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#sacrifice full chapter
chickemz · 8 months
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Seeing posts about orv is so interesting, I genuinely want to learn more about the story characters, and how much they care about each other but at the same time, I know I do not have the attention span to read all 600+ chapters of that mammoth. I will simply rely on osmosis.
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apollos-boyfriend · 9 days
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one thing about me is that i’m ALWAYS thinking about chapter 4 kokichi ouma
#icarus speaks#dangantag#like i’m always thinking about him in general#but chapter four SPECIFICALLY#like GOD…….#he knows if he doesn’t do something he’ll die#he knows if he doesn’t do something everyone will die#because shuichi is smart. but miu was smarter. there was no way to have uncovered ANY of that had she succeeded#and he knows he can’t stop her. she wants out. she won’t listen to him#if she’s not able to kill him. she’ll find someone else. she’ll find another scenario#and he can’t TELL most of them. because someone has to stop her#but half the cast wants him dead. maki would’ve taken him out herself#the only other person that would’ve both believed and helped him would likely be shuichi#but it can’t be shuichi. because this ends with two people dead. and if shuichi dies then they’re all fucked#he could make the same leaps as shuichi theoretically. solve the same cases#but no one would listen. not like they listen to shuichi#and GOD. speaking of which#the way he reacts to shuichi’s lie. it haunts me so much#and it makes sense! he’s already so angry. so lost. there’s so much going on and going wrong#shuichi lies to protect people and discover the truth and he’s beloved#kokichi does the same and he’s a villain#and YEAH obviously that’s not the full story. there are other factors.#but like. the THEMES. the PAIN. the spiral it leads kokichi down#doubling down on his lies and charade and cements his plan to sacrifice himself#slash become the ‘mastermind’#i hate lying purple assholes why do they do this to my brain
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mistninja · 8 months
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Have i mentioned that i love the one piece cover stories? I love the one piece cover stories
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akkivee · 1 year
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hypster fc recently uploaded bat’s hyped up 02 after interview and kuukou’s still pretty salty about his team not following his lead and doing what they want on stage lmao but he comes to reason it’s not bad taking a backseat like that since he gets to see results of their growth how they can now be truer to themselves now and it’s showing thru on stage
jyushi and hitoya kinda roast him for this sentimentality so kuukou gets even more heated about the next time they perform on stage lmao but i thought that was interesting thought process from him
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everyizuna · 2 years
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deus-ex-mona · 2 years
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go brokexbroke for loserxloser
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loveshotzz · 1 month
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I guess it’s never really over
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mechanic!steve harrington x fem!reader exes to lovers
chapter one -
Late arrivals and big asks
A broken down car, a party at Reefer Rick’s, and a bandaid that needs to be ripped off.
warnings: 18+ drinking, smoking, lots of tension, some king!steve angst in the form of a flashback.
wc: 10.1k
series masterlist | series playlist
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June - 
The air is sticky, thick with the kind of humidity only Indiana could have at 9:30 pm. An annoyed breath expands into your lungs as you lean against your car that refuses to do anything but sputter. Despite your irritation, your glossed lips twitch with the nostalgia that creeps into your heart because after all these years it still smells the same.
Crossing your arms, your eyes trail over the clear night sky not polluted with the kind of man-made smog that blankets the city and the stars shimmer like diamonds in its absence. The warmth of the overrun engine is still hot on your exposed calves, the light breeze making the bottom of your sundress dance across the tops of your thighs. White beams emerge, cutting through the dark at the top of the hill, followed by the roar only a tow truck can make, and this time, the smile you fought off before spreads wide across your face.
Robin.
Butterflies wake up in a frenzy deep in your gut, with nerves that twitch from your fingertips at the thought of finally getting to hug your best friend after months apart. You push off the side of your car as the truck approaches, eyes squinting to make out the second outline in the front cabin as it pulls over. You recognize the messy mane of hair that could only belong to Eddie Munson in the driver seat almost instantly and his dimple filled smile brings you back to memories you thought you’d long forgotten. 
“Well, well, well, would you look at what the cat dragged in!” Robin sticks her head out of the window with a wide grin as the big tires slow to a stop in front of your car, “are my eyes deceiving me or is my best friend in the entire world actually in Hawkins, Indiana right now?” 
The rasp in her voice sounds just like it does over the phone and despite the roll of your eyes, your cheeks hurt from how happy you are.
“Shut up, don’t act like you didn’t guilt me out here by saying the fate of your future depends on it.” Uncrossing your arms, you open them wide, “I made the ultimate sacrifice for you, so are you gonna hug me or not?”
Dramatic? Yes. But it works like a charm when she flings open the passenger door and charges at you in a mess of honey blond waves and freckles, almost tackling you with the force of her impact wrapping her arms around you.
Too distracted by Robin, you almost don’t notice the creak of the driver's side door or the filled out frame of the man that used to be a lanky teenage boy walking past as Eddie starts to attach your car to his truck. He’s taller than you remembered even bending down, and despite the navy blue coveralls, you can still see that his pale skin is littered with even more tattoos.
“I can’t believe my guilt trip worked!” Robin beams, finally letting you go, her whole body practically vibrating with excitement as she claps her ring clad hands together.
“I really can’t believe it either,” you laugh nervously, the reality of what it means to come back starting to set in after seeing just one familiar face, but this isn’t high school anymore and you’re definitely not the same person you were five years ago either.
“Thanks so much, Eddie,” you break the ice when he stands back up, and the sound of your voice has his big brown eyes warmed with gold light up just like his face when he turns his full attention onto you. Scruff filled dimples poking even bigger holes in his cheeks.
“It’s my pleasure, sweetheart, I almost didn’t believe Robin when she called me. I thought it was a prank.” He beckons you over with open arms, “now that I know it’s not, you have exactly 10 seconds to get over here and hug me before I change my mind.”
There’s zero hesitation about giving into his ‘demand’ and when your arms wrap around his waist, you’re brought back to afternoons in the woods behind the school with heavy lidded eyes and lopsided grins. 
“Your own auto shop, huh?” You smile up at him, pulling away, “Eddie Munson, the business owner.”
He rolls his eyes but the pink tint that colors in his cheeks tells you he appreciates the praise.
“Yeah, something like that.” He chuckles, “Got a soft spot for that old man in the trailer park, couldn’t bring myself to leave.”
Your heart warms at the fondness that drips from his ton. 
“Okay, as sweet as this little reunion is. You’re late, and we have a party to get to.” Robin interrupts snatching your keys out of your hand, dropping them in Eddie’s.
“A party?” You snap confused, and Eddie takes that as his queue to walk away with a knowing smirk.
“Yes, this is the summer of fun and reckless abandon, this is the last summer of our youth before we have to be adults. Do you understand me?” Her fingers are digging into your shoulders by the end of her rant, with the kind of look in her eyes that you’re absolutely going to have to revisit after a few weeks. 
“This is the part where I remind you that I graduated college last year.” 
Your best friend scoffs at you.
“Just humor me, okay? It’s your grand homecoming.” She pushes out her bottom lip, and makes her eyes big in a way she knows you can’t say no to.
“Fine.” You huff, making her finally let you go with the kind of pleased smirk that tells you she never thought she was going to lose to begin with.
“Great, it’s time to rip the bandaid off anyway.” Robin practically mumbles the last part turning on her heel to head back to the truck.
It takes a minute for her words to stick to your ears and their meaning to ring loud through your head, but when they do it feels like the air is stolen from your lungs. 
“Rip what bandaid off, Robin?!” 
It’s his name tightens in your chest but you refuse to say it, even after all this time it burns coming back up. 
“Since you had to drive for so long, I’ll sit in the middle because I’m just that good of a friend, you know?” She winks with a shit eating grin before pulling herself up and disappearing inside the cab of the truck, ignoring your question, like she’s not asking you to do the one thing you said you’d never do. 
See Steve Harrington again.
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I tell myself, ‘draw the line.’
You wonder if Robin can feel the daggers you’re glaring into the back of her head as the two of you walk up the driveway to Rick’s house. Gravel crunching hard under your converse as you keep up with her black combat boots. She looks effortlessly cool in her high waisted jean shorts, and her oversized army green jacket covered in patches. You’d compliment her if you weren’t so mad.
“I can’t believe you guys still have parties here.” You scoff, making your sour attitude known, but your best friend ignores it with ease.
“I can’t believe you forgot to have fun. Don’t you live in the city?” Turning around with a smirk, she can’t help but laugh at the look on your face. 
She stops abruptly, almost making you run into her leaving you both just close enough to the party to hear the bass of the music spilling through the cracks in the windows. The low chatter of people echoes through the trees that surround you and bounce off the lake not that far away. The thought of hearing the calm baritone of his voice mixed in makes your chest tight with the kind of nerves that dare you to high tail it and run.
“It’s been five years.” Robin’s playful demeanor breaks and becomes pleading with a kind of desperation you’ve never seen from her before. “He’s not the person you knew in high school, I need you to understand that. You think I’d call someone like that my best friend?”
“Hey!-“ You object at the title, and it makes her lips twitch despite serious lines that crease her face.
“Stop, you know what I mean,” her painted fingers grab onto yours, squeezing them lightly, “please, just give him a chance. I’m not asking you to get back together or even be friends, just get along enough not to kill each other this summer. I can’t choose between you. I won’t.”
The genuine love she has for Steve is apparent in the way her ocean blue eyes threaten to drown you in their sincerity, and you can’t find it in yourself to say no to her. 
“Fine.” You accept your defeat in practically a whisper, but it makes your best friend squeal nonetheless. The giddiness from before coming back tenfold as she links arms with you, continuing your way up to the house. 
It’s just a summer, right?
The crowd gets bigger as more people start to come into view, between groups smoking cigarettes outside, couples arguing by cars, others making out against them. The smell of beer gets more pungent with each step, the atmosphere a stark contrast to the way the moon glows against the peaceful waters behind the madness of the house. 
Salt N Pepa’s ‘Push It’ plays loud enough for you to make out the words when you reach the front steps, walking through clouds of tobacco smoke to get to the unlocked door. The interior hasn’t changed at all since high school, the smell of stale lime and tequila stinging your nose. The bass of the music vibrates under your shoes as Robin unlinks her arms and you have to fight the urge to yank her back.
“Drinks or …Steve first?” She asks, her nerves about the situation finally showing themselves as she bites at her thumbnail. 
“Absolutely drinks! Is that a trick question?” You half whisper, half yell, looking around as if saying his name out loud might summon him.
“Okay! Okay!” Robin hisses, grabbing your wrist, leading you towards the familiar path to Rick’s kitchen.
Suddenly you wonder what your makeup looks like after a long day of traveling in your car, your fingers tugging at the bottom of your dress before adjusting the front of it so it sits just right. You itch to grab your lip gloss that’s tucked into the side of your bra, but you don’t want to deal with the look you’d get if you went for it.
Rounding the corner to the living room, your heart sinks to the bottom of your stomach before you even have a chance to stop it when your eyes meet that messy head of chestnut hair, and a pair of hot pink nails tangled inside it. 
“Oh - I - god dammit.” Robin groans, when you're met with number two on your list, making out with a pretty blond on the couch.
Despite the years and distance, there’s still a sting that you feel in the corners of your eyes. It’s not enough for any tears to fall, there’s none left for him anymore, but it’s enough for the anger you’ve clung to since the day he broke your heart to boil hot under your skin. It singes the wings of the butterflies that try to take flight when you see the way his frame has filled out, how he’s somehow grown more handsome than the last time you saw him. 
Robin coughs, squeezing your wrist in reassurance.
“Hey, - uh, Steve.” The sound of his name catches his attention, long brown lashes fluttering open to reveal the deep coffee of his eyes that widen when they lock with yours for the first time in years. 
His lips pull from the blond’s with a loud smack, leaving a small trail of glitter on the side of his mouth that he tries to wipe away quickly with his wrist. Black ink you’ve never seen before looks bold on his tanned skin that glows like it’s been freshly kissed by the sun. 
His gaze wanders up and down your body like he’s unsure you’re actually real, and if it wasn’t for the obvious shock of your arrival and the way the color seems to drain from his face, you’d snap at him for the way it lingers over your curves. 
“Um, Robin, what the fuck?” The sound of his voice makes your heart skip a beat, and again when his hand drags through his hair just how you remembered.
“Surprise?” She shrugs, wincing when he scoffs loudly and the warmth that went missing floods his cheeks, turning them bright red. The blond next to him eyes you up while she clutches harder to his waist, and you can’t stop the rise of your brows and the giggle that bubbles past your lips because of it.
Steve’s head snaps towards you, something softening the moss that hides in his eyes when he hears the noise despite the sarcasm that drips from it, and you really get to look at him for the first time since high school graduation. 
God, you wish you could’ve had that drink. 
The jawline that always drove you mad is sharper, peppered with the kind of hardly there stubble that tells you he’s only missed one shaving day. A problem he never used to have, and somehow, it makes him all that much more attractive. 
His hair is a little messier than his carefully crafted look that used to take him a good forty five minutes every morning. It curls wildly at the ends now, tucking behind his ears and fanning along the nape of his freckled neck. It still looks as soft as you remember, though. 
His shoulders are broader, stretching the white cotton of his shirt tight enough across his chest that you can see the outline of a thick patch of hair that had only just started growing when you knew him last. The dark wash of his jeans makes them look almost black, fitting snug over his thighs, cuffed at the bottoms framing the tops of his boots.
Why couldn’t Steve Harrington just peak in high school like he was supposed to?
“So yeah, this is awkward.” Your best friend laughs nervously, “We’re going to get a drink or three because this scenario is by far the worst case and not the way this was supposed to go in my head, but anyway, look who’s here for the summer! We’ll talk later!“ 
Robin grabs your wrist before Steve can respond, pulling you back into the party and away from your ex-boyfriend while the realization of the summer you’ve foolishly agreed to hits you all at once. It turns your body weightless as the two of you weave in and out of the crowd. It tightens in your chest, the music turning muffled hitting your ear drums. Suddenly, you're not the woman who crossed state lines to the one place she said she’d never come back to, happily living the lie that you’d actually forgotten about him to be a good friend.
You’re the girl who let him keep you a secret, and you hate him for it.
Sneakers hit the sticky tile floor that hasn’t changed since 1984, the harsh lighting of the kitchen makes you both squint. It’s calmer than the rest of the house, just a few groups lingering off in the corners, too deep in conversation to care about you and Robin. Letting go of a breath you didn’t know you were holding, your ears start to pop too, Eddie Money’s Take Me Home Tonight coming through crystal clear.
“The band-aid might have been violently ripped off, but hey, it’s ripped off nonetheless.” Robin shrugs, finding the half-drunk bottle of tequila on the counter. “I think we should count this as a win and take a shot to celebrate.”
“A win?! Are you kidding me?!” You hiss, completely bewildered.
“Yes a win - oh no.” Her blue eyes go wide at whatever’s behind you, but it doesn’t take you long to figure out when that familiar spice and cedar of his cologne hits your nose.
“Right so, who’s going to let me know what’s going on?”
His voice comes out close enough to send your lashes fluttering, mimicking your heart. The nerves you’d just gotten over threaten to come back tenfold, but you manage to swallow them down just like in high school, turning around.
“I think it’s obvious what’s going on, Steve,”
It’s not as hard to say his name as you thought it would be, but it is hard to stare at his face from this close. Specifically, the two moles that dot his cheek that you always used to kiss, or the ones on his neck that you hate still taunt you for more. 
“I’m here for the summer.”
Steve Harrington had thought about this moment a lot, but Rick’s house was never the backdrop for it. His eyes take in the features you’ve not only grown into but somehow are even more beautiful than he remembers. Even if they’re twisted in a glare. 
“I meant, why didn’t I know until right now?” He manages to get out with a shake of his head narrowing his eyes at Robin, who’s too busy trying to find clean shot glasses to notice.
“Why would you need to know?” You snap, making a nervous hand card through his hair
“Cause I’ve, uh,  you know, I’ve asked about you a few times,” the last part comes out a little harsher, clearly directed at your best friend, who you know is actively ignoring you both now.
“Why? Why would you need to know anything about me?” Your hostility still shocks him even though he was expecting it. His eyebrows shoot up just like his hands in surrender. “Why didn’t you tell me, Robin?”
She groans loudly, slamming the tequila bottle down on the counter before turning around.
“You said you didn’t want to hear anything about him after you moved, why would I tell you he was asking about you?”
“Wait -“ Steve butts in this time, “seriously?”
“Oh my god, can you two shut the fuck up for a second and take these shots? You’re really putting a damper on the beginning of the best summer of our lives,” Robin snaps before waving a hand in front of three freshly poured shots.
It’s a struggle to tear your eyes from him, your body responding to his presence in a way that feels like it’s turning against you. It has you downing your shot in one quick motion before anyone else can even touch theirs. 
“Wow, okay.” Robin deadpans before shaking her head, wasting no time in following your lead.
“So we’re not cheersing anymore? Isn’t that bad luck?” Steve mutters, shoulder brushing against yours as he leans forward to grab his shot, the slightest touch enough to engulf your skin into flames.
A whole summer? Fuck.
“Robin, pour another one.” You rush with pinched brows as you try to move past the bitter sting of the alcohol going down your throat, taking a step toward her and away from him, you add “and we’ll cheers.”
You refuse to meet his gaze when you say it, but you can feel the intensity of it on the side of your face, begging you to break.
“Rob’s, how are you guys getting home?” Steve finally breaks, giving up his quiet fight for now, and you hate the way his nickname for her softens your heart.
“Huh, that’s a good question, I hadn’t thought that far yet.” She admits, over pouring so tequila splashes against the countertop, looking up at him with a mischievous grin.
“Seriously–
“RECKLESS ABANDON STEVEY!” Cutting him off, she downs her shot in his disapproving face.
“You didn’t cheers again.” Steve sighs, hands finding his hips as you whine an irritated, “We needed to cheers!” At the same time.
Your eyes meet his finally, his knowing smirk twisting the corners of your lips despite yourself. You blame the tequila starting to warm the blood in your veins.
“Well, you need to take yours then if we’re doing another one ‘the proper’ way, or it’s not going to be even.” Robin points at your drink in a silent challenge. 
You know how this game works.
“Fine.” You shrug, downing it with more ease than the last one.
“Oh my god. Stop! Do not pour another one before you answer my question, please!” Steve sounds exasperated, grabbing the bottle from her before she can disobey, “How are you getting home?” 
You try not to focus on how much larger his already big hands are now, or how small the bottle looks wrapped up in his palm compared to your best friends. The second shot takes the edge off your nerves in a way that your shoulders relax. Leaning against the counter, you cross your arms, watching the two of them bicker, catching Steve’s wandering gaze on your exposed legs while he tries his best to keep his focus on Robin. It boosts your ego in a way that has the anger hiding just under the surface go from a boil to a slow simmer.
“I don’t know Harrington, do you know anybody with a car?” She wiggles two thick brows at him, the second shot making her blue eyes glassy, and her smile a little more goofy.
“Why’d I know you were going to say that? And why did I know you were going to do this?” Steve sighs, letting her snatch the bottle out of his hand.
“What? Bring her to the party?” Robin snorts pointing a thumb in your direction, making you gasp.
“Robin!”
“No! What? No. But don’t think,” Steve clears his throat looking at you awkwardly before finishing a little quieter, “don’t think we’re not going to talk about this later.”
“I can still hear you.” You remind him with a sarcastic smirk.
“Yeah, I know you can. Look, I’ll DD for you because obviously tonight is, uhh,” he gestures to you with cheeks that grow pinker by the second, “a big deal. But you gotta stop doing this to me, I need you to get your license you’re out of colleg-”
“Shots! Steve’s driving us home!” Robin whoops loudly, and an irritated Steve pinches the bridge of his nose before walking away. 
Your eyes follow him out the door, shoulder blades flexing under cotton when he runs another hand through his hair before disappearing from sight. You try to push down the small pang of jealousy that makes a familiar home inside your chest remembering the blond girl waiting for him on the couch.
“Okay, okay,” Robin interrupts your inner struggle at the perfect time, sliding an overflowing shot over to you with a giggle that's contagious and it banishes Steve from your mind just like magic. “I’m not going to forget this time, promise.”
“I don’t think I can afford for you to forget again,” you smirk, raising your glass, tequila spilling over the tops of your fingers, “cheers!”
“Cheers!” 
You both down them at the same speed, slamming the empty glasses back onto the countertop with laughter that bounces off the walls and threatens to drown out the music. And for a second you think maybe you can actually do this.
“I’m so happy you’re here!” She squeals, throwing her arms around your neck, doing a terrible job of holding her weight up. Grabbing onto her waist, you do your best to steady her, “Look I just want to say while he’s gone, I know this isn’t easy for you, okay? I know.”
She hiccups before pulling away slightly to look at you as she finishes,“But It means so much to me, and I just wanna say I’m proud of you. I mean, who knows, you’ve changed, he’s changed-”
“Nope, no, you’re done. Where’s the weed? I wanna smoke some weed.” You push Robin away, rolling your eyes at the loud laugh your reaction gets from her.
There’s a long summer ahead of you, but right now, all you need is to find a joint and try not to think about your ex in the next room.
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With a few more shots and a couple of hits from a blunt you and Robin you’d stumbled upon being passed amongst a group outside, you start to really feel like you’re back home. Nostalgia hits you hard in the gut as you walk through the crowded living room hand in hand with your best friend, giggling and stumbling back to the kitchen on the hunt for some food. 
“God, I’m so hungry!” Robin practically growls when you hit the harsh lighting again making you both hiss.
An empty bottle of tequila sits on the counter now and red solo cups litter the floor that weren’t there before, and a growing pile of bitten into limes cover the counters in a sticky mess. Alone and left to your own devices Robin begins to raid the cupboards, huffing when she finds nothing behind every door she aggressively yanks open.
“Why is his kitchen always so empty? Like? Do we just always miss the party?” You hiccup, tripping on a tile that’s coming out of the grout. 
You catch yourself on the kitchen island in front of you, a loud laugh bubbling up from your chest, too drunk to focus on how gross the formica feels under your fingertips.
“There’s literally nothing to eat in here, not even like an old bag of stale chips.” She opens the first cabinet one last time before slamming it shut, officially giving up with a thump of her forehead against the wood. “This is why he’s always at the diner.”
“Wait, Rick actually lives here still?” Another hiccup, you foolishly lean your elbows on the counter, something you’ll regret in the morning as you stare at your best friend with a toothy smile, completely unaffected by the news about the missing food that seems to be ruining her entire mood.
“How can he sell weed and not have any food in his house? What happens when he gets the munchies?!” She throws her hands up, ignoring your question and answering it all at the same time. “I’m gonna find a bathroom, and then we’re gonna find Steve - don’t make that face, he’ll take us through a drive-thru.”
“Don’t be gone long, I don’t know anyone here!” You whine with a childish drunk stomp of your foot, still sporting that sour look she told you to wipe off. The carefree girl from moments before now gone in the blink of an eye.
“Literally like five minutes, I swear!” She promises, turning around with a smirk as she crosses her heart with a ring covered finger like you used to do as kids, easily earning the smile from you she was hoping for.
You watch her disappear into the party, staring after bouncing honey waves until they’re out of your sight. 
Suddenly alone for the first time in hours, the kitchen feels quiet. The bass of the music is distant, and your thoughts are heavy just like your feet as your last shot of tequila settles with the rest. Your brain wanders to places that you thought you’d banished from the corners of your mind for years. It takes you to the pink fullness of his lips, and has you biting the bottom of yours. Then it’s the freckles that dot the bridge of his nose and explode across his cheeks, even leaving their mark on the bottom of his earlobe.
You’d found that one the night you’d tried to count them all. You never finished.
Then you remember the blond on the couch, and how her pink nails dug into the thick chestnut of his hair that you used to tug on when his kisses got to be too much. She turns into Nancy Wheeler and those stolen looks in the hallways at school, and suddenly, you hate him all over again.
“Jesus, you’re in here alone? Where’s Robin?” Steve’s voice makes you jump at the worst possible time, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scar-“
“Seriously?!” You snap, turning around with crossed arms. Leaning against the counter, you hope that you don’t seem as drunk as you are, but the way his lips twitch regardless of your attitude tells you that it’s not working. “She went to the bathroom and then was going to look for you.”
“So, it just makes sense for me to hang out here then, right?”Steve raises his hands in a silent plea for permission. 
His big boots take heavy steps towards you, and just like on cue, has your body betraying you. The plush dough of your thighs pressing harder together each time he gets closer to closing the gap. 
Cautiously taking the spot a few feet away from you, he keeps his hands up till he feels safe enough to shove them in his pockets. The spice of his cologne smells fresh, and you wonder if he sprayed it before walking in here. It overpowers everything else around you, invading your senses and committing itself to memory despite you.
“I um, I really hope this is okay to say,” he stammers watching the way one of your eyebrows arches up, and it doesn’t take long for his hand to escape from his pocket to run through his hair again, “but it’s, it’s good to see you. I m-missed you, Robin’s missed you.”
“Shouldn’t you be hanging out with your girlfriend?” You ignore him and tuck his words away to unpack another time with a sober mind.
“Cassie? She’s not my girlfriend.” He answers without any hesitation, something sparking alive inside the gold of his eyes that has one side of his mouth tugging up. 
“Does she know that?” 
“I’m pretty sure she does considering she left with another guy not that long ago.” He snorts, the confidence you’ve always known him to have finding its way back, and you don’t miss the way he scoots closer. 
So you scoot back.
“Sucks to suck, Harrington.” You sigh, impressed with how well you’re playing off the victory lap you’re shamefully running in your head at the new information.
“There you are!” Robin rushes in, face flushed and out of breath, interrupting the moment you weren’t ready to have yet at the perfect time “Somehow I got roped into like a keg stand and I think it’s really time for us to go home guys.”
“Robin!” 
“What?!”
She tries to shush you, but even you can see from across the room the way sweat starts to bead across her forehead, the blush in her cheeks going pale before she runs to the trash can. Steve pushes off the island without any hesitation, rushing to the other side of the kitchen, gathering her hair in his hands to hold it back.
“What were you thinking?” Steve scolds her in the softest way possible, rubbing her back as all the beer finds its way out of her body.  
Those big eyes of his that you’re sure are going to haunt your dreams meet yours, and in that moment the room decides it wants to spin. You’re not sure if it’s the night of tequila with nothing but a weed chaser catching up to you or if it’s the onslaught of feelings you’ve successfully suppressed for the last five years coming back to seek their revenge. The deadly combination of both comes to a head the more you watch the gentle way Steve handles Robin and it makes you realize it’s time to go.
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You manage to pull yourself together enough to help Steve get Robin in his car, heart almost stopping when you walk up to the same Maroon BMW he took your virginity in. It takes everything inside of you not to abort the mission, run to Robin’s apartment by figuring your way through the woods you used to play in, do anything but sit in those leather seats. But your best friend’s drunk rambles of how happy she is to have her ‘two amigos and how that it makes three now’ while professing her undying love for both of you has you putting on a brave face, and then your big girl pants when you have to sit in the front seat next to him.
It’s in perfect condition, just like the morning he pulled into the parking lot Junior year with it. Your stomach twists in the kind of knots that have you wrapping your arms around your waist. The smell of leather and pine pulling on the back of your throat, and all the memories that come with it. He keeps the radio low, and you can hardly make out the faint sounds of whatever late night talk show was on over the soft snores of a passed out Robin in the backseat. 
“I thought you’d have a different car by now.” You grumble sinking further into your seat, keeping your eyes trained on the trees that zoom past your window.
“You’ll have to pry her from my cold, dead hands, honey.” Steve chuckles, relaxing a little more into his own, a big hand finding a new resting spot on the stick shift.
The endearment sends you reeling, the tequila making it hard to bite your tongue.
“Don’t call me that.” Quickly realizing that staring out the window does nothing to help your already dicey equilibrium, you decide to finally look at him, but you’re not sure if that’s any better.
‘What? Honey?” He asks, fully knowing the answer but egging you on just the same with a ghost of a smirk on his lips.
Narrowing your eyes, you turn fully in your seat doing your best to ignore the way the street lights bounce off his sharp features as you face him.
“What? So you just make out with girls that you’re not dating and get away with it?” 
Steve snorts, licking his lips and meeting your angry gaze with an amused one. 
“I am twenty-four and single.”
Scoffing at his answer, you pause to collect your words that keep getting tangled on the tip of your tongue from too many drinks and how the whites of his teeth start to show in a grin as he glances in the rearview mirror to check on Robin.
“You think you can do whatever you want don’t you?”
“No -“
“What? Because you didn’t peak in high school like you were supposed to, you somehow just got hotter, you think the rules don’t apply to you or something?”
“Good to know you still think I’m hot.” Steve’s face cracks into a smile, turning into an apartment complex you’re assuming is Robin’s. 
“You’re the worst,” you try to deflect weakly, turning back in your seat with a huff.
“I definitely used to be,” he mumbles mostly to himself, putting the car in park, both of you jerking forward slightly. The sudden lack of movement makes Robin groan in the back, lashes fluttering open to look at her surroundings.
“Oh, thank god, I think I’m gonna be sick again.” Her throat sounds hoarse when she finally speaks, but it’s all she can manage before a dry heave has the boy next to you scrambling.
“Not in my car! Not in my car!” Steve’s quick to jump out of the driver's seat rushing to get your best friend out of the back, leaving you alone to fight with your seatbelt. 
Frustrated, you blow a breath out from between your pressed lips tugging on the smooth material while your thumb smashes the release button. It doesn’t budge and the cedar starts to pick at your nerves. An angry noise squeaks from the back of your throat catching Steve’s attention who finally gets Robin on her feet. The spice of his cologne swallows you whole when he emerges back into the car. Leaning over the console he’s gentle when he pushes your hand away. You don’t protest his help this time, eyes tracing the gold chain that slips out from under his shirt. It shimmers everytime it swings from his neck when it hits the moonlight, clicking the button with ease, releasing you from your self imposed trap.
“Thanks,” you grumble, using a wobbling arm to open your door, clambering out less gracefully than you intended.
“Are you good to follow me? I don’t think Robin’s gonna make it up the steps on her own.” Closing the car door, he leans over the top of it, his eyes watching the way you maneuver around his car like you’re walking on thin ice.
“I’m fine,” you growl, right as you lose your footing catching yourself with an open palm on the hood of his trunk.
“Seriously, I can help I just have to take you both one at a -“
“Steve, I said I’m fine. I don’t need anything from you.” You interrupt and if you weren’t so focused on putting one foot in front of the other, you’d see the way the harshness of your words make him wince.
He stares at you for a minute longer before muttering a quiet ‘whatever’ scooping Robin up and tucking her into his side. You follow them at your own pace up the cement steps to the second floor, thankful that her apartment isn’t too far from the landing when you get to the top. Your legs start to feel like Jell-O waiting for him to unlock the door, the long drive from New York and the night finally catching up to you in a way that makes your eyelids heavy as Steve pushes open her front door. 
“Bathroom! Bathroom!” Robin manages to get out when she and Steve cross the threshold first, a string of cuss words spilling out of his mouth as he tries to hurry her to the place she was begging to be taken to.
You use the full force of your weight with your back to the door, closing behind you with a loud slam. The navy blue couch in the middle of her living room begging you to sit down, an invitation your clumsy steps accept, leading you to the fluffy cushions. Collapsing onto them with a satisfied hum, you sink into the foam, lashes fluttering and eyelids getting heavier with each second that passes, and soon you find yourself giving in with a warm cheek pressed into the arm rest.
You don’t know how much time has passed when the feeling of your laces being tugged loose stirs you awake. Trying to focus with vision still blurry from sleep, Steve’s messy head of hair comes clear into your line of sight. Long fingers pull the white strings from the metal eyelets of your converse, a warm palm wrapping around your ankle that sends a shiver up your spine as he slowly wiggles your sneaker off your foot. The white tube socks that cover your feet make him smile with a thumb that dares to rub a small circle on your skin before dropping it to work on the other.
“Steve,” you manage to get out, voice still thick with sleep.
“I’m just tucking you in, that’s all hon- and then I’ll get out of your hair.” He clears his throat after the nickname that set you off earlier burns like acid dying on his tongue.
You grumble something unintelligible, rubbing the mascara off your eyes as he pulls your other shoe off the pad of his thumb doing the same thing to your other ankle making your toes curl. Both his hands find their way to your calves squeezing softly at the muscles before he starts to lift them up.
“Come on, let's get you laying on your side.” He coos, helping you adjust so you’re finally horizontal. You groan a little, reaching out for him on instinct, the softness of his touch making a very drunk you crave more. 
“I’d love to cuddle but I think you’d actually kill me in the morning,” he laughs to himself knowing you won’t remember any of this when you wake up.
You make some more noises that he can’t figure out if they're supposed to be words or not as he drapes Robin’s thick throw blanket over you. Grabbing the material in your fists when you feel it, you pull it even closer, a low satisfied hum spilling from between your lips that still sparkle with leftover glitter from your gloss. He watches the way you curl into yourself, fingers twitching at his side to run his knuckles over your cheek.
“Steve,” his name comes out clear as day, kicking up his heart rate.
“Yeah?” He squats down next to your face, the warmth of your breath hitting his face while your eyebrows furrow in your sleepy state trying to get whatever you want to say out.
“You really broke my heart, you know that?”
Your words punch the air out of his lungs, just like your unexpected arrival. Something he’s fantasized about happening more times than he’d like to admit.
“Yeah, I know.” He sighs defeated, giving into his urges for comfort with knuckles that brush against the warmth of your skin, a familiar burn stings his eyes when you subconsciously lean into it. 
You don’t say anything else to him, the furrow of your brows smoothing out as your face finally starts to relax under his touch. He watches the way your shoulders move with each deep breath that pulls you further into sleep and away from him. 
He takes a selfish minute to stare at you uninterrupted, tracing your cheekbone one last time before he stands up to leave, he knows he won’t get any sleep, and the words you won’t remember saying are already haunting him like a bad dream.
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“Do you really wanna love me like you say you do? Give it to me like you say you do? Cause it’s hard enough you gotta treat me like this, lonely enough to let you treat me like this. Do you really love me?”
Steve was late, glancing down at pink the digital watch on your wrist, fifteen minutes late. Five lockers down from his, you wait for him at what’s been your meeting spot for the last eight months. Far away enough from his locker that no one would suspect you waiting for the King of Hawkins himself, but close enough to the janitor's closet for him to steal you away from sight without anyone noticing for the forty-five minutes of study hall. 
Hushed argumentative whispers catch your attention, nerves making your feet move from side to side unsure if you should abandon ship and just go and study for the final in your last period. Nancy Wheeler's eyes meet yours as she rounds the corner with her best friend Barb, the corners of her lips pulling up ever so slightly giving you a small wave which you return as she tries to ignore her friend.
“He’s just trying to get in your pants! Come on, you have to be smart enough to know that.” Barb points at the note Nancy is clutching in her hand so hard that the whites of her knuckles show.
“It’s not like that, I’m just tutoring him.” She argues but the blush that creeps across her cheeks and spreads down her neck gives her away.
I’m just tutoring him.
That simple sentence is enough for your world to tip off its axis, chest tightening at the realization of who they're arguing about. All the canceled plans the past few weeks with the excuse of extra tutoring starts to feel like a knife to the gut. Prince Charming rounds the corner holding and twists the handle with a bright flirtatious smile that used to be just for you, only now it’s flashed at the dainty brunette who melts under it because no one is immune to Steve Harrington. 
It takes him a minute to see you, too wrapped up in Nancy who’s back is pressed to the lockers, caged in by Steve’s big hand splayed against the metal by her head. They’re too far to hear what he’s saying to her, but the confident way his teeth flash and the sweet giggle he earns from it tells you everything you need to know. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing them fall. Fists clenched at your sides, the blunt ends of your nails dig into your palms as you hold in the sob that threatens to give you away as you walk past them, meeting his guilty eyes before you round the corner.  
The pounding in your head wakes you up before the sun that leaks through Robin’s small kitchen window. Your hangover rings in your ears with a vengeance, and has you letting out a pained groan. Everything after the joint you shared outside at the party is nothing but a blur, a scattered puzzle with pieces missing as you try and figure out how you ended up back home and tucked into the couch. 
“Are you alive out there?” Robin’s voice calls out weakly from down the hall in her room. 
“Barely,” you grumble, agitation kicking in from dehydration and the old wounds your dream decided to rip open.
“I’d say I’m never drinking again but we both know that’s a lie,” she says, muffled by what sounds like a pillow.
A giggle tries to escape, but it only makes you wince, clutching your forehead willing the pain to subside.
“How’d we even get home?” You croak, rubbing harshly at your eyes before attempting to sit up, covering them with a cupped palm as your surroundings get brighter.
“Steve,” Robin’s voice comes out right next to you, surprising you by appearing in the entryway. 
Hearing his name out loud sends the kind of rage that scorches through your veins, it burns from your fingertips remembering the look on his face when you broke up a few weeks after that day in the hallway your dreams so sweetly reminded you of. 
It was Pity.
Your best friend ignores your silence and the sour look on your face as you silently take a trip down memory lane while she shuffles into the living room wandering to the attached kitchen. 
“How far is Eddie’s shop from here?” You grimace watching her chug from a carton of orange juice.
“Oh, super close. You can walk from here.” She answers, wiping her upper lip with the back of your hand, “they opened like two hours ago, I’m sure he’s already looked at your car.”
“I think I’m going to shower and go over, do you want to come with me?” Raising your hands above your head, you stretch your sore muscles as a yawn comes out in the middle of your question.
“I think I need to rot in bed for a little while longer before I go walk amongst the living, I promise I’m all yours after I don’t feel like a freaking crypt keeper.” Your yawn is contagious, giving you a view of all her perfectly straight teeth.
“I demand something greasy for lunch when I get back then.” You point at her finding your footing on the carpet, noticing your converse are tucked nice and neat against the couch next to you. The feeling of Steve’s knuckles is a ghost against your skin, details starting to come out clear from the murky waters. 
Heat rushes to your cheek at the memory while your emotions start to go at war with each other over what to feel towards the man who tucked you and your best friend in last night, but also broke your heart in a way you don’t think you’ll ever quite forget. 
“I’m on it boss, god, I wish Benny’s was still open.” Robin interrupts the inner struggle she’s oblivious to you having as she walks past you flinging herself on the couch you’d just won the battle of leaving “But I’ll think of something good, I promise.”
Just like your yawn, the smile she gives you is contagious despite the sharp pain you get in your head from moving too much and you both laugh wincing when it only gets worse. 
Ibuprofen first, then your car.
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Birds chirp loudly, mocking the headache that's turned into something more annoying than painful after a handful of ibuprofen. The sticky air is still suffocating even in a pair of black biker shorts and an oversized loose fitting tee, while the sun shines golden against the cerulean sky without a cloud in sight to hide you from its light. 
The heat warming off its rays makes beads of sweat start to collect at the crown of your head and the nape of your neck, while the incline Eddie’s spinning auto body sign sits on top of threatens to take your breath away. Unwanted thoughts of Steve Harrington keep your pace quick, stewing over the last twenty-four hours and everything it’s unraveled.
The small parking lot is empty when you reach it, kicking small rocks with the toe of your sneaker as you cross it. The double garage doors are open, Metallica’s Seek and Destroy echoing loudly, tugging up the corners of your lips. Your Chevrolet Caprice is the only car semi-lifted in the air with a pair navy coverall-clad legs underneath it.
Opening your mouth, Eddie’s name dies on your tongue before you get a chance to shout it, clocking him and his wild curls sitting in the glass office inside. Those big brown eyes meet yours from across the way, a dimple filled grin lighting up his face waving excitedly from his chair before standing up.
“Glad to see you’re alive, princess.” He teases stepping out of his glass case, with coveralls that are gray today.
“Honestly, it’s a miracle,” you laugh, confused eyes darting to the large boots under your car that don’t seem to have any reaction to the sound of your voice.
“Oh, I heard all about your first night back home. In fact my shop opened thirty minutes late because of it,” he chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against the open metal frame where the door should be. Faded bats that you remember when they were fresh dancing across his arm with his movements.
“Wait, what?” You ask, confusion pinching your brows together right as the mysterious pair of legs start pushing out whoever’s under your car.
“I didn’t get back to my place till almost four in the morning after getting you two home and in bed,” Steve emerges flashing you his million dollar smile as he sits up on the dolly, the sleeves of his own coveralls tied tight around his waist and hair wild like he’d just rolled out of bed, “I slept through my alarm.”
The immediate glare that hardens your face when you see him has Eddie's eyes light with obvious amusement. 
“What are you doing here? And why are you touching my car?” You snap, trying to push the worries about what you look like deep under the irritation and the distraction that begs to steal your anger with his arms on full display like this. Or how the patch of chest hair that peeks out the top of it shines with sweat. 
“I work here,” Steve snorts like it’s the most obvious conclusion, because, well, it is, “and I volunteered to look at it, Eddie’s got his hands full.” 
That was a lie, he begged him.
“Since when do you know anything about cars?” Snorting, your attitude makes him roll his eyes, pushing himself off the ground.
It’s a struggle to hold his gaze when he stands at full height, biceps flexing with his movements practically daring you to look. He pulls out a faded maroon rag from his pocket and starts wiping off the fresh black from his hands that’s already stained under his nail beds. The hard bottoms of his work boots making their way across the cement floors of the garage. 
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me anymore, that’s what happens when someone leaves for five years.” Steve antagonizes, his lack of sleep leaving him with thin patience.
He stops just close enough for you to smell how the woodsy spice of his cologne mixes with the sweet bitterness of the oil that seems to find a way to leave its mark on every surface in here. Including him.
“I’m going to finish balancing the books, why don’t you tell her the good news first and then the bad,” Eddie pours ice over the tension that threatens to boil over before it can turn hostile, catching the way both of your nostrils flare and shoulders square up.
“Wait, there’s good news and bad news?” Your focus on Steve shifts as Eddie’s words sink in.
“Like I said, I’m going to finish balancing the books.” The metal head reminds you, giving a half salute with two fingers while simultaneously shooting a stern look to Steve who’s mouthing something behind you. “Your mechanic’s going to go over everything with you, we can talk about pricing when it’s all said and done.”
“Seriously?” You bluster as Eddie shrugs with the kind of nonchalance that sends you reeling before sitting back down, tuning the dial-up on the radio in his office. End of discussion.
“Look -“
“How do I even know that you know what you’re talking about?” You interrupt, making his full lips set into a straight line.
“Are you going to be like this the whole time?” Steve sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose before crossing his arms, the tops of his shoulders moving with them. 
A pleading expression softens his features instead of the hard combative one you were anticipating, and it helps your blood pressure return to normal. The realization hitting you that maybe skipping breakfast with a hangover probably wasn’t your smartest idea.
“N-no, sorry, I just feel like -“
“Shit? Yeah, I bet.” He chuckles, and your jaw clicks. Maybe if you count to three…
“Just tell me what’s wrong with my car, Steve.” It comes out clipped, but it's an improvement from your fingers twitching to rip that handsome head right off those shoulders that won’t stop trying to distract you.
“How about you tell me the last time you had your oil changed?” He counters, taking a few steps back to sit on the hood of the rusted baby blue Buick behind him. 
“Uhh, I- I think,” All the blood rushes to your cheeks, warming your skin as you try to wrack your brain and not focus on the way his legs spread wide to keep his balance. “Maybe, like, six months ago.”
“Six months?!” The number must be worse than whatever Steve was preparing for when a dirty hand runs through his hair, “and then you drove it three states to get here?”
“Yeah, I - I mean, hearing you say it out loud,” you grimace thinking of all the weeks you ignored that flashing orange light on your dashboard.
“So then you shouldn’t be surprised when I tell you that your engine locked up.” 
“Is this the bad news?” 
“Kind of,”
“What do you mean kind of?”
“Look, the good news is that I can fix it, the bad news is that I have to order a few parts that could take up to three weeks to get here, then the job itself is going to take me probably another week.” He sighs standing up, starting back towards your car with you quick on his heels.
“That’s the whole summer!” You argue like it could possibly make a difference, frustration pricking at the corners of your eyes watching him pop open the hood.
“More like half of it, but hey, you’re lucky I can even get it running again without having to replace the whole thing.” He meets your gaze from under his lashes leaning over the engine, long nimble fingers unscrewing the cap where your oil should go.
“So what am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to get around?” You know that part isn’t his problem, this entire mess is your own doing but it doesn’t stop it coming out in a whine. You blame your hangover.
“You’re gonna be just fine, city girl,” Steve grins up at you before reaching even further under the hood, muscles flexing with him, “besides we both know I can’t say no to Robin.”
He pulls at a small tube that’s purpose is unknown to you but you keep eyes trained on his movements like you have an idea, anything to keep the focus off the gold chain that dangles from his neck. 
“Or you.” The last part comes out so quiet, a focused look pinching his brows together as he continues his investigation.
“Me?” 
He doesn’t look at you when he shrugs, pulling at something with a little more force that makes you both flinch. 
“How much is this going to cost me, Steve?” Your defeat shows in your tone, as the question slips quietly from between your lips that you wish you’d have put gloss on now.
He grunts at the same time something pops against metal under his hands, muttering a string of curse words under his breath before standing back up wiping his palms on the white cotton of his tank top. Charcoal stains fill the small grooves in the fabric with each swipe of his hands, pulling the collar further down every time. It’s a losing battle not to look at his chest when every motion reveals more of the thick curls underneath. 
Steve clears his throat, letting you know that you’ve been caught and it’s at this moment you wish you could walk in front of the moving truck that drives loudly past the shop, only exaggerating the silence that follows.
“Don’t stress about that today,” he smiles, letting you off the hook for now, something mischievous dancing in his eyes for another time. “Like Eddie said, we’ll figure it out.”
“Don’t stress about it?! Have you met me?” You huff, the money you’ve saved up for the summer starting to dwindle right before your eyes. 
“I have actually,” Steve chuckles, stepping close enough for the tips of your shoes to touch his boots. He feels bold when you don’t make any attempt to move away like at the party or retreat when he closes the gap. A thumb and forefinger finding their way to your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze, “and you’re going to be fine, I promise.”
Your lips part on their own, the full force of his face from this close stealing the breath from your lungs. You can smell the coffee he had this morning and the mint from his toothpaste still lingering on his breath. The stubble that lines his sharp jaw is even more noticeable today, tapering off at the top of his neck making the cluster of moles that live there stand out even more. A pink tongue runs over his full bottom lip and it has your lashes fluttering against the tops of your cheeks.
“Now go get some food, grumpy,” his voice comes out low, a teasing edge to it that reminds you of what it’s like to have Steve Harrington flirt with you. “I’ll call when I get the parts, okay?”
It’s like detention junior year all over again as you turn into putty in his hand. Still too attractive for his own good, all you can do is nod while all the fight you had left inside you disappears as the pad of his thumb swipes soft against your heated skin just under your pouted lip before letting you go. He turns on his heel after that, walking back to the box of tools he has spread out over his workbench before adding,
“Do me a favor and tell Robin she owes me a new shirt.”
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beta’d by @sweetsweetjellybean
🌻 chapter two
1K notes · View notes
hier--soir · 3 months
Text
a lover's pinch | seven
joel miller x f!reader
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pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: things get a little messy after returning home. a confrontation sparks the beginning of a new stage in your relationship with joel. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, angst, miscommunication trope, self-doubt, alcohol consumption/hangover, joel is 50 and he texts like it, les mis spoilers???, phantom of the opera spoilers???, jealous!joel, food/eating, hurt/comfort, professor DAD, professor COWBOY, soft emotional smut, unprotected piv sex, cream pie, oral [f!receiving], joel says dadgum cause i think it's so classic him and so cute. word count: 11.1k jesus series masterlist | main masterlist chapter moodboard a/n: merry christmas to all that celebrate. as always, thank you for your patience and kindness. the love for this series is nothing short of mind blowing, and i appreciate you all endlessly. i hope you enjoy this angst and potentially the most flowery + emotional ALP smut yet [if that's even possible]. also rachel i love you i'm sorry. without further ado, the beginning of our descent into The End Times x follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing this is part seven of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three, four, five, six.
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Tuesday.
It's nine thirty in the morning and you buy a Coke anyways.
It’s raining heavy outside; fat droplets of water that splatter against the windscreen of your car and dribble down, slipping through the crevice at the top of the bonnet, searching for the engine, for the oil gasket, for somewhere undercover to dry out.
You tuck your legs beneath yourself, sit criss-cross in the driver’s seat, and take small sips of fizzing black sugar. Allow it to moisten your lips, coat your tongue and your teeth in that sickening, viscous way soda always does, before it slips down your throat.
There’s something unearthly about the day, unnerving—it’s Tuesday morning and you’re hungover. A dull ache behind your left eye, a kink in your neck. You check your phone.
Thick, rolling clouds loom across the sky. Occasionally, a flash of lightning, a thrum of thunder. You tear open a packet of peanuts and pluck one out, and then another. Eat until your lips are dry and puckered, and then take another drink. More peanuts then. Salty, sweet, salty, sweet.
It’s all you can stomach as your liver pumps and spasms, still working to cleanse your blood of the night before, spent sprawled on the couch with Trin and Nora.
Wearing sweaters and thick socks, gripping full glasses of wine, and watching Les Misérables. Nora, tears on her cheeks, had sung along with Hugh Jackman—'This innocent who bears my face, who goes to judgement in my place, who am I?’—and you, bleary-eyed and tipsy, had discreetly checked your phone.
You didn’t cry during I Dreamed A Dream but you’re crying for this? Trin rolled her eyes.
He sacrifices his freedom to save that man, Nora whimpered.
You woke up starving and the traffic was slow. At every red light and stop sign your fingers itched against the wheel, desperate to press inside your bag and pull out this little packet. And now, safe in the campus parking lot, you feast. Salty, sweet, salty, sweet. You feel a fleeting moment of pity for people with peanut allergies, and then you check your phone.
Still nothing.
Since you left New York on Monday morning there’s been no sign of life from Joel. No get home safe, no see you on Tuesday; no acknowledgement at all.
You stare dejectedly at the messages you’ve sent him.
First from yesterday afternoon:
Home now. Enjoy your last day in the big apple x
And then from late last night, two bottles of wine deep:
It’s raining and miserable here
Wish I was still in new york
With you
Sitting in your car now, glowering at the blank space where his response should be, you reconcile with the thought that perhaps he wants what happened in New York to stay in New York. Stolen glances and all-too-brief touches in a conference hall, his hand on your wrist at the museum, skin against skin in his hotel room, and in yours—perhaps it was supposed to happen there, not here. The lowering of walls came with a change in location, and maybe that was his intention. But those thoughts don’t ease the sharp twist in your chest when you think of him. Doesn’t take away how much you wish he would give you something – a morsel of communication, even a single word of acknowledgement. For as hard as you try to understand, you can’t forget the look in his eyes when he touched you at the cloisters, the way he breathed your name into your mouth. Sewing the seed of JoelJoelJoel into in the soft folds of your brain, impossible to forget.
You don’t think about his dinner with Rachel. Don’t consider that something may have happened that night, something that changed his mind about you. Something that made him rethink the entire weekend as you slipped into the shower and out the door, leaving him alone in your hotel bed while you headed to the airport.
No. You don’t think about that at all.
When you make it inside, clothes wet and cool from the rain, you shake your hair out like a dog. Let droplets fly across the hall as you make your way into the lecture theatre; a drizzled trail left in your wake.
The room is full when you step inside, but there’s no sign of him yet. You collapse into an empty chair in the front row and wait. The final few students filter in through the door, shaking out umbrellas and wiping their feet. And for another ten minutes you, foolishly, still expect Joel to show up.
It’s only when the door creaks open and an old man walks through, that you let the hopeful feeling rest.
He lays a worn old satchel against the desk and turns to smile at the room.
“Hello,” the stranger smiles, and his jowls quiver as he speaks. “I’m Jerry Dorfman, a Professor from the literature department, and…”
You zone out for a second, eyes darting down to your phone screen. Nothing.
“Oh, and Professor Miller,” Dorfman says, as if he’s just remembered that he shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be standing up there, in his spot. “Is tied up with a family matter. I trust he’ll be back with us later in the week.”
A family matter?
Slick with rain, staring at this stranger stood in Joel’s place, you feel like a kind of newborn. Some fresh lamb, soaked in the blood and amniotic fluids of her mother’s womb, staring through unseeing eyes, hoping to glean some understanding of this moment. This sudden burst of light, this shocking cold after so many weeks of warmth, of sweat and strong hands on your skin, holding you close. But this is Eros; the blacksmith, the limb-loosener, the crusher. A deviation from stoking the flame to the suddenly desperate, grasping loneliness of feeling as though you are standing by a lover’s window, staring helplessly through the glass, and watching them from the outside. Alone.
Dorfman tries and fails to connect his laptop to the projector.
Numb fingers type;
Are you okay? Where are you?
But no response comes.
No, not until later that night, not until you’re tucked beneath the covers of your bed, showered and sleepy, does he finally reach out.
The clock has just ticked past midnight when your phone vibrates.
Hey, I had to stay in the city another day. Just landed at PWM. See you on Thursday.
A hot, jagged feeling swims in your gut as you read the message, and then reread it. Twice, three more times, searching for some hint of familiarity. Some indication that he has been thinking about you as much as you’ve been thinking about him. That the past weekend meant something to him, like it meant to you.
Minutes pass, and when you don’t find what you’re looking for, you fall asleep without responding.
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Thursday.
Nora wakes up with a stuffy nose.
This always happens to me, she sniffs. I hate being sick.
The tiles in the kitchen are cold beneath your bare toes and rain smears heavily against the windowpane. You can hear fat blooms of thunder bellowing outside. Nora’s sullen, husky voice paired with the steam rising from your mug are all it takes to convince you to stay home with her.
The two of you spend the day curled on the sofa beneath blankets. You stare at your laptop, a document open on your screen with the title of an essay sitting pretty at the top. The cursor blinks and blinks at you, taunting you, daring you to write something, anything. But Sex and The City is playing on the tv, and Nora is snoring at the other end of the sofa, and you can’t help but watch the minutes tick by on the clock. Listen to Carrie and Miranda argue about Big, and wonder if Joel has even noticed your absence.
Trin gets home from class, and you follow her into the kitchen. Peel and slice oranges and apples and lemons while she tells you about her day. Boil them in sugar with cinnamon and star anise while she complains about an argument she had with her boyfriend. Add red wine and brandy while she tells you that her Dad sent her some money, and she’ll order take out for the three of you.
So together you huddle in the lounge and eat hot Indian food with your hands. Soak pieces of naan in tarka dal and saag paneer and top if off with mulled wine, unphased by the clashing of flavours in your mouths.
And you don’t check your phone, or look at the time, and you don’t complain when Nora asks, with glassy-eyes and spinach in her teeth, if she can put on another musical.
He’s a freak, Trin frowns at the TV.  
He loves her, Nora implores, staring doe-eyed at a masked Gerard Butler.
Nor, Trin scoffs, he put a wedding dress on a mannequin that looks just like her. In his fucking lair, no less. That’s freak behaviour.
He has amazing sideburns though, Nora grins. So he gets a pass.
Your phone vibrates as Erik strokes a passed-out Christine’s face, singing help me make the music of the night.
Careful that Nora won’t notice, you pull it from beneath your thigh.
Where were you today?
You stare at the words for a moment and feel your lips curl into an disbelieving sneer.
“Oh, fuck off,” you mutter, and shove your phone into the crevice between the sofa cushions.
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Wednesday.
A week goes by with no word from Joel.
No word from you either.
You stay home every day. Write and read and catch up on work and take Benadryl and sip soup and then you wake one morning, relieved to find that Nora’s cold has finally left your system.
So you tug on jeans, a sweater, and share a pot of coffee in the kitchen. Share quiet conversation with Pete in his shitty old Beamer as he gives you a ride to campus, and walk into Rachel’s lecture with zero expectation that today will be the day you finally see Joel again.
“We understand that Antigone is a victim of her father’s sins,” Rachel explains. “In the wake of patricide, of incest, every one of her actions is seen as a direct consequence.”
“Even her fate to be buried alive was sewn by her father’s unwitting actions,” she pauses, eyes searching the faces across the room, gauging reactions. “And, of course, this concept isn’t unique to Greek mythology. We see it plainly in the Bible, in Exodus; the sins of your father are to be laid upon the children… these themes of ancestral curses, of the inevitability of fate – they are integral to understand when looking at our tragic heroines. We saw it with Medea, we see it with Antigone, with Iphigenia, with Electra. Electra herself said, we are bound to acquiesce—”
An interrupting knock sounds against the door. Rachel’s head swivels around, eyebrows knitted in frustration as she calls for whoever it is to come in.
The door creaks open and her expression lifts. A saccharine smile spreads across her face, shoulders loosening.
“Joel,” she says warmly. “What can I do for you?”
A shiver wracks down your spine, toes curling in your sneakers.
The broad mass of him rests in the doorway. His head peeks past the wood, just a glimpse of his curls, his glasses, visible from where you sit. Your heart thunders in your chest, palms going damp at the prospect of this being the moment you finally see him again.
He speaks a few words in her direction, too quiet to catch, and then he’s taking a step into the room. His hand grips the edge of the door, keeping it open, and he casts a glance out towards the audience. Dark brown and searching, those eyes filter through countless faces until they finally land on yours.
And for a second, he doesn’t say a word. Just gazes out at you, eyebrows pulled together in the middle of his forehead, and then—and then he fucking looks back at Rachel. Your stomach goes hollow when you see the smile on her face. She lazes against the corner of her desk, and it feels like minutes go by as the two of you stare at him. And there’s something about waiting, you think, that feels like torture. That slow, painful build-up of pressure as you sit and stare and prepare yourself to discover who he’s here for. You or her.  
You’re reminded painfully of a Graham Greene quote. A passage from The End of the Affair – one you’d, perhaps foolishly, found romantic when you read it that first time. Chosen words that had warmed your chest and made you feel light, lighter than air; the way only words could do sometimes.
‘Yes, Henry?’ and then ‘You?’ She had always called me ‘you’. ‘Is that you?’ on the telephone, ‘Can you? Will you? Do you?’ so that I imagined, like a fool, for a few minutes at a time, there was only one ‘you’ in the world and that was me.
Now, as you stare at Joel in the mouth of the doorway and memory of that passage sinks its hooks in, you feel only contempt for Greene.
For you had always read that passage imagining yourself as Sarah. And someone else, some misfortunate Maurice Bendrix, had fallen into your lap, and he was the ‘you’. But not you, never you. And it’s that pride which deceives. That pride which lulls us into false senses of security.
Joel says your name then.
Says, “Can I speak with you?” You, you, you.
And it should feel like relief, to hear your name on his lips again. But you catch the way he spares another glance, soft and sympathetic, in Rachel’s direction, and that sickly hurt isn’t abated.
Her face falls, but she smiles at you. Nods her permission for you to leave the room, and only when you’re halfway across the lecture theatre, bag swung over your shoulder, does she continue speaking to the class.
Palm flat against the door, he holds it open for you, making you press against him as you slip out of the room. It clicks shut behind you and he begins to move down the hall, leaving you to follow behind with no explanation. You assume that he’s going to lead you to his office, or anywhere more private than this, but a metre from the door Joel pauses abruptly, turns, and you slam into his chest with a huff.
“Jesus,” you mutter, stumbling a few steps back.
“Where have you been?” he glowers, brows drawn tight and angry over his eyes.
“What?”
“I’ve been busy,” you grit, glaring back. “Where have you been?”
“Busy?” he scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’ve been busy too. Busy teachin’ the classes that you don’t even show up for.”
“I’ve been sick,” you roll your eyes, unable—or perhaps just unwilling—to stray from nastiness, from spite. “My apologies, Professor.” 
“Don’t—” Joel snaps, and flinches as quickly as the word comes out of his mouth, surprised by how harsh it sounds in the air between the two of you. He takes a step closer, voice low now—“Don’t call me that.”
“Fuck, what is your problem?” you huff, eyes widening, exasperated. “I missed two classes, it’s not a big deal.”
“And the silence?” Joel takes a step forward as he says it. Close enough now to see the smudges on the lens of his glasses. Close enough to see the muscle in his jaw twitch. Too close for public; too close for here. “Can’t even text me back, huh? What the hell is goin’ on with you?”
Your body pulls taut at that, hands balling into fists at your sides.
“Oh, you don’t like silence?” you hiss, matching his volume. “You can’t be serious. Joel, I didn’t hear from you for days after New York. Why would I waste my breath when it’s obvious you don’t want to fucking hear from me?”
“It was barely two days,” he shakes his head, shakes off the insinuation, shakes off whatever blame you’re trying to put on him.
“Two days,” you nod, smirking angrily. “Two days after we spent an entire weekend together. Two days after we kissed and fucked and practically went on a date.”
And the word date must elicit something in him. Some minute, man-brain trigger that snaps him to attention and helps him understand the hurt on your face, the tremble in your hands. Because he says your name, voice softening, posture loosening, every bit of his body language screaming out that he wants to step forward and touch you.
And he’s speaking again, voice low, but there’s people coming down the hall, heading your way. Two figures that you can’t make out through the haze of Joel in your immediate vision. So when he reaches out and touches your hand you flinch, jutting your chin over his shoulder. A warning. Don’t do this here.
One of them calls your name and you pause, mouth open. Drag your eyes away from Joel’s features to watch the figures get closer.
“Pete,” you force a smile. “Hey.”
You realise quickly how it must look; your sullen expression, Joel staring down at you with his shoulders hunched. He must understand at the same moment, because he takes a quick step away, folds his hands behind his back.
“Hey,” Pete takes a step closer. He glances warily between you and Joel, confusion colouring his face. “Everything cool?”
Stony faced, Joel looks between the two of you, posture stiffening the longer he stares at Pete. So much larger than him, taller and broader and far more intimidating. But a man with a secret to keep isn’t one to jump quickly at confrontation, so he keeps his mouth shut. Let’s you do the talking.
Ian catches your eye over Pete’s shoulder and offers a sleazy sort of smile. You swallow down a glare and hold Pete’s gaze.
“Everything’s fine,” you lie, taking a step towards them. A step away from Joel. “What’s up, what are you guys doing in this building?”
Pete’s eyebrows pull together, and he cocks his head at you. “Said you needed a ride home today. This morning, remember?”
“This morning,” you repeat, nodding slowly. You raise your hand and pinch the bridge of your nose, thinking quickly, mind a mess. “I, uh… right, look, Pete, I actually forgot I have a meeting with Professor Miller about my final essay this afternoon.”
“Your final…” Pete trails off, frowning. “Isn’t that due in like a month?”
“Yeah,” you say vaguely, and do not look at Joel. “I’ll find a way home later, okay?”
“I mean, sure. I guess,” Pete agrees reluctantly, reaching up to grip the strap of his satchel. “Call me if you need me okay?”
And Joel’s face turns to stone at the insinuation in those words. The idea that Pete could give you anything he couldn’t. That anyone would need to swoop in and save you from him.
The pair of you stand in silence for a moment, eyes trained on Pete and Ian’s retreating backs as they head down the hall. You watch and watch until they turn the corner, disappearing from sight, and only then do you exhale a breath of relief.
You contemplate leaving him there. Turning your back on him and returning to Rachel’s lecture, ignoring his texts and letting this all fade into some painful memory. But when you look at him again—at those big brown eyes that gaze back at you—you know you couldn’t if you tried.  
“You look tired,” he frowns, and it’s not angry anymore. A little sad, maybe.
“I am,” you admit, and wonder if your face betrays how much of a role he plays in that exhaustion.
“Are you hungry?”
You stare for a moment, blinking slow, and then say, “Yeah.”
Joel nods, attempts a crooked smile, and says, “Let me take you to get something to eat.”
It’s silent in Joel’s car, aside from the soft patter of rain against his windows and the dull squeak of his windscreen wipers sliding it away. The truck glides through the winding streets of Biddeford, cruising down the main road and into the left lane of a fast-food drive thru. Orders you a burger, fries, nothing for himself, passing the bag into your lap and then continuing to drive.
The bun is soft beneath your fingers. Grease soaks your skin, and you taste beef, taste onions so soft, so sweet. A crimson dot of ketchup spattered onto your pants; a bright shock of mustard on your tongue. A fry here and there. Joel’s hand, outstretched fingers, sneaking across the centre console to steal one. You shift the paper bag on your lap, tilt the opening so it faces him, easier to access, but he doesn’t take another.
He grips the wheel and asks, “Do you want me to take you home?”
You think about Pete waiting for you at the house. Think about if Ian and that filthy smirk on his face and whether or not he’ll be there too. Think about having to flesh out your excuse, your lie, and finally say, “No.”
Joel keeps driving. You eat until your pants feel tight and the greasy brown bag is crumpled in your fist and he’s pulling his truck off the road and into a short driveway.  
“Full?”
“Very.”
“Good.”
“Is this your house?”
“This is it.” He drags the keys out of the ignition and knocks the door open. It’s not long, barely a second, before he’s pulling yours open with a rough yank and a soft, “Door always sticks on this side.”
A vague sound spills from the back of your throat, and he guides you up a path towards the small home. Single storey, with a large brown door and windows decorating the outward façade. Your immediate thought is that it’s very Joel, but you stop the idea in its tracks. Remind yourself that maybe it isn’t your place to think things like that.
Inside it’s even more silent, even more tense. The two of you stand in the entry way, toeing off damp shoes. Your eyes flit around his front room, but it’s difficult to focus on anything. Too much to look at, too much you want to know, and you find it easier to just look at him.  
“Realised you’d never been here,” Joel murmurs after a while. He shifts awkwardly on his feet, decidedly unsure of what to say as he rests beneath the weight of your stare. “This is the, uh, the livin’ room. Kitchen’s over there.”
When you don’t respond, he clears his throat, ticks his head towards the hallway. “Bathroom is down the hall. Bedroom too.”
You feel your face shift. Deadpan stare turns to surprise, to incredulity, to blatant anger.
“Oh, the bedroom, huh?” you smile, sardonic, cutting. Your throat feels tight. “S’that seriously why you brought me here? Ice me out and then come crawling back when you want something to fuck again?”
“Woah, hey,” his eyebrows shoot up, hands drifting forward like he’s trying to calm a startled animal.
“Don’t,” you hold up a shaking hand, eyes wide and wet suddenly. “Just… don’t touch me right now, okay? What are we doing here, Joel? Seriously.”   
He says your name hard and fast, surprised by how quickly it’s all unravelling, spilling from you in a tidal wave.
And spill it does. The words are wet and watery, a tsunami of pent up emotions pouring from your mouth without permission, without forethought.
“I mean, we haven’t seen each other since New York. And I… I thought being there changed things between us. But maybe I was wrong… and then you pull me out of a lecture, bring me here and say my bedroom is down the hall? Am I just… do you just like having someone to fuck whenever you want? Is that it? Someone at your beck and call?”
Joel repeats your name, sharper this name. “Don’t put fuckin’ words in my mouth.” His face pinches in anger, hands dropping.
“When it’s not convenient you try to shake me off, but when it is—at a bar, or out of town—” you list them off on your fingers, eyes growing wider and wider. “Oh, you want me then?”
“That ain’t fuckin’ true and you know it—”
“Do I?” you scoff.
“I came that night when you texted,” he implores, voice raising, all wild-eyed and pleading. “You were drunk, and textin’ and you needed a ride.”
“I didn’t ask you to do that—”
“You didn’t ask me not too either,” he crosses his arms across his chest. “You wanted me to come. Don’t fuckin’ deny that now.”
You open your mouth but he’s too quick, matching your spill with his own now.
“And as if you’re any better?” he bares his teeth now, voice low. “As if you didn’t find out I was your teacher and keep fuckin’ me just for the thrill of it. As if you actually wanted me, and you weren’t just gettin’ off on chasin’ some forbidden fantasy.”
“I…” you gape at him, unafraid to let the hurt show on your face. “Is that really what you think of me?”
“What the fuck am I supposed to think?” he hisses, exhaustion evident in the way he runs a hand through his curls and sags against the door. “You tellin’ me I should believe that you just want me for what I am? A fifty-year-old teacher who spends his time giving fuckin’ speeches to people that are hardly listenin’? Who goes home to an empty bed? That’s what you want?”
And it deflates you, a little. The wounded expression on his face – the devastating truth in those words, splashed across his expression so plainly for you to see. Disbelief.
“Is that such a crime?” you ask quietly. “To want you… and have it be that simple?”
“You shouldn’t,” he shakes his head. Grimaces. “You shouldn’t want me, I’m—I’m no good for you.”
You swallow. Feel tears hot and sharp behind your eyes.
“Then why do you keep letting me?”
“Jesus,” he exhales, and his hand is on the hem of your shirt, pulling you closer, closer, until you’re pressed against his chest, hands coming up to grip his shoulders and steady yourself. “Because I can’t fuckin’ quit you, alright?”
“Because I don’t just want you when it’s convenient,” his lips curl around the word, disgusted by the insinuation. “Because I think about you all the god damn time and if I can only have you some of the time then I guess I’ll take it. Because if you want some fucked up fantasy, then I’ll play my part if it means I get you, I don’t care—”
You cut him off, lips firm and searing against his. He goes still for a moment, mouth parting with a surprised exhale, warm when you press inside with your tongue. And then warmer, salty; tears on his cheeks, on yours.
“That’s not what this is,” you whimper into his mouth, desperate for him to believe it. “It was never about that, it was about you, Joel. I want you.”
He kisses you again, slow. All of the anger and hurt and frustration pools out of the both of you, spilling from your mouths and into the air. His lips mould over yours and his hands are warm on your waist, your back, holding you tight against his chest. When you sniffle, he pulls back, forehead heavy against yours, and sighs.
“I’m sorry,” he rasps, eyes closed. “I missed you, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for—"
“Where were you?” you interrupt. “What happened in New York?”
He hesitates for a moment, nervous and calculating as he stares you down.
You wilt a little; dejected all over again. Recoil from him and quietly ask, “Why won’t you let me know you?” 
Joel’s hand hovers in the air, as if contemplating reaching for you again, but then it drops and he says, “I was with my daughter.”  
You blink.
Daughter.
Daughter?
“She lives there now,” Joel sounds a little breathless, cheeks pink as the words spill from him. “In New York, with her girlfriend. I’d planned to spend an extra day there with her, and then Nina—Nina cut her hand open at the studio and we had to go to the ER, and she had to get stitches and—” He pauses, waiting for you to jump in, to interrupt, to say anything. When you don’t, he takes a breath and continues. “And I wasn’t gonna stay any longer but Ellie was worried, and she needed me. She needed me there, and—and I’m never fuckin’ there, because she never needs me anymore. So I stayed, and I’m sorry I went silent but I was… I was takin’ care of my kid.” 
You think it might be the longest—and the fastest—you’ve ever heard him speak outside of a lecture hall.
His eyes drift to something over your shoulder and his entire body seems to sag a little. But it isn’t sad. It’s a resigned, sort of relaxed thing that happens – the corners of his mouth tilt up and he smiles weakly.
You turn, follow his eyeline until you see them.
Pictures, so many pictures, lining the walls of his home. Ones you’d paid no attention to when you first stepped inside, but can now see clearly. Bright eyes and wide toothy grins.
Some of Joel younger, leaner, smiling beside a little girl with curly hair. Some of him as you know him now; scruffy and greying, beside a different girl. This one lanky and pale and grimacing toward the camera as if she were forced into being placed in front of it.
There’s one picture of the girls beside each other, teenagers maybe, sat on either end of a seesaw. The curly-haired girl is on the upper end, grinning madly at the lens, while the other sits with her feet planted firmly on the ground, laughing up at her. Two of them. Two daughters?
“Please say somethin’.”
There’s a picture of Joel and he’s holding a tiny little bundle in his arms, and he looks so young and so fucking afraid. Dark eyes wide and teary as he gazes down at chubby cheeks, his index fingers crooked around the edge of her swaddle. A warm feeling swells in your chest and your body softens the longer you look at it. He’s a father.
Joel says your name and when you turn his face is all twisted up, and he looks the smallest you’ve ever seen him. Almost curled in on himself.
“I should’ve told you,” he nods, brown eyes darting across your face in an attempt to decipher your silence. “I know that, and I—”
“I’m an asshole,” you interrupt softly, and the tears never left but now they feel heavier on your waterline. Begging to spill over again.
“Hey,” he frowns, hand coming up to cup your cheek. His thumb swipes at the soft skin beneath your eye, begging the wetness there to disappear. “Hey, hey, no—”
“I didn’t think…” you trail off, sniffling. A sickly cocktail of embarrassment and guilt and shame swirl in the pit of your stomach and you try to swallow it down, try to send it away, but it’s persistent. “I never stopped to think that something had actually happened, that you had… I feel selfish, Joel, I’m sorr—”
“You’re not,” he hushes, fingers curling into the hair behind your ear. “You didn’t know. I should’ve told you before, and I’m sorry.”
“I thought you were staying away because of me,” you offer a watery smile. “I thought maybe you and…” You can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence. Can’t make your lips form the name Rachel.
“No,” he shakes his head, jaw tight, as if reading your mind.
“Is she okay?”
“Ellie?”
“Ellie,” you roll the name around in your mouth. His daughter.  “Yeah.”
“She’s okay,” he smiles, nodding. “They’re both fine.”
“And…” You look back at the pictures. Two. “And the other girl?”
“Sarah,” Joel says softly, pointing at wild curls and brown eyes that look just like his. And he must see the questions swirling in your brain because he speaks again. “I was twenty. My, uh, my girlfriend at the time didn’t know what to do. Didn’t wanna be a Mom, but didn’t agree with abortion, and we were so young and… well, I asked her to marry me cause it felt like the right thing to do, but she didn’t…” he shakes his head a little, a faraway look in his eye as he remembers it. “She said no. She never wanted that… so, after Sarah was born, I told her that she didn’t have to.”
“Didn’t have to?” you repeat the words, eyebrows furrowing.
“Didn’t have to stay,” he clarifies. Your lips part, surprised. “So, she didn’t, and we ain’t seen her since Sarah was a few months old.”
“Shit,” you whisper, eyes widening as the information finally starts to sink in.
“And Ellie,” he laughs then, gazing at a picture of auburn locks and shock grey eyes. “Well, that one showed up on my door some time fifteen years later. Been in ‘n’ outta foster care for years, and just started followin’ Sarah home from school one day. We did this little dance for a while; dinners and sleepovers and me slipping money into her backpack so she could buy lunch at school. And then one day she just… begged me not to make her go back to her own house. So I didn’t.”
“Wow, I…” you blink. “You adopted her? Alone?”
“I…” Joel pauses. Wets his lips, frowning as he collects his thoughts. “Alone is… I don’t think that’s the right word for it. You see Ellie was… Sarah and me, we just knew. She was family so fast. It was the only thing that made sense, you know?”
And it does, you suppose. The image isn’t hard to conjure. Joel at the dinner table with two teenagers on either side of him. Arguing over homework, over curfews, over what movie to watch. You can see the fondness in his eyes as he talks about them – the emotion laced through his words; we just knew.
“Tell me what you’re thinkin’,” Joel says, and that line between his eyebrows is back and it’s so deep that you can’t help yourself from reaching up and smoothing it over with your thumb. He catches your hand and holds it against the centre of his chest. Lets you feel the way his heart thuds heavily beneath the skin, a sturdy rhythm against your palm.
“It’s… it’s a lot to take in,” you confess, and his hand tightens over yours. “But I’m glad you told me.”
Brown eyes search yours, gaze heavy. “You sure?”
“Yeah,” you nod. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
“Okay then.” 
You flex your palm against his chest. Dig your fingers into the flesh there a little.
“Can I…” he hesitates, eyes flickering down. “Do you… Can I kiss you?” You, you, you.
Your heart beats fast, and you feel his do the same, and Joel is a father, and two daughters, and I can’t fuckin’ quit you, and you’re breathing into his mouth yes, yes you can kiss me, please kiss me.
It’s warm and it’s gentle and it feels like such a kindness to kiss him now and feel less space between the two of you. Feels like a thousand apologies and explanations slipping off his tongue and you opening your arms to him, saying I understand, saying thank you for telling me.
And when you pull him closer, wrapping an arm around the back of his neck, he meets you in kind, pressing your back against the wall. He shifts his hips between yours and shows you how much he’s missed you, and only when his hand drifts beneath the hem of your shirt do you pause.
He stills, warm breaths drifting across your mouth as he looks into your eyes.
“Talk to me.”
“I’m exhausted,” you admit shyly, twisting a finger through a frizzy lock of hair at the nape of his neck. You tug at it, not meeting his eye, and watch it bounce back into a curl when you let go. He nods and kisses you again, closed lips soft and not asking for anything, never asking for more than you want to give, before he takes your hand and leads you through his house for the first time.
He runs you a bath. Makes you sit on the edge while he lays out a towel and checks the temperature every few minutes. Only when he’s satisfied that the water is perfectly warm does he help peel the clothing from your body. He grips your hand and helps you step into the tub, lowering you down into sudsy water. And when you’re settled, he pulls a stool nearby and sits, keeping you company as you soak.   
“S’nice,” you tell him quietly, dragging a foamy sponge across your arms. “Thank you, Joel.”
The weight of before hangs over you a little, pressing down against your shoulders as you watch him. Gauge him. But he doesn’t seem angry or upset anymore. He leans over the lip of the tub. Runs his hands through the water, over the skin of your calf, your knee. Feels the coarse hairs that have grown there over the past fortnight and smiles when they scratch against his palm.
“Said you were sick?”
“Mhm.”
“What kind?”
“Just a cold,” you whisper. He squeezes your knee, palm against your patella, fingers soft in the flesh around it. “M’fine. Past it now.”
In the soapy water, his skin feels like silk against yours.
“Changin’ of the season,” he muses with a nod. “Normally gets me too.” 
And you laugh a little at that, because it’s such a fatherly thing to say and you can’t believe how naïve you’d been to not see it before. Can suddenly picture him doing this a thousand times over; resting by the bath while one of his little girls floats in the water, nose all stuffy from the flu.
At the sound of your laughter he smiles, gaze dropping to your mouth, and the skin beside his eyes pinches. Little wrinkles, so soft and so beautiful that you want to reach out and brush your fingers across them.
“You’re so beautiful,” Joel murmurs, and his voice is hushed, so low in the small bathroom.
His fingers skirt against the inside of your thigh and you splay your legs open for him, knees knocking against the sides of the tub. He glances down through the water to where you’re spread open for him to see, shameless, and smiles.
“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he repeats.
“So are you, Joel.”
“Psh,” he rolls his eyes, offering a delicate little smile. So shy, so feeble, and so desperate to believe you. A little glimpse of that wary weight, still pressing down on him as well.
“Mean it,” you insist in a whisper. You lift a hand from the water, wet thumb grazing the corner of his mouth. Feel the bristles of his moustache, the hairs on his cheek, prickling against your skin.
“Swoony type,” you say, smiling when recognition flashes in his eyes. Stroke the fresh blush on his cheeks. “Long hair, bedroom eyes, cheeks like wine.”
“Hmm,” he murmurs, turning to press a kiss against your palm. “Can’t get away with plagiarisin’ Carson in this house, baby.”
“She just said it so well.”
“She did,” he agrees. “So did Tartt.”
“Tartt?” your mind wanes, the warm water lulling you into a sleepy sort of daze. You rest heavy against the side of the bath, gazing up at him
“Beauty is terror,” he quotes tenderly, eyes bold and earnest as he holds your stare. “Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it.”
You wrap an arm around his shoulders, water droplets staining his shirt where your fingers grip the material, and pull him forward to kiss you. Joel grips the inside of your leg and kisses you until your skin prunes and wrinkles. And when he notices he laughs with you, gripping your hand to press his lips against fingertips that look like raisins. Worships the soaked skin of your fingers until you pull his face back to yours; jealous of your own hands, fearful that they might come to know his kiss better than your lips.
And when the water goes lukewarm and you don’t know what time it is anymore, he dries you off with a soft towel and offers once more to take you home. But you say no, so he smiles and kisses you again—your lips, your cheeks, your eyelids—and leads you to his bedroom.
He drags a too-big shirt over your head, helps you loop your arms into the sleeves. Dark blue and warm, so warm, against your skin.
The two of you slip beneath the covers on his bed and he drags you against his side; lets you press your cold toes against his shins without so much as a flinch.
Facing each other on your sides, those hands slink beneath the shirt, rough palms cradling your ribs, your back, holding you tight against his chest until your breathing falls in sync. And those hands don’t stray, don’t move down, they just embrace you. A carefully held apology that promises I want this, to hold you, to be with you, too.
It stays like that, nothing more, until your eyelids are heavy, and his breathing has evened out. Stays like that until your hand drops from his back to the band of his boxers, sleepy little fingers plucking at the material, trying to slip underneath.
“You should rest.”
But you whine softly; needy and insistent as your fingers press harder.
“What do you need?” Joel rasps into your neck, helping you shift them down his legs.
“Need you,” you whisper back into the darkness of his bedroom. “Wanna feel you, I—”
His mouth is soft against yours, plucking those words from your mouth and swallowing them down. He sucks your bottom lip between his, prying your mouth open so he can slip his tongue inside.
His hand in on your knee, pulling your leg up until your thigh rests heavy around his hip and you can feel the hot weight of him against your core, still slick and warm and needy from when his hand rested on the inside of your leg in the bath.
And if you’d ever subscribed to the meaning behind words like sin you suppose that once this might have counted as one. An act worthy of being sent to reside in that second circle of hell, reserved solely for those overcome by lust; left to blow back and forth in the storm of their own desire. Two people who cannot touch, should not touch, who hold their hands out to feel anyways. A touch once spiteful, once desolate and removed, now so forthcoming. A touch that says this is the only way it could have ever been. And there can be nothing sinful about it anymore. No more shame or derision behind heavy eyelids, no more you shouldn’t or I’m no good for you. Here you rest comfortably in the hurricane of that second circle, and you welcome the breeze as a comfort.
Lips against yours, Joel feeds his cock to you in slow, careful passes.
Ensures you feel every ridge, every hard line of his body. And with each gentle press inside he murmurs against your mouth. Incessant, low nonsenses of so fuckin’ beautiful and god I missed you and that’s it, baby, I know, I know. His kiss smooth as an almond, tender as a fig. Ripe and wet and tremulous as his tongue finds a home against yours, over and over.
The comforter on his bed stays pulled high, up to your shoulders, and it traps the warmth of your bodies between you.
He coaxes rough, gasping sounds from you with every shift of his hips.
Long fingers grip the back of your thigh, using his hold there to rock your body into his over and over again, slowly, making sure you feel every second of it. Slick seeps out of you around his length, smearing against the inside of your thighs and his, and he groans at the wet sounds that slip from where the two of you are connected.
Joel says your name, low and gravelly, praising every syllable. He tells you how good it feels, how perfect you are, and every word is like an undressing of the flesh. Like you’re some tender butcher, peeling back layers of his skin to let the air hit hot, red, pulsating matter, flashes of thick, porcelain bone swimming amongst it all. He keeps you close, hardly an inch of your body not touching his, and yet you can see all of him. The whole surface and everything underneath it now too. And when you say his name in return and he moans, begs you to say it again, say my name again, it’s hearts on wings, thin fire racing beneath the skin, eyes unseeing, drumming filling your ears. It’s the cold sweat on his hands that hold you shaking, that feel the way you tremble and grip tighter. It’s wanting to take those bones of his and suck them clean; lick past the gristle and taste the marrow beyond it.
It's everything and it’s nothing and it’s that silly little four-letter word that you can’t bring yourself to say, let alone think, and it doesn’t even matter because he’s here and that’s enough.
His nose rests in the hollow above your collarbone and he inhales, smothering soft kisses to skin and bone there.
He says, “You smell like me,” and when he looks up and presses his forehead against yours, he almost looks wounded by it. He stills, holds himself deep inside and just stares, and his eyes are screaming I can’t fuckin’ quit you, so you lay your thumb over the dimple on his cheek and smile. “S’my clothes, my soap…”
Your body flutters and tightens around him, and your mouths fall open in soft moans, lips slotting together again.
“You like that?” you breathe into the kiss, and he tightens his fist around the back of the shirt, pressing inward until your back is arched, and your stomach is flush against his and he’s groaning yes.
“Want you in my clothes all the fuckin’ time,” he pants, and the tip of his cock presses so deep inside that you’re gasping, mouth hanging wide open. “And when you give ‘em back I’ll wear ‘em and smell like you, and then we’ll be even.”
“Even?” you laugh a little, nipping at his bottom lip. He smiles, eyes glinting in the darkness.
“Yeah, even,” he repeats it and presses forward in a sharp thrust to emphasise his point. You don’t need to hear it again to know exactly what he means.
“Tell me you’re mine,” you whisper, and he grunts, hips shifting a little faster against yours. You feel him pulse inside of you, his stomach tightening against yours.
“M’yours,” Joel murmurs, voice like velvet and honey, so soft as he leans forward to kiss you, licking the words into your mouth. You say it back, spell it out against his teeth, his lips, his jaw. Yours, yours, yours. 
He says something else then, lips soft against your chin, and you’re so close; can feel it hot and burning in your gut, almost at tipping point.
“Hmm?”
“Baby,” Joel nips at your jaw, sharpening your senses. “Tell me you’re on the pill or somethin’.”
“I am,” you whimper honestly, and his body seems to sag against yours, hips shifting in sluggish, tired movements.
Something snaps at the base of your spine, and you tremble against him, gripping the back of his neck. Soon enough he’s shuddering into you, arms going tight around your back, trapping you against his chest as his cock pumps inside your core. And it’s warm and wet and sticky and his seed drools out of you, down to your asshole, smearing against the inside of your thighs, his sheets. Your legs wrap around his waist, holding him to you, keeping him there as long as you possibly can. Riding out your highs, and then the trembling, stuttering aftershocks in each other’s arms. He pants into your mouth and all either of you can say is mine or yours, until the words mix together and become a meaningless blur of sound murmured between locked lips.
It could be minutes or an entire hour before you manage to separate from each other. All eager little kisses and whines as his soft cock slips from your hold, thick spend seeping out of you in his absence. And you just want to sleep, want to curl up in his arms and never leave, but you slink off to the bathroom first. Wet your face and drop down on his toilet. Urinate and feel his come drip out of you. And where once, with someone else, you might have cringed at the feeling, you only feel warmth; calm.
In the bright lighting of his bathroom, you can see yourself reflected in the mirror above his sink. Hair a wild mess, cheeks and lips swollen with warmth. This woman in the mirror stares back at you and she has bright eyes. She smiles at you, and you feel your lips peel back, teeth on show just like hers. You stare at her and think god, she looks happy. When you wipe between your thighs and stand, she does too. And with your finger on the light switch, a wet handtowel clutched in your other palm, you give her one last look before turning out the light, feeling lighter than you have in weeks.
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Thursday.
Joel sleeps on his stomach. At least, that’s how he ends up overnight.
Face buried deep in a pillow, one leg slung outside of the covers, with a heavy arm out to the side. When you wake, at first, you’re careful not to move. Not to breathe too heavily, not to cough or jostle him awake. He looks so peaceful like this. Heavy breaths puffing from chapped pouty lips, forehead smooth and devoid of the stress and exhaustion that often lines his face. A large hand rests close to you. Despite you drifting a part in the night, the body heat getting too much for you both, his fingers remain outstretched in your direction. The tips just grazing the skin of your stomach as you lie on your side and watch him.
A low murmur escapes from his mouth, face twitching a little, and then he’s relaxing again, humming in his sleep. You smile, and let your eyes wander.
There’s a pile of books on his bedside table, reading glasses dropped haphazardly atop them.
An Idiot’s Guide to Space, one of the weathered spines reads. Interesting.
A framed painting rests above a set of drawers on the side of his room. A vast landscape with a herd of horses galloping across it. Gorgeous hides of orange and brown and black splashed across green grass and blue sky. And on the back of his door… hangs a cowboy hat.
You move slowly, careful not to wake him as you rise and tip toe across the room. Coming to rest directly in front of the closed door, you slip it off the hook and admire it. You don’t even hear his breathing change as he wakes up.
Dark brown with a curved brim; the felt is soft beneath your fingers. The image of Joel wearing it, perhaps often, while living in Texas flits through your mind and you can’t help but smile. And then warm hands are on your hips, arms snaking around your waist to pull you back into a warm chest.
You gasp in quiet surprise, but your smile only broadens when Joel rests his chin on your shoulder, peering down at the hat in your hands.
“Mornin’,” he murmurs, voice gruff and deeper than usual. A pang of arousal swims in your core at the sound of it, but you ignore that, turning in his grasp.
“Good morning, cowboy.”
Joel groans, sleepy eyes drifting closed as he hugs you to his chest, swaying the two of you from side to side.
“Wanted to lie in,” he grumbles. “S’too early for this.”
“For what?” you blink in mock confusion, holding the hat against your chest.
“For you to see that.” He moves quick, tugging it from your grasp.
“Hey—” You gasp, wide eyed and ready to steal it back. But before you can Joel just lifts it onto his head with a heavy sigh. “Oh.”
“Oh?” he repeats, eyes narrowing.
Warmth simmers in your stomach and you smirk, stepping back to give him a quick once over.
“I could get used to this.”
“Jesus,” he rolls his eyes, moving to take it off but you grip his hand, shaking your head fiercely.
“Not so fast,” you coo. “I want the whole experience.”
“And what exactly is the whole experience?”
“You know—” You shimmy your hips a little. Imitate twirling a lasso in the air, wiggling your eyebrows. “Show me some tricks.”
Joel laughs at you, and you can see the desire in him to say no, to refute it, but the longer you stare him down, the more it cracks and fizzles away.  
“Go on, cowboy,” you try out your best Texan drawl, falling down to sit on the edge of his bed.  
He adjusts his legs, elbows bending as he waves two finger guns in your direction. You suck your lips into your mouth, swallowing down a laugh as he makes a small pchew pchew noise out the side of his mouth.
“Oh,” you smirk. “Is that all you got?”
“I’ll have you know,” Joel huffs, pretending to holster one of his guns. Hip cocked now, still dressed in nothing but his sleep shirt and boxers; he stares you down. “I’m startin’ to think this town ain’t big enough for the both of us.”
And that gets you. A sharp, barking laughs slips from your mouth, and Joel grins in return, the skin beside his eyes creasing as he adjusts the Stetson over his curls.
As your giggles calm, he just shakes his head, still smiling, and murmurs fondly, “Dadgum, you got a good laugh.”
Your face warms beneath his stare, and you just shake your head, bottom lip snagged between your teeth. Moving quick, Joel pinches the brim of the hat and places it onto your head. It’s a little big, and the brim falls down, obscuring your eyesight before he adjusts it for you. Then he takes a step back, hands on hips.
“How do I look?” You bat your eyelashes up at him, smiling shyly.
“I don’t know,” he fakes an air of contemplation, giving you a long look up and down. “Think you might be all hat ‘n’ no cattle.”
“Hey,” you pout. “I’d make a great cowboy; just need a pair of chaps.”
“Well, you can wear the hat and the chaps all you like,” Joel murmurs, gaze heavy. “But you ain’t a cowboy ‘til you prove you can ride like one.”
Your thighs tense and you arch an eyebrow, trying to remain nonchalant.
“Is that right?”
“S’right.”
“Mm,” you hum. You lick your bottom lip and watch the way his gaze darkens, eyes trained on the movement. “Gonna let me show you what I got?”
And so you end up back in bed, straddling Joel while he smirks up at you, long fingers twisting around the hem of your t-shirt. But when you slip a finger inside the hem of his boxers, the movement so reminiscent of last night, he laughs a little and gives you a look that says, really?
You pout, confused. “I thought you wante—”
“Uh uh,” Joel shakes his head. “Not what I meant.”
“Then what?”
“Get up here.” He lifts his chin upward.
Your eyes widen, stomach tensing a little.
Desire warms the inside of your thighs, and you murmur, “You want that?”
“Do I wa—?” he cuts himself off, eyes darkening a shade. “I said, get up here.”
Heart racing, you shimmy up his chest until your knees are planted on the mattress on either side of his shoulders. He smiles, encouraging, and you grip the hem of his shirt, prepared to pull it over your head, but he stops you.
“No,” he exhales, hand quickly gripping yours. “Leave it on for me.” And then he leans in and presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, and you can only nod, holding your breath as you wait for him to reach where you want his mouth the most.
Face tucked in the cradle of your hips, Joel sighs your name. A rough exhalation, nose pressed into your skin. And it feels a little silly at first – your face is warm as you stare down at him, the wide brim of the cowboy hat tilting forward.
But then, breath hot and heavy against you, he mouths at the crease where your hip meets your thigh. Slow, drawn-out kisses that have your legs tensing over him, his hands slip beneath the shirt, tracing light patterns into the skin over your spine, all the way up to your shoulders. He keeps going until you’re shivering, a wet trembling mess in his hands, hips twitching forward with every touch of his mouth to your skin until he finally glides his tongue through your folds.
Your breathing hitches as he pants against you, chest vibrating with low sounds as he licks thick stripes up the entire length of your pussy. Eyes closed, he tastes all of you; tongue slipping over every piece of exposed skin that the position grants him. And with every broad stroke of his tongue, he dips inside your weeping hole and finishes with a gentle flick against your clit. So soft and so slow, building you up over and over until finally you break and begin rocking your hips into his face.  
Joel grunts at first, a little surprised maybe, but in a second his hands are dropping to grip your thighs, locking you in place against his face.
At first, he guides you. Helps you find a rhythm that works, that feels good. Flattens his tongue and uses his grip to rock you back and forth over his face, groaning as you roll your clit against him, huffing and panting quiet little pleas. But soon enough your fingers are carding through his hair, holding him tight against you as you grind down into his mouth. Sharpening his tongue, he dips it inside of you and then drags upward, pulling your clit into his mouth and sucking gently.
You gasp, vision going hazy as you try to keep your eyes on him, try to watch, but it’s too good. He knows exactly what you like, and it all moves far too quickly for your liking. You can already feel your hips winding faster and harder against him, breaths falling shorter, everything in your stomach pulling tight and hot.
Joel can tell – he can always fucking tell – and one of his hands drifts over your ass, fingers slipping between your thighs from behind until his middle finger is circling your entrance.
“Fuck,” you inhale sharply, jaw going slack as he prods at your cunt, tongue lapping lazily over your clit all the while. “Please, your fingers, yeah, ohhh—”
A long finger sinks inside and you moan, head falling back.
“You like that?” he murmurs, pulling back to graze his teeth along the inside of your thigh. A second finger presses inside, and he curls them against that soft spot, fucking you slow and steady until you acquiesce, whimpering yesyesyesfucksogood towards the ceiling.
“Good girl,” he hums, slick tongue finding its way back to your clit.
He eats at you so lovingly. So generous as he lathes firm circles around your nerves, only ever pausing to suck you into his mouth again or press wet, open-mouthed kisses against the entirety of your cunt. Nose buried in the short curls over your mound, he doesn’t let up until your moans turn high pitched; strained little whimpers of his name falling from your lips as you press down harder and harder.
“Oh fuck,” you cry, hips rocking back and forth, faster now. He breathes you in, jaw shifting from side to side, matching the intensity of your movements with sharp flicks of his tongue. And when you fall apart, shoulders sagging forward, he moans, taking and taking and taking every last drop of what you have to offer.
And what an image it must be – you, wearing a Stetson, riding Joel Miller’s face. You almost wish you’d filmed it, for posterity’s sake.
He presses a small kiss to one swollen lip of your pussy, and then the other, before his head is falling back into the pillows and he’s smiling up at you.
The lower half of his face shines, lips and facial hair slick with your come, and you can’t help but grin back, a tired snort of laughter slipping from your mouth.
“How’d I do?” You grip the brim of the hat, tipping it down at him.
Joel smirks, hands squeezing your thighs, helping to shift you up and onto the side of the bed so he can sit up.
“I’d say you more than proved yourself,” he hums, leaning in to steal a kiss. You sigh, whining against his warm wet mouth, and reach a hand down to press it against his abdomen. Shifting lower, you trail your fingers over where his cock strains against his boxers, but Joel just tuts, pulling away and slipping off the bed.  
“Hey,” you huff, gripping his shirt and trying to pull him back down, but he just shakes his head, laughing, and drags you to your feet.
“Gonna be late,” he tells you, squeezing your hips and pressing a kiss to your temple. “And you needa eat.”
Late. You’d almost forgotten that you had a lecture this morning. Joel’s lecture.
He turns, rifling in the chest of drawers, pulling out clothes, a pair of socks, while you stand behind him and watch, knees still shaking, with a fucking cowboy hat on your head. After a moment he turns, stares, and a rough laugh hits the air. Shaking his head, Joel grips the brim and tosses the hat back up on its hook before pointing towards the ensuite, telling you to shower.
“You coming?” you ask, and he just shakes his head, tugging on socks before padding towards the hallway.
“Cowboys don’t shower, baby,” he flashes a smile over his shoulder at you and winks. “They just dust off.” 
When you make your way out of the shower, Joel is in the kitchen. Ironed black trousers and a neat white shirt cover his frame, and from across the room you admire him. That strong back, the pert rounded muscles of his ass. Fuck.
He manages to over scramble the eggs and burn the bacon because he can’t stop looking over his shoulder at where you rest at his dining table. Head resting heavy in your palm, you smile back at him. And when he puts a plate of food in front of you, you don’t have a single complaint.
The two of you eat fast, plucking little pieces of eggshell out as you go, smiling and laughing shyly as your feet tangle beneath the table. He watches you; makes sure you clear your plate before he takes it to the sink, murmuring something about how he won’t make you sit through me talkin’ for hours on an empty stomach. Says he’s pretty sure that counts as torture somewhere, baby.
And when he turns, dirty dishes forgotten in the sink, you’re staring at him, heart on your sleeve, and he must see it in your eyes. You know that it has to be clear as day; that forbidden four-letter word blazing across your forehead in bold letters.
Joel clocks your gaze and moves to hover over where you sit, wordlessly cupping your face in two broad palms and slotting his mouth over yours. And as he licks into your mouth, tasting the remnants of eggs and bacon and every unsaid word, you start to believe that maybe confessing wouldn’t be so bad. That maybe forbidden is a word you’ve prescribed to this feeling all on your own – that he might just be feeling the exact same way.
But he pulls back, presses two more quick pecks to your mouth and tells you to get ready, says he’ll drive the two of you to school, and the moment slips from your grasp.  
Back in his car, you feel relieved to replace the memory of yesterday with this one. Windows down, the air is cool and calm against your skin as he drives you through town, sated, dopey smiles across both of your faces.
A Bob Dylan song drifts from the speakers and Joel sings along under his breath.
“We’ll meet again someday on the avenue. Tangled up in blue.” Voice low and breathy, left hand on the wheel, right hand on your thigh. You nod along to the lyrics, your fingers tracing the veins and tendons on the back of his hand all the way until he pulls over.
“Shouldn’t be seen walkin’ in together.”
“Yeah,” you agree, understanding. “Best not.”  
The truck idles on the side of the road, somewhere inconspicuous down the street from campus, and you slip out his passenger door. Close it with a thud and peer in at him through the open window, eyes devouring every part of his face as if you won’t be seeing him within the hour, stood up in front of the room giving a lecture.
The truck peels away from the curb, Tangled Up In Blue still whining from those speakers, and Joel sends a quick wink out the window at you, his face a blur as he drives off. And you just smile, chest warm despite the cool Spring air on your face, walking along in the same direction – because you know exactly what that wink means. And you love it.
Our little secret.
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a/n refs:
in Dante’s Inferno he said that those overcome with lust were doomed to the second circle of hell, wherein they would be buffeted back and forth by the terrible winds of a violent storm, without rest. slay.
the bacchae tr. by anne carson [read if you have mummy issues, a massive ego, or just like the idea of frolicking in the woods for a while...]
the secret history by donna tartt [read if you like unreliable narrators, strange professors and stranger students, and the nursery rhyme 'the farmer in the dell']
the end of the affair by graham greene [read if you like weird intense guys and angst and infidelity]
eros the bittersweet by anne carson [read if you're cool as fuck]
thank you for reading! x
1K notes · View notes
bigfatbreak · 6 months
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Hi I'm new here, and some people recommend me your feralnette au, but when it start? And what the au is about?
the feralnette au starts just after the season 3 finale, somewhat after miracle queen. Reaching a mental breaking point, Marinette can't handle her social life, her grades, being ladybug and being the guardian without giving up one of them. in an act of incredible sacrifice and self sabotage, she cuts herself off from the class to focus more on investigating hawkmoth, and to distance herself from her friends, believing some part of herself is the problem with akumatizations.
After such a change, the Marinette we have is much more jaded and much more tired, and in order to change her reputation of "everyday ladybug," to further distance her civilian persona and her ladybug persona, she begins changing her interactions with people in her daily lives - resorting to violence or sarcasm when in the past she would've been the first to talk things out. (thus, the "feral" part of feralnette)
shit happens. stuff gets wildin. we get a little blasphemous, a little heretical, and a little eldritched. talk about edgy. keep in mind I started this a few years ago (oh god) so some stuff isn't going to align with the new seasons of mlb.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three (ongoing.)
the pacing in the first chapter is a bit funky, as I actually wasn't planning on making it a full fledged comic, but something-something i have no self control lmao.
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woahjo · 25 days
Text
The People We Became (Bakugou x Reader)
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masterlist | ao3
Pairing: Bakugou x Reader
Summary: Zombie Apocalypse Au.
The world fell apart almost a year ago and you refused to go with it. Left alone and to your own devices in a world full of monsters, where the dead come back to life, you believe that maybe surviving isn't living.
When Katsuki finds you alone in the woods and on the precipice of collapsing from exhaustion, he decides to bring you back to the house his group calls home. Against your better judgement and hesitancy to become attached, you decide to stay. In this world, everyone has lost someone. No soul is spared the violence, and you start sleeping with Bakugou Katsuki to dull the ache. Somehow, peace finds you anyway, but not without sacrifice.
Chapter Content Warnings:  fem!reader, gender neutral pronouns, strangers to lovers, violence typical of zombies, blood, gore, romance, slow-ish burn (for the emotional stuff), angst, kissin', questions of identity, loss, grief, graphic depictions of death and/or violence, mentions and descriptions of starvation/exhaustion typical of an apocalypse setting, very slight implications of possible sexual violence typical of an apocalypse setting, derealization, depersonalization, weapons (guns, blades, and traps), loss of identity
All content warnings can be found on ao3 with the rest of the series.
Word Count: 14.4k — 53k total on ao3
A/N: it's finally done... i'm sweating. i screamed. i cried. i bled. you know the drill. i am posting this a little differently than my other fics and series. only the first chapter will be posted here on tumblr (this post), with the rest of it broken up into chapters and posted on ao3.. purely because it was originally meant as a one shot and i don't like posting chapters on tumblr. it's not built for that and im tired. anyway, im nervous this is my new baby and im pretty sure my soul is somewhere in here. if u read this, pls come tell me what you think.. it fuels me. enjoy, cry, sweat, or whatever else you do when you read. as always, thank you and i love you.
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Two hundred and seventy six. It’s been two hundred and seventy six days since the world completely went to shit. You don’t really count the initial outbreak. The initial outbreak was relatively contained once people found out about it. You quarantined. You stayed inside. All it really took were a handful of idiots. Someone selfish. Someone who panicked and ran instead of facing the world honorably, and that was it. It only took days to lose almost every semblance of a normal life and a week to lose everything else. 
The light of your fire is dim, embers burning low as you sit in a foldable chair beside it. The chair is from a friend, someone you’re not with anymore and who went somewhere you couldn’t follow, and you've got a metal spatula in your hand. You're not sure why you grabbed it when you fled, but panic does weird things to the mind. You absentmindedly wonder why you’ve brought it along with you all this time. There’s no logical reason for you to tote the thing around. A friend had told you how strange it was that you thought to toss it into your bag and continue carrying it. This, along with a few other oddities, are all you managed to take from your house when the world fell to ruin. Everything else are things scavenged along the way or from people you'd met, joined, and lost. 
Maybe it’s because the spatula is somewhat normal, like somehow when you cook the game on your makeshift tin over your shitty fire, you can pretend you’re in your kitchen. A smash burger sounds good right now, with grilled onions on a brioche bun like the ones from the place by your apartment. 
The night is near silent and trees creak and crack like the hulls of great ships under heavy pressure, but the birds don't sing and nothing in the crowded wood you're taking shelter in makes a sound. Well, except for you and the gentle crackle of your fire. 
It’s easy to miss the noise that used to irritate you when the world goes quiet. You used to hate the sounds and lights of passing trucks when they’d cross on the street below your apartment window. Now, you’d do anything for the familiar comfort. The world is so dark and quiet, like it’s holding its breath and waiting for this to be over. The silence is almost too much, so loud that it hurts your ears. You huddle closer to the fire, craving its quiet sound. Focusing on it lessens the anxiety of the other noises. The ones you don’t want to hear. 
Your head is on a swivel. It has been for months. Ever since the outbreak, ever since the dead rose and began consuming and infecting the living, you've kept watch. A paranoid, never ending cycle that you suppose—if left on your own—will burn itself out. You swallow thick and return your attention to the fire, watching the tree line just in front of you for any hint of movement or monsters. 
A branch cracks just behind you. A swift sound, followed by rapid footsteps. You stand, quickly turning your head, only to see a figure a few feet away from you. They move quickly and the dancing light of the fire obscures their features from view. Their eyes, most importantly. You can always tell if someone is dead or alive based on their eyes and the sounds that their joints make. In this light, should this stranger have that milky white film over them, you wouldn't be able to tell. 
You make a small noise, something between a whimper and a shout, as the person comes to a stop in front of you and holds a flashlight directly into your face. You squint, panic in your veins as your eyes adjust as best they can to the sudden assault. It takes you a moment to realize that there is a gun pointed directly at your forehead. The living. This person is alive. You're not sure yet if encountering one of the dead would have been worse. 
"Shut up and drop your weapon," he says in a hurried voice. It's aggressive and threatening. It comes from deep in his chest, like somehow fear has gripped and mutilated it into something violent. 
You raise your shaky hands to your head quickly at the order, screwing your eyes shut in the beam of the flashlight. 
"It's not a weapon!" you shout, voice cracking. "It's a spatula. It's a spatula." 
The words are rushed and heavy, fear seizing your chest as you look down the barrel of the gun. The flashlight turns off, sending you back into the dark. Your eyes fight to adjust, catching the firelight that glints off of the barrel, and you begin to makeout the man’s features. He's big, blonde under the grime, you think. A man, not the best thing to encounter alone at night in times like these. 
You see him hesitate for a moment, eyes darting between you and the silver kitchen item in your hand. You drop it quickly, hoping to appeal to his humanity. 
"Do you have a weapon on you?" he questions, voice a little less urgent. 
You shake your head in response and then shakily look beside the chair, choking out the word “ground”. There's a knife there and a pistol with no bullets. You're a poor shot and you had run out of ammo the previous week. He glances at it, the gun still raised at you, and sidesteps to grab the two items. When he does, he cautiously lowers the weapon and you start to lower your trembling hands. 
Then, as if struck by some realization, the man stomps towards the fire and you jump as he does.
"The fuck are you doing lighting a fire this late?" he says angrily, opening the clip of your pistol. "And with no fucking bullets. Those things may be dead, but they can still fuckin' see. That's a good way to get yourself killed." 
He stomps out the fire as he talks, urgently stamping out what's left of the low-burning logs. 
"I didn't think there were many in the area," you justify, furrowing your eyebrows as you step away from him. 
"And that's a risk you want to take?" he says indignantly. You wonder briefly what business he has worrying about you. 
"What do you want?" you snap, "My food? Weapons? Life? What is it?" 
The man scoffs, "Jesus, none of that. I don’t want your shit." 
You narrow your eyes and take a step back. One thing this world has done is remove trust from every chance encounter, and that was already hard enough when the place was sane. 
"Not all people who camp out in the woods are good," he says. "But I sure as shit didn't expect to find someone like you alone lighting a damn fire. Stupid." 
"There were others," you say indignantly, like somehow that makes it better. "Force of habit, I guess." 
The man pauses for a moment as understanding passes between the two of you. It's a relatable feeling. Everyone has lost someone now. 
"Got a name?" he asks. 
You hesitate in giving it to him and the pause causes him to roll his eyes. “You want me to call you Idiot-with-no-bullets instead?” 
You give him your name and the man nods as if he likes the sound of it, turning it over in his head before inhaling. 
"I'm Katsuki," he furrows his eyebrows. "You're alone?" 
You nod, swallowing down the grief that pushes at your throat. 
"Wasn't always," you respond, "but yeah. Now, I am." 
He nods his understanding. 
"Come with me." 
"Where?" you say instinctively, a defensive edge to your voice. Katsuki looks at you as if you’re stupid, or maybe it's pity, like you're a wounded animal. Probably both. 
"Where the fuck do you think?" he retorts. "We've got a camp a little ways from here. I saw your fire from the watch post we have stationed." 
You look at him like he's a little crazy for even thinking to bring you. Kindness, especially the selfless type, is so rare now and you find it difficult to believe that he’s willing to take you there at no cost. 
He scoffs and rolls his head over his shoulder. "Look, we've got men and women," then he pauses. "Used to have children. We're not gonna hurt you. World's gone to shit, do you really wanna keep at it alone?" 
He's probably right. You've been alone for weeks now, exhausted for longer, and though your common sense tells you not to go off with a strange man in this kind of world, the promise of rest is far too tempting. You nod and glance back to your camp. A measly collection of supplies haphazardly put together. You suppose that it doesn’t look so promising. 
"We'll come back for it when it's light," he says. "I don't know about you, but I'd rather not spend longer in these dark ass woods than I have to." 
"Okay," you say. The presence of another person both sets you on edge and makes you feel the press of fatigue even more. A gun's barrel on your nose followed by the promise of safety and you're going with him? You must be stupider than a horror movie protagonist. "Do you take in a lot of strays?" 
Katsuki looks over his shoulder and you think you see him smile a little at the phrase. 
"If that's what you want to call it," he says begrudgingly. Then, with a softer tone of voice, barely noticeable with the quiet whisper you both have been speaking at. "I'm sure the others won't mind one more."
You nod a little and follow him through the wood, stepping over obstacles. Your eyes have adjusted to the dark, but you feel unsteady on your feet. Everything you’ve ever learned about this world tells you that maybe you shouldn’t go with him. What if they’re dangerous? It’s easy to lie about women and children, about a community that doesn’t exist. Or worse, it’s easy to fool yourself that where you are is good, but you don’t know yet if he’s the type to delude himself. He doesn’t seem it. 
The two of you walk for what feels like forever, even if it is only a little over half a mile. Your feet have been aching for days and every step you take feels like a blade into the heel. Katsuki seems steady, his gun secured at his hip and a large knife in his dominant hand. He doesn’t have the flashlight out, but he seems sure-footed and takes every step in stride, as if he’s too heavy to be swayed by any missed step. 
As you move, you can barely make out his back in the white tank top he wears. You use it as a landmark, following the glowing white as it catches the light from the moon. Like chasing a ghost through the trees. 
Then, the wood eases up. The trees grow sparse and the suffocating humidity of the forest eases into a more breathable, open-air breeze. Katsuki steps out into a clearing. It’s relatively small, for how large the world is, but it’s some of the most open space you’ve seen in a while. The feeling of stepping out into the tall grass, where you’re both visible to any wandering thing, sends a rush of fear through you. 
By the edge of the clearing, there’s a small house with a short steeple. It almost looks like a Christian church, but you get the sense that it’s likely a barn. That must be the watchtower and you wonder just how good the view of the forest is from up there if Katsuki managed to see the light of your fire. How many other people had seen your fires over the weeks and not made it out to confront you? How close had you come before to safety or annihilation? 
"Hey!" a girl's voice calls. "He's back!" 
In the near distance, you can see a large and dimly lit house. It looks a little worn down, but soft and hardly noticeable light emanates from it in a way that makes it seem inviting.You can’t make out its exact silhouette and night blurs just how broken-down it is, but you can tell that people live there in the same way you can tell when someone has just left a room. 
Someone runs across the field to you both. It looks like a man and a woman, maybe around Katsuki's age. They move quickly through the tall grass and for a moment, the urgency that they move with frightens you. You worry that your presence will ignite some protective sort of panic. You linger back, letting Katsuki grow a little farther from you as they call out to him. 
“Yeah, yeah," he half-shouts, no longer seeming to care about keeping quiet. Guess that's what happens when there's a group. "I found the fire I mentioned." 
The two come to a stop in front of him, resting their hands on their hips as they catch the breath they lost. 
"We started to get a little worried," says the girl. She's pretty, with big eyes and curly hair that looks like it probably used to be dyed. "You've been gone for a while." 
"Well, I'm back," he says. 
"And you brought a friend," the other man says, sounding shocked. His tone is noticeably kind. The boisterous type of kind and when he smiles, you can see that he has sharp canines. His hair is straight, sticking out in different directions, and tinged with red in this light.
"More like an acquaintance," Katsuki says. “I found them in the woods with a fire and an empty clip. Felt like their blood would be on my hands if I didn’t bring them back.” The red-haired man gives him a telling look and Katsuki scoffs in response and turns to the girl. "Get them settled, Mina, will you?" The girl called Mina nods and Katsuki takes off toward the house without another word. 
"You're lucky," she says, pausing when you flinch as she steps closer. "You're gettin' the last solo room in the place. Kirishima, is it set up?" 
Kirishima shrugs his shoulders. "You'd have to ask Izuku. He'd know all about that, but I can go check." 
Mina shakes her head and turns her attention to you, giving you a quick once over with her eyebrows pulled together.
"You must be tired.” 
When you nod, she gives you an empathetic smile and motions for you to come with her. "We'll fix that. You hungry?" 
"What do you think?" you manage, saliva pooling in your mouth. "Do you have food?" 
"Plenty," she smiles. "not quite enough for leftovers just yet though, don’t tell anyone." 
You smile awkwardly. Who on earth would you tell? 
"Sounds like a good deal," you say. 
You follow Mina up to the house. Around it, there are a few parked cars. They look like they could pull out at any moment, and through the dust covered windows, you can just make out supplies in the back seats as you pass. In the distance, you can see the fuzzy silhouette of the barn you’d assumed was a watchtower in the dark of the field and you figure that maybe it used to be a place to keep livestock. 
Mina doesn't say much to you as you pass through the field, and when you walk into the door, the first thing you notice is a large group of people seated at a dining table. They all look up at you when you enter and it's with a bit of shock that you register their faces as healthy. Well, healthier. These people live well. Something stirs in your chest, both anxiety and excitement at the thought of possibly having found somewhere safe. They blink at you for a moment, exchanging looks that all end up landing on Katsuki. 
"This is the group. Well, most of us," Mina says pleasantly and with a light huff. "That's Izuku, Denki, Ochako, Sero, and you already know the handsome guy on the end there. Kiri's probably checking to see if the room is half decent.." They all greet you with a glad murmur. "Group, this is..." 
She looks at you expectantly. When you tell them your name, you can't help but look at Katsuki who already knows it. He raises his eyebrows unconsciously and turns his attention to the glass in front of him. 
There’s an awkward pause as you stand in the doorway, suddenly conscious of just how dirty you must look. Remnants of an older world, you suppose. No one really worries about things like that anymore.
“Uhm…” you search for something to say, but your people skills seem to have left you. 
“You’re okay,” Mina says lightly. “Plenty of time to get to know you when you’ve rested and had something to eat.” 
Mina sits you down at a chair that she pulls in from the other room. It doesn't match the other ones in the dining room, but you suppose no one is really thinking of the decor in their house anymore. It's only now that you realize the house has electricity.
"You have power?" you say incredulously, looking at the center light in the dining room on its low setting. 
"Mhm," Mina hums as she sits down next to you and spoons a helping of vegetables onto your plate. "It's got a generator. We got lucky finding this place. I don't think many of us would be alive if we hadn't." 
Those listening in the group nod their affirmation. 
"It draws from well water too," she adds. "With the right care, the place practically runs on its own. Hard work but what isn't nowadays?" 
“Like you do any of the heavy lifting," Sero scoffs across from her.
"That's not fair," Katsuki adds with a slick smirk, "you know damn well none of our vegetables would be so well socialized if she didn't use them like a damn diary all day." 
The group laughs a little and Mina rolls her eyes and sits back in the chair. You avoid looking at anyone, shoveling the food into your mouth. You’re salivating an almost embarrassing amount, struggling to eat at a normal pace. There’s something about food cooked inside, about the way food tastes when you can smell it wafting in from the kitchen. 
"Don't worry," she turns to you, as if you’re at all concerned with the implication that she doesn’t do much work, "they know we’d hardly have vegetables at all if it weren't my job to tend them. I used to garden quite a bit before all of this." 
Sero tosses her a sideways glance and you get the sense that maybe it isn’t just her doing it. 
"Mina does a lot of the garden stuff," Ochako pitches in, her voice hesitant. "We all sort of just do what we can." 
You can’t really keep up with the conversation and instead just blink at her for a moment before turning back to your food. Maybe that’s rude, but you don’t have the energy to consider it. There’s food in front of you. Food that doesn’t taste like it’s been poorly slaughtered or rotting in a cabinet for months. 
The group at the table with you shifts back into what you feel is their normal conversation and you watch them through your peripheral. You can’t relax yet, maybe you never will. Always on watch with your guard up. 
They pass the dishes around the table, plates going from hand to hand over mismatched sets of silverware. The action feels strange to you. Your chest squeezes at the thought. Just a few weeks ago, you’d done this around a fire with the people you loved. You’d passed a too-hot-to-touch pot around a circle of friends, laughing quietly at the little moments of joy you could find. It feels far away now and jealousy rouses beside hope as you sit. 
“So, where did you come from?” Izuku at the end of the table asks. 
It takes you a moment to realize that he’s talking to you and there’s an edge to his voice that has everyone at the table sitting up with curiosity. You stare at him for a moment, exhausted and defeated and unable to muster the words. 
“Leave them be,” Katsuki says, looking up from his plate. “They just got here. They’re probably freaked out.” 
The table goes a little quiet, a hush falling over it. You look around as glances are exchanged before Mina stands up quickly and quietly claps her hands together. 
“I think,” she says with an awkward laugh, “it may be time for bed.” 
Mina turns to you. “I’ll show you where you can sleep.” 
You nod, standing up and turning to the group with furrowed eyebrows. You want to thank them, to tell them that you’re grateful for the meal and their kindness, but the words don’t come. Instead, you meet Katsuki’s gaze, grateful for the intervention, but suspicious at such forthcoming kindness. He scoffs a little and turns away. 
“It’s just up here,” Mina says as she guides you through the house.
You pass rooms with their doors ajar. They are lived in, with unmade beds and glasses of clean water on nightstands. It’s like something out of a life gone by, with a few less amenities. You can imagine a family moving through this house. Girls in school uniforms calling through the halls about a stolen hair clip. Now, you picture these people doing that. Living and not just surviving.
“The bathroom is across the hall,” she says. “You can take a shower if you want. I’ll leave a towel and some clothes in there just in case.”  
You nod. 
“No worries if you don’t,” Mina adds in a whisper. “When I first met everyone, I didn’t undress to bathe for days so… take your time. We won’t be offended.” 
She shuts the door behind her when she leaves and you stumble back onto the bed, shocked by just how soft it feels after spending weeks on the floor. It’s not much, but it’s nicer than anything you’ve experienced in the last nine months, and there's a working shower. You haven’t had a shower since everything fell apart and the layer of grime on your skin is so thick that you can feel it. You haven’t felt safe enough to properly wash since you’d lost the rest of your group, only stopping to rinse your body in streams you pass if the thought occurred to you. The idea of running water and a shower is near euphoric. 
You probably shouldn’t. It may not be wise to shower tonight. You still don’t know these people or what they’re capable of, but the temptation of being clean is too great and as soon as you hear Mina close the bathroom door and walk away, you hurry across the hall on the balls of your feet. 
The bathroom looks old and the sink is white porcelain, eggshell now with a lack of care. The shower has a bathtub in it and though it’s cloudy, there’s a mirror over the sink where you catch the first clear glimpse you’ve had of yourself in weeks. 
You don’t know who you’re looking at. The person in the mirror is nearly unrecognizable. Their eyes are wide and frightened, wild like an animal’s, and their face is covered in a layer of grime that looks like it can never be washed out. Their hair is unruly, sticking out in some areas and matted down with blood in others. This is a person you’ve never seen or met before. Someone you would have avoided only a year ago if you’d ever encountered them. 
You reach up to touch your face, running your hand over the dried blood that has made a home on the underside of your jaw. How long has it been there? Have you always looked so unwell? So sick in mind and body? The promise of a shower grows unbearably pleasant. 
The knob squeaks when you turn it, screeching as the pipes hum and clang to life. Water spits out in a few bursts before raining down from the faucet and hitting the back of the tub in a steady thrum. It sounds a little bit like music to you, constant and heavy, and it gives the impression of normalcy as you begin undressing. 
The fabric of your clothes sticks to your skin, peeling from your body in an unbearable and disgusting way. You don’t look at your body in the mirror. In fact, you avoid it entirely. Not recognizing your face was enough, but your body—a part of yourself you never really recognized—would drive you over the edge. 
Then, you pull the shower curtain back and stick your hand under the water, stepping into it fully with a deep sigh. The water is lukewarm. They probably turned off the heater to conserve power and allow the main generator to function for longer. That’s fine. Beggars can’t be choosers and everyone is a beggar nowadays. Besides, it’s warm enough outside that the water isn’t too cold as it is. In the winter, you probably wouldn’t be able to shower and the pipes might freeze entirely until the following spring. 
There’s a normalcy that you settle into as you wash your body. You return to muscle memory, running your hands over your skin and scrubbing the grime out. It’s simultaneously like the first shower of your life and as if you’ve been doing it every day. You return to a state of pleasant, familiar humanity as you wash away dirt that has built up for weeks. You feel as it pours off of you, see it run down your body onto the porcelain of the tub and swirl down the drain. It’s dirt and dried blood that has been caked onto your skin. You worry that even after washing, it will leave a permanent mark. 
The person in the mirror when you get out of the shower is in stark contrast to the person who went into it. They’re someone that you recognize. You could almost convince yourself that nothing ever changed. Your water-soaked skin is so familiar to you, that you could be getting out of the shower and dressing to go to work. If it weren’t for the look in your eyes, you could have fooled yourself. Something undefinable has changed in you, something that you will carry with you forever. You glance at yourself in the foggy mirror and think that there is no going back. 
The house is quiet when you dry yourself and open the bathroom door. You step across the hall on the balls of your feet, careful not to make any noise, and when you push the bedroom door open, you do a visual sweep to make sure that it’s safe out of habit. 
Your body is exhausted. You are so thoroughly tired that you think you could collapse at any moment, but when you sit down on the bed in your fresh clothes, you find yourself restless. This place is new to you and you’re unsure if the safe feeling is your mind playing desperate tricks on you or the real thing. The lamp by your bed is on, casting a yellow glow across the bedsheets and the dark wood furniture. Come to think of it, you didn’t get a good look at the house when you came in and the thought starts to bother you as you stare at the closed door to the hallway. 
Someone could be behind it. They could be waiting for you to lay down, to sleep, before doing something awful. You almost feel guilty for thinking this way about them. They’ve fed you, given you a shower, given you fresh clothes. Luxuries you weren’t sure even existed anymore, yet you’re sitting here doubting them, wishing you had your pistol or knife.
The bedroom door creaks as you open it. You wince, nervous that you’ve disturbed the quiet peace of the house and that everything will come crashing down as quickly as it seemed to come together. The hallway is dark, save for some light coming from under two doors at the end of the hall. One of them turns out as you creep past it to the stairs, and you hear the distinct sound of box springs squeaking as someone crawls into bed. You let go of the breath you’d been holding, straightening up as you relax into the late-night environment. 
The house looks old even from the inside. It gives the impression of having once been dirty and in near disrepair. There are dust stains and dull spots that no amount of scrubbing could get out. You can almost picture how this place may have looked when they found it and it’s entirely possible that it had been abandoned before the actual outbreak. Someone run out of their home for lack of money. What a trivial thing now. 
The stairs are sturdy, probably held together so well by the foundation of the house, and they’re made of dark wood. They’re steep too, the kind that a baby or old person might trip over, and you hold the railing to calm the shaking of your legs as you slowly feel your way down. You can see the light on in the kitchen from around the corner, spreading out onto the floor of the old fashioned drawing room. Dishes clink in the kitchen, like someone is washing them, and you jump a little at the noise as you creep around the corner. 
Kirishima is standing at the sink with his back to you, whispering something to someone beside him. The expanse of his back is broad, moving every time he goes to run his hand over the dish in front of him. Then, he turns to look at you and you see Mina pop her head around the corner. 
“Oh,” Kiri says, “did you need something?” 
You shake your head. “Not really, I just couldn’t sleep.” 
Kiri nods sympathetically as if he knows the feeling. “Well, you look like you feel a little better at least.” 
You pad over to where he’s doing the dishes and Mina offers you a soft smile and a knowing look. It all seems so normal. Doing the dishes, whispering quietly as they do. Something about it screams a kind of humanity you haven’t experienced in a long while, even with your last group. 
“Are you sure we can’t get you something?” Mina says, furrowing her brows. 
“Why are you all being so nice to me?” You ask. “You don’t know the first thing about me.” 
“Is there some reason why we shouldn’t be nice to you?” Kiri says over his shoulder. 
“No,” you shake your head. “I just think it’s reckless, that’s all. I could have been anyone.” 
Kirishima and Mina exchange a look. They glance at each other, like they’re debating on saying something, and then Kiri turns and rests his palms on the back of the sink. He looks at Mina. 
“We don’t usually decide to do this so quickly,” she admits. “We’re friendly, but nobody’s that friendly anymore.” 
Kiri nods his agreement and you listen quietly, trying to determine if they plan to toss you back out into the woods in the morning. 
“But, Katsuki doesn’t usually bring people in,” she continues. 
“He’s a little more closed off than the rest of us,” Kirishima adds. “He’s a good guy, just takes a while to warm up, is all.” 
“Mhm,” Mina says. 
“What does that have to do with me?” you ask. “This is nice and all, but I’m sure you get why I’m wary.” 
“He’s a good judge of character,” Kiri adds earnestly. “He doesn’t bring people in often, but when he does, he’s usually right.” 
You nod, not quite understanding. Sure, you don’t plan to do anything terrible. In fact, you’re content to accept their kindness and stay, if they’d let you. Anything is better than being alone, but their blind trust in one man’s judgment of character makes you uneasy. 
“He was alone for a really long time,” Mina adds. “A lot of us were. I got lucky meeting Kirishima early on, but Katsuki’s luck was a little less fortuitous.” 
“So you all just… happened upon each other by chance?” You ask. 
“Yeah, pretty much,” Mina says. “It was me and Kiri for a long time. Just the two of us. We’d found Izuku and Katsuki together a while later, but they didn’t seem to like each other all that much. We still haven’t really figured that out, especially because they’re so close now. Ochako and Sero ended up cornered together by accident. We found them just before we found this place, and Denki just sort of showed up here one day and promised to fix the generator in exchange for safety. That was months ago. We’ve been like this since.”
“So you’re all strays,” you say and Mina laughs a little and looks at Kiri. 
“Sure,” she says. “We’re all strays. There were others too. Shoji. Jirou. She was Denki’s girlfriend.” 
“I’m sorry,” you say with a frown. It feels pointless to apologize for the dead, if you get caught up in it, you’d be apologizing forever. 
“Don’t be,” Kiri adds. “But best not to bring her up. It was pretty recent and Denki’s only just started to get over it.” 
You swallow thick and nod a little. 
“Anyway,” Mina says, “we can’t really explain it. We just trust him. We trust Katsuki. That’s all.” 
“Hm,” you hum, understanding that to a degree. 
You trusted the people in your group. If they believed in someone, you were willing to as well, so you suppose you can understand a little where they’re coming from. 
“What are you talking about,” Katsuki rounds the corner, walking into the kitchen and putting his water bottle under the sink. 
“Nothing really,” Mina says. 
Katsuki furrows his eyebrows and then looks at you. He gives you a once over, taking in your new clothing before scoffing lightly. 
“Don’t you look cozy,” he says. “You get settled?” 
“When can I go get my stuff?” You ask. 
“Someone’s eager,” he says through lightly gritted teeth. “Didn’t I tell ya we could go in the morning? Besides, what’s there really to miss in that lot of junk?” 
“Katsuki!” Mina quietly chides. 
“I have things I care about there,” you say. “Things I’m not ready to lose.” 
Katsuki blinks at you for a second before swearing under his breath. “We’ll leave when you get up in the morning.” 
“You don’t have to come with me,” you say, frowning a bit at his sour attitude. 
“Like hell,” he scoffs. “What if the dead are waiting back there for you?” 
“I made it this far on my own,” you respond. 
Katsuki nods for a second. “I’m going. Come find me in the morning.” 
He walks off and around the corner. You hear him go up the stairs, followed by the distinct click of a bedroom door shutting. 
“Don’t pay too much attention to that,” Mina says. “It’s past his bedtime.” 
“You’ll get used to him,” Kiri adds. 
“Right,” you say, swallowing down your frustration in favor of trying to be appreciative of the help. You sway on your feet a little and then steady yourself. “I’m going to go to sleep. Thank you for the meal and the bed.” 
Mina and Kiri nod, but you don’t stick around to hear a response. Fatigue creeps up on you. It ambushes your senses and you go from feeling dream-like to delusional in a matter of moments. You make your way up the stairs, your body feeling heavy as lead, and wobble your way into the bedroom they’re letting you stay in. 
When your head hits the pillow, you’re out. The world around you fades to dark and just before you sleep, you swear that you can hear the sounds of cars passing on the highway. A busy night, Saturday maybe, and people go about their daily lives outside of the window the way that they always have. They live, never the wiser to just how quickly things fall apart and how little it takes for our humanity to leave us. 
— 
Mornings in this place are boisterous. The sun coming through the lone window in your room wakes you up and you can hear the calls of busy people getting to work outside. There are voices from the porch out front that your window looks over and though you can’t see them, you get the sense that they’re having a pleasant conversation. 
As you rouse, you come to the realization of just how exhausted you’d really been. They probably saved your life by bringing you to this place, feeding you, and offering you a bed. In hindsight, it’s easy to see just how little you had left in you. You get the sense now that you’d been running on an empty tank for days, slowly coming to an inglorious, gruesome, sputtering stop. 
Things seem a little clearer, like the sunlight is somehow less bleak than it had been the days previous and you feel a little bit like you have a new lease on life. There are no big emotions, no swells of hope or humanity just yet, and you dread the moment you are rested enough to let grief consume you. Right now, you can’t feel it, but there is a fear in you that as you get to know these people who live relatively beautifully in an ugly world, it will weigh you down so much that you’ll never be able to outrun it. 
You wonder if they’ll let you stay. They very well may not, even with the way they were talking last night. Strangers are more dangerous than they’ve ever been and if they ask you whether or not you’ve killed someone, you refuse to lie to them. Sitting up on the bed, you mull over the very real possibility that you could be back out there on your own again in a matter of days and you don’t even have that many good acts under your belt to plead your case. You’re just a person and you’ve done what you needed to in order to survive. Now, you’re not sure if that’s enough. 
You swallow thick, wandering over to the mirror on the dresser. It’s fogged, though less than the bathroom mirror, and you can make out your features a little better than you could last night. You feel a bit more sane, though you still don’t recognize the frightful and distrustful look in your eyes. Like a wounded animal. Inside your head, you acknowledge that you are completely different from the person you were two hundred and seventy seven days ago. 
The voices grow louder as you climb down the stairs, more secure on your feet than you felt last night. You can hear them talking about the generator, as well as a name you don’t recognize. 
“He should be back by now,” a woman says. “Shoto’s never gone longer than a day or two, max.” 
“We shouldn’t jump to conclusions,” another woman says with a worried bite in her voice. Mina, maybe? “We’re only a few hours into the day. He probably got holed up somewhere.” 
“Someone needs to go look for him,” a man says.
“And what? Risk getting yourself killed?” the first woman says. “No, it doesn’t make sense. We need you here.” 
“You’d rather we leave him to die on his own?” 
“No one’s fuckin’ dying.” 
You recognize Katsuki’s voice. 
“He’s perfectly capable of going on a gasoline run,” he continues. “He’s done it before.” 
“I should have gone with him,” says the same woman. 
“On that leg? You wouldn’t have made it halfway to town, let alone there and back,” his voice raises a little. “Don’t be stupid. He’ll be back.” 
You clear your throat and step around the corner. The group turns to face you quickly at the sound, their eyes wide for a moment before relaxing. You can’t sneak up on anyone nowadays. 
“Sorry,” you say, “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Is everything okay?” 
It’s not your business, but you ask anyway, wondering for yourself about the safety of Shoto. 
“Fine,” Izuku says, shaking his head. You recognize him to be the one who'd vouched for going after their friend. Katsuki takes a step away from the broad man as he says this. “Nothing for you to worry about. Did you rest?” 
Izuku smiles gently at you, his chest inflating a little at the question. The movement broadens his shoulders and you realize that he stands almost a head taller than Katsuki. You look briefly between the two of them before nodding. 
“I did,” you say. “Thank you.” 
“Nothing wrong with a little hospitality now and then,” he smiles and you can’t help but furrow your eyebrows at the distinct hesitance in his voice. 
“I don’t think we’ve met,” the woman standing across from Izuku says. “I’m Momo. Sorry I wasn’t there to meet you last night. I’ve been a little under the weather.” 
You introduce yourself to her and glance down at her leg. Her ankle is swollen and wrapped in a bandage. Her sneaker laces are untied at the top to make room for the swelling and you can see that she’s guarding that side of her leg. 
“Is it…?” you grimace, taking an instinctive step away from her. You almost feel bad for it, but sometimes good people make bad decisions when loved ones get bit. 
“No,” she says quickly, “no, it isn’t. Caught an edge in an old chain link fence on the property a couple days back.” 
Momo smiles slightly at you as if to reassure you. She’s really beautiful, with thick dark hair pulled back into a somewhat messy ponytail. Her eyes are bright, like she’s engaged in lively conversation, and you find yourself feeling a little sad for her. She’ll need medicine soon, if they can get it. Infections set in easily these days and you get the sense that even she knows that she may not have long without it. Maybe that’s something else their friend Shoto set out to find. 
“I assume you’ll be wanting to go get your supplies?” Katsuki says, cutting the conversation short. Maybe he could sense the sour turn of thoughts. 
“Ready when you are,” you respond with a nod. 
Katsuki glances at Izuku, who gives him a slightly disapproving look. 
“Someone get them something to eat,” Katsuki says. “...I’ll get my shit ready.” 
“Fig jam…” Mina mumbles as she motions for you to follow her to the kitchen. 
You oblige her, not exactly jumping to turn down a meal. She walks you into the kitchen and opens up a cabinet, where she pulls out a jar filled with a dark and seed filled paste. It’s a jam, sealed in a jar that looks older than what’s inside of it. The seal breaks open with a pleasant pop. 
“This stuff is so good,” she says to you over her shoulder, pulling out a package of crackers that have likely gone stale. “You won’t believe it.” 
She spreads the jam on a few crackers and sets it in front of you on a plate, pushing it across the counter towards you. 
“It’s fig jam,” she says with a smile. “Homemade.” 
You look down at the plate, your mouth watering at the prospect of something sweet like this. It’s been so long since you've had fresh jam. It could be as long as 10 years. You don’t think you’ve had it since you were a kid, when jam came easily and you preferred the processed brands at the supermarket to the ones your mom used to make sometimes. 
You raise the cracker to your mouth and stuff it in with little grace. The sweetness spreads across your tongue as soon as you bite into the stale cracker. It fizzes and pops almost, the sugar melting across your tongue as the seeds crack softly between your teeth. The smile that hits your face is completely involuntary and though you know that nine months ago, this jam wouldn’t have been much, today it is something extraordinary. 
Mina nods a kind of girlish agreement, like the way people used to when they had their friend try something at their favorite restaurant. 
“We got here in the fall. I want to say late October or early November?” she offers. “We were starving and there wasn’t enough food to feed all of us. By that time there were like… nine of us.” 
You listen as you eat your crackers. 
“This place was in such an awful state,” she laughs. “I mean, really terrible. But, it was big and there was a fig tree in the back. A little thing, probably only a few years old and it had fruit on it. We ate so many of them that if the world were normal, we’d have sworn off of them forever. When we realized that the house actually had some old food in it,” she interrupts herself “-nothing good, canned stuff mostly- we decided to jar up the rest of the figs so that they didn’t rot.” 
She smiles at you like it’s a pleasant memory, but you can only think about how hungry they must have been. Your stomach growls as you eat. 
“I know it doesn’t sound like much,” she says, “but for some reason it’s a really nice memory. Honestly, we’re lucky we didn’t die.” 
Mina laughs a little. 
“I mean,” she continues, “we didn’t even clear the area before we started pulling at the figs and throwing them into our mouths.” 
You tilt your head at her and furrow your eyebrows with a small smile. 
“You’re really forthcoming with information.” 
“You just seem a little hesitant, is all,” she answers. 
“Can you blame me?” 
Mina shrugs her shoulders but doesn’t really offer an answer. You assume it’s because she can’t, because Mina has the same doubts everyone carries with them in this world. All of the what ifs people would think about before they slept have become more prevalent than anyone would have ever liked. 
“The jam is good,” you say, trying to be friendly in the same way she is. “Even if it is months old.” 
“Things keep well in jars,” Mina defends softly, smiling a little as she gets another out of you. 
This place feels like a little slice of paradise. A blessing from whoever lived here before and kept a garden stocked with vegetables. From someone who lived in an old house with stables and well-water, who kept canned food past its expiration date. It feels almost too good to be true, like these people live in a bubble bound to pop. 
“You ready?” Katsuki thuds into the kitchen with an empty backpack slung over his shoulder. 
You turn, startled by his sudden appearance and nod as you quickly finish chewing the last cracker. Katsuki furrows his eyebrows as he watches the way you scarf it down. 
When you stand from the table, Katsuki turns on his heel to make for the front door and you follow with a light step. Mina says something about staying safe, but you don’t respond, glancing once over your shoulder at the girl. 
It’s strange, the world has made you wishy-washy and uncommitted. You never used to be like that, never so distrusting as to second guess someone’s kindness the moment your back is turned to them, and you’re certainly not the type to be friendly one moment and closed off the next. Now though, you find that doubt creeps in easily through cracks and any foundation that didn’t exist before, seems to be swallowed before you can finish building it. 
Katsuki leads you back across the small clearing you’d come through the night before. It looks different in the day, almost romantic, and it lacks any of the ominous feeling it had the previous evening. He steps over mounds in the dirt from moles and gophers that have made lawns their new home and you try to mimic his steps, sinking occasionally into a particularly soft patch of dirt. Every now and then, Katsuki glances behind him to check that you’re still there and you offer him a forced smile that he never returns.
You catch up to him when you hit the trees, sticking close at his side like something will come and take you away if you’re not. It’s unintentional, but you don’t have a weapon on you. Your knife is back at your makeshift camp, along with the unloaded pistol and your trusty spatula. 
“How do you know where we’re going?” You ask in a whisper. 
Katsuki tosses a look at you over his shoulder. “I’m good with directions.” 
His tone is clipped, like he’s pissed about something, and your expression sours at it. Sure, you get it but it irritates you to some small degree. You hadn’t asked him to come along. In fact, you’d have been fine getting back here to collect your stuff on your own. You’d have asked for a knife and set out without a second thought, if only because being alone in the woods with some guy was less preferable than doing it by yourself. Of course, some guy also probably saved your life, but you’re not quite ready to relinquish your trust completely. 
“Thanks for coming,” you decide. A peace offering. 
Katsuki doesn’t answer and you furrow your brows a little bit. You wonder if he’s always been like this or if the end of the world brought on the loss of his manners. 
Then, he stops, taking you by the arm and pulling you down beside a bush. You gasp and he puts his hand over your mouth to silence you. There’s the urge to bite him, to catch the fleshy bit connecting his thumb and pointer finger between your teeth and bite down till he bleeds, but you stop when you catch what he’s looking at. 
Two of the living dead crouch by a tree, clicking their tongues as they eat something just out of sight. You furrow your eyebrows, eyes widening at the horror of it. For some reason, seeing them always brings about a round of momentary shock. You’ve yet to let go of the hounding thought that they used to be people and sometimes have to reorient yourself to the world you’re in now. 
You catch Katsuki’s eye behind you, his calloused hand still clasped over your mouth, and nod your head. It’s a silent communication that you’ve seen what he has and he removes his palm from your face to grab a knife tucked into his belt, passing it to you quickly. 
The two infected haven’t noticed the two of you yet, but they will soon, if only by the smell of your flesh which has yet to rot. You hear Katsuki let out a breath, as if to calm his heart, and do the same. There’s time to look at them like this and you’re struck by how human you can pretend they are in your head. Well, you suppose they were human once, now they’re a disease using someone’s skin as a mask. 
Infected people aren’t quick, that’s one thing to be grateful for. Back when the outbreak first started, the CDC had released information on what to look out for in those who might have contracted the virus. The first was obviously a bite wound from another infected person, but you can tell from other symptoms. Early symptoms are average. Body aches, fever, lethargy, and delirium. All things you might see with a nasty flu. Then, infection of the wound site, twitching, foggy eyes—like low-grade cataracts—that develop within a matter of hours or days, severe disorientation, aversion to food, insomnia, with the final symptom being a coma that no one ever wakes up as themselves from. 
These are the symptoms that people are conscious for. The ones they feel. The sickness that people tried to nurse others back from. There is no coming back though, not alive at the very least. The virus attacks the nerves throughout the brain and body, that’s what causes the twitching and convulsions. It’s what ultimately kills us, and it's what they think causes the bodies to come back. 
Most infected will crack when they move. It’s the cartilage breaking down as the bones grind together and crack as they’re weakened from the marrow out. They twitch like rabid animals, unable to keep masterful control of their bodies because they are run like puppets from the brain stem. You don’t know if they think. If somehow the people they used to be are still in there, unable to stop themselves from consuming and spreading the virus to others. All you really know is that they twitch and click, functions of the brain that still remain. Tiny impulses sent through the synapses. You imagine it to be like the way you twitch when you sleep, an arm here or a leg there, the way someone might call out with their voice to a room with no one in it. 
Maybe the infected think they’re dreaming. A nightmare that they never wake up from, like those of us who have to put them down. You could see it as a mercy from that perspective. You have an easier time rationalizing putting a knife in someone’s skull if you convince yourself that they’re silently begging for it. 
Katsuki shifts his weight and looks at you. He mouths the words no guns and you nod, briefly wondering where the fuck he thinks you could have gotten a gun from. 
Then, you kick off and run with Katsuki towards the infected. They don’t really have time to begin moving towards you both. You’re faster than them, but you hear the crack of their legs as they stand from their crouched positions, pulled in at the idea of their next meal.
Katsuki takes the farther one, sinking the knife into the soft spot of its temple with relative ease. You switch yourself off and take the one closest only a few moments later, sending your blade through the top of its skull. That happens to you when you have to do this. You turn yourself off for a bit, just so that you don’t have to remember the way it feels to hit the soft part of someone’s brain. You didn’t used to do that, only starting when you realized that there’s no going through this world anymore without it. 
Katsuki wipes the blood on his pants. It’s brown, no longer oxygenated, and the area around you begins to reek. You notice, but for some reason the smell of decomposition doesn’t register in your brain and you continue on behind him. 
There are a few beats of silence, save for twigs breaking under your feet, before Katsuki speaks up. 
“You okay?” It’s barely above a whisper and you wouldn’t have caught it were you not listening for the distinctive crack of human bones. 
“Yeah,” you say, continuing forward. 
The campsite rounds into view and in this light, with your full night’s sleep under your belt, you can see just how pitiful it looks. A tent that you’d hastily put up before nightfall, the remains of your stamped out fire, the folding chair which has since been knocked over, and your weapons on the floor covered by a few leaves disturbed by the wind. 
You snatch them up and move to grab your backpack out of the tent. The inside is shitty too and your torn sleeping bag hadn’t even been rolled out yet. You pick up the bag, returning to the folding chair as Katsuki begins to take down the tent. The polyester and nylon blend zips together as he makes quick work of folding it. Then, he kicks some dry brush over the remains of the fire, like he’s covering your tracks. 
“The next person that comes through here might not be alone,” he says plainly. “And they may have more bullets than you did.” 
“Right,” you respond. Your voice sounds a little far off and you settle your backpack on your shoulder in one quick motion. 
“Got everything?” 
You nod, following him as he heads out in the direction you both came from. The two of you pass the bodies of the infected you’d killed. The smell has permeated the air, lingering like how it does in cities, only less pungent. Their fogged eyes stare blankly at nothing, expressions plain and unreadable. You pass and try not to think much about it. 
Katsuki is a few feet ahead of you and he doesn’t glance back to make sure you’re following. You could leave now and never get attached to these people. You could head off in another direction and never have to think twice about it. No more worrying about who you could lose, about who’s next to become one of the sick masses. Just you by yourself. Then, when you finally kick the can, someone else can put you down the way you did to those strangers. 
Is there really a point to it anymore? To community or living in general. No one is as they once were. Does that make it fantasy to live in their beautiful bubble? Could you even find it in yourself to pretend again, to make nice and play house in that place? They saved your life, sure. They fed you, clothed you, bathed you, but for what point? Tomorrow, you could end up back in the woods, lighting fires with twigs you found in the brush, paranoid that someone would find you or the fire would spread. 
You watch Katsuki’s back as he moves, shoulders shifting with each step. His shirt is stained, white turned eggshell from the wear and tear of time. It seems so off to you that he looks relatively clean, like he lives well. 
Fear strikes you as you realize that your rambling thoughts have merit. Anything you fear now has become real and loss is so tangible to you that you can squeeze it in your hand. They could turn you out. Tomorrow night you could begin the starve and step all over again, moving from place to place, talking to yourself, filling your hours with paranoid thoughts like these that plague you when you’re alone. Is that worse than loss? If you’re alone long enough, you’d probably forget what you’re missing. Losing anyone else could make the wound fresh. For now, the hunger wins out. 
Katsuki jogs ahead of you to get to the house. Momo is on the porch waving him in and he hurries up the steps and bursts through the front door. As you approach, you can hear voices, some of which are relieved, others hurried. When you enter the room, you find a man standing there whom you’ve never seen before, Shoto maybe. 
“A plus one,” the man looks up, tilting his head at you in an odd way. 
“Katsuki’s,” Kiri says with a low smirk. 
Shoto’s eyes widen as he peers at his friend, clutching what looks like an injured shoulder. Katsuki just huffs his irritation. 
“Well, that’s rare,” Shoto says. 
“What’s rare?” Katsuki spits. “They were in the woods with a fire. What was I supposed to do? Let ‘em die?” 
“Maybe,” Shoto says, a light smile creeping onto his features. Then, he turns to you. “What’s your name?” 
You give it to him and he nods his head, tilting it at you again. 
“How long are you staying?”
You’re not sure how to answer that question. In fact, no one is, and it feels like more of a test than it does a genuine inquiry. Kiri and Mina exchange a glance and Katsuki tosses a somewhat dirty look towards Shoto. Ochako gives Shoto a knowing glance and Sero and Denki shift uncomfortably on their feet. Then, Momo clears her throat, spurring Izuku to say something. 
“Shoto,” he says. “You’re probably hungry, you should eat something and lay down. Ochako? Could you take a look at his shoulder?” 
“Sure,” the girl says softly, giving a closed mouth smile to Shoto as she takes him by the arm. 
She glances at you as she passes, almost like she’s too embarrassed to look at you fully in the face. You suppose this is what happens when people are forced to think about whether or not they will potentially leave someone else to die. It’s like the trolley cart question and though in this case there is always the possibility of a better outcome, it’s not likely in this world. 
“Just until I’m rested,” you add with a small tilt of your head. “A few days.” 
Shoto looks at you over his shoulder and gives you a small smile. It’s funny, you can see kindness there. His actions aren’t kind, but you can feel that he has kindness in him, though his rudeness stems from something different than Katsuki’s, you think. Like he’s strange in some way. 
“I’ll start on dinner,” Sero says. “Kiri, give me a hand.” 
The group disperses and you head upstairs without speaking to anyone else. A few days to rest and then cut the first people you’ve spoken to in weeks loose. What sort of idiot gives up something like this to avoid a little awkwardness? Not that you necessarily had your mind made up. You wonder briefly if you’ve just sealed your own tomb. 
After dinner, you go upstairs to sleep after eating as much as they would offer you. Your stomach has ceased its constant growling and the shakiness that comes with hunger has receded almost entirely into the background. The bed is soft, with a slight dent in it from whoever slept in here before. The thought unsettles you that they’re probably dead now, but you try to push it from your mind as you steel yourself for what comes within the next few days. 
You had volunteered yourself to leave. To what? Save yourself the embarrassment of pleading? Did you even want to plead? Why are you regretting not asking to stay? These people don’t know you, what trust can you have built with them in only a few days? Your skin crawls at the expanse of possibilities in front of you after so many weeks without any. 
You think that if you let yourself walk away, you’ll probably die. You’re out of bullets and don’t know where to find any food except by luck. You can try to catch prey, but prey hides whenever infected are around, and they’re everywhere nowadays. It’s spring, water wouldn’t be a problem, but running water has its clear comforts. Then, there’s the possibility of loss. You’d come to care for these people if you stayed, you know it. 
You furrow your eyebrows and look at the ceiling. There’s really no choice to be made. You’ll let them make it for you, even if you don’t know them. It’s their house and you won’t walk in uninvited or try to take it. You’re not about to become a monster just because the world is full of them now.
The darkness grows and your eyes drift to the dim light wandering in under the crack of the door. Hushed voices whisper in the living room, you can hear them. It’s a heated discussion, lively, but deliberately quiet. It’s been hours since everyone went to bed, yet you get the impression that many people are chiming in. You’re too nosey to leave it be. 
You open the bedroom door silently, turning the cool knob with a wince as it clicks out of place. When you peer into the hallway, every upstairs bedroom door is open with the room empty. The light is coming from down stairs and around the corner, and you can see shadows move as you inch closer to the source. 
You pause at the top of the stairs, knowing that they creak, and crouch by the bannister to listen. You’re out of sight. The only way they’d know you’re listening is if you made a sound, but you won’t. You’re good at being quiet. 
“We don’t even know them,” someone says in a rushed whisper. “We don’t know what they’ve done before.” 
“Everyone’s done things they’re not proud of now, Shoto,” a woman adds. It’s Mina. She’s spoken enough to you that you recognize her voice. 
“I agree with Shoto,” says another woman, her voice higher pitched. She sounds guilty and her voice is tight as she speaks “We have no clue who they are. They could be dangerous.” 
“You mean like me, Ochako?” A man adds. “I could have been dangerous.” 
The group grows quiet for a moment. 
“No,” Momo says. You recognize the cadence of her voice. “Shoto might be right, Denki. It’s been nearly six months since you got here and the world has changed a lot. We don’t- we can’t know for sure.”
“Can we really know anything for sure?” Another man adds, Kiri.
“What about you guys?” Shoto says, presumably to the rest of the group. 
“I don’t know.”
“I’m hesitant, but I don’t know either.”  
“Jesus,” another man with a baritone voice, harsher than the rest. That’s Katsuki, the first voice you’d heard of the group. “You guys make me a little sick.” 
“That’s not fair,” Ochako says. 
“No,” he interrupts. “It is fair. You guys want to… what? Send them back out there to die?” 
“It’s not like that,” Shoto says.  
“It is like that,” he says, raising his voice and then lowering it back to a whisper. “You didn’t see them when they got here, Shoto. They- they didn’t look… shit. The rest of you, you saw them. You really want to send them back out there to fuckin’ waste away? I don’t know about you all, but I won’t do that to a person.” 
There’s a pregnant pause.
“Katsuki’s right,” Izuku says with a bit of conviction, like he’s finally made up his mind. “Sending someone out there alone is a death sentence. How does doing that make us any better than the people we’re trying to protect ourselves from?” 
“What if there are more of them?” Ochako says quietly. “What if they’re not alone?” 
“Trust me,” Katsuki says, “They were alone.” 
“But what if they’re not?” She insists at a whisper, a bit of shame creeping into her voice. “What if people come for us?” 
“See?” Shoto says gently. “There are so many what-ifs.” 
“That works the other way too,” Mina adds. 
You don’t listen to hear the rest of their conversation. They’re going to run themselves in circles debating about you. They’ll go around and around and land on whichever argument ends with the most votes. They’ll convince each other of one thing and it will happen totally out of your control. 
The bedroom door shuts with a low click that makes you wince again. You think about the people who went to bat for you and the people who didn’t. You don’t blame those who opposed. You’d have probably reacted similarly if your old group were still alive and you understand very clearly why they do it. One person’s stupid reaction can be catastrophic and they don’t know enough about you to be certain that you’re not one of those stupid people. It’s how the world went to shit in the first place and though nine months ago you’d have surely condemned someone for making the same decision, you know that fear has warped humanity beyond comprehension. You didn’t get it until you lived it. 
Still, Katsuki’s humanity feels intact somehow, more so than yours at least. His response is something you probably never would have said under the same conditions and you can’t help but feel some sort of fondness bloom in you for him. Call it connection, gratefulness for his willingness to stick his neck out for you, a trauma response. You still feel it. Mina and Kiri had said that Katsuki was a good judge of character and that’s why they were willing to back him. You wonder briefly if maybe Katsuki sees something in you that you don’t recognize in yourself anymore, or maybe something you don’t expect other people to recognize. What is it that he wants so badly to protect? 
Someone stomps down the hallway, heavy boots against the old creaky floors. You hear the steps recede down the hallway, maybe a door or two down, before it shuts quickly. The sound makes you wince and you listen as the house grows quiet and then hums quietly with the sound of others coming upstairs a few moments later. Someone pads to the end of the hall, pushing the door open. 
You hear a woman’s voice, so muffled that you can’t make out what she’s saying. Then, you hear the sound of a man’s affirmation before the bedroom door shuts and the visitor moves back down the hall to a separate bedroom. Information passing through the house. 
Someone is moving around in a room below you and you figure that there are probably bedrooms downstairs as well. From the outside, you’d never guess that the place could house ten people. Inside though, the bedrooms are small. That’s probably why so many can fit. You’d guess that the place used to have multiple generations living in it, or maybe even rented out rooms to people for a few months. It sort of has a boarding house feel to it, like many people have come and gone even before people stopped staying in one place. 
That’s a good thing to call it, the boarding house. It certainly has that sort of feel to it, many of its spaces undeniably communal. 
You turn over in the bed, facing the bedroom door. The lights have gone out completely now and the house is quiet save for the occasional creak or thud from someone preparing to sleep. It’s been a long while since the sounds of living have been so prevalent near you. You’re eased by the sounds of the house settling, a familiar reminder of what living used to be. Your group had been on the road long before you lost them and the comforts of an interior are almost overwhelmingly nostalgic. You’re better rested to notice it now and shutting your eyes, you savor the feeling. 
“Need some help?” You say. 
Denki turns around, grease smeared across his nose where he likely wiped it with his dirty hands. He’s holding a wrench in a glove so tattered that it hardly counts as a glove anymore. He looks startled, amber eyes widening before he uses his forearm to brush stray hairs out of his face. The rest of it is pulled up into a messy ponytail, revealing the moist back of his neck. 
“Oh, sure,” he says, a bit surprised. “Do you know how generators work?” 
He crouches back over the machine and you step up behind him. 
The machine is rusted near the bottom and between the exposed winding pipes. Its paint has chipped away, leaving the weather-damaged metal open for you to see. On the side, a fan-like piece spins slowly in circles and the machine whirs and sputters softly as it… generates power, probably. 
“Not quite, but an extra pair of hands is always helpful,” you say softly, passing him a tool he’d been reaching for. “Did it break?” 
“No,” Denki says, “but it’s probably on its last legs. The thing’s almost as old as we are, probably older, so it’s good to tune it up a bunch.” 
You hum your agreement, tilting your head as you stand and watch him work. 
You’re not necessarily comfortable with Denki, but he feels like a safe person for some reason. Maybe it’s because he’s got a sort of ditzy, non-threatening vibe to him. You can almost distinctly picture him tripping over his own feet and something about that makes you feel considerably safer than someone who wouldn’t. That and he was the first person you’ve come across this morning who you don’t think distrusts you too badly. 
“Are you dodging something?” Denki smirks up at you from his crouch. 
“Who on earth would I be dodging?” you snort a bit defensively. 
“Shoto,” he says with a light smile. “He put you in a tight spot the other day.” 
“Yeah, well,” you say, glancing over your shoulder. “It wasn’t anything he didn’t have a right to ask.” 
“Right, but it sure was rude, huh?” 
Denki laughs to himself a little and you’re surprised by how easygoing he is. You subconsciously begin to categorize him with Mina and Kiri. The dichotomy of this group baffles you a bit, but you can certainly see all nine of them as a collective. Tightly knit and well acquainted with the habits of others. 
“Oh!” He exclaims, “I have something you can do for me.” 
You tilt your head. 
“There’s a bucket over there,” he says, pointing absentmindedly to a shitty plastic bucket against the side of the house. “We use the water from the creek as coolant. It’s not factory grade, but it does the trick. You wanna go fill it up and bring it back for when I’m done tuning this thing up?” 
You furrow your eyebrows, not sure where the creek he’s talking about is. 
“The creek is just over there,” he points behind the house to the edge of the treeline. “I know you can’t see it from here, but if you walk in a straight line, you’ll hit it. Katsuki should be down there too, so you can use him as a landmark.” 
When you don’t immediately answer, Denki whines a little. 
“I mean,” he says, “I’d go myself, but-” 
“I’ll do it,” you laugh a little and Denki seems surprised that you do. 
“Really?” 
“Yeah,” you shrug. “I’d like to pull some weight at least while I’m here. Plus, I offered.” 
Denki mumbles his pleasure and you walk to the bucket without another word and set off in the direction Denki pointed. You’re much more willing to go out to the treeline now that you have a knife back at your side. 
The walk to the trees is longer than it looks, like how sometimes the horizon looks like something you could reach out and climb up onto. The walk stretches with each step you take and you become a little more understanding of why Denki didn’t want to do it himself. But the walk is actually pleasant, the warmth of mid May collecting evenly on your skin as the humidity grows more intense with the sun. 
You wonder what Katsuki would be doing by the creek. Maybe he’s fishing, or crouched over himself sharpening an arsenal of knives that you think he might keep in a roll attached to his belt sometimes. You’re not sure why, but Katsuki sort of has that expression to him. He’s handsome, but the scowl projects something hostile that makes him seem unapproachable. 
As you cross through the middle of the clearing, you could almost imagine that this is a normal day. Humidity collects on your skin, making you sweat a little as you dodge gopher holes and soft spots of dirt. It almost feels like summer camp, if it weren’t for the looming idea that you’re contributing to something you may not be a part of. Denki’s attitude though, has you hoping for a more favorable outcome, if you want to call it that. 
You’re only a few steps into the line of trees when the earth dips into a sand-lined ravine. The trees leave room for the sun to beat down on warmed rocks, making the area seem brighter with their subtle reflection of the light. The noise of the creek drowns out the sound of your footsteps and you shuffle toward where the earth flattens just before the water starts. A little ways to your right, you can see Katsuki sitting on a rock in the sun, his hands dipped into a large bucket. You narrow your eyes as he pulls what looks like a cloth out of the water, rubbing the fabric together before dipping it in the cool water of the creek.
As you approach, you realize what it is that he’s doing. It’s laundry. On the other side of him, you can see a bin of what look like dirty clothes and water-soaked clean ones. Talk about misjudged character. 
“Katsuki,” you say as you approach him, the bucket still empty in your hand.
He squints up at you, shifting his face so that it's in your shadow. 
“You’re still here,” he says plainly, returning to his task. 
“Clearly,” you respond, watching as he runs his fingers over the next piece of clothing in the bucket. 
“Why are you down here? Did Denki pawn the generator water onto you?” He says, like he’s somewhat frustrated. “He does that shit to anyone he can.” 
You shrug your shoulders and continue to stare at him. 
“Are you just gonna stand there?” He huffs out. 
“You’re doing laundry.” 
“Yeah?” he furrows his eyebrows and looks at you. “So?” 
“Nothing,” you say. “I just didn’t expect that.” 
“Yeah well,” he stops for a moment like he’s struggling to find the words. “It needed to be done. Figured I might as well.” 
“How progressive of you,” you joke with a straight face. 
He looks at you out of the corner of his eyes and sighs, not justifying your comment with a response. You find yourself smiling a little bit. 
“If you’re going to linger, sit down and do it,” he says. “You’re creeping me out.” 
You oblige him and sit down on a rock next to him, far enough that you’re not touching, but near enough to hear him if you speak in a low voice. For some reason, you feel a sort of kinship with Katsuki. You’d thought longer than you’d like to admit about his willingness to vouch for you and find that you want to live up to his expectation of your goodness, even if it’s not what you believe yourself to be anymore. Maybe it’s because you’ve slept well the past few nights and feel more like yourself, but there’s a certain casualness to conversing with him that you enjoy. He’s not looking at what you could be, but rather what you’re showing him that you are. His lack of doubt in that is something you find relatively attractive. 
You watch his arms out of the corner of your eye in between gazing at the treeline and the sky. Your field of vision catches on them, his sleeves cut short to expose his biceps, a bit muddied near the elbows where the mud has begun to stick. 
Katsuki doesn’t seem all that bothered by your presence, but now and then you’ll catch the sideways glance he gives you, almost like he’s trying to figure out exactly why you’re lingering. 
“How long have you been with them?” You ask, more as a way to fill the silence. 
Katsuki’s hands pause as he thinks about answering, then, they continue their steady pace. 
“A decent amount of time,” he says. “I met Izuku first, probably in November just before Mina and Kiri. The rest came later.” 
You furrow your eyebrows. 
“No offense,” you start, “but you don’t really seem like the group type.” 
“And you don’t seem like the type who’d be alone,” he retorts, like your statement was stupid. 
You press your lips into a tight line, not really knowing how to respond. 
“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head a little. 
“Were you?” 
“What? Was I sorry?” He furrows his eyebrows at you. 
“No,” you shake your head. “Were you alone? Before Izuku.” 
He goes silent. You’ll take that as a yes, but you regret asking a little. It had just slipped out. If someone were to ask you something like that, you’d probably react the same way. That’s just as well, you don’t really need to know him like that anyway. 
You wonder briefly if anyone does. He seems closed off, but Mina and Kiri spoke about him a few days prior like they knew him well. Well enough at least to allude to a history you’ll likely never be privy to. Then there’s Momo, who whispers little things to him that he answers in kind. Curiosity gets the better of you, if only to tease. 
“Do you have a girlfriend?” you ask and Katsuki’s response is to rest his elbows on his knees and let out a dry laugh. 
He turns his head and looks at you from the side. “And what the fuck are you asking me that for?” 
“Just curious,” you say. “Is it Momo?” 
“Momo?” He makes a sour face at you. “Yeah, right.” 
“She’s pretty,” you say. 
“Sure is,” he responds dryly. “If you’re into the mom type.” 
“What? You’re not into moms?” You grin a little and Katsuki furrows his eyebrows at you. 
“So you do have a personality,” he scoffs a little. 
There’s a pause. You haven’t felt this in a while. The feeling of bonding with someone new, compatibility on the human level that feels nearly instant. 
“I’m kinda serious though,” you say, tilting your head down to catch his eye. “Do you?” 
You’re leaning a little closer to him now.
“You seen any nice restaurants to take a person out to these days?” he questions, clearly a little frustrated with you in the way someone gets when they’re a bit amused. 
“You don’t have to take someone out to a restaurant to fuck them, you know?” You laugh a little. 
Katsuki’s lips part and he swallows like his mouth has gone dry. 
“Yeah, well,” he starts, looking away from you. “I’m a romantic. Sue me.” 
He’s just full of surprises, isn’t he? You find that you’re captivated by this feeling, this humanity, that exists in him. It’s something alive between you both, something left behind from the old world, and you crave it the same way you crave food. 
Katsuki continues scrubbing the clothes, rubbing the fabric together and then dunking it in the bucket before plunging it into the freshwater creek. You’re not sure why you do it, but the next time he looks at you, you kiss him. 
It’s not as if you like him, but it’s something to feel. Some remnant of the butterflies you used to feel on dates and the kiss makes you feel like you could be close to human again. You pull away almost as soon as you put his lips to yours and you can tell that the expression on your face is one of surprise.
Katsuki blinks for a second, looking at you with his brows knitted together. The expression doesn’t leave him as he places a wet hand on the side of your face to kiss you again. It’s an anxious kiss, confused and slow but—like someone riding a bike for the first time in years—it quickly becomes something familiar. Muscle memory that you both let yourselves sink into. 
You can feel his expression as he kisses you, something between confusion and desire, like his own actions are perplexing. You feel the same way, hesitant, but reaching in the dark for the promise of some sort of normalcy. You want to feel like a person again. You haven’t felt it in so long and you push yourself against him as the ache swells in you. 
The two of you continue like this for a moment, Katsuki’s fingers pressing lightly into the skin of your neck. You moan softly as his tongue slips into your mouth, taking a sharp inhale at the sensation of skin on skin. The sound of the creek drowns out the clicking of your mouths, but you can feel the way he hums into your mouth. They’re little sounds, involuntary ones driven by the nervous, desirous feelings inside of you both. 
Then, Katsuki pulls away, swallowing thick as he takes his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. You appreciate the way they look. They’re swollen, anxious to continue and keep forgetting where you really are. He drops his hand from your face with a sigh and almost seems like he comes back to himself. You do the same, moving back into an upright position. 
“Denki will want that water soon,” he clears his throat and motions to the empty bucket by your feet. 
“Oh,” you say, laughing a little. “Right.” 
You stand, dusting off the back of your pants and dunking the bucket into the water. It sloshes, the liquid hitting the back of the plastic with a satisfying elastic sound. You begin to walk away without another word, heading down the way you came to climb up the gentler part of the slope. 
“Hey,” Katsuki calls softly. “You should stay. We talked it over last night. You can if you want to.” 
The last part, he says facing the wash, his hands moving as if he hadn’t said anything at all. You don’t respond, knowing that the obvious answer is already yes. 
Dread settles in your stomach. It’s an icky, swirling feeling that threatens to make you double over. You climb up the bank, the water in the bucket sloshing as you move through the trees and enter the clearing. The feeling doesn’t dissipate, growing as you leave the cover of the trees. You probably wouldn’t have kissed him if he’d asked you that earlier. 
The boarding house comes into view and you can see Denki sitting beside the generator, conversing with who appears to be Shoto. They turn and Denki waves you down, Shoto turning away and starting around for the front of the house. 
Denki jogs to meet you, taking the bucket from your hand. You flex your fingers as the weight is removed, wincing a little at how stiff they feel. 
“Jeez, what took you so long?” Denki laughs and with your new information, you understand his willingness to be friendly with you a little better. 
“I asked Katsuki for his life story,” you respond dryly, following him back to the generator. 
Denki looks over his shoulder and laughs at you. “Did he tell you?” 
You pause for a moment, watching as Denki unscrews something and pours the water in. 
“Nope,” you say. “Not a thing.”
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Click Here to go to the second chapter and find the rest of the series on ao3. The remainder will not be posted on tumlbr, but please feel free to reblog!
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weasleyreidstyles · 3 months
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Serendipity
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chapter three
summary: it was only meant to be a purely transactional relationship. he would help her strengthen her abilities in return for her getting his friends out of his father's nasty path. he didn't mean to fall for her, but loving her was the easiest thing in his dark world.
no use of y/n, but your general nickname is Meadow. All characters are aged up to be over 18.
pairings: mattheo riddle x fem!ravenclaw reader; platonic!slytherins x fem!reader; platonic!golden trio x fem!reader
warning(s): cannonical violence, mentions of dark magic and torture
series masterlist; previous part; next part
Over the next few weeks, you and Riddle met up in one of the abandoned Astronomy classrooms to practice your lessons, and the library where you really did attempt to tutor him in Ancient Runes, with little to no luck. He was hopeless at the subject.
You were not friends by any means. You were like oil and water, not willing to step over the line that separated friend from foe. He was infuriating as ever, and he seemed to find your incessant need for asking questions entirely incorrigible. But you'd both come to an understanding: this was a necessary sacrifice for the greater good of your mutual friends. It needed to be done.
Your own friends were starting to question the hours you spent with him and it was becoming increasingly more difficult to lie when Harry spent every spare waking hour, that wasn't spent in school or on the Quidditch pitch, scanning the Marauder's Map.
In this particular session, Riddle had bombarded your thoughts with so much information and strain that you thought you'd pass out from exhaustion at any second.
"You're unfocused." he stated, unamused as he watched your hazed expression.
"You've been hounding me, for hours. I'm tired Riddle. Give me a break." you mumbled, voice low and resentful.
No. It's only been fifteen minutes. Due to your lack of focus, the burning sensation had come back at full force, causing you to stumble into the desk behind you.
He tutted, as he wrapped a strong arm around your waist to support you from injury, knowing Theo would probably maim him if something happened to you. When his hands retreated, his touch left a tingling sensation in its wake.
"Fine. 20 minutes. But the hour's not up yet. We'll carry on afterwards." he sounded as irritated as he looked, which had become a common occurrence in these sessions, not helped by your sarcastic commentary whenever you had the strength to cause an argument with him.
You closed your eyes for what felt like seconds, but it must've been for the duration of your 'break' because he woke you up with a forceful nudge.
"Breaks over. Now block me out like I showed you. We both know you're capable, prove to me that this wasn't a massive waste of time."
The burning sensation was back once again but it was duller than before, more manageable.
Ron saving the most goals he'd ever saved in one singular match.
Trying to teach Riddle a simple Rune pattern.
Hermione running out of the Gryffindor common room, tears streaming down her face.
Lavender Brown snogging your best friend.
You successfully locked your thoughts away, securing the lid of the 'box' with a mental thud, watching as the distinct orb of energy you'd recognised as Riddle's magical core, floated to a standstill in your mind.
"Good." he says, his face impassive. "Again."
He enters your mind with more vigour, but you're prepared this time, focusing your energy on keeping the ball of his magic confined to one area of your mind, to stop him unlocking all your thoughts.
What he didn't know was that you'd been reading up on Occlimency in any spare time you had to yourself, which was slim. You focused all your attention on that bright silver orb in your mind and pushed back with as much strength as you could muster. Startled, Riddle's shields fell momentarily.
You found yourself watching him from an outsider's perspective. You were in his home, the Riddle mannor, which gave off an air of stale coldness. Like death itself had taken up residence there. Then you heard it. The low hissing of a snake, Nagini – the snake that had attacked Arthur Weasley just over a year ago.
You watched as she glided past you, towards the shadow of a figure you were too afraid to face.
"My son." Voldemort says, in a creepy sort of drawl. "Have you done as I requested?"
You watched as Riddle, cold and indifferent as always, sucked in a breath before he stared his father in the face. Wordlessly he let the double doors behind him open, letting Malfoy and Berkshire stumble into the room, eyes flickering nervously.
"Yes father." he sounded resentful. And you caught the glance he shared with his two friends. He looked remorseful and almost...sad.
"And what of Master Nott? Master Zabini?" you saw Riddle's facade fall for only a moment, then watched as his shields slipped as he cradled the back of his head with a barely contained wince. Voldemort was in his head.
"Very interesting, my son." Voldemort hissed, eyes narrowed on the boy, who looked entirely too small under his father's watchful glare. "This must be remedied. Perhaps a little punishment will remind you of your place."
Then you watched as a father cast an unforgivable on his only living heir.
You were forced out of his mind with a push similar to what you had done to him, and when you cast your eyes onto his, you found twin obsidian irises...glaring at you.
"Satisfied?" he snarled, stalking towards you, backing you against the wall of the classroom. "Do you feel accomplished, sweetheart?"
The way his fists clashed with the wall on either side of your head prevented you from interpreting this new nickname. You stared up at him, shock and apprehension painting your features.
His eyes, once a cool, calming brown were like deep, black holes, narrowed on your expression. It scared you, rendered you speechless.
You should be scared, sweetheart. I didn't give you permission to do that. Gods, even the voice in his head was frightening. He was menacing.
He seemed to break out of his staring trance and shook his head slightly, as if this was an outer body experience for him. He looked surprised at being so close to you; you swore his eyes trailed from your own to your lips, but it must've been a nasty trick of the light, to dissuade you from this crazed persona he suddenly harboured.
He sighed as he pushed off the wall and without a word, he left. Once again leaving you standing alone in a dark, empty room.
~∞~
The first Hogsmeade trip of the year is always a fun affair. You remember the very first time you stepped out of the carriage onto the cobblestone streets of the town with Ron and Hermione during your third year. And just like that first time, it was magical every year.
This year seemed extra special. Snow was falling heavily from the bright white sky and the third years were having fun throwing snowballs at each other. You were bundled up in warm clothes: hat, scarf, gloves and giant coat, in hopes of not having your limbs freeze.
"I am begging you," you mumble to the Golden trio, who walked beside you, "can we please go to the Three Broomsticks? I'm in need of a Butterbeer. Or better yet, a hot chocolate. I'm so fucking cold."
Ron only laughed at you while you shivered; they all agreed before he yelped and began hastily running away when he realised his detrimental mistake.
The idiot had dumped a load of snow on your head.
"RONALD!" you scream, but it's drowned out by your own laughter, along with Harry and Hermione's, the latter of which hadn't laughed much recently. "I'll get you for that you wanker!"
Your friends had seldom had time to have a proper laugh this year. Each busy with their own endeavours: Ron with his new girlfriend Lavender; Harry with Slughorn, under Dumbledore's ample instruction and Hermione, who was putting all her effort into avoiding the former and trying to persuade Harry to get rid of his potions book (which had given him a fast track to top of the class). It was a wonder that you'd convinced them to come along.
When you entered the pub, sodden and cold from the barrage of snow that Ron had unleashed on you, the warmth of Madame Rosmerta's heating charms caressed you like a tight hug. Unwrapping your scarf from your shoulders and removing your coat, gloves and hat, you slumped into the cushioned seat of a nearby empty table, not taking into account the surrounding occupants.
Riddle was sat among his friends, watching you. He'd been doing that more since he walked out on you a week ago. He didn't turn up to your next session a few days afterwards, and when he didn't show earlier that day, you walked out of the room, incredibly annoyed. But you weren't about to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was beginning to affect you.
As you sat side on at the table, with Ron facing his back to them, you saw how, despite his guard being held up extremely well, he huffed a laugh when Enzo said something entirely unfunny and rolled his eyes when Theo said something dramatic. You also saw how his jaw visibly clenched when Pansy was talking about the recent boyfriend who ended up being a complete dick. You wouldn't be surpised to find the boy beaten to a bloody pulp later.
You paid attention to your friends when Harry dropped a steaming cup of hot chocolate in front of you.
"You truly are a life saver, oh Chosen One." you tease as he takes the seat opposite you.
"Piss off." he mumbles, but the smirk on his face tells you that he's not annoyed.
"I feel like we haven't spoke in ages." you say to your friends, who despite all being happy to see you, look like they'd rather be anywhere else. "How's being Captain treating you, Harold?"
As you let your friend mumble on about the stresses of looking after a group of rowdy quidditch players, you can't help the feeling that something terrible was going to happen.
~∞~
An hour or so later, the four of you were wandering down an icy path back up towards the carriages that would take you to the castle, the only other people around were Katie Bell and her friend Leanne, who seemed to be immersed in an argument that you paid little attention to.
Hermione was arguing with Harry about his potions book again when the air around you went eerily still. Then you felt it, this strange feeling. It was magic, you'd recognise the feeling from anywhere, but this was different, it felt entirely too dark.
When the four of you rounded the corner of the lane, that feeling grew inexplicably. Leanne had tried to grab a brown paper package from Katie's grasp but the latter had tugged it back, causing whatever contents inside to fall to the ground. That eery feeling seemed to increase tenfold and you staggered to a holt as Katie Bell was hoisted into the air by an invisible force.
The sight was harrowing. She was six feet in the air by the time you'd raced to where Leanne was panicking. The package appeared to be an antique opal necklace, and it was omitting a deadly magical signature. It was without a doubt, cursed.
Harry went to touch it, but you rapidly grabbed his arm. "Don't. It's been cursed."
He looked at you incredulously but at that moment, poor Katie, who's hair was whipping wildly in her expressionless face, let out a gut renching, terrifying scream.
It seemed that Riddle and his friends rounded the corner at that moment; Theo and Pansy running to stand beside you, faces matching your own. Katie was still screaming when Riddle went to examine the necklace.
"It's been cursed." he mumbled to himself.
"We've already established that, Riddle." you mutter, glaring at him. He ignored you. "We can't deal with this ourselves. We need a teacher."
He seemed to agree with you as he sent Enzo and Zabini running back to the pub in search of someone, anyone. In the meantime, Katie seemed to be losing height and was getting lower to the ground, although she was still writhing uncontrollably. Mattheo, Theo and Ron managed to gently lower her body to the ground and you immediately went to check her over, until she began thrashing and screaming again, knocking away your approaching hand, sending an excruciating sensation up your forearm.
You winced, but only Riddle seemed to notice.
Enzo and Zabini came sprinting up the lane at that moment, Hagrid following hastily behind them.
"Get back!" the gamekeeper yelled, prompting you to all back away from Katie.
Leanne was a mess, sobbing as she tried to explain to Hagrid but he seemed to hear none of it as he stared down at the writhing girl for a moment. Without a word, he scooped her into his arms and began to run back up to the castle with her, carrying her piercing screams with him.
Hermione and Pansy immediately went to Leanne's aid, but you didn't move from your spot on the floor, staring at your arm, that was still burning.
Someone knelt in front of you, and expecting Theo, you looked up, startled to find Riddle, staring at you.
You looked away from him, but he cupped your chin with his fingers to bring your gaze to his.
"Are you alright?" he asked quietly, a curious look on his face, and underlines of worry were there too. But you only had one concern.
"Why could I feel the dark magic in that necklace? And why did she burn me and not any of you?" you asked timidly. You appeared to be shaking, from the adrenaline or the cold, you were none the wiser.
"I'm not sure, but we'll figure it out." he assured, he looked as confused as you felt.
"How?" you snapped. "You haven't shown up for the past week, Riddle."
He sighed as if annoyed before he did something you didn't know he was caple of.
"I'm sorry, okay. You caught me off guard, and I panicked. I'm sorry, sweetheart."
"Did you just apologise to me, Mattheo?" a slow smile began to graze your face.
"Tell anyone and I'll make you regret it." he muttered, but his brown eyes carried mirth as he stared at you.
You were about to reply when you saw Ron in the corner of your eye crounching bu the antique necklace.
"Don't touch it, Ron!" you said, jumping up, bursting the bubble that you and Riddle had created. Your friend startled and moved away from the necklace.
"I've seen it before." Harry mumbled and you watched as Riddle and all his friends tensed, it was a wonder that none of the boys you were with started throwing insults towards eachother. "On display in Borgin and Burkes ages ago. The label said it was cursed, Katie must've touched it."
Theo scoffed, which seemed to remind the trio that the Slytherins were still there.
"Something to say, Nott?" Ron snapped.
"Anyone with a brain can see that it was cursed, Weasley. But you still went to touch it. Thank Salazar for Meadow." Theo rebutted and you had half the mind to stand between the two of them to stop the fight, but you felt lightheaded. You needed to sit down, or maybe sleep for a week.
You grabbed hold of the closest thing for stability: Riddle's stupidly strong arm. He startled but said nothing as he held you up, hands cradling your forearms.
What's wrong? His voice was a soft caress.
I feel like I might pass out. My arm is burning.
Did you touch the necklace?
I think I'd be halfway in the air if I did, Mattheo.
He looks concerned.
I'm taking you to Madame Promfrey. Take the necklace too.
He seems to say something to Theo, who interrupts a sobbing Leanne in favour of levitating the necklace away.
"We'll take this to Madame Pomfrey." he says and at Hermione's troubled look, he reassures her. "Meadow's with us. She'll make sure it gets there Granger."
With that, you're guided away by the Slytherin prince and all his friends, but it all feels like a fever dream.
~∞~
the change in nickname🫢
and Meadow called him Mattheo instead of Riddle🤭
gonna start a taglist too, as its been requested so comment if you want to be added xxx
taglist:
@camille-1019 @lovelyygirl8
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codiemarin · 2 months
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AGS #2: Primer Día de Cole - FCB Femení x Reader
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Part 1 , Part 3 , Part 4
Summary: Your arrival to Barcelona was more exciting than you expected when you meet Alexia and the rest of the team.
T/W: None.
A/N: Reader is Spanish/English with an ambiguous name, so everyone just assumes she´s English because that's where she started her football career. She left Zaragoza for London at 15 years old to live with her dad. Also special credits to my wife who unravelled the mess that was my mind, and helped me find coherence for this chapter.
As you entered the office, you were greeted with a handshake by Barça´s Head Coach, Jonatan Giráldez. He gives you a bottle of water and gestures for you to sit down alongside him on the couch, you take a slow sip as he looks at you.
“I wanted to say thank you for being able to pull through on such a short notice, I'm aware that it wasn´t the easiest thing to get done and this is completely unheard of.” You started.
“Well, you have your agent to thank for that. Also, after you've told me everything that happened with Arsenal, I knew I had to try everything I can to bring you here.” He gives you a reassuring pat on your shoulder. 
“Yes, it was.. Very difficult to say the least, I'm glad we´ve managed to keep the journalists at bay until I´m ready.” You wearily said, not meeting his eyes.
“I know this isn't the best case scenario for you, having to take only one third of your annual salary while you´re expected to play full minutes.” He says apologetically. “But I promise this is only a temporary solution, I'll do everything in my power to improve your conditions.”
You nod your head slowly. “Sacrifices need to be made, I suppose. From what María told me, I'm sure I'll make a home here in no time. And there's nothing I won't do for my family.” You replied with conviction. 
“Don´t you worry, Y/N. We´ll protect you here, that won't happen to you again.” He promises.
After speaking for a few more minutes with Jona about the other details of your transfer and team logistics, he tells you to make your way to the changing room to find your locker, saying that you should also take the time to check out the new arrival package with all of your equipment, additional sponsor merchandise and some gifts. Once you´re done, you can come back to his office as he´s assigned one of your teammates to accompany you during the day. You quickly made your way to the locker room, getting lost a few times until you found the red door that was correctly marked. 
You made your way inside and took a quick look at your phone to see if you´ve received any messages from London. When you stopped and looked up, you were surprised to see someone in front of you. Not just anyone, but a shirtless Alexia Putellas who was unaware of your presence and had just removed her bra to change it for her sports bra. You stood still, unable to do anything except admire her figure. The people weren't wrong when they said that the photos didn't do her enough justice, the woman was larger than life. You continued to look at her ample chest and chiselled abs, wondering how you´ll plan your next move, when she finally looked in your direction, promptly letting out a surprised shriek. 
“Joder! Y/N Y/L/N! I didn't know you were our new signing.” She looked at you in shock, folding her arms in front of her chest to cover herself, giving you the chance to appreciate her muscular arms.
You realised that she was waiting for you to say something and you shook your head to get out of the haze. “I didn´t know the present Jona mentioned would be you, Captain Alexia.” You tracked your eyes up and down her figure, noticing her gulp slightly. “If I did, I would´ve transferred much, much sooner.” You winked. 
“I– ehm.. I-I don´t understand English that well. I´m sorry.” She stammered nervously. You let out a light laugh, noticing the beginnings of a light blush on her skin. Huh, that's another thing the people didn't mention, the captain was very shy. You were definitely going to enjoy this.
“Don´t worry Captain, I can teach you. English and a few other things too, if you want.” You waggled your eyebrows. You didn't think she could turn any more pink as Alexia surveys you silently, then pulls her bra and jersey on. She stands still for a second, taking a breath before grabbing some keys and her phone before striding towards you. 
She stops an arms length away and extends her arm towards you stiffly. “Hello, welcome to the team. My name is Alexia Putellas and I´m one of the Captains.” 
You take her hand in yours, giving it a shake. “Thank you for your kind welcome, Captain Alexia. My name is Y/N Y/L/N and I'm excited to be here.” You give her a goofy grin that you knew had all the girls swooning.
“I'll also be with you the whole day to make sure you don't get lost while doing your media duties and also for you to have an acquaintance so you do not get too lonely.” She continues, face emotionless. 
“Don´t think I could get lonely in your company, Alexia.” You tried again and took a glance downwards, realising you were still holding hands. The Catalan follows your gaze and quickly drops your hand, walking away from you with a quick “Vamos.” and leaving you to jog after her.
Alexia was a good captain, very thorough and welcoming in her own way despite you trying your hardest to get her to flirt back with you. Amidst all the tasks you needed to complete, she told you all about Barça´s history and how it was like growing up and making her way through the ranks. She spoke passionately, a Culé at heart, and you found yourself in deep admiration for her. In the past hours that you´ve known her, you realised that this was the most amount of emotion you´ve ever seen from her as well. Arms gesturing wildly as she told you of the scuffles she's had with rough players and how her best friend María would always back her up every time the opposing teams would argue with them. 
“I think you and María would get along well. I'm not sure why, but I can feel it.” She says as you try to keep yourself from smiling. 
The last task for the day was getting the promotional photos, and of course, Alexia was there as well. The photographers passed you 4 different kits as well as sports bras and shorts combinations that you had to go through. This wasn't your first rodeo, so you got through all the jersey photos quickly. When it was time for the sports bra photos, you told them to give you ten minutes as you needed to prepare yourself. You quickly dropped down to do some push ups and abdominal exercises to get a quick pump, and called out to Alexia. 
“What do you think Captain, good enough for the girls?” You flexed your arms and abs at her with a cheeky wink.
“Just get those photos done, Y/N. We still need to meet the team before lunch.” Alexia rolled her eyes and continued talking to one of the photographers, but you could feel her stare on multiple occasions and caught her gaze a few times as well. The Catalan always tries to look inconspicuous, but you have good observational skills. Maybe your newfound attraction isn't one sided after all. You completed your photoshoot and you both made your way to see the team.
As you both entered one of the meeting rooms, you heard the sound of teasing and laughter. Everyone was busy making jokes and clowning around, you were excited to be a part of it. Alexia led you towards the front of the room, slowly gaining everyone's attention as the loud teasing turned into more quiet whispers. 
"Chicas!" Alexia called out, commanding the attention of the team. The chattering went silent, and all eyes turned towards you.
"I want you all to meet our newest defender, Y/N. She´s from London and has a very impressive track record, as we all know.” She smiled at you proudly as the team clapped and wolf-whistled. You surveyed the room slowly, looking at all your new teammates. 
“Jajaja, otra guiri en el equipo, eh? No crees que ya tenemos bastantes? (Hahaha, another British person in the team, huh? Don´t you think there's too many of them now?)” You heard from the back of the room, the voice belonged to a tall tattooed woman standing with her arms crossed next to María who could barely hold her laugh.
“English, please. Let's not chase her away when she just got here.” The Captain scolded as you looked at María once more, knowing that nobody´s had it figured out yet.
“She´ll fit in very well with Lucia and Keira.” Another voice said as everyone laughed.
Alexia started a round robin of introductions to the whole team and focused on some key people that you´ll be working with more closely. "We have María and Ona," Alexia gestured towards two defenders as your best friend wiggled her fingers at you. 
"They make sure no one gets past our backline. Then there´s Lucia, our tank. No one's ever gotten one past her in a while. I'm sure you'll acclimate well and with your talent we´ll go very far." She smiled shyly at you once more.
Her introductions continued, each player receiving a brief but heartfelt acknowledgment from Alexia. Keira, Ingrid and Fridolina and Aitana, the dynamic midfielders, who were described as the creative force that linked defence to attack along with the Captain herself.
Finally, she turned towards the tattooed figure who had caught your attention earlier. “Last but certainly not the least, meet Jenni, our star striker." The tattooed woman made her way to the front, eyes locking onto yours. The room fell silent as she playfully ran her fingers down your arm, making you shiver just a little.
"Well, well, what a pretty addition you are," Jenni purred, her tone teasing. "I must say, I know you´re a defender but you can score in my goal whenever you want." Jenni´s light touch already made you feel warm, and you felt yourself getting a little shy which was quite a surprise. It was usually you who made the girls feel that way.
A few laughs and nudges circulated among the girls as Jenni continued her unabashed flirtation. Alexia shot her a warning glance but couldn't hide a smirk. "Jenni, let's keep it professional please." The Captain interjected, trying to maintain order with a hint of amusement in her voice.
"Ay Capitana, tranquila que sólo estoy apreciando el talento de la nueva. (Oh Captain, don't worry. I'm just appreciating the new talent.)" Jenni replied with a roll of her eyes as she sat down with the rest of the girls once more. Alexia then asked if you wanted to say anything to the team before you all went for lunch.
“I just wanted to let you girls know how grateful I am to join such a talented team. I´m looking forward to getting to know all of you. But most of all, I can't wait to learn and play with you girls.” The team followed up with loud cheers and more chattering, starting to ask you questions.
“Yo sí que tengo ganas de jugar con ella. (I definitely look forward to playing with her.)” Jenni said with a smirk, addressing the team. “Si me deja le enseño de todo. (The things I can teach her if she'd let me.)” and the Spanish girls laughed as you and María shared another look.
“Jenni, English!” She rolled her eyes and told everyone to make their way to the canteen.
As you finished choosing your food, you scanned the canteen to see Alexia beckoning you to sit at her table with Jenni and María. As you sat down, the Catalan smiled warmly at you. “Finally you can get some rest, you´ve been quite busy today eh?” You nodded at her through your mouthful of food.
"It was such a surprise having a transfer in the middle of the season, but I'm so glad it's you. We´ve been watching you for a while and it's like a gift has fallen from the sky." María interjects.
“For sure, your defending skills might be better than Mapi´s actually. And your footwork is so good, maybe you should consider adding some shooting skills to your arsenal too.” Jenni grinned.
Blushing slightly, you appreciate the Madrileña´s compliment. "Thanks, Jenni! It means a lot coming from someone as talented as you."
As you delved into conversation, you noticed subtle differences in the way Alexia and Jenni interacted with you. Alexia seemed genuinely interested, asking about your background and experiences, but she maintained her reserved demeanour. On the other hand, Jenni was playfully teasing and throwing in the occasional compliment that made you blush. As you continued eating, Alexia and Jenni started their own conversation as you and María were left to your own devices. It was rather funny, asking each other questions that you already knew the answer to, as you tried to eavesdrop on the women's conversations.
“Es muy guapa no? (She's very pretty, no?)” Jenni nods her head subtly in your direction.
“Sí pero antes me ha pillado cambiándome en el baño y me muero de vergüenza. (Sí, but she accidentally saw me naked in the bathroom this morning. I don't think I´ll be able to get over the embarrassment.)” Alexia and Jenni chuckled loudly at that. 
Jenni looked at Alexia seriously, “Me la pido! (I call dibs on her, Ale.)” 
“Jenni no, que acaba de llegar, déjala que se adapte. (No, Jenni. Give her some breathing room first.)” The Catalan says with annoyance.
“Siempre dices eso y después eres la primera que las consigue (You say that but you somehow always get to them first.)”
“Quieres que te recuerde por qué mi última relación se fue a la mierda? Por tu culpa. (Do you want me to remind you how my last relationship failed? That was your fault.)” She growled.
“Eres muy egoísta, Alexia. Pero bueno, vamos a ver a quién prefiere. Igualmente estamos asumiendo que está interesada, capaz que no. (You're so selfish, Alexia. But whatever, we´ll see who she prefers. We´re being so stupid, she might not even be that interested.)” Jenni says placatingly.
“Te imaginas que le gusta Mapi? Pegan un poco. (Imagine it´s Mapi she likes, they give off similar personalities.)” Alexia laughs as she turns towards you and Maria who were exchanging very subtle, amused looks at each other as you pretended to be in deep conversation.
“Besides football, what do you do Y/N?” The Captain asks, trying to include you in the conversation once more. 
“Well, I love collecting vintage muscle cars and motorcycles. I usually buy a few and work on restoring them. It's good for relaxation.” 
“Oye, Mapi! You do that too, no? She's very addicted to those things, not sure why.” Alexia teases Zaragozan as she just chuckles along. 
“Ah grease monkey, eh? I have some experience, I can help clean you with it..” Jenni continues, “I´m good at getting in there and cleaning it out.” 
“Well, the three of us will definitely have a good time together.” You wink at Jenni and María.
“Do you like coffee, Y/N?” María asks knowingly. 
“Oh yes, I'm definitely a coffee snob.” You chuckled. 
“So am I. I know all the best places, even more than María!” Alexia grins warmly at you with thinly veiled excitement, you giving her your own in return as all of you stood from the table, making your way out of the canteen and to the gym for your strength training.
In the gym, everyone partook in the very rigorous group training session for thirty minutes before the trainers left everyone to complete their own specific weight lifting plans. You were in the free weights section with the three girls, spotting María´s bench press as Alexia and Jenni were doing leg exercises in front of you while talking to each other. The girls would occasionally pause during their sets and glance in your direction before Jenni said something that made Alexia bark out a laugh. 
After that, Alexia went to pick up more weights to add to her barbell and started doing squats. María paused her reps and sat up for a second, giving you time to check out your Captain. The Catalan catches your gaze and keeps her eyes trained on you during each controlled descent and explosive ascent. After her twentieth repetition, she racks the barbell and gives you a knowing smile as she drinks from her water bottle. Jenni rolls her eyes as she walks away to a different part of the gym.
About five minutes later, the Madrileña returns with a weightlifting belt on and puts an empty bar on the floor, slowly putting two 50kg plates on each side. With a confident smile, she seamlessly lifted the bar, displaying her strength and impeccable form. After finishing her five reps, her eyes met yours and she gave you a cheeky wink, turning around to give Alexia a firm smack on her ass as she whispered something in her ear. 
“Mira, es tu primer día de cole y ya tienes dos pretendientas. (Look at that, it's only your first day of school and you´ve got two suitors.)” María whispers to you in Spanish as you laugh, feeling yourself heating up at the women´s display of strength. 
“Por favor María, seguro que es porque son súper competitivas y tienen ganas de hacer el tonto. Parecen buenas amigas. (Please María, they are probably just competitive and trying to play around. They seem to be very good friends.)” 
“Ah sí, súper amigas. Eso es. (Ah yeah, good friends. Definitely.)” Your best friend snickered.
A few hours later, the team completed their strength training which was the last activity for the day. Being a Friday and no games in the next three days, Jonatan bid everyone farewell and to enjoy a good weekend to recuperate. You made your way out of the building, bee lining to one of María´s cars that she lent you. It was a car that nobody knew was hers to keep up the charade of you two not being friends. As you were about to cross the parking lot, you heard Jenni´s voice and turned around to see her, Alexia and María exiting the building. Jenni jogged up to you until she was close enough.
Jenni leaned in closer to you, a mischievous glint in her eye. "So, Y/N, any plans for tomorrow? Maybe we can go for a drive in the mountains, get a picnic or something."
Before you could respond, Alexia arrived and interjected with a shy smile. "Actually, there's a local coffee shop that's having it´s grand opening tomorrow. Would you be interested in joining me?"
Caught in the middle of their contrasting invitations, you exchanged a nervous glance with Maria, who simply smirked at your current predicament. Not wanting to reject either of them, you were about to open your mouth to tell them you had other plans when your best friend spoke. 
“Actually, since she´s new to the team, why don't we have a welcome party at my house tomorrow? We can have a small barbecue and go out afterwards.” Your saviour as always, albeit a very annoying one.
“Great idea! I'll add Y/N to the group chat and send the information to everyone.” Alexia says as Jenni nods her head. 
You bid the three girls goodbye and Alexia pulls you into a short hug as Jenni kisses your cheek, you enter the car and start your drive home. You let out a light sigh, knowing that you were never going to hear the end of it from María.
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munson-blurbs · 2 months
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Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)
♫ Summary: You once again found yourself face-to-face with Eddie not even twenty-four hours after he checked into the motel, and your interactions left you with more questions than answers. (3.8k words)
♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, drug use, parental conflict, poverty, grumpy Eddie, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)
♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult
chapter two: here today
Bzzzzzz!
Your alarm clock blared its tinny ring at 1 PM. The sun was bright, a welcome change from yesterday’s overcast skies and steady rainfall.
You stretched as you awoke before shedding your oversized shirt and shorts, padding over to the shower and waiting a full five minutes for the cold water to turn lukewarm. The thinning bar of soap formed sad suds in your palm, and you lathered your skin as best as you could.
Despite your best efforts, you kept thinking about your encounter last night—that morning, really—with Eddie Munson. There was a cocky edge to him, evident by his initial refusal to put out his joint, but at least a shred of humanity; after all, he did eventually comply. There was even a semblance of…something that’d you’d shared in your brief interaction.
Or maybe it was just your imagination, the summation of your exhaustion and his high.
The towel scratched as you dried the water droplets from your bare skin, and though the cloth dampened, you could have sworn that it wasn’t wicking any moisture. Dad had been saying for years that he’ll invest in new linens “as soon as business picks up.” But business never picked up enough to do anything more than barely break even for the year, so the ancient towels stayed.
Picking the lint off of your purple T-shirt, you tucked it into your jeans and shoved your feet into your sneakers without bothering to unlace them first. One look in the mirror determined that you definitely needed makeup to look half-decent, or at least awake. There was no earthly way you would sacrifice a minute of precious sleep, so you swiped on some mascara in favor of an intricate routine and quickly fixed your hair. 
You plucked a granola bar from the stash on your dresser: your usual breakfast, tossed into your backpack as you headed out the door towards the lobby. The bus would be arriving in about five minutes, giving you just enough time to get to the stop before the doors closed. Barring any traffic, it followed a consistent schedule; one of the few certainties in life. 
“Hi Dad; bye Dad,” you called out, stopping in your tracks when you saw an obviously irritated Eddie standing in front of the desk, his arms crossed over his chest and his foot anxiously tapping. At least he was fully dressed this time, clad in a faded band t-shirt, ripped jeans, and the same denim jacket he was wearing last night when he’d first walked in. “Everything okay?” 
Dad motioned to Eddie. “Our guest is having some issues with his TV,” he said, his raised eyebrows indicating that the guest was being quite persistent about the matter. “Can you help him?” Before you could answer, he looked at Eddie and explained, “my daughter’s better with this technology stuff than I am.”
There was a temptation to argue that it was probably just a matter of smacking the side or replacing the remote batteries, but you didn’t have time to waste. “Yeah, sure,” you relented, turning to Eddie and waving him over. “Come on.”
Eddie waited to speak until the two of you were completely alone. “That was your dad?” 
You nodded, shoving your hands in your pockets and keeping your walking pace until you reached his room. 
“So what’s the problem?” you asked as he turned the key in the lock. It stuck for a moment before it fully unlatched, and he opened the door with a shove.
“The reception’s shit,” Eddie muttered, keeping his fingers splayed on the door so you could walk in first. “Every time I try to put on MTV, it’s all static. Tried it last night, too, but I figured it was because of the storm.” He gestured to the now-sunny skies. “But that shouldn’t be affecting it anymore.”
You offered a wry smile, the way you always did when delivering bad news to a guest. “Nothing’s wrong with the reception,” you explained, “there’s just no cable.”
“What?” His brows shot up in disbelief. “How is that even possible?”
“It’s simple.” You shrugged. “Cable costs money, we don’t have money; ergo, no cable.”
Eddie raked a hand through his messy curls. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.” His feet could have worn holes in the floor with the way he was pacing. “Where can I watch MTV around here? Like, is there a bar or something?”
“Yeah, I mean, there’s one right down the—” You turned to the window but stopped mid-sentence, your stomach sinking as you watched your bus fly past. You heaved a dejected sigh as tears prickled at your eyes embarrassingly, and you blinked them away. 
It’s okay; I haven’t been late at all this semester, you silently reminded yourself. You could take one of the dollar cabs that runs up and down Jamaica Avenue. It wouldn’t get you exactly where you needed to go, but it would be close enough.
Eddie remained oblivious to your inner turmoil, eyes trained on the TV. “Fuck,” he grumbled, sucking through his teeth. 
“The clock radio plays music,” you offered as you hiked your backpack higher up on your shoulder. “I know it’s not the same as watching videos, but–”
“It’s not about the stupid videos!” he snapped, curling his palm into a tight fist and biting down on his forefinger knuckle. Dark eyes exuded distress, and you couldn’t help but think that his sheer panic mismatched the problem’s minimal severity.
You recoiled at his sudden outburst and took an instinctive step back. He noticed this, his expression instantly softening. His hand unfurled and fell to his side. 
“Shit, I–”
“I’m gonna be late to class.” You composed yourself, straightening your posture and forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “But the bar is right on 144th and 89th.”
He sputtered as he searched for the right words to apologize and explain himself. If you had time, you’d wait for him to unscramble his thoughts, but you were already behind schedule now that your bus was long gone.
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You strode across campus like you were on a mission, feet flying over the pavement. The cab had left you at another bus stop closer to school, and that bus had thankfully arrived on schedule. At this rate, you would only be ten minutes late to class. 
Sweat trickled down your back from midday sun’s warmth and your fast pace, but you kept walking until you reached the lecture hall’s double doors. This class was a smaller one, only twenty or so students, so there was no sneaking in unnoticed. 
You shot your professor an apologetic look that she accepted with a polite nod, sliding into your usual seat next to your friend Nora. 
“Is everything okay?” Nora whispered, moving her own bag from the chair. The concern on her face was palpable; if you weren’t able to make it to class, you would have called her. 
“Yeah, just stuff at the motel going haywire as usual,” you reassured her with a small smile, digging out your notebook and a pen. You flipped to the first blank page and scribbled today’s date next to the right-hand margin. “What did I miss?”
Nora shook her head as if to say, nothing. “She just gave back last week’s homework. I grabbed yours, too.” She handed you a sheet of paper with a bright red A+ on top. “I figured if something had happened to you, you could be buried with your most recent perfect paper.” 
She winked, and you rolled your eyes to mask your burgeoning pride. 
Truthfully, you’d worked hard on the assignment. You might have already been accepted to graduate school, but NYU’s prestige didn’t come without a hefty price tag, and you still needed to apply for scholarships in order to afford it. 
Now was not the time to slack. 
You tried to pay attention to the lecture, but your mind constantly drifted to the way Eddie had behaved in his room, having a meltdown like an overtired toddler. The man who had lost his temper over a television channel was starkly different from the one who had readily swapped playful jabs with you the night prior. 
Maybe whatever buzz he’d managed to acquire before you’d interrupted him had made him uncharacteristically pleasant, and today’s outburst was indicative of his true self. 
You bit the inside of your cheek and willed yourself to focus on the case study being presented on the board rather than your own personal Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. 
Try as you might, you couldn’t shake the mystery that was Eddie Munson. Guests had had their choice words with you before—there was a reason why you had pepper spray at the ready—but this felt different. When most guests screamed like he had, they were specifically angry at you; it was the reaction you had expected when you’d told Eddie that he couldn’t smoke pot in the motel. Others simply were not in their right minds and didn’t realize that they were shouting at a random woman and not their mom or childhood bully or the monster under the bed. 
Eddie differed from both categories in that he’d recognized his mistake. That he was frustrated at the situation, not at you. That he had started an apology that he might have finished If you had stuck around.
Or maybe he wouldn’t have. Maybe he would have continued yelling, face growing red with rage. Maybe he would have stopped his tantrum but stormed out to the bar without a second thought. 
You looked down at your notebook page, still blank except for the date. 
Maybe you should stop playing this game of what-ifs and actually listen to the lecture. 
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After your professor handed out the rubric for the final paper and dismissed the class, you and Nora made a beeline for the food cart outside the building. Dining hall food was too expensive and bland; besides, Niko knew both of your orders by heart. 
He greeted you with a chipper smile as soon as you approached the cart. Bacon sizzled in its own fat, drowned out only by the sound of the chopper scraping against stainless steel as Niko scrambled the eggs.  
“Better enjoy this nice weather while it lasts,” he said, fuzzy gray brows pinching together. He grabbed two styrofoam cups from a stack and filled them with coffee. “Temperature’s s’posed to skyrocket this summer.”
You grimaced, pulling a few bills from your backpack’s front pouch. “If food service doesn’t work out for you, Niko, you should look into meteorology.”
He brushed off your sarcasm and adjusted his apron over his protruding belly. He added cream and sugar to the coffees and slid them towards you. “Been doin’ this a long time,” he said, gesturing to the food cart set-up. He took your four singles and handed you back two quarters, doing the same for Nora. “Longer than you two’ve been alive. And some things never change: you kids always have somethin’ smart to say.” 
Your mouth watered as he toasted the rolls and added a slice of American cheese to yours before combining the ingredients into hearty sandwiches. He carefully wrapped them in tinfoil and handed them over. 
You smiled, uncovered the sandwich, and took a hearty bite. Melty cheese oozed out from the roll and clung to your lip, and you collected it with the tip of your tongue. “At least we’re consistent,” you teased, waving goodbye as you and Nora walked to the bus stop. 
“What went down at the motel today?” Nora asked, chewing her food as she spoke. “I mean, I’ve seen you get to class early during a blizzard,” she added with a knowing grin. 
You remembered that day, February winds whipping around you and cutting through your layers of clothes like a knife. The snow stung your nose and cheeks and made it nearly impossible to see three feet ahead of you, but you’d made it to class before the professor had even arrived.
“Nothing really,” you tried to say nonchalantly, taking another bite of sandwich to keep your mouth busy. You don’t want to think about the way Eddie had raised his voice at you this afternoon; more specifically, the shame that tugged at you for being disappointed. You’d had one decent interaction with him and you’d foolishly assumed some kind of mutual respect had been built, but it all boiled down to the basics: he was a guest at the motel who would be checking out on Friday, and then you’d never see him again.
Nora wrinkled her nose, not quite believing you, but any further interrogation was interrupted by the bus squeaking to a stop. You dropped the five quarters into the tray before squeezing your way through the aisle.
“Just…” Nora dropped her voice to avoid drawing the ire of your fellow commuters, grabbing onto a pole to steady herself, “you didn’t need to break out the pepper spray or anything, right?” 
You gave her a grateful smile. “Nothing like that. I promise.”
“Good.” She reached over and gave your hand a small squeeze, careful not to brush up against anyone else. “Because I need my study buddy in one piece.” 
“I’m fi—” The bus lurched forward suddenly, the driver slamming on the brakes just as the yellow light turned red. You tightened your grip on the pole and planted your feet into the floor to keep your balance until coming to a complete stop. The other passengers grumbled and groaned as they shifted, leaving trails of mumbled sorry’s in their wake.
The Metropolitan Transit Authority would likely cause your demise well before any motel guest could get to you.  
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It was barely after six PM when you got back to the motel. The sun began to creep down from its pedestal into purpling clouds and teased dusk’s beginning. Horns honked as rush hour traffic dragged along the expressway as though their cacophony would make the other cars evaporate into thin air. 
You had about four hours before your shift started; it was just enough time to work on the paper, take a quick nap, and boil water in your electric kettle to make some Cup Noodles. 
“Hey.”
You looked up to see Eddie leaning against the wall, a cigarette burning between his pointer and middle finger. It was freshly lit, but he still extinguished it under his foot before stepping closer to you. His brown eyes flickered from the ground to your face and back down again. 
“Hi.” Short but polite, your customer-service smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. You could see Mom through the glass door, leafing through paperwork that was almost certainly a stack of past-due bills. 
Eddie shoved his hands in his pockets, scuffing one Reeboked heel against the pavement. “I went to that bar you told me about.” He said it all in one breath as though he expected you to take off running. 
“Oh.” One corner of your mouth quirked up in a hesitant half-smile. “Did you, um, did you get to watch your show?”
He nodded, a forlorn look clouding his eyes. His right incisor dug into his lower lip. “Yeah. Thanks.” He paused, and you started for the door once again before he spoke up. “Sorry, I—you said you had a class today?” he asked, clumsily tripping over his words.
There was no sense in lying; not with your backpack hooked over your shoulders. “Mhm.” 
“Were you…” His tongue swiped nervously over his lips. “Did I make you late?”
You shook your head. “I got a dollar cab.” Not quite a lie, just omitting the truth. At this point, you were willing to let him smoke weed again if it’d result in easy conversation.
Eddie bit the inside of his cheek, head tilted slightly as he assessed your response. He seemingly accepted it at face value, exhaling a quiet, “that’s good,” and fumbling in his pocket for another cigarette. 
You took that as your cue to leave and ducked into the lobby to greet your mom with a quick wave. She returned it with a weary smile, eyes creased at the corners. The soft lines etched into her forehead had deepened over the past few months. The Reagan-Bush trickle-down economy era might have come to an end, but its remnants still affected small businesses and the even smaller people running them.
“How was class?”
“Good.” 
The usual exchange, no real information revealed. The mother-daughter song-and-dance performance of the ages. As long as neither of you disrupted the routine, the music played on.
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Ten PM rolled around too quickly, and you plodded into the lobby with a stomach full of sodium-drenched noodles and your tote bag full of books. A street light flickered outside, more off than on, illuminating the sidewalk in a hazy glow every so often.
Mom handed over the register keys and placed a kiss on your cheek before she left to go to bed in the room she shared with Dad. Nighttime was the only time they got to be together uninterrupted, and it was spent sleeping.
That wasn’t what you wanted. When–if–you found somebody to share your life with, you wanted to have conversations with topics besides financial upkeep. You wanted to talk about meaningless topics and make each other laugh. You wanted to lay with your head on their lap, gazing into their eyes and revering in the beautiful silence. Nothing forced or planned. Just being.
You positioned yourself behind the desk, spreading your supplies in front of you. You’d managed to draft the opening paragraph for your essay before sleepiness overtook you and you’d had to nap, and your goal tonight was to revise it to perfection. The upcoming weekend would be spent at the public library, nose deeply buried in every psychology book they owned while you outlined the body.
Red pen marked up your page, commas added and removed three times over. Arrows shifted sentence order, while some sentences were altogether crossed out with heavy lines.
It was perfect. It was all wrong. You loved it. You hated it.  
Maybe I should scrap it altogether and start over. 
Your palm pressed to the notebook page, ready to tear it out and crumple it into a ball with jagged edges that would dig into your skin. 
“Hey.”
In your intense focus, you hadn’t even heard anyone walk in. A rookie mistake; somebody could have snuck up on you and you’d be none the wiser.
Eddie stood there, a folded one-dollar peering out from between his thumb and forefinger. He shuffled to the desk and held out the money, his eyes offering a silent apology. 
“I owe you for the, uh, cab,” he mumbled, lips forming a tight, nervous smile. “And don’t argue with me. I know my bullshit made you late, so…” He flitted his free hand as if dismissing potential concern.
You clicked your tongue in mock disapproval. “You’re not from New York City, are you?”
Eddie shook his head with a laugh, fingers scratching at a stubbled patch along his cheek. “How’d ya know?”
“A New York man knows better than to tell a New York woman not to argue with him,” you teased, capping your pen. “Also, you tried starting a conversation with me earlier, and any New Yorker knows that’s a cardinal sin.”
“Having a conversation?” 
“Making small talk with a stranger.”
His nose crinkled in adorable bewilderment as though the thought never occurred to him. “We’re not strangers. We met last night.”
The innocence of his remark drew a genuine laugh out of you. “I see the same people on the bus every day,” you told him, “and they’re still strangers. Being more than mildly aware of someone's existence doesn’t mean I know them.”
“Fair point,” Eddie conceded, leaning in slightly, “but I’d argue that we know each other’s names, so we’re not total strangers.”
Humming your acknowledgment–but not necessarily agreement–you plucked the dollar from his grasp and tucked it into your back pocket. “I’ll put this towards your bill.” 
“Oh, yeah. About that.” Eddie cleared his throat and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Are there any pawn shops around here that’ll buy a guitar?”
“No, sorry.” There had been one down the street but it had already been shuttered for a few years. Guests would go there all the time to hock whatever they could to pay for another night at the motel.   
He let out a long, disappointed sigh. “Shit. Okay.” The playfulness behind his eyes faded. “Um, thanks anyway.”
He turned away from the desk, shoulders slumped. You knew that look all too well; it was the stance of someone who just needed life to cut them a break.
“Eddie?”
He swiveled back around, his curls a half-second behind. “Yeah?”
“Do you know how to re-wallpaper a room?”
“Huh?” Your question caught him by surprise, and he took a moment to collect himself. “I mean, yeah, kind of. I did it for my uncle’s trailer once. But I’m not, like, a professional.”
You smiled. “No professional experience necessary.” You gestured to the various spots on the wall where the paper was cracked and peeled. “If you can make this look presentable, you can stay a few more days. Free of charge.”
His expression immediately darkened, eyes narrowing and crossed arms closing off his body. “I don’t need charity,” he asserted through a tensed jaw.
“It’s not charity; it’s a favor.” The harsh reaction caught you off-guard, but you refused to let him unsettle you again. “Look around: do you really think we can afford to hire someone to install new wallpaper?” 
You didn’t bother to wait for his response before continuing. “We need to fix this place up, and you need a roof over your head.” Shrugging casually, you held onto the hope that he would also view this as a mutually beneficial offer and not a pity handout.
Eddie just scoffed, a rejection in itself, compounded with a growling reprise: “I said, I don’t need charity.” 
Spikes jutted out from his words and pinched your skin, each one a reminder of your uncanny ability to worsen every problem you tried to solve. 
Offering a job to someone you barely knew? He gave you a buck to pay for the cab you only had to take because of him—not exactly the best character statement. The man could be a serial killer who preys on low-budget motel owners and you’d be none the wiser, signing his checks like you weren’t his next victim. 
Maybe next week, you could hire Ted Bundy to change bed linens. 
“Understood.”
He looked at you so intensely his pupils should have bored a hole right through you. Behind his eyes wasn’t an ounce of hate or even anger. 
It was raw shame. 
I’m sorry got caught in your throat and didn’t reach your tongue until he had disappeared back down the hall, out of sight. 
--
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zrreed · 4 months
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Hey everyone! There's a Goodreads giveaway starting on November 28 for my new book, Leading Aegis, that will run until December 20, 2023! If you're in the US or Canada, enter to win a free paperback copy, and tell your friends so they have a chance too! Keep reading to find out what Leading Aegis is about!
You can read the first chapter for free on Patreon, and Leading Aegis will release January 1, 2024 on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, iTunes, and Lulu as ebook, paperback, and hardcover. Pre-order your ebook today on Amazon or Barnes & Noble, or pre-order your paperback!
Leading Aegis: In a world where Captain Carolina Trace could’ve been an indentured worker, or a soldier for a corrupt government, she chose the freedom of piracy instead. But what the rest of the world doesn’t know is that she’s cursed, and bound to her ship, Omen, for all but a few hours at a time. When her most recent quest to break the curse puts her on a trajectory to cross paths with Ophelia, a fugitive doctor, and Wyatt, a Sovereign soldier, she might just have to reevaluate the things that are most important to her.
What is she willing to sacrifice for her freedom? And what is she willing to sacrifice when her freedom isn’t the only thing at stake?
The cover art was done by the amazing @lesly-oh! Check out the full reveal on patreon!
As of January 1, 2024, I'm going to be publishing all future works as Z.R. Reed instead of Zoe Reed. If you're a Goodreads user, follow Z.R. Reed on there to keep up with my new stuff!
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akkivee · 1 year
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someone on my feed has been talking about kuukou’s unwillingness?? i suppose is the word, to be in the spotlight, especially in regards to this fpmtr➕ chapter
like kuukou functions as if this isn’t his story, he’s not the protagonist of it; moving behind the scenes to ensure jyushi gets his chance to shine on stage and affirm himself, pushing hitoya out of the way to take an attack because he probably could sense hitoya needed to be on that stage facing jakurai, following ichiro’s lead and helping when he asks and it’s interesting to see it reinforced so often
#this is vee speaking#shout out to the bat stans on my feed crying and professing their love for kuukou lmao btch me too holy shit#the brain is making this akin to ‘the buddha guides us all’ that was brought up the other day#and the person on my feed had brought up kuukou’s a hero on the fringes of the story almost like the gojos or all mights in shounen stories#the person who moves stories forward but the outcome is largely based on the protagonist#(lol i’m filling in blanks on what this person I THINK was trying to say lol so if that doesn’t quite make sense my bad 🙇‍♀️)#the op went on cry that kuukou can be a protagonist too and man i feel that lol#like kuukou is a support character but now i wanna know how much of that is self imposed or instinctual lol#if it’s self imposed why???? because he knows he’s not ready for something???? did someone make him think that way????#but on that vein kuukou’s silently working towards his end goal so i think we just aren’t privy to his story yet#(hence why bb vs bat should happen lol what better way to put kuukou in the spotlight than making him go up against the poster boy lol)#and speaking of hella awesome banquet the martyrdom imagery that had been put on him also came into play with this chapter#the mv is a chock full of mixed catholic buddhism aesthetics#but you could piece together sacrifices made for the betterment of humanity from both religions and it’s been placed primarily on kuukou#pretty neat stuff and still kinda concerned if it’ll go any further than just this chapter lol#c: kuukou👑
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oval3000 · 5 months
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Chapter 6
Yandere Psych Patient König x Nurse Reader
Warning: Possesive, Obsession, Death, Gore, Blood, Smut, Toxic behavior, age gap.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
-------------------------------------------------------
You felt your body heavy that you couldn't move when you wanted to. Your hands above your head, tied to the head board of the bed. Your eyes wanted to open, so you pried them, feeling a bit of a burn.
"Mmh...oww." you groaned, opening your eyes and saw what was in front of you. A tall man wearing a tight, black, t-shirt that shows his tone abs and muscles. Tan trousers that doesn't hide his bulge well enough, and a black cloth covering his face. But those blue eyes. Those blue eyes that you are familiar with. "K- König?"
He tilted his head, walking to the side of the bed, getting closer to you. He took off his mask, revealing his face to you. He sat down on the bed, making the bed sink down a bit. He hold your chin using his thump, "you're so beautiful." He got closer to you, his mouth near yours. "My beautiful bunny."
"Where am I?" You felt his lips over your cheek, on your forehead, over your nose, on your neck. How badly he wanted you. How hard he's pressing the palm of his hand to his cock, feeling it hardened. "König."
"You're home, liebling." He said kissing your neck while rubbing his hardened, clothed, cock with the palm of his hand. You can feel your wet spot of your neck, where his lips are, vibrate with his moans.
He got up and hopped on the bed with you. He grabbed your thighs and spread them apart. He positioned himself in between your legs, his throbing dick touching your clothed area. You didn't fight him. You didn't argue. You didn't scream. He lifted your chin up for you to make direct eye contact with him. "I'm afraid I have to stop, bunny." He got close to your face, "not now. I have to prepare you."
He got up and left to go to the bathroom. You quickly closed your legs to hide the fact on how wet he got you. You felt so weak on his touch.
König dropped his trousers and started to jerk off. He pumped his cock with his hand, gripping it tight. He wants to touch you, to be inside you. It didn't help that you were tied up the way you were, it turned him on even more.
He gripped onto the sink, closing his eyes shut. "A-..aaah..liebling....augh...liebling....mmgh...ngh....Scheiße!" He felt his balls getting heavy, bouncing on how hard he's fucking himself. How badly he wanted you to suck them dry. To take his full dick in your mouth. To watch your eyes rolling the back of your head as he cums deeply inside of you. He pumped his hand back and forth rapidly fast. Squeezing his hard, veiny, girthy cock,"(Y-y/n)...Ja!...aAaH!....." he felt the cum squirting out of the tip of his penis. He watched as cum covered all over the mirror of the medicine cabinet, the sink, the floors, his hand, dam even parts of the wall. How badly he wanted this. How badly he wanted to fuck you. To mark you.
Your his to touch and breed. To love and cherish. To sacrifice the world for you. He knows how much you take over his mind. He would kill a thousand men for you.
After he cleaned himself and the bathroom, he made his way over you. He adored how you aren't screaming at him, how he feared your reaction, thinking that you might put up a fight with him. "König?"
"Yes, darling." He took his shirt and pants and put on a pair of light sweat shorts.
"Are you going to kill me?" You looked at him. It was a stupid question and you know that. But the feeling on your chest, the nervousness, the fear. Is he getting revenge for him being locked up? Was he playing you this entire time, is he playing you until you gain his trust, just for him to drive a knife on your back.
He snapped his head towards, slaming the drawer shut. "Never. Ever! Say that again. I'll never hurt you." He cupped your face with his hand, "I love you, liebling." He pulled out his bowie knife, which made you flinch a bit, but all he did is to cut the rope off your hands and headboard. "Let's get some rest, love."
He positioned you to your side, facing away from him. You pulled your knees to your chest as König positioned himself the same way. He covered the both of you with the blanket, you felt his arm wrapped around your abdomen, pulling you closer to him.
Your body shivered all night. You couldn't tell if it was maybe the cold or because you are laying in bed with König. His warmth body, made you feel out of place. You never experienced this before. His strong grip. His affection. His attention towards you. You never had this before. He wants you. He loves you. He said that he loves you.
"I'm so sorry (Y/n). Your mom's liver isn't responding to any treatment and she doesn't have alot of time." The doctor told the girl, sitting on the doctors office.
"I thought UNOS was going to give my mom a new liver, isn't she on the transplant list?" The girl question as the doctor gave her a nod.
"Unfortunately, UNOS rejected your mother. Your mother has a drinking a problem. For UNOS, they don't accept patients who...harm themselves and possible have them damage the new organ when it can go to someone who-"
"Isn't an alcoholic. And I'm not a match, right?" The girl finishes the Doctor's sentence.
"I'm sorry, but you're right."
"What should I do?" The girl asked.
"Be by her side. Call anyone you need to call. I'm so sorry, (Y/n)."
What if there is no one?
"(Y/n), what are you doing here?" The sick mother said with her raspy voice.
"I wanted to visit you, mom." The girl gave her mother a smile.
"I don't need you here (Y/n)." The sick mother looked up at the ceiling of the hospital.
The girl's smile disappeared.
"Call your father. Tell him where I'm at." The mother closed her eyes, enduring the pain of swallowing the saliva.
"Mom, he doesn't want t-"
"Call him!" The mother followed up with tough, dry coughs.
The girl dialed her father's number. She hardly spoke to the father. He never really showed up to any of her events or any day at all. He mostly mails her letters and card, sometimes. When she does call, he hardly picks up. When she leaves a voice-mail, he will respond with a short text message.
"Dad? It's me..(Y/n). Um...I'm sorry for bothering you, I'm not sure if you might get this message. Uh...my mom is sick and she wants to see you. So...please get back to me when you get this. Ooh and uh we're in Saint Teresa's hospital if you might be wondering...um bye."
The girl waited for hours for the response. Her mother was question when the father will get here. "Where is he, (Y/n)?"
"I'm not sure, mom. I called him. He might be here. But I'm here and i-"
"(Y/n) I don't need you. I never did. And I don't want to see you as the last face I see when I die, so get your father here. Do something good for once. Do this for me."
The girl called her father multiple times. But as time went on and days passed, not a single response. The mother would look at the girl with disgust and hatred.
The mother grew weaker each day. She eventually felt her fall through. "(Y/n). I want you to know, because I don't want you to bother shedding a tear. I know I've never been a good mother to you, but the truth is. I never loved you. You tore me apart since the day I find out about you. Because of you, your father found me unattractive and slept with multiple women." She laughed with her weak voice as you stood there, on her side. " you caused me to feel this way, and now I'm paying for it. All thanks to you. You deserve a good mom, but you're not daughter, you never were. Get out of here. I don't want to see your face."
The doctors talked to the girl about the different programs for grief. The girl worked two jobs, while going to school so she can afford a funeral for her mother. She was the only one to attend. The only one to say goodbye to her. As they placed her six feet under, the girl finally received a message from her father saying 'I'm sorry'
She never went in contact with him ever again. She never received any mail from him. It was just her.
You woke up and didn't feel Köngs arm around you. You sat up on the bed looking around the room. A desk on your right, a chair on the right corner of the room. A dresser next to a closet on your left. Near the corner, entrance was closed shut. You wanted to get up, but heard the door knob jiggle making you froze on the spot.
König came into the room and saw they you woke up. "Schatz, you are awake. I made breakfast. C'mon let's go." He grabbed your hand and guided you to the kitchen. The home is beautiful. Very antique and vintage. He walked you to the kitchen table and opened up a sit to you. You saw the delicious breakfast he made you. He did this for you, you thought. Do you even deserve it?
He sat down in front of you and immediately digged in the plate of food. "I miss real food. Not that crap they give me in that prison hell." He said, chomping down the food.
"Konig? You stabbed the piece of sausage with your fork.
He looked at you, taking a sip of his water, "yes, schatz."
"How did you end up at the hospital? I know that you're ex- military, but how?" You questioned him with a squint of your eye, afraid you might've said something triggering to him
"No, love. Not ex-military. I'm still in. They didn't like my behavior with the enemies so they had me tested and the stupid doctor sended me there." He took another bite of his scramble egg.
"Dr. Smith?"
"No, another one. My original doctor left and that blonde bitch came in like she knows everything." His thick accent with a chuckle made your heart pound. You wouldn't have thought you would find it attractive. "But it's okay, she's gone now so there is nothing to worry about."
"So you're still in the military?" How if he murdered innocent people? You thought.
"Mm..sort of. I was only suppose to be there for two years and leave, but then you came along and changed everything." He followed your glance at him with his eyes, "and if your worried about the people I killed. I have good men that cover it from the public eye. Eat your breakfast, it's going to get cold."
There was a knock on the door. You still have no idea where you are. Who's house this is? Where are you?
König stood up, placing the napkin on the table, "stay here." He walked up to the door and opened. You tried to peak who it was, but couldn't due to the massive structure of König's back. "Okay, put him in the garage. Make sure to tie him up good." He shut the door and made your way towards you," he whispered to the man infront of him.
Still sitting on the chair, you looked up to him. "Who was that?"
König lowered his head with his thump on your lip, "no one, liebling. Eat your breakfast."
He turned his back on you, ready to head out. "Where am I? What is this place, König?"
"Just eat your breakfast, liebling." He left you in the kitchen.
He made his way to the garage. Horangi was standing there, stomping the stomach of Mr.Miller, who has duck tape on his mouth and hands and feet tied together on his back. Mr. Miller saw König coming out of the shadows. His tight black shirt and tan trousers, making it hard to picture him without the white wear of the hospital. As soon as he saw König's face, Miller let out a scream through the ducktape on his mouth.
"Thank you Horangi, but I can take it from here." Horangi gave him a nod and left the two men alone in the garage.
He crutch down to him with his legs spread apart, knees bent, forearms resting on his thighs, " Such an imbecile."
He was about to take off the ducktape when he heard your voice, "König?" He looked back and saw you standing there with a fright look, "What's going on? What are you doing?"
He stood up and marched over to you, "Go back inside okay."
You looked past König and saw Miller tied up. "Why is he here?"
"Schatz, go back inside." König pointed to the exit door.
You looked at him, "are you going to kill him?"
König pinched the bridge of his nose, "(y/n)! Do what I tell you! Go back inside!" You flinched at his harsh tone at you. He noticed and felt bad, "I'm sorry, schatz, but you have to listen to me, okay. I'll deal with him, go inside and eat your breakfast, it's probably already cold."
You shook your head, "are you going to kill him?" You fiddled with your fingers. You couldn't keep your mouth shut and do as he says, you thought. However, you needed to know.
"Scheiße! Tu, was ich dir sage, und ich werde dir nicht weh tun. Wie schwer ist das!? (do what I tell you and I won't hurt you, how hard is that!?)" he yelled at you. He never to yell at you. Quite frankly, he knows he's overreacting. "Yes, I'm going to kill him. He touched you. He touched something that is mine. Du bist mein!"
"I'm sorry König." You looked down on the floor. He rushes to you and cupped your face.
He lifted your face up for you to face him, "it's okay, liebling. You just have listen to me, okay."
"You'll never hurt me right? You said you'll never hurt me." You said, placing your hand on his.
He shook his head, placing a kiss on your forehead. "Go back inside, okay. I'll be in there in a minute."
You did as you said. You went back inside. You heard the door behind you lock. König didn't want you walking in on him breaking every one of Miller's bone.
König took his bowie knife out and cut the rope that tied his legs and arms together. He ripped off the ducktape that taped his mouth shut. König lifted Miller's left food up in the air. He placed his foot in the middle of his calf. "NO! PLEASE! I'M SORRY! I'LL NEVER DO THAT AGAIN! PLEASE!" his cries didn't stop König from stomping on the calf, hearing the bone crack. "AAAH! GOOD! FUCK!" König lifted his other leg while the men cried in pain, "I'm so sorry! Please! Please! Please! I'm sorry!"
Snap
The men let out a shriek of pain, feeling his legs completely shattered. Nothing stopped König to reach his arms and pulled them apart, breaking them from the shoulder point. The men on the floor, feeling the blood coming out of his body.
König then reached to his neck and gave it a final squeeze. Seeing the life of the men quickly going away.
You waited for König in the bedroom, you covered yourself with the blanket, staring at the door. At last, you heard his loud footsteps coming closer. He opened the door and closed it shut. "Schatz, you have to listen to me. You have to do what I tell you." He took off his black shirt, showing his perfect abs and chest. The scars on his body, making look raggedy. He took off his pants, leaving his boxers on. His tone thighs and legs that made his way towards you. "Don't make me punish you."
He yanked off your blanket which made you cover your body with your arms. He grabbed your legs, which were bent up to your chest for more protection, and pulled them down, pulling you closer to him. "Why don't I show you? My beautiful, beautiful, hase."
"Meins." He gripped onto the neck line of your white tank top. "Alles meins." He ripped your top apart, revealing your lacy bra.
"My beautiful hase. Mein wunderschöner Hase."
He would never hurt you.
Right?
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