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sophiethewitch1 · 24 days

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What We Want - Chpt. 6 - Round Two. Fight!

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

Damn. Your indulgent TV stalking of the Wayne’s really doesn’t hit the same once you technically knew them. And you were hiding inside one of their bedrooms, inside one of their clothes, using their TV subscription. It just didn’t feel right. Morally, of course, but that wasn’t what you were talking about. No, you were just pissy your favourite pastime was basically ruined. You shovel another spoonful of cookie dough ice cream into your mouth, glaring through tired eyes at the screen.

There’s an up-close shot of Dick Grayson’s abs. The presenter ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ over his physical form, and you have to agree. You wish you had abs like that. Unfortunately, you did respond to most unwanted experiences with stress eating. As always with these celebrity figures, you can’t really tell if you want to be Dick or be with Dick. Your butt is nowhere near the level his is at.

While you hadn’t really set out today looking for shirtless pictures of the Waynes, it wasn’t like you were going to say no to them. So, when the gossip channel had switched from the reactions of the Waynes to last night’s fiasco to… this… you’d just kept watching.

You wonder if you should stop doing this. It’s definitely kind of creepy, and now you’d technically once been his… step-sister. What a mind fuck. You’ve been crushing on these dudes for a while, and now they were your ex-step siblings. This was like the start of a bad porno, but you knew you were not that lucky. And it wasn’t like you were going to start thinking of him as a brother any time soon. You hadn’t even met the guy. No, he was still firmly in the ‘celebrity crush’ section of your mind. Pretty and untouchable. The way things are supposed to be.

Which was also bad because you would probably have to meet and interact with him at some point. Probably in the near future. God knows you’d absolutely humiliated yourself in front of the fucking Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne,. Twice, in fact. You didn’t even want to think about the display you’d shown for Bruce Wayne or Damian Wayne.

You didn’t really know what to do with your slightly obsessive crushes. And you could see it definitely being a problem in the near future.

…You decide that what you do in your private time is absolutely nobody but your business, and keep watching. It’s a mix of bitter spite and genuine mental breakdown levels of desperation that leads you to that decision. You feel like you’re a child with their toy being taken away, and it’s making you mad. And sad too. Even if you shouldn’t do this anymore, you still want to keep the habit. You’d mentioned before your creature comforts were one of the few things that kept you going. And while you were mostly very good at not being the jealous, heinous creature you really are, you knew you wouldn’t be giving this up.

They’d have to tear your gossip channels from your cold dead palms. You weren’t giving them up, not without a fight at least. Unfortunately for you, the universe seemed determined to wrestle away literally everything you loved.

Guilt’s for tomorrow. Today is for ice cream and purposefully ignoring everything. Speaking of which, you can not remember the last time you had a good Ben & Jerry’s. They were so expensive these days, as all groceries were. You simply couldn’t afford it. The Waynes, of course, had multiple tubs in multiple different options. Alfred had seemed delighted that you’d taken the ice cream, for which reasons you could not perceive.

Oh, yeah! His name was Alfred. Very butler-y. You’d remember it this time, he was a very nice man. And he called you ‘young miss’ which earned him points. He also didn’t seem to hate you on sight or treat you like a two-headed freak, like some of the other people in this household. Not naming names. Yeah, fuck that noise, Damian Wayne obviously has issues and it’s much less attractive in real life.

The woman drones on, and your eyes flick to your phone. Yup, she’s still yapping. It’s not like you don’t appreciate Dick’s abs or anything, it’s just that you think she might’ve been talking about this one specific photo for over half an hour now. Lady should get a hobby. Wait, wait, this is her job. Maybe you should start a podcast where you rant about the Wayne’s exercise regimes. It seems to be quite a lucrative field.

You shriek when the door slams open, nearly tumbling backwards off the bed. Hands manage to grip the bedcovers before you tip over, not making a complete fool of yourself. As it goes, you lose your spoon to the carpet. Bits of cookie dough spread over the floor in a divine sacrifice. And you lose your sanity to the man standing in the doorway. To be fair, he looks just as confused as you feel.

You blink at the physically perfect form of Dick Grayson and then turn your head to the TV to look at the other physically perfect form of Dick Grayson.

…You really wish you had a good explanation for this.

He mutters out your name, lips parted. Dick Grayson seems absolutely shocked to find you here. His eyes flick around the room and eventually land on the TV. Said baby blues widen to the size of saucers when the reporter makes a really, really unnecessary comment.

“And in news that broke the hearts of both ladies and gentlemen everywhere in Bludhaven, Dick Grayson has announced he will be returning to Gotham to assist his family in this difficult time. My cousin in the Blud is probably crying right now. There’s no ass out there quite like his, and there’s no replacement for Bludhaven’s favourite young rich bachelor,” she winks at the camera, and then the shot of his toned stomach phases forward to take up the entire screen.

Well, there’s a lot to say about that. First of all, fuck. Second of all, shit. Third of all, she really couldn’t have said that part about Dick coming back to Gotham sooner? Perchance, before you’d found yourself in this situation?

You said you weren’t that lucky, you meant it.

“But still, ain’t that lucky for us Gothamites? I myself have spent a lot of time on Dick’s Tiktok and Instagram, and his acrobatic videos have been used in a lot of my personal-”

You snatch the remote from the sheets and pause it right there. The silence is tense. You wait for him to say something, but he just stares at you. Completely stunned, mouth-catching flies. You want to pull the covers up and hide under them, but you don’t think that’d make him leave.

“I couldn’t find my room,” you finally manage to say. It’s the worst excuse you’ve ever heard, sounds like a complete lie. And yet, unfortunately, it is the truth.

Dick’s eyes drift to the TV, which you still haven’t unpaused. You can’t tell if it would be worth it, just to get rid of his golden brown abs staring at you judgementally, even if you’d have to deal with the extra embarrassment of the dialogue over them. Maybe if you muted the TV? It wouldn’t make up for the insult of his paparazzi photos on a widescreen.

It takes you even longer to come up with an excuse for… that.

“I was checking the news about last night,” you continue, the panic in you rising like a tea kettle left on the stove for too long. You might start shrieking like one too.

You don’t think he believes you. He looks down at the Beatles shirt you’re wearing. You know what he’s going to say before he does, but you still dread it.

“You’re wearing my clothes,” he mutters, his voice awed.

You want to say, ‘Nooo! No, no, no! Don’t do this to me, damn it! Not anymore! No more, please! It’s enough, enough suffering! This is genuinely ridiculous, damn you!’ but instead you reply with a shaky, “…Didn’t have any of mine.”

Also, you’ve been huffing Eau de Dick Grayson? That’s definitely in character for you. You want to beat your own head in with a stick.

“And I couldn’t find my room, and uh, thought this one wasn’t being used,” you continue, daring a glance back at him. He still looks completely stumped.

“It wasn’t,” he answers, but it sounds like he’s a thousand miles away.

You know, Dick Grayson was supposed to be a lot more charming than this. You’re almost proud you managed to stun the man into near speechlessness. Almost, almost. Almost not going to kill yourself once he leaves.

If he leaves. He doesn’t look like he’s getting up. You eye the gap between you and the door. Your animal brain is telling you to just run for it. But Dick has Olympic level athletics, and you don’t doubt he could catch you if you ran. Would he try though? That’s the deciding factor here.

He doesn’t seem like he’s actually going to fucking do anything though. He just keeps staring, like if he looks for long enough, it’ll all start to make sense. Which, you wish.

“Do you know where my room is? I couldn’t… remember…”

He nods, instead staring at his own abs on the TV.

“Can you take me to my room?”

He nods again. Still doesn’t look back at you.

“…Mr. Grayson?” you say, and almost immediately regret it. ‘You’ wouldn’t have used his last name, even though you might’ve. ‘You’ had been a casual person, as far as you could tell. That was the kindest way you could say it, at least.

His head snaps to you. He somehow looks more confused. You wonder if you should pinch him or something, god knows you’ve done your fair share of pinching yourself recently.

“Yes, right, sorry. Let’s… go,” he gives you a cheery smile, shaking his head, but it seems quite strained. You’re probably matching. This is the most humiliating moment of your life, and of course, it’s with the most beautiful man on earth right beside you.

A break. You want a break.

The two of you quietly shuffle out of the room, and when he guides you forward, you follow him obediently. Your head naturally bows, shame making it hard to look at him. You stare at the wooden floors as you walk. Watching it shine in the morning light that filters through the windows.

Eventually, he comes to a stop in front of a door that has obviously been avoided. Though it’s as clean as every other inch of this house, there are no marks in the rug from the door opening and closing. And even then, it seems… well, it sounds silly, but the door seems sad to you. Too many things seem sad to you these days.

Your thoughts must show on your face because Dick clears his throat and gives you a worried look. Is it rude to say you’re sick of those sorts of looks? That they just make you feel sick and burdened these days? It’s not like you could bring your family back from the dead, or convince your cheating boyfriend to not be a piece of shit. It was out of your hands.

“…Are you alright?” he asks you, blue eyes sincere. You tilt your head to the side.

“No?” you say, but it sounds more like a question. No, you are not alright. Yes, you will be okay. It’s the only option. It’s one of your rules. You have to be okay. You just have to.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You almost laugh.

“No,” this time your voice is firm, confident. Dick seems like he’s going to push it, but something in your eyes makes him stop. You give him a forced smile and say goodbye, closing the door gently in his face. Once you do, you crouch down and once again, press your face to your knees. Then you press your hands to your mouth and let out a scream that had been bubbling up for a while. After that, you feel you can live with the humiliation that is your existence without jumping out the three-story-height window.

You stand up, turning to the room. The first thing you notice about it is that there’s dust in here. Same as Dick’s old room. Now that you think about it, Alfred doesn’t seem the type who’d randomly leave certain rooms uncleaned, so it must be something he does out of respect for the tenants of Wayne Manor. Or maybe the old you requested it? God knows.

Sitting down on the old bed, your eyes rove around the room. It’s well decorated, as the rest of the manor is, but you can’t see anything that would make it your room. There’s none of the novels you’d collected from the used books store, no dorky little items you impulse bought, no pictures of your family. The apartment hadn’t had those either.

‘You’- she- seemed like a ghost to you. While you’d often felt like you’d barely been alive, simply going through the motions, this girl seemed like she hadn’t even been conscious half the time she was doing it. It made your stomach swim, your face pulls taught.

While you’d had few things holding you afloat, it’d been enough to keep you alive. Molly, your co-workers, the need to work so as to not starve to death. She hadn’t had anything like that. No liferaft. You’d been sputtering and gasping your way through life, and she’d been drowning. Maybe already dead, at the bottom of the sea, hair tangling with the seaweed.

This room feels like a coffin, and this manor like a cemetery. It makes you physically sick.

Showing off your fickle-mindedness, you realise that despite this being the Wayne manor filled with all your idols, you actually don’t want to fucking be here. You need space to clear your head, and the creaking floorboards that echo down the creepy hallways just don’t offer that. The atmosphere at your too-modern, too-minimalist apartment is leagues better than the atmosphere at this gorgeous old house which you’d usually love spending hours getting lost in.

Usually. Unfortunately, this place was more suffocating than the workplace when you knew you were about to get fired again. And you weren’t getting paid to stay here, so why the fuck would you?

Once you realise you’ve decided to run, you’re quick to pack up your shit. There’s not much in the room you need. A pair of sneakers, because you would rather die than put those heels on again. And you’ll grab some shirts because they’re comfy and remind you of home. Hopefully, it’ll make everything… grate… a little less. All of this is thrown in an old ratty backpack, which is then tossed over your shoulder. Shoes slipped on, and tapped against the floor so they’re on comfortably. And then you’re ready. Ready as you’ll ever be. With one hand on your phone, you take a peek outside the door. Coast is clear.

You press call for ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’. Jeanine picks up on the third ring.

“Hello, Jeanine Ryans here,” she says, her voice all business.

“Jeanine, I need an evac, stat,” you whisper to her, creeping down the hallway of the manor. The floor is unbelievably creeky, so it’s pretty fucking difficult to be stealthy about it.

“…What?”

“Get me out of this fucking manor, please,” you beg, now going down the stairs. Almost out, almost out.

“Right, on it. I’ll have a car outside in ten minutes if that’s alright?” Jeanine replies, immediately on the case. It almost makes you cry. You know she’s being paid for this, and very desperate for the job for some reason, but it’s still a hail mary that you are so grateful for.

“Thank you, thank you so much,” you say, turning a corner and-

Oh, fuck. Damian Wayne glares down at you, green eyes cataloguing every single guilty piece of you in existence. He sees your hand tighten around your backpack, hears Jeanine telling you not to worry through your phone, and probably notices the way your eyes desperately flicker behind him to the door. To your goal, to the exit to this labyrinth.

You can practically hear the wind blowing, see the tumbleweed drift by.

And then, he moves past you, twisting his body so no part of it touches you. There’s a moment where your brain freezes, something spicy smelling (cinnamon, maybe?) flowing past you, and by the time you turn around, he’s gone. Your deer-in-headlights tensed-shoulders look falls, leaving you confused in the foyer. He didn’t even say a word to you. You felt like you just got passed over by a boss from a Dark Souls game.

…Well, you’ll take the wins where you can find them! Quickly, you hurry out the front door, skittering down the steps like some sort of rat. It’s a long walk to the gates, and you don’t really know how to open them to let the car in, so you decide to take your time and enjoy the walk. The early morning dew apon the clean-cut blades of grass glint and sparkle, the gravel on the road crunches under your technically-not-stolen sneakers, and even if it’s a miserable life, it’s a pretty day. From the hill the manor lives upon, you can see Gotham’s tall skyline, cloaked in its characteristic fog.

Eventually, you find yourself in front of the gate, where you can see Jeanine waiting with a black car on the otherside. There’s a big green button next to the side gate, which you press, and it clicks open. There’s a moment where your neck tingles, and you glance up at the camera pointed down at you. The red flickering light beside it holds your attention. You can see your bedraggled reflection in its lense.

Shaking your head, you move on, greeting Jeanine. She gives you a quick bow of the head and opens the door for you. You hike the bag over your shoulder, give the Wayne manor one final, lingering look and then you step into the car. Jeanine starts speaking to you about some future appointments you have, and you’re too tired to understand a word of what she says. She realises you’re not processing anything she says, and hands you a pair of headphones with a wire adapter.

You could kiss her right then and there. You don’t because that’d be weird, but you definitely think about it. Headphones on, you watch the rolling hills and luxurious manors turn into highways and honking traffic, to finally the upside part of town which was now apparently where you lived.

Eventually you find yourself being delivered in front of your swanky new apartment. With a passing goodbye, Jeanine tells you that she’ll be busy for the rest fo the day so if you need anything to call the number on the card she hands you. You tuck it in your pocket, certain you’ll lose it like every other business card you’ve ever been handed.

The elevator ride up to your room is contemplative. The music is boring, your reflection is bedraggled and tired, and the gentle feeling of gravity under your feet tugs at you. You rock slightly when you finally reach your floor. The doors open, but you don’t make any move to leave. They shut again, and you’re left staring daggers at your mirrored self.

You’d woken up, still here. It wasn’t a dream. It was reality. And more than that, it seemed more and more like you’d be staying in this reality. You didn’t think you could go home. Sure you were rich but… but your home. Your few things you’d managed to save. Your meagre group of friends and your hard-sought job. It made you nauseous. Where had you lost it all? Why were you here now? Why did you keep having to lose everything?

You manage to snap yourself out of it before someone else calls the elevator. Striding out of the space, you look to the right where you remember your apartment coming from. It’s not hard to find the unit, as there are only three on the entire floor. Rich people.

The door closes with a satisfying thud behind you, and you nearly melt with exhaustion.

This apartment is the ninth circle of hell for you. Scrambling around on your knees, you’re desperate to find the damn phone that won’t stop ringing. You can’t understand where the sound is coming from.

Under your bed? You shine your other’s phone’s light under it. Nope. Behind the dresser? Nada. You search inside the drawers and then peek inside the fancy lamp. Absolutely nothing. You’re ready to tear your hair out when you spot something… odd.

There’s… You think there’s something stuck in your floorboards. You dig at the space with your fingernails and the piece of wood pops open. Inside is… a cardboard box. An awfully familiar cardboard box, actually. The sight of your Mum’s old keepsake box makes you cry out with joy, lifting it from its little enclave. You’d lost a lot in the past few days but at least the old you knew how to keep your family’s stuff safe.

This apartment looks brand new. And apparently the past you dug into it to hide her stuff. You can’t really judge, you have a hidey-hole back at your apartment. It was a brick that had already been loose in the wall, so it didn’t feel quite as criminal as this.

The ringing is coming from inside the box. When you pull the lid up, you find a keepsake box a little different from yours. While yours only ever had your family’s old passports and photo albums, this one had a sleek phone sitting on top of all the mementos. It’s an exact copy of the phone on your bed- or well, it would be, if you hadn’t dropped it.

Two phones? This bitch was greedy. And so are you, eagerly sweeping the expensive item into your gremlin hands. Your thieving high is instantly quashed when you see who’s calling.

Of all fucking… George.

You roll your eyes before hanging up, tossing the phone to the side as you start rifling through the old keepsake box. You flip through family photo albums and lovingly cradle old stuffies. The phone buzzes. You ignore it. You find one of your mother’s old necklaces, and because you’re desperate for anything that can ground you, slip it over your head. The cool heart locket rests just under your collarbone, and you clutch it with one hand as you keep exploring. The phone keeps buzzing. It’s only almost half an hour later when you realise something about this is strange.

Why is George… not blocked? You glance down at the vibrating object like it’s radioactive, a despairing frown pulling at your face. Cautiously, you pick it up, making sure not to open the notifications lest it tell George you read any of his messages.

He’s… apologising for not being there for your birthday. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. And it’s not even a proper apology, it’s one of those ‘I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings’ bullcrap. He keeps spamming you, and eventually, you realise that he’s not going to just stop.

You decide to nip this in the bud quickly because even remembering his cheating face makes you feel like throwing up.

‘You’: Why are you contacting me?

‘George <3’: Seriously? Look, I’m sorry I wasn’t there yesterday. I was busy, you know that.

Stupidly, you reply:

‘You’: ‘No, seriously, why are you contacting me? I’m done with you.’

You wonder how you ever loved this jackass. Even if he was obviously more of a jackass here, than where you’d come from. He was just better at pretending there. You keep scrolling, ignoring the new texts that pop up. Your stomach sours at the number of texts he himself had ignored, of the amount of ‘sorry baby, can’t come tonight’, the begging, the pleading.

No, he wasn’t worse at pretending. He just didn’t care.

You wonder if this could have been you, further along down the line. Abuse happens slowly, right? Like a frog in a pot. You’d have forgiven and forgotten, written away his worse behaviours till you couldn’t anymore. Till you couldn’t leave, till you were trapped.

You think George Lancaster would’ve tried to. He would’ve isolated you from everyone you had left if he hadn’t screwed up and got caught.

You realise now there were a lot of red flags in your relationship with George. Molly always hated him and he hated her. He’d constantly complain about how much time you spent with her, spamming you with texts when you went out.

You were only… only two days since you’d actually broken up with him. Which was sort of crazy to think about. You feel like you’ve lived eons since then. Like that one traumatic incident aged you thirty years. Anyway, you still hadn’t processed the whole George thing. You’d been sort of busy fighting for your life.

‘George’: I’m here, can you at least open the door so we can talk face to face?

Freeze. A knock sounds, and your head snaps up to the front door. You don’t move. You just wish it away. The knocking only gets louder and louder.

You feel like a dumb girl in a horror movie as you walk towards the door, unlocking it and creaking the knob open. George Lancaster stands on the other side, and before you can slam it in his face, he grabs you by the arm and yanks you out of the door. And then he’s pulling you to the elevator, even as you try and get your bearings, get yourself away from him.

“You can’t just ignore me like this,” George says, pissed off to high hell, “We’re going to miss the reservation I booked specifically for you. I told you it was happening today and-”

There’s white noise between your ears, you can’t hear what he’s saying. Told you? It wasn’t in any of the texts. He’s still talking even as the elevator dings, even as he shoves you in a white sports car that’s half parked on the curb. Even as he drives his way through Gotham’s streets, he won’t fucking shut up.

Why are you letting this happen to you? Why aren't you fighting back, wrenching yourself from his grasp? He takes you into a restaurant, one so upscale that normally you wouldn’t be able to get in for months, and your head snaps from staring socialites to watching politicians to gawking celebrities. You have the eyes of the world on you right now, and they’re all watching George yell at you.

And you can’t find your voice.

It's like a scab you can't stop picking at. Like you think this is what you deserve or something. And it's not. You know it's not. And yet you follow obediently, chastised and embarrassed, as he pulls you through the restaurant. When he picks a table in the centre of the room, you don’t protest. When he chooses your meal for you, even though it’s not to your taste, you don’t protest.

Looking at George, scrolling lazily on his phone, your hands clench against the table. They’re sweating, shaking, nails digging into your palms.

You… you didn’t have to break up with him again, did you? You realised it earlier, but you didn’t- it didn’t really sink in. Your first breakup with George Lancaster was a miserable traumatic experience, and it had been in the solitary streets of Gotham’s Narrows. This one, this one would be seen by literally everyone.

Nauseous. You feel so damn nauseous, your mouth dry as you swallow down bile. This was ridiculous. You couldn’t stand seeing his face. Was he texting her right now? God, did she even know? You’d just stormed out that night, running from what you’d seen.

George had chased after you. Had he left her there? Your stomach churned at the idea. You had to hate her on principle but, well, you also had to sympathise with her. Contradictions, that was the average you. You didn’t want to help this random girl. Didn’t want to have to ever think of her again.

…Staring at George, a definitively awful person, you can’t do it. Can’t just leave her to it.

“I’m breaking up with you,” you say.

“What?” George replies, not even looking up from his phone.

“I’m breaking up with you!” you shout. It’s not even intentional, just a result of being pushed too far, of breaking too easily.

The restaurant goes quiet. Guess you’re up for another scandal then. Whatever, it wasn’t like you would’ve lasted much longer anyway. This was all too complicated for your recently traumatised mind to handle. And it was just too damn stupid to bother with anyway. All of this was fucking stupid.

You included.

Just pull the bandaid off, right? You could already see how this version of you had so many scandals to her name. You probably should start giving a shit. Or at least trying to. You don’t think you want to, though.

George puts his phone down face down on the tablecloth, giving you a calm look. That slightly pitying stare activates something in your brain you didn’t really know was there. It’s a type of rage you haven’t known since you were a kindergartner and one of the other girls said you couldn’t play princesses. Since your first service job where your manager felt you up. Just pure, petty, anger. The type of anger ready to burn the world down as long as it burns whoever pissed you off as well. He opens his mouth, probably to say something condescending, and your hand whips out and snatches his phone.

“Hey!” George says instead, his eyes widening.

You turn the phone back on. Hm, passcode. You flip it around and use facial recognition to open it. Despite the fact that George wears the most comically shocked expression, with saucer-wide eyes and a mouth open to catch flies, it unlocks. Nice.

“Hey! What are you doing?” George demands, reaching over the table for his phone.

You twist away from his reach. Password. You flip the phone, and despite George’s comically shocked expression, it still unlocks. He shouts again when it does, probably realising that you might be taking this seriously. That he might actually be in trouble. That his sugar mummy might not take too kindly to the numerous texts to other women on his phone.

…You really can’t believe you’re a sugar mummy. And for George of all people. What a horrendous waste of money, it’s fucking tragic.

He’s got the texts with someone known as ‘Pizza Hut’ pulled up, with some very flirtatious messages. You scroll up furiously, ducking under George as he gets up from the table and tries to get the phone. Still, backing up, the sight of a very poorly shot dick pic of George’s has you grimacing. Your focus on the picture, trying to decide whether his penis looked so unappealing before you’d learnt of his betrayal, has you distracted when one of the servers come around.

And, well, shirt, meet soup. Very, very hot soup. Everyone? Meet a screeching, klutzy moron.

George takes the chance to advance on you, snatching his phone from you. He doesn’t even seem to care you’re currently getting third-degree burns. The sting scorches through the thin fabric of your dress shirt, burning your skin. George grabs you again, his grip harsh enough this time you know it will bruise, and you can’t really say why you do what you do at that moment.

Your aunt used to have a chihuahua. It was an ugly, grumpy thing. She’d rescued it late into its life, and it had been treated poorly beforehand. It didn’t like to be touched at all and used to run from anyone who tried. And if you tried to touch it? Cornered it?

Well, of course, it started biting.

George’s howl is the most satisfying thing you’ve ever heard. His squeal of “bitch!” might be even more so. He slaps you away from him, and the sound echoes in the restaurant. Your face stings. When you land ass first in the puddle of still-too-hot soup, you wonder if you might try and bite him again. You don’t think you even broke the skin, considering you can’t taste blood. The other patrons stare on in genuine horror, like they’ve never seen a messy breakup before. One woman raises a hand to her mouth, and gasps-

You find yourself staring up at a furious George, one with a menace in his eyes you’ve never seen before. You wonder, idly, if he’s ever hit you before. Well, not you, but ‘you’. You realise now that he has the capacity for it, that he probably always did.

“What the fuck!?” he hisses, angry eyes darting from side to side, “Biting me?! In fucking public?! Have you lost it, you crazy bitch?! And you got my phone fucking soaked in soup!”

“Did you buy it?” you ask, wiping your mouth with your sleeve to get George’s dirty taste out of your mouth.

He blinks, confused, thrown off by your question, “Huh?”

“Did you buy that phone?” you repeat, your staring starting to turn into a furious glare.

You don’t think he did. Your George had never been able to afford those sorts of things, he’d been as broke as you were. Of course, you’d seen him lust over those items, but you’d always managed to convince him not to go into debt over silly things like sports cars and fancy phones. And even then, you’d been the one to buy him a PS5.

He looks down at the phone and back at you, and you can see his jaw tick.

“I bought it. That’s mine.”

“It was a gift. You’re going to be such a bitter bitch to take back everything you gave me? Gonna leave me out on the fucking street?” he says, spittle flying with angry words.

This was escalating fast. Maybe before you’d have been cowed by his words, but you were genuinely off your rocker by now and were very much willing to tango with this bastard. Like yes, he did terrify you, but so did everything else. You could handle this much at least. You weren’t ready to back down.

“And if I did? What then George? What could you even fucking do?” you throw back, voice rising to match his.

“It’s not your money either, it’s theirs, you little leech!” says the pot.

“Does it matter?” replies the kettle.

Pushing to your feet, you find George without another answer. He stands between you and the exit. With the plain murderous rage on his face, you think he’ll try to grab you again if you run past. He wouldn’t bite you back, but he might slap you or something. So instead, like any good coward does, you run straight to the girl’s bathroom. It hasn’t failed you yet, and you doubt it will today.

You shove into the bathroom, past a woman doing her makeup. Her head bobs up and down as she takes in your seemingly infamous face, and your stained shirt. You stride as far away from her as possible, darting into the last bathroom stall and sitting on the closed toilet lid. You pull your knees to your chest and hiss out a sound of frustration when that presses the sticky liquid against your chest and pants. Not your brightest idea, but you were sort of running on fumes right now.

The bathroom stall is extremely clean. One thing you were quickly realising about rich people is they didn’t have to suffer shitty public bathrooms. You didn’t think they deserved it. Like customer service jobs, and traffic, they built character.

What were you doing? Right, trying not to cry. You’re doing much better than yesterday. Still, sitting on top of the toilet’s closed lid, your phone pressed to your face, you wouldn’t say you’re doing ‘good’.

But because you knew George was too much of a pussy to ever enter the woman’s bathrooms, you refuse to move a single inch. You don’t want to go out there. At all. At all, at all. You’d tried to call Jeanine, but she hadn’t answered. Some P.A. she was. You still weren’t going to fire her. Then you remember that she told you she was going out later, and that she’d left a card with you. Digging through your pocket, you decide it’s finally time to die when you realise you lost the card somewhere along the line.

So, she wasn’t going to come save you as your knight in shining armour.

You can’t remember Molly’s number. Who did these days? That was your phone’s job. So you were left with… this. You were left with this. Four blocked numbers and a third had sent an automatic reply because he was driving. Alfred was probably busy. Weren’t butlers always very busy?

…Rich people weren’t often very busy. They had butlers and assistants to do all their chores. You unblock all four of the Waynes that you have on your phone.

The first thing you notice is the amount of texts between ‘you’ and Dick. Scrolling and scrolling, you find most of them are him checking up on you and one-word replies from the old you. He’s friendly and accepting, even when you respond in cruel and aggressive tones. The further back you scroll, the kinder your replies are. At one point it seems like the two of you had a good relationship.

You check the other chats. Tim’s message log is filled with coffee requests sent back and forth between you, Damian’s is completely empty, and Bruce’s has had no response from your phone in years. But eventually, you scroll back far enough that you find an actual conversation instead of just ‘Call Alfred’ repeated every few days.

‘You’: I miss them.

‘Bruce Wayne’: I know. I miss them too.

You press the back button, sighing. That felt like you’d seen something you shouldn’t have, like you’d peeked into someone’s diary. Which was unbelievably stupid. All of this is unbelievably stupid. You should just leave, you should just be brave. Two days ago you faced off against one of your worst fears, but today you couldn’t even handle George Lancaster.

You want someone to rescue you. You know no one will unless you ask. It makes you choke on your own self-disgust. This is the second time in one day. God, maybe you should just do it yourself. It’s not like you couldn’t pay for your own Uber.

And still, you find yourself clicking on a name and begging. Skin crawling, you type and retype the text probably a hundred times. You go from long apologies to begging to rants you never intended to send in the first place. Tap, tap, tap, and then you delete, delete, delete.

What you settle on is simple.

‘You’: hey. can you come pick me up? thx

Maybe a bit too simple. You cross your arms and tuck yourself in the good ol’ fetal position. You feel like you’ve spent half your time holding yourself like this the past three days.

‘Dick Grayson’: I’ll be there in five.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

#Series:WWW #yandere batfam #batfam x reader #yandere dc #yandere batfamily #yandere x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

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rafescurtainbangz · 2 months

Note

needy blowjobs w Rafe 😫😫

Ahhhh thank you so much for your ask. Needy!Rafe has me quaking. Hehe 🤭 I hope you have a beautiful day.

+18 Minor DNI 1.8k

Rafe x sub!FemaleReader

Teasing, oral male receiving, use of restraints, threats, name calling, needy!rafe, use of pet names (baby girl, honey, sweetheart, daddy, rafey)

Tags: @imyourdaninow @redhead1180 @humanvampire13 @akashababy @dckweed @ashamedtobeawhitemanswhore27 @marahgubler @joannamuns9n @romaescapes @h34rtsformilli @jayla @randymeeksistheloml @waywardsoul113 @gri959 @drewstarkeyslut

Lightly edited

Tag list

Rafe smiles as he draws your chin up. Your beautiful eyes resting on his pleading blues. "Please," he chuckles weakly.

You giggle in reply, grinning and shrugging. "I don't think you've earned it."

Rafe lets out a cackle of a laugh before sucking his teeth. “Easy, kid. I might just put the kibosh on all this shit and take what I want. I'm playin’ nice. Do you know how easy it would be to overpower you? To just hold your head and fuck your throat, baby girl. It's mine, after all.”

“Rafe…” You pout, looking up at him with doe eyes. You tap your manicured finger against his muscular chest. “You said, ‘I’m in charge, daddy’.”

He purses his lips and rolls his eyes before softening them again. His sweet little sub is getting the chance to dominate him for once. Withholding… That was your plan. Rafe always gets what he wants from you. Morning sex was a given, but his usual blow job wasn't a part of it and of course, he let you know.

It was fun to tease him all day. Rafe, of course eyed up your pillowy lips first thing in the morning, the way you sucked the cinnamon roll frosting off your finger at brunch, later watching as you slicked some lipstick on your pout before heading out to the Island Club for drinks.

You could tell he was fixated on your mouth, watching you talk and smile. Rafe wanted nothing more than to fill it, make you gag, and have his cum coat that pretty little throat.

“You're in charge, princess. But you're pushing it. Remember that.”

And you did. Remembering how Rafe could so easily take what's his… You. He needed to be contained…

You reach behind your back, unfastening the hook and eye. The sound of your zipper splaying draws Rafe’s attention back to you. He watches intently as the pink satin fabric tumbles to your feet; his eyes journey back up your body as he starts to unbutton his shirt. "Let me help you," you breathe, walking his way. Rafe gives you a little nod in reply, eyes trained on your lips as he licks his own.

You pinch his buttons between your fingers, opening each one as his eyes dance along the curve of your lips, watching the way you bite at the bottom. "I'm sorry I’ve been teasing you, daddy…" you whisper, flicking your lashes up to his.

"S’okay baby," he breathes as a fake smile sets on his lips. Drawing his shirt off his broad shoulders, you watch it fall to his feet. Your hands drift down his body, working over his chiseled chest; his gold chain glints on his tanned skin.

Moving lower you trace his abs, down to his v-lines; the indentations greeting the waist of his pants. You dip your fingers under the band, working to the middle. Unfastening his pants, you tug them to his feet.

He sneers as you rise up again, hoping you'd just cave right then and there. Your hands shift behind his neck, guiding his lips to your own. "Thank you for today," you whisper against his lips, simply brushing, not committing to a kiss. You lean away slightly when he goes to take it for himself, the faintest growl in his throat as you rob him of yet another want.

"Love takin’ you shopping, doll," Rafe soughs.

“You're too good to me.”

“Mhmm… Hmm… Not good enough, though. Right? Those lips weren't wrapped around my cock like they usually are. The ride home was a little vanilla. Like my ‘thank you’s’ a little more x-rated.”

“I know you do… Let me thank you.”

Rafe tugs you to the mattress, guiding you on top of him, taking a grip on your hips. His eyes drink you in, just a few pieces of fabric, keeping the two of you apart. You can feel Rafe’s cock, hardening against your warmth. Your fingers trace lower, light touches drawing over his skin. Rafe follows your hands with his eyes. You tease him when his gaze lands on your panties, rolling and winding your body into him slowly. "Mouth first," he whispers.

“Rafe,” you tut.

He clears his throat and pinches his eyes shut. The withholding and defiance just about enough to send him off the rails. You lean down slowly, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

"You don't want my pussy?"

"You know what I want first," he warns. You wind back up, reaching behind your back, unclasping your bra, and letting it fall slowly. Rafe’s hands dive for you, going for your chest. You take a hold of his wrists.

"Who's in charge?" Your eyes lock on Rafe’s as his narrow on yours.

"Fuck - You. You are in charge. You're in charge. Hurry the fuck up," he snaps.

"Exactly... Hands above your head."

"No... No fuckin’ way. Absolutely not."

"Now."

His eyes slice into yours. “You're not tying me up.”

“I am.”

“Nah.” He crosses his hands in front of his chest, muscles flexed, the vein in his throat protruding. Damn… Once this is done I'm in for it. Good thing I like it when Daddy gets rough.

“Rafey…” You whine like a baby, making his icy exterior melt enough. Rafe stretches his arms above his head, submitting for the moment, eyes stalking you, watching and waiting impatiently for what you'll do next.

“I swear if your lips aren't around my cock in two minutes I'm busting out and you'll regret bein’ such a fuckin’ tease.” You walk over to the nightstand, drawing out two silk restraints. "We clear? Why aren't you responding?" He hisses.

"Crystal clear, daddy."

He loses his train of thought as you lean down, reaching for his wrist. You loop it around and tie a knot, fastening it to a rung on his headboard. Your lips move closer, catching his quick breathing as you deny yet another advance for a kiss.

"Princess... please," he whispers.

"Is it too tight?"

"No. I just - I would like you to,” he swallows thickly. Doing something he’s rarely done before. “Babygirl… Will you please suck my cock.”

"So polite, daddy,” you coo. His eyes lock on yours when you take a grip on his other wrist: his brows furrow, Rafe, at a complete loss of control.

“NOW-” He stops himself fast. “Please, stop makin’ me wait.” You lean in close, tongue snaking around his ear making him moan and groan. Goosebumps flare across his body at the feeling of your mouth against his hot skin. “This is killing me, honey.”

“You look fine,” you mock in a gentle voice as you cup his cheek, watching his blue jean eyes haze with anger.

Rafe’s head lifts off the pillow, studying your movements, biting his lip, craving contact. You crawl toward him slowly, slotting yourself between his thick thighs as you get closer. You slip your fingers under the elastic of his boxers. Rafe bucks his hips instantly. His length springs free, standing straight.

Fuck, he's huge. You hold back every urge to pounce on him as you eye his dick, long and incredibly hard. A slight curve that kisses your G-spot in all the right ways. A little cum rolls down the side, making you wet you pout. Your eyes drift up to his, dripping with lust.

"You're so beautiful, baby," he pants. Taking a seat between his legs, you ogle his body. Yours for the taking. You touch his ankle softly, he lets out a groan. Your finger drifts up his leg slowly, reaching his thigh.

You can feel Rafe’s hips moving slightly, trying to manipulate the situation. You continue to torment him. Your fingers get dangerously close, drifting away again. "Please,” he whimpers.

Your eyes flick back up to his. "Sorry... Did you say something?"

"Please," he strains.

You smile playfully, your fingers ghosting up his length. He lets out an exhale, relaxing into the pillow. You circle your finger around his head slowly, continuing to toil with him. His eyes flutter as a result. Rafe’s cock pulses with every touch, glistening at the tip. You swipe his precum with your finger, bringing it to your mouth.

"Baby, c'mon," he rasps.

"Just take it, Rafe."

His eyes widen as the words slip your lips; Rafe instantly pulling at the silk restraints in anger. "Enough!” He barks. You can hear the desperation still laced in his voice.

“Daddy…” You warn.

He shakes his head, scowling at you. Grabbing his thighs you start to lean in, lowering yourself to his cock. “Fuck, Princess. Keep going, baby," he pleads.

You run a line of spit down to his cock, making him moan loudly when it makes contact; his fat cock throbs, muscle clenching. “Jesus fuck,” he tosses his head back on the pillow.

"Is there something you want?"

"Suck my goddamn dick!" He barks. Your face twists slightly, waiting for the magic words. "Please. Fuck! Just please do it. Just do it for me. A’ight? Do it for Daddy? You're daddy’s girl. Yeah?”

“I am.”

“What do you want? Anything… Anything you like. You want those earrings? Those Tiffany ones? They're fuckin’ yours. N’we can fly out to the Nassua tomorrow. Stay at that little resort you love. I'll get you a ring. I'll fuckin’... Please - I'll do whatever you want, just suck my cock.”

“A ring? What kinda ring, Rafey?” You whisper, tilting in more.

“Any ring.”

“Any?” You gasp as you wiggle the little fingers on your left hand.

“Obviously,” he pleads.

“Wow… That's quite the gesture,” you breathe, letting the warmth of your whisper fan over his cock.

Opening your mouth, you put his tip on your tongue, making his eyes roll back. "Holy shit…” he puffs, returning his eyes to yours. “Thank you, baby. Goddamn. Give me more. Please.”

You use your hand to move his length, polishing the head of his dick with your tongue, running circles, and working it back and forth. “Your mouth is so fuckin’ warm, baby. So, so wet. And your lips, shit, they feel like heaven. Just for me - the mouth is mine,” he mumbles.

Holding him tighter, you rub your lips along the underside, working your way back up to the tip, your eyes burning into his. "You're so beautiful, sweet - sweet girl," he stutters. You can see his pleasure increasing. "Just suck it. For me? Just suck my dick, honey. Choke on me.”

You spit on his cock, fisting his length fast. “Got the ring in my dresser. I swear. Top fuckin’ shelf. 6-carat Harry Winston. With your name on it. I'm gonna fuckin’ cum. A’ight? You gotta fuckin’ suck me off. Don't make me cum like this.”

Holy shit… You slip your lips around him, sliding down as far as you can go, bobbing back and forth. “Yes! Fuck, baby… Just like that-” Rafe lets out a string of praise as you swallow a few times. You cup his balls in your hands massaging them softly before licking and sucking them as well, making his toes curl.

"Baby... Mmm. I'm gonna cum, sweetheart. Keep goin’. Don’t stop," he pants. You increase your suction, bringing him closer to the edge. Rafe arches his back, his eyebrows knit together. "O-Oh... Shit. Fuckkk," he moans lowly; the warmth of his climax hits the back of your throat. His cock twitches on your tongue; his thighs, quake. You swallow as Rafe reaches for air. He closes his eyes softly, a satisfied smile on his lips.

You grip the base of his cock, drawing off slowly, milking out the rest of his pleasure. "So good, baby. That was so damn good," he moans.

“Anything for you, Daddy.” You reach up, catching the little silk restraints, drawing each one off Rafe’s wrists. His eyes work to yours, a wicked smirk stretching on his lips.

“Big mistake.”

Masterlist

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moonstruckme · 5 months

Note

Hi my love. Can you do a quick little blurby with whoever you think will fit this. The request is the reader was literally forgotten by her coworkers. They were all going to go out after work but they forgot her and went out without her. Just a comfort fic because this literally happened to me and I want to curl up and cry

Hi my love, I'm so sorry that this happened to you but I really hope things have been sorted out and/or you're feeling better now. Thank you for requesting sweetheart <3

Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 957 words

Steve wonders if maybe he’s holding you too tight. He’s got one arm around your ribcage and the other curled over your shoulders so he can hold the nape of your neck, but he keeps having to squash bouts of his own indignant fury to focus on comforting you.

Unfortunately, this is not something he can handle with a bat.

“I’m sure they didn’t mean to,” he mumbles next to your head. Your cheek is pressed close to his, your arms hung loosely around his shoulders. You’d come home to find him on the couch and simply draped yourself over him, desperate for affection he was all too happy to give you, even if it’s a bit less fun and games when you’re upset. You’re not even really crying, just clinging to him as a slow, relentless stream of tears flows out of you.

“I know.” You sound so dejected Steve feels like someone’s taken the bat to him, your voice croaky and tired. “I don’t think they were trying to be mean, they just…didn’t remember me.”

“Being inconsiderate still makes them a bunch of douchebags,” he says, thumb stroking the baby hairs on your neck.

Steve likes to think he was never that much of a douchebag, but witnesses would probably testify otherwise. Robin would gleefully skip to the front of the line. She’d actually referred to his past self as a douche-canoe once. Steve isn’t sure what exactly that means, but he’s guessing it didn’t make him a whole lot better than these guys.

“You should come work with me and Robs,” he offers, only half joking. You normally love your job, but he hates seeing you like this enough to think that maybe that doesn’t matter so much. “The pay’s worse, but we’re way more fun to be around.”

You sniffle, tightening your grip around his shoulders affectionately. “Thanks, Stevie. But it’s not that I don’t like them. They’re cool, usually.” Steve makes a reluctant grunting sound, though he knows this to be true. Prior to today’s incident, he’d actually been looking forward to meeting some of them. “I just wish I weren’t so forgettable.”

It takes Steve a second to actually process what you’ve said, and then his heart sputters in his chest. “Hey, what?” He pulls away from you, curling his hands around your upper arms. “Babe, this hasn’t got anything to do with you.”

The look in your eyes is less despair than resignation. You seem almost sorry to contradict him. “It’s not like they didn’t invite me. They were trying to be nice, they just didn’t notice that I wasn’t there when they left. What else do you call that?”

“Not your fault,” he insists, nose scrunching bewilderedly as he shakes his head at you. “That’s what I call it. Listen, I” —he sighs— “I don’t want to sound like I’m advocating for these assholes, but you know how things can get when you’re in a group like that. Everybody’s all excited about whatever you’re all going to do, and if somebody says they’re ready to go, you go. They were probably each thinking you were with someone else. Actually, I can almost guarantee they weren’t thinking at all.”

Your mouth pulls to one side, dissatisfied but considering. You give a little shrug. “I guess.” But you’re just appeasing him, Steve can tell.

Fuck, he hates talking about this. The things he does for you, he swears.

“Look, I was an asshole kid once too,” he says, and he’s aiming for lightness but he can tell by the way your eyes lock on his that you know the significance of him bringing this up. It’s not a legacy he’s proud of. “I could…okay, I’m not happy about it, but I could kind of see myself doing something like that a few years ago. I was an idiot, right? We agree?”

Almost despite yourself, you give a little smile. Steve goes on, encouraged.

“So I can say, practically from experience, that I wouldn’t have been thinking about who was there and who wasn’t. I would’ve been too caught up in the idea of what we were doing to pay attention. But that just makes me a dick, it doesn’t mean anything about you.”

You tilt your head, giving him one of those thoughtful, open looks he loves so much. He likes it when you let him see all of you on your face. Makes his boyfriend duties a lot easier. “You’re not a dick,” you say softly.

“I was,” he says, and it’s not hard to admit when you’re here in front of him, living proof that he’s got to be doing something right these days. He rubs your upper arms roughly. “But you’re not forgettable.”

You sniff again. Steve is pleased to note that your tear ducts seem to have emptied their reserves enough for the time being. He’s not sure whether that’s because you believe him or because you’re just choosing to let his affection outweigh your coworkers’ callousness for the evening, but either is alright with him. He can love you enough to make up for all of those fuckers.

“Can I hug you again?” you ask, and he’s quick to oblige you, slotting you back between his arms where you belong.

“When you go back to work, I bet they’re all going to feel really bad,” Steve grumbles, letting his grip tighten slightly around your ribcage. “But if you want to just avoid all that, the option to come work at Family Video is still open. I know a guy.”

Your laugh is croaky but real, and the sound of it makes Steve want to squeeze the life out of you for happiness. “I’ll think about it.”

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taintedcigs · 6 months

Text

GETAWAY CAR — rockstar!e.m. x f!reader

CHAPTER FIVE: STRUCK A MATCH AND BLEW YOUR MIND

← prev chapter // next chapter →

✦ summary: in which you decide to reveal everything at brunch and chaos ensues. (wc: 8.3k+)

✦ warnings — ANGST!!, like this one is really angsty buckle up! argument </33, yelling, crying, mentions of an ab*sive relationship, it is not detailed by they talk A LOT about it, mentions of bruises, some trauma/making fun of trauma, chrissy being super mean and omfg reader is PETTY, jealousy, pining and slowburn, strong language!, mentions of alc*hol and drg use and a toxic/ab*sive relationship, food!!, steve is silly luv him

✦ pairings — rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader, past billy hargrove x fem!reader, eddie munson x chrissy cunningham, nancy wheeler x jonathan byers

✦ authors note — ngl this was fun to write LMAO but so hellish to edit JFC IM FINALLY DONE!! a few songs i listened to while i wrote this chapter are; liar by paramore, rwylm by taylors swift, and lover you should've come over by jeff buckley. need to add all those to the playlist asap !! also feel free to chat with me in the asks abt this series (and anything tbh) pls!! and not proof-read pls ignore mistakes!!

series masterlist | series playlist

Counting cobblestones was your best distraction from Robin’s loud groans and the noises her dress made as she stretched it further and further. The sun streamed through the both of you, causing you to squeeze your eyes lightly.

“Would you let my poor dress go?” You warned without turning to her, hand having a harsh grip on the gin bottle you were afraid of dropping.

“I can’t, it’s itching!” She groaned, harshly scratching her chest.

“Why’d you even ask to borrow a dress if you hated wearing them so much?” You threw her a look.

"I wanted to look presentable! But now, I think I’d rather wear a trash bag than ever be this uncomfortable again,” she said through gritted teeth, following you to the doorstep.

You giggled, “But you know what?” you turned to her with a smile, “You look super pretty in that dress, Robs,” you winked teasingly, earning a groan from her as your hand shakily pressed onto the red doorbell, careful not to drop the bottle that was in your grip.

A few rumbles were overheard before Steve swiftly opened the door, leaning against the doorframe as he gave the two of you a look, both of you in your sundress, while you held the bottle in your hand like a prized possession and Robin was still scratching her neck. “About damn time, I was starting to think you guys forgot where I lived!” He said teasingly, causing you to narrow your gaze.

“Whatever happened to hello? Hi? I missed you, my bestest friend, Pinky!” You exaggerated dramatically, “Oh and you totally look so much better than that traitor sitting in my living room,” you spat snarkily, perfectly imitating a bitchy Steve.

“You know about that?” Steve asked, and you were quick to nod. “Oh, thank fucking god! I did not want to be the one to tell you,” he sighed a breath of relief, a gesture you met with a roll of your eyes.

Steve quickly changed his tone to flattery. “Have I told you how much I missed you, sweetheart?” he said with exaggerated sweetness, “Oh, and you look so pretty!” He continued with an amplified smile, “so much better than that traitor sitting in my living room.” He hummed, covering his mouth sideways, so childlike that it had you giggling.

Amid the banter, Robin, still visibly uncomfortable, impatiently broke in. “Okay, doofus, are you gonna let us in?” She groaned and brushed past the two of you, making her way to the familiar kitchen.

“Hello to you too, Rob!” Steve responded with a chuckle, before closing the door and guiding you both to the cozy kitchen.

Once inside, Steve couldn't help but ask, “So, what have you got there, P?” His eyes locked on the gin bottle in your hand.

With an excited gleam in your eye, you presented it proudly. “A party gift,” you said with a grin, shaking it gently in front of Steve's face before he took it from you.

"For breakfast?" Steve asked with a huff and a raised eyebrow.

“We’re going to make breakfast martinis!” Robin chimed in excitedly, her eyes lighting up as she grabbed two elegant cocktail glasses she'd found in Steve's well-stocked kitchen. The crystal-clear glasses made a chiming sound when she set them down harshly.

“You guys have a problem,” he joked, leaning against the kitchen counter while he eyed the way you hurriedly searched for something in his fridge.

“Says the guy who used to shotgun five beers like it was nothing,” you scoffed behind the fridge door. A shushed ‘Yes!’ escaped from your lips when you acquired lemons and a bottle of orange juice from the fridge's depths.

“And that is not how you make a breakfast martini,” he playfully groaned, stealing your ingredients away from you. Your pout was met with a playful eye roll.

“Oh-kay, fancy pants,” Robin mocked, making you snort with her easy banter.

Steve couldn't help but ask, genuine concern etching his brow, “You sure you’re okay?”

You shrugged nonchalantly, but they both eyed your expressions curiously, almost as if you were a ticking time bomb.

“Oh, c'mon, you two!” You brushed it off, trying to shift the focus.

“We’re just worried about you is all,” Robin added, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. Her fingertips were warm against your skin, concern washed over her face.

“It’s perfectly normal to not be okay, you know,” Steve reassured you, his voice gentle. “I mean, it must be hard coming back here after everything-”

“Well, I’m fine, Steve,” you replied a bit more sharply than you intended, guilt settling in your stomach quickly. Steve's comforting stance somehow allowed your emotions to spill out more freely.

“It’s-it’s just such a fucking gut punch that he brought her here, you know?” The frustration in your voice was palpable, tone heavy with pain.

“I know, I know,” Steve empathized, both of them stood by your side, hands resting on both of your shoulders, comedically protective.

“Want me to beat him up?” Steve said with a serious gaze, hands forming into fists as he playfully punched the air. You and Robin erupted in giggles, as Robin elbowed him playfully, “I think she needs someone better at fights to protect her, you know?” She narrowed her gaze.

“Ow!” Steve dramatically gasped, “Rude!” He pouted. “Thank you, my knight in shining armor, but I’ll be fine." You snatched the gin bottle, moving on to the task at hand – preparing the breakfast martinis as you poured the clear liquid into the glass.

“I’m more worried about your health there,” he hummed, pointing toward the generous amount of gin you poured into your glass.

“Jesus, when did you become such a priss, King Steve?” Robin mocked further before he gave the two of you a look.

“I don’t like you two together,” he huffed, hand gesturing between the two of you dramatically, “so mean,” he said, tone exaggerated, and slumped playfully, pretending to be defeated.

“Aww, come on, Stevie,” you pouted, “I missed ya,” with a hum, you gave him a quick, affectionate squeeze in a tight hug. Steve responded with a theatrical cough causing you to roll your eyes.

“What have you been up to? I listened to Robin’s work crush, the whole fucking way…” You enunciated dramatically, drawing a teasing reaction from Robin, who exclaimed, “Hey!” in response.

“Can you believe her name is Lily? Lily… that’s so pretty, she’s so pretty… Like a flower. I mean her hair is so soft, I-I mean it seems soft I never like touched it or anything, that would be creepy-” You mimicked Robin and her fast-talking, and she stuck her tongue at you childishly.

“Is doofusness contagious? I feel like you’ve been standing too close to Steve.” She mocked with a smirk, taking a jab at both of you, but more so Steve as she leaned against the counter cooly.

“You’re quick with the comebacks today, Rob, jeez!” You praised, turning back to Steve who was disregarding the two of you with a shake of his head.

Robin winked at you, before snatching the bottle from Steve’s hand to make herself a drink. “So… Stevie, what about you?” You hummed, leaning in with a curious expression.

“How’s work?”

A proud smile spread across Steve's face as he said, “I got a promotion.”

“Oh my god!” You exclaimed, genuine excitement dancing in your eyes. “Steve, that’s amazing!” His frown had your brows furrowed, “why are you not excited?” You pouted.

“You remember Adam?” He huffed, “the guy from accounting?” Your brows quirked up in intrigue, Steve was quick to nod.

“He turned out to be a douche,” with a scoff, he leaned further on the courter, his muscles flexing with irritation. “What?” You asked with a frown, “but you said it was getting serious?”

“Yeah, I guess I was wrong, I dunno,” He shrugged, wanting to seem nonchalant but it was obvious he was hurt.

Your face fell quickly, “well, what about that other girl you met in the grocery store?” You asked hopefully, nudging him slightly.

“Didn’t even call me back,” Steve huffed, and you couldn't help but pout at his apparent string of bad luck.

“Stevie…”

“I dunno what’s wrong with me,” Steve admitted, his voice laced with self-doubt.

Your heart ached at his insecurity, and you couldn't help but reassure him. “What? Nothing is wrong with you! Are you kidding?”

“These people sound like the problem to me!” You exclaimed, “I mean look at you! A nice boy with a good job, and that hair? So soft!” you giggled, hand ruffling with his perfectly made hair, which he would usually yell at you for, but now he just looked at you with the most puppy dog eyes. “Harrington, you’re the whole goddamn package.”

“You mean that?” He sounded so insecure, and innocent, that your stomach was quick to drop, knowing that Steve doubted himself like this.

“Of course!” you reassured with a pat on his back, “fuck both of them! I’ll get you something to drink.” You winked.

“Please let me make it,” Steve replied with a hint of mischief, narrowing his gaze playfully. “In fact, I’ll make both of you a proper drink,” he emphasized.

“Fine, pretty boy.”

“Rob,” he called out to her with a tilt of his head “Orange liquor, please?”

Robin looked at him with a puzzled look, “am I supposed to know where that is?”

A tad exasperated, Steve pointed to a spot on the counter. “Right there on the counter, Rob. Jesus, you never let me look cool.”

“Don’t worry pretty boy, you don’t need her to make you look cool.” You winked teasingly, hand gently placed on Steve’s shoulder to give him a reassuring squeeze, causing Robin to snort behind you as you elbowed harshly to shush her.

Of fucking course, that’s when they decided to come into the kitchen, you could hear Chrissy’s annoying giggles before you saw her, and Eddie’s face dropped the second he saw the two of you. And all you could focus on was how close they were standing next to each other, Chrissy’s shoulder brushing against his.

You felt sick again.

Eddie cleared his throat, the laughter in the room dying with it. His sour face grew hot because he heard your compliments to Steve, saw the smiles you gave him, and your hand on his arm.

Insecure thoughts were quick to race through his mind, why was your hand on his arm? And pretty boy? You used to call him that. And him only.

His thoughts should have driven him closer to Chrissy, to make you more jealous, to have that satisfaction, but all it did was leave a bitter taste in his mouth, another lump he couldn’t swallow, and he stepped a bit back away from her unintentionally.

“Hi!” Chrissy beamed, and your eyes squinted with her voice, the urge to roll your eyes, and confront her right now was strong.

None of you answered her, it was awkward, pretty fucking awkward that even Robin’s cheshire cat smile didn’t save the room, Eddie speaking up did.

“You- uh got any water, Harrington?” It was supposed to be a joke, but the way it rolled out of his jealous lips made him sound bitter as if he was pissed at him.

Steve, taken aback by Eddie's sudden change in attitude, raised an eyebrow and responded, “Yeah?” He pointed toward the refrigerator, offering some bottled water.

Annoyance seeped through you as they stood there, prickling like a knife through your skin, your gaze narrowed as you tried to avoid looking at them, but it was awkward, so fucking awkward.

Eddie was quick to take a sip from the bottle, the entire room filled with silence as his gaze never faltered on you, “you got any notes for me?” Eddie said cooly, leaning onto the fridge, Chrissy by his side.

It was aimed at you, and you totally would’ve missed it if every eye in the room didn’t turn to you. You furrowed your brows in confusion, trying to deflect the attention. "Huh?"

Eddie’s demeanor changed at your confusion, almost like his confidence wore off the second he realized you might not have read it. “The note, you said you’d review it?” His voice held emotion, you could hear it, a pang of insecurity along with betrayal, but you didn’t want to talk about this, and you didn’t want to talk about it in front of her.

“No.” You lied through your teeth, swallowing the lump in your throat when you finally looked at him, like really, really looked at him.

He looked tired, with dark circles surrounding his eyes, hair even messier than usual, his lips cracked, and you could smell the nicotine off of him, even though he was halfway across the room.

And there was a slight shift in the way he held himself when you told him you didn’t read it, his tongue rolling inside of his cheek in a sour manner before he straightened up. “Typical,” he spat, he didn’t mean to, it was more supposed to be his inner voice, but he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t help the way he felt insecure when he saw you standing next to Steve, and he couldn’t help but show how much you not reading the note shattered him.

“Excuse me?” You scoffed, the air in the room getting tense, Steve and Robin pretending to be distracted while continuing to make a drink, Robin’s clumsy clatters serving as a noisy backdrop.

“What does that mean?” You asked calmly, maybe it wasn’t as calm as you intended it to be, but he really had the nerve to come for you when he didn’t even realize he was the one who was in the wrong.

“It means that I wouldn’t have expected anything more from you,” he spat out like he was your enemy, and it hurt, it fucking hurt that he saw you as someone that careless as if you didn’t read the entire note the whole night, as if you didn’t fall asleep to Aurora playing in the background. As if he knew anything.

Your anger flared, and you couldn’t help yourself, “What the actual fuck is your problem?” Your voice raised, and you straightened yourself, taking a step closer to them as both Robin and Steve’s heads snapped toward your direction, wanting to interrupt, but Chrissy got to it first.

“Okay, I don’t think we should-” Her screeching voice grated your ears.

With that, your attention turned to her, head cocking in a sharp gesture of anger, “stay out of it,” you warned, both Steve and Robin watched you in full force, almost looking like they wanted to cheer you on.

Chrissy turned to Eddie as if she was asking for him to say something back to you, but Eddie’s gaze remained on you, unable to process anything else.

She took a step closer, her head slightly tilted to the side, “Oh, come on, take a chill pill, Pinky,” she gave you a smile, it wasn’t warming, it wasn’t genuine, you could see right through her. This was her catty smile.

And it almost triggered something in you—the way her head tilted, her hand on her hips, the ‘take a chill pill’ line, it was something you recognized all too well.

The same phrase, that same annoying octave, and the same hand on her hips when she first “accidentally” started the rumor that you had kissed Eddie—granted, it wasn’t a rumor. It was true, you had kissed Eddie while you and Billy were on a break, but you told her that in confidence, and she broke your trust. Yet, like an idiot, you believed her when she said it was an accident, and that someone must have overheard the two of you talking.

Once Billy found out about the rumors, he barely let you breathe, not only did the fights get more amped up and violent, but he also isolated you from your friends, and mostly Eddie. You didn’t put the pieces together that Chrissy caused the rumor until much later.

Then, at Steve’s party, the same smile, and that same phrase, like you hadn’t caught her with Billy in the bathroom minutes ago.

And now, she was doing it again, you assumed it was on purpose, or at least it all felt like it was on purpose. And it boggled your mind how quickly she made Eddie believe she was a nice person. Because she wasn’t, and even if she was, your friendship was beyond salvageable now.

You decided to take a step closer to her, Steve and Robin both jumping on their feet, afraid of what might happen. But you had no intention of doing anything, or even saying anything to her.

Because you had decided your mind.

If Chrissy wanted to play that game, then so fucking be it.

When the bell rang once again, Steve was quick to rise, “Must be Nancy and Jonathan!” he announced, voice almost cracking from the tension in the room. He was quick to scurry off, inviting the main couple inside. You turned to Robin swiftly, almost ruining her balance with the way you snatched the drink from her hand, you took a big sip, downing the contents in one go. Then, without acknowledging either of them, you headed inside, leaving behind the simmering tension in the kitchen.

You were all seated, Nancy and Jonathan side by side, next to them Steve and Robin, and on their right, were the rest of the band, followed by Chrissy, Eddie, and you.

The table itself looked perfect, you could see that Steve went all out for it, adorning the table with an array of breakfast foods. Plates piled high with pastries, fruit, muffins, and of course, Steve’s special pancakes. He never stopped raving about them, and the second he sat down, he grabbed a generous amount of it to his plate. A pot of steaming coffee sat right by the end of the table, along with your gin bottle sitting right next to it, which was what you had been preferring, because everything was fucking awkward.

You were sipping on your drink like it was your lifeline, Steve and Robin watched you with a concerned gaze, whispering back and forth.

Jeff, Gareth, and the new drummer you hadn’t met before, Nathan were laughing obnoxiously, and you almost felt like it was all aimed at you.

Maybe you were paranoid, but you assumed they wouldn’t be keen on you, knowing that after L.A. all they saw was a mess of Eddie who wrote nothing but sad songs, which all the lyrics seemed to point in your direction.

“How is pre-wedding life going for the love birds?” Eddie hummed seemingly more content than before.

Jonathan and Nancy both let out an exasperated sigh, giggling like kids after they realized how in sync they were, “pretty fuckin’ tiring,” Jonathan replied, taking a mouthful bite from the pastry he had on his plate.

“You guys are still on for tonight, right? I promised the guy at Hideout at least two songs from Corroded Coffin,” he emphasized the band's name mockingly.

“‘Course, dude, whatever you need,” Eddie gave him a small smile, a wink thrown in for good measure.

Unintentionally, Eddie shifted his gaze towards you, observing the way you seemed to shrink into your seat, fingers nervously tracing the rim of your drink. Chrissy's eyes followed him, her gaze narrowing as she caught onto the subtle shift in his attention. He leaned closer to you, so close that his hand almost brushed against yours that sat on the table.

Eddie opened his pursed lips, about to utter something, but Chrissy couldn’t let that happen.

“This feels weird,” She hummed, “the last time we were all here, this table was for beer pong.” She giggled, and slightly nudged Eddie.

Eddie gave her a tight-lipped smile before his attention was quick to turn back to you, but you ignored his burning gaze.

“Steve that was a sick party,” She exclaimed excitedly, trying to gather Steve’s attention who was busy trying to locate the syrup for his awaiting pancakes.

Your head almost popped up simultaneously at the mention… the same party. The same fucking party she tried to kiss Billy. The same fucking party she humiliated you with her words. The same party she made fun of…

“Huh?” He asked mindlessly, almost knocking over Robin’s drink with how fast he was looking for the syrup, completely ignoring Chrissy. “Jesus Christ!” He exclaimed, earning furrowed brows from Robin, who just shook her head at him.

“I forgot the syrup!” He groaned, getting up from his seat. “I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Robin mocked, as Steve threw her a glare before making a hasty retreat to the kitchen with a string of curses leaving his lips, while the rest of the table tried to soak in the awkwardness.

Gareth was quick to chime in though, “oh, yeah!” he quipped, remembering the party. “You went to that party?” Jeff asked with his brows pinched together in confusion.

“Yeah, Eddie was selling so he brought me along,” he explained, grabbing Eddie by the shoulder with a chuckle.

“Oh god, that was the same party you beat Billy to a fuckin’ pulp, dude!” His chuckle grew louder, hand on his stomach.

You and Eddie tensed at the mention of it, while you enjoyed Billy finally not being able to get away with his violence, none of that memory was amusing to you in the slightest. And nor was it to Eddie.

Gareth turned to Chrissy when his laughter finally died off, “Hey, didn’t we play beer pong together?”

Chrissy's face lit up with a nostalgic giggle, “oh my god, we totally did!” She exclaimed excitedly, but your gaze remained on your empty plate, unable to contain the rage bubbling inside of you.

"It was so funny," she began, "Gareth kept missing it, but..."

Your patience reached its limit, and you couldn't help but interject. "When was that?" Your voice tinged with an edge, cut through the chatter at the table.

Multiple heads were quick to turn to you, and Chrissy probably had no clue what you were up to. Maybe this was a low blow, maybe you shouldn’t tell in front of everyone.

“We were pretty drunk, I don’t remember-” She said meekly, but you interrupted, again.

“I was at that party too, but I must have missed that!” You continued, your words sharp and calculated. And feigning a faux sense of intrigue. Maybe it was cruel, but this was the perfect setup, and Chrissy was falling right into your trap.

Before she could respond, you pressed on, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “oooh! Was that before or after you tried to hook up with my ex-boyfriend?” Your words hung heavy in the air, the whole table quick to fall silent.

Almost all eyes except Chrissy turned to you, Robin almost choked on the strong drink Steve made for her. Gareth, Jeff, and Nathan all stopped their inner chatter, while Jonathan and Nancy’s eyes widened in unison.

As the tension continued to mount, Jonathan quickly turned to Nancy, leaning towards her, “Should I do something-” He whispered to Nancy, who didn’t dare to move, watching everything unravel before her.

“Don’t you dare,” she warned, “she deserves this confrontation. And, I am tired of Eddie pestering us about this; he deserves to know.” Nancy shrugged, Jonathan reluctantly raised his hands in agreement, almost like he was surrendering to her reasonings.

Chrissy stood there, her voice caught in her throat, mouth agape, unable to utter a coherent response. She was frozen, eyes wide with shock, while her fingers nervously fumbled with the napkin on the table, struggling to find the words to defend herself.

You reacted with a bitter, mocking disbelief, shaking your head slowly. “Shit, or was it after you blamed me for what Billy did to me? You know, making fun of my bruises and stuff?”

“What?” Eddie’s face scrunched in disgust, his eyes flickering to Chrissy, who seemed to shrink under the weight of what she did. Jonathan and Nancy watched with their mouth almost hanging open. Robin had a smug smile on her face, she bit her lip in excitement while watching everything unfold. It was like all of them had been waiting for this confrontation.

Poor Jeff, Gareth, and Nathan just watched with a confused look, not knowing anything about the deep history between the three of you.

Chrissy stammered, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment, but once again you didn’t let her. “No, no, wait!” You were relentless, sarcasm cutting through your tone as you playfully hit your forehead in a mocking gesture. “I think it was after you made fun of my parents leaving me, what did you say they were?” You mocked a pensive expression, a dangerous glint in your eyes, “Junkies?” Your gaze narrowed, Chrissy’s stammering continued, and she turned to Eddie desperately, while her vision was getting blurry.

The room had grown oppressively tense, no one dared to speak, Robin, Jonathan, and Nancy all wore disgusted faces, along with the surprise of you laying everything out on the table, literally. Jeff and Gareth silently oofed, even though they didn’t know anything, they knew that what Chrissy did was fucked up.

Eddie struggled to process it, your words, the realization that Chrissy had done something worse other than trying to hook up with Billy was hard to sink into his skin. “What the fuck are you talking about?” He repeated, his entire world almost shattering dramatically.

“Oh, didn’t your sweet, sweet Chrissy mention all that?” You weren’t holding back, every bitterness, every ugliness, you were ready to spit it all at him and Chrissy.

And you wished it would give you satisfaction, you wished it would make you feel better.

But it didn’t. None of it felt good, none of it filled the void inside of you. None of it helped you get over the betrayal that unfolded right between your eyes.

None of it helped you get over the cruel look Chrissy gave you when she made fun of your traumas, none of it helped you get over the fact that Eddie told you that you ruined his life, and none of it helped the way your lip trembled when you saw the two of them kiss.

“Okay, I’ve got the syrup!” Steve chimed in, unaware of everything that had just transpired in the room, his brows furrowed when he noticed the tension, every eye on the table turned to him, except for you, Chrissy, and Eddie.

Chrissy's desperate gaze fixed on Eddie, pleading for some form of understanding or forgiveness, but his gaze remained unwaveringly locked on you, filled with guilt. Your own eyes were cast downward, remaining on your lap, while you tried hard to fight back the tears.

Because no matter what, Chrissy betrayed your trust, you trusted her enough to tell her what Billy did to you, and instead of getting help, she tried to kiss him, or actually did kiss him, you never found out the truth—both of them told you a different version of the story.

She made fun of your parents leaving you. She blamed you for the things Billy did. Like it meant nothing to her. Like you meant nothing to her.

“Did I just interrupt something-” Steve was quickly hushed by Robin, who pulled him to his seat quickly. “Pinky is confronting Chrissy!”

“What? Now?” He whisper-yelled, putting down the syrup jar on the table, eyeing the tension between the three of you. Robin nodded, “Eddie’s trying to process all of it, and Chrissy looks like she’s about to burst into tears,” she added.

“He didn’t know?” Steve’s brows furrowed, “Nuh-uh, don’t you remember how P made us all promise not to tell anyone? You know how she is with her personal stuff,” the two of them whispered back and forth, earning a glare from Nancy that shut both of them up.

Eddie’s expressions were unreadable, mixed with every possible emotion as he drew a deep breath in a feeble attempt to make sense of everything. “W-what exactly happened?” With uncertainty in his eyes, he faced you, he wanted to know everything. But you didn’t dare to look at him, crossing your arms defensively against your chest—you were in no way ready to tell him anything.

“I-I wanted to apologize to you, and I wanted to..” Chrissy’s voice trembled, she seemed apologetic, eyes glistening with guilt, but it truly meant nothing to you.

“Shit, you really don’t fucking get it, do you?” You couldn’t help but click your tongue in annoyance, hand on your forehead in disbelief. “This isn’t about your stupid apology.”

“You knew them, Chrissy,” you continued, your voice quivering with raw emotion, “you were there with me when they left, you fucking comforted me when I cried…” All of it felt too raw for you, your chest tightening the more you remembered it all, “and then you used it as a punch line for a stupid joke, to hurt me.”

You took a deep breath in an attempt to continue, your heart tightening the more you spoke. “You knew what Billy did to me, you saw the bruises, and you acted like none of that mattered when you kissed him!”

“I d-didn’t—it was a misunderstanding!” She tried to defend herself, but you didn’t care.

You were quick to get up from your seat, feeling suffocated. “God, i-it really hurt, it did.” you confessed, your voice trembling as you blinked away the tears. “But it doesn’t anymore because you were dead to me the second you uttered those words.” Your lips trembled.

“And you,” with a tone filled with bitterness, you finally turned to Eddie, really looking at him for the first time. His eyes were filled with regret, brows scrunched up together with guilt. Your hand pointed toward him accusingly, “fucking date her for all I care, you two deserve each other.”

You stormed off to the backyard quickly, not being able to hold back the tears anymore. Eddie got up the second you did, pleading for your name. The room fell silent again, and just as he was about to chase you, Steve was quick to rise to his feet, intervening with a grab of Eddie’s arm.

“Give her some time,” Steve’s harsh hold on Eddie’s arm had everyone eyeing them.

“Excuse me?” Eddie retorted, his gaze dangerously fiery.

“She needs some time, Eddie.”

“Fuck off,” Eddie warned, gaze dropping to the hold that Steve had on him, his anger simmering just below the surface.

“Man, I’m trying to be helpful right now, you’re the last person she wants to fucking see,” Steve spat, gaze narrowing as he looked at him with disgust.

That was the breaking point for Eddie, he took a step closer, his anger ready to spill over to Steve, which wasn’t fair, but it had been building up the second he saw how close the two of you were. The smiles you threw at him. The compliments. It was stupid and so unlike him, but with everything, he couldn’t afford to lose you, not again.

And it looked like he just did.

“That’s not any of your fuckin’ business, Harrington-”

Before the situation could escalate further, Jonathan intervened, stepping between the two of them. “Alright, alright!” he gently defused the tension. “Steve, Rob, go see if she’s okay,” He demanded, the two of them looking at him dumbfoundedly, “Go!” he exclaimed, and Robin was quick to rise from her seat, dragging Steve away from Eddie who was still throwing daggers with his looks toward Steve.

“And Eddie, I need to talk to you for a second.” Jonathan caught Eddie’s attention and tugged at his jacket to the side while Nancy quickly excused herself from the awkward table before the three of them huddled in the corner.

Eddie was quick to shake off the hold Jonathan had on him, his anger still uncontained. “What?” His voice was raised.

“You need to calm the fuck down,” Jonathan warned.

“Why didn’t you guys-” He took a deep breath. “How could you guys not fuckin’ tell me?” His voice was desperate.

“She told us not to!” Nancy added. “God, I’m such a fuckin’ idiot.” He exasperated.

Jonathan agreed with a nod, “That, you are.” Earning a glare from Eddie, he continued, “I’m sorry dude, but it’s true, you shouldn’t have paraded her around in front of Pinky.”

“How was I supposed to know?!?”

“You weren’t,” Nancy sighed, “but you knew what happened with Billy, and that should’ve been enough, Eddie.”

Eddie shook his head to disagree, his disheveled hair hung over his forehead, barely covering his pained eyes. “If I knew, if I fucking knew for a second that s-she made fun of, shit-” His voice cracked, struggling to find the right words. The vivid recollections of your pain etched lines of hurt across his face. “God, I saw how much her parents leaving crushed her, Nance. I was there, I comforted her.” Nancy could sense the hurt in his voice.

“Every time she came over to a Munson dinner, every time Wayne told her she was family, every time Wayne did somethin’ for her... I-I could just see how much she appreciated it. Wayne, and me…”

His voice continued to tremble, and tears welled up in his eyes. “And I saw those goddamn bruises that fucking asshole left, s-she was shaking, Jon- I-I knew how hard it was for her, if I…” He took a shuddering breath, voice still shaky, and gaze glistening with unshed tears.

His hands moved in agitation, desperate to defend himself and express his guilt. “If I… If I knew for one goddamn second that she made fun of that, I w-would’ve never!” He punctuated his words desperately, hands rubbing against his face in disbelief.

“I know, I know,” Nancy reassured with a soothing voice, both she and Jonathan reached out to rub his back comfortingly. “I think she’s just upset right now, Ed.” Jonathan spoke up.

“I mean can you really blame her? I know you didn’t know anything, but the moment she came back to the town, the first thing she saw was you and Chrissy kissing… it was probably a tough pill for her to swallow.” Nancy mumbled.

Jonathan was quick to add with a soft-spoken plea, “Give her some time, and then you can apologize, okay?” He nodded, trying to take all of the information he acquired in the last five minutes

“I also think you have someone else you need to talk to,” Jonathan whispered, gaze pointing toward Chrissy who had been itching to speak to him, her gaze repeatedly flickering in their direction.

And once Chrissy realized Eddie looking back at her, she was quick to get up from her seat, shoulders slumped as she approached him. She eyed the way Nancy and Jonathan gave Eddie a slight smile and a nudge on his shoulder before they left.

Her eyes were glossy, face red. “C-can I talk to you?” She stammered.

“Y-yeah,” he conceded, a hint of uncertainty in his voice, not able to help himself when his head turned toward the sliding door, wanting to get a glimpse of you but blocked by the figure of Steve.

“I-I should’ve told you what I did.” Chrissy sighed, swallowing the lump in her throat as she took a deep breath.

“I-I’m sorry. I just…” She recollected her thoughts, “you were like the only one who didn’t know and it just… It felt nice to hang out with someone who didn’t shun me out.”

“Steve, Nancy, Jonathan… even Robin, the second they learned what I said, they didn’t even look me in the face!” Her voice cracked.

“And I know I probably deserved that but that was so long ago and I…” Her gaze fell toward the floor, she felt embarrassed, she should’ve never done that to you, and she did have her reasons, but she also knew none of them would ever justify what she said.

“I was just miserable and bitter and P-pinky didn’t deserve any of that. I know that but…” Her head snapped up, her tearful eyes locking with Eddie’s, “I really had fun with you these past couple of days and…”

Eddie was quick to interrupt her, shaking his head, “Chrissy…” He sighed, fingers rubbing his temples in an attempt to comfort himself, it was too much, everything was too much.

And he didn’t want to be here, he didn’t want to talk to her, he didn’t want some pep talk from Jonathan and Nancy, he only wanted you.

He wanted to tell you how sorry he was, and how much of an idiot he was. Even though he didn’t know anything. But he should’ve known better. He should have.

And he felt the guilt gnawing at him, consuming him from the inside.

“I really felt like we had something-” Eddie was quick to dismiss her.

“Chrissy, I’m sorry I should have never done this, I-I’m such a fucking coward.”

“W-what?” Chrissy asked, her voice breaking again, tears brimming in her eyes. “I should’ve known,” she sighed, shutting her eyes briefly to avoid the tears.

Eddie let out a confused hum. “I-I mean I kind of did, I saw the way you looked at her, the way your eyes lit up unintentionally whenever someone mentioned her. The smile you had when she talked to you… You were never ever like that with me, not even for a second.”

It took Eddie a few seconds to process that, he knew he should’ve never done anything with Chrissy, he never should’ve tried to defend her to you, he should’ve listened to you. He was an idiot.

Chrissy was right. It was you. It had always been you.

“I didn’t- I didn’t fuckin’ mean to but I think like back in my mind, I did all of this to make myself feel better because I knew she might be coming back and I just wanted to make myself feel like I got over her. I-I know that’s incredibly shitty and I’m sorry-”

“So you just used me?” She spat, feeling like a pawn in a game she did not want to be a part of.

“N-no! That’s not what I tried to do! I just… I just, I’m sorry that it came off that way… I thought I could you know… do this,” he mumbled, pointing toward the space between them.

“I can’t and I never should have tried.”

“What the hell does that even mean?” He could see Chrissy’s hurt turn quickly to anger, and maybe five minutes ago, when he didn’t know what she did to you, he would’ve apologized for being a dick, and for doing something as stupid as this. But he couldn’t be apologetic to her, not anymore.

“I-it means it’s always been her, and it’s always going to be her, Chrissy,” Eddie admitted, something that he should’ve realized a long time ago, and Chrissy wanted to laugh at that.

Of course, it was going to be you, it was always you.

Billy, and now Eddie. No matter what she did, she could never compete with you. You didn’t even have to do anything and they would devote their whole fucking life to you.

And it pissed her off, made her bitter. Which wasn’t fair, which didn’t make what she ever did or said okay. But her mind justified it. Fueled her to say those things to you.

Eddie, struggling to process Chrissy's words, stammered in disbelief, “I can’t even look at you after what she told me. How could you be so cruel?” The way he viewed Chrissy changed in a matter of seconds, disgust overtaking his senses.

But Chrissy found that amusing. She chuckled bitterly, shaking her head. “Me?” She pointed an accusatory finger at him, “You just admitted that you basically used me. Jesus Christ, you’re an asshole.”

“And I’m really sorry about that,” he said, his voice filled with sincerity, “that isn’t what I intended to-“

Chrissy, still seething with anger and disappointment, didn't give him a chance to finish. “Save it.” She rolled her eyes, hand defensively pointing toward him.

Gareth, Jeff, and Nathan suddenly appeared, intruding awkwardly into the already strained atmosphere between the two of them. Gareth was the first to speak up, attempting to break the tension. He cleared his throat and said, “Uhhh- hey man, we’re gonna take off.”

“You comin’?” Jeff inquired, standing beside Gareth.

“Uhhh, no? I need to talk to her.” Eddie replied firmly.

“Seriously? You’re still running after her?” Gareth bit back, Jeff tried to elbow him to shut him up but it was no use.

“I’ll see you guys tonight.” He said through gritted teeth, not in the mood to deal with Gareth’s hatred for you.

“Chrissy, you comin’?” Gareth was quick to turn to her, and she nodded quickly, before throwing a harsh look at Eddie.

“Jerk,” she mumbled under her breath, leaving off with them.

“I did deserve that.” Eddie sighed, mumbling to himself before he finally decided to meet all of you in the backyard.

You leaned back on your seat, eyes still glossy but you looked happier, a giggle leaving your lips at something Steve said.

And it hurt Eddie to see that, it hurt because your teary eyes were all because of him, and you were giggling only because of Steve.

It wasn’t like this before, he was the one who always made you happy, he never made you cry, he never uttered horrible words to you like he did yesterday.

Was it all doomed?

Did the chance for the two of you pass by and both of you were too much of an idiot to realize it? Did he manage to fuck everything up with just barely two days?

Your laughter died down the second your gaze met his, breath getting hitched in your throat. He looked guilty, those shaggy bangs falling messily on his forehead, hand stuffed into the back of his black jeans. Walking over to you with such shyness that your gaze softened, you didn’t want to be like this with him. It was never like this before.

But it hurt so much that you could feel your chest swell with the pain. His words, Chrissy… you couldn’t pretend like none of it happened anymore.

“Can we talk?”

“Dude, I just told you-” Steve was quick to interject, and it brought warmth in your stomach, the feeling nicely seeping into your skin, knowing that your friends truly cared about you, and how much they would do to protect you.

They had done it with Chrissy, you never asked them to do anything, but the second you told any of them what happened, they didn’t even throw her a second glance when they ran into her ever again in this damned town.

And it meant so much, knowing that there were people you could count on, a sense of protectiveness and security that your parents never provided for you. But you liked that, you liked having them, an untraditional way of family, but your family regardless.

“Harrington, will you fuckin’-”

You interrupted both of their stupid dick-measuring competition with a sigh, “It’s okay, Steve,” you murmured, throwing him a smile before squeezing his arm gently. “We do need to talk,” you nodded off toward Eddie, dragging him off to the other side gently, away from all of them.

“Look, fuck- I’m so sorry, okay?” He started, his voice apologetic.

“Eddie, please-”

“No, no, let me talk, please,” he breathed out, desperate, his gaze mirroring yours, fingers brushing on your arms, gentle, pleading.

“I’m sorry, I’m a fucking idiot, I’m the biggest fucking idiot in the whole world.”

“Y-you never ruined my life, okay? You could never, even if you tried your hardest. Even if you did the worst possible thing to me. I could never see you like that. I could never see the worst of you.”

“I-I shouldn’t have done what I did, I shouldn’t have brought her everywhere, and I shouldn’t have tried to defend her to you.”

“E-eddie, stop” you gulped, interrupting him, “You-you’re confusing the fuck out of me… You tell me I ruined your life, and then I read those stupid notes-”

“You read them?” Eddie’s brows raised in surprise, an idiotic grin curling on his lips.

“Of course I did.” You muttered, avoiding his gaze.

“But you said-”

“I wanted to piss you off,” you admitted with a meek voice.

“And what did you think?” He asked, hopeful, still feeling nervous with the way you were so calm, he knew nothing good was gonna come out of this.

“That I-I can’t do this.”

“I mean, the song is really great…” You muttered, and you wanted to mention the other note, how much it crushed you and how much you wished it could change anything, but you couldn’t handle it anymore. You couldn’t handle seeing him, you couldn’t handle anything about Eddie. You needed some time apart.

“And I’m glad you realized you fucked up but I… I’m just so tired,” you sighed, licking your lips to get some sort of encouragement to say the things that you were about to say.

“I-I can’t do this back and forth with you anymore,” you huffed.

“I mean just look at us! I’ve been here for almost two days and look how many times we fought and then pretended like nothing happened! T-this isn’t how we used to be,” you bit on your lip, tasting the bitter taste of metallic blood, just so the tears wouldn’t spill.

“I know…” he muttered, “but why didn’t you just tell me? Then… and even now?”

“I-I was embarrassed,” you muttered shyly. His brows scrunched, embarrassed? why would you be embarrassed for the shitty things she did?

“Why would you be embarrassed?” He asked.

“Because it was true, Eddie,” you blinked away the tears, settling with that uncomfortable feeling.

“What are you talking about, what she did was fuckin’ cruel, and if I knew-”

“N-no, it was true.” You huffed. “Deadbeat parents and an abusive ex-boyfriend… like how cliche could I fucking get?” You wanted to laugh bitterly.

“I-I’m a mess and she’s right… And so were you! It was such a gut punch when you said it to me, but you were right.” Your lip was wobbling, eyes squinted. “I-I ruined your life and-”

“No, don’t fucking say that-”

“But it is true!” You exclaimed with a sad expression, “I ruined your life and I-I should’ve never tried to re-enter it, and I should’ve left you alone.”

“I-I’m sorry, for everything, for LA, I could say that as many times as you need me to…” you sighed. “but I promise you don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

“W-what?” He stuttered, still struggling to process your words.

“I told you Eddie, I don’t want to do this. As we said, we don’t have to talk to each other this weekend, and afterward, I’ll be gone.”

“You won’t ever hear from me or see me again.”

“But that is not what I want!” Eddie exclaimed, desperate, he didn’t want to lose you, and he was going to. There was nothing he could do to stop it.

He already lost you once, and maybe he could blame you for that, but this one. It was all him.

He tried to reach for your arm, to touch you again, to feel the warmth he felt a night ago like everything would be just as it was five years ago. But you were quick to take a step back away from him.

“But it’s what I want.” You tried to speak calmly, your cracking voice fast to fail you.

“W-what about the album cover?”

With a touch of bitterness in your tone, you retorted, “I’m sure you can find someone much better than me.”

“C’mon, Pinky, you can’t be serious, that’s like a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing-”

“I’d rather be stuck at the record store for the rest of my life,” you muttered bitterly, words cutting through him. You could see how much they were hurting him, but there was no other way, you had to protect your own feelings.

Staying away from Eddie was the only thing you could do to stop hurting yourself and everyone else. You had already caused enough problems for everyone in the room.

Eddie's voice turned somber as he uttered, “So, this is it?” A sense of defeat washed over him.

“We’ve been doing it for the past five years, why should it change now?”

Because I want you.

Because I haven’t been able to do that for the past five years either.

Because I could never stay away from you.

Because it has always been you, from the moment we met.

Because I love you. Always have, always will.

Was what he should’ve said, some grand speech, something to sweep you off your feet, something to change your mind. Anything. So he wouldn’t lose you again, so you could finally realize how much he cared about you, how much he would always care about you.

But nothing came out of his trembling lips, not even a sound.

He stood there, feeling as if time froze around him. Like he was stuck, everything around him moved, but he didn’t, he couldn’t.

He watched you go back to Steve. Steve comfortably threw an arm around your shoulder and let you know that you could stay here with him and that he would drive you to The Hideout tonight.

And it should have been him. Him, who offered to take you to his place. Him, you spent the rest of your day with.

Him, who you ran off to whenever you felt sad or when your heart was broken. He couldn’t accept that he was no longer the one you ran to, but the one who caused all of it.

✦ final authors note — OKAY. so please let me know if u want flashbacks in the next chapter bc thats what i had in mind but idk how yall feel abt flashbacks but i swear they will reveal A LOT LMAO.

also please interact/reblog/like or give me any feedback to support me ily <3

permanent taglist (lmk if u want to be added): @mandyjo8719 @kellsck @batkin028 @hideoutside @sashaphantomhive @nabiiturner @andvys (ILY.) @siriuslysmoking @plk-18 @emxxblog @babyloutattoo89 @micheledawn1975 @sole-screws @joannamuns9n @trixyvixx @fangirling-4-ever @browneyes528

#eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson series #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson angst #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #stranger things fanfic #edide munson #eddie munson x you #getaway car series #getaway car

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deathmetalunicorn1 · 7 months

Note

How about some Yandere Hercules, Thor, Ares, Lu Bu, Rudra, Hades, Qin Shi Huang and Apollo x Hiyori Reader (Leodonis’ Daughter) where she just straight up BITCH SLAPS Apollo for insulting her father

She refuses to back down or bow her head for forgiveness because “I’m a Spartan’s Daughter, I will never back down! Especially when I know I’m Right!”

Underneath her cold, flirtatious and ‘vain’ exterior is a brave, compassionate and selfless woman who cares deeply for others, as she would manipulate any cruel and evil Gods, Humans and Demons with her irresistible beauty for their valuables and power until they have nothing left and give it all up to the people to live better lives

She loves and admires her Father deeply, and won’t tolerate anyone disrespecting him, as she has a high moral code, as her father was a brave and strong man (As she’s a total Daddy’s Girl, even showing her childish and tomboy side when he’s around *As she also tried to drop kick him, one of the moves he taught her for self defense, which he’ll laugh about since he’s glad she can at least defend herself*)

Leodonis is also on the floor cackling after hearing his daughter slap the hell out of Apollo (As her hand print is clear for everyone to see on his face)

-Leonidas couldn’t breathe, death was fast approaching as he held his stomach, never had his abs hurt like this before, even after years of intense workout or even getting stabbed.

-Before him stood a glorious scene, his daughter, who looked like an angel, delicate and soft, was standing over Apollo, who had just got bitch slapped right across the teeth, “I am a daughter of Sparta, worm, and if you insult it’s king, you insult me. And nobody insults Sparta.”

-Apollo was bringing it on himself technically, as the others around you could vouch for, as Apollo was trying to flirt with you, telling you how beautiful you looked and that he couldn’t understand how someone so crash and vulgar could be the father of such an angel.

-You were normally very level-headed and calm, but your papa was your soft spot, even if you would deny it, acting shy about it, you wouldn’t hesitate to throw hands to defend your papa, even though he could do it himself.

-You were known as quite the heartbreaker around Valhalla, but your targets were always cruel people, cruel gods and humans, and you would use your looks and never-ending charm to get in a good position with them, only to rob them blind.

-Many called you a villain and many tried to get you arrested for your crimes, but there were many more who would defend you, as everything you stole, goods, money, food, clothes, and you would always give it to those who needed it but didn’t have it, mainly because those you stole from had taken it or horded it, not distributing it like they were told to do.

-When the investigation was launched, you were actually thanked by so many high ranking gods for finding these thieves, who were punished instead. Many begged you for mercy, but you were cold and unforgiving, “I have no mercy to give to those who deserve none.”

-Many thought your icy nature was alluring, wanting to get to know you in a romantic sense, but in a serious romance, not your typical ones.

-You were always hesitant on making an actual relationship with someone, as you were afraid they would find out about your past exploits and what you’ve done, and you didn’t want to be deemed a loose woman.

-Leonidas would defend you, even if you told him you didn’t need his him, kicking his butt with your foot, telling him to leave, only to make him laugh while others would see your slight tomboy side.

-However, there were times like this where you easily showed your papa and anyone around you, that you were indeed a daughter of Sparta, and the daughter of the king, and you were not to be underestimated by any means.

-Many around were in shock, stunned with wide eyes but at the same time, they were admiring you, you took no disrespect and you slapped a god to the floor, not caring in the slightest that it was done in front of witnesses.

-Holy moly that was HOT!! He couldn’t believe his eyes to watch Apollo flirting with you, the object of his own affections, and then insult your father, and the next thing the sound of a slap is ringing around and Apollo is on the ground, a pulsing red imprint of a hand on his cheek as he lay twitching on the ground. Immediately approached you, asking if you were okay, taking your hand in his own, holding it gently; he was careful because he didn’t want a matching handprint on his own face. You felt your face warm as he held your hand so gently, massaging the palm gently, making sure you didn’t hurt yourself while praising you for making it look so easy. Leonidas couldn’t help but grin, seeing you acting so shy with soft affection, you were so cute!

-Ares, Hades, Hercules, and Qin Shi Huang

-Was in awe, seeing you dispatch a god so easily and with just a slap across the face. It made him curious on how hard you actually hit Apollo. It also made him curious on how strong you actually were; it wasn’t everyday where a woman could drop a god with one hit. Picked you up when you started getting a little feistier then you probably needed to be, wanting to yell at Apollo some more, and they were worried that Leonidas really was going to die from laughing so hard. He was surprised when you went silent, being held princess style before your face immediately went red and you started to push on his face, demanding to be let down. This was an unexpected but enjoyable surprise, seeing you so shy from being treated like a maiden. Leonidas couldn’t help but grin, wiping the tears from his eyes, he knew you could handle yourself, but if you came to him, he had no issues putting someone in their place.

-Lu Bu, Rudra, and Thor

-Stars in his eyes, birds circling his head, and ringing in his ears were all he could recall. He had been speaking to you but had realized, after you disciplined him, that he must have said something rude to you. Could see you glaring down at him, chewing him out but couldn’t hear anything but ringing. You were the whole package, beauty and strength, just like him, and he knew, being a daughter of Sparta, you could handle yourself, you were just like him! He couldn’t help but smile up at you as he became more coherent, hearing Leonidas nearby laughing loudly as well as many others laughing at his misfortune. Apollo beamed up at you, adoration in his eyes as he had never met a woman like you before, “Marry me!” Everyone went silent, completely stunned by the question, however it was your reaction that got more attention as you immediately flushed, holding your cheeks, “What are you saying?! Did I scramble your brains?!” before rushing to your father who was now standing, moving to hide behind him, however, seeing you so shy made Apollo fall even more in love. Now he just needed to convince Leonidas.

-Apollo

#record of ragnarok #ror x reader #ror ares #ror hades #ror heracles #ror qin shi huang #ror lu bu #ror rudra #ror thor #ror apollo

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hellfire--cult · 11 months

Text

Baring Teeth {Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader} - Ch. 1

Picture for Banner: pitifulbaby

Chapters: Masterlist (Go here to see list of chapters.)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers, Non-Traditional Omegaverse, Slow burn, Modern!AU

Warnings: Ab*se, Violence, Mental Health, Cursing, Smut (mild), treat it as a normal Enemies 2 Lovers book, but the A/B/O dynamic will appear at some point.

Crossposted on: Wattpad & AO3

Chapter 1

The world is a mysterious, yet ever changing thing.

A world where once reigned in just two secondary genders at one point. Alpha and Omega. A world where one claimed one another as forever mates, one able to provide of children, the other to be the protector of its pack.

But now it is 2023. The world only reigns in Betas, the middle in between an Alpha and Omega, someone who provides children with the adequate amount of treatments and prescriptions in medications, making them fertile. That is how the world procreated and mutated into just this kind of gender.

This happened once laws started being created, feeling as if Omegas did not have any kind of say in many things, regarding them as small, powerless, and people who were just created for the sole purpose of procreation. That led to forced mating, even rape and abuse. Omegas who did not feel bonded to their Alphas in any way, even Omegas being sold as slaves and breeding machines.

After the 1900's the Omega and Alpha population decreased, and it continued on till the days of today. People dated who they wanted, married who they wanted, and procreated with who they desired and if they desired it.

Alphas and Omegas do not exist.

But mother nature is wise.

—------------------

"I do not!" You screamed loudly as you blocked yet another person off from your dating app. Robin was sitting next to you as she laughed loudly, throwing her head back with the bottle of beer in her hand.

"Yes, yes you are picky, and it's time you realize this." She commented, making you squirm in your place.

"Robin, committing to someone is a big deal, it's not that I'm picky cause I want to." You tried to excuse yourself with the faintest of blushes and then Steve looked at the screen and back at you as he took a sip of his beer. The bar you are in was not that crowded yet, the Happy Hour started a few minutes ago, and you had decided with your friends to come by for a drink since it was friday already and the stress from work was eating you up.

"Okay, what did this guy have then?" Steve asked, pointing at the phone. You shrugged, scrunching up your nose as you looked at the picture with the 'Blocked' sign over it.

"Well, he was nice, and all…" You started and Steve hummed, coarsing you to keep going. "But then he started talking about his ex, and that's like, a big red flag." Steve now made a face of disgust and looked at Robin.

"Okay, yeah, she's got a point there Robs." He says with a nod and you look at Robin with an 'I told you so' grin. She just rolled her eyes at you and took another sip of her drink.

"It doesn't take away the fact that you are picky. Last guy, you fucked him, and he wasn't good at it. Then the other girl you rejected because her hair had not been washed for a week, which by the way, it's normal for a healthy scalp! Then there was Thomas, who I don't know why you even rejected." Robin says with a cross of her arms, looking at you and you simply shrugged.

"He was just… He was just that. Meh." You say with a shrug, taking a sip of your daiquiri. Another voice chirps in, making you look up at the bartender in front of you.

"I can say you are picky." Jonathan says while wiping the glass in his hand. He was grinning at you as you sunk in the bar in shame. "Yeah, I have a right to say it."

"It was different with you Jonathan, I just felt like a friendship connection with you, instantly." You say with a wince and a blush. Jonathan had asked you out the first time he met you, and you did go on a date with him because he seemed nice and polite, only to find out that you weren't really attracted to the poor guy. Gladly, he had said the same thing about you, and even if you kissed in order to find that out, there was never awkwardness between you two.

"Yeah, but I did do the whole dating plan, and you still did not want to be with me." He says with a grin looking at Steve.

"And thank god she is picky." Steve says with a smile, leaning over the bar to plant a soft kiss on his boyfriend's lips. You whined as well as Robin, making a disgust noise.

"Can you please not eat in front of the poor?" You say with a whine, taking a sip of your drink.

"Not their problem if you can't get a decent date."

And that was the voice you despised the most, coming right from behind you. Your eyes immediately turned into a glare as you shoot it behind your shoulder.

"Munson. You weren't even in the conversation." You say with a sneer and he shrugged, his dark curls moving over his shoulders, over his dark denim jacket with a smirk on his lips.

"You were loud enough." He says while greeting Steve with a pat to his shoulder.

Eddie Munson. Local owner of a Mechanic shop at the end of the main street, best friends with Steve Harrington, and who you got acquainted with thanks to meeting Robin at work. You've known him for a year, and your first interaction was interesting to say the least.

"Guys, hope you don't mind, I brought my new coworker and new best friend over." Robin said with a smile as she stepped first into the bar, greeting Steve, Nancy, Eddie, Argyle and Jonathan at a booth at the bar.

"New best friend Buckley? Seriously?" Steve asked with an eyebrow raised up as you came out from behind Robin's protective back, showing your face.

"We bonded over Golden Girls." You said with a smile, taking off the office blazer that was over you. Steve directed a smile to you and got up from his seat, putting a hand out to you.

"Of course it's Golden Girls… Steve Harrington." He presented himself and you looked at him, and noticed how good his hair looked, just like Robin had described. You grabbed his hand, shaking it in greeting, never losing your smile, giving him your name.

"And she's Nancy, Jonathan, Argyle my dude, and Eddie." Robin presented as you let go of Steve's hand to give a nod to each person in the booth. They greeted you back, and that made your nerves dissipate just a tiny bit. You were nervous about meeting new people, having moved out of your parent's place from Atlanta and into the new city that is Indianapolis. You just wanted some independence of your own, and you got signed into a very important designer's magazine as an editor.

You left your old life back in Atlanta, wanting to start anew, meet new people, and after you got your degree and some experience in a small editorial in town, you bid your folks goodbye.

Meeting Robin first thing in your new job was like a breather, and it gave you hope in your new life in the big city. She was the one that gave you a tour around the office, and after a month of chit chatting here and there, you came around the fact that Robin was a wonderful human being, and you instantly became best friends, as if it were destiny.

You had, though, declined this invitation from her before, too afraid of meeting new people and feeling like the new branch in a tree that didn't need anymore leaves. This time, she got fed up, and almost dragged you out of the office in order to go drinking with her and her friends.

"Yo, 'sup my dudette." Argyle greeted you, making you smile immediately as you took a seat next to the person you believed she introduced as Eddie, now feeling a certain shiver down your spine as well as a flush to your cheeks.

Because Eddie was handsome.

He had long hair, which was tied up in a small ponytail, wearing a denim vest over a white tank top, his tattoo sleeves showing off on his arms which you couldn't help but stare a bit. He was like the black sheep of the group, because Nancy was wearing a nice pink cardigan, while Argyle had a simple blue shirt on, Steve had a polo shirt on, and Jonathan was wearing the bar's uniform with an apron around his waist, while you and Robin were wearing your office suits.

"So, welcoming gift from the house, whatcha want?" Jonathan said with a smile as he stood at the end of the table. You blinked at the request and tilted your head. "Oh, I am the owner of this bar." He responded with a grin to his face and you made a surprised noise as Robin sat next to you.

"Oh! I didn't know that… Okay uh… Strawberry Daiquiri?" You said with a slight wince, not used to getting things for free really, and he smiled and nodded, walking away to the bar.

"So, what brings you to the big city?" His deep voice startled you, and you looked towards Eddie who was smiling at you with beer in his hand. You looked around and saw that all eyes were staring at you and the nervousness was brought back into your belly.

"Well, um… Independence mostly. Always lived in a small town in Georgia, and I didn't have many opportunities with my degree there so… Here I am." You explained with a soft smile. A smile that hid more than you told. A smile that you hoped everyone bought.

"Oh, that's cool! We're all from the same high school, also moved to the big city for bigger opportunities." Nancy said with a smile and you blinked looking at all of them.

"Same high school? Really?"

"Except for Argyle, Eddie met him in California when he went to see Metallica once and after a while he moved here." Robin says and Argyle simply nods with a smile to his face.

"Hell yeah, been inseparable since!"

"Oh, you guys are dating?" You asked and that made everyone spit whatever they were drinking, making you jump while Argyle simply let out a big laugh.

"Do I look remotely gay to you?" Eddie asked you, wiping his mouth with his wrist and you blushed in embarrassment, noticing that you didn't say the right thing.

"I just– I don't know, he said inseparable so I assumed–"

"Well, it was wrong." He said coldly, taking you aback. You opened your mouth to apologize as the table erupted in giggles.

"Eddie and Argyle, well that is an image I did not need in my mind." Nancy said with a giggle and Eddie groaned at her in warning.

"What Brochacho? Am I not sexy enough for you?" They kept going at him, and you noticed how silent he got as they picked their fun on him. You felt small next to him, embarrassed for making him a target to his friends mocking and laughing. Jonathan came back with your drink in hand and placed it in front of you with a smile on his face.

"What's the laughter about?" He asked and Steve looked at him, hiding his chuckles, calling your name before speaking.

"She thought Argyle and Eddie were dating." He said and Jonathan started laughing as well, earning another glare from the dark haired man next to you.

That was not a good impression.

After chatting for a while, getting to know them all, coldness in Eddie's voice all the while, you saw your chance when he got up to go get a beer at the bar, and you felt the need to apologize to him, so you excused yourself from Robin and the rest, following him, standing next to him as he talked to the bartender.

"Hi… Um… I wanted to apologize for the misunderstanding– I mean, he worded it weird…" You tried to explain, feeling quite ashamed for your actions, but nonetheless he didn't look at you as the bartender handed him his beer.

"Right. Are you going to also apologize for bullshiting everyone too?" He asked with no venom, no evil, just sternly. You looked up at him with an eyebrow raised up in confusion.

"Excuse me?"

"One of my qualities, princess, is that I can read people like the back of my hand." Now he did look at you, with some sort of sly grin on his face. "Independence? I heard better excuses than that one."

"What are you even talking about?" Now it was your turn to turn angry. Who did he think he is asking you these kinds of questions? Judging you the way he was doing? Meddling in your life without even knowing you?

"Oh come on. You didn't move here just because of the thrill of it. What happened then? Mommy and Daddy cut you off?"

"Listen here, I don't even know you. I don't know who you are, but I said my motive of moving here with nothing but the truth." You spat back at him and he whistled, the grin never leaving his face, and you just wanted to punch it, right off.

"Yeah, sure. Are you going to keep lying yourself into the group?" He asked, but now, it did include venom in his voice.

He did not cause a good impression either.

So it wasn't a surprise your defense mechanism shot up by a hundred, protecting your dignity and your worth.

"Is this because your masculinity got squashed a little bit by my comment? Is your dick seriously that small?" You saw a twitch of his brows at your commentary, and you smirked right back at him, knowing you got him with that comment. But then he chuckled, shaking his head.

"We just met and you're already talking about my dick? Damn, ask a guy out on a date first next time." That made you red in the face. You took back all of the commentary you did before on his face. Right now, he was disgusting to you, a wretched thing.

"Oh please, is there even anything to talk about?" And that earned you a glare on his part.

"You seem eager to find out. C'mon, keep talking about my dick sweetheart."

And that's where it started, your rivalry, your disputes, your arguments in the group, because even if Eddie complained about him having you there, Robin never stopped inviting you, telling him to man up. You also complained of course, to which she delivered the same response to you.

You had tried to be civil with him, but he always made a small remark that got you back to square one, the insults never stopping from eachother's mouths, never overdoing the line of course, but sometimes they do get a little bit under your skin, like right now. You've been trying to find someone decent, give another chance to life, to love, yet noone was sufficient. Noone sparked anything inside of you.

And he just had to appear and make it known.

"At least I get some." You said as a snarky remark towards him as he finished greeting Robin. He simply smirked, nodding at Jonathan as a silent request for a beer, then looking at you.

"I don't need to flaunt them like you do. That need for validation is probably why they all scurry away from you." You gripped the glass a little more than before, your jaw clenching in anger, but Robin seemed to notice that Eddie was crossing the line with that one, and gladly, she covered you up.

"She is actually the one who runs away, not the other way around Eds." That made him simply hum with a nod as Jonathan gave him an opened bottle of beer. You put your cell phone away, your mood sour in just one second thanks to the man who stood next to Robin while he chatted with Jonathan.

You never understood why the dynamic was set this way, but it simply was, ever since that night. You both never saw eye to eye. You don't even know what he does in the day, or in the night, or what else he does apart from working, and he doesn't know about you either. He doesn't need to know.

Because honestly, ever since that night, when he called you out, you created a shell over you, like a protective field, not wanting to let him in. You were afraid that he would keep looking into you, making you peel the layers off, one by one.

But no, you weren't going to do that. You came a year ago to start fresh, new, without the backstory, without the need to explain your whole life to people, without the need of missing people back in Atlanta, because there were none… That's what you told them, of course.

Yet, as you swirl your daiquiri in hand, looking down at the drink, you hear him laugh with Robin, as they talked about something which you couldn't decipher, or you just didn't understand what it was. Sometimes they get stuck with their high school talking and you can barely include yourself there, but it's understandable.

You took out your cell phone again, in a way to distract yourself as Jonathan whispered to Steve so he could hear him with the music of the bar. You opened up instagram to look at the new profile that followed you. Jason Carver. Mutual people: RobinBuckeee, SteveHarrington94, Nance_Wheels, argzzthedude, J_Byers.

You tilted your head as you started scrolling through the profile. Blonde, blue eyes, great body. No body modification, at least anywhere to be seen. You took a sip of your daiquiri, not noticing the person hovering over your shoulder, looking down at the screen.

"Oh, I wouldn't recommend him, Sweetheart." Your eyes glared up towards nothing as you looked down towards the screen again.

"Why's that Munson?"

"Heard his dick is the size of a thumb." He said with a snicker, which you only huffed at and looked over your shoulder to look at him.

"Heard, seen or felt Munson?" His smile dropped at your insult, which only made you smile again and look back down towards the phone. Robin looked at your screen and her eyes widened, shaking her head.

"Oh, no. No, no… He's right, don't." Your eyes frowned and looked at your friend with complete confusion.

"What? I mean, you guys follow him too. Is he from your school or same town?" You asked and Robin sighed, nodding.

"We went to the same high school. Jason was a bully. Like a real asshole with a capital A." You looked at the screen again, tilting your head. He didn't really look like an asshole to you, but if you learnt something in life, is to never take appearances for granted.

"Okay… But just if I want to–" And you clicked follow back with your finger, making Robin groan. You giggled at her reaction and put your phone away, only for a scoff to be heard behind you.

"What a disappointment that will be." Eddie remarks and sits next to Steve, finally, moving away from you, a person away, but it's still a nice amount of distance. You didn't follow him on social media, and he didn't follow you either. You didn't want to know anything about him, or even hear about him. Sure, you sometimes see Stories posted from Argyle or Steve sharing a beer or doing something stupid with him, but that's about it. You don't need him in your life.

You just really fucking hate Eddie Munson.

-----------

End of chapter 1

Next chapter ->

I hope you enjoy this, I swear that the omegaverse with me IS VERY MILD, and not at all explicit in any way. I don't see many fics with this trope, but just treat it as a normal enemies to lovers thing!

We'll build it up real slow, lots of backstories to be added too, and angst ofc!

I don't know how this is posted on Tumblr, so imma go with the waves!

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thebangtancloud · 2 years

Text

"Can I... borrow some clothes?" ~ Jeon Jungkook

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: fluff, occasional angst, non-idol au.

word count: 4,006

warnings: curse words

Summary: It's not every day that you open the door to a half-naked man telling you that someone robbed him at the beach. Maybe it was just the sight of his abs - perhaps it was his damp hair falling over his forehead, but you let him in.

🌼

Maybe.

Just maybe.

If the distant knock had reached your ears just a minute later than it did, you wouldn't have been as angry as you were.

But holy shit.

Now Christopher - the super-hot dude from the book that you had to put away, who was just moments away from pulling Danielle into a kiss, their very first kiss, right up against her kitchen counter while she held a dainty glass half-filled with white wine - would have to wait.

You've got some problems to deal with now.

It didn't matter if you weren't the one holding the glass of wine - neither was it much of an issue when the can of Pepsi that you crushed with a dangerous growl went flying towards the wooden door of the cottage that you had rented out for two weeks.

Who had the audacity to interrupt your self-care routine?

Who?

It couldn't be the delivery guy who had scowled at your attitude when he dropped off your pizza twenty minutes later than it had indicated on the app.

Neither could it be the most irritating woman you had ever met in your life who wouldn't hesitate to squeeze her way through your front door to see if you had something nice in the kitchen to eat. Neighbors just had a knack for being nosy and pathetic.

If not, then who?

And why were you even entertaining a man who had been knocking at your door at six-fifteen in the evening when all you had planned to do was rest your feet up against the wall with your book in one hand and the love of your life - your beloved bbq beef and mushroom pizza - in the other?

You had to take a solid moment to find out.

A man, young with a dashing body, stood rather awkwardly when you opened the door not even a minute after he had knocked on it. His hands, long and almost entirely covered with a tattoo sleeve, rested gently against his crotch, a black and quite tight-fitting boxer shorts protecting his dignity loyally beneath his trembling fingers.

His legs were folding in on themselves - partly due to the cold and mainly due to the embarrassment of having a complete stranger staring down at him as though he was a meal ready to be eaten.

"Ma'am..." he trailed off with a slight croak, immediately straightening up and clearing his throat after sounding like he had a frog lodged into his airway. "Can I..."

"Mister," your gaze flitted up to meet his in a single blink. "What is wrong with you?"

"I-" he choked, desperately looking around and pointing a shaky hand to the narrow road that led him to you. "I got robbed!"

"They..." you trailed your eyes over his half-naked body, "stripped you?"

The man shook his head gingerly with a gulp.

"No, I was at the beach. I... I went in for a swim. I saw these two boys take my things with them and I was too far to catch up."

"Heh," you held in a laugh.

"Okay. So? This isn't the police station, for your information."

"I-I know," he stammered, briefly looking to the floor and scratching at his eyebrow. "I just... ack!"

You kept your gaze steady when both of his hands flew up to hold his right eye, his upper body bending forward in pain.

"Ugh, the water went into my eye! Gah - why does it burn so much?"

For just a fleeting moment, you caught sight of his tense muscles, bunched up yet quite defined and glistening with remnants of what could be the water from the ocean, or his sweat.

The latter sounded weirdly sexier.

Maybe.

Just maybe, it was because the man who stood before you resembled the character in your book that you were thirsting over not even five minutes ago.

Maybe it was because it had been way too long since you'd laid your eyes on a gorgeous young man like this stranger himself.

"The ocean water tends to be salty."

He squinted up at you through one eye. "Huh?"

"It burns," you pointed to his wet hair, "because the ocean water is salty."

"Oh...yeah."

For an embarrassingly long minute, neither of you spoke. The thought of letting said man into your cottage didn't even strike you until he subtly tried to pull at the tight fabric of his boxers - hoping you wouldn't notice the unease with which he stood outside your door.

"Can I...borrow some clothes?"

"You want to..." you raised a tentative hand to rest against your lower lip, "borrow some of my clothes?"

"Please," he spoke, this time sounding slightly more desperate.

"I'll leave as soon as I have something to wear. It's embarrassing to walk around like...this."

"Hmm..." you gave it a thought. "Where are you from?"

"Huh?"

"Where are you from?"

"From here," he pointed to the floor as if it made any sense. "Korea."

"Where in Korea?"

"Seoul. I mean - I live in Seoul. I'm from Busan."

"Ah," you nodded. Maybe you'd have to force yourself to look into his eyes because now that he was standing upright, his abs were certainly looking even more heavenly.

"Have you been here before?"

The man shook his head. "I've been wanting to visit Deokjeokdo Island for a while. This is my first time here."

"Are you here alone?"

"What's with all the questions?" For the first time, his resolve cracked, a scoff of disbelief sounding from his throat as he looked to the side with a huff. "Are you going to help me or not?"

"You could be a serial killer for all I know," you shrugged casually. "If you're trying to get into my place with ill intentions, I must know at least something about you in case I survive and must file a case against you."

His eyes rounded in surprise, instinctively taking a step back and holding a hand up in the air.

"Ma'am," he spoke with absolute certainty. "I'm almost naked in front of you, I've been running from the beach for the past ten minutes with people staring at me like I've grown three heads - I'm desperate if you didn't figure that out already. All I need is a pair of shorts and a shirt. I'll be gone after that, you have my word."

You folded your arms over your chest, faking a frown and leaning against the doorpost wordlessly.

"I will stand outside," he offered again. "I won't even come in. Just please - for the sake of humanity, lend me a pair of clothes and I'll be eternally grateful to you."

The poor man looked like he was on the verge of tears.

"What's your name?"

"Jungkook," he responded quietly. "Jeon Jungkook."

"Do you read books?"

He held in an exasperated sigh.

"Not really."

Well, damn.

"Do you like wine?"

"Sometimes, but I get drunk quite easily."

"Hmm..." you nodded, taking a few seconds to simply run your eyes over the glorious stranger yet again, rather shamelessly this time.

"Come in."

🌼

"Can I use your phone?"

The man - Jungkook - had finally stepped out of the shower after a good twenty-five minutes. No, he wasn't being too greedy - he was actually being a good guest and listening to your direct instructions of 'staying out of your way for the next twenty minutes so that you could read in peace unless he wanted to make his way to the police station butt naked instead.

Nope, he didn't want that.

He wasn't complaining either. He took his time to scrub the sand out from under his toenails, humming along to a tune that couldn't get out of his head. Jungkook was quick to notice that this place didn't look like a home, a quick glance at your silver suitcase beside the bed made him understand why there were two large filled bottles of Aloe Vera and Cucumber shampoo and conditioner sitting behind a giant glass cabinet.

Since it appeared to be used only once, Jungkook squeezed out a generous amount of shampoo onto his palm, taking a long sniff and only looking back to the door when he heard a slight bang, thinking you'd walked into the bathroom. He got back to his shower without a delay, scrubbing out the smell of the fishy ocean and all of his worries altogether, nourishing his recently dyed black hair with the creamy white conditioner.

When Jungkook noticed that he still had ten minutes to kill, he stepped out onto the balcony that was attached to your bedroom, breathing in the fresh air deeply before looking up to the sky with a deep sigh.

What was he even doing with his life?

Had he listened to his friend's mother who insisted that he got into college before the year began, he'd be halfway into earning a degree that could get him a job. But nope, follow your dreams, right?

Jungkook had been feeling uncomfortable - out of place; if you will. He struggled to watch his friends talk about studying further and acing their classes and the several different internships that they were working for.

Jungkook, on the other hand?

He loved to perform.

Jungkook initially loved what he did. Spending several hours each evening on the streets with his friends - a cheap microphone and a large speaker that he had borrowed from his brother with a promise to pay him back one day - made him feel like he was on top of the world.

That was until he fell into a slump.

Zero motivation to move, his passion no longer visible behind the taunts and sniggers that crawled his way every single morning. He hated it. He hated the looks that his friend's parents would give him. He hated the way his mother would remain oh so silent whenever her upbringing was picked on.

He needed to get away.

And that's just how he found himself nervously fiddling with his fingers upon asking you for a second favor that evening.

"Give them a hand and they take your whole arm."

Jungkook almost felt bad for wanting to roll his eyes at you.

"Kidding," you chuckled lightheartedly, giving him a look. "Damn, is this how men feel when they see a woman wear their clothes?"

"Uh," he nervously touched the edge of the black hoodie that you had given him. "Thanks for this."

"Yeah, no problem," you patted his shoulder on the way to the kitchen. "You can use the telephone that's on the table. I'll get you something warm to drink."

"Thanks," he mumbled under his breath once again.

It's about time he gave a call to his long-lost friend who ditched him at the beach for his on-and-off girlfriend.

"You little shit," Jungkook cursed into the phone, gently ducking and holding a hand over his mouth when he heard you giggle from somewhere in the cottage.

"Where did you disappear?" Jimin wondered out loud. "When I came back, you were gone, and so were your things."

"I got robbed, you bloody idiot," Jungkook scoffed. "I told you to stay by my things. My fuckin' camera is gone!"

"Yo," Jimin gasped defensively. "I told you I was leaving! I was hardly gone for an hour!"

"When did you tell me?"

"When you were swimming. I shouted out as loud as I could and you heard me. You even gave me a thumbs up!"

"When the fuck did I do that?"

"You're cursing an awful lot today, Jungkook," Jimin deadpanned. "Chill, it's only a camera, I'll get you one."

"Only a camera?" Jungkook asked incredulously. "I bought that camera with the money that I earned on the streets! Do you even know how long I saved up to get myself that camera? I even lost my phone and wallet, my license, they took my clothes too!"

"Woah, woah!" Jimin's voice raised in astonishment. "They took your clothes? How did you get out then? You went in with your-"

"Yeah, I know that you dumbass. This is entirely your fault. You better get your ass here and pick me up before I do something I'd regret."

"Damn," Jimin laughed under his breath. "Someone is furious, I see."

"Does any of this sound funny to you? You're with her, aren't you? Bro, you're just inviting trouble. You got to-"

"Stop nagging me," Jimin cut him off. "Text me the location from wherever you're calling me and I'll be there in an hour."

"An hour?! And I can't text you, this is a landline-"

"See ya, Jungkook!"

The line went silent. And so did he.

He contemplated banging the telephone receiver but he was in no position to pay you back for it, so he simply put it back in place - gently - before reaching for his hair and tugging at it violently.

"You might get bald if you do that."

Breathing out shakily, Jungkook put on the best of his fake smiles, releasing his hair while trying not to let you know that he was grinding his teeth in frustration, turning to face you with possibly the third favor that he needed from you that day.

How was he supposed to ask you to let him use your phone? Or even your address? Or to let him stay for at least three hours because he knew for a fact that Jimin wouldn't be here in an hour like he promised.

"Tea," you murmured, placing down a brown serving plate with two mint green ceramic mugs filled with some yellowish liquid and pink flowers floating over the surface.

"Don't ask me what tea this is, I don't know. I found it when I came here and although it tastes like ass... it's good for your health - or so it said on the box."

"Thanks," he murmured, suddenly feeling greatly indebted to you.

"Relax. Stay as long as you need to. And you can use my phone to send your friend the address. You're stressed enough and I couldn't ask you to go fend for yourself in this state. I'm pretty sure you don't even have the money to take a bus."

"Gee, thanks. That makes me feel so much better," Jungkook rolled his eyes at you.

"Am I wrong though?" You smirked. "Your camera, phone, wallet, license...clothes," you eyed his body once again. "All gone. Sheesh."

Jungkook huffed, choosing not to add to the conversation anymore. He settled onto the floor after you did, briefly catching sight of your spiderman socks that he found difficult not to laugh at, gratefully accepting the mug that you offered him.

"You can roast me for these socks, I don't mind," you chuckled, stretching out your legs across the floor and wiggling your toes.

"You're quite observant," he commented lightly. "How do you know everything I'm thinking?"

"It's not too difficult when you almost snorted into the tea, mister," you pointed out. "The only thing that could make you laugh given the circumstances is my socks."

"Well, I guess," he scratched at his hairline with an uncomfortable laugh. "I've never seen a girl wear spiderman socks before."

"I've never seen a guy come to my door half-naked before."

"Touche."

"If you're interested in knowing the story - and since we have some time to kill - I bought these at the airport when I realized I forgot to pack any socks. I usually stuff my socks with chocolates and I'd appreciate it if you don't ask me why, and for some reason, I left that for the last moment and ended up forgetting not just my socks but also my chocolates."

"Oh," Jungkook stifled a laugh. "Wow."

"Yeah. And the socks at the airport are so bloody expensive?! I ended up buying these from the kid's section. In my defense, I didn't expect any guests," you pointed to the man himself with a smug grin, "so I didn't think twice before buying them."

"They're cute," he chuckled, taking a good moment to look at them. "Oh, and I guess I didn't ask for your name."

"Yeah, you didn't," you took a sip of your tea.

"So," he sniffed, raising his mug to his nose, "what's your name?"

"(Y/n), but you can call me your lifesaver."

"Right," he laughed awkwardly, nodding nonetheless. "I mean, yeah, you did... you know, save me in a way. Thanks for that."

"Or else you'd be freezing your ass off in the cold outside. And might I tell you, my neighbors here are really awful, I doubt they would've helped you if you went to them."

"Well..." he trailed off, trying to mask the cringe when he took a sip of the tea. "I'm glad it was your door that I knocked on."

"I'm not."

"What?"

You cackled at the gasp that came from him.

"Chill, I should correct myself. I was not, but I don't mind right now. I just don't like anyone interrupting me while I read. But I understand your situation, so I don't mind."

"Yeah, right. I was ready to run through the door right now," Jungkook breathed out heavily.

"You can if you want," you shrugged. "But I don't think you will."

"I'm too tired to fight you on that," he weakly commented. "I'll just accept defeat."

"Yeah, I don't see you having any alternative."

Soon enough, Jungkook and you fell into a peaceful silence. He carefully observed the way you took merely two sips of the tea before placing it on the floor and pushing it away from you, wiping at the corner of your lip to hide the disgust on your expression.

Jungkook was tempted to do the same, but he didn't want to seem ungrateful, so he ended up chugging the bitter tea in one go, turning away from you completely to cover his mouth at the nasty taste.

He also silently accepted the phone that you gave him with a grateful nod, typing out Jimin's number before letting you type in the address of the cottage. He could only hope that Jimin would come to pick him up before it got too late.

After following your lead and shifting to lean against the couch, Jungkook found himself fiddling with the edge of the hoodie that you had let him wear.

The house was neat and cozy, majorly white with a hint of brown here and there. There wasn't much to see, except for the large french windows and the tall bookshelf that he figured you had utilized to place your books on. He hadn't seen much of the house except for the bedroom where you had told him he could get dressed there, but he got a pleasant and cozy vibe from the place.

"So, what brought you here, Jungkook?"

He turned to look at you, staying silent in an attempt to prepare an answer. He was partly startled at the sound of his name coming from you, it made him feel... weird. Good weird. He liked the way you said his name.

"Uh... I wanted to get away, I guess," he spoke softly, suddenly acknowledging the comfort of the silence that had blanketed the two of you.

"You have a friend here?"

"I mean - a friend of a friend," he nodded in thought. "Jimin - the guy I spoke to? He's my friend, and his girlfriend, well... I don't know if I could call her that, she lives here. She's apparently crazy rich and has a few bungalows around here, but she's... I don't know. Weird. Not good for Jimin."

"I get you," you chuckled softly. "I've known such people, too."

"She's horrible man," Jungkook groaned and covered his face with his palms. "She's such a pain. Ugh."

"Damn," you laughed at his honesty. "That's sad though, for Jimin, I suppose."

"It is!" He exclaimed. "I mean, Jimin is kinda filthy rich, too. So it isn't much of a problem for him to book flights every two or three weeks to come to visit her whenever she decides to miss him. But then they have these arguments and he makes me listen to all of his issues and he writes these sappy heartbreak songs or whatnot. Ugh. Too much."

You could only giggle at his words.

"But yeah... I guess I can tolerate her, even if it's just this once. I really needed to get away, and I figured there was no better place than this."

"Problems?" You inquired gently. "Girl problems?"

"No, god, no. Thank god," Jungkook sighed. "But yeah, problems, I guess."

"Mhm," you hummed. "You don't need to tell me anything. But I get you. I came here to get away from my problems too."

Jungkook fell silent at that. Looking across at you, he finally allowed himself to take a proper look at you. The way your silver glasses sat at the bridge of your nose, hair tied into a messy bun at the base of your neck, a comfortable pair of pink and white pajamas that made you look as though you were really in the mood to pamper yourself. Also the spiderman socks - but this time, it only made him smile faintly.

"I guess we all deserve to be a little happy," he murmured.

"I guess we do."

Jungkook wondered if it would be alright to talk to you about his problems. A mere stranger who'd probably forget about his existence a few months or years down the line. Maybe he could get unbiased advice from you, a person who knows nothing about his background or family issues or anything for that matter. Maybe he would feel lighter if he used this chance to talk about his problems.

But he didn't want to burden you.

Jungkook noticed a vague emptiness in your gaze when you looked out the window. It made him think that maybe... just maybe, his problems weren't that big in comparison to yours. And he could - if he tried to - ask you to talk about your problems as well. After all, he was a complete stranger who'd have nothing to do with you after a few hours.

But there was something that couldn't let him.

And that was the embarrassingly loud noise that came from his stomach. It was prolonged and weird, up until the point where Jungkook sat up on his knees with his hands around his belly, eyes wide in shock.

You covered your mouth with your hands, laughing into it at the discomfort on his face.

"Don't worry, it happens to the best of us too," you assured him, taking this as a chance to stand up as well, picking up his mug and yours and walking to the kitchen.

"Are you hungry, Jungkook?"

Jungkook could only hide his face in shame, letting out a small whine in the process.

"I guess you are," you chuckled. "I don't have any food here, but there's this stall down the road that sells these awesome fishcakes if you're up for it."

Fishcakes sounded so good right now.

"I wouldn't mind that at all," he breathed.

"Alright then. I'll get you a coat. It's cold outside."

Moments before you could disappear into your room, Jungkook called for you.

"(Y/n)?"

You turned to look at him, noticing the warm smile on his face.

"Hmm?"

"Thank you. For everything."

"You don't need to thank me for anything. I expect you to repay me for this. Preferably with a proper meal once you get your wallet or something. Oh - and maybe some wine too."

“Of course,” Jungkook agreed easily. “I mean, I really do need to repay you for what you did for me today, not everyone would do that.”

“I know,” you smirked at him.

“Also, Jungkook?”

“Yes?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have shoes for you to wear.”

Jungkook looked to his freshly washed feet with a slight frown.

“…but I do have a pair of one size fits all Barbie socks.”

A/n: I had this idea for such a long timeeee ahhh. I really think this was so cute, I'd love to hear what you think!!!

#jungkook fluff #jungkook imagines #jungkook angst #jungkook x female reader #jeon jungkook imagines #jeon jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #bts fluff #bts angst #bts imagines #bts jungkook #jungkook oneshot

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honorhearted · 10 months

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Turn Week, Day 7: If I Could Change One Thing...

Aside from the obvious wish of getting all five seasons, it's too bad the show wasn't more character-driven rather than plot-driven. I understand why it was, and I still find it absolutely great and a comfort show, but I'm the type who watches for characters and their interactions. I felt robbed of these dynamics, in particular: Ben and his father, Nathaniel (they should've talked about Samuel sometime after 1x10); Ben and Sackett (I wanted more crazy!uncle x nephew-esque shenanigans); Ben and Samuel (it would've been way more impactful to see some brotherly flashbacks prior to his d.eath), and more of the Culpers in general. Even though they were best friends who grew up together (sans Townsend), it never really felt like it since no one ever truly reminisced or cracked inside jokes, nor behaved like close friends beyond the occasional quip (unless you count the Ben x Anna prank in 2x4). Granted, I understand that it's a time of w.ar and thus, levity isn't as common, but they are human, and it'd make sense for them to behave as such from time-to-time. It can't be b.usiness 24/7.

Secondly, every Culper had some form of t.rauma, so I really wish the show had delved into that beyond the surface. Here are some thoughts centering around the individual characters:

Ben: I wanted to see more of his struggle with faith. A man of God betrayed the Cause (Rev. Worthington), and then he shot him in cold b.lood. That assuredly messed with him, and his guilty conscience had to have suffered even more so once he discovered his own side was responsible for Sarah's husband's d.eath. Then when he learned Hale's last words had been warped for the sake of furthering the Cause, rather than his friend being truly remembered as Hale wished to be, Ben learned right then and there that history could and would be altered by people he admired (GWash) to justify the means -- himself included. The knowledge that he and his friends were more or less pawns undoubtedly added to his anger in S4, in particular, and I wanted to see a genuine struggle with all of the above rather than superficial scrapings.

Abe: After his imprisonment, he definitely should have suffered from some type of P.TSD, yet he more or less just "walked it off" after shaving his beard and cleaning away the grime. Most people can't recover from that type of event unscathed, so it would've been interesting to give Abe an actual character arc beyond a.dultery and his brief turn-around in S4.

Anna: The night she was attacked and had to s.tab/s.hoot that Queen's Ranger undoubtedly stained her for a long time. Maybe an allusion to night terrors or making her jumpy could've helped, rather than just turning it into a cliché girlboss moment.

Caleb: Arguably, Caleb got s.hafted the most of this group. He always struck me as more of a punchline rather than a real person, because comic relief characters are rarely multi-dimensional in terms of development. It's sad that just when the writers were finally giving him an arc, it was cut short and sped up to meet with the time constraints. I don't think it was a poorly done arc, per se, but naturally, I wish we could've seen it drawn out and given the proper time and dedication that was originally intended.

#turn week 2023 #turn week #about ben

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nik-barinova · 6 months

Text

Call of Duty OC: Zoey “Doe” Kilduff

Born to a zealous cult leader and notorious international arms dealer, Doe knew only to kill and fight since an early age and would face various forms of punishments if training was not done right under her father’s eye. She has grown to be the SAS’s most efficient soldier, despite her empowering emotions in the field. Though often rash and reckless, Doe’s impressive skills proved herself to be worthy of being a part of Task Force 141, joining Ghost and Soap in Las Almas for a new assignment… and hopes for allowing the mask to crack.

GENERAL

Name: Zoey Elaine Kilduff

Alias(es): Doe, Zo (by Ghost), Bambi (by Graves), El Demonio (by Valeria)

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/Her/Hers

Birthday: March 27

Star Sign: Aries

Nationality: Scottish

Ethnicity: Romani, Balinese, Afghani, Moroccan, Lepcha

Place of Birth: Edinburgh, Scotland

Home: A repurposed Victorian era factory warehouse, Edinburg, Scotland (like this x)

Spoken Languages: Romani Sanskrit as first language, English as second, Scots Gaelic as third, Spanish, Russian, Somali, some Arabic

Sexuality: Pansexual

Occupation: SAS soldier, painter, dancer, Task Force 141

APPEARANCE

Eye Color: Grey blue

Hair Color: Natural dark brown, almost black

Hair Length: Long, waist length

Hair Texture: Wavy

Distinguished Facial Features: Long face shape, high cheek bones, big aquiline nose

Height: 5’10” / 177 cm

Build: Slender muscular

Blood type: AB-

Scars: Several on her body. Most obvious ones are on the right side of her face, on her eye brow and on her mouth, exposing two front teeth

Face Claim: Gratiela Brancusi

Voice Claim: Karen Gillan

Character Aesthetic:

FAVORITES

Color(s): Black, gold, and purple

Food: Sate meats

Drink: Scotch

Song(s): Zombie by The Cranberries and Living Dead Girl by Rob Zombie

Movie(s): As Above, So Below and Lord of the Rings

Show(s): Doctor Who and Greylock

Flower: Black rose

Fashion Sense: Alternative, vampire gothic (think Anjelica Huston’s Morticia Addams), biker, casual

Hairstyle: Either down or in a messy bun, sometimes done with a diklo when doing her art

Hair color: Blood red dyed at the tips

PERSONALITY

Myers Briggs Type: ENFJ - A beast on the field, impulsive, reckless, and can be easy to provoke, but can really be joyful and positive. Hilarious but can unintentionally be blunt. Strategical and forward but can often times allow emotions to cloud her judgement. Paradoxical by nature, and for a reason. Tends to be scary when she feels like it and could kill you, but is a cinnamon roll deep down with a heart of gold

Positive and Joyful: Can make the room brighter with her unwavering positivity and put a smile on someone’s face when she can tell they need it

Empathetic: Basically a human mind reader. Can tell when someone’s sad or angry. Also works great as a walking red flag detector

Eye for Detail: Able to see hidden details and find something not many can see at first glance

Strategic and Logical: Can make plans with precision and logistics

Loyal and Loving: Strong sense of loyalty to the ones she grows close to and will do everything in her power to let them know how much she loves them

NEGATIVE TRAITS

Tends to let emotions get in the way of her thinking and may take it too far, ie. taking her impulsive anger out on the enemy and overkilling

Overprotective and argumentative. Will push back the offender with force and give them a death glare

Masks. She hides away everything that bothers her and will not speak about it for too long to the point of bottling up

Touch starved and emotionally depraved. Tends to come off as super clingy when she doesn’t mean to

Reckless and impulsive in execution, ready to fight when the time comes and tends to get out of hand

Zero fucks given attitude when she hears something she doesn’t like. This along with her tendency to have a sailor’s mouth has gotten her in trouble and makes her come off as rash

Overworks herself in order to earn peoples’ approval of her, just wants someone to be proud of her

Bottled up rage over the years waiting to be let out

SKILLS AND ABILITIES

Fighting style: Any, but leans more towards UFC style and judo

Weapon(s): Can John Wick her way through anything

Distinct Weapon: None

Special Skills: Flexible and can squeeze through tighter spaces. Specializes in silent combat and stealth. Street smart due to her past

FAMILY

Status in family: Eldest daughter, first born triplet

Siblings: One younger brother, Gavril (Male), middle born triplet, currently in the Royal Air Force as a pilot; One younger sibling, Zayne (Non-Binary), youngest born triplet, currently Senior Operative in M16 specializing in undercover and disguises

Father: Rozric “Lord Ragnarok” Kilduff, notorious international arms dealer and zealous cult leader. Abusive and power hungry. Sociopathic and unstable. Possibly schizophrenic, but unable to properly diagnose by professionals. Currently imprisoned in Broadmoore Hospital for life

Mother: Ayta Batwal Kilduff, deceased, attempted to escape her “husband’s” growing cult and take their triplet children with her but was killed. Kind and protective. Fierce and compassionate. Died not knowing whether or not her children would make it out alive

Relationship with parents: Despises her father and wishes for him to rot away in his prison cell as his punishment for making her and her siblings’ lives a living hell. Does not remember much of her mother but remembers how warm and caring she was to her children. She knows that her mother would sing for them whenever their father abused them to calm them and Zoey swore she would grow up and protect her mother from her father.

Brother: Gavril Bayek Kilduff, alive, loves him dearly and will do anything to keep him safe while also letting him take on the world for himself. Has protected him many times from their father. Currently in the Royal Air Force as a pilot under the call sign “Vulture”. Very into making music

Sibling: Zayne Arachne Kilduff, alive, loves them dearly but often times have gotten into plenty of disagreements on what to do and how to do it. They tried to keep up with their older sister, but could never seem to do so. Currently in the M16 as a Senior Operative specializing in espionage and undercover. Drag queen on the side and makeup artist

Pet: None, but is a dog person (also loves cats)

TRIVIA

The name Kilduff is of Irish or Scottish origin, an Anglicized form of Gaelic Mac Giolla Duibh ‘son of Giolla Dubh’ ‘the black-haired lad’ from dubh ‘dark black-haired’

Zoey has had four previous relationships in her younger days: two girlfriends, one boyfriend, and one partner. While she has kissed before, she has never actually gone all the way, and therefore is still technically a virgin. She qualifies in giving relationship advice and can pick up red flags in an individual. Despite having four failed relationships, she yearns for having a lifelong partner to give her the love she gives her partners

Ethically collects deer skulls for her art projects and paints them. Most of the paintings are of her fallen soldiers under her watch and makes them as a memorial in their honor

Tends to use dark humor too often and accidentally lets the mask crack to reveal the darkest parts of her past

Swears. Like a lot

Takes pride in her figure and has no problem showing skin. Likes wearing crop tops, sports bras, and tank tops

LOVES Anjelica Huston’s Morticia Addams and Elvira and aspires to be like both women

Her first concert was a Rob Zombie concert and her uncle snuck her out to let her have some fun for the day when she was younger

If she wants to dress up more, her fashion sense leans way more into gothic and alternative fashion

Used to be able to braid her hair in minutes but due to losing her right arm, she can’t do it as fast (and tends to get her strands caught in the prosthetic’s joints)

Her arm tattoos used to be symmetrical but after losing her right arm, her left arm is the only half she has of the tattoo

Speaking of, she has a deer skull tattoo with roses on her chest and one on her back

She was trained in ballet, and she can dance on a more professional level

BACKSTORY

Born to a zealous cult leader and notorious international arms dealer, Zoey knew nothing more than hardships and crime. Her father only wanted a first born son to live up to his expectations and inherit his empire. Sadly for him, Zoey ended up being born first in a set of triplets, and hence forth swore to make her life a living hell for her. She had been set up for failure right from the start, living up to her father’s impossible expectations, enduring beatings and other punishments from him. Her mother would shield her three children from their father’s unpredictable wrath and fought with him, stood up to him and swore she would leave him and never let him see the triplets again.

At age 7, that was the last time Zoey would ever see her mother. No one would tell her or her siblings what happened to her or why she left without them, causing deep heartbreak in Zoey’s heart. However, that was also the same day she vowed to step up in her mother’s place and pick up where she left off. Her father’s cult only grew as did his underground arms dealership. His global connections allowed him to have his children be trained to be his own soldiers in his little cult army. Their teachers also set higher expectations on the triplets and some would take extreme measures to keep them in line, but Zoey would get the worst of it. Despite the cruel and unusual punishments, Zoey still tried to keep her siblings safe and did everything she could to make them smile.

She ended up proving to have above average intelligence than her father expected from her. Her specialties included espionage, sabotage, stealth, and hand-to-hand combat. At 14 after her and her siblings returned from a personal mission of her father’s in Ethiopia as child soldiers, the M16, SAS, FBI, and CIA had surrounded her father’s compound after they finally received a distress call coming from within. Her father suspected it was Zoey and so he used her as leverage to make any further threats, not wanting to be taken into custody. What none of them knew was that Rozric had planted bombs within the compounds’ walls in case he was to be arrested and captured.

As a last ditch effort, Rozric blew up the building and allowed it to collapse, hoping the rubble would kill everyone in the compound, Zoey and her siblings included. By some miracle, Zoey, Gavril, and Zayne were still alive and the two younger siblings were taken to safety, but medics and SAS soldiers had to get a huge concrete wall off of Zoey’s right arm. Unfortunately, they had to amputate her whole arm in order to get her out, and could not save her arm. CIA and M16 eventually found Rozric still alive and captured him, ending his criminal empire and forcing him into custody at the Broadmoore Hospital as he continues his ongoing trial for his crimes.

Once Zoey had recovered and was given a prosthetic arm, she and her siblings did their best to live a relatively normal life with their uncle, but Zoey was always getting into fights she wasn’t involved in and even bullied by the kids during secondary school. By 17, she recalled the day she was rescued by the SAS members and thought about joining the military as an escape from her troubled past, and possibly a way to give closure to her father’s criminal empire for good. She waited until her 18th birthday and both her and her siblings set out to join their respective branches.

Despite being an amputee prior to joining the Royal Army, Zoey’s skills and speed overpowered her disability and was given the name “Doe”. While her skills and abilities had her climb up to the top of the SAS, her behavior problems have gotten her into trouble plenty of times and threaten to be written up if she didn’t improve on them. It wasn’t until she was personally approached by Captain John Price himself that she was recruited into Task Force 141 and assigned a mission in Las Almas would Zoey allow herself to let loose and break the mask she kept up.

#canon x oc #call of duty #call of duty oc #oc art #original character #task force 141 #task force 141 oc #ghost x oc #simon ghost riley x female oc #ghost x original character #simon riley x oc #oc profile #original character profile #Ghost x Zoey

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tempblog11111111111111 · 11 months

Text

trey parker x autistic!reader hcs

wc: idk lol

cw: talk of meltdowns, autistic trey idk how it happened

doesn’t suspect u have autism but hes not very smart when it comes to that so he thinks ur just quirky lol

when u first mention being autistic in passing he thinks ur joking

but u keep bringing it up and while u are joking sometimes (he thinks) ur also serious ab it

so he asks if ur actually autistic

and u laugh in his face

cuz why would u say u are if u aren’t

but u explain yeah i am autism

hes like wow i didnt even know ! ur so high functioning!

record scratch

obviously u tell him ab how fucked up functioning labels are and explain that the spectrum isnt a straight line

and he listens so well cuz he just wants to know everything about u

and he feels bad for offending after knowing for like 5 seconds

ur not mad at him obvi and u like being able to info dump

over time he asks more questions about ur autism

like ur traits and special interests and stims things like that

one time he was talking to u about ur stims and he was soo surprised

“yeah all the hand stuff is stimming”

“what really thats an autism thing?? i thought u were just a fidgety asshole”

“oh yeah that too”

u make jokes about him being autistic too

cuz i mean . have u heard him talk

hes so blunt and stubborn and he hates people

one night hes kinda self conscious so hes like

“do u really think im autistic”

“?? if i did being autistic is not a bad thing”

“no i know that its just…idk forget it”

and ur like :( poor baby just wants to learn about himself

“i do have a little suspicion, but i think you should research and think about it on your own”

“……will u help me”

“of course baby :3”

u show him all ur fave resources and let him explore on his own

u tell him ab how when u were researching ur own autism u would write down all the traits and circle ones u have and then write down stories from ur life as like “evidence” of those traits

he finds this very intriguing. gets his own notebook

takes the raads r test and is like wow over 100 :) i passed :)

this is turning into autistic trey headcanons whatever

hes a little in denial ab it tbh

hes just upset he went this far into his life without knowing something so important to him

u comfort him saying that whether he is or is not autistic doesn’t change who he is at all and he doesn’t have to change the way he does things if he doesnt want to

that helps bc it did feel like a big change to him and it scared him

okay now i wanna talk about meltdowns

really good segue btw (unrelated why TF is segue spelled like that really fucked up)

uve told him about your meltdowns before but u havent had any really bad ones in a long time so he hasnt seen one

but one day he comes home and hears loud banging coming from the bedroom

goes to check on u and it looks like someone robbed the place

just absolutely trashed

and ur on the floor curled up with your face hidden shaking and crying

he is NOT prepared has no idea what to do

he knows for sure not to touch you but beyond that hes helpless

“are you…okay..?”

“nonononono get out you cant see me like this”

he hesitates but does as told, doesnt wanna freak u out anymore

eventually u come out, sulk over to him on the couch all sniffly and red

sit down next to him but dont look at him, just rubbing ur hands on ur legs in a soothing motion, watching the movement

he gets a little more comfortable, spreading out so u can curl into him

and u do exactly that, hiding ur face in his chest and grabbing at him wherever ur hands can reach

okay i need to stop cuz it’s making me wanna write a full oneshot

now we will talk about pda autism :3

if u dont have pda (pathological demand avoidance) autism u can skip this part but i have it and this is for ME

u tell him about it and how difficult it makes doing tasks for u

cuz ur brain can interpret the stupidest shit as a “demand” and it sometimes makes it physically impossible to complete a task

it comes up one day cuz hes recommending u to watch smth and he says smth like

“u have to watch this i think ull love it”

and ur like oops sorry i cant for at least 7-10 business weeks , that sounded like a demand

but anyway when he hears ab pda autism hes like . thats a thing????

launches into investigation mode writing in his little autism notebook

ok that’s enough of that

he can tell when ur getting overstimulated like instantly

cuz ur triggers are very similar to his

and even if they weren’t hes very observant when it comes to u and ur moods

will leave literally anywhere if either of u are getting too overstimulated he does not care

he just feels like u understand him in a way that a lot of people dont

most ppl will say they get it but u like GET IT

and ur like yeah thats the autism

okay im done i’ll probably write that meltdown oneshot soon bc i am one melty little guy . i do not stop beating my head in over pants

#trey parker x reader #trey parker #autistic reader

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alittlepunkrock · 2 years

Text

where you go (i will go) - part iii

Summary: The Dream Lord receives a lesson in love (and your reliance on caffeinated beverages).

Pairing: Dream of the Endless x f!reader

Words: 5.9k+

part one // series masterlist

“Running like a river trying to find the ocean,

flowers in the concrete;

Climbing over fences, blooming in the shadows,

Places that you can’t see;

Combing through the melody when the night bird sings,

Love is a wild thing.”

- Love is a Wild Thing, Kacey Musgraves

. . .

Part iii.

Dirt digs under your fingernails as you crawl towards the hearth. Your fingertips brush the metal rod of the fire iron. You swear you laugh with relief, though all that reaches your ears is a broken croak. Your fingers tighten around the rod. Maker, that burning in your chest is all consuming–

A bright burst of pain explodes in the side of your head. You feel your grip on the rod slip. The room spins as your thoughts tumble and turn, incoherent. You’re a bird with a clipped wing, an acrobat in freefall. Where the ceiling of your hut once was, a sky full of stars now glistens. Dazed and confused, you slowly blink them away.

When the room rights itself, you find yourself on your back, your face mere inches from the flickering hearth. There’s a crushing weight in your chest as your love climbs atop you once more. Any residual air that might have been left in your lungs deflates at the pressure. Your spirit slips away with it.

He holds the fire iron in his hands now. His face is impassive and hollow, a mere husk of the man you know. The man you love. Looming above you, his eyes seem dark as night. Gripping the fire iron tightly on either end, he brings it to your throat and presses down. The agony is bright and burning at first. Then the numbness starts to creep in.

Your eyes sting with hot tears. Please, you mouth silently. What are you supposed to do when the person you desperately want to rescue you is the one inflicting the pain?

“You are bringing this upon yourself,” he whispers. His voice sends a chill up your spine. You remember the stories and sweet adorations that voice once whispered to you. Now it is cold, impassive, devoid of feeling. “Why can’t you just let me go? Let go.”

. . .

The soft sounds of morning birds and passing cars slowly coax you back into consciousness. Though you know you’ve just gotten a full night’s rest, you can’t help but groan at the emptiness you feel. It grows so tiresome to wake up this way. Always recharged, but never feeling rested. True rest aches within the back of your mind like a phantom limb, something that has been cruelly robbed from you. Though you haven’t slept or dreamt in ages, you still long for it. You suppose old habits die hard.

As your mind fully returns to itself, you do register one other sound. The fluttering of pages. It sounds so close–

You sit up swiftly. Of all the things you could have possibly seen, you definitely did not expect to find your gaze settling on the face of a certain Endless.

“For the love of– Dream Lord?” You’re dumbfounded. You blink, rub the residual grog from your eyes, and blink again, sure that your brain must be malfunctioning. No, he’s still there. “Why do you Endless insist on popping up in my bedroom unannounced?”

Dream of the Endless cocks an eyebrow almost imperceptibly, the movement so subtle you nearly mistake it for a twitch. He continues to thumb through the fantasy novel at your bedside, pages fluttering between his fingers. “Is this a frequent occurrence of yours?”

Realizing how that sounds, you shake your head hastily. “I– No– Yes– Maybe? I mean, if I had a nickel for every time an Endless showed up in my bedroom unannounced, I’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it’s happened twice in the past two weeks.” The Dream Lord gives no apparent reaction to your attempt at an icebreaker. Tough crowd. You take a deep breath, grounding yourself. “What are you doing here?” you ask.

“Were you dreaming just now?” he deflects.

The question takes you aback. You eye him carefully. “No, of course not. Deities don’t dream. I should think you would know all about that.”

“I am well aware of the limitations on the resting capabilities of divine beings. You are also the first deity I have encountered who was once mortal. I only wondered if the case might be different for you.” You swear that pensive gaze could pin you straight to your headboard.

“You could have just gone into my head to find out,” you point out. Though you’re glad he didn’t.

From beneath his tousled black hair, the Dream Lord’s blue eyes appraise you thoughtfully. “I considered as much, then came to the conclusion that it might be viewed as intrusive of me to do so if we are to be considering a collaboration.”

You almost laugh at that, then think better of it. Well, he has morals, at least. Shaking your head incredulously, you ask again, “What are you doing here, Dream Lord?”

“I seem to recall you extending an invitation for me to observe your function in the Realm of Attachment.” Your fantasy novel makes a quiet thud as he closes it swiftly, laying it back on your nightstand. “That invitation will be coming to fruition today.”

. . .

“Is this your messenger or emissary?”

Your eyes fix on the Dream Lord as you walk into your living room, fully dressed with daily assignments in hand. He stands by the front door with his hands in his coat pockets, staring down at Theo, who sits proudly at his feet.

“Uh, neither. And he’s not my royal librarian, either. He’s my foster dog.” You dip to rub Theo between the ears. “I don’t have assistants. I typically work alone. Though I’m hoping that’s about to change.” You offer him a small smile.

The Dream Lord gives only a low hum in response. His gaze slowly sweeps across the rest of your home. It’s certainly no palace with towers and spires. You can’t help but feel like he’s not really looking at your decor, though, but rather trying to read you. Acutely self-conscious, you change the subject. “Speaking of work, what were you hoping to observe today? I’m not sure how much time you have…”

“You are seeking my blessing to form a collaboration with you in which I will be interfering with the machinations of my mischievous sibling,” he replies, eyes continuing to study your humble townhome. His blue gaze finally comes to land on you. “I would suggest you give me the full breadth of experience, Deity of Love.”

Your heart stutters with a mix of nerves and excitement. Intrigued to let someone else have a small glimpse into your world, to actually share with someone for once. But terrified that it won’t be enough. Not just enough to get him to help you, but that the first person you truly open up to won’t see your work the way you do.

You swallow, pushing away those anxious thoughts. “Well, I suppose we’ll just start from the beginning. Each day starts with checking my list of assignments.” You extend the stack of papers to him, watch as his eyes flicker over the names there. “My daily assignments come from the Fates, who in turn base their assignments on information from your brother, Destiny.”

“Destiny,” Dream of the Endless breathes. His cool gaze settles on you. “My brother has never spoken of you before.”

You’re not sure if that should offend you or not. You decide to let it roll off. “That doesn’t surprise me. We’ve never actually met in person. And I don’t do much associating with other deities or Endless. I tend to keep to myself.” As you fish for your house keys in your pocket, you guide the Dream Lord out the front door. “So, that’s step one: Check my list for the day.”

“And what is next?”

You grin at him as the front door lock slides into place. “I get coffee.”

The Dream Lord’s face draws a blank. “Coffee,” he echoes back to you, clearly trying to connect the dots on how this is relevant.

“Indeed, Dream Lord. You said you wanted the full ‘Deity of Love experience,’ didn’t you?” The sidewalk is quiet and mostly empty this morning as you begin walking toward Cliff’s coffee shop. The golden autumn sunlight seems to endow his pale skin with a slightly warmer glow. You suddenly realize that he’s swapped his regal floor-length cloak for a more casual knee-length wool coat in an attempt to look more human. Something about that thought sticks out to you. You smile, slipping that thought in your pocket for another time.

As you approach the coffee shop, you turn to him and say, “Thank you again for accepting my invitation to come here. For giving my proposition a chance. I truly can’t tell you what it means to me.”

The Dream Lord glances at you out of the corner of his eye, his face stony and serious. “There was a time when I would have banished you to the Darkness for pulling such a stunt in my throne room. Deity or not.” He holds your gaze sternly for several seconds, then looks away. “But recent events have made me more….amiable.” He swallows, pink lips pursing. “Lucienne and I have discussed trying to be a more…adept listener.”

You gulp. If his reaction from the other day was his definition of “amiable,” you shudder to think of how he might have reacted before “recent events.” You had heard whispers of the Dream Lord throughout the ages, tales of a cruel prince who would unmake dreams and nightmares without a second thought, who sent a lover to rot in hell for breaking his heart, who doomed mortals to nightmare realms from which they’d never wake up. Keeping to yourself as you did, you’d never been able to judge the truth of those whispers, and you’d never felt comfortable asking Death about them. While the Endless beside you now would not be considered friendly, he seemed to be more reserved than unfeeling. Closed-off, rather than devoid.

“Well, I think being an amiable listener is something that each of us can always grow more adept at,” you concede. You pull open the coffee shop door with a wide grin. “Hey, Cliff!” you call as you enter, your broody guest trailing behind you. “I’m here for the usual.”

“Of course, Miss Love.” He’s already slipping the coffee into your hand as he speaks. Cliff affixes you with a tender smile, then eyes the Dream Lord with something toeing the line between intrigue and confusion. “And this is your…friend?”

“Ah, yes.” You turn to the tall, dark Endless at your side, who gazes at Cliff with interest. “This is my friend…”

“Morpheus,” the Dream Lord answers, giving the shop owner a polite nod. Not the most incongruous of names, you supposed, but it worked.

“Ah,” Cliff says, unsure of how to respond to that. “And your friend would like…?”

You expect him to decline or ask for something tall, black, and bitter, which is why you’re all the more pleasantly surprised when he rasps, “Earl grey.” Your hand finds the change in your pocket as Cliff prepares the blend and hands it to Morpheus. “Have a good one, Cliff,” you smile as the two of you turn and head back toward the door.

“You do realize that Endless and deities do not require food or drink, don’t you?” he mumbles lowly as you walk out the door.

“I do. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t still enjoy them, does it?” you offer with a smile. He doesn’t return it. Maker, it was going to be hard to open him up. You pause on the sidewalk outside the coffee shop. “Anyway, our next step is to go to the Realm of Attachment itself.” You look around for a mortal to pass through. With it being a weekend, the streets are much less crowded than normal. However, just a block away, you do spot a small flower stand with a few patrons milling about. You beckon Morpheus in that direction. As you walk, he takes a tentative sip from his to-go cup. A small, human-like gesture. If it weren’t for his wild mop of hair and the strange air about him, a mortal almost wouldn’t pay him a second glance. Almost.

As you draw near the flower stand, you lean toward him slightly. “I’ve never actually taken someone with me before, but based on the laws as I know them, I think we’ll need to be touching.” You offer him your elbow politely. His gaze flickers from your outstretched arm, to your face, then back to your elbow. Finally, his long fingers wrap lightly around your forearm. “Are you ready?” you ask him.

“I am.”

“Alright. Here we go, then,” you breathe. Slowing your pace, you guide your paths to pass behind an elderly couple looking at several pots of colorful mums. As the wife comes within reach, you gently touch your fingers to the back of her lightweight jacket. You close your eyes, reaching out to her heart, reaching through to the other side. Your muscles tense under Morpheus’s fingers. An autumn breeze kisses your cheeks. Your body hums, calling to the land itself like an old friend, and the land answers. You’ve made it.

You had never brought anyone to the Realm of Attachment before. You were largely a solitary being, and there had simply been no need to share this part of yourself with another before. When you turn to look at Morpheus, you do so tentatively, nervous to see his reaction.

While the street is largely empty, the flower shop patrons provide plenty of attachments for him to view up close in a variety of colors. Each thread is strong and radiating and alive. His blue eyes drink them in intently, a new, unfamiliar enigma for him to study. His gaze gradually glides to the buildings around you. Though no mortals are visible to your eyes, those residing inside send thousands upon thousands of threads bursting forth from the buildings in all directions. Some travel a block, some a mile, some a hundred miles, some more. His eyes slide up higher, roving over the sky above you. Unlike the Dreaming, there is no blue sky above. Instead, trillions of attachments blanket the heavens, every color of the rainbow intermingling and intertwining to form a radiant tapestry. His lips part ever so slightly at the sight.

It’s not much of a crack in his armor, but it is something. You know that he has seen and created countless fantastical realms as the Dream Lord. You can’t help but feel a little proud that your Realm seems to offer him something he hasn’t encountered before. “Welcome, Lord Morpheus,” you say quietly as you gauge his expression. “You’ve reached the Realm of Attachment.”

The Dream Lord is silent for several more moments. Finally, he murmurs, “It is…quite spectacular.”

“Thank you.” Your eyes follow his, drinking in the colorful heavens above you. “Sometimes it feels like I’m living in a ball of rainbow yarn,” you admit, only half joking.

You almost think you spot the Dream Lord’s lips twitch out of the corner of your eye. Almost. But when you turn your gaze to him, his expression hasn’t changed. “What are they?” he asks, eyes still trained above.

You smile. “These are my attachments.” One of your hands instinctively moves to graze the snow white thread connecting the elderly man and woman beside you. Morpheus’s eyes follow your movement. “These are the bonds of love that tie all of humanity together. This is my function.”

When Morpheus locks eyes with you next, you feel as if something subtle has shifted within them. Or maybe you’re imagining things. What you do know is that when he says, “Go on,” you feel as if he is expressing genuine interest for the first time since asking you about your sleep earlier this morning. It dawns upon you that in spite of the walls he seems to keep around him, he still harbors a desire for knowledge, to learn something new after eons of existence. Appealing to his curiosity may be an effective way to get him to open up.

“Well, let’s start with the colors. Each color represents a different type of attachment.” You beckon him to turn in a circle, pointing out attachments as you go. “First, we have the red thread; that is eros, or romantic, passionate love. A classic, of course. But I take care of much more than just romantic love. Here we have purple, or erotoropia, which is playful and flirtatious.” Your eye spots a family of three up ahead. “See that family in the store over there? Their bonds are green; storge, or unconditional, familial love. The orange bond between the mother and father is pragma; companionate love that includes common long-term interests. Next, we have blue, which is philautia – compassionate self-love.” You spot a church ahead to your left, radiating a particularly impressive amount of yellow threads. “The yellow attachments are agape. That’s universal, empathetic, selfless love. It encompasses faith-based love, as well. And the white thread connecting this couple? This is philia – an intimate, authentic bond. That’s a soul tie. It doesn’t just have to be romantic, though. They can be platonic, too.”

“How do you distinguish what is romantic from what is platonic?” he asks. His pale hand reaches out to touch the radiant white thread between the elderly couple beside you. His dark eyebrows furrow when his fingers merely pass through it.

“You’re not far off,” you encourage him. Your own fingers move to hold the white thread gently. In your grip, it pulses and thrums like a heartbeat. “All I have to do is hold it to determine if the bond is romantic or not. The attachments speak to me, and I speak to them. If I call upon them, they’ll tell me what I want to know.”

For the second time today, Morpheus gives a contemplative hum in response. His eyes sweep over the street, turning to the mortals farther up the block. His gaze suddenly pauses, his hand lifting to outstretch a finger. “And that one?” he asks. You follow his inclination to find yourself staring at a black thread connecting a young man to his phone screen. Your mouth goes dry at the sight.

“That is why we’re here. Why I’ve come to you for help.” Your feet instinctively lead you toward the black thread, and Morpheus follows. As you draw closer to the young man, you see that he is swiping through hookup apps on his phone. A pale red thread trails from his heart down the street, terminating somewhere out of sight. As your fingers grip the thread lightly, you take a deep breath and say, “You’ll find her through the app. Once you meet, you’ll both delete it.” Reinvigorated, the red thread solidifies. It glows brilliant crimson as if to say thank you.

Your eyes turn to Morpheus. His eyes are trained on your hands, watching them intently. “Black attachments are Desire’s handiwork. They’re a deviation in the plan, an interference with the love bonds between mortals. Desire will happily interfere with any attachment of mine, but they’ve been targeting my eros, pragma, and philia ties the most. As you saw.”

The Dream Lord’s clear eyes rise to yours. You can see the gears churning in his mind in the way he works his jaw, the intent with which he looks at you. “I should think that you and my sibling might collaborate at times. You do have similar functions.”

Your lips purse into a hard line. His assumption is good, one that you yourself had often thought in your early days of divinity. Before you were given a rude awakening. “I suppose you could say we walk a fine line. There have been times throughout history where we have worked together. After all, desire is often a part of love.” You pause, mulling over your next words, choosing them carefully. “But love is meant to be selfless. Something which Desire, in my personal experience, is not. They are ambitious, as well. That combination of selfishness and ambition has led to some…conflicts.” You swallow thickly, choking down a million words left unsaid.

The intensity of Morpheus’s gaze leaves you feeling like a riddle he’s trying to solve, a puzzle piece he’s studying the edges of. For the first time, it occurs to you that perhaps you are not the only one who feels they are in the presence of an enigma that needs solving. For a moment, you’re certain he’s noticed your difficulty speaking, certain he’ll inquire about all the words you didn’t say. Then, the moment fades. “I am still uncertain as to why you need my assistance with this matter.” He turns his gaze to your hands, to the red attachment that still thrums in them. “It appears you have already found a solution.”

“You make a good point. I am able to combat them. But there’s only so much I can do. Once the thread of desire has manifested, it often regains strength. I simply don’t have enough time to continually repair the bonds while also keeping up with my other attachments. Plus, as Desire grows more greedy, they create more and more ties. Look around you.” Morpheus mirrors you as you turn in a slow circle. A young couple with a white philia bond walks past you, the attachment dimming as a black thread snakes from the man to a woman across the street. Looking at the scene around you with new eyes, Desire’s dark bonds stand out starkly against the bright backdrop of your Realm, dark roots taking hold in a thriving ecosystem.

“I’ve been trying and trying. Not just recently, but for centuries. I simply can’t keep up. That’s why I came to you.” You turn to face the Dream Lord. You force yourself to display confidence, to raise your chin and hold his gaze. “I need your help.”

Dream of the Endless watches you for a long time. The sounds of the street dim to nothing in your ears, the kaleidoscope of colorful attachments blurring behind him. Again you feel the sensation that you are being read like a book, but this time you don’t fight it. You let him read you, see the determination in the set of your jaw, the earnesty in your eyes. You will him to see just how much this means. To feel it.

Finally, Morpheus raises his chin at you slightly. “Where are we to go next?” he murmurs.

You hold his gaze for a moment longer, then turn your attention to the list of names in your hand. You feel an all-encompassing warmth alight in your chest, like a fire taking spark in kindling. Your power. It calls out to the names on the papers. The colorful glows surrounding each one brighten in response. You lock eyes with the Dream Lord and smile. “Let’s get to work.”

…

Dream of the Endless had requested you give him “the full breadth of experience,” and you fully intended to give him the full breadth of experience. By the time you’d finished your coffee, you had enforced a storge attachment in a new single mother, strengthened the agape attachment in a persecuted evangelist, nurtured the pragma bonds of several young couples, and instilled philautia in an eating disorder treatment facility, to name a few. Not to mention the numerous eros and philia attachments you had fostered. You’d traveled halfway around the world, to boot. At this rate, you’d need another cup of coffee to make it through the day.

Fresh off an eros assignment in Sydney, you open your eyes to find yourself and your guest standing on a cobblestone street in Sicily. The early-autumn sun bakes the cobblestones, their warmth radiating through the soles of your shoes. Swaths of vines adorn the tall stone buildings. Before you stands a simple oak door leading into what appears to be a set of apartments. A pot of flowers overflowing with yellow and pink buds compliments the doorstep. You can sense the attachment you’re seeking within the home, feel it calling out to you.

“Oh, magnifico,” you say with a grin. You gesture for Morpheus to follow as your ethereal form slips through the door entirely.

On the other side is a narrow staircase. As you scale them, Morpheus calls after you, “I must admit, your function is more…involved than I might have presumed.” “Oh?” you call back, feigning surprise. “Did you assume I flew around sticking mortals with heart-tipped arrows all day?”

“That is not what I meant.” You chuckle quietly as you guide the two of you down the hallway at the top of the stairs. Apartment doors line either side, but your eyes are trained on the one at the end. A pause, and then, “Does everything truly come to pass as you say? The events that you dictate when you foster their attachments.”

“Yes, they do.” The two of you have reached the final door at the end of the hall. On the other side, you can feel the thread you’ve come for calling out for help. It’s a powerful call – perhaps more than one thread? You turn to Morpheus. “There are some limitations. Say your sibling Desire decides to meddle, or your sister Death calls them home before my events can transpire, for example. That will override my work. But in general, if I speak it, it will happen. Your brother, Destiny, knows the who and the what of humanity’s love connections. It’s my job to execute them, to make sure that they actually happen. I am the when, where, why, and how.” With that, you proceed through the door.

The room that you step into is quiet and dark. There is a staleness to the air, as if the walls themselves are holding their breath. As you walk forward, you spot dirty dishes on the table, a sink filled with murky water, a considerable stack of mail sitting on the counter. Morpheus spots them, as well; you see his dark form straighten slightly out of the corner of your eye. Your lips tighten.

The call in your veins leads you to a bedroom at the back of the apartment. As you step inside, you peer through the shadows to find a man and woman sleeping on the bed. They are tightly intertwined, their bodies wrapped around one another like armor. Your eye catches on the man’s furrowed brow, on the woman’s red, swollen eyes. Between their hearts are not one, but four threads; red, orange, green, and white. All pale, shuddering, and weary.

You swallow thickly, heart pounding in your ears. You look at Morpheus. Cloaked in the shadows of the room, he almost blends in entirely, save for his bright blue eyes. They watch you intently.

Your hand reaches out, slipping around all four threads at once. A gentle squeeze sends a sharp spear of pain through your gut, one that nearly buckles your knees. Images flash in your mind like an old time film reel: First date– first kiss– the wedding– she was the most radiant thing he’d ever seen– longing for a family– he was her rock– the test– the joy– the blood– so much–

“Are you alright?” Your eyes spring open at Morpheus’s rumbling voice. Though he hasn’t moved, you find that there is something new in his eye, a thinly veiled wariness.

You release the attachments, and with that the pain dissipates. But not the images in your mind. They remain imprinted there, a reel stuck on replay. “Yes, I’m fine,” you say quietly. You breathe in deeply, out slowly, re-centering yourself. As the warmth within your chest hums, the threads between the young couple quiver. I’ll help you, you think solemnly.

Slowly, you reach out your hand. You pluck them one by one, like playing a harp. In response to your touch, they seem to glow and sing. “You won’t give up,” you murmur. Your fingers strum the threads a second time, savoring the hum they echo against your fingertips. “Not on yourselves, not on each other, not on this life you want to build so desperately. Each others’ arms will be your greatest comfort. Each others’ smiles will be your greatest strength. You are each others’ safe haven.” You pause. Hot tears sting your eyes, and you blink them away. “Where you go, she will go; and where you stay, he will stay. Your unconditional love will be rewarded. I believe that.”

The threads in your hand give one final hum, then relax against your fingertips. Once dull and faint, they now shine brightly, illuminating the room. You feel a shift at your side and turn to see Morpheus beside you. He gazes down at the couple silently. Though his face is impassive, something smolders in his eyes. You can’t place what burns within them, but it is undeniably present.

“I know them,” he murmurs after several quiet moments. “I have often gifted them dreams of a contented family. I recall seeing them in the Dreaming not long ago. They were to call her Sofia.” He pauses. “They dream of her, even now.”

You close your eyes slowly, feel the hot tears slip down your cheeks. Standing still in this moment where your function, where your passion, has crossed paths with that of the Endless beside you. When you open your eyes, you look back to the sleeping couple at your side. “Love isn’t always easy, or clean, or beautiful. But each love is powerful and perfect in its own way.” You swallow, outstretching your fingers to strum the threads one final time. “This is humanity, Morpheus. This is what we live to protect.”

. . .

“Do you have time for one last quick stop?”

In spite of the late hour, the Realm of Attachment is colored just as brightly as it had been this morning. The sun never sets here, the land perpetually lit by the glow of your attachments. Morpheus stands beside you on the sidewalk outside your townhome, a dark smear of ink in the midst of so much color. You turn to him, offering him a small smile. “Thank you so much for accompanying me today. I know it’s getting late and that you must return to the Dreaming. A jogger passes by my townhome every evening; she should be here any minute now. Before that, there’s just one last thing I want to show you. It’ll only take a moment.”

Morpheus peers down at you thoughtfully. The rainbow sky swirls like nebulae in his bright eyes. With a dip of his chin, he says, “Did I not request the full breadth of experience?”

Your grin widens. You beckon him to join you by Matt and Ava’s window. Peeking through the open curtains, our eyes settle on the young couple sitting in their dining room. Plates of steaming lasagna and colorful salad sit before them, all but forgotten as they laugh and talk instead. Between their hearts thrum seven strings, one of each color: Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, white.

“Aren’t they amazing?” you breathe. Your eyes hang onto the love in Matt’s eyes, the joy in Ava’s smile, the vulnerability and intimacy that seems to shimmer in the space between them. They are in love. Something ancient aches in your chest at the sight, something you buried long ago. “It’s rare for two mortals to share every form of attachment with another person. Typically you’re missing one or the other. But they have themall.” You smile softly. “I’ve been with them since the beginning. I’m so proud of them.”

Though the Dream Lord says nothing, you can feel his eyes on you. Time seems to pass slowly as you stand on the sidewalk. Only the gradual loudening of quick footsteps pulls you out of your reverie.

“Ah, our ride is here.” You extend your elbow to Morpheus. He takes it without a word. As the jogger runs past, you close your eyes and reach out, fingers brushing over her arm. A cool breeze kisses your face; the light shining against the back of your eyelids dims. When you open your eyes, it’s just you and the Dream Lord on a dark street, standing under a sky full of stars.

“Well, that’s it. That’s a day in the life of Agape, Deity of Love,” you say with a shrug, stuffing your hands in your pockets. You eye Morpheus curiously, cocking an inquisitive eyebrow at him. “Do you have any…questions?”

“I do, in fact. There is much I still wish to know,” he responds, voice crisp and clear in the cool evening air. He pauses, then adds, “But I presume you will have sufficient time to answer my questions at a future date, given that we will be working in tandem now.”

The autumn air seems to suspend itself around you. Your lips part ever so slightly in awe. One beat, two. You’re processing– or, rather, struggling to process what he just said. Did he just say– “Are you serious?” you ask breathlessly.

Morpheus inclines his head slightly. Is that a twinkle in his eye? Or is it the lamplight? You’re not sure. “I have come to the conclusion that a partnership between our realms may be mutually beneficial,” he says matter-of-factly. Spoken with his ancient timber, the statement feels as if it’s been etched into stone, immortalized for all eternity.

A heady, elating mixture of joy, relief, and nervous excitement washes through you. You smile, laugh, riding the emotional high in a daze. “This is incredible. Thank you so much, Morpheus. You have no idea what this means to me. Truly no idea.” You shake your head incredulously. The Deity of Love partnering with Dream of the Endless. Who might’ve guessed? “So, what’s next?” you ask.

“Next, you will observe my function in my Realm. Only after that time will we begin to work.” As the Dream Lord speaks, he tucks his arm into one side of his coat. Within the folds of fabric, you swear you catch a glimpse of a starry night sky as he pulls out a helmet with large glass eyes and a long nose. A strange sense of deja vu settles over you, and then you realize – this is the helm you saw on the Gates of Horn in the Dreaming. Morpheus places the helm on his head slowly, obscuring his blue eyes from view.

“In two days’ time, Matthew will gather you and bring you to the Dreaming,” he instructs. Through the helm, his voice sounds warped and far away. One pale hand dips into his pocket, procuring a palmful of sand. The grains seem to leap to life in his fingers, jumping, swirling, dancing, tumbling. You can already feel the winds picking up around him, forming a new vortex. You take a step back. “We shall see you soon, Love,” he rasps.

And with a tempest of sand, he’s gone.

“See you soon.”

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