume and cover letter had to be curated to the specific job, and it made things all the more tedious. By the time he was done, it was late. He didn’t want to seem unprofessional, so he waited to send the email until the next morning.

Subject: Nannying Advert on Indeed

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Good morning,

My name is Harry and I’m interested in the nannying advert you’ve posted on Indeed. For the last four years I’ve been working at P.B. & J.’s Child Care Center, and was recently promoted to team lead. Unfortunately, the business itself couldn’t remain afloat, and I was laid off.

Attached are my resume and cover letter. I’d be happy to provide the three references if I end up being considered for the position.

Thank you for your time and consideration,

Harry

Treat People With Kindness

He closes his laptop with a satisfied sigh after proofreading his email ten different times before he hit send. He takes a sip from his coffee, and sits back on his sofa. Now all he had to do was wait.

//

There was radio silence for two days. Harry was starting to think he would need to keep job hunting. He had bills to pay, and the last thing he wanted to do was ask his parents for help. They already looked down on his profession as it was. If he had his own car he’d become an uber driver or something, but he didn’t so he couldn’t. Then, by some stroke of luck, at 4:55PM on a Thursday, he gets an email from the address he had been hoping to see pop up.

Subject: Re: Nannying Advert on Indeed

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Good evening Harry,

My name is Jane Watson, thank you so much for your application. My apologies it has taken me a couple of days to get back to you. I am usually more responsive, but things have been a little crazy at work as of late. Upon further review of your resume and over letter, I would like to offer you an interview this Saturday at noon, if you are available. I can be flexible if that day and time do not work for you.

If you are able to come, and are still interested in the position, I ask that you please bring your references with you. I will want to call them right away. I am sure you can understand me wanting to thoroughly look into you before letting you into my daughter’s life.

I look forward to hearing back from you soon.

All my best,

Jane

Harry responded to her right away, he didn’t care how eager he seemed. He told her Saturday at noon worked great, and that he would definitely have his references, and anything else he needed to provide. She emailed him back an hour or so later with her cell phone number and address. For the first time in a while, Harry felt like he could breathe again. He knew it wasn’t a done deal that he’d be getting the job, but he was being given a chance, and for that he was thankful.

//

He wanted to make a good first impression on Saturday, so he made sure to wash his hair in the shower, and use his good mousse so his hair would look more orderly. He shaved to give himself that clean and sleek look, this was not a day to appear scruffy. He knew he didn’t need to be overly dressed up, but he also knew that you’re supposed to dress for the job you want and not the job you have. He irons a pair of tan slacks and pairs it with a blue button up. Not to brag, but his bum looked great in these slacks, and it was giving him all the confidence in the world. He puts on a floral tie, just to show a bit of his personality, makes sure his nail polish isn’t chipped, and makes sure all of his rings are looking shiny. He takes an uber out to Jane’s house. It was in a gated community, which he was expecting since he looked up the house beforehand. He wondered what she or her husband did for work to live in a place like this. Or perhaps she inherited the home? Either way, he was excited.

He thanks the driver, and knocks on the door as he was instructed to do. A woman with silver hair that was up in a nice bun opens the door.

“Hello, you must be Mr. Styles.” She smiles.

“Yes, hello.” He smiles back.

“I’m MaryAnne, please come in.” She steps aside to let Harry in.

“Thank you.”

“Miss Watson is just pumping, but you can wait for her here in her office.” She leads Harry down a corridor where he meets a grand double door. MaryAnne opens them and shows him inside. “Make yourself comfortable, dear. Can I get you anything? Coffee, water, tea?”

“I’m all set, but thank you very much.”

The woman nods and leaves him in the room alone. He stays standing as he didn’t want to assume where he should be sitting. There was a gorgeous desk with two chairs on the other side, but there was also a small round table with four chairs around it in the corner. She clearly held a lot of meetings here, or so it would seem. To pass the time he looks over her bookshelves, scanning over what she might be into. She seemed to be into fiction, but he had never heard of any of the books on some of the shelves, or the author. She had several by the same person. Before he could look further, he heard the clacking of heels on the hardwood floors approaching him.

Everything stopped when she walked in. Jane had her hair up in a flowing ponytail, a white blouse covered her top half, he notices that the first few buttons were left undone, probably to help with her pumping, and she had a black pencil skirt on that just came to her knees. She was short, and a little voluptuous, not that Harry was checking her out.  

“Hello, Mr. Styles, I’m sorry to keep you waiting.” He goes to stick his hand out for her to shake, but she walks around him and sits down at her desk. “Please, have a seat.”

He swallows and sits down.

“Y-you can just call me Harry if you like, Mrs. Watson.”

“I’m a Miss not a missus.” She says as she takes out a folder with a few sheets in it and a pen. “It says here you graduated Summa Cum Laude from Lesley University. That’s an incredible place to get a degree in education.”

“Thank you, I got a pretty decent scholarship, it was my reach school. I minored in psychology as well. I did my practicum hours at a daycare center that specialized in caring for children with disabilities. So, I’ve worked with all sorts of children. I prefer working with infants and toddlers, though.”

“And why is that?” She looks at him, clicking her pen, ready to take notes.

“Well, I just have more fun with them, to be honest. I like watching them discover new things. My favorite thing to do while working in the baby room at my last job was working with the babies on their tummy times. It was always rewarding to watch them get stronger. I feel like I just bond with them better.”

“I need to ask you some personal questions since this is a live-in position.”

“Of course.” Harry nods.

“Are you in any sort of relationship with anyone?”

“No, I’m single.”

“Have you ever been arrested, or do you have any sort of criminal history?”

“No.”

“I’m not one to judge, I think everyone deserves a second chance, I just have to ask these sort of things.” She says.

“I don’t have a criminal record, Miss Watson.”

“History of drug use?”

“I smoked a bit of weed when I was younger, but I don’t anymore. An edible once in a while, maybe, but never when I’m on the clock.”

“Just marijuana?”

“I’ve done shrooms a few times, but nothing other than that. Stupid kid stuff.”

“Again, not judging. I’d prefer you don’t have any drugs in the house, unless they’re for medical use. I know edibles can be prescribed by doctors for anxiety and whatnot.” Harry nods at that. “What about alcohol? You’re twenty-six, you must enjoy a drink after a long day.”

“A glass of red once in a while, sure.” He nods. “But I’m not really a heavy drinker, I never have been. I’d say if anything I’m a social drinker, but you watch me carefully at a party you’ll notice that I nurse the same drink.” He smirks.

“I’m the same way. A little bit of a buzz is fun, but anything more can be a bit scary. I actually cannot remember the last time I had a real drink.” She looks off in thought.

“Well, can’t you drink now that the baby’s here?”

“And have to succumb to a pump and dump?” She scoffs. “No way, that would be a total waste. It’s torture enough to sit there while a machine sucks the milk out of my-“ She stops herself. “Sorry.” She shakes her head. “Anyways, your resume was impressive, and you were quite articulate in your cover letter. You’re the only candidate I’ve invited for an interview.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” She nods. “I really wanted someone with experience, not someone fresh out of college looking for a place to live. You’d really be okay with living here?”

“Honestly, you’d be doing me a favor. My long-term goal is to either have a daycare or pre-school of my own someday. Not having to pay rent for a while would really help me save up for that.”

“That’s an incredible goal to have, Harry.” She smiles, impressed by his ambition. “What questions do you have for me?”

“I just want to clarify, your daughter is eight months?” Jane nods. “And what’s her name?”

“Lilly.” Jane smiles.

“That’s a beautiful name.” Harry smiles. “Why exactly do you need a live-in nanny?”

“I work a lot.” She sighs. “And I’m a single mom. I want her to always have someone here that she can depend on and feel comfortable with. Sometimes my work drags me out in the middle of the night, or I have to take a phone call at an odd hour. I just want someone else here in case I can’t be if something comes up.”

“So, her father’s not in the picture?”

“No.” Her features sour a bit. “He doesn’t even know she exists to be perfectly honest with you. I found out I was pregnant after we broke up, and I decided not to tell him about her. He was a deadbeat moocher, he would have been useless.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, but thank you for telling me. May I ask, how old are you?”

“Twenty-nine, does that matter?”

“No! No, I was just more so curious. You seem pretty successful to be in a home like this. In the advert, you stated I’d be given a car as well, that’s not exactly cheap.”

“You’ll be given access to one of my cars.” She says. “I’m not giving you a car, make no mistake about that.” She smirks. “I’m an author, a successful one.” Harry tries to think if he’s ever heard of a Jane Watson before, but he’s coming up blank. “You’ve never heard of me because I have a pen name. If it’s all the same, I don’t really want to share it with you. Not yet, anyways.”

“Sure…wait…are you offering me the job?”

“Not quite. I’d like you to meet my daughter. I want to see how she interacts with you.”

“I’d love to meet Lilly.” He smiles.

“Great, before we do that, do you have more questions?”

“Yes, who’s MaryAnne? Is she, like, a maid or housekeeper?”

“No.” Jane laughs. “She’s my personal assistant. I usually answer the door myself, but pumping took a bit longer than usual.”

“When did you publish your first work?”

“When I was twenty.” She smiles. “I was still in school, and I decided just to self-publish. It took off, and a few companies reached out to me. I eventually got an agent, and the rest was history. I’m a fast writer, I’m able to churn out more projects than most people, and for whatever reason they keep becoming hits. One of the reasons I travel a lot is that a couple of my works are being turned into television shows, and working out those contracts is a lot. I want to be a part of the process to make sure the stories are told correctly.”

“That’s incredible!”

“it is.” She nods. “I never thought I’d be a television producer, but here I am. I don’t really want Lilly around all that, so there’s another reason for having a live-in nanny.”

“This may seem like a silly question, but will I have time off?”

“Oh my goodness, of course! The salary is negotiable as well. You’ll have weekends off, as well as all bank and national holidays. You’ll also earn vacation time and sick leave like at any other job. You’ll be given a benefits package as well, if you need health insurance.”

“You…you provide stuff like that?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I?”

“I’ve just never heard of a nannying job quite like this before.” He blinks. “It feels too good to be true.”

“I’m just a firm believer in compensating someone properly. I believe in investing in the people you have.”

“Right.” He swallows. He almost starting to feel like he was going to be her sugar baby or something, but he obviously knew that wasn’t the case. “You asked me about my dating life, what about yours?”

“I’m also single. Lilly is my top priority, and then comes my work. I’m completely fulfilled as is.” She stands from her desk. “Come, I’ll give you a tour of the house, and of the in-law space, and then you can meet Lilly.”

“Okay.” He stands up and follows her out of the office.

She shows him the living room, which felt more like a study. There was an entertainment room with a huge flat screen, deluxe loungers, a pool table, and bar. She shows him to the kitchen which was equally as extravagant. She brings him upstairs to show him all of the bedrooms.

“This is Lilly’s room.” Jane says proudly.

“it’s beautiful, I love the light purple.”

“So do I.” She says. “My room is down the hall, don’t think you need a tour of that.” She laughs and they head back downstairs. “Here’s the inside entrance to the in-law, but there’s also an exterior entrance you can use…or if you have guests over.” Harry’s in awe of the space. It was larger than his apartment. “It’s a one bedroom flat essentially. There’s a full bath en suite, and there’s a half bath over there. Open concept kitchen and living area. It’s fully furnished as well. Feel free to decorate it however you like. I just ask that this space stays yours. There’s really no reason for you to bring Lilly in here, you know?”

“Sure, yeah. This is amazing.”

“I’m glad you like it. Let’s just hope Lilly like you.” Jane smirks, and they head back to the main part of the house, and into Lilly’s playroom. She was sitting with MaryAnne in a large rocking chair. “M, you can feel free to go back to your office if you like. Harry’s going to get acquainted with Lilly.”

“Of course.” MaryAnne stands up with the baby, and hands her over to Jane.

“She has an office here too?” Harry asks.

“Of course she does, and one of the guest rooms upstairs is hers to use when she needs it.” She kisses the top of her daughter’s head. “Lilly,” she coos, “I have someone I’d like you to meet.” She gestures for Harry to take her, and he happily does so.

“Hey, baby girl.” Harry coos. Bright hazel eyes look up at him in wonder. He lets her latch onto his index finger. “It’s so nice to meet you.” He looks at Jane. “She’s precious, Miss Watson.”

“Isn’t she?” Jane beams. “She’s really been enjoying her bouncy, and messing around with her blocks. I have some CD’s I like having her listen to as well. Oh! We did a paint with pudding night as a sensory play thing, it was a hoot.” She chuckles.

“Those are great, aren’t they? Very stimulating, and it teaches the child that sometimes messes are okay.” He looks down at Lilly and smiles. “May I sit with her in the rocking chair?”

“Please!” She gestures to it, and she sits down on the loveseat in the room. Harry sits down with Lilly, cradling her carefully. He adjusts her so she’s able to stand on his lap. She bounces herself and giggles. “Look at that!” Jane exclaims. “I love it when she does that.”

“She’s awfully sweet.” Harry smiles, and then he looks at Jane. “How much do you feed her?”

“I give her roughly twenty-four to thirty-two ounces a day. You’ll know how hungry she is or isn’t in the moment. I’ve started giving her pureed butternut squash, mashed bananas and strawberries, she’s got that puffed baby cereal as well. I’ve also started giving her ground chicken in really small doses just to get her some protein, but right now I’ve mostly been sticking to fruits and veggies. You must know a lot about what foods to give a baby?”

“I do.” He nods. “You’re still producing that much milk to give her daily?”

“I’ve almost been wishing I’d dry up. I get so sore somedays.” Jane sighs. “But I figure it’s good for her to have it while I can still make it. I’m not opposed to formular or anything…but I like bonding with her in that way. I got rid of her baby acne by rubbing my nipple on her skin, it was like magic.”

“It’s certainly a trick of the trade.” He smirks at her. “I remember learning that in one of my courses, and I was amazed. You all are super humans.”

Jane watches Harry play on the ground with Lilly for a bit. Harry was already so wonderful with her. Harry starts to smell something, and so does Jane.

“Think it’s time for a diaper change.” He chuckles and picks her up. “Would you like me to change her?”

“Yeah, I’d like to see you do it.”

He brings Lilly over to the changing table, and lays her down.

“I know you’re all warm and cozy, but I need to disrupt that for a moment.” He says to the baby girl who was babbling and blowing little spit bubbles, totally unbothered. Harry unsnaps her onesie, and lifts her legs to detach the diaper. His eyes widen at the type of diaper that’s on her. “You cloth diaper?” He looks at Jane.

“It’s better for the environment.” She shrugs. “There’s a trashcan for the…um, poop, and there’s another can for the diapers. I give her a regular diaper for bedtime just because it’s easier to change her in the middle of the night and in the morning, but daytime I use the cloth diapers.”

“Makes sense to me.” Harry disposes of everything, and grabs a few wipes to clean Lilly up. She took a powerful stinky.

“I blame it on the pureed peas.” Jane laughs.

“It doesn’t even phase me anymore, honestly.” Harry says as he gets a little baby powder on her. He grabs a spare cloth diaper, and gets it on her. He snaps her onesie back together and lifts her up. “There we go, good as new, darling girl.” Lilly blows some bubbles at Harry, and blows some back, making her giggle. Jane beams at the two of them.

“It’s about time for her afternoon nap. Would you like to put her down?”

“I’d love to.”

Harry carries Lilly upstairs with Jane. She flips on Lilly’s white noise machine, and makes sure her favorite blankies are in the crib. Harry sits down in the large chair in the corner of the room and starts to rock her gently, giving her soothing rubs. Jane watches as Lilly’s eyelids start to droop. She fights it at first, but Harry continues to soothe her until she’s out like a light. He carefully stands up and sets her down into her crib. The two back out of the room quietly, and make their way down the stairs.

“Let’s go back to my office.” Jane says, and Harry follows her there. Once they’re both seated, she starts speaking again. “Well, the job is yours if you want it.”

“Really?” Harry felt every worry from his life leave his body.

“Yes.” She chuckles. “You’ve really impressed me, and I think Lilly’s quite taken with you already. I’d love to have you as her nanny.” She takes out a few forms. “May I have your references? The background check will take about a week. How soon could you start after that?”

“Right away, honestly.” He hands her a sheet with his references.

“Here are the tax forms you’ll need to fill out, a form for direct deposit, and some information on your benefits. You can get everything back to me by the end of next week.”

“I can’t thank you enough for this opportunity, I’m so excited. I can’t wait to get started, Miss Watson.” He stands to shake her hand, and she stands as she takes it.

“Please, you can call me Jane.”

#love's divine #love's divine part one #call me jane #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles au #harry styles series #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x oc #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #nanny!Harry #nanny!H #nannerry

[ddarker-dreams]

Lunch Discussions. Team Bucciarati x F Reader🎀

[Scarlet Ribbons description]

Word count: 1.3k, somehow ?? Notes: this is probably the most lighthearted thing i’ve ever created. idk what’s happening here. it started as a silly idea in my head but I Could Not Stop. so here it is

“If you were stranded on a deserted island, who from this table would you want to be stuck with?” 

Mista’s question goes largely unnoticed. Fugo and Narancia are in a heated discussion on if classical or hip hop is better, Bucciarati and Giorno are speaking about business, and Abbacchio is trying to zone the chatter out. That leaves you to save Mista from the throes of embarrassment. Truth be told, this innocent question is an improvement from Mista’s usual discourse.

The gunslinger’s face lights up when you hum, considering the question. 

“So it’d just be the two of us? I can’t say I’d bring a radio or something?” You ask to clarify further. 

Mista shakes his head. “Nope, no bringing anything.” 

That means practicality is most vital here. You mull over what each of your teammates (and bosses), could bring to the table. It didn’t take too long to reach a definitive answer.

“For survival’s sake, I’d pick Giorno,” you decide, the aforementioned man’s attention going to you upon hearing his name. “Well, I guess it depends on whether or not the food Gold Experience makes is edible. If it is, we’d be able to survive a long time off of it. Say, Giorno, can you eat the stuff you make?” 

“I’ve… never tried, so I’m not sure. In theory, any life created by Gold Experience is the same down to the genetics of what it’s based on.” 

Narancia snorts and takes a bite of his salad. “It’s all fun and games until a coconut falls on Giorno’s head and he’s knocked out cold. Then all the sticks and sand he used to make the food would turn back in your stomach.” 

Huh. That makes for a grotesque mental image. 

Giorno tries to defend himself but Narancia is too busy readying his argument. “A coconut…?” 

“Clearly, I’m the best choice here,” Narancia decides, pointing his fork at you. Should that be considered a threat? “Aerosmith could get the attention of a nearby plane.” 

“Non-Stand users wouldn’t be able to see it, you dumbass. What are you going to do? Wait for a Stand user pilot to roll on by?” Fugo asks with a sigh, Narancia shooting him a nasty look. 

“You never know! I’m sure there’s one or two. Besides, why would anyone want to bring you along? Your Stand couldn’t even hunt for food, it’d turn everything into a big ol’ pile of mush.” 

Fugo clicks his tongue. “There’s more to survival than that. Food is a valuable resource, yes, but do you know how to purify water?” 

Narancia furrows his eyebrows together, considering the proposition. “You have to… purify water?” 

Now it’s Fugo’s turn to look at you.

“This idiot would give you dysentery on day one,” he states dryly. You hold back a laugh at the indignation on Narancia’s face. “I think my chances would be pretty good. At least I know what poisonous plants look like.” 

Mista’s simple question is turning into a complex cobweb of possibilities. He can’t help but notice the others seemed more willing to chime in the moment you entered the conversation. Silently, he tells himself not to take it personally. 

“Well, whatever. I’d pick [First]. She could make us a shelter and bridges to different areas. The rest of you guys can be boring and pick Giorno.” Narancia decides. You can’t help but feel a little honored that he’d pick you, a content smile on your face. His last comment makes you wonder if picking Giorno is the easy answer, due to the nature of his Stand’s abilities. Abbacchio, who none of you thought was paying attention, speaks up. 

“I wouldn’t pick Giorno,” Abbacchio places his headphones around his neck. “I wouldn’t pick any of you guys, actually. Aside from Bucciarati, you’d all be dead in a week, easily.”

Bucciarati clears his throat, realizing he’s now been roped into the conversation. “I’m glad you guys are having fun, but--” 

Mista is quick to rebuke Abbacchio’s claims. “I would not die in a week! I’d at the very least make it to two weeks.” 

“Like hell you would. Pistols would destroy your food supply on the first day.” Abbacchio counters. Hm, he’s got a point, you think. Pistols do have a notoriously ravenous appetite. Note to self, do not get stuck on an island with Mista. 

Mista puts a hand to his chin, contemplating. “Hm… actually, yeah, you’re right. Nevermind.” 

You blink, incredulous at Mista’s agreeable response. He gave up that fast?! 

“What if we kept it out of Pistol’s reach?” You tentatively speak up, trying to save Mista’s honor once more. He shudders at the thought.

“There is no such thing as food out of Pistols reach,” Mista sighs, to which his Stand cheers. “They will always find it.” 

An idea comes to mind. Clasping your hands together, you look at Narancia with a smile, who immediately returns it in full. “Oh, I know! What if we got on Aerosmith, and it flew us to safety?” 

Narancia likes the idea and nods his head vigorously. “That’s genius!” 

Fugo snorts, preparing a rebuttal in record time. “Yeah, it’d be genius until you both drop into the ocean.” 

“[First], did you forget what happened the last time you were on a plane with Narancia?” Abbacchio raises an eyebrow. Your blood runs cold as memories of Notorious B.I.G come flooding back. Actually, being on any form of transportation with these people seems to end poorly. Cars, boats, airplanes… 

“Come to think of it, you’re right about that,” you agree with a shiver. “Being stuck with Abbacchio might be interesting. Moody Blues could replay scenes from a movie to pass the time.” 

“It’d be a one-man show, but I guess it’s not impossible,” Abbacchio replies. Giorno, who had been silently watching the banter, decides to speak his piece.

“I agree with Narancia,” Giorno nods at you. “[First] would be able to treat my wounds, and I hers. We’d survive the longest.” 

“Oh, please. You guys just want to be stuck on an island with [First] because she’s c-” 

Abbacchio kicks Mista under the table, effectively silencing him. Beats getting stabbed with a fork, you muse. Bucciarati, who is doing his best to moderate the discussion, has remained noticeably absent. Not wanting to miss out on his input, you direct the question to him.

“What about you, Bucciarati? Who would you pick?” 

Your Capo thinks about it longer than the others. “Fugo’s plentiful knowledge of biodiversity would be useful. Though, if we’re taking Stands into account, [First]’s Scarlet Ribbons could make a net for fishing.” 

“Finally, a sensible answer.” Fugo sighs. 

“The real question is,” Mista takes a deep breath, placing his hands on the table. “Why is no one picking me? 

“I thought we already went over that,” Narancia replies.

“Aside from the little caveat Pistols presents, I’d still be a valuable asset. Did you guys forget that I survived prison?”

“Two weeks of prison, might I add,” Fugo corrects, to Mista’s dismay. “By that logic, Narancia would be the best choice.”

“Which I am--”

“You don’t even know how to make a fire, much less survive in the wild.” 

“If I shoot something long enough it’ll catch on fire.” Narancia shrugs. Fugo rubs his temple, fending off a headache that looms on the horizon. It looks like none of you are going to be reaching a conclusion anytime soon, talking circles around one another. Still, you feel as if this is the appeal of talking to them. You can expect it to be a thrilling adventure from start to finish. 

Everyone had been too drawn into the conversation to realize the waiter, who finally works up the courage to clear his throat, catching your attention. 

“The bill for today,” is all he has the courage to say. 

Mista, Narancia, and Abbacchio both motion to Giorno at the same time, who sighs and reaches for his wallet.

#no thots head empty #giorno #giorno x reader #bruno x reader #abbacchio x reader #mista x reader #fugo x reader #narancia x reader #JoJo's Bizzare Adventure #vento aureo x reader #Vento Aureo #golden wind x reader #scarlet ribbons #jjba x reader #jjba #my stuff

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Into The Woods

Warnings: noncon sexual acts; vaginal, anal.

This is dark!Lumberjack!Bucky and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re sent to make a delivery to the man in the woods.

Note: This is for @imanuglywombat​ and @nellblazer​‘s Lumberjack Challenge. I couldn’t see if they were accepting dark fics so if they aren’t, I guess it’s just another fic lol. But anyways, the challenge inspired me.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

“You sure Dezy isn’t going to make it?” You asked as you helped Gerry load the crate onto the trailer. 

“I’m sorry, I got all the other deliveries sent out with Milo but this one’s too far for him.” Gerry grunted as he closed the back of the open-top trailer. “I don’t know what’s gotten into Dezy. Second day in a row and yet I hear he’s down at the Horse every night.”

“Well, he’ll run out of beer money sooner than later,” You sighed as you pulled on your gloves. The air was starting to bite as the brief autumn was turning. “You sure you can manage without me?”

“Slow day in the shop,” He shrugged. “You just be careful.”

“Alright. I’ll do my best.” You climbed up onto the four-wheeler and fumbled with the thick key with the grizzly bear charm attached to it. “Maybe next time give me the easy ones.”

“I’ll tack an hour of overtime on your pay, how about that?” He chuckled. “You need to get out anyway. I know this place is small but you can’t spend all your time reading those harlequins in the dry good section.”

“They’re not harlequins,” You turned the engine and raised your voice as you gripped the handlebars. “They’re fantasy, Ger.”

“Sure, sure,” He backed away. “You go or you won’t make it back by sundown.”

“Never far off these days,” You mused as you revved. “See ya, Gerry. Don’t forget to down stock the fishing wire.”

“Which one of us is the boss?” He called after you as you pulled out, the small trailer rumbling behind you.

You turned off at the end of the street, past the business fronts that looked like cabins. The town looked straight out of Western but with more snow. The first of the annual powder had yet to fall but you could feel it coming. You headed over the lumpy tundra past the sparse trees that grew thicker the further you got. The paths turned narrower and you steered slowly through the damp forest.

You only went so far out when your uncle took you ice fishing and rarely in this direction. You slowed as the path grew more uneven, carefully traversing the thick roots and deep valleys. The noise of the engine bounced off the trunks of trees around you. It was more than an hour before you reached your destination. At least, you thought you were in the right place. Weren’t too many cabins hidden in these trees; well not many still inhabited.

You pulled into the clearing and killed the engine. You hopped off the ATV and stretched your legs, your thighs tingled from the rumble. You went to the trailer and open the door and slid out the heavy trunk. You braced yourself before you lifted and gave a grunt. You’d packed the load yourself. You carried it past the old motorcycle and the neat stack of wood which marched the way to the broad front porch. You slowly ascended the three steps up and set down the heavy crate beside the door.

A bench made of logs, likely by hand, stood just a few feet from the front door, a woven blanket folded over the seat. The curtains were drawn within and you started to wonder if there was anyone there or if this was just another forgotten scene. It all seemed so eerily still.

You knocked and waited for an answer. Nothing. You tried again with the same result. Then, after a cold silence, you heard a door open and snap shut but it wasn’t the one before you. You turned as a man appeared beside the far corner of the porch. He appeared disturbed by your presence as he emerged from the old shed, his flannel jacket marked with patches of dirt and his dark hair poking out from beneath a woolen cap.

“He usually just leaves it there,” He clapped his gloved hands together as he brushed away the filth. “Thanks.”

“Uh, sorry,” You turned and ambled down the steps. “I didn’t realise.”

“Don’t be sorry,” He stayed near the corner, kicking his foot up onto the stump where an ax waited to be used. “Better get going before the sun beats you.”

“Sure,” You went back to the four wheeler. His eyes bore into you as you climbed up. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just--”

“Thanks,” He said again. “Driving out here all this way. Appreciate it.”

“No problem,” You turned the key. “Have a good day, sir.”

The engine roared to life and you carefully turned around, the empty trailer clattering behind you. You couldn’t help but feel him watching you still. You wanted to look back, but didn’t. You twisted the throttle and delved back through the treeline. You hoped Dezy would get his shit together, you weren’t keen on doing deliveries.

🪓

The next day, you were back to your usual fare. You stood at the long counter of Elk’s General, watching the locals as they wandered in and out, perusing the aisles of groceries, clothing, or novelty goods. You rung them through on the outdated till and smiled after them as they left with their paper bags.

The usual midday lull came and you pressed flat your latest read on the counter. You crossed your arms over the edge and bent over the pages, losing yourself in the fantastical medieval setting. Gerry didn’t mind so much as you kept an eye on customers. 

The rusty bell above the entrance tinkled and you looked up suddenly. You turned your book over before you could lose your place. You stood up straight and smiled at your newest customer but froze as his eyes met yours. It was the man from the day before, to whom you had delivered the weeks worth of goods.

He ignored your usual greeting and marched over to you. He planted the bill for his delivery on the counter.

“I ordered six cans of maple beans. I have only four.” He said plainly.

“An oversight. I’m sorry, sir. Just a moment.” You gulped and flitted off to check the shelf. There were only the tomato beans in stock. You went to the back room and checked there. Nothing. You returned to the counter. “Looks like we’re all out but I’ll make a note to have them delivered when we get more. Or we can remove the charge from your bill.”

“Keep ‘em on,” He said as he reached into his pocket. “I can wait.” He unfolded the worn leather wallet. “I have to pay my account anyway.”

“Sure,” You reached to slid his bill closer and keyed the amount into the machine. “You could have called--”

“I don’t have a phone,” He growled as he counted out the bills. “I don’t like to be disturbed.”

You took the money and counted it. You avoided his gaze guiltily. You sorted the bills in the cash door and handed him his change. His gloves brushed your skin and he tucked the money away with his wallet.

“Good book?” He pointed to the novel.

“Alright, so far,” You answered quietly.

“I read his other one. The one set in Ancient Egypt. It was… interesting. Not my usual reading material though.” He tapped his fingers on the counter. “You have a good day, miss.”

He turned and left you as you returned his farewell. The door snapped shut behind him and you looked back down at the book. You opened the front page and read the list of works by the same author. You’d have to look into them.

🪓

Several days late, you were helping Gerry restock shelves with the newly acquired truck. The night before, you’d helped unload it and left it for the next day to sort through. Dezy sat behind the counter, half-keeled over on the stool, trying not to puke into his hands.

“Damn shit is hungover again,” Gerry muttered. “I got a whole list of deliveries today and he can’t even stand straight.”

“I can do it,” You offered. “Long as he can manage the till.”

“I don’t know if I even trust him to do that,” Gerry said. “You sure you wanna do the deliveries?”

“We got any of the maple beans on the truck?” You asked.

“A good amount.” He said.

“We owe two cans to-- well, I didn’t get his name. The man who lives way up in the trees.” You frowned, only then realising you new nothing about him. In that town, everyone knew everyone.

“Mr. Barnes?” Gerry reached over into the box and moved around several items before pulling out a can. “Quiet man. Doesn’t like to be bothered. Must’ve scared Dezy good to get him to shut up.” He took out two more cans. “If you’re willing to head up that way, you give him and extra can on me. He’s the only customer in town who pays on time.”

“Sure,” You stood, thankful not to be forced to kneel all day at the shelves. “The list?”

“Pinned up behind the counter as usual,” He caught a box of Corn Pops he hit with his elbow and swore. “Take a radio. Snow’s comin’.”

“Will do,” You said. “I should be that long.”

“Chill blowin’ in from the lake, bundle up before you go too.” He said.

“You sound like my mother.” You laughed.

“I feel like you’re mother,” He shook his head. “Now go, before I get sentimental.”

🪓

Gerry was right, it was cold. The four-wheeler seemed slower as the wind swirled around you. You stopped by each house and knocked before leaving your haul. You smiled away tips and bid each resident a good day before you rushed away under the protests of another delivery ahead of you.

Your last would take the longest, though it was the smallest. The tree cans rattled around the trailer so you stopped at the shop before you continued on and detached it. You placed the cans in a small box and secured it to the seat behind you with bungee cords. You fixed your gloves and pulled your cap over your ears before you set out once more.

The sky grew paler the later it got. A harbinger of snow. You took the same route as before, getting off once to push the ATV over a fallen branch caught beneath it. You carried on, the frigid air lashing your cheeks.

You drew up to the clearing as you had before. The motorcycle was gone, likely pushed into the shed in preparation for the first snowfall. The piles of wood had grown taller and the front door was open, the screen door a poor barrier to the looming winter.

You unhooked the box and climbed up the steps. You bent to set it down and be off. You looked up as you sensed something on the other side of the screen door. The man, Mr. Barnes, stared at you through the mesh, a mug in hand. You stood and smiled nervously.

“Your beans. An extra can for the inconvenience.” You said. “Have a good day, sir.”

You turned but caught yourself before you made it down one step as he spoke. 

“It’s pretty cold.” He remarked as he took the box in his free hand. “You like coffee? I just made a pot.”

“I appreciate it,” You turned to him. “But I don’t mean to impose on you.”

“I wouldn’t ask if you were,” He said stiffly. “I’d feel worse letting half a pot go to waste.”

“I don’t know, I should--” You glanced behind you at the trees.

“You came all this way to give me beans in this,” He held the door with his elbow and stepped through. “You don’t like coffee, I got tea.”

You took a breath as you looked back to him. “Sure. I’ll have some coffee.”

He nodded and stared at you. He blinked and moved to hold the door open. “Well, you wanna come inside? Or do you prefer your coffee frozen?”

“Uh, yeah, okay,” You kicked yourself and stopped right before the door. You smiled awkwardly and offered your name. “I just… figured you wouldn’t want a stranger in your home.”

“Bucky,” He returned and waved you inside. “Not many strangers in town. Not really.”

You entered and he followed you. The entryway was lit by an antique lamp and the front room was entirely dark. You knelt to unlace your boots as he stepped around you. You kept your coat on as the wind continued to seep in behind you.

“Kitchens just down the hall past the stairs,” He said as he continued across the wooden floor. 

“Okay,” You slid your boots off and stood, following his shadow to the kitchen. 

As you passed through the doorway, he placed his mug on the table and went to the cupboard. He took down another thick ceramic cup and sidled over to the stove. He filled it from the percolator and returned to the table to place it before you.

“Milk? Sugar?”

“I’m fine, black is good,” You accepted as he slid the cup over to you.

You sat, hesitantly, and removed your gloves. You tucked them in your pocket and wrapped your hands around the steaming cup. He pulled out another chair and sat. He looked into the mug and slowly drank from it.

“I didn’t know anyone still lived out here.” You said.

“Sometimes,” He answered carefully. “Spring and summer I spend working the lumberyards south of here.”

“And you live all the way up here?” You wondered. He gave you a sharp look. “Sorry, it’s just… curiosity.”

“I like it,” He shrugged. “It’s quiet.”

You nodded and resigned yourself to silence. You listened to the wind outside and looked around at the tidy kitchen. Most of the original structure remained, renovated but not replaced. Even the curtains seemed to be of another era; faded but without holes or tears. All the way up here, time always seemed to stand still.

“You finish your book?” His voice jolted you.

You looked back to him and sipped the hot coffee. You nodded again.

“I did.” You answered. “It was alright.”

“Just alright?” He asked. 

“I’ve read better and worse,” You said. “It was… entertaining.”

“Mmm,” He mumbled and drank his coffee. You mimicked him, eager to leave.

Ten minutes of silence and stunted small talk left your mug empty and your stomach gurgling. You stood and nervously teetered on your feet.

“I should go. It’s snowing already.” You glanced out the window.

“Sure,” He rose and gathered up the mugs and took them to the sink.

“Thank you.” You said and turned rigidly to head through the door. 

You trod down the hallway and stopped to pull on your boots. You adjusted your cap and shoved your gloves on. He neared and you pushed open the door and glanced back at him.

“Coffee was good.” You said.

He caught the door behind you and you marched across the porch. You rushed down the steps and shivered as you neared the four wheeler.

“Be careful,” He said in monotone. 

“I will, thank you,” You called back as you climb onto the seat. “Enjoy your beans.”

He waved and you turned the engine. You backed up and turned around. The snow had already left a thin powder across the ground. You steered into the trees and carefully began to weave around the trunks and along the uneven forest floor. 

The snow thickened the more it fell. You had to slow as the ride became more precarious. The downfall formed a thick carpet beneath the tires and soon, even beneath the shroud of branches, the snow formed a curtain all around you, making it nearly impossible to see. You stopped and left the motor rumbling.

You pulled the radio from its holster down beside the wheel well and turned the dial until you picked up the signal. It was static and crackled.

“Gerry? Gerry!” You held the speak to your lips. “Gerry?”

“Yeah, i--me, ---okay?” His voice went in and out.

“I’m okay but the snow is… I can’t see. It’s going to take me a while.”

“Wha-- breaking up--” The radio broke off with a high pitched scratch.

“Damn it!” You shouted and tried fixing the dial. It didn’t help.

You sat for a moment and put the radio back. You couldn’t stay and let yourself get snowed in. You’d have to keep going, slow but steady. You carefully pulled past the trees, blinking away the flakes as they gathered on your lashes. You stopped again to pulled your scarf higher over your cheeks and pressed on.

The third time you paused, you realised you were lost. A brief lull allowed your vision to clear and you had no idea where you were. You kicked the side of the ATV and cursed. You grabbed the radio again and turned it on.

“Gerry?” No answer. Several more tries with nothing but static.

You hung your head and clicked the radio off. You gripped the handlebars and looked around. You’d have to turn around and try to trace your way back but the snow was starting to get heavy again and--

“Hey,” You jumped as the voice sounded from behind you. “You okay?”

You turned to find Bucky standing by a tree. “How--”

“Looks like you just went in a big circle,” He said. “You’re about ten minutes from my place.”

“What are you doing out here?” You asked.

“Wanted to grab some kindling before the storm got too bad, then I heard you.”

“Kindling?”

“Dry it out, obviously, but might run out of what I have before this clears,” He looked up. “Look, it’s only gonna get worse. Why don’t you wait it out?”

“I don’t-- I can’t--”

“There’s more than enough room for both of us. Might be a bit dusty but… Wouldn’t feel right letting you get lost out here.”

You exhaled and looked at the radio.

“Alright,” You relented.

“I’ll lead the way.” He came up beside the ATV and passed to the front. “Just don’t get too close.”

“Okay,” You turned the throttle just a bit and kept a snail’s pace as he guided you.

He barely seemed bothered by the gusts or the deepening snow. Even as the air turned almost completely white, he didn’t waver though you squinted to keep an eye on him.

“You like beans?” He yelled back to you as he broke through to the clearing around his house.

“Maple beans?” You asked dryly.

“They go great with toast,” He said as he continued onto the shed and unlocked the wide doors. “Warm you right up.”

🪓

You sat at the table, alone. Bucky had excused himself after clearing his own plates. You still picked away at the beans and sausage, listening to the movement above. You scooped the last few bites up and swallowed, washing it down with a gulp of water. You stood and went to the sink to rinse your plate. As you set it in the rack, you were startled by a creak behind you.

“I cleared a bedroom for you. It’s a bit dusty around here.” Bucky said as he leaned against the door frame. “Bit cold, too. Sorry about that.”

“It’s alright,” The windows shuddered. “Better than out there.”

“I put some clothes out too. Might be a little big.” He explained. “Dinner okay?”

“Yeah, it was…” You tried to smile. “Alright. Um, just one second.”

You neared him and he moved aside. You went down the hallway to where your jacket was hung and pulled the radio out. He watched you as you fiddled with it and the speaker crackled on.

“Gerry?” You held it to your lips.

“Kiddo?” He said, clear but not entirely.

“I’m okay,” You said slowly as you held the button down. “Staying until storm clears. Call in morning.”

“Roger, kiddo,” He returned. “Be safe.”

You turned off the radio and placed it back in your coat pocket. You looked up at Bucky as he stared at you dully.

“Just wanted to make sure someone knew,” You said. “Wouldn’t want them to worry.”

“Of course not,” He said. “You want a beer?”

“What?” You were thrown off by the sudden offer.

“Beer. If you want you can grab a book from the study,” He pointed to the doorway opposite the front room. “Sit in front of the fire where it’s warm.”

“I’ll take the book,” You said. “I’m not much for beer though.”

“Hot chocolate? Tea?” He stepped a little closer.

“I’m fine,” You squirmed. “Thank you.”

‘Just let me know if you need anything,” He said softly. “Haven’t had a guest in a while but… I can be accommodating.”

🪓

You read three chapters before you found your way upstairs. Bucky showed you the room he’d prepared for you but didn’t say much more before he closed himself into his own. You changed into the long sleeve tee he left you and the jogging pants with the drawstring waist. You tucked your feet into the wool socks and rolled under the blankets. You were still cold. The top floor was entirely untouched by the fireplace below.

You drifted into a shallow sleep. Maybe an hour or two before you woke, shivering. You sat up and  reluctantly climbed out from beneath the covers. You took one of the blankets and wrapped it around you as you shuffled to the door. You slipped through, carefully not to let the hinges whine and plodded through the dark down the stairs.

In the front room, the fire burned a low amber. You crept over to it and took a log from the wrought iron basket just beside it. You placed it over the coals and stoked it with the poker until flames began to lick. You held your hands to the glow until you were no longer shaking.

You took a cushion from the couch and dropped it on the carpet. You laid down before the fire, wrapping yourself in the blanket as you basked in the warmth. You listened to the violent winds outside, softened by the heaps of snow which had gathered all around the cabin. Your eyes closed as you began to sink into the darkness around you.

You dreamt of the four wheeler, of the snow swirling around you, of losing yourself in the pure white. The trees curled and clawed at your as you were thrown from the seat. The snap of twigs filled your ears and your eyes snapped open. The fire popped as it burned, the room lighter but not much.

There was a heaviness around you. More than just the quilt, the thick arm wrapped around your middle held you close to the warmth at your back. Startled, you wriggled against the body and a groan slithered along your ear.

“What the--” You hissed as you grasped his wrist, his hand tucked beneath you. “What are you doing?”

“It’s cold,” His breath was hot as it seeped into your scalp. “You were shivering.”

“Let me go,” You tugged on him.

“Shhh,” He hushed. “It’s early.”

“Dude, not cool,” You pulled harder on his arm.

“Stop,” He said more firmly. 

“Get off of me.” You growled.

“You’re not a very gracious guest,” He snarled as he retracted his arm, only to grab your shoulder and push you flat on your back.

You latched onto his wrist, he was strong. He didn’t budge.

“You’re scaring me.”

“Scaring you?” He removed his hand. “How? What do you think I’m gonna do?”

He sat up, his broad shoulder stretched the waffled shirt he wore as he rubbed his eyes. He pushed his head back and took a deep breath. You pushed yourself up slowly beside him.

“What do you want me to do?” His hand settled on your thigh and he squeezed.

“Stop,” You tried to push his hand away and he flipped it to grasp yours. 

His grip slipped to your wrist and he twisted. He wrenched it over your head until you were forced onto your back. You cried out as he leaned over you, the blanket slipping entirely from your bodies.

“Came all this way for a few cans of beans,” He whispered. “Really?”

“Stop!” You repeated. “Please.”

“But you’re cold,” He uttered as he leaned closer. “You need to warm up… you’re shivering…” His nose touched yours. “Or… shaking?”

“Get--” His lips smothered yours as he shifted his body atop you. 

You struggled as he released your wrist and reached down to grab your knee as he forced his legs between yours. He bit your lip as he pulled and his hand clawed at the waist of the loose pants. He pulled until he snapped the string within and you kicked around him.

“What are you doing?” You beat on his shoulders. “Stop! Stop!”

“I don’t talk to people, they don’t talk to me,” He snarled. “I keep to myself. Even that dumb delivery boy of yours knows better.”

“No, no,” You slapped his chest as he sat up suddenly. 

He tore the pants down your legs until they were around your knees and pushed them up. The fabric kept you trapped beneath him, legs bent to your chest as he leaned over your once more. He brushed his nose against your cheek and snarled.

“You asked for this, honey,” He sneered. “You just couldn’t leave me alone… The way you smile at me, I can see it.”

“I was just--” You pushed against him. “--doing my job. Please, get off of me.”

He moved against you, his thighs pressed to yours as he felt between you. He pushed his own pants down and you tried to shove him off of you with your legs. You only made yourself dizzy.

The fire flickered against you, setting shadows across his features, his blue eyes caught the flame and glowed sinisterly. His rough finger tickled your cunt as he guided his cock along your folds. You grunted as you fought harder beneath him. He pressed along your entrance and you gasped, a horrified scream as he impaled you in a single thrust.

“Go on and scream.” He said. “No one will hear you. No one but me.” He jerked his hips and you cried out again. “I kinda like it.”

He moved his hips in sharp, short thrusts. He grunted with each, lower and lower, almost like satisfied purrs.

He sat up and hugged your legs to his torso as he rutted faster. He clung to you as if he was desperate, as if he couldn’t get enough. You scratched at the carpet. You whimpered each time he slammed into you, each tilt of his hips harder than the last. The clapping of your flesh mingled with your voices. You closed your eyes, holding back the sobs that threatened.

And then he stopped. Suddenly. He stayed inside of you as his grasp on you loosened. His body quivered and a low growl rose from him. He pulled out of you and pushed your legs aside to that you fell onto your side. Shakily, you pushed yourself, on knees and elbow you tried to crawl away, your pants tangled around your feet.

He grabbed your ankles and dragged you back as you slipped onto your stomach. He climbed over you, pinning your legs between his. He kneaded and pinched your ass, dusky, thick breaths rose from him. 

He pressed his thumb between your cheeks and you reached desperately for anything to get away. The edge of the carpet rolled in your grasp and you kicked your feet with a panicked whine. He pressed his thumb against your asshole and you shook your head as he buried your face in your arms. He pushed inside and you let out a shrill cry.

He poked in and out of you, your tight ring burned around his thumb. He withdrew it and forced his index finger in, then added his middle. Your pained groans only seemed to encourage him as he stretched you around a third finger.

He pulled his hand away and bent his arm over your shoulders as he lifted himself over you. He lined himself up with your ass as his hair hung around his head and brushed the back of yours. He took a breath and you held one in. He entered you slowly, letting out a choked grunt as you strained around him.

The tears pricked at your eyes and your arm shot up as you blind grabbed at air.

“Please, please, please. Stop.” You begged. “I can’t--”

He pushed deeper and your voice fizzled. He pulled back and thrust in again. Every time, he went a little further. Soon he was buried in you to his limit and you couldn’t breathe or move. He held himself inside of you and shuddered.

He began to rock and you moaned. Despite the pain, the fire that radiated from your core, it felt good. The more he did, the better it got. The pressure built, unlike any you’d felt before, and you gulped and groaned against the carpet. Shocked by him, by yourself.

He got faster and faster. Louder two as his snarls filled your head. You tensed and then in an instant, your strength drained from you. You came, harder than you had ever in your life. You murmured as your head lolled and he kept going.

He lifted his head and his fingers gripped the back of your neck as he lifted himself over you. He hammered into you from above as you lay prone and helpless beneath him. He exclaimed and you felt a warmth flow into you. 

He stopped and fell atop you. His weight held you down, suffocated you. His arm stretched up and he grabbed your hand, twining his fingers with yours.

“Stay as long as you like,” He rasped. “Snow’s not letting up anytme soon.”

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader #fic #one shot #lumberjack au #lumberjack #au #mcu #marvel #dark fic #dark!fic #challenge

[tobiosmilktea]

umpah umpah! smau

↪︎ bokuto x f!reader x iwaizumi

[015] — the half of it!

masterlist | prev. | next

a/n: keep in the mind that y/n doesn’t have a faceclaim so that instagram photo is not a visual representation

also this wasn’t proofread and lowkey i’m not sure if this entire chapter even makes sense. read with caution lmao

the night went by in a flash with the second hour passing just as quickly as the first one. you were grateful that there wasn’t a single ounce of awkwardness drenching the lighthearted atmosphere of the restaurant when bokuto arrived fashionably late—rather that’s what he told you and the rest of the ddd team when he slid into the booth right across from you.

however, if bokuto was truly being honest, he actually made it right on time, yet something in him had held him back longer. he probably took a good fifteen minutes sitting in his car as if he was waiting for a sign to fucking walk in already. bokuto would have been lying to himself if he didn’t believe (even for a second) that he was absolutely terrified to see your face. no matter how much he wanted to see you again, the mere thought of your past relationship with iwaizumi had his knuckles turning alabaster as he gripped his steering wheel.

the athlete scoffed at his state that was so unbelievably wrapped around this idea that happened such a long time ago. admittedly, why in the hell would thee bokuto koutarou of the msby black jackals be hung up over a girl from high school anyway? he wanted to laugh at himself because akaashi was right.

it simply didn’t matter anymore.

or at least that’s what bokuto kept affirming in his head over and over and over again as he marched himself into that restaurant. there was confidence in the way he approached the nearly filled booth, yet the moment you shifted your eyes towards him, it all melted into oblivion.

goddammit, why did akaashi force him to sit across from you? it’s almost like he knew exactly how to torment both you and bokuto just by asking sugawara to scoot closer to the other side of the bench.

surprisingly, bokuto can handle his alcohol and knows how to moderate his drinking habits, yet tonight was his only exception. with you constantly throwing him knowing glances that reminded him of your shared relationship, it was his only driving force that kept him throwing his head back with shot after shot of soju.

by the time the entire group was all set and done, everyone was considerably drunk. it was kaori, yuko, and bokuto who were so severely wasted that it honestly forced you and the rest of the group to hold back in order to get everyone home safe and sound.

semi, who was sitting next to you, stands up first as the bill is handed back. “kaori and i will head out first. you guys get home safe, okay?”

you nod, waving ddd’s musician goodbye as he helps a tipsy kaori from stumbling over herself.

“i guess i should get going too,” sugawara adds in a beat later, motioning to yuko with her eyes closed and rested against the wall right behind her. “i know damn well she’s going to make me carry her ass up to her apartment.”

“bye, stay safe.” akaashi mutters as the four exit the restaurant, leaving you, him, and a drunken bokuto.

you held back an amused chuckle as akaashi gave you a look satiated in aversion. you couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit guilty knowing that he’s going to be the one struggling trying to take bokuto back home safe despite knowing damn well it was going to happen sooner or later as the night of drinking continued.

akaashi let out a sigh, “well... guess i should take this one home too, shouldn’t i. you can go home first since you live close.” he offers, but you quickly decline.

“no, it’s fine.” you shook your head as you stood from your seat, “since i live so close, we could try and get him sobered up a bit so it’s easier for you to take him home.”

“are you sure?” asked akaashi as you gathered your things.

nodding, you make your way around the table to help bokuto stand. “yeah, i kind of feel bad. i don’t know if you noticed, but something was up with him today.”

perhaps akaashi was glad you didn’t notice the way his expression suddenly changed. he didn’t want to pry too much into your personal life or your past, but he knew damn well that the secrets need to be told. you two have been good friends since high school, yet it wasn’t until you and akaashi started working together with love cemetery did you two become so close. it’s never his business to be so caught up in whatever web you somehow got caught in literally years after everything happened, yet here you guys were.

he couldn’t stand and watch his best friend potentially hurt because of your in ability of communicate. granted, akaashi knew how personal those feelings were to you with no way to express it.

that’s the entire reason why you started love cemetery anyway—your both your relationships with iwaizumi and bokuto ended so abruptly, if you thought about it hard enough, there was no distinct closure despite ending on good terms with both of them. this, this sense of blurred lines of your webtoon and your past relationships were honestly just a coping mechanism for you.

how badly did akaashi just wanted to sit you down and talk your head on straight, but once again:

it wasn’t his business.

“alright, then.” akaashi sighs, helping you lead bokuto into his car. “let’s go.”

there was a special sense of silence in the air that tensed the moment akaashi started the car, engine humming in the background of the radio on low volume. the bright downtown tokyo lights simmered down as they reached the suburban areas of the city, filling you with a sense of serene peace as fatigue was slowly catching up to you as well.

a weight fell on your shoulder then as the car pulled into a stop. bokuto’s white hair brushed against your cheek as you looked down on him, pushing the man up and towards akaashi who had opened the door opposite from you.

the volleyball player muttered something incohesive beneath his breath as his weighted eyes attempted to open. bokuto had no idea where he was, but at this point, he couldn’t care less. he wanted to just crash into bed and sleep until the afternoon.

akaashi let out a grunt as he slung his best friend’s arm over his shoulders, following just behind you as the three of you walk up to your apartment. you threw a glance over your shoulder, watching your poor friend struggling to get the beefy athlete up the last flight of stairs.

an amused laugh left your lips, “are you sure you don’t need any help?” you offered as granted, you did offer to help get bokuto up to your apartment only for akaashi to say no. at this point, his struggle was on him.

“just hurry and unlock the door,” akaashi grumbles.

“right...” you mutter, reaching into your bag for your house keys only to feel a buzzing in your pocket.

“shit.” you say under your breath, forcing your seeping thoughts and increasing heart rate back as you opened the door.

your exes seeing each other at work was a different story. considering that neither of them knew of you past relationship with the ladder, it surely wouldn’t be a problem, but this was literally one of the last things you wanted to happen tonight. like seriously, doesn’t finding a drunk athlete that happens to be from the volleyball team you work for bad enough? surely having bokuto be in your apartment wouldn’t help your case either.

you stepped back into your living room, swallowing the bundle of nerves down your throat as bokuto seemed to regain enough conscious to form coherent words.

“kaashi~” he whined, voice muffled by the pillow he wrapped his muscular arms around. “i’m hungry.”

“we literally just had korean barbeque dude,” his best friend scoffs. 

“we literally just had korean barbeque dude,” his best friend scoffs. 

“we literally just had korean barbeque dude,” his best friend scoffs. 

“we literally just had korean barbeque dude,” his best friend scoffs. 

“okay, and?” bokuto pressed on, causing akaashi to roll his eyes.

“fine,” he deadpans before asking, “what do you want?”

the volleyball player smirked slightly, “ramen.”

akaashi stands up then, giving you an unenthused look as you approached him. you feigned a look of shock from appearing on your expression as you brushed past, frustration coating your very figure. this was not good.

a sigh left your lips as your brain scavenged desperately for a plan. at some point, the truth had to be revealed sooner or later whether you liked it or not. you just didn’t like how they both had to find out this way. 

you set the water upon the table in front of your sofa, setting the medicine gently upon bokuto’s palm. 

bokuto always thought you had the softest hands. he would often find excuses just to hold your hand back when you two used to date. it would always make him feel safe and warm, yet nowadays he still yearned to feel that sense of familiarity again—even if it meant it was the last time he would ever get to.

“thank you,” he says.

“yeah, no problem.” the words left your mouth softer than you had anticipated when bokuto made eye contact with you—familiar and warm as if you were home.

you didn’t know what to think then as you placed yourself next to him, yet still leaving space for comfort. bokuto looked so cute and vulnerable in such a state, how in the hell were you supposed to kick this guy out of your apartment?

the thought spiraled in your head. surely there had an excuse conjured somewhere up in your head. you cleared your throat, “never thought you’d be a lightweight.”

your words left your mouth in a hurry. it seemed a bit unnatural but at this point with bokuto wasted, you barely tipsy yet panicked that iwaizumi is on his way, and akaashi not knowing a single thing besides deliriously making ramen for his best friend—nothing about tonight was natural.

bokuto let out a playfully offended scoff, “i’m not! the alcohol was just strong tonight...”

“whatever you say, kou.” you mused with a smile that left bokuto’s heart racing.

your lips looked nice at the moment. with the dim florescent lights casting shadows upon your face, he wondered whether or not it was a good idea being this dangerously close to you. hell, now that you two were alone and akaashi was preoccupied this would be the perfect place to ask you the questions that had be plaguing his mind all day. that would have been the correct option, yet something within him wanted different with the way bokuto’s gaze flicked down to your lips.

you couldn’t help but notice the way he would look at you, deep brown eyes that would send red heat to your cheeks until it reached your ears. you weren’t exactly sure if he was going to do anything, but it wasn’t like you entirely opposed anyway.

bokuto cleared his throat suddenly as he pulled you both out of your trances. 

“can i ask you a question?”

your eyebrows furrow slightly with a tilt of your head, “hm?”

curiously filled you as hesitance drenched bokuto’s thoughts, drying out his mouth as he gulped his drunken nerves. “i know this is from a long time ago,” he starts, not even having enough courage to look at you. “but how come you never told me about your past relationships when we first started dating?”

bokuto’s words sobered him up—he needed to be i order to even comprehend an answer from you whether or not it would suffice. to no surprise did it catch you off guard either. as your eyes has widened into saucers, heart thumping against your ribcage, palm perspiring, all while you searched for a plausible answer in your head. you weren’t entirely sure if you should panic at the chance that bokuto did in fact find out about you and iwaizumi, or if he was just entirely curious.

it certainly didn’t matter if she lied, either, they were bound to find out now that both of them were in your life regularly and they’ve both read love cemetery, they are bound to find out sooner or later. bokuto and iwaizumi had all the clues placed out in front of them, it was just a matter of time when they would piece them all together and connect the dots.

you let out a shaky sigh. the best way to answer this was to be as calm as possible knowing bokuto was drunk and you weren’t entirely sure how he would react. “i just didn’t think think it was an important detail,” you mutter. it was neither a lie or the entire truth.

“i feel like it would’ve made sense to mention it at least.” says bokuto, “i mean... what happened to telling each other everything back then?”

god, you really didn’t want to have this conversation right now, especially when akaashi could easily walk back in. “i’m sorry that i didn’t tell you, but it’s not like it’s relevant now, is it? it’s been years.”

“it’s still very much relevant, you know.”

“how so?”

but before bokuto could part his lips to answer, the doorbell rings, sending a sharp echo throughout the apartment. your body immediately stood up, flinching and completely grimacing at the idea that both your pieces are only a few meters apart.

you couldn’t here anything then as you made your way to the door. your the beat of your beat was so loud that you swear bokuto could hear it quicken as you turned the door knob.

capturing your bottom lip between your teeth, you cracked the door open slightly with only your head peaking out through small opening.

“hey, (y/n),” the sound of his voice sent shivers down your spine, yet it still ended up comforting you more than expected. you just hoped bokuto couldn’t hear who it was.

“hi, iwaizumi.” you say almost in a harsh whisper.

you cursed yourself internally—of course out of all people, this would happen to you. you couldn’t help but grumble at the fact that surely this was some sort of karma life was giving you a universal punishment. whatever it was, you prayed it would end soon. maybe it should just put you out of your misery...

iwaizumi gave you a charming smile, the moonlight absolutely doing wonders as it casted shadows upon his chiseled face. seriously, can this guy get even more handsome?

you licked your lips absentmindedly at the thought of this as iwaizumi held up your belongings. “i brought your things! sorry for coming by so late, i just wanted to see you tonight.”

crimson red heat decorated your cheeks at his words. your thoughts were going hundreds of miles an hour just by your hands slightly brushing against each other as he handed you your jacket.

“thanks,” was all you could say.

it was calm and light as relief was almost near knowing you two were about to say your goodbyes. yet as fate always liked to give you the short end of the stick, footsteps clambered from behind you.

“(y/n), who’s there?” bokuto’s voice calls out to you rather loudly, causing your eyes to practically jump out of it’s sockets the moment the athlete pulled the door wide open. at the sudden jerky movement, bokuto revealed himself to a surprised athletic trainer.

his eyes blinked together multiple times as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. you see, iwaizumi has always been a rational person when it came to misunderstanding and he would never ever jump to conclusions but at this rate, what else could he really assume seeing his ex-girlfriend and his coworker together late at night?

there was a boiling limbic inkling within iwaizumi that he wasn’t know what it was composed up. it was like a mix of annoyance and unsolicited anger that he couldn’t help but feel his muscles tense and his hands tighten into fists.

the silence that ensued you three was so violently loud that you didn’t know what to do. never in a million years would you have ever imagined that this is how it would all end.

this is how everything would come crumbling down.

fun facts! —

while bokuto was in the parking lot hesitating to go in, satomi was hyping him up the entire time

meanwhile satomi and iwaizumi were actually still at work during all this

satomi thought it was a good chance of alone time with him, but the entire night iwaizumi was hurrying to get his work done so he could see (y/n)

taglist: (closed!)

@moonlightaangel @elianetsantana @k4tiepie @memorableminds @wheeshllumi @suhkusa @kitsunetea @airybby @noeminemi @truly-a-snitch @keichan @cosmicmermaid25 @bap-kingdom @saturnfarie @kwdflash @ennos-baby @dinablossom @chrisrue15 @seikamuzu @nestlevanilla @chasekudo @yammmers @pixcldust @iwaizluv @h0ngh0ngh0ng @emogril @tiredandkindaoverworked @tsumue @underratedmage @bokutosuwus @kellesvt @unstableye @oh-tapeworm @scrappyfka @alittlebitofrain @mxngy @tpwkatsumu @atsumuwoah @macchiatoast @dicerawr @kageyamasbabygorl @some-random-stranger-007 @vhskenma @wntrmn @little-plants @stargirlara @kissungjae @je11yfishwriter @sbaepsae @apollochjld

#haikyuu!! #haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smau #bokuto koutarou #bokuto x reader #bokuto smau #bokuto scenarios #bokuto imagines #bokuto fluff #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi scenarios #iwaizumi imagines #iwaizumi smau #iwaizumi fluff

[yeojaa]

( SOMETHING COMFORTING. )

Jeon Jungkook loves Overwatch, drinking games, and Halloween.  What he loves more than that?  You.

pairing.  gamer!jjk x named f!reader.

genre + rating.   idol!au set in room filled with bunnies and a cotton candy machine that’s exploded.  it’s just that fluffy.  (but also explicit cause why not.)

tags / warnings.  established relationship, gaming (overwatch), dorky weeb references, mentions of drinking, yugyeom makes an appearance (!!), fingering, soft soft soft love making in the shower. 

wc.  9.7k

beta reader(s).  the lovely @kerikaaria​​​ read through this to make sure i didn’t get too nerdy.  tysm!  💛  i may like further changes once my beloved @hobi-gif​ gets her hands on it but i’m a potato who wanted to post this quickly.  oops... 

author note.  this fulfills the “jeon jungkook” square of @btsholidaybingo​‘s bts holiday bingo 2020 and this is the couple from angels & airwaves.  while this story isn’t super plot-driven, it’s meant to be a little peek into the lives of a couple that live in my mind rent-free and continue to make me soft and gooey inside.  i hope you enjoy it!   

You don’t know how he talked you into it or how it really happened.  You remember, faintly, the mention of a party.  Something about it being a small thing - just a few close friends, the members, etc.  He’d said it so offhand, like commenting on the sky or asking for another package of Choco Boys, so you hadn't given it a second thought.  If it was important, he’d bring it up again and if not, well, you hardly remembered it anyway.  Win-win or whatever.  

So you’d given up some intelligence points, traded them for space to fit more gaming knowledge.  Somewhere along the line went your memory too - the conversation wiped from your brain like Will Smith had lasered it clean. 

“Zarya’s one!  Zarya’s one—“  You’re not sure how many times you can repeat yourself, shrieking through comms to a team that doesn’t seem to want to listen.  You’re blasted into oblivion, Mercy’s prone body launched across the map as you watch your Rein fall too.  There’s an irritation bubbling in your stomach, fizzing uncomfortably like the Japanese honeydew soda you’d had at lunch.  “Zarya’s actually one!” 

No one cares.  She’s healed by the time you respawn and make it back across the map. 

“Jesus—“  Your push-to-talk remains off for that flippant comment, distaste colouring your words a bitter shade of blue.  You almost want to let your Ashe get headshot by the enemy Widow, only switching the stream from damage boosting to healing when your teammate starts spamming their hotkey.  

I need healing!  I need healing! 

What you need is a team that listens to your calls or at the very least communicates in some way.  Doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen though.  There’s near radio silence in the voice chat, the only other person remotely helpful being your bouncing booping Lucio that’s trying to keep a flanking Tracer off point.  Stupid.  You almost feel bad for him, Guardian Angeling to him when no one else seems to want to offer any support. 

Ah, the life of a support player in masters ranked.  So infuriating and yet— nope.  Just infuriating. 

You lose the first round with 1:56 to spare, to no one’s surprise.  Okay, maybe to your Reinhardt’s surprise.  He’s being surprisingly chipper in text chat, sending WP and a dorky smiley face.  You think he must volunteer at the local animal shelter and buy coffee for the people behind him in the drive-thru.  He’s far too well-adjusted, not shooting off a single accusation to anyone on the team.  A silver lining, you suppose.  

Your second round starts well enough.  Your comp is solid - as much as it can be in the current off-tank dominated meta.  Hog, Zarya, a private profiled GM Widowmaker, Tracer, Lucio, and you as Ana.  You’d prefer to play Mercy - find the most comfort in her skill set - but on an attack map, you’re not risking a headshot right out of spawn.  Broken maximum damage good stuff means healers are squishy and you don’t have your usual DPS to boost.  (He’s off doing god knows what - maybe filming an ad for Samsung or breaking the internet with his permed man bun.)

You make it through the choke without much ado.  The enemy Rein is wildly out of position, eager to make some big brained play that goes terribly wrong.  Your Lucio chuckles through voice and you join him, tossing a nade when your Zarya looks like she’s about to die to a poorly executed 360 shatter. 

“You winning?” 

It’s your boyfriend peeking over your shoulder, so close you nearly scream, mouse launched across your desk with the intensity of your reaction.  You hadn’t heard him come in, the stupid sneaky bastard as quiet as a mouse.  

(It’s not your own fault.  He knows you can’t hear anything when you’ve got your headphones on, the noise cancelling in your state of the art Sennheisers not something to scoff at.)

“Jeez, Kook!”  You want to be more mad.  Really, you do.  You’re scrambling across your desk to retrieve your mouse, squeaking a quick apology into team voice when your hero stays in one place for too long.  Luckily, Hog - previously sweet kind Rein - throws his big fat piggy self directly in front of you, effectively saving you from an otherwise miserable death at the hands of Torbjorn. 

“What?”  Jeon Jungkook has the audacity to look scandalised, shiny eyes so wide and innocent they feel more as if they belong in an early 2000s anime. 

You’re not even looking at him when you huff - too invested in your Overwatch game to give him the hell he deserves.  All you manage is a swift don’t scare me like that! as you pump your tanks back to full health.  

You notice Jungkook hasn’t moved away, still peering curiously over your shoulder.  You know he hasn’t had much time to play lately, too involved with appearances for their comeback, his schedule too packed even for you some days.  You don’t blame him when he pulls his chair up behind you, rolling into place so he’s just within your periphery. 

It’s a little distracting;  he smells good, like his - and by extension your - favourite laundry detergent and a fruity, nectarine-heavy shampoo you’d picked up for him when he’d run out of his usual.  You notice then that his hair is wet, just the wrong-side of too damp with droplets beading over his neck.  Moisture soaks into the top of his shirt and you think it might be more soaked than you can see;  it’s hard to tell when it’s a jet black shirt, one of the many he keeps in your closet for the nights he stays over.  You realise then that he must’ve been home far longer than you’d thought, if his freshly washed pink cheeks are any indication.  (Because he takes seriously long showers, nearly doubling your water bill in the year you’ve been together.) 

You want to ask what he’s doing here - you’d sworn he was busy for the next few days - but can’t find the adequate brain power to do so.  You’re playing an incredibly high skill character (your words) and if you don’t get this goddamn shot on your Lucio to keep him up, your team is going to die (your ego’s words). 

‘Ask Kook about his day’ gets scribbled on a paper on the desk in your head and filed away under To Do Later in your overflowing brainiac filing cabinet. 

“Can we pleaaaaase focus their Zarya?  She has grav.”  Though you offer the tidbit of information, you don’t assume it’s going to be relied upon.  Your team is well on their way to taking first point - surprisingly - and there’s still nearly three minutes left on the clock.  If the six of you idiots can keep it together and kill that goddamn Zarya, there’s no doubt in your mind you’ll win the game. 

Alas, fate is but a cruel mistress and said Zarya gets said grav off, sucking your own Russian tank and Tracer-turned-Soldier into her hell void.  Not even your well-timed nade can save them from the Genji that dragon blades directly into their faces.  Your poor Lucio dies to the same ult and you imagine you or your Widow are next.  Your Hog’s just respawning, his lumbering silhouette not even on screen.

“Rip,”  says your boyfriend - like the sound, not the letters - from beside you, a droplet of water splashing across your wrist when he shakes his head.  He looks disappointed - as if he’s the one that’s lost the match.  It makes you laugh, the sound tripping off your tongue despite the overwhelming rage you’re currently battling.  

“Rip is right,”  you mumble back, tossing yourself off the map.  If you’re gonna die, it'll be on your own terms.  Jungkook chuckles at that.  

By the time you respawn, both you and Widow are joining a fight that looks like it’s going surprisingly well.  There’s no one on point and you’re capping uncontested.  Widow even headshots a wayward Moira.

“You should go top left.”  

You don’t turn your head.  Jungkook’s always been a bit of a backseat gamer, whether he’s watching your stream while he’s out of town or sitting right beside you.  Sometimes, you love it;  other times, you hate it.  Most times, though, he’s right.  He has surprisingly good game sense, despite being lower ranked than you (something you remind him of constantly, without shame). 

“Can we go top left?”  You parrot into your speaker.

For once, your team listens, most of them running up the sidewall with Widow right down main.  Not for the first time you wish you were playing Mercy, if only to be able to damage boost your sniper while she distracts the enemy team.  Still, you make due, taking your boyfriend’s next piece of advice when it comes, unsolicited.  “You should be back right by the stairs.  You can see up the hall and still heal Widow on top.”

You’d kiss him if you weren’t so intently focused, unable to tear your gaze from the screen when the enemy team seems to pluck their strategy directly from Jungkook’s skull and hold conservatively on point.  Amazing.

“Your Zarya has grav.  She’ll probably throw it on point so you should nade as soon as you get in and Widow can pick them off without full charge.”

If he were anyone else, you’d probably be giving him hell for mansplaining your favourite game to you.  As it stands, you follow his instructions to the letter and the Team Kill marker flashes across your screen. 

“Told you,”  he quips, ever the snooty dork you adore. 

“I was going to say thank you.”  Just not right now.  You can’t multitask quite like he can. 

If you could look over, you think you’d see him grinning from ear to ear, buck teeth and dimples on full display.  “I know.”

As it stands, the other team has trouble getting on point fast enough and you’re left with a whopping 3:56 left on the clock.  Thank freaking god.  You can win this, you think.  Easy.  No problem. 

“Go Ana on defense.”  At some point, Jungkook had gotten up to find a snack and he returns now, bag of shrimp chips in his hand and packet of matcha Pocky held between his teeth.  You open your mouth for a stinky tasty treat and he shoves four crisps in, unceremoniously and with his signature dummy grin. 

You manage to crunch crunch crunch through it all but shoot him a glare the entire time.  He only smiles wider, all perfectly white enamel and enough cuteness to make your heart skip a beat. 

“Do you just want to play?”  You don’t mean it seriously.  You don’t mind him watching and you know he enjoys pretending like he’s better than you.  It’s a strange give and take but one that’s uniquely yours, built over nearly a year of online friendship and another year of a real-life relationship. 

“Nah, I’m snacking.”  He punctuates his response as a child would, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth.  You wonder, briefly, why you love him so much when he’s a certifiable goon. 

The third match begins and you’re not too proud to say you spend most of it following Jungkook’s directions.  He tells you to sleep the enemy Genji trying to scale the right wall - you do.  He tells you to nade once their Rein gets in because your own Rein is going to shatter - you do.  He tells you to do the macarena and— okay, that, you don’t. 

You sweep the match, leaving the other team without a single tick.  

When it comes to the final round, he seems to have lost interest in the game, instead rolling himself back to his computer with a parting, wayward ruffle of your hair.  You don’t blame him but you thank him nonetheless, blowing a kiss before he settles his headphones over his ears. 

You, of course and unsurprisingly, win the game.  There’s nothing like using a Sym portal onto point when they’ve got a Bastion set up off point and no shield to protect him from the back. 

Satisfied, you don’t bother requeueing and instead force yourself into your boyfriend’s personal space, draping your arms across the idol’s neck as he scrolls through YouTube like a zombie.  “We won,”  you sing-song into his ear, proud and a little smug. 

“Of course you did.”  He sounds equally smug and you suppose the win does belong to the both of you.  He’d been a great coach. 

“What’re you doing here?”  It’s pure curiosity offered in the form of a kiss to his cheek, fingers locked across the broad expanse of his chest.  He’s delightfully warm beneath you, familiar and unyielding as you sink over the back of his computer chair.  (You can feel the chair creaking as it reclines.  You don’t care.) 

“Whaddya mean?”

The look he levels you with makes you think you’ve grown a second head.  

“Your schedule said you had a thing tonight.”  You remember, because you’d been disappointed.  Halloween was one of your favourite holidays and all you’d wanted was to watch some campy horror movies and use him as a personal eye shield and security blanket combo.

“We have a thing,”  he states, like he’s talking to a moron.  You know it isn’t meant meanly, too emphatic and amused to hurt your feelings.  

When you echo his words (“We?”) you swear you see him roll his eyes in the reflection of his computer screen.  Luckily, he laughs, sweet and cracky, somewhere high in his throat - a barking hyena.  It’s so cute - your favourite thing in the world - that you don’t have it in you to shame him for it. 

“Yeah, we,”  Jungkook repeats around something close to a snicker.  “Halloween party, baby.  Seriously— you forgot?”

It’s then and there you have two crises:  (a) you don’t have a costume and (b) Halloween party?  You didn’t think idols had those.  Weren’t they all too hip and cool to get together to dress up and act stupid?

(You know the answer is no.  Exhibit A being the costume-wearing dance practices BTS put out.)

“I don’t have anything to wear.”  It’s truly the one thing holding you back, creasing the soft skin between your brows to resemble a peach.  It’s also nearing seven in the evening and you’re absolutely certain you’re not going to find something so late in the day. 

To your surprise. Jungkook looks flabbergasted, that same you-have-two-heads stare wrought across his face.  It’d be endearing if it were directed at anyone else but with it trained on you, it’s rubbing you and your confusion the wrong way.  Why’s he looking at you like that?  Why’s your memory so bad?  Why hasn’t he said anything to answer all of life’s questions? 

“You said you’d go as witch Mercy.”

All at once, you’re pulled back to the offhand conversation, the pleading in his eyes, your half-asleep acceptance.  It’s the memory you’d lost somewhere along the way in upgrading your in-brain video game storage.  A conversation had in bed, his cheeks so big and full of joy they’d waned his eyes into crescents, and your uncoordinated answer because you’d just wanted to go to sleep and not think about anything after indulging in a few too many mochi cream buns. 

“I— don’t remember that.”  You’re lying through your damn teeth.  Your parents would be devastated, all their hard earned money wasted on the braces-straightened enamel that was now letting lies pass. 

“But you did!”  He’s like a kid being denied candy, rounded bottom lip dropping into a pout that should, frankly, be illegal.  It’s far too powerful on him, paired with those Bambi eyes that scream don’t eat (hate/deny/etc.) me!  You can only scowl at him, because you know your own puppy dog eyes only work 100% of the time half of the time whereas his track record was immaculate. 

“Okay, but I forgot to get the—“

“I have it!”

Jeon Jungkook has an answer for everything, it seems.

“I picked it up on the way here.  It’s in your room along with my costume.”

The knowledge of his own intrigues you, squarely centring your curiosity on that and not the fact that you apparently need to get tested for early onset dementia.  “Who’re you going as?”

“You’ll see.”

Your costume is spectacular.  You can’t even find it in yourself to put up much of a fight when your boyfriend reveals it like you’ve won the lottery, throwing his arms wide in a flourish. 

It’s incredibly well made, intricately tailored in a way that makes you worry how much it costs.  (When you bring it up to him, Jungkook simply shrugs.  You think it’s as much a gift for you as it is for him.)  It’s witchy and eye-catching, the belt hung across your hips clipped with an actual book - hollowed out, thank god but also poor thing.  The hat that sits on your head is neatly crumpled, sitting at such an angle you worry whether you’ll need to avoid too-low door frames.  Your wings - well, you’re almost too afraid to touch them;  Jungkook has to help you pull them over your arms, falling into near hysterics when you twitch your elbow the wrong way and smack him right between the eyes.  

“I don’t think I can pull this off,”  you state, somberly, despite the fact that you’re not terribly self-conscious.  (You were, once.  Being in a relationship with someone that worships your body has helped with that.) 

The top of your outfit is fitted, boned and ribbed and snapped together in all the right places.  Leather stands in stark contrast to your skin - summer-soft and gently golden - and hugs curves that don’t quite exist, falling short in a way that has you glaring down at your own chest.  You’ve never wanted a Playboy body but in this sort of costume, it practically demands it.  (You try not to dwell on the fact that you’ve been conditioned to want to look like an impractically designed video game hero.)

From the foot of your bed comes a snort, a derisive sound that draws your attention.  Jungkook’s unabashed in how he admires you, stare roving over every inch like he’s about to devour you.  You’re not sure how you can feel so soft for him when he looks completely the opposite, jaw set and expression sharp.  A Greek god carved from hardened honey, dressed in Balenciaga blue.  “You look great, angel.”

Your heart skips a beat - plays a funny little game of tag with itself - and you can’t help the smile that comes, brought to life by his reassurance.  It isn’t necessary to rebuff him then - eyes rolling, laugh spilling - but you do it anyway.  “You have to say that.  You’re my boyfriend.” 

“I don’t have to say anything,”  he retorts, levelling you with a look that has your insides molten.  It’s the look that reads don’t test me but also I love you and you’re my idiot.  It’s your favourite look in the world, lending wings to your flimsy heart.  “You look great because you always look great, no matter what.”

“What about when you found me in the shower ?”

Jungkook hesitates then.  He’s no liar and he had almost had a heart attack the first time it’d happened.  He’d been minding his business, half-asleep and battling the need to piss, when he’d noticed you curled up in the bathroom.  How he hadn’t realised you were missing from bed, he’s not sure.  All he knew was that you’d terrified him, mentioning something about invading refrigerators when he was pulling his dick out of his boxers.

His scream was what had woken you up;  yours was what had him bashing his head into the wall, foot slipping on the soft pink bathroom rug.  You could laugh about it now but at the time, you’d thought he’d cracked his skull right open, shouting his name so loudly the neighbours had complained.  

(Lucky for you two, they were a nice elderly couple who sometimes had you babysit their grandson.  They’d laughed it off when you’d apologised with a loaf of fresh bread and a bandage wrapped around your boyfriend’s head.)

“Okay—  that was scary.  I thought you’d crawled out of the drain or something.”  A shudder rolls through Jungkook’s body, shaking him from his shoulders all the way down to his knees.  It’s a strangely adorable reaction from someone who looks like he could bench press you.

“You’re calling me the Grudge?”  You’re deeply offended, gloved hands clasping over your chest as if to pull out the treacherous dagger he’s just lodged there.  He only rolls his eyes, leaning forward to catch you in his arms;  he’s relentless as he drags you to him, side of his face pressed to the bare skin of your thigh.  His cheek’s searing but you’re not surprised;  Jungkook ran hot, keeping you warm in winter and sweltering in summer.  (Ah, the price you paid for love.)

“Yeah, you haunt me in my dreams.”

“That’s not the Grudge, Kook.”  Your scoff earns you a pinch, right where the top of your stockings end.  It blooms red beneath his fingers, a little reminder of his competitive I’m-never-wrong nature.  You swat his hand away, not too bothered when it only finds a home elsewhere, hooked behind your knee.  Jungkook had a habit of needing to be in constant contact.  A little quirk of his you adored.

“I’m serious.  You look—”  You should clock the look on his face, the wiggle of mischief up his nose.  A dead giveaway shining bright - a beacon.  “—bewitching.”

If the book weren’t attached to your hip, you’d be clobbering him with it.  Instead, you’re left to whack him with the equally intricate Caduceus staff, booping it over his shoulders.  You feel like a certain shamanic mandrill, Jungkook the idiotic lion that’s asking for an earful.

“Shut up!”  You’re laughing despite yourself and he is too, holding you so recklessly close it’s hard to hit him without hurting yourself.  All part of his plan, you suppose.  “You’re so freaking corny.”

“It’s because I’m a-maize-ing, ang—”

Another wap! to the head, shielded only by a tattooed hand that curls over his ear.  

“Okay!  Sorry!”  Except he doesn’t look very sorry.  More pleased that you’ve stopped the assault, dark hair pushed back from his forehead as he stares up at you.  You hate how he’s so handsome - how you forget yourself when he smiles that smile, nearly yeeting your whole heart directly into the sun.

“Are you going to put on yours yet?”  

It’s quarter past nine already and all you’ve done is rope him into eating some chapaguri - you’ve been obsessed with it since a few weeks ago - and play real life Witch Barbie.  You have a feeling if you don’t get him into his own costume soon, you’re never going to leave the apartment.  (Not that you really mind.)  

Your boyfriend - bless his heart - pretends not to hear you, suddenly intently focused on an indiscernible spot past your hip.  It’d be more believable if he was glued to his phone or doing anything remotely interesting.  Instead, you stare down at him and count the seconds until he realises just how silly he looks.  It usually comes around six, paired with a forced chuckle and that lisp you love. 

Today, it comes after the fourth count. 

“You’re gonna think it’s lame.”  Well, of course you will.  As his girlfriend - and one of his best friends, you’d like to think - it’s your relationship-given right to shame him for his more often than not absurd ideas.  It’s what you deserve for suffering through all his bad jokes and 3 AM Instagram spams. 

With a hand on his cheek, you squeeze the apple like you’ve seen a certain member do a million times.  “So?”

He’s not really sure how to respond to that, mouth drawn into a pout that reminds you of children’s television show about penguins.  It’s unfairly adorable.  Still, you push.  Jungkook’s bad at saying no to you - always has been, even before he really knew you.  From “one more game!” to “bring me bingsu”, you always got what you wanted. 

(Which wasn’t to say you asked for a lot.  You were happy - more than that, ecstatic and over the moon - with the bare minimum.  A selfie while on the plane, some shoddy cinematography during dance practice, a voicemail to wake up to.  You didn’t love Jungkook for all the things he gave you;  rather, you loved him for who he was, who he’d always been even before you knew who he really was.)

“Don’t laugh.”  By the look on his face, you’re worried it’s something awful.  The cheesiest thing in the world come to life to haunt you on your beloved spooky holiday. 

It turns out to be the opposite:  one of your favourite characters realised in the form of your achingly handsome boyfriend.  He looks so good you’re not certain whether it’s your attraction to him or him in that particular guise that’s stronger.  You figure it doesn’t matter one way or another.  For tonight, they’re one and the same. 

“Joker?  Seriously?”  You can’t hide the delight.  It colours every syllable, sets them glowing like a neon sign.

Your boyfriend only rolls his eyes, as if he’d predicted this reaction.  Dressed as he is, the movement is impossible to miss, brought into focus by the white domino mask.  “Don’t sound so excited.”  It’s an actual concern of his.  He’s seen you sink upwards of ninety hours on the video game, playing it in the early hours when he’s fast asleep and you’re battling another night of insomnia.  

Once, he’d asked whether you loved him or Joker more.  He hadn’t liked the answer (joking as it was) and had spent the better part of the evening pouting. 

This time, you’re sweet as pie, eyes so dark and twinkly he wonders whether he’s staring at the night sky.  You wonder the same yourself almost every night, lost in the constellations of his irises.  It’s the most intimate form of stargazing you can afford, a luxury you indulge in frequently.  You’ve mapped the different formations, named them in honour of all the special moments you’ve shared;  you think to label one for this night too.

“You look so good.”  You don’t hesitate to brush his hair from his eyes.  It’s still relaxing from the perm he’d gotten days ago, curling like classic calligraphy over his eyes.  It’s surprisingly soft between your fingers, silk despite the constant heat styling.  Bastard.  “I can’t believe you’re going as Joker.  You don’t even like Persona 5!”

By how Jungkook looks at you then - the same way he did the first time you met standing on the street corner in Dotonbori and a hundred more times since then - you realise it doesn’t matter.  He’s dressed this way because you like the character.  

“Oh,”  you say, because there’s not much more to say.  Nothing that needs to be said as he grins down at you, so heartbreakingly handsome you’ll never get used to it. 

“Yeah,”  he parrots back, a little smug.  

Bangtan’s golden maknae is having the time of his life.  He’s four cups deep into a game of beer pong that’s played like the Wimbledon classic, back hunched, jaw set.  You’d think he was battling it out for the title of God of Beer Pong if you didn’t know better.  (You suppose he is.)  

“Angel, come here!”  He’s giddy - slightly glazed in the eyes - as he waves you over, a red-gloved hand beckoning you to his side.  Despite how good he looks in the costume - every weakness of yours encapsulated by the intricate dress shirt that hugs him like a second skin - the gesture is decidedly adorable, an eager puppy seeking unconditional love.  There’s simply too much affection in his voice, so much sugar-spun love that you can’t deny him (even as you consider jumping his bones at a party full of people).   

He’s shining as bright as the sun and you want nothing more than to live within his warmth.  

With your fingers twined, he pulls you to him, drawing you tight against his side like he doesn’t need that same hand to throw another ball.  You don’t mind.  You know he’ll sink it even with his left hand.  

“I’m winning,”  he states, as if it weren’t wildly obvious by the fact all cups remain untouched on his side.  

Across the table, Yugyeom’s eyes roll so far back you want to laugh.  Jungkook’s competitive side is endearing at best and infuriating at worst.  Luckily, his competition is enjoying himself too much to give him shit.  

(He’s also probably too drunk to, given how badly he’s doing.)

“I see that.”  You’re not a big drinker yourself but you like seeing Jungkook in his element.  He thrives in this sort of setting, showing off all the talents he has and then some.  It’s just another stage to him, somewhere he can prove himself (even if it’s over something as small as how good his bounce-shot is).  “How many games have you won?”  Because he’s been at this table for the last hour, dropping his competition like flies.

“All of them.”  God, his ego.  You know you shouldn’t stroke it but you can’t help it, brushing a hand through his tousled hair in the way he likes best.  Fingers over his scalp, thumb rubbing soothing circles across the nape of his neck.  He nearly melts then, tilting his head into the gentle caress.

“Good job, Kook.”

You’re so lost in your own little world that poor Yugyeom has to pull you both from it, launching a poorly-aimed white ping pong ball at the two of you.  To no one’s surprise, it careens past your heads, hitting the wall behind you and disappearing off to god knows where.  

“Can we play?”  Again, that eye roll, visible just past the bandages that loosely wrap his cheeks.  You know he’s only teasing, that he’s actually quite a fan of your and Jungkook’s dumb coupling (he’s told you), but you return his mockery with a raised hand, thumb and forefinger waving in salute.  

“Losers don’t get to complain.”

The idol throws a hand to his chest, the gesture bordering on sloppy from the liquor that threads his limbs.  Still, it’s cute, earning a sweet laugh from you and a witch’s cackle from your boyfriend.  (How fitting.)  “I’m hurt, Yoojin-ssi.”

It’s Jungkook’s turn to tease, brattiness flipped on like a haywire lightswitch.  “No, you’re just bad at games!”  He’s a sniggering schoolgirl, lines wrapping the delicate skin of his nose, streaking joy into the wrinkles beneath his eyes.  Slightly-too-big front teeth are on full display, his expression the embodiment of an “uwu” emote.

That riles Yugyeom up, powder puff of hair bounding over to you before you have time to blink.  In the next moment, your boyfriend’s half-wrestling with him, their arms locked around each other like some sort of weird four-limbed octopus.  (Video game protagonist vs. hot mummy— who will win?)  You jump back just in time, avoiding a wayward fist and laughing merrily.  Idiots, the both of them.

“You guys have fun.”  And then you’re gone, off to busy yourself with people who won’t accidentally give you a black eye or knock over the nearest thing not bolted to the ground.  

You can still hear them tussling when you latch yourself to the back of a certain blond.  He’s dressed like one of your greatest nightmares - an actual clown, drawing inspiration from a certain 2017 blockbuster - and yet somehow still manages to look good. You don’t understand it and frankly, you’re a little envious, but such was life. 

“Jimin-ssiiiii.”  

“Ahhhhhh, stop!”  It’s the same reaction he always has, paired with wiggling shoulders and sweet laughter that bounces around the room and stirs to life your own.  Indisputable and lovely, the sound is brighter than the sun or the lights that currently swing through the chandelier lights above your heads.  “You two are ridiculous.”

“He’s ridiculous, not me!”  You know it isn’t true.  Separately, you and Jungkook were idiotic enough, finding humour in the silliest things (funny threads on r/Relationship_Advice and four year old Vines).  But together?  It was a two-person circus, graduate professors at clown college.  

You absolutely loved it. 

“Sure, sure,”  the dancer hums, delightfully disbelieving as he takes another shot.  One of three lined up across the counter, clear in little orange cups made to look like pumpkins.  A whiff tells you they’re strawberry soju - your least favourite flavour.  You decline with a wrinkled nose and waving hand when he offers you one.  Jimin shrugs and downs the next, delicately wiping the corner of his mouth when he misjudges the pour.  “Aren’t you drinking?”

You wiggle the half-empty Cass bottle in your hand in response and receive a scoff, different bottle - green, unopened - thrust into your other.  

“Drink this!”  

“You want me to drink an entire bottle?”  You’re incredulous.  Jimin’s seen you on the edge of intoxication and more than a little sloppy, giggling like a schoolgirl.  It’s not unbecoming - you know better than to get blackout - but laughable nonetheless.  Something to record and post on Snapchat with a voice-altering filter.

“It’s Halloween!”  The pumpkin shot glass makes you go cross-eyed before he’s knocking it back too.  “Live a little!”

Who are you to say no to the recent birthday boy?  It would simply be bad manners and you were nothing if polite (though, you’re sure some might beg to differ - Yoongi, maybe?). 

The remnants of your beer are swallowed down in the next moment, so quickly you almost choke on it.  Your life flashes before your eyes, Jimin’s hand on your shoulder as he beats breath into your body.  “Don’t die!”  He cries, despite the fact that it’s his fist that’s making it worse, doubling you over with hacking coughs.

“K-Kook’s g-going to kill you—”  

“No, you’re fine.”  He’s reassuring you just as much as himself, laughing too loudly as you straighten up.  You wonder how red your face is when he takes your place, slapping his own knee as he shakes with amusement.  “Your face, oh—  Your face.”

It’s not meant to be offensive but your buzzed brain demands payment for each giggle.

The base of the green bottle collides with the back of his knee - gentle, gentle - just hard enough to have him properly toppling over, collapsing onto the carpet like a frail old grandpa without his cane.  You can’t help the snicker that careens off your liquor-laden tongue.

That is, until he’s pulling you down with him and the two of you are a giggling, giddy mess, tucked beneath the edge of the bar as you laugh together.  It’s a chorus of sound, unrelenting and building the longer you both sit on the floor.  Jimin’s practically hunched over, head caught between his propped up arms.  You imagine it’s a funny sight - two people in their twenties acting like college freshmen.

“Baby?”  It’s your boyfriend, amused and confused as he stares down at your and Jimin’s prone bodies.  He’s got that dent between his brows, the colour of his eyes all but swallowed up by the way his cheeks press wide with his smile.  “What’re you doing down there?”  

“Just hanging out,”  you answer, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.  At your side, Jimin’s still trying to collect himself, parroting your words around his lungfuls of quieting laughter.

“Are you drunk?”

You’re not, but that doesn’t stop you from gasping, overdramatic and with your unopened bottle of soju held aloft.  A modern day olive branch.  “No?”

Jungkook snorts and then all at once, he’s close.  Too close - smelling of beer and your favourite cologne of his, citrusy and woodsy and every other nice thing you like.  It fills your senses just as his smile does, blindingly bright and bunny-like.  Even behind the mask, his good looks take your breath away.  You must be staring up at him idiotically, all one hundred and sixteen pounds of ooey gooey tenderness.  “You sound drunk, angel,”  he teases, warm red-covered palm coming to cradle your cheek.  It sears heat everywhere it touches, guiding the same hue over your skin.  It creeps up your chest and over your ears, standing in contrast to the material of his gloves.  “Pretty.”

(He really is, you think.)

“Get a room,”  comes Jimin from beside you.  There’s no malice in his voice - just soft affection for a couple of lovesick idiots.  

“That’s the plan,”  Jungkook replies, as if he’d been waiting for the moment.  It skips off his tongue and settles into your ears, tipping your head curiously as you stare at him.  He’s never been very shy about wanting you - at least, not since you’d made things official, so many months ago - but you’re surprised by the insinuation.  When he speaks again, you realise your brain has been rolling around in the gutter, fallen out of your ears like candy from a worn pillow case.  “Want to head home?”

You do.  You really, really do.   

When you stumble into your apartment - the same one with the polka-dot welcome rug and crisp white paint - you realise you were perhaps wrong about how drunk you are.  Everything’s coming at you quite quickly, the ground beneath your feet somehow suddenly rushing at you like Mach Five.

“Whoa—”  There’s an impossibly solid warmth against your back, fingers locked around your wrists that feel more like flimsy chicken feet.  “Careful.”

Your boyfriend’s keeping you upright while stepping out of his boots - impossibly expensive supple dark leather - and you’re giggling all the while, practically sinking against him as he does his best to shuffle his shoes away and get you further into the hallway.  “Sorry,”  you offer in a terrible stage whisper, smiling wide when you catch sight of his, small and endlessly amused.  It slips across his face even as he tries to bite it back, warring with the patience he holds in spades.

“Let’s just get these off.”  He means the boots - the intricate, vaguely absurd things that creep up almost the entirety of your leg, neatly wrapped and knotted midway up your thigh.  Dexterous as he is, it’s a task to unravel the strings and thread buttons when you’re weighing on him like a bag of bricks.

You’re fumbling for the tops, haphazardly smacking his hands away.  “Here, let me.”  

Somehow, you manage to get them off in what feels like record time.  (In reality, it takes a good five minutes of futility before they’re left on the ground and Jungkook’s swept you into his arms, seemingly over waiting for you to do much else.)

“Oh, my prince charming,”  you tease, clinging to him like a koala.  You’re locked around him, practically suffocating him, but he doesn’t seem to mind.  He’s used to it when you’re this way, just a little too much liquid courage turning your level of affection to eleven.  “Or are you the court jester?  That’s what Joker is, right?”  It’s a joke and a bad one at that.  Still, your boyfriend indulges you, depositing a forced laugh against your shoulder as he navigates to your bedroom.  

“You’re drunk.”  He says it more kindly than you expect.  Perhaps even more kindly than you deserve.  You know he’s not exactly sober himself, his gaze verging on heavy-lidded.  There’s sleepiness blending seamlessly with intoxication, softening the edge of his jaw, the narrow of his stare.  It’s terribly tender, skipping your heart when you look at him dead on.

It comes without thought.  You have to tell him.  Your drunk brain and your puppy dog heart demand it.  “I love you.”

Jungkook returns the confession with humour, eyes sparkling despite the haze of alcohol that dims them down.  As always, he indulges you, giving you support in the form of his heart and his hands.  (Literally, he’s still holding you even though you’ve reached your destination.)  “Love you too.”

“Is it time for bed?”  You’re surprisingly tired, despite the fact that you’d slept until late in the afternoon.  You certainly wouldn’t mind falling face first into your mattress.

“You need a shower first.”  It’s a simple statement of fact, you know that.  You’ve got at least ten pounds of makeup on and your hair’s the furthest thing from soft and silky, carefully coiffed to mimic Mercy’s signature style.  You still pretend like you’re just a bit offended, scowling into the face of your boyfriend even as he rolls his eyes, already somehow able to read the words written into your expression.  “I meant we and no, I’m not calling you stinky.”

He’s stolen your thunder, as he so often does.  You pout, as you so often do. 

“Okay,”  you relent, finally, moving to rest your head against his shoulder.  You could get down - walk on your own two tired feet - but you’re enjoying the closeness, how warm and real he feels in comparison to the swimming surroundings.  “Will you wash my hair?”  You don’t really need to ask but do anyway, because you like the sound of his voice when it’s so close.

“You know I will.”  Because he always does when you shower together (and it falls on a designated hair washing day - that was important).  

You offer your thanks with a kiss, laid right over the jumping pulse in his neck.  When Jungkook hums in acknowledgment, you feel the way the muscles constrict, his Adam’s apple jumping beneath your lips.  You zero in on it with laser precision, mouthing over his throat.  Somewhere above you - against the shell of your ear - he exhales a laugh, breath hot.

“We’re showering, baby.”  As if that’s meant to stop you.  He, more than anyone, should know how adamant you get, singularly focused on whatever’s got your attention.  He’s been on the receiving end of it more than enough times, strung into playing another one, two, ten matches of Overwatch or hunting down the limited edition Funko Pops that now sit proudly on your white shelf (and behind your plants and on the ledge by the front door).

“We can shower and have fun,”  you mumble into the expanse of his chest.  He’s so pleasantly warm, unyielding and firm and so, so comfortable.  You think you could live in the feeling of his arms.  (You’re lucky you get to.)  You don’t even mind the sudden cold of the counter or the space that forms between you when he sets you down, because he’s still caging you in where it matters most.  “Right, JK?”

It’s a nickname you rarely use now - one that only comes out in times of desperation.  You’ve never quite understood why it affects your boyfriend the way it does, stuttering the rhythmic beating of his heart, but you love it nonetheless.  It makes you grin, high on power and giddy with nothing but sweetness.  

He’d explained it to you once.  Jay was how you’d met him, the version of himself you’d loved first.  Jungkook was the side of himself he’d wanted to give you but couldn’t.  JK was the in-between - the chaos and the calm.  Hearing you say it brought back all the memories of year one and he liked that.  You could only laugh at his sentimentality and tuck the piece of knowledge somewhere deep, to be pulled out in instances like this.

“Right, angel.”  You don’t miss the colour on his cheeks - so pretty you reach your hands out to cup them, squishing them between your palms like an old grandmother testing a watermelon.  You continue to hold him until he pulls your hands from his face, guiding them to the edge of the counter with gentle pressure.  “Gotta get undressed to shower,”  he chides, that twinkle in his eye that makes it hard to look away.

Really, how can he expect you to do anything when he’s got an entire unexplored galaxy hidden in his irises?  It’s an absurd ask.

“Or I’ll help you.”  

Your clothes fall away while you’re still staring up at him.  

First, the gloves, peeled from your fingers with utmost care.  Kisses fill the spaces between each finger, passed from knuckles to wrist, all the way up to your elbow.  You squirm when his teeth graze the sensitive underside of your bicep.  He stifles a snicker into the skin.

Next goes your cape and wings, hung on the door handle.  His mouth warms the suddenly bare skin, pressing affection into the line of your shoulder, up over your neck.  You don’t squirm this time, instead humming a noise of delight.  You hardly notice when the corset goes next, undone by surprisingly nimble inked digits.  There’s hardly a moment to savour the freedom - you can finally breathe - when his hands replace the cups, palms eager over your chest.  He doesn’t hesitate to hold you, pinching your perked nipples with a sly grin.

“I thought we were going to shower.”  The words are barely out before turning breathless, stolen by the way he easily palms your breast, dropping his face into the crook of your neck. 

“We are, angel,”  Jungkook teases, rolling your bud between his thumb and forefinger, other hand moved to splay across the now-bare small of your back.  It’s almost embarrassing how easily you fall into him, drawn against him like a moth to a flame.  “Just need to get you warmed up first.”    

“The shower’ll be warm,”  you say - or think you say, anyway.  It isn’t quite articulated, half your brain left somewhere at the party (or maybe caught dead centre in the coil that’s tightening in your stomach).  

“Do you want me to stop?”  It’s so quiet you almost miss it, too distracted by how he slips the rest of your costume off.  Shorts, thong, stockings, silly witch’s hat.  “Tell me if you want me to stop, baby.”  Ever the gentleman, he’s patient, meeting your glazed stare with something close to concern.  You almost laugh in his face then - stopping short only when you note just how serious he is, the tell-tale set of his jaw shining like a familiar beacon.  

You return your hands to his face, palms cradling his chin like he might break otherwise.  “I never want you to stop.”  

That’s all Jungkook needs before he’s slotting himself between your legs, mirroring your motion with hands creeping up the side of your neck, fingers ascending into the roots of your hair.  He holds you close and kisses you like it’s all he’s ever wanted.  “I love you,”  he breathes, speaks against the corner of your mouth.  

You parrot the words back at him and he grins, stepping away in the next moment.  He laughs when you pout, offering a kiss in apology as he undoes the buttons of his dress shirt, slipping the soft cotton off.  You stop then, entranced by the revealed skin, how it shifts with each adjustment of muscle, sinew tight over his arms and shoulders.  You wonder, not for the first time, how you’d managed to luck out so spectacularly.  

“Start the shower.”  

You hop down with the direction, slipping past him to do exactly that.  You don’t miss the way he rotates, brings himself closer as you move away.  The magnetism is undeniable - always has been.

“I love you,”  he states, again, bare against your back as you hover by the edge of the glass door, one hand stuck past to test the slow-warming stream.  He’s solid, familiar and comfortable, as he slinks his arms back around you, heat burning the shape of his hands over your ribs, the shape of your hip.  You think he might mark himself there, just as neatly as the floral ink does.  You wouldn’t mind.

The water is welcome, bathing the both of you in steam when you step inside.  It’s an incredibly relaxing feeling, being caught between the spray and the hard body behind you.  You hum a noise of pure delight, turning your face toward the one that nuzzles itself into your neck, and bring your hands to rest over his, fingers slotting between ink.  

“Hair?”  You’re not in a terrible rush but you like redirecting his attention (pretending to, at least) - the teasing that formed the base of your relationship presenting itself in the quiet reminder.  It earns the laugh you expect, muffled into your hair, featherlight over the delicate shell of your jewelled ear.  

“Patience, baby.”  It’s something Jungkook tends to say a lot, whether waiting in queue in Overwatch or in bed, with you a complete mess.  He repeats it easily, like he’s the poster boy for the virtue.  (He isn’t.)

“What am I waiting—”  The question dies, swallowed whole by the gasp he draws from you with a wandering hand.  Fingers slip across your stomach, digits deftly seeking out warmth as if you weren’t already enveloped in it.  It’s a touch that’s tantalisingly slow, unfairly light, but it still makes you keen when it drags over your lips.  A single digit pushes past muscle - so shallow you’re not sure you’re not just imagining it - before retreating, dragging your slick back up to your clit.  The moment the pad of his finger makes contact with the sensitive bundle of nerves, you almost jump.  Would, if he weren’t caging you with his other arm.  

You feel the cold of his teeth bared against your neck then, the throaty laugh that pulls out of his chest and deposits itself into your hair.  “Patience,”  he repeats, swirling his fingers over your clit, his mouth moving in tandem with the twist of his wrist.  He peppers love and affection in the form of kisses, presses devotion with the edge of his teeth, soothes all your nerves with a sweep of his tongue. 

“Kook,”  you sigh, already well on your way to being a boneless mess.  There’s tingling in your toes, fizzing in your stomach, butterflies in your chest.  A whirlwind of emotion and sensation that he stirs to life effortlessly.  

“Relax for me.”  You do so because it’s easy, because he’s so devastatingly good to you.  

The figure eights skating over your clit cease, fingers dropping further down to nestle against your cunt. He pauses there, almost experimentally flexing against the muscle that aches and clenches around nothing, eager for more.  You think he’s smirking by the way his lips form with his kisses, a little lopsided and devilish.  (You wish you could see him.) 

A single digit enters you then, to the third knuckle as if your body was made for this, for him.  (It was.)  He coos against your neck when a garbled mess skips off your tongue and nearly laughs when another slips in alongside it, turning the mess into nonsense.  Despite how badly you want it - need it, really - it’s a sensation that’s too much and not enough all at once, toeing the line between pleasure and pain.  

It was how Jungkook loved you - recklessly, shamelessly, in no half measures.  With more love than you could ever hope for, giving you things you didn’t even know how to ask for.

“Relax, angel,”  comes as he begins scissoring both fingers inside you, stretching you out with an otherworldly amount of care.  Even your neglected clit is given some sort of relief - anything to ease the sting of two long fingers - his thumb gliding over it with each stretch of your walls.  He knows exactly where to touch you, how much pressure to apply, and you’re melting, lost in the feeling.  

When he’s had enough and he curls his fingers within you, seeking out that particular spot, you’re trembling, caught off guard.  Heat builds quickly with the precision of which he taps against that spot;  it starts low in your back, climbing each vertebrae of your spine until you’re quivering in his arms.  

“K-Kook.”  It’s both a plea and a demand, nonsensical as he guides you through your orgasm, keeping you upright against him when your knees feel like they might give out.  

“I’ve got you.”  And he does - hook, line, and sinker.  He holds you steady as the pleasure crashes over your head, keeps you anchored to the here and now and the pleasure that rolls through you like a relentless wave.  It sinks beneath your skin, settles heavy into every atom, and he never lets you go.  He’s got you.

When sensation returns - slowly, so slowly it feels like you’re stuck in the Twilight Zone - you only want to turn.  See him, hold him, whisper sweet nothings as you kiss him silly and thank him for his service.  Instead, you’re held in place, two hands firm upon your hips even as you crane your neck to look over your shoulder at him.  You should recognise the look on his face.  “Kook?”

“My turn.”  It’s a statement more than anything, a kind heads-up as he nudges you forward.  There’s that same twinkle in his eye, the only source of light around the pupil that’s blown out, otherwise engulfing the constellations he so normally offers you.  It’s a black hole and one you’d gladly get lost in.  “Hands on the wall, baby.”

You’d never been one for shower sex - it’s too small a space, too much happening at once, a guaranteed freak accident waiting to happen - but you can’t deny him when he asks so nicely.  (It really hadn’t been that nice but you were a certified sucker for one Jeon Jungkook.)

Hands find themselves on the wall, palms flat, fingers splayed.  In the same instance you wiggle your hips, there’s a ghosting touch over your spine.  It trails up and down, soothes the residual heat that lingers, and then slips higher, palm gentle over your throat.  His thumb rubs reassuring circles over the nape of your neck, pressing gently into the sensitive spot behind your ear.  It’s distracting and you realise much needed when he sinks into you with one fluid press of his hips, filling you so full you can’t help the gasp that bounds past your lips and bounces around the glass enclosure.  “Oh fuck,”  he sighs, his grip on your hip tightening incrementally.

He sounds like sin and feels like heaven.  

“Always so good for me.”  Another thing he says, often and without prompting.  It still feels just as good the umpteenth time, sparking pride deep in your chest as he pulls out and drives himself back in, staring in rapt fascination at where your bodies meet.  “Always so perfect for me.”  

“Because I love you,”  you quip, more than a little out of breath and jostled by the way he thrusts into you, measured and with enough force to shake your legs.  

“Love you too, angel.”  He doesn’t need to say it back - you know, can feel it by how he holds you, drives you to brink of insanity with his cock - but he does it anyway.  He always says it back, no matter what, even if he’s half-asleep or distracted.  He’ll never stop saying it.

The hand on your hip falls, slinks across your hip and between your legs, and you’re pushed further forward, his feet gently kicking yours further apart.  Jungkook assaults your clit then, timing each pass with each thrust.  An attempted glance back has fireworks going off before your eyes, specks of pleasure lighting up your vision;  it’s a technicolour lightshow, framing the way his face scrunches, brow set and jaw hard.  He’s determined, focused on bringing you to another orgasm before he hits his own high.  You assist him as best you can, swiveling your hips and grinding back against him even as the coil pulls impossibly tight in your stomach, barely held together by threadbare strings. 

“Kook,”  you whine when the tension becomes too much, hands scrabbling across the wall of the shower.  The same overwhelming tingle sparks beneath your skin, entire body trembling like a leaf when the head of his cock brushes that spot inside you at just the right angle.

He doesn’t relent, rhythm turning almost punishing as he drives you over the edge, launching you headlong into your second orgasm.  You’re not sure how you stay upright, near sobbing when you crash into euphoric bliss, neither his fingers nor his thrusts ceasing.  It’s almost too much and yet you know how close he is, so you push back, whimper words you know he wants to hear.  

“P-please, Kook.  Please.”  You’re reaching a hand back, desperate to interlace your fingers with his.  He gives in easily, catches your hand in his own and plants it on the swell of your hip as he chases his own release with desperation.  “Come for me, Kook.  Fill me up.”

Jungkook does just that, balls tight as he spills himself inside you, hand at your throat so tight you’re seeing stars.  Somehow - with the feeling of him grinding into you, overcome with so much sensitivity - you come for the third time, crying very real tears as the sensation washes over you.  It’s weaker than your first two but unravels you all the same, seeping the energy from your limbs.  You’re grateful for how well he knows you and the fact he catches you before your arms collapse, pulling you to him with gentle movements.  

“I love you,”  he whispers against your temple, out of breath and sweat-slick despite the water that rains down upon you.  

“I love you,”  you answer, pressing a kiss to the hand that still twines with yours.  “But I still need you to wash my hair.”  It’s cheeky and you know it so you don’t even mind when he bites into the meat of your shoulder, leaving a pretty red mark that’ll bloom for the next few days.  “Ow!”

“You’re a brat.”  Said even as he’s reaching for your shampoo bar, teasing it through your roots with practiced movements.  He’s careful despite his scathing tone, gentle despite how he glares at you from the corner of your periphery.  Each tangle is neatly undone and not a single bubble gets in your eye, much to your joy.  

“I thought I was an angel.”  You’re taking a page out of his book, speaking in fluent pout.

He catches your lips with his own, pushing your lathered up head beneath the steady stream when he withdraws and speaks.  Suds run across your cheeks, eyes shielded only by the hand he keeps steady along your hairline.  Even so mean, your boyfriend is still terribly nice.  “You’re my angel - but you’re still a brat.”  

You can’t argue with that. 

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​ @snackhobi​

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[mintchanniemint]

[angst ; wordcount: 2k]

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader

pt.1 ; pt.2

[08:49 a.m]

The warm, sweet smell of freshly baked chocolate croissants quickly filled up the small kitchen in Chan's apartment. He had a day off and after going to the bakery nearby to treat himself to a nice breakfast, he checked the mailbox and strangely found, among the different advertising magazines and usual bills he had to pay, a letter addressed to him. 

He left it on the counter and kept staring at it while taking big, slow bites of the warm brioche in his hand. His mind started wandering from one thought to another, he really didn't know who could possibly leave a letter to him since he usually kept in touch with people either via emails or texts.

But suddenly, a specific thought flashed in his mind for a fraction of seconds. He stopped chewing on the croissant as he slowly walked closer to the counter and his eyes analyzed the handwriting properly. 

"I'm so dumb…" 

He mumbled to himself, a big sigh following right away. He left his unfinished breakfast on the small table and his fingers quickly traced his name written on that envelope. It was your handwriting, he couldn't explain why he didn't recognize it the second he saw it, but it was probably because he convinced himself that the two of you weren't gonna cross paths anymore. 

What was the content of the letter? Why did you leave a letter? And when? Why not a text message? 

Chan quickly shook his head, annoyed by all those unanswered questions floating around in his head, and he rapidly opened the envelope, but he closed it again right away, cowardly. 

"Dear Chan…" 

That was all he read. Yet, he felt scared. Scared of what you carefully wrote for him in that piece of paper. He felt so small and coward, but at the same time he knew it was wrong to just ignore it. He also had to admit that if he was already over you, he probably wouldn't have felt this way at all. 

"Three, two, one…" 

He got the piece of paper out of the envelope and took a deep breath before letting his eyes absorb every single word written on it.   

"Dear Chan, 

Yes, yes it's me. I don't know why I'm not texting you. I promised myself I wouldn't have contacted you but here I am… a coward as usual!" 

He lightly bit his bottom lip as he snorted and looked away for a moment. You didn't change at all, no matter how much time had passed. 

"But don't expect something long. No, this is something important and I want to keep it as short as possible so you can read this quickly."

His mind was telling him to stop reading. 

Why am I even reading this? We're not together anymore-

But he actually cared so much. Cared for a relationship he, himself, had ruined with his own hands. 

"Focus, Chan. Focus."

He sounded mad at his own thoughts, and decided to proceed with reading the rest of the letter. 

The piece of paper slowly left his hand as it delicately reached the floor, by his feet. 

"...so you can read this quickly. 

Thank you, Chan. Thank you and sorry. 

Thank you for keeping me warm during lonely, cold nights. 

Thank you for showing me how bright your eyes can shine whenever you smile. 

And thank you for breaking me, too. I was able to get up again, maybe with some scars, but I'm not gonna stay stuck here. We have to move on. 

I don't have any bad feelings for you. Thank you for loving me, and thank you for letting me love you.

I'm actually leaving tonight, you know, I acc accepted a job overseas. 

I wish you the best, always. "

Leaving?

Why were you leaving? Was it because of him?

A relationship that Chan knew he had completely ruined. He wasn't able to make you as happy as he thought he was, he actually hurt you multiple times and didn't know how to fix it, until it reached a breakpoint. And after letting you down, he just thought it was better to leave you. Because he didn't want to hurt you more than he had already done. 

His fingers started running through his messy hair, messing it up even more than it was already ruffled. His mind was running even faster than a few moments earlier and he was feeling somehow lost. 

What was he going to do? He noticed that you left the time of your flight in the letter, did he have to meet you there? Were you actually trying to leave a message to him? Were the two of you really over that relationship? 

What were you telling him? What was he supposed to do? 

"Gosh, this is destroying my mind." 

His voice filled the silence in the kitchen with slight anger and confusion. 

Did he actually want to go and meet you? Was it going to be worth it? What if you two ended up arguing? 

He reached for the piece of paper, leaving it on the table as he tried to finish his breakfast, although his hunger was already more than gone. 

His mind once again drifted away as he let the sweet, warm taste of chocolate fill his senses. His eyes focused on those few words at the end of the handwritten letter. 

Bite after bite, he could feel his own thoughts getting more and more mixed up. 

As he arrived home, he left the grocery bags on the table in the kitchen and sat down, his eyes automatically moving to the handwritten letter, that simple yet scary letter. 

He felt like a weird pang in his heart decided to bother him.

As he tried his best not to think about that letter, he tried to get distracted throughout the day; he went out for a stroll, met with some friends, and went grocery shopping. Yet that weird feeling in his chest wasn't leaving him alone. It really felt like something was wrong, not in its place… 

Chan took a deep breath and put that letter back in its envelope. He finally made up his mind, there wasn't much time left before you would have left the country. He had to meet you. 

"What should I do…" 

He sighed soundly, his heart tightening, his throat suddenly feeling dry as his hands caught that piece of paper for the thousandth time that day. Reading and rereading those few sentences, his eyes couldn't help but let his mind memorize the time you had written at the end of the letter. There, before your signature, at the corner of the paper. 

[9:23 p.m]

He tried his best to look somehow good; he kept his hands from distractedly ruffling his hair, he didn’t fidget too much with the hem of his coat because he knew he would have ruined it somehow. He didn't want to look like a whole mess, he didn't want that to be the last image you would have had of him vene though it was getting quite difficult for him to hide it.

He sighed once again, leaning his head against the window of the cab, on his way to the airport, as the bright neon lights of the city were occasionally caressing his features while he let the soft, distant music coming out of the radio fill up his mind, accompanying his thoughts. 

Chan kept mumbling to himself the time you wrote in that letter as he looked at all the huge screens listing the different flights. He was scared he was late, maybe he didn't understand the letter properly. Maybe it was all something his mind made up for him, maybe-

Once he arrived, he didn't hesitate much before entering that huge building; seeing that huge crowd of people, bright white lights, luggage, voices, smiles, cries.

It felt as if the realization started to hit him. 

You were leaving. You were leaving the country, you were leaving him and all the memories you were able to make with him.

And that was going to be his last chance to see you again. 

As his mind kept running through irrational thoughts, his eyes met with yours. You were in a queue, waiting for your turn for the check-in. You were wearing a warm coat, a black scarf covering and warming up your neck while your fingers were distractedly tapping on your suitcase. 

Chan felt like time stopped the moment your eyes met with his. He just looked at you, a little bit out of breath, as one of his hands went through his hair, ruffling it. He bit his lip and looked down for a second, probably cursing at himself for ruining his looks. 

You mentally pointed out how his hair was longer than you remembered. Before you could notice anything else, it was finally your turn to the check-in. Your mind kept giving you so many rushed thoughts, as if you were somehow thrilled to be seeing him after so long. You unconsciously didn’t expect to see him, you had to admit it. So much had happened in the past months; since seeing him at work was getting unbearable, you asked for a shift with a colleague in order not to see him when you were there, not even on accident and then you got that job offer and didn’t even think about it twice before accepting. You saw it as a chance to leave everything behind.

Chan quietly stayed there, his hands both in the pockets of his coat as his eyes couldn't leave, not even for a second, your figure. 

As Chan saw you walk closer to him, he froze. He felt like he was supposed to run away, as if he couldn't face you nor deserve to even talk to you. 

"Have a safe flight!" 

You thanked the lady in front of you with a smile and a nod as you walked away from that huge queue, directed to the gate for your flight. 

You kept getting closer and closer to where he was standing. 

His heart was racing, that ache not leaving his chest as your figure just kept getting cleaner and closer to his eyes. 

You stopped a few steps far from him, enough to hear each other. 

"Hey, you got the letter." 

"Yeah, I did. I… I did, yeah." 

As you were able to better observe his face, you noticed how his eyes were weary, his hair was messy because of excessive ruffling and he overall looked so exhausted. You couldn’t help but worry for him.

"Are you okay-" 

"Chan, it's not just your fault-" 

"I'm sorry." 

He blurted out so quickly, he probably didn’t even hear your question. His eyes not brave anymore to keep eye contact with yours. 

"I should have known better. It is my fault."

"It's okay. Maybe we just weren't meant to be." 

"Don't... say that." 

His voice sounded full of pain and regret as you slowly walked closer to him.

You gently placed two fingers under his chin, encouraging him to make his eyes focus on yours. 

"Then, Chan… Do something to make me stay." 

Those few, painful words left your lips in a hidden, loud and surreal cry as your eyes were trying to stay strong and keep eye contact with him. 

Chan was there, in front of you, his lips slightly parted as you could tell panic was slowly filling his mind. His hands ruffled his slightly long hair again and as he did so, you started taking a few steps back, ready to turn and walk away. 

“Anything.”

You insisted, your hand leaving his chin.

And you suddenly found yourself in that warm, familiar hug. A hug you had missed for months, already. A hug you thought you were not going to experience anymore. 

"Stop it!" 

His loud voice pierced your ears, followed by a swift, messy row of footsteps sounding louder and louder as you felt his hand grabbing you by the arm. 

"Whatever I try to say, it will only make things worse."

He mumbled between soft sobs as you could feel his embrace getting tighter around your waist. 

"Maybe it's just supposed to go this way." 

You tried to hide your trembling voice as much as possible as you closed your eyes, your hands now reciprocating the desperate hug. 

"Thanks for letting me love you, Chan." 

"I'm so sorry."

He let his words leave his lips in a low, trembling whisper as he tried to feel that hug as much as he could. 

"... I'm sorry I wasn't worth it-" 

"You were." 

You broke the hug and looked at him one last time with a light smile painting your lips as your eyes were starting to get filled with tears. 

"You're a whole mess, Chan." 

You lightly giggled as you wiped his tears with your thumb. He didn’t say anything back, so you decided to hold him in a last, warm hug.

Your figure getting more and more blurred to Chan's teary eyes as he finally let you go. 

"It's gonna be alright. Believe me." 

You caressed his cheeks one last time before you had to turn your back and walk away, the loud, robotic announcement voice mentioning your flight as you kept moving one step after the other. 

#bang chan au #bang chan imagine #bang chan angst #skz imagine #skz au #stray kids imagine #skz angst #stray kids angst #skz chan #stray kids bang chan #skz bang chan au #skz chan angst #skz fic #chan x y/n #chan x reader #self insert #kpop fanfic #Kpop fanfiction #kpop angst

[thesewordsareallihavetogive]

no body, no crime - allison argent x reader

(gif source)

Summary: When y/n disappears after confronting her husband about his affair, Allison takes matters into her own hands. Based on “no body, no crime (feat. HAIM)” by taylor swift [x]. You can find the mood board for this fic here

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: cursing, infidelity, implied kidnapping, implied murder, murder, alleged murder, alleged/implied death of reader, reader is married to a man with a j name 🤢

a/n: hi everyone! it’s been a hot minute since i posted a new fic & this is why. i’ve been working on this since late december of 2020, so this is the longest i’ve ever spent on a stand-alone work. i’ll include more gory details about the writing process at the end if you’re interested :)

dedicated to: elle (@demxters) for all of her help and ideas! this fic literally wouldn’t have gotten finished without her, send her some love <3

this is also dedicated to caoimhe (@free-pool-trash​) for not murdering me after i gave her a preview several weeks ago and then just ✨stopped writing✨

master list

Este's a friend of mine

We meet up every Tuesday night for dinner and a glass of wine

“Hey!” Allison greeted cheerily as she met y/n at their usual table tucked in the corner of their favorite restaurant. y/n returned the brunette’s smile as she stood up to hug her friend, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Allison saw through y/n’s facade and furrowed her eyebrows. “What’s wrong?” she asked as concern spread across her features.

“I think Justin is having an affair,” y/n admitted. The statement dropped like a bomb between the two women, causing Allison to nearly spew the wine in her mouth all over the table. She coughed a few times and drank some water to clear her throat before she composed herself enough to ask questions.

“What happened? Did you see something?” Allison asked hesitantly. Her mind was still reeling from the mere concept of y/n’s husband cheating on her. Sure, Justin had never been Allison’s favorite guy, but it was normal for girls to think that no guy would ever be good enough for their best friend. Right? 

Her husband's acting different and it smells like infidelity

She says, "That ain't my merlot on his mouth"

"That ain't my jewelry on our joint account"

y/n explained what had been going on over the past few weeks. Justin had been acting distant, which wasn’t too abnormal, but when he started coming home from work much later than his shifts ended and disappearing at odd hours of the night, y/n got concerned. The day that she had planned to approach him about everything and ask if anything was wrong, she got a call from her bank while driving home from work.

“Hi Mrs. y/l/n, this is Kathy from the bank. I’m calling to inform you that there have been a few large cash withdrawals from your joint account recently under your husband’s name, as well as a pretty expensive purchase yesterday at the jeweler,” the rest of Kathy’s words sounded muffled to y/n. It was nowhere near her birthday, Valentine’s day, or their anniversary, so y/n didn’t know what he could possibly be spending all their money on.

The next incident came a few days later when both y/n and Justin were home. y/n’s husband was in the shower and his phone buzzed with a new text message alert. Typically, y/n was never the type to snoop on her husband’s phone, but she figured she should check in case it was a work message. At least that’s how she justified it in her head. Justin had saved the sender’s number under the contact name “Spam Risk.” It was clever, y/n had to give him credit for that at least. Upon further inspection, y/n quickly realized that those texts weren’t sent from a telemarketer bot.

6:24 p.m.   I can’t wait to see you tonight, baby - Spam Risk

6:25 p.m.   Don’t keep me waiting too long ;) - Spam Risk

y/n thought the messages were strange, but the picture that followed the messages was definitely what threw y/n for a loop. There, on her husband’s text message thread, was a racy photo of a woman’s body that definitely wasn’t hers. y/n was quite literally stunned to silence as she dropped the phone back down onto the dresser. For the rest of the night, y/n was numb and quiet, not that Justin noticed. Then, like clockwork, he left the house at 11 p.m. with no explanation of where he was going or when he would be back.

By the end of y/n’s story, Allison’s mouth was open so wide she was sure her jaw would hit the table. 

“What are you going to do?” Allison whispered, still in shock. y/n grimaced before clearing her throat and speaking her next words with finality.

No, there ain't no doubt

I think I'm gonna call him out

Este wasn't there

Tuesday night at Olive Garden at her job or anywhere

“Hi, there should be a reservation for two under Allison Argent or y/n y/l/n for tonight,” Allison greeted warmly as she approached the hostess stand at their go-to girl’s night restaurant.

“Right this way, ma’am,” the hostess said with a smile as she grabbed two menus and led her towards their usual table. Two menus. That must mean that y/n wasn’t there yet? Allison thought it was strange, y/n almost always was the first of the two to arrive. Allison brushed off the thought as she thanked the hostess and sat down. She had intended to look over the menu, but the strangeness of it all wouldn’t leave her mind. y/n was late. She was never late. Allison pulled out her phone to text her best friend, and it then occurred to her that she hadn’t heard from y/n since last week. Allison had been away on a “work” trip with her dad for the past six days and had just gotten back into town. After 30 minutes of sitting at the table alone, half a dozen unanswered text messages, and even more calls sent straight to voicemail, Allison dropped a few bills on the table and left.

As Allison pulled out of the parking lot, she turned on the radio in a futile attempt to drown out some of her racing thoughts. Between songs the radio host took to the mic to make an announcement.

“Hello Beacon Hills, we now interrupt your regularly scheduled listening with an urgent message from the Sheriff's department. Speaking now is Sheriff Noah Stilinski,” the host trailed off before there was a brief crackle as the audio transitioned to the Sheriff’s press briefing. Allison turned up the volume as the Sheriff’s voice carried across the radio.

“Thank you all for attending and tuning in. It is with great displeasure and a heavy heart that I inform you all that y/n y/l/n has been reported missing. Shortly after 8 a.m. this morning, we were informed by her husband that she didn’t show up for work yesterday morning and also didn’t come home last night,” Sheriff Stilinski continued speaking but it all began to sound like white noise to Allison. It took everything she had in her to focus on not veering off the road so that she could head to the Sheriff’s station and speak to Stilinski in person. 

Conveniently, her route took her right past y/n and Justin’s house. Allison didn’t know what to expect as she sped by their house, but the fact that Justin’s normally filthy truck had been cleaned and waxed definitely caught her eye. The truck and driveway were soon out of sight due to the speed she was driving at, but at first glance, it looked as though his tires and grill had been replaced.

He reports his missing wife

And I noticed when I passed his house his truck has got some brand new tires

About a week had passed since y/n had been reported missing. Allison wasn’t sure how many search parties had been held, but they all resulted in the same thing: nothing. There wasn’t a single trace of her best friend, in fact, everything in Beacon Hills looked completely unchanged and normal. Allison’s focus and appetite seemed to have left with her other half, try as she might to desperately hold onto them. Her marksmanship had even been affected, something that hadn’t happened since high school.

Allison started driving around town during her free time. She wasn’t headed anywhere in particular, she mostly did it to try to clear her mind, though most times she was unsuccessful. She’d been mindlessly taking right and left turns and before she realized where she was, she passed y/n’s house.

Allison hadn’t planned to slow down as she passed the house, it was a mindless act if anything. Seeing a moving truck backed up to the house while Justin and some unfamiliar blonde woman were unloading boxes ensured that her decision to park her car where it couldn’t be seen and spy on the pair wasn’t mindless. Despite her gut telling her not to, Allison decided to give Justin the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he needed a roommate now since y/n couldn’t pay her share of the rent? Allison tried her best to keep all of her judgments and suspicions at bay as she watched the otherwise uneventful event unfold while biting her fingernails. 

A few boxes later, Justin pulled the blonde in by her waist and kissed her with a fervor that would make most people blush. Allison’s eyes nearly popped out of her head as she sat there in shock with her mouth wide open. It took a while, mostly because the kiss lasted for an obnoxious amount of time, but Allison finally regained control of her body. It was like her brain had to go through a hard reset before she was able to face the reality of the situation.

y/n was right. Justin was cheating on her. Not only that, but Justin had cheated on y/n, spent less than a week grieving her disappearance, then allowed this to happen.

And his mistress moved in

Sleeps in Este's bed and everything

Allison found out that Justin Smith’s mistress’s name was Rebecca Baker. She was a few years younger than y/n and she worked at the same company as Justin. It didn’t take long for Allison to hack into both of their iCloud accounts. A few hours of scrolling later she was really regretting her decision, especially when she got to Justin’s messages to Rebecca about y/n.

2:47 a.m.  What about your wife? - Spam Risk

2:47 a.m.  What about her? - Justin

2:48 a.m.  Are you going to leave her or kick her out or something? - Spam Risk

2:48 a.m.  It’s been taken care of. - Justin

2:48 a.m.  Taken care of? Justin, what does that mean? - Spam Risk

2:49 a.m.  Justin??? - Spam Risk

Each new message ensured that bits of Allison’s fingernails had been gnawed off while her left hand fidgeted anxiously in front of her mouth. Allison decided that those messages were probably the most incriminating thing she’d find digitally, but the time and date stamps caught her eye. The texts were sent early Monday morning, the day that y/n allegedly left home and then didn’t show up for work or return home. 

A chill spread from deep within Allison’s bones up to the surface of her skin, making goosebumps appear. Allison didn’t know what exactly, but she knew something terrible had happened to y/n and Justin had something to do with it. She shut her laptop a little harder than necessary as a resolved look spread across her face.

No, there ain't no doubt

Somebody's gotta catch him out

Good thing my daddy made me get a boating license when I was fifteen

Allison regularly accessed her personal armory, whether it was to prepare for a job or pack for a trip to the shooting range, but it had been a while since a powerful and unforgiving feeling hung over her shoulders. Allison carefully ran her fingers over her custom silver arrowheads as she considered her options. Her father’s words from one of her adolescent archery lessons rung in her head.

“The type of bow and arrows you use doesn’t matter. As long as you use them right, you’ll be able to make any shot. Don’t get hung up on the technicalities.”

Not too long after, her bag was stocked with her essentials: a bow, her trusted black leather archery glove, as well as a handful of arrows, though these ones lacked the silver heads she typically reserved for more exotic expeditions.

The rare dark clouds in the California sky at sunset were reflected in Allison’s cold eyes. The drive to her target’s house was familiar, the turns she made were almost instinctual. Normally these roads reminded her of her coffee dates with y/n and nights they spent talking for hours until sunlight crept through the windows. Now, her mind was blank and her heart was devoid of all emotion.

Even though Allison had disabled her car’s GPS earlier, she parked her car about a mile away from his house. When she was done, there wouldn’t be any evidence that could be traced back to her. She memorized his schedule; at 5:00 p.m. his shift ended and recently he’d been getting home by 5:20. His girlfriend got home sometime between 5:30 and 5:45, but she would leave for her pilates class around 6:30 and wouldn’t get home until 7:45. Allison had just over an hour window to get the job done, but it wouldn’t take that long. If everything went according to plan, she’d be off the property within a few minutes of taking the shot.

When she arrived her target had just come home from work and was alone in the house. She waited patiently, hidden by the trees that the property backed up to. She watched as he moved around through the open curtains and then as his girlfriend entered the house and kissed him with a passion that made Allison’s stomach churn. She watched as they ate dinner together, as her target’s girlfriend got ready for her gym class, and watched as she got in her car and drove away. When Allison checked her watch it was only 6:25 p.m., she had far more time than she needed.

The plan was simple, really. Under the cover of darkness, she’d flip the breakers, effectively cutting the power. When her target came out to investigate, she’d let him fumble around in the darkness for a while. He’d always been a paranoid individual, so it wouldn’t take much to get him on edge. A rustle in the bushes here, a small snapped tree branch there, and then something that would get his attention. Allison wanted his eyes to be on her when she took the shot.

Allison’s target was watching TV so he knew immediately when the power went out, plus the fact that the once illuminated house was suddenly bathed in darkness. The high-pitched yelp that escaped his throat almost made Allison laugh. She had to keep quiet though, at least for now. As expected, the dopey man scurried around to the side of the house where the breakers were located in no time. The batteries in the flashlight he held were on their last leg, that much was evident in the way the light beam flickered every few seconds.

Just as he opened the door to the circuit breaker panel, Allison moved. A rustle here. The sound practically echoed in the silence of the night, causing the man to whip around and shine his flashlight directly at the source of the noise. There was nothing there. It’s just the wind, he reasoned before getting back to work. After a few switches had been flipped - none of them for the outdoor lights - he heard another noise. This one was much louder than the last, a small snapped tree branch there. Again, the flashlight’s flickering light beam uncovered nothing, but it was enough to make all of the hairs on the back of Allison’s target’s neck stand up straight. He hastily flipped the rest of the breakers and the outdoor lights finally came on. 

When yellow light from the backyard fixtures flooded the area, both Allison and her target were revealed. Allison stood a considerable distance away from the man, but she was close enough to see the blood drain from his face and his Adam's apple bob. When his eyes darted to the bow hung by her side, realization dawned on his face. He began to turn away with the intention of running, but Allison’s voice held him frozen in place.

“Don’t move,” she ordered quietly without any aggression behind her tone. Her face wasn’t threatening, she just looked calm and focused. Allison’s smooth features and peaceful expression was what scared the man the most.

“I- I’m sorry- I didn’t-” he stammered out, his arms and legs beginning to tremble.

“Shh,” Allison chastised as she raised her bow, loading it with an arrow. Her fingers moved with precision, her muscles knew this routine well.

“Please don’t- no, you can’t, you can’t do this!” the man pleaded. He wasn’t above begging on his knees, but Allison wasn’t about to give him the chance. Her gaze was sharply focused on her target, the view of her tightly grasped bow in her peripheral vision.

“Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent.”

When Allison’s fingers let go of the bowstring the arrow flew smoothly through the air. The only sounds heard were the arrowhead piercing skin and the man wordlessly falling to the ground. The arrow went straight through his heart. Maybe Allison’s shot landed right where she intended. Maybe there was a metaphor in there. Allison checked her wristwatch, the numbers 6:45 shining back at her. An entire hour to spare.

Time to take out the trash.

I've cleaned enough houses to know how to cover up a scene

The job didn’t take long at all and it was definitely one of Allison’s least challenging ones, but it still felt nice to take a hot shower and sit in front of her fireplace with a cup of tea. The fire served a dual purpose; the crackles of the burning wood soothed her like a lullaby while the flames licked around and destroyed her bloody clothes from earlier. All of her equipment had been cleaned and put away, positioned exactly as it had been before. Everything was the same, nothing changed or out of place. There was just one less heartbeat in the world that night.

Good thing Este's sister's gonna swear she was with me

On the second day of the trial,  Rebecca Baker’s lawyers were throwing whatever they could against the wall to see if something would stick. That morning they began to argue that Allison Argent might’ve abducted and murdered Justin Smith in retaliation for y/n’s disappearance. It was all speculation at best, but the theory unfortunately made sense to the jury. Before things could get too far, the prosecution called its first witness of the day to the stand.

“Mrs. Martin, where were you on the night of Mr. Smith’s suspected disappearance?” the prosecution lawyer questioned calmly. 

“I was with Allison at my house. We were having a girls night in, you can check my security cameras,” Lydia answered confidently. Lydia still had a pocketful of favors from her MIT days, so when the jurors were shown the clips from Lydia’s home security cameras, they saw exactly what they would’ve expected based on Lydia’s testimony. 

Truth be told, Lydia didn’t know anything about what happened that night; including Allison’s whereabouts and any details related to Justin’s alleged demise. All she knew was that Allison called and asked for a simple favor - an alibi for just a few hours. Lydia didn’t ask questions and Allison didn’t give answers.

Good thing his mistress took out a big life insurance policy

On the third day of the trial, Rebecca Baker took the stand. Her lawyers tried to help her as best they could, but the prosecution was ruthless. All of the evidence was circumstantial at best -  all parties, including the judge and jurors, knew that - but it was enough to make everyone reconsider the spotless image the defense had tried to create for Ms. Baker.

“Ms. Baker, is it true that you knowingly engaged in a romantic relationship while Justin Smith was married to and living with his wife?” another one of the prosecution’s attorneys began.

“Yes,” Rebecca replied meekly. Allison internally scoffed from her seat in the gallery. She found irony in the fact that Rebecca didn’t find any humility or shame in sleeping with another woman’s husband until she was under oath.

“Is it also true that within approximately a week of Mrs. y/l/n’s disappearance, you moved into Mr. Smith and Mrs. y/l/n’s house?”

“That is correct,” Rebecca said as she began to wring her hands together anxiously. The judge tapped his wrist watch and shot a stern look towards the prosecutor. The man nodded in response and continued to his final points.

“I’ll wrap up my questions for you, Ms. Baker. Can you confirm that shortly after moving in with Mr. Smith, multiple legal and financial arrangements and adjustments were made? And these new arrangements make you the sole beneficiary of Mr. Smith’s life issuance policy, assets, and investments?”

By the end of the prosecution’s final question, every jury member and spectator sat up straighter and waited to hear Rebecca’s response with bated breath. The blonde ball of nerves sighed defeatedly before turning to face the attorney directly as she answered his question.

“Yes, that’s true.”

“No further questions, your honor.” As the lead prosecutor returned to the plaintiff’s table, Rebecca’s attorney stood up to address the judge.

“Your honor, the defense would like to request a brief recess,” the defense attorney nearly pleaded. Though his poker face was much better than his client’s, it was clear that he was getting nervous.

“We’ll reconvene in 15 minutes,” the judge ordered with a stern glare cast towards Rebecca.

They think she did it but they just can't prove it

It soon became clear to Rebecca that the recess her legal team requested was nothing more than a “kiss your dignity goodbye” meeting. If she hadn’t been queasy before the recess was called, she definitely was upon re-entering the courtroom.

The rest of the trial seemed to move in slow motion for Rebecca. A few more witnesses were called to the stand, more lackluster evidence was presented, both sides made their closing arguments, and the jury left to discuss the verdict. After what felt like an eternity, the jury returned with an official decision.

Silence settled over the room as a single juror stood to address the court.

“The jury finds the defendant not guilty on count 1 of murder in the first degree based on lack of sufficient evidence. The jury finds the defendant not guilty on count 2 of kidnapping based on lack of sufficient evidence. The jury finds the defendant guilty on count 3 of insurance fraud based on…” 

The rest of the jurors’ statement sounded like white noise to Rebecca. She was just barely coherent enough to hear the judge deliver her punishment a few minutes later. $50,000 fine and 200 hours of community service.

Allison stuck around to the bitter end of the trial to hear the verdict in person. In all honesty, Allison didn’t want Rebecca to go to jail. It wouldn’t be right for her to serve time for a crime she didn’t commit, but Allison did find satisfaction in the fact that Rebecca would soon be picking up garbage in a fluorescent orange vest.

After the majority of the spectators had vacated the courtroom gallery, Allison leisurely gathered her things. Justice had been served to Justin, she personally made sure of that, and now justice had been served to Rebecca. The blonde and brunette women briefly locked eye contact as Allison made her way towards the exit. 

“You did this,” Rebecca whispered to Allison. Suddenly, it was like a flip switched within her. One moment she was numb, yet calm and collected, and the next moment she was screaming (literal) bloody murder and had to be held back by her lawyers.

“YOU DID THIS! YOU KILLED JUSTIN, YOU BITCH!” Rebecca cried, though her words fell on deaf ears. Allison exited the courtroom with her head held high as the courtroom deputy and defense lawyers did their best to calm the hysterical woman.

She thinks I did it but she just can't prove it

A week later the court case was still on Allison’s mind but the emotional scars had begun to scab. Healing was never a straight or smooth path, Allison had learned that the hard way over the years, but this was a start.

y/n’s landlord had been generous enough to allow Allison to gather y/n’s things before he cleaned out the house for new renters. As Allison walked through the home she once considered to be an extension of her own, she felt her throat dry out and tighten up. She hadn’t realized she was crying until she was wiping salty tears off of the picture frames she’d carefully picked up. Each photo unlocked a new memory, some even elicited a chuckle out of Allison amidst her tears.

A photo from y/n’s wedding day stood out among all the rest as Allison’s eyes jumped from frame to frame. It was a candid shot Lydia had taken while they were in y/n’s dressing room before the ceremony. y/n looked as beautiful as ever in her flowy white gown and Allison’s mulberry maid of honor dress complemented it well. As Allison put the final touches on y/n’s hair and makeup, y/n fastened the clasp of a custom necklace behind Allison’s neck. On a thin, medium-length chain hung an arrowhead from the first time Allison had ever tried to teach y/n how to shoot a bow and arrow. y/n failed miserably, but it was a cherished memory for both girls. Since that day, Allison had only taken the necklace off a handful of times.

Allison smiled bittersweetly at the memory and wiped a fresh tear off of the decorative frame before pulling her necklace out from underneath her shirt. She pressed a gentle kiss to the cool silver arrowhead and then to the photo frame, right above y/n’s styled hair. 

A feeling that Allison couldn’t quite explain flowed through her body just then; it was like taking a deep breath of fresh air after being stuck underwater or seeing the gentle rays of the sun for the first time after a hurricane, it felt like freedom. Allison felt almost as if y/n was right there next to her, with her head resting on Allison's shoulder and wrapping her arms around the brunette’s torso. In that moment, Allison somehow wordlessly knew with every fiber in her being that y/n was finally at peace. 

No, no body, no crime

I wasn't letting up until the day he died

a/n: AHHHH DID YOU LIKE IT? it was kind of a wild ride from start to finish and i definitely shed a few tears while i was writing it. please lmk what you think!

okay, now onto the writing process from hell: i started drafting ideas for the fic on dec. 21 or 22 of 2020, after i put together a mood board. i had written more than half of the fic when i decided i hated it and scrapped the whole thing on xmas eve (~3000 words 🤡). after that i was kinda in a rut and couldn’t decide how i wanted to end the fic so i ended up writing and deleting ~2500 words over the past month and a half. @demxters​ is an absolute GODDESS and helped me come up with the ending, so i am eternally grateful to her for that. if any of this seems a lil strange it’s probably because i finished writing it at 4:45 a.m. after working on it for 3ish hours straight. have a great day lovelies!

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[imonthinice]

The Criminal Psychology Majors, Jason Todd x Fem!Reader Part 6/?

Word Count: 2.6-2.7k idk exact

Author’s Note: Y/N - Your name, A/N - Any name (your best friend’s name)

MUSIC IS INCLUDED THIS TIME! Please enjoy my personal music playlist, or at least a snippet of it.

TO THE PERSON WHO REBLOGGED AND SAID THIS WAS CUTE (at least the first part) you straight up made me cry omfg

Warnings: Swearing, gets really fucking heated at the end (no sex, yet), no beta bitch we die like Jason Todd

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15) (Part 16) (Part 17) (Part 18) (Part 19) (Part 20)

Outfit Context:

Y/N:

Jason:

(Cause I finally found an outfit I liked on the boy, men’s fashion isn’t my strong suit,,, heh :) )

“Sorry, is my mouth hung open?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. Very much so,” she mocked.

Jason closed his mouth and outstretched his hand for Y/N’s, cupping it with both hands and kissing the top of it.

“You just look so lovely, Y/N.”

“And you’re chivalrous, Jay. Now, should we get going?” she asked, putting her free hand on top of his two.

“Yes, let’s go,” he let one of his hands go of hers and lead her to the Porsche he brought with him, not intertwining his fingers with hers.

He opened the passenger’s side door and let Y/N get in, not letting go of her hand til the last moment he could hold it. He got in an turned on the radio,

It felt like a good night, for dancing in the moonlight,

In empty streets, well, everybody's got a reason why,

If we could only just get it right,

Maybe it will all work out like in the movies,

But I know Romeo must die before the ending,

With a final poison kiss delivered gently,

Because you don't get lucky twice, and that's the truth,

“Sing to me sweet just like my memory, 

If New York City Still moves me then I’ve found something real,

I’ll be okay, I could go on for days,

But I just don’t have the courage that it takes to be real,

And even if it’s dark at least we’ll be together,

Slowly sinking in the Earth to lay forever,

You better grab a hold and hold on for your life,

Because you don’t get lucky twice,

No, you don’t get lucky twice,” She sung with the tune.

Without the Bitter the Sweet Isn’t as Sweet - Mayday Parade

“You, you have the voice of an angel,” he said.

“It’s not that hard to mimic works of art with my voice.”

“Did you ever take singing lessons?”

“I did when I was younger, so I could sing French lullabies to my cousins.”

He placed a hand on her thigh as he drove them through the countryside of Gotham to Metropolis, taking the long way on what seemed like purpose. So he could encapsulate the moment in his memory for as long as he knew her and what she was to him. She was an adventure waiting to happen, a love story not yet written to tell for ages, a rock ‘n’ roll song written to please the masses in hidden corners of the world.

And to her, he was a masterwork of intertwining memories of pain, sadness, luck and beauty. A mind of complexity she was just waiting to dive into and see how it functioned. A story behind the white tuff of hair he had, why he was jacked to the masses if he was a book nerd. A story of his favourite book and his favourite sibling, his favourite trope, his love, his pain, him.

The moments where she stuck her hand out the window and traced symbols into the Autumn air swirling past the two as they cruised down the empty back roads. When he laughed as she sang Reste by GIMS and Sting. He didn’t understand the lyrics, but she did, and she called it a love song. Well, he got the parts Sting sung, but French wasn’t a language he knew like she did.

“I guess being Bilingual helped you out massively with that one, huh?”

“It’s a talent I never knew I needed, apparently.”

“Well, you did know you needed.”

“That’s fair,” she laughed, “ I guess I did always need it as a skill.”

“Do your cousins speak English too?” he asked.

“Yeah, a bit? It’s better English than my father.”

“Can he not speak English?”

“Well, he can, just not well. But my mother is also Bilingual in English and French so they never had to worry about my father being bad at English. My twin sister and I grew up knowing both languages,” she rambled, still playing with the wind, “I guess it’s a one-up I have on a lot of people, being able to just talk and talk in another language, travelling advantage,” she kept going, Jason intently listening to her as she went on and on, he liked the silence being filled by her voice, “You know? You might know, I don’t know how you were raised to a T,” she finished.

“Well, I can assure you I only know English so you have that theoretical one-up on me, too. But I choose to see that one-up as something you can teach me as time goes on and we progress,” he paused, “If you’re down to get serious eventually, that is,” he panicked.

“Well, maybe we’re at that point where we can say we’re casually seeing each other and exclusive, but not serious. Hopeful, but not pressuring ourselves into something that’s going to be put under a lot of pressure as we go on,” she said, still playing with the wind.

“We’ll see about that after dinner.”

“Where are we even going?”

“Fancy little restaurant with a balcony facing over the city,” he assured.

“Really out here living for the moments?”

“Well, most girls crack under the pressure of the paparazzi, you, however, flipped them off, and that’s being rewarded for showing that you can’t give a fuck about those dingy ass tabloids and how they treat you, by taking you out to nice places,” he said.

She laughed, “I’m glad I’m never going to live that one down, it was really fun to do.”

“I hope it continues as we go along, I would hate to see that behavior change when it brings a smile to everyone who’s ever been harassed by paparazzi” when they pulled over for a second, Jason quickly loosened his tie a tad, “Honestly, I want to ditch this fucking tie,”

“It’s not you,” she said, “It’s just not.”

“And you know me that well to take that guess?”

“I could see you struggling with it from a mile away, Jason. Maybe the fancy restaurant isn’t us,” she laughs, “But we aren’t going to not take that dinner date.”

“Oh we’re so going to take that date, but I’m thinking from here on out we do whatever the fuck we want, no fancy dates. Thoughts?” he asked.

“Done deal,” she said.

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

In the restaurant, the two of them were basically the worst people to be there, it was levels of fancy that neither of them actually wanted, they both wanted simplicity, but they both thought the presence of the other person was enough of a takeaway from the completely wrong choice of restaurant. They had Dick to blame for this one, and Jason made that clear to Dick in a joking text while Y/N snuck off to the bathroom to ‘fix her hair, she was actually checking her breath.

Dick, this fucking restaurant is a god damn bust, man. We aren’t you and Barbara, that’s what we’ve discovered today. lol.

Bummer! We really like that place.

I can see why it screams Dick and Barbs.

You kissed her yet though?

No.

Wuss! Cat got your tongue? Just do it, man.

And at the same time, Y/N was texting A/N about Jason and what to do,

Girl! Thank you so much for reminding me to bring mints, my god, food ruins your breath so much.

You really want the pretty boy kiss huh?

No, I’m eating the mints to not kiss him, YES I WANT THE KISS.

Ha! Honesty is key, just go for it.

She laughed as she packed her phone into her dress pockets (Yeah there’s fucking pockets :) ) and went to leave the restroom to meet up with Jason again. To which, Jason had already paid and tipped the waiter.

“I could have at least helped on the tip, Jay.”

“I tipped him 200%, but if you want to drop more cash, go for it.”

“You tipped that much?” she asked while slipping in a 50$ she had on her.

“Of course, food service workers deserve a lot more than what they get, especially when they have to deal with terrible customers,” he said as he went and grabbed her hand again, not intertwining fingers again, “And my best friend, Will, he complains about people who don’t tip and praises people who quote ‘over tip’ but I think that he deserves 200% each bill for the shit he puts up with.”

“Did you tip him when we went there?”

“No, I called in a ‘No questions asked’ favour. And before you say anything, he did the same to make me babysit his daughter-”

“Your best friend has a daughter?”

“Well, he’s older than me, but yeah, he’s a single dad because her mum kind of sucks, lovely little girl, I’m her godfather.”

“Does she call you Uncle Jason?”

“Well, Uncle Jay, it’s like one of the only works she knows how to say properly, and Dada,” he laughed, “Great little girl,” he said, nervously, “This doesn’t change anything, does it? ‘Cause if he, knock on fucking wood, lord forbids, dies that will be my daughter.”

“Well, he’s not dead and you’re not worrying that he’s going to die, so nothing has to change. God kids are god kids, noble that you took on your best friend’s kid if, lord forbid, anything happens to the man, really,” she assured.

He sighed and kissed the back of her hand, “Then that is just a gift on top of what I did,” he smiled and lead her back to the Porsche once again, opening the car door for her and she slightly turned on the radio, he let out a small laugh to himself, he got the pretty girl. He got into the Porsche again and began backing out.

“There’s something about ditching a really expensive dinner date that leaves you wanting more,” she said, absent-mindedly.

“What kind of more?” he asked.

“The kind you see in the movies, fully exposed and adventurous, you know?”

“Well, we could always sneak into the Wayne Manor Gardens and dance the night away under the stars like lovers do,” he half-joked, placing a hand on her thigh again and pretending like he did it subconsciously, but he was hyper-aware, especially when he caught her smile as she laughed.

“Wayne Manor? With your brothers, sisters, dad, and grandfather?” she paused, “If you’re serious, then no, not tonight. If you’re pulling my leg then, hell fucking no,” she joked.

“Maybe one day, then, huh?”

“One day, for sure. When it isn’t scary to accidentally run into your family on their property running around with you,” she said.

“Well, we can always go into the Wayne Enterprises Ballroom and dance the night away, no one should be in the office for a while and even then since there are no classes in the entire school tomorrow you can just hide out in my office if we stay too long,” he paused to make sure she was still listening, “Security can’t question me because I’m Bruce Wayne’s son, and security is tight as fuck so paparazzi can’t get to us,” he paused to put a little bit of pressure on her thigh, “What do you say? Can I have this dance, Milady?” he half-joked.

“You want to know something Jason?

“Always, Y/N.”

“I took dance lessons when I was younger, can you Waltz?” she asked.

“Yes ma’am, I can.”

“Then I’m in, let’s go.”

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

She loved the feeling of being back in her new hometown, Gotham. So when they pulled into the massive black building, she felt even more welcomed, security at the gates did ask ‘Who’s the girl?’ but Jason just explained it very easily,

“You know that date of mine that flipped off the press and you lot loved it?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” the man responded.

“You can call me Jason, you know that. But this is that girl.”

And they were let through the parking gates and into the underground parking system, they had to travel surprisingly far to Jason’s reserved spot in the lot, but the did get there before it hit AM. Once out of the car, Jason grabbed her hand and they ran into the building’s employees doors. It was a tight squeeze, but the feeling of Jason pressed so close to her sent chills down her spine. They went through many halls and reached the Ballroom, and entering it was like a dream for her.

Walls lined with intricate shapes and colours, but the colours never brought away from the stage at the far end from the door, the curtains seemed to redden with each step towards them, the 3, maybe 4 chandeliers hung above her like crystals in the ocean, it was amazing and beautiful. Checkered floorboards to give it a little bit of dimension, but it was the same colour as the main wall so your brain and eyes wouldn’t hurt after looking at it. It was stunningly beautiful and that’s what drew her in.

When he grabbed her hand and put on Never Let Me Go by Florence + The Machine, pulling her close to his chest and slowly Waltzing her around the room, spinning her when it felt right for him to do. Neither of them worried about the sloppiness or how it looked to the naked eye because it was for them. no one got satisfaction like they did at that moment. And grabbing her for one last dip was Jason’s goal when the ending of the song hit, although out of breath and his face stuffed in her chest as they both panted, he did pull her up so they were face-to-face on the dancefloor that they wiped clean.

“Did I tell you that you look stunning, Y/N?”

“I think you mentioned it a few times, Jay,” she said, staring directly into his eyes.

“Well, I mean it.”

“And I’m going to mean this,” she paused, taking her hand and placing it on his cheek, “ The way your eyes are a green-blue tint makes me lost in them, they’re like a sea of this mind I find myself liking more and more every day,” she paused to put her other hand on his other cheek, “And the way your nose and cheek freckles frame them is amazing.”

And he went for it. Somehow when he pressed his lips into hers, it felt like they were meant to match, and they both opened their mouths to play the coveted game of tongue-war, but they didn’t play by the rules, it was soft and sweet but full of passion and love, not lust. His hands would travel to her waist and lightly grip her, while her hands would travel to his neck and drape around the back of it.

They pulled away at the same moment to take in air, something they had clearly been missing as they were connected, they both let out a small chuckle before she put her hands in his hair and went in for round 2.

This time it was hungrier, and they both played with the shapes of the other so much more as time went on, he would grab her ass and she would pull on his hair slightly before he picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist and moved one of her hands to the nape of his neck, this time, they would break for seconds only to start moving towards his office, which, conveniently, had a couch.

To say he threw her on that couch would be an understatement, he fucking thrust her on that couch and climbed on top of her, it was like 3 days of passion and lust combined themselves in a matter of minutes from their first kiss to them meeting on the couch. They both knew deep down that it couldn’t escalate further than this, especially at 1 in the morning, but time moves fast when you’re connecting in this way.

They finally broke after their passionate exchange and he fell to her side and began to spoon her, “Worth it,” he whispered.

“Worth what?” she asked.

“It was worth it to take a chance and defy my anxieties to ask you on that first date.”

“I don’t like a reality where you didn’t ask me on that date.”

“Neither do I, and I’m positive of that.”

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd fluff #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x fem!reader #red hood x y/n #red hood x you #red hood fluff #batfam #batfamily #batbros #will harper dc #lian harper #dceu #dcu #dc

[growup-thatbeautiful]

drive is out now!! It’s a Post Season Harringrove Hurt/Comfort and I’m pretty proud of it. Read it on ao3 here or below the cut. Likes and comments are very very much appreciated :))

Billy doesn’t drive after starcourt. Something about being behind the wheel makes him sick with memories that he can’t understand. They’re abstract and totally unreliable.

But it’s kind of always been like that for him. He's used to having gaps in his memories, except most of the time it’s because of trauma. Or that’s what Joyce tells him and the rest of them whenever they have nightmares about things they don’t remember happening.

He's been living with the Byers and El. He tries to be useful around the house, doing whatever he can because he really doesn’t have anywhere else to go. It’s hard, though. It seems like everything he does, he does wrong. He never had to learn how to fold sheets or clean dishes. Not only was neil hargrove terribly homophobic, but also misogynistic, which is a word joyce taught him because she teaches all her kids that stuff. And he’s one of her kids now. So, yeah. Neil never had Billy do the chores because “he’s not a true man, but he sure as shit isn’t a woman.”

It's alarming how quickly this odd family replaces his old one. Neil seems miles away. Neil doesn’t try to look for Billy, and that’s fine as far as Billy's concerned. He's got scars to cover up the ones Neil made. no need to dwell on that when he has so much other trauma to process., right? Kind of.

He does check up on max. Asks her if neils pulling any of the shit he used to get from his dad. double checks for bruises hidden under makeup or long sleeves, and never finds any. Good.

Joyce is good. great, even. She doesn’t blame him when he breaks a dish because he heard a noise. She listens when he says he needs some alone time, and she knows when he’s just saying that. She gives good hugs and has no problem giving him Jonathan's old room to stay in while he’s off at college. leaving Hawkins behind him, calling every night anxiously awaiting the return of It. Nothing happens, and eventually they relax. Or they try to. That part of billy’s been broken for a long time, though.

So Joyce starts fading into memories of his mom, and he tries not to blame her.

Again. He's never had a great memory anyway. He does remember his mom telling him that boys don’t marry other boys when he was five and told her he wanted to marry his best friend. Then she told him never to tell his dad. It's strange, because he can’t remember her saying that she loved him, even though he’s sure she did. Did she? Huh.

At least the painful memories he gets to keep. Neil beating’s. Beating up on Harrington that night he didn’t know what was going on. The car crash before his mind was taken from him. Max’s terrible scream of “Billy” mixed in with the ear-ringing pain. Waking up in a hospital with starburst scars across his body. Skin that isn’t his. They remind him not to get to comfortable, remind him that the kindness he’s being shown isn’t well earned.

Because Billy knows he wasn’t worth those hospital bills and sleepless nights. All he’s done to the people here is hurt and scar and he’s seen them with the deepest kind of fear in their eyes. Fear because of him.

Everytime he goes down a path like this, he tries to stay clear of everyone. Because. They all tried to hide how much hurt he’s caused. They don’t blame him like they should.

He didn’t know any of them well before. But he knows El didn’t always carry around that police badge or look up at every siren, praying for a familiar face only to be disappointed and try not to show it. Because if Billy survived, couldn’t the more-deserving Hopper? Apparently not.

He knows Joyce didn’t always search for Will in every setting and have those folded up pictures of the two men that died because of all the shitty things that happened. Because she can’t stand to forget their faces or not carry that burden for just a second.

Will didn’t always get quiet every time a draft went through the room or refuse to go out that front door first. Because so many things have been ruined for him.

The rest of the kids didn’t always jump at every noise or bunch together for every corner, carrying lucky momentous and items. Because God forbid they have a break.

He doesn’t see them a lot, but Nancy and Jonathan definitely didn’t carry around an emergency kit everywhere they went, packed with medical supplies and Nancy’s choice gun. Because they’re going to be there to help if anything tries to take another person they loves away.

Some part of Billy reasons that it’s not all his fault. He wasn’t one of those scientists or government agents that started the whole thing.

But he did enough. Enough to warrant all the shit that he’s going through. It’s not the healthiest way of thinking, he’s aware of that, but it helps him get by.

No matter how hard he tries, though, there’s always someone at the house that finds him. Curled up into a ball, dry hitching sobs and no tears because “Hargrove men don’t cry.” Billy gets damn close sometimes, but the fear that Neil’s going to come out from the cracks in the wall and kick him where he lays is too real.

There are usually soft words.

“We don’t blame your here, honey. That wasn’t you, that did all that stuff. And I’m not going to let anything else bad happen to the people under this roof.” Joyce’s strong and sure voice, only breaking at the edges.

“I know what it’s like to have him control you like that. I know better than anyone else, and I know how scary it is. Mom says it’s over now, though, and I can’t feel It anymore. I would tell you first if It came back.” Will never says anything more than that, which is comforting in itself. It’s nice to have someone else.

“They lost. You’re here. I’m here. Will’s here. It is safe.” El’s statement is simple, but she makes it easy to believe.

He believes them until he gets another new memory of what he did. The Mayors blood on the floor. Heather’s petrified screams. Standing before that thing and feeling nothing but a perverse sense of but awe and, buried beneath that, a screaming sense of horror and the constant feeling of slipping in the sand.

There are times, like right now, when he doesn’t want someone to make him feel better. He wants someone who can drive him away from here and sit in an empty parking lot and smoke away the thoughts. Someone like Steve.

He would do it himself. He would. But he can’t. Can’t get over that fucking gas pedal. So he calls Steve.

They’ve done this enough times for it to make sense for Billy to have Steve’s number memorized. And his work schedule. And to know when he with Dustin or Robin or any of the others on one of those group outings Billy can’t bring himself to go to. There are too many sad faces, too many broken homes.

It doesn’t matter what he wears. It’s just Steve, and they’ve gotten past the point of caring about things like that.

Which. Is obvious to anyone who looks at Billy, not that he sees anyone. He’s lost a lot of weight. Muscles that used to be defined are gone, replaced by scars. He can’t get them back yet, because he’s not strong enough to lift any of them. And because muscles like that can hurt and hit. His eyes are surrounded by heavy bags, bloodshot and tired. The new callouses on his hands are mostly scars from anxiety ridden breakages, and the pained nails are because El wanted to try the new dark blue out. His hair is greasy and flat, nowhere near what it used to be. It hangs around his shoulders in curled waves, so far from where he used to be.

He doesn’t even try to smile to the sad reflection in the mirror.

Steve doesn’t honk when he arrives. The first time he did that and the noise sent Billy spiraling, and Steve had felt terrible, cussing up a storm that actually helped Billy out of it. Luckily, it was just Billy home and no one else was there to witness they’re collective train wreck.

Before he leaves, Billy grabs something from the bathroom and stuffs it in with the rest of the random shit he brings.

Billy slides into the passenger seat, leans his head back against the headrest, and says, “So, Harrington, how you been?”

Steve, mercifully, looks the same as always. He looks good, the asshole. It’s a relief that he’s still able to feel that fire Steve lights up. Different than all the other King’s from California. A few more scars, but they all have that. His shades are pushed through his hair, brown strands flopping over lazily.

“Same as usual, so fairly shitty and on the brink of breakdown. You?” It would be a normal conversation if Steve wasn’t completely serious, corners of his mouth only ticking up when Billy reaches over and bats at the band-aid charm hanging from the mirror. A joke from Billy to say sorry for, you know, almost beating him to death for no real reason.

“Oh, you know.” He doesn’t need to say more for Steve to get the idea. It’s the same way they’ve been feeling for months now.

“Yeah.” The car ride over isn’t far from the Byers’ house, and they spend it in almost silence. Some pop station is playing low on the radio.

“This the shit you listen to, pretty boy? I expected more than this.” It’s an attempt at normalcy, something that they’ve slowly been working up to.

“At least I don’t blast out my eardrums every time I want to listen to music,” replies Steve quickly, smile evident in his tone.

And it’s normal. It’s them. The way they were before it all got so messy. For that brief moment, there’s no winter night or july 4th. For a brief moment Billy can entertain a reality where he went to the find Steve instead of a fight. A world where Steve, with those pretty eyes and snap remarks, could hold his hand and stop him from doing all the bad things in the future.

But the moment passes. Steve clears his throat and looks forward at the road.

They arrive to the quarry, water at the bottom glinting, tossing, teasing. The car doors slam shut, and they slide up on to the front of the car. Billy pulls his last minute grab out of the bag and hands it to Steve.

“I want you to cut my hair.” Steve takes the scissors and towel in his hand, looking at Billy.

He doesn’t ask if Billy’s sure. Billy figures that Steve knows at this point he wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t real. If Billy wasn’t sure. Steve cards a hand through Billy’s hair. It feels. Good. Real good.

Steve starts cutting, and Billy winces at the sound of the scissors closing around his hair. His past.

“I like to think it isn’t just part of me.” The comment comes out of nowhere, surprising Billy more than it surprises Steve.

“What?” Steve’s voice is calm, the sniping of the scissors is methodical.

“The anger. The aggression. The tendency to hurt. I like to think it’s not in my nature, but my nurture.”

“I don’t think you’re violent.” It’s a laughable statement.

“You’re joking. Did you forget most of last year? I’m the one with the bad memory here, Harrington.” Billy can practically hear Steve’s disapproving mother’s frown behind him.

“That wasn’t you.”

“Right, sure, whatever, bullshit. But what about…you know. Last winter.”

“What happened before that?” asks Steve patiently.

“Jesus, you’re worse than Joyce. My dad sent me after Max. Found her at Byers’ place with you. Hurt you a whole fucking lot.”

“Is that all he did? He just told you to go after her?” Billy ignores the way his stomach does flips when Steve runs a hand through Billy’s hair, straightening it out.

“So you’re my fuckin’ therapist now? What do you want me to say? He kissed my head and sent my on my merry way? That’s now how he works. I’ll admit, I was saved by his new wifey. He can’t use me as a punching bag when she’s standing right there, not like he did with mom. Nothing I couldn’t handle. Nothing worse than what you’ve done to me. And the insults weren’t too bad either. He forgot to call me a fag.”

“Oh. Shit, Billy, I-“

“It’s fine,” cuts in Billy, hating the pity in Steve’s voice. He’s not the one who should have it.

“You didn’t deserve that.” This time it does make Billy laugh. It’s a hollow and haunting sound, an echo of his charming boyish laugh.

“Sure I did, dipshit. You’re probably one of the people who knows best why I did, in fact, deserve it.”

“So then I’m the best person. to tell you that you aren’t that person. You haven’t been that person since you left him and all of that shit. Let me ask you something. Do you want to hurt people now?”

“No!” Billy startles himself with his sudden enthusiasm, and Steve jumps a little behind him. Steve is quicker to recover, though, and he runs a hand through the hair he hasn’t cut yet. It’s soothing. Billy barely resists the urge to lean into it. Ask for more.

“Did you ever want to hurt people? Like really, truly want to see them hurt?” Billy has to think about the question. Steve deserves an real answer.

Flashes fly through his mind, bringing on too familiar emotions. Anger, a need to make someone, anyone, feel the way that he’s feeling. Fear that not having this power over people would make him weak. Horror at what he’s about to do. Detachment, painful as he grinned and laughed.

“I just wanted to have control. Take some of the hurt I was feeling and give it to other people. It was a rush that I was addicted to. The thrill of the fight, the feel of flesh against my fist, the look of blood on my knuckles. I liked fighting, still do. I didn’t like hurting people.” Steve puts the scissors down on the car hood, fluffing Billy’s hair and sliding down next to him.

“I’ve been on the wrong side of the fists of two people I’m now okay with,” admits Steve. “Believe me, I know now to take a beating. I’ve been heartbroken by two other people I’m close friends with. I forgive too easily.”

“So you’re a compulsive truster and I’m a compulsive fighter. What a pair we make, huh Harrington?”

“Yeah.” agrees Steve, bumping his shoulder against Billy. “What a pair.”

Maybe it’s the haircut. Maybe it’s the sunlight confessions. Maybe it’s how carefree and happy Steve looks. But Billy feels lighter. Like there was this unspoken weight he had been carrying around that no one knew about. Or everyone knew about, but couldn’t help.

The thing is, Steve didn’t even say anything. He didn’t promise a better future, he didn’t say that he was safe. He shared some of the personal pain they all carry around.

“I don’t think I ever said sorry. I am sorry, you know. I. I didn’t-“

<i>Mean to hurt you. Want to hurt you. Mean to let you see how much I hurt. Want to need you.</i>

“I know. I’m sorry too. Someone should’ve known. About you.” Steve leans closer, and Billy chalks it up to the night chill as the sun settles below the glistening rocks.

“I was good at hiding things I didn’t want people to see.”

“Yeah, well you’re not alone there either.”

“You good at hiding, pretty boy?” Billy’s eyes flick down to Steve’s lips, and, is Billy imagining it or is Steve looking at him the same way?

“Apparently not good enough,” jokes Steve. His smile falls off of his lips, and he leans minutely closer. If Billy wasn’t paying attention to all of Steve…

The way his hair glows white and gold in the sunset. That wrinkle between his brows. The way one of his eyes is a little darker than the other. How he smells like cigarette smoke and that fancy hairspray, even when his hair is blown from the wind.

The way he looked that night. Cool and collected, then terrified and fighting for his life. So beautiful in the harsh starlight and then so abstract in the broken kitchen light.

Before he knows what’s happening, Steve is filling that gap. Kissing Billy like he’s trying to sooth the pain from their past. Maybe he is. Billy wouldn’t put it past him.

His hand finds a way to Steve’s hair, the same way Steve’s been running his through Billy’s now shorter hair. He curls it into the strands, holding on tightly. Soft.

The way Steve sighs his name takes Billy away from it all. The pain. The memories. The lack of memories.

They lay out under the stars for a few minutes, but Billy knows Joyce will freak out if she can’t find him. Not because she doesn’t trust him, he has to remind himself, but because she doesn’t trust others.

On the drive home Steve plays that pop stuff again, and Billy gives him the appropriate shit for it, a smile on his face the whole time. His fingers laced through Steve’s.

They arrive at the house, and Steve declines to come in. Gives the excuse that his parents will be waiting up when they both know it’s not true. Billy can’t blame him. Billy understands needing to be alone, needing to get away.

Billy leans through Steve’s window and wished that he could kiss him goodbye. Well. The teasing will have to do.

“Night, King Steve.”

“Goodnight, Asshole.”

If Joyce gives him a knowing smile at the door, Billy doesn’t smile back. Probably.

He definitely does. Maybe he deserves the smile. If Steve thinks he does.

#steve harrington x billy hargrove #harringrove fan fiction #harringrove #harringrove fanfic #harringrove fic #harringrove fandom #harringrove stuff #harringrove au #stranger things #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove #steve harrington fic #steve harrington #stranger things fic #stranger things post season 3

[buckactuallys]

coda/missing scene to 4x05 because i, once again, had too many feelings. read on ao3

Eddie Diaz is good at compartmentalizing. He’s great at it, at putting his emotions in a box and locking it to focus on the task at hand. Needs to be good at it to be able to do his job, be it in the army or now, as a firefighter. He doesn’t get to panic when one of his coworkers is in danger.

He still nearly loses it when he and Bobby hear that Buck’s still in the factory.

It’s not a surprise, not really - of course Buck disobeyed a direct order to make sure every last person gets out alive, and of course he doesn’t think about himself. It’s one of the things Eddie loves him for. But the sheer terror of hearing Buck explain over the radio that there’s no way out almost overrides his training. Almost.

For a second, he’s ready to run right back in, on his own if he has to, to find Buck and get him out, somehow, he has to-

Then Buck is on the radio, alive, still okay, and the incident commander tells him that a rescue team is coming in to find them, and Eddie forces himself to stay calm and focused, to be of help where he can be the most useful. And then the factory blows behind them.

Chimney, Hen, Cap, him, they all spin around in shock and Eddie can just stare at the balls of fire and the smoke billowing, feeling paralyzed. The rational part of his brain is already clocking that it wasn’t the whole factory, probably just one of the tanks full of flammable gas, and probably not anywhere near where Buck is, even though he didn’t seem sure about where that was over the radio. His heart, hammering against his ribs, takes a little longer to catch up and Eddie has to press his shaking hands against his thighs for a second.

He’s got himself under control by the time they’re being sent in.

Outside of the factory, he can’t bring himself to look at Buck for too long. He’s over by an ambulance with Bobby, having been checked over quickly, and the look on his face is something Eddie doesn’t quite know how to deal with. But he’s got Bobby there, and Hen, so Eddie has to trust he’ll be fine.

He and Chim checked the victim over, giving him oxygen and getting him ready to be transported to the hospital. He’ll probably be fine in a few weeks, the smoke inhalation shouldn’t have caused lasting damage, and his leg is clearly broken but not crushed. Buck saved his life.

“Tell your friend,” Saleh says on a cough, gripping Eddie’s arm after they’ve moved him onto the ambulance, “thank you. Thank you.”

“I’ll tell him,” Eddie promises, fixing the oxygen mask over his face again. “Breathe.”

They ride in the back of the ambulance mostly in silence, checking Saleh’s vitals and focusing all of their energy on him.

It’s only on the way back to the station that Chimney says, “So that was a bit too close for comfort, huh?”

Eddie lets out a humourless laugh. “You could say that.”

“You think he should’ve been working today?”

“I think,” Eddie says slowly, “that he needed to not be alone with his thoughts today. And I don’t think he could’ve done his job any better today.”

“Yeah, no, he did everything right,” Chimney says hurriedly, “that’s not what I meant. I just...worry about him.”

Eddie looks at his drawn eyebrows and hunched shoulders and thinks about the way Chimney has been acting around Buck for the past few days, like he’s walking on eggshells, careful but ready to jump to his defence at any time, and knows he’s being honest. “Yeah, me too.”

The way Buck called himself spare parts, defective parts this morning is still echoing in his head. He didn’t know what to say or do to make Buck feel better, still doesn’t. Whenever he’s tried to talk about any of it for the past few days, Buck has been quick about brushing him off, with humor or sometimes anger, though that was always directed at his parents and never at Eddie.

He gets it, is the thing, knows all too well what it’s like to keep things to himself, to not want to talk to anyone about them. He just didn’t know what it’s like on the other side of things. All he wants is for Buck to know that none of this is on him, that his parents are the one who fucked up and didn’t do their job. A job that should be the easiest in the world. Eddie knows how easy it is to love your child unconditionally. He also knows how easy it is to love Buck.

One day soon, he’s gonna find a way to prove to Buck how loved he is. If that means coming clean to him about his feelings, then so be it - he’s been thinking about it for so long now that he’s pretty sure Buck wouldn’t ever leave him and Chris, even if he can’t reciprocate Eddie’s feelings. Buck deserves to hear that someone loves him for him.

Back at the station, Eddie showers and changes into a clean uniform, and when he’s walking up the stairs, Buck’s parents are there. He knows it’s them immediately and catches Hen’s eyes across the room, her eyebrows raised.

“Is Buck back yet?” he asks her, voice low as he sits down on the couch next to her.

She shakes her head. “Bobby went to the hospital with him, just to make sure he’s really fine. I don’t think he knows they’re here.”

Eddie looks over at them, and has to press his hands to his thighs again at the sudden rush of hatred that he feels for these people. He doesn’t want to imagine what it must feel like to lose a child, but it gives them no excuse to treat their living, breathing children the way they did. The way Buck has been acting these past few days is their fault, it’s their fault he’s been feeling like he wasn’t enough his whole life, and Eddie hates them for it.

“Has anyone talked to them?”

“Chim did, when they came in,” Hen says, “and I kind of wanna give them a piece of my mind. You look like you do, too.”

Eddie gives her a wry smile. “That obvious?”

Hen scrunches her nose and gives him a kind smile. “Yeah. I can’t imagine ever treating my children like that. And I think they should know what they’re missing out on with Buck.”

Eddie couldn’t agree more, and before he knows it, he’s pushing himself up from the couch and walking over to them.

They both look up with matching expressions of polite confusion, and Eddie grits his teeth and sits down without asking.

“Mr and Mrs Buckley?” he asks. “I’m Eddie Diaz, I work with your son.”

“Do you know where he is?” Mrs Buckley asks. “Howard said he didn’t know.”

Depending on when Chimney talked to them, that’s probably even true, but Eddie wouldn’t hold it against him if he was just trying to get away from his parents-in-law as quickly as possible. “He’s at the hospital.”

“Oh, what did he do now?” Mr Buckley’s voice sounds long-suffering, as if his son being in the hospital is a nuisance more than anything else.

“His job,” Eddie bites out. “He did his job and saved someone’s life tonight. Do you even know the kind of man your son is? He goes above and beyond for everyone. He risks his life to save others - did you know he saved dozens of people during the tsunami, including my son, while he wasn’t even a firefighter? Of course you didn’t. He shows up for his friends time and time again and he puts everyone else before himself. He’s a good man, a great man, something he certainly didn’t learn from you-”

There’s a hand on his shoulder and he cuts off, the sudden silence making him aware of how loud his voice has gotten, and he looks up at Hen, almost expecting her to tell him to shut up, but she’s looking at Buck’s parents with narrowed eyes.

“With all due respect,” she says, and Eddie has never heard her voice like this, this hard and cold, “but Buck deserves better than what he got from you. He’s not just a valued member of this station, he’s family. I’m happy to tell you some stories about him, if you’re interested in hearing them, because I agree with Eddie that you should at least know what kind of person he has become in spite of you.”

Mr and Mrs Buckley look almost chastised, speechless, and Hen drops into the chair next to Eddie. His hands are shaking again and Eddie doesn’t think he can sit here with them any longer, certainly doesn’t have any nice things to say to them, so he decides to let Hen handle it from here on. She’s clearly got it under control.

Wordlessly, he stands up and goes downstairs to wait for Buck instead.

When Bobby parks the car, Eddie spreads his arms expectantly, relief flooding his veins when he announces that Buck got a clean bill of health from the doctor.

“Glad to hear it,” he says, but can’t help giving Buck a once-over just to make sure for himself. He’s also showered and wearing a clean uniform, looking miles better than earlier, but there’s still that sadness around his eyes and mouth that Eddie hates.

“Show off,” he teases him as Bobby rushes off, and Buck smiles at him.

“I had to do it.”

All Eddie wants is to go up to him and pull him into his arms to keep him safe from the world, but this is neither the time or the place. Instead, he just puts as much of that feeling as he can in his smile and tells Buck, “I know you did.” Then, a little reluctantly, he nods his head towards the stairs. “You’ve got some visitors.”

Buck leaves with one last look, a frown on his face, and Eddie watches him go. No matter how this conversation is going to go, Buck has a lot of shit to work through.

First and foremost, he needs to talk to Maddie because Eddie knows how much they love each other and how miserable this situation is making them both. And then he’ll need to start believing that they love him - Maddie, the whole crew, Christopher. Eddie. That he’s worth that love. And Eddie will do everything in his power to make him believe that.

#buddie #911 #911 spoilers #buddie fic #911 fanfiction #pia writes #man i am NERVOUS any time i post something new #and this is the first time i've written from eddie's pov I hope it doesn't suck #anyway the whole firefam loves buck so much

[hargrove-mayfields]

Just a Dream Away

Chapter 9/13 read here on ao3!

for @harringrovebigbang

~~~~

Steve is hysterical.

“Baby, oh my god, Billy.” He sobs, struggling to process the fact that, after a year and a half of mourning, talking to comatose bodies and headstones in his place he’s finally talking to Billy again, “I don’t understand, we-we buried you.”

‘Not me.’

“It wasn’t you.” Steve repeats, reassuring himself of what Billy meant with his simple answer, “I knew it wasn’t you. Where have you been hiding? Have you been keeping safe?”

‘Everywhere. And no.’

Steve winces, doesn’t like to hear that things haven’t been going well for his Billy, “We’re going to save you. We called El, she should be here soon.”

‘Soon’

Steve understands that Billy repeating it means he’s asking for clarity, so he explains, “They moved. They left for Chicago so they wouldn’t have to deal with Hawkins anymore.”

‘Lucky.’

Chuckling wetly, Steve nods, “They are lucky. I could never leave though. I miss you everyday. I looked for you for a long time.”

‘Looked 4 U 2.’

“Well you found me now. Finally. God it’s been so long, Bill.”

‘Too long.’

“Yeah. But we’re going to be okay now, right?” Steve smiles, his expression faltering when no response comes for what he deems to be too long, “Billy?”

The next answer that comes through is rushed, barely stopping for long enough that Steve can decipher it, ‘Got 2 go S.’

“No no no, please do go, baby.” Again nothing, though this time the lights go dull again, and Steve hits the edge of the table in anger, jarring the board slightly, “Fuck!”

“What happened?” Robin comes running back in the room, but he doesn’t look up at her, too busy staring at the piece and wishing for it to move again, “He said he had to go.”

The planchette sits slightly ajar over the word ‘GOODBYE,’ and Robin asks gently, “Did he tell you why?”

Steve shakes his head no, too afraid to speak for fear a sob will escape. A hand on his shoulder, Robin tries to comfort him, “Hey, I’m sure he’ll be alright.”

Steve sniffles, emotionally unreachable, gently tracing the edge of the planchette to comfort himself. Not knowing what else to do, Robin sighs, “Well Stevie, I’m going to look for Mrs. Byers. You just stay put and watch for any more signs from Billy, okay?”

He nods and continues to watch the board, almost unblinkingly, silent tears tracking down his pale face.

Robin grabs her walkie-talkie on the way out of the door, tuning into the channel the kids use, or at least used to, and announcing herself, “Hello? Anybody here? Anybody at all gonna pick up?”

The only voice to come through the radio is Dustin’s, which is probably for the best, despite his cranky tone with her. Other than Erica, Dustin is the only one of the kids Robin really knows enough to have this conversation, “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Hey, Dustin. Nice to talk to you too.” Her response is sarcastic, matching his snappy tone.

“Oh shit, Robin?” His attitude completely changes when hears who it is, and Robin almost has to laugh, “What’s up?”

“Just wanted to know, have any of your friends said anything about Mrs. Byers showing up?”

“Uh no? Why?” He asks, sounding halfway between concerned and intrigued.

So Robin explains the whole situation to him, how it’d been hours since they’d called her and how she still hadn’t showed up with the kids and why they needed her in the first place. Eventually she decides it just would be best if they were all in one place to figure it out,“You know what, just radio the rest of your nerds and meet me at my place.”

“Roger that.” She snorts at Dustin’s nerdy response, turns the walkie off, retreating back inside to check on Steve, “No word from Joyce yet, but your kids will be here soon.”

At first, he just nods, not really hearing her, but then he double takes, looking up at her with fear in his wide eyes, “You didn’t tell them that-“

“No. No, of course not. They know it’s Billy but nothing else. I promise.” Robin assures him, knows the fear he feels in that moment and empathizes with him.

Robin sits beside Steve on the floor, neither of them saying anything. She puts a gentle hand on top of his, a silent reassurance.

Half an hour later, they hear the sound of a car pulling up outside of their house. Robin smiles at him and gets up, answering the door in enough time to see the kids scrambling over each other to get out of Nancy’s car, as she’d apparently been looped into this too.

They run past her into the apartment, Max at the lead, but Nancy stops at the door to talk.

Steve tries to catch the kids up on what had happened, what they had seen, but because Robin had already explained it on the walkie, Dustin wouldn’t stop interrupting him. Lucas also kept trying to touch the planchette, amazed at how it had worked only to have his hand slapped away by Max, who’d sidled up right next to Steve on the floor. Already he was at the end of his rope with them, he loved those kids and would do anything for them, but he’s already stressed, and they’re being, well, they’re being themselves.

Max turns to Steve at one point, asking him so quietly he can hardly hear her over the other conversations, “How was Billy? Did he seem.. okay?”

Steve assures her, “He was snarky. He was like himself.”

Max nods, tearing up, “Did he.. mention me at all?”

Smiling sadly, Steve promises, “He misses you, Max. He’s fighting for you.” He shrugs Billy’s jacket off and drapes it over her shoulders.

The chatter never dies down, each kid throwing out theories and asking Steve even more questions he doesn’t have the answers to, the small apartment now filled with noise in a stark contrast to the somber silence that engulfed it before. It’s cheerful and lively and it makes Steve uncomfortable, acting like nothing is wrong.

After a while though, right before Steve is about to break down under their constant prodding, the doorbell rings.

Mike, excited to see his best friend, runs to the door first and yanks it open so far it hits the wall, earning a synchronized “Hey!” from Steve and Robin. The kids run at each other, El and Will falling into a huddle of hugs with the rest. They hadn’t seen each other since this last Christmas, their schedules getting too busy to do random trips either way, so this was pretty special to them too.

While that normally would’ve been heartwarming to see, they weren’t here for a very good reason at all, and the older kids couldn’t help but have a grim outlook, devoid of that naive joy on this moment. Their feelings of dread only become amplified when Joyce comes into the house after her children, a stranger quietly trailing behind her.

The unknown girl is about the same height as Joyce, with thick, dark hair cropped to her jaw and one side shaved off. She wears dark black makeup around her brown eyes, and a look on her face so intense that everyone in the room's focus instantly drifts to her.

Steve looks straight to Robin, and her to him, each recognizing the confusion in the others face, Steve shrugging his shoulders to show he doesn’t have answers. Had they looked around, they would’ve seen that Nancy and the other kids but Will and El wore similar expressions of curiosity.

When El breaks free of an especially tight hug from Max, she gently grabs the strange girls hand, introducing her to everyone, “This is my sister, Kali.”

#harringrove big bang 2021 #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #robin buckley #the party #ej writer #story by ej!

[lu-undy]

I'm not sure if you've already written something like this, but what about Spy showing Sniper his face for the first time?

Here it is!

"Mh…"

"Mornin' gorgeous." 

Spy smiled as he felt Sniper's lips on his back, peppering kisses there. The taller man was spooning him, his hands slid along the Frenchman's slim silhouette, on his pyjamas. 

"Sniper…"

"Let me just…" The Aussie's hands had laced up to Spy's collar. He undid the first few buttons before he pulled down the shirt, freeing Spy's shoulders to kiss them. His rough hands touched the porcelain white skin and his lips gently grazed it, slowly melting from here to there. Spy lowered his head and closed his eyes, feeling Sniper on his back now. Their legs slid against each other's, under the blanket. 

"S-Sniper…" 

"Don't worry, I won't remove it." He whispered back, pushing the edges of the mask up to reach further up Spy's back. He kissed and nipped, gently. "Gosh, you're so soft." 

Spy smiled, his eyes still closed, and he bit his lip. 

"You of all people should know it by now." He answered before he heard Sniper chuckle behind him. 

"Spook?" 

"Oui?" 

"Will you let me see your face one day?" 

Spy opened his eyes and frowned. 

"I… Do not know." He rolled to face Sniper and the Aussie slid his hands to the Frenchman's masked face. 

"I'm sure you look gorgeous under that thing." 

"Merci, but…" Spy averted his gaze. "I do not think it is a good idea. Not at all."

"Oh, ok… I-I mean we're alone here, the doors are closed and all, no one else would see you." 

"It is not about that." Spy answered. 

"What is it, then?" 

"A lot of things." He buried his face in Sniper's chest. "One of them is that you will realise that I am far older than you are, far more grey, tired and beaten up by life."

"No you're not. And even if you were, I couldn't care less."

"Sniper, I… I am not the arrogant womanizer that people see in me." 

"I know, you also like men." 

"That is not what I meant." 

"Oh?" 

Spy frowned harder and sighed. 

"I cannot show you my face, I am sorry." 

"It's… Ok, alright. I don't really get it but it's not worth fightin' over."

Spy raised his eyes to his lover. 

"What?" 

"All I'm sayin' is that well, I'd love to see you entirely but it's fine. I guess we can go on like that." 

"You have seen so much more about me, Sniper, I have lain naked in front and under you before." 

"I know but… It's odd that in your head you should hide your face more than your… y'know." 

"Well, people can recognise me with my face, not with what I have between my legs." 

"Yeah, I get it but… Still, a bit of a shame, I think." 

Sniper removed his hands from Spy's face and looked away. Silence fell in the Frenchman's room. The only noise was the tireless ticks and tocks of the alarm clock on the night table. 

"I am superstitious." Spy's voice slashed the silence. 

"What?" 

"I am superstitious." Spy repeated.

“What’s it got to do with what we were talkin’ about?”

“Everything.”

“Spook, you make no sense.”

“Of course, I do.” Spy closed his eyes out of annoyance. "You just do not understand."

"Tell me." 

Spy laid his head on Sniper's chest and took his large hand in both of his. 

"I thought it was only stories but I now fully believe it. Each time that I show my face to a person that is dear to my heart, they… They go away." 

Sniper's eyebrows jumped. 

"What?"

"It is a curse. Anyone I have shown my face to ends up leaving me, either just moving on away from me, or worse." Spy explained before he sat up on the bed, next to his lover. Sniper sat up too and laced an arm around Spy. 

"So you always wear it now, because you're scared it'll happen again?" 

"I remove it if I do not care about the person my heart chose." 

And Sniper understood that if Spy kept his mask on at all times with him, it was because the Aussie counted an awful lot to him.

"I… Hold on, you say that people went away as if they have left you in the past. How the hell could they leave you?" 

Spy lowered his head and sighed. 

"Because at some point, they discover who I am and… and it is better that way." Spy freed himself from his lover and stood up. He slipped on his dressing gown and locked himself up in his bathroom. 

Sniper watched him move away and sighed. He both found Spy's words ridiculous and heart-breaking. He wished he could do something to help. He scratched his naked chest and ruffled his hair on his head. 

Well, he should get up and make some coffee. That would give Spy some time to feel better maybe. 

Sniper got to his feet and grabbed his shirt that he put on, but kept open. He went to Spy's kitchen and got the cafetiere ready. He put two mugs next to it and started to gather the toasts and butter, from the fridge. He turned the radio on and let the chatter occupy his thoughts. 

When the coffee was ready and the smell gently floated in the Frenchman's suite, Sniper readied a pan and broke a couple of eggs in a bowl. He knew that Spy liked an omelette in the morning, so he got to work. After beating the eggs vigorously, he went to the fridge to take that goat cheese that his lover liked so much and added some to the mix before spreading it on the oiled pan. 

Sniper watched as the liquid eggs hardened while the goat cheese melted. Suddenly, the light switched off in the kitchen. He raised his head to the bulb and headed to the switch when a hand stopped his wrist. 

"Non, please." 

"What?"

"Don't turn the light on." Spy hugged his lover, and Sniper's pupils retracted to a dot as his eyes snapped wide. He didn't feel the fabric of Spy's mask on his chest, no. He felt Spy's skin, and even some of his hair. "Close your eyes." 

Sniper obeyed and felt Spy move away from him. 

"I will blindfold you."

"My eyes are closed, Spook."

"I don't want to risk it." Spy answered as he turned around Sniper, who felt a smooth cloth over his eyes. Spy was behind him tying the cloth. "Now…" He took Sniper's hands and stuck them on his face, one on each of his cheeks. 

The Aussie's eyebrows rose as he touched a face he wished he could do more than touch. He closed his eyes behind the blindfold and tried to project the image of what his curious digits were discovering. 

Eyebrows, eyelids, yeah, he knew those. Gosh, Sniper could feel the lines at the corner of Spy's eyes. He loved those. Whenever he smiled, they smiled with him. And the Aussie had the same too… 

Nose, mouth but oh my God, what was that…? Spy's hair… Rather short on the sides and behind his head as well, longer on top. So soft and straight, it flowed between Sniper's fingers like threads of silk.

His thumbs brushed Spy's forehead, his eyebrows and down his temples, his naked cheeks to end on his lover's lips. They were pursed up in a smile. 

"I-your hair feels amazin'." 

"Merci. It is grey at the front here…" Spy took Sniper's hand and guided him. "And on the temples, here and here. The rest struggles to stay black." 

"Gosh…" Sniper bit his lip. "I wish I could see it… And see you really. It's hard to imagine it all with just my hands touchin' you."

"I am sorry. I wish I could but…" 

"Hey, it's fine. It's ok." 

Spy put his hands flat on Sniper's, which were sandwiching his face. 

"I… I cannot afford to lose you. I know it is egotistic, but non. Y-you are… non." 

"Hey…?"

"I would rather lie to you about my face and live with the guilt of lying to you continuously, rather than risk losing you." 

"Love… I… I don't want to force you and I'm not forcin' you but you know I'm not gonna leave you. You know I don't care about what you look like, you could look horrible and I'd still stay, cause I don't just like you for your face. I just… You're such a good bloke, and a pleasure to live with."

"Sniper, I have heard these words a million times before and yet…"

"Mundy. Name's Mundy. I have only my parents, no siblings. They… They adopted me. They own a little farm in the Outback, nothin' big, just enough to pay the bills and keep them busy. I… When I was a kid, I was bad at school and dropped it as soon as I could. Been workin' with huntin' contracts ever since because Dad had shown me how to and there was nothing else I was half-decent at."

Spy frowned. 

"Why are you telling me all this?" 

"Because I want you to understand that I… I-I… I don't just stay with you to spend the nights and all… It's… What do I need to do for you to get it? I… I bloody love you!" Mundy burst out. "I won't leave you, I… If I could I'd stay with you forever!" 

"If you could?" Spy asked. 

"If… If… I was never the one who left anyone. I was always the one who got dumped."

"Why?" 

"Because people don't see themselves buildin' anything with me! I'm a weirdo who lives in a van, I don't have a house or a flat of my own, my address is still my parents'. It's-it's not like I have a normal job and a normal life and…" Sniper pulled Spy's head against his chest and held him close. "You're one of the very few blokes I really feel like… Like we can be a bit more than just what we are. I mean… It makes so much sense. No one gets it, you and me, but-but I feel it. I feel comfy with you, like you've always been with me and… Spook, please… What do I need to do for you to believe me?" 

Silence fell for a while and their embrace was intense. 

"I would love to believe you." The Frenchman said and felt one of Sniper's hands in his hair, his fingers between his locks and pressing him against his bare chest. 

"Why don't you?"

"I am scared… Mundy." 

"Don't be. I'm here." He bent his head down to kiss Spy's hair. "Gosh, even your hair smells of you." 

"Thank you."

"Spook…"

"Lucien." Spy answered, nuzzling in his lover's chest. "My name is Lucien. My parents left this world a long time ago and I have no other family left. My mother used to be a dressmaker, and my father, a lawyer. They lived in the South-West of France, where I was born and raised, under the sun, and between green and red grapes."

"Why're you tellin' me all this now?" 

"Because I am more scared than ever." 

"Why? I got you here, you're in my arms, nothin's gonna get to you."

"Oui but… Hold on." 

Lucien pushed himself away from his lover's embrace and Mundy felt the cloth around his eyes go. 

"C-can I open my eyes? You put your mask back?" 

"Oui." Lucien flipped the switch to turn the lights on. 

"Gosh, Spook!" Mundy slapped his hands on his face as soon as he realised that his lover had lied and he hadn't put his mask back on. "Bugger I nearly saw you!"

"Please…" Sniper felt his lover's hands on his wrists, pulling them down. 

"Spook…"

"Lucien." Spy corrected him and as he removed Sniper's hands from his face, he saw that the Aussie had kept his eyes closed. 

"But you said you didn't like it if I saw you." 

"I have changed my mind." 

"Why?" Mundy continued to speak with closed eyes. 

"Because of what you said." 

Mundy felt his lover's hands on his naked chest. He opened his eyes.

"Oh bloody hell… Look at you… You're…" 

His hands immediately went back to Lucien's face and touched again, stroking, brushing, grazing, his eyes darted left, right, up and down. 

"My God… H-how…?"

Lucien tried smiling, but not too much. He was very self conscious about his age showing in the million wrinkles on his face when he smiled. 

"What do you think - mh?!" 

Spy was surprised mid-sentence by his lover's lips. And the intensity, the force with which he was pulling his body and his hair, his very lips too into the kiss. The Frenchman almost felt his feet take off of the ground. 

"What was that about?" He asked, although being as breathless as his lover. 

"How could you ever think you're too old or ugly or whatever? You look better than in my dreams, you look… Y-you… I-I don't know what the word is, or even if the word exists or-or maybe there's a sentence or maybe an expression? Bloody hell, what am I sayin?!" Mundy's voice was high-pitched and broken, he was out of air and stopped to catch his breath for a while. "You're gorgeous, you're so beautiful, you're… How could people leave you after seein' your face, you look bloody fantastic." Mundy pulled his lover close and hugged him all over, ending with his cheek on top of Lucien's head. 

"Mundy…?"

The Aussie rolled his eyes and closed them in bliss, scratching his lover's head as he would a cat. 

"Say my name with that accent once more and we're gonna skip breakfast to go straight for lunch." He growled. 

"Mundy?"

"Gosh…" 

"May we still have breakfast?" 

"Maybe." 

Both smiled and Mundy kissed his lover on the head.

"Lucien?"

"Oui?"

"Why did you change your mind?" 

Lucien raised his eyes to his lover. 

"I told you, because of what you said." 

"What did I say?" 

The Frenchman smiled and blushed. This time, Mundy could see it so clearly that he couldn't help but stare, and his own cheeks turned pink. 

"You said that you loved me." Lucien answered. 

"Yeah, and I do." 

Their smiles widened. 

"It is the first time you tell me this." 

"Yeah, it's hard to say." 

"Indeed, it is." Their eyes met and lingered. "I love you too, Mundy." 

"Alright, you looked for it…" The Aussie dragged his lover out of the kitchen. 

"What-? Where-?"

"Bedroom, now. Breakfast in bed…" 

"What?" Lucien asked as he was led to the bed.

"C'mere…" The Aussie pushed his lover deeper in the sheets.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy

[twilitty]

3 & 3 bella x jacob for your fic ask game? 👀👉🏻👈🏻

Thank you for the ask! I almost went wayyy overboard with this so I had to rein myself in lol I hope you enjoy it! Just a sweet little date to the movies (1.2k words) warning: this was not proof read lol so ignore any mistakes please

It was Billys idea for Jake and I to go to the movies, or rather, it was his idea for us to leave his house and suggested the movie theatre to ensure we’d be gone for a length of time. Billy Black, while a fan of both his son and I, is not a fan of having his living room dominated by us. After our latest movie recorded over his baseball game he told us we had to find another place to go, and that once the MLB season was over we’d be allowed back in the house. This seems to affect Jacob more than it does me.

“I don’t see why he can’t just go watch with Harry or your dad or something,” He complains to me after we pile into my truck, him taking over the drivers seat because apparently I make him nauseous. No, not me, my driving abilities. It’s a common argument in our relationship although our arrangement of him driving works better for both of us. I get to look out the window and choose the music, he is saved from the migraine and stomach ache my driving supposedly causes.

“That’s his house, we shouldn’t be kicking him out,” I say while sliding through radio stations. “Besides this way we get movie popcorn not the microwave stuff.” This way I am also forced to dress in something other than sweatpants and a big t-shirt, which seems to be my uniform whenever I’m at the Blacks. This is my first time wearing jeans in nearly a week, the texture is familiar and rejuvenates my confidence. I mentally thank Billy.

“That’s my house,” the boy next to me says, sounding just a little bit like a scorned toddler. “I should get some rights to the TV.”

“You get TV rights once baseball is over,” I say, rephrasing what his father told us. I have no idea when the baseball season officially ends, or even when it started. And, I don’t dare say this for fear that Jake’s mood will remain negative, but I think another sport comes after baseball. Maybe football? Or hockey? Jacob will likely not get TV rights until he moves out and buys his own TV.

“Yeah, yeah, just not the same thing.”

The drive into Port Angeles, which houses the nearest theatre, is comfortable and quiet except for new age rock playing through the speakers. Jake has tried to install an aux input, so I can play music from my phone, but I won’t let him. I enjoy the radio, and besides there are too many choices on my phone.

The movie theatre is dead. It’s not a deal day and no new movies have been released, or at least not any popular movies. The theatre is hosting Actress Night, where they showcase some of the highest ranking movies from an actress previously voted on. It’s Julia Roberts tonight, Jennifer Aniston tomorrow, and some other woman we’re way too young to know the name of after that. Jake purchases us two tickets, I pick up the bill for popcorn and drinks.

This is one of my favourite things about being with Jacob. It’s so easy. He pays for some stuff and I pay for some and sometimes when we’re both broke we just sit at home and eat stale pretzels while watching Real Housewife reruns. I don’t have to worry about owing him money or the scales of our relationship being tipped unevenly.

The room which hosts our movie, Pretty Woman, is nearly empty except for a few middle aged couples sitting near the front. “I’ll never understand why adults congregate at the front like that, it must hurt their eyes to be so close to the screen,” I mumble as we pass two men sitting so close their heads are tilted completely upwards just to see the opening advertisements.

“Or,” Jacob tells me, “They’ll be too busy getting funky to watch.” That’s the other thing with dating Jacob Black, he enjoys saying things that he knows get under my skin. He’s brash, bold, saying whatever he wants. I’m a little more timid, and this is something I never forget when I’m with him.

“Ohmigod.” I duck my head, grabbing his wrist to pull him up the glow-in-the-dark stairs. “I doubt they’re… getting funky.” His wrist twists and I end up holding his hand, him stepping up to be on the same level as me.

“Bella, come on, adults always come to the movies to get freaky-”

“Stop with the lingo or I leave,” I bluff. “No more funky or freaky, got it, Black?”

He squeezes my hand once, smiling down at me with mild humour, russet skin illuminated by the stairs. I love his smile. “Alright,” he agrees with a sideways pull of his mouth, trying to hide a laugh. “But you better not be expecting anything spicy from me tonight.” A woman turns over her shoulder to look at us, a frown impeding on her expression. Jake notices this and guffaws a little too loudly. “Come on, let's go.”

He pulls me up the stairs to the very top level, my feet all too willing to carry me away from the scowling woman. We sit in the middle of the row and I can hear Jessica in my mind, the back row is for more than kissing. I should know, Mike and I always sit in the back row. Angela had a field day with this information, by which I mean every time she and I went to the movies she would actively avoid the back row so as to not contaminate her clothing with the supposedly filthy seats. Now, sitting next to my boyfriend in the more than kissing row, I am feeling a little worried about the state of our seats.

The movie title rolls as Jake slides his phone off and places it in my purse, which he dutifully places on the seat next to him. “To make sure nobody snatches it,” he informs me, even though out of all twelve people in the room, we are the only ones up here. The popcorn stays on his lap, pushed against the arm rest so I can access it without needing to lean all the way over. He won’t let me hold the bag, which is my own fault. I tend to hoard my movie snacks and he is most definitely not letting that happen.

As the movie opens, Julia Roberts dressed scantily, Jake takes my hand in his as I reach for popcorn. “If you finish this within the first fifteen minutes I will be very disappointed in you.” He whispers it, sending a pointed look at me, as if I’m known for my Olympic-level popcorn eating skills. I am not known for this skill, and the only person aware of it is Jacob Black and he seems hell bent on making sure I don’t eat my share and then his.

“You’re such a nerd,” I whisper back, but even I can hear the smile in my voice. He releases my hand for a moment before recatching it and twining his fingers through mine. We sit like this for a while, hand in hand, me craving a sticky handful of popcorn and him all too happy to watch me struggle to eat with my free hand.

The movie continues, Jake whispering criticisms in my ear as new events and plot turns take place. When Julia is denied help at the expensive store he whispers, “I would have served her,” then with a look at my expression he quickly back peddles, “not ‘cause she’s pretty but ‘cause she deserves respect and service. You gotta treat people fairly, you know.” Then we lapse back into silence.

The movie ends, I take the empty cups and popcorn bag, Jake takes my purse and informs me that it brings out the honey shades in his eyes. I’m not sure he even knows what that means, but let him hold my purse because he enjoys doing things like that. Sometimes I bring my purse even when I don’t need it, just so he can hold onto it.

#twilight #edward cullen #bella swan #jasper #the twilight saga #carlisle #twilight saga #smeyer #twilight renaissance #2008 #jacob and bella hot damn #bellaxjacob #jacob x bella #fic #fanfic #mine

[weasleydream]

Gone

How are you guys? 

I’m sorry my posts are so irregular these days, but with school it’s a bit more difficult to find the time to write. 

However, here is my participation to @omgrachwrites​ writing challenge! Again congrats love 💜 I’m sorry this is so late!

As usual, feel free to like, comment and reblog, and I hope you enjoy!

Masterlist 

(gif not mine)

It had never happened that the Burrow seemed to be that empty. Bill was with Fleur in their house, probably trying to live one more day as a happy couple, pretending their newly obtained bliss wasn’t threatened by the ongoing war. Ron had disappeared months ago, gone with Harry and Hermione for a mission, a dangerous task that his family couldn’t even imagine. No one had any news coming from Percy, and everyone was worried as he was as threatened as them. Ginny was at school, put in danger because she had to keep up appearances, she had to make sure that her family wouldn’t be more watched than it already was. Arthur had insisted he should go to work for the same reason. George was gone with Y/N, who stayed at the Burrow with her boyfriend as her parents were hiding, both joining Lee Jordan in Dean’s forest to participate in Potterwatch. 

The Weasley family seemed to be torn in all directions, and no one suffered more from this situation than Molly. She was trying to remain strong, because everyone needed it, her children as much as Arthur and herself, but every night, terrible nightmares would keep her awake. Charlie was far away in Romania, gathering wizards to support the Order’s side, what if he stumbled upon Death Eaters charged with the same task for their master? And Percy, since the day he had left his family, Molly’s heart shattered every time she thought of the eventuality of him dying without knowing how much he meant for his family. 

However, all these worries, although terrifying, were nothing compared to the feeling she had deep in her stomach that something would go wrong for George and Y/N, and Fred’s constant agitation wasn’t helping her. The boy didn’t want to let them go alone in the first place, playing the “I want adventures too” card before admitting he wanted to make sure everything would be okay for them. After a while, though, Fred had reluctantly accepted, and Molly was pretty sure his twin had found a way to convince him, though she didn’t know which one. 

It should have lasted three days. George and Y/N were gone for almost a week. 

Plenty of explications were possible, maybe they needed to hide a bit longer, maybe they were staying for another emission. In Molly’s head, everything was good to ease the constant burning sensation in the pit of her stomach. 

Fred felt like he was dying from anxiousness. Two members of his family - because to him, Y/N was his sister in the very same way as Ginny - were missing, and he couldn’t help but think he should have been with them. 

“Don’t think that,” would say his mother, “you know the three of you would have been an easy target. Don’t worry for them, I’m sure they are okay.”

She was lying though, and Fred knew it as much as Molly did. 

The next morning, the very first thought occupying the Weasleys’ minds was that it had been a whole week. Seven day of George and Y/N being somewhere out there, none of them giving any sign of life, except the emission in itself. After that, radio silence. 

Fred dragged his tired body to the kitchen to find that Bill and Fleur were here. His brother tried to smile at him, but the grimace he showed made Fred’s guts twist a bit more. 

“I’ve received a letter from Minerva.” announced Molly. The relief was earable in her voice. “Ginny is okay, Minerva managed to ease her punishment.”

Fleur murmured it was a good thing, Bill nodded and Fred stayed silent. Of course he was glad Ginny was right, but something felt worse than usual. Without even being able to put words on it, he knew something had happened, and it could only be George and Y/N. Who else?

Suddenly, someone banged at the door. Molly jumped, almost dropping the plate she was holding. Bill got up and crossed the kitchen in a few steps, followed closely by Fred. The eldest opened carefully and immediately lowered his wand. Remus Lupin was behind the door, and it wasn’t his apparent tiredness that immediately hit Fred. It was the incredibly pained look in his eyes. Without saying a word, doing such things on your doorstep having become dangerous lately, Lupin stepped forward. His gaze fell on Molly, who had left the kitchen to see what was happening. Fleur joined Bill, who wrapped an arm around her, and Fred joined his mother. 

“We’ve found George and Y/N,” announced Lupin. He couldn’t bring himself to finish his sentence, and hearing the sighs of relief around him made his heart clench. 

“And where are they?” squeaked Molly. “When will they come back?”

“I’m sorry Molly. They- they are gone.”

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

First POV

“Keep each other safe. Keep faith. Good night.”

Lee lightly hit the radio with his wand before sighing loudly. 

“Sometimes I feel like I’m lying to them,” he admitted. “I keep trying to bring everyone hope, but things certainly don’t look like there’s hope anymore.”

“Don’t say that, mate.” George, who was sitting next to me, patted Lee’s shoulder. “You are not lying, you tell them the truth as it is.”

“Everyone needs hope, and especially now.” I added. 

Lee smiled slightly and waved his hand above the dying fire. In a second, it gained a new vigour and a wave of warmth hit us. It was welcome as the nights in the end of february were absolutely freezing. The three of us were sitting on the floor, our clothes wet by the humidity of the night. Only the fire brought us some comfort. 

“I won’t stay long.” announced Lee after a short silence. 

Indeed, Lee had warned us that he would leave shortly after the emission. “Safety precaution.” he had said before explaining that we would have to stay a bit longer to make sure no one had found him. “This way I can keep moving with my mind at ease.”

“No problem mate. Be safe.”

George and Lee shared a quick embrace, I waved at him and he disapparated with his radio. 

“Now it’s just the two of us, isn’t it?” asked George while wiggling his eyebrows. 

“Don’t hope too much!” I laughed. “It’s way too cold to do anything beside cuddling.”

“That’s exactly what I had in mind, who do you think I am?”

I rolled my eyes and sat between his legs. He wrapped me in his arms and we stayed like this for a while. I drifted off a few times and so did George, sometimes I felt his head falling on mine. After what felt like an hour or so, the forest seemed as empty of human presence as it had been since our arrival. 

“I think we can leave.” eventually declared George, much to my relief if I had to be honest. 

We extinguished the fire, hid its last traces, and prepared ourselves to leave. I grabbed George's hand and I felt him tensing like everytime he apparated. However, the world never turned around us and George stayed tense as ever. For a good reason: I was pretty sure I had heard footsteps too. 

It was still late at night and I highly doubted this person was here for a walk in the park. That left only one solution… A Death Eater was after us. For a split second, time seemed to stop and George and I exchanged a panicked look. Then the Death Eater yelled. 

“I know you’re here! Whoever you are, you can’t apparate. Show yourself!”

It was the warning signal. Dropping our belongings, we rushed far from the Death Eater, George holding my hand as firmly as he could. He was faster than me, way faster, and I tripped a few times on the roots strewing the ground. All around us, the trees were only huge dark shapes. Some were uprooted and I couldn’t help but fear all that could hide between them. 

The first spell hit the floor a few centimeters away from George’s feet and he dived behind a felled trunk, leading me in his fall by grabbing my waist. I was lying on him yet the only thing I could think was that we were going to die. 

“You won’t die here Y/N, I promise.” whispered George. 

It was as if he had read my mind, and the darkness prevented me from seeing his expression. Everything around us was deadly silent, and if George’s words of comfort had come under his breath, it had made me fear the eventuality of the Death Eater hearing him. 

“I’m scared…” I trembled. 

George’s hand found the back of my head and he pulled me all against him. His frantic heartbeat was matching mine, proof of the state of panic we were currently in. 

“It’s not over for us.” It felt like George was trying to reassure himself as much as me, and I wanted so badly to do the same for him… But I was unable to say anything. My brain was focused on the death that was probably waiting for me. “We still have too much to live. I’ll marry you one day, you’ll be my wife, we can’t-”

“Show yourself, traitors! Show yourself and maybe you won’t die right now!”

He was only a few meters away. He was here, and he knew where we were. Without either of us realizing it, my tears were soaking George’s jacket and he was trembling under my body. He murmured Fred’s name followed by a shaky sorry before whispering in my ear. 

“Whatever happens, I love you.” He gently pushed me aside and let his hand on my shoulder a second, as if he wanted to make me understand he would deal with this alone. “I won’t go quietly, you bastard.” he muttered, and I heard him perfectly even though his voice was covered by the Death Eater’s swears.

“I offer you a chance to fight loyally! Fight, traitors, fight or you’ll die!”

And George got up, his shadow dominating me from all its height. I immediately did the same and grabbed his hand. 

“Here you are.” smiled the masked man. 

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

It had never happened that the Burrow was so silent. Lupin was gone after having held Molly in his arms for hours, only letting go of her when Arthur had come back from work and collapsed next to his wife. Now, every now and then you could hear a sob or screams cried out to the skies, screams of agony, questions that would never have any answer. 

Fred was going insane. He had almost ripped Lupin’s head off when he had said they couldn’t see them yet. Now, he was locked up in his old room, and there was no doubt the loudest and most painful sobs were coming from this place he had shared with George for all his life. He didn’t know what to do to get all this pain out of him, pacing, hitting the walls, screaming, nothing could ease the sorrow that was suffocating him, and nothing would never ease it, Fred knew it. He had lost two members of his family, his twin, the other part of himself, gone and leaving a gaping hole in his heart. It was his fault, he knew that too, he was supposed to be with them, he could have saved them, or died instead of them. George and Y/N. The most joyful people, the bravest too. Another wave of insufferable pain hit him and he fell on his knees. 

“Why? Why them? Why?”

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

The least I could say was that the stone floor wasn’t the most comfortable. Next to me, George groaned, still unconscious, and with his voice died the only sound I had heard for hours. Even though the sun was probably high in the sky by now, we were still plunged into darkness. I hadn’t dared to move from where the Death Eater had pushed me, and I was curled up against the nearest wall. 

“The hell…”

George lifted his head weakly and his face froze when he realized where we were. 

“George!”

“Y/N!”

Without paying attention to his own pain, which I saw with his grimace, he suddenly got up and engulfed me in a bear hug. I tightened him as hard as I could, trying my best to ensure that he was alive and okay with me, having feared the worst since the moment one of the several Death Eaters that had been hiding the forest had knocked him out. 

“It will be okay my love, it will be okay.” he whispered before laying a gentle kiss on my lips. “I swear I’ll make us leave this place as soon as-”

“I don’t think so, lovebirds. We have some questions for you.”

It was the masked man we had seen first in the forest. His clothes weren’t dirty anymore but he still looked like he was in his natural environment, his sordid appearance somehow matching with the damp walls and the smell of rot. Only at this moment did I realize I didn’t have my wand anymore, and George came to the same realization as he placed himself in front of me. 

“You volunteer? Brave boy, but you’ll soon beg us to take the girl instead, you’ll see.” 

The disgusting smirk never left his lips as he pointed his wand on me to make me step backwards, the bastard delighting in my screams. George was tense and his head was high, he was determined to be the hero of the story, and that was what I feared the most. 

“George! No, George! Please, let him go! George!”

No one listened to me and the door closed after the Death Eater and George, the latter’s face disappearing as he was trying to smile at me. But I had seen the terror in his eyes, he knew what was waiting for him. We both knew it. And I couldn’t help but feel it was because of me. 

I had no way to know how much time had passed since the moment they had taken George, but it felt like it had been hours. Now alone in what seemed to be a cellar deep down underneath the ground, I was trying my best to keep a bit of warmth for me even though it was difficult. I was curled up in the tightest ball with my arms wrapped around my knees, yet my teeth were chattering and shivers shook me every now and then. I hadn’t heard any sound, which had made me foolishly hoped George was okay, but all this time spent alone had also made me imagine the baddest things. Not knowing what was happening was certainly the worst, way worse than fearing what could happen to me in the near future. 

It was only when my eyes threatened to close and the exhaustion was on the verge of taking over me that the heavy metallic door opened and something fell on the floor. Initially frozen, fearing another danger, I however got on my feet as fast as my numb limbs let me and rushed to George, who was lying on the floor and trying to catch his breath. In the dark, I struggled to see in what state he was, but when I got close enough I gasped and fell on my knees next to him. 

“George, oh, love…” 

A sob died in my throat, desperately contained not to worry George. He was half asleep - or unconscious, I didn’t even know - and only moened with pain when I lifted his head as gently as I could. 

“You okay…” 

His voice was weak, but he still managed to open his eyes completely and to smile at me. It was tiny, just the corner of his lips lifting up, yet a bubble of relief exploded in my chest. 

“You shouldn’t be the one worrying for me…” I whispered, sniffling slightly before running my hand in his hair. They were wet, some strands seemed to be glued to his skin or to each other, and I felt like throwing up when I understood it was blood. 

“I’m afraid it comes with the package.” A small wink finished persuading me George was relatively okay and I helped him sit. 

“Always something funny to say, don’t you?” I said with a weak chuckle, which came out muffled by his neck, in the crook of which I had hidden my head.

“It comes in the package too.”

And with that, George wrapped his arms around me and rested his head on mine, a lot of unspoken things remaining between us as we enjoyed this little moment together, the both of us secretly fearing it could be the last. 

“They tortured me.” George eventually whispered, his voice shaky as his hands gripped a bit tighter the back of my jacket. “At first they wanted to know why we were in the forest, but then-” his voice broke, and he breathed loudly before continuing. “Malfoy recognized me. They want to know where Harry is. I- I’ve tried Y/N, I swear to you I’ve tried but- it was too painful, it was too much and I said- I told them he was at the wedding. They know Ron’s with him and- and-”

George was now fully sobbing, his tears making shining trails on his dirty cheeks. My heart was broken in a million tiny pieces and all I could do was pull him against me and try to hold back my own tears as I did my best to calm him. He was persuaded he had betrayed his family and Harry, persuaded that now they would be kidnapped because of him, and he would be the cause of their death. He wouldn’t listen to me, and no matter how hard I tried to tell him that the Death Eaters already knew that, he never stopped blaming himself, once or twice crying out that Fred would have been stronger than him, and he eventually fell asleep, his exhaustion being more than welcome as it plunged him in a deep sleep. 

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

One of the thoughts that regularly crossed Fred’s confused mind was that George would have handled this way better than him. Fred was convinced that his twin had always been stronger than himself, never seeming affected in a way or another by whatever situation. Of course, Fred knew better than that, but he knew George’s first reflex wouldn’t have been to get himself drunk hoping it would get easier. He would have been disappointed for sure, but this thought only added to Fred’s pain and he eventually stopped thinking about this. Instead, his mind drifted to a dark place, which he believed was quite similar to the one George and Y/N had been locked up before dying. It was what Fred always imagined since the moment Lupin had told them what the Order knew of their death. 

He imagined them both trying to protect each other, George pushing Y/N behind him, wanting to save her at the risk of his life. Of course he would do this, thought Fred. Saving Y/N, being the hero to her. But she would have wanted to be the heroine too. 

And then the same question, the one that always pushed him to grab another bottle of alcohol. 

“Did you- were you together?”

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Someone had thrown two pieces of bread on the floor in front of the door while George was sleeping, and I hadn’t had the heart of waking him up, nor did I have enough appetite to eat. Instead, I stayed in the very same position, his head resting on my shoulder, trying my best not to think. It was probably the night now, and only now did I realize it was really silent, that during the preceding hours I had heard faint noises that I missed more than anything now. I was unable to sleep and not only because of the fear that was obsessing me. All my body hurt from the cold and the stone, but my exhaustion was so strong that I eventually fell asleep too. 

“Y/N, wake up love. You have to eat.”

I opened my eyes and found out I was lying on the floor, George’s jacket spread out on me. My head was resting on my arms and as George’s fingers brushed lightly against my cheek, I almost forgot what had happened. Almost. 

“I’ve already eaten, that’s for you.” I muttered. 

The only thought of these pieces of bread was enough to make me want to throw up, and in anyways George needed it more than me. I watched as he frowned and got up, a grimace of pain briefly deforming his features. 

“Wait!” I exclaimed before jumping on my feet, the only thing preventing me from falling because of my numb legs being George’s arms. 

“What a pitiful sight we must be!” he chuckled bitterly. “That’s not exactly how I imagined our little trip.” 

“I know… And it’s cold here.”

George grabbed his jacket, which had fallen on the floor, and wrapped it around me. He shook his head when I insisted he should put it on, pretending he wasn’t that cold and I was looking like I would freeze on the spot. Then we sat back on the floor and stared at the door in front of us. 

I was so lost in my thought I almost didn’t react when the door opened. Only the fact that George immediately put himself in front of me alarmed me, and I mimicked him half a second later. It was the same man as the previous day, with the same sick smirk. 

“You were a fun boy, but now I wanna play with your girl.” 

The pleasure in his voice was undeniable, and it made my blood freeze in my veins. The Death Eater had his wand pointed on George, but he didn’t move. 

“George, please…” I whispered, both my hands on his back, fearing he would get killed. “I’ll be okay.”

“No, you won’t.” he muttered between his clenched teeth. “They’ll torture you. I won’t let that happen.”

“Step aside boy, or else I’ll have to kill you.” It didn’t seem like it was bothering this bastard, though.

“George! George please, don’t worry for me!”

“No!”

“Step aside!”

“George!”

“Avada Kedavra!”

George tensed for a split second before falling limp on the floor. He was dead. It felt like all the blood had stopped running through my veins and my eyes fell on him. His lifeless body lying at my feet, his eyes still open but not expressing any emotion, his lips I had learnt to know by heart losing their sweet colour. George was dead. Only a few seconds later did I scream louder than I had ever done, I screamed to try and wake him up, but I knew there was no use. 

“Come on, you’ll join him soon, shut up, would you?”

The Death Eater grabbed my arm and dragged me outside, ignoring my screams and my attempts to get rid of him and join George. My heart seemed to be broken on the floor, just next to George, and my throat was already sore from yelling. Never in my life had I thought something could hurt me that much. This physical agony, this pure pain coming right from my heart, from that same place where George had been for years and where he would be until the end, it was overwhelming and suffocating me. 

But when the Death Eater pushed me in an empty room with only a chair, when he forced me to sit down and tied me, I knew it was the end. I knew whatever he would ask me, whatever I would answer, I would die and this thought didn’t even scare me. I wanted to die. I wanted him to kill me, because living in a world where George wasn’t anymore wasn’t something I wanted to do. The only regret I had was being unable to kill this bastard that was standing in front of me with the disgusting smile I could barely see through my tears.

“Your boyfriend didn’t tell me what I wanted to know. Where is Harry Potter?”

My only reaction was to contain another sob. I didn’t know where Harry was and even if I had known, I wouldn’t have told him. Even when the cruciatus spell hit me, when my bones burnt my whole body and my voice broke after screaming too loud, even when I felt like life was beginning to leave my exhausted body, I never said anything. 

“Maybe I would have left you alive if you had told me what I wanted to know, but you leave me no choice.” shrugged the Death Eater. “Avada Kedavra!”

#rach'swritingchallenge #Harry Potter #harry potter imagines #harry potter imagine #george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #george weasley x y/n

[chaniters]

Alone again

After a brief chat with Miss Jackson and Marshal Charge, Cyrus makes it to the pickup point, but things don't go as planned. Alone again, he begins to realize escaping his own emotions is starting to become an impossible task. Spoilers for Fallen Hero, Rebirth below the cut  ___________________________

It’s over. 

You didn’t have to take off your ski mask for her to know it was you. 

You apologized, for not telling her you were boosted, but she smirked, saying it was only fair since she never told you she was boosted either.

“Besides… I knew all along” she says, leaving you cold, her eyes blinking with the golden color for the briefest moment.

Could she see your implant with her tech control all along?

You didn’t ask and rather stayed away from her mind. 

You choose to believe she didn’t, because if she could see it, then that would mean…

That would mean she took you in anyways, knowing what you truly are. 

And that makes no sense. You don’t need telepathy to know.

The doctor came in briefly, telling her that she would be fine and that her granddaughter would be coming to take care of her. 

As he left, she said her workshop in flames, and a third heart attack were clear signs that the universe wanted her retired for real, so she was going to be doing just that.  

You found it really funny, thinking the universe would speak to anyone, but she seemed really convinced, so you didn’t argue. 

Instead, you thanked her again and left before her family showed up. You don’t think you’ll ever see her again. 

Barely thirty minutes to make it to your pickup point and return to the world you belong to.

You walk out of the hospital feeling deflated, but you know it’s for the best. You had your fun, pretending to be human for a few months, but at the end of the day, it wasn’t real.

“Hey, kid…. Sorry... I mean Sidestep!” 

It takes a few seconds to register that he’s talking to you because you only made up Sidestep today, and once again, you can’t feel his darn mind. 

“Yes sir?” you ask, looking his way. He’s on a motorcycle by the entrance, one foot on the ground. 

“Just Charge” he snorts. “That was some good work at the warehouse. Want me to leave you somewhere?”

“...sure,” you say. Thirty minutes can go by really fast… you could use a lift. 

You tell him where to leave you, not the pickup point but nearby.

“Hop on”

You climb at the back of the bike, holding on to him, as he starts the engine, taking to the streets. 

“Did you get that arm checked up?” he asks “Did they say anything about the explosion?”

“I just bandaged it myself”

“Wh...  you were right in a hospital, why didn’t you get a doctor to see it?”

“I don’t like hospitals and I just went in to see Miss Jackson. Besides, I don’t have medical insurance”

“The rangers could foot the bill If I…”

“I’m fine” you repeat. It was easy to steal bandages. As for painkillers, you don’t really have a use for them. “You shouldn’t be anywhere near explosions without a proper suit. Or insurance for that matter” 

“I came out alright, didn’t I?”

“Here, take these at least” 

He pulls something from a compartment… Painkillers and antibiotics. Strong ones. 

“I’m not sure I’ll be using those” you say. You’re not sure the farm would like you taking medication from strangers...

“Just take them,” he insists,  giving you an odd look, as he stops by a traffic light. 

At this rate, you’ll be there with time to spare. 

Bikes are fast.  

The material of his skinsuit smells artificial up close and has muscles carved in its exterior for looks. It makes you wonder if it’s any indication of the man underneath, or is it all just looks?

“How long?” he says after a long silence

“How long what?”

“How long have you been boosted?” he repeats the question as if it had been clear totally clear the first time.

“...I’d rather not talk about that” 

He stays silent, until you reach your destination, stopping the bike. 

“I know getting boosted is a great high… but you shouldn’t be so reckless… and that’s coming from me”

“I just wanted to save miss Jackson” you reply “She didn’t deserve to die” 

“She did not” he agrees. 

“You live here?” he says looking around the semi-derelict neighborhood. 

“I was staying at the workshop,” you say getting off. 

“But you do have a place to stay the night, right?”

“Of course I do” you reply. The farm will accommodate. 

“Alright… hmm... Listen, I shouldn’t say anything, but the PR department is looking for younger heroes that we can team up with, you know, so they can later join the team, or work together? And they can get resources and …”

“You don’t need to offer charity” you interrupt. “I’m fine, I can take care of myself”

He sighs, tiredly.

“Hey, I’m trying to be nice here. All I’m saying, if you want to team up in the future, I can teach you the ropes. You were going to go alone in there. If I hadn’t shown up...”

He keeps talking about how reckless you were, how unprepared and underequipped you are, but you begin to wonder if he’s not just trying to pay you back for pulling him away from that blast and distracting Psychopathor. 

That is something you can understand a lot better... 

“Ok,” you say. “I’ll take you up on that offer. Maybe we can team up in the future then, Marsh-”

“Charge” 

“Charge” you repeat, correcting yourself for the millionth time. 

“That’s… great actually!” he smiles. “Seek me out at the rangers HQ in a couple of days and we’ll talk about it,” he says, offering a hand.

You look at it for a brief second, before shaking it. 

“I’ll be there. But for now, I really have to go!”

“Of course, take care!” he says as you walk off.

No problem with agreeing to his offer to team up,  because you’re never going to see this guy again after all. Just under ten minutes to make it to the pickup point.  

____________________

You check the cheap plastic watch you’ve been using. 

Right on time, and just around the corner is where you’re supposed to meet. You’re about to turn when you hear familiar words...

“Yeah, the idiot redhead resisted after we made it to the bridge. Clocked me in the face, hit me with something heavy, maybe a metal tube or something, and tried to get away, but I got a hold of him. We fought and I strangled him on the floor with both hands. He struggled a lot, but in the end, there was nothing he could do. When it was done, I threw the body into the water as the boss said, nobody will ever find it.”

The words are immediately followed by a single gunshot, and the mercenary you brainwashed falls into view, dead, a puddle of blood forming under him. You made him repeat that story to anyone who asked, and now the Special Directive killed him because of it.

You can’t feel their minds, but you know they’re there.

“Control? We’re on the spot, but the doll isn’t here. Our SCO found one of Psychopathor’s, goons skulking around, and caught him. He confessed to having killed the missing SCO. They supposedly tossed it into the water down the bridge. Requesting new orders. Over”

You can hear the reply, in a broken radio signal.

“Understood. Head to the bridge, and search the area. We will contact divers to try recover the remains of the SCO for recyclable material. I’ll notify the director. Over”

“Understood control, over,” he says hanging up. 

“Shit. And now we get to spend the entire day waiting for tactical divers because that stupid doll couldn’t even stop that junkie from strangling it?”

“I heard it’s just a useless unit.”

 “I read its record and it was pretty mediocre. Useless really when compared with scent-based SCO’s. Besides, telepathy? Those freaks should never leave the lab. You never know if numbers are really working ”

“Well from what they told us, only the lab wanted it for experiments anyways and you know how that ends.”

“Newest candidate for brain in a jar?” one of them snorts.

“No department will miss it, but the director will still be mad” another one comments.

“Who cares? it won’t last. She’ll just design a new one and forget about this one. Like she does every single time”

They keep talking, but your feet turn and you start walking in the opposite direction. 

Further, and further away, until you can’t hear them anymore…

And then you are sprinting.

Running.

Your vision blurs, It’s hard to even see where you’re going now.

You rub your eyes, all watery now, and you keep running until you are too exhausted to do anything but walk. 

It takes you a few moments to realize you’re back by the entrance of Miss Jackson’s workshop, the building completely ruined by the plasma fire. 

Can’t go back inside. There is nothing left in there for you.

You sit down against a wall on the opposite street, next to a dumpster. 

Mediocre.

Useless.

No department will miss it.

Candidate for brain in a jar.

Nowhere to go. Nobody cares.  Nobody knows you. Miss Jackson is gone. The farm doesn’t even want you. They think you’re dead.

You’ve never felt so alone before. 

You pull the mask off, wrapping your arms around your legs, resting your face on your knees. 

Are you crying? Dolls aren’t supposed to cry. Genes are strong… Genes aren’t supposed to feel emotions like this… Everything feels wrong. Everything is upside down… 

Maybe they are right. Maybe you are too weak, and there is something really wrong with you.  Maybe you’re broken, and that’s why you wanted to pretend to be a human for so long. Maybe you wanted to feel these emotions, and now you’re paying the price. They were never meant for you… 

Maybe you brought it upon yourself...

The thoughts keep spinning in your mind for hours and the tears won’t stop. You can feel people passing by, ignoring yet another homeless outcast living on the streets. 

Your eyes close, and you feel yourself drowning in confusing thoughts, drifting further and further away until sleep finally pulls you out of their reach, and into the calmer waters of forgotten dreams. ______________ If you want to read more: My Fanfiction: https://chaniters.tumblr.com/post/181692759294/my-fanfiction-for-fallen-hero    DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction using characters and the setting of the Fallen Hero: Rebirth and upcoming Fallen Hero: Retribution games written by Malin Rydén. I do not claim ownership of any characters from the Fallen Hero wold. These stories are a work of my imagination, and I do not ascribe them to the official story canon. These works are intended for entertainment outside the official storyline owned by the author. I am not profiting financially from the creation of these stories, and thank the author for her wonderful game/s, without which these works would not exist.

#fallen hero: rebirth #Fallen hero fanfic #Charge #Sidestep #fallen hero rebirth spoilers #fallen hero