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atlabeth · 4 months

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(they all say that) it gets better | luke castellan

bleedin' me dry for context (this is that reader's origin story!!)

summary: a look into your unclaimed year.

a/n: does it still count as fluff if you already know it doesn’t end well? idk but i’m having fun writing for this pair so it’s okay. i hope you guys are enjoying reading them!! this ended up becoming a hell of a lot longer than i thought it would be but these kind of one shots are my faves to write lol

title from teenage dream by olivia rodrigo bc apparently guts teenage angst works very well for a demigod who feels like they're worthless and unwanted for a good period of time!! shoutout to the gods

wc: 11.4k JESUS

warning(s): fem!child of demeter reader. typical anger at the gods, but luke is actually pretty sweet! crazy. mostly hurt/comfort, reader is going through it at the beginning (mentions of injuries and almost dying), honestly she's going through it the whole time but luke is very nice to her lol. barely proofread bc proofing 34 pages is a nightmare !!

It was your first day as a demigod and you were already off to a bad start.

You didn’t remember much, obviously. There was a lot of stumbling, barely held up by your satyr as you crossed the border, and then full on collapsing. Somehow you managed to stay conscious all the way to the infirmary, enough to hear shocked murmurs from the people-like blobs around you and terrified, whispered affirmations from your satyr as he ran along with whoever was carrying you.

You didn’t remember much. But you do remember thinking what a shameful existence it would be to die at fourteen.

And now you were sitting in an uncomfortable cot, staring at the wall and counting divots. The first half of your visit was only there in flashes as you drifted in and out of consciousness, but now, unfortunately, you were fully awake. You belatedly wondered how many other kids began their camp life with a stay at the infirmary.

The thought was dashed from your head as you jolted and cried out in sudden pain, and you shot daggers with your glare at the boy next to you.

“Sorry.” The boy fixing you up was about your age, and he almost seemed to glow from within. “You dislocated your shoulder—I was popping it back into place.”

“You could have warned me,” you seethed.

“I did,” he said, and when he placed his hands on your shoulder they actually did glow. “You just weren’t listening.”

“...Sorry,” you said after a moment. “I’m having a rough day.”

He shook his head with a slight smile. “It’s expected.”

“It’ll be okay,” your satyr said, and some of the tension left your shoulders as you looked over at Tate. He’d been by your side for the past two weeks of disasters, and you’d saved each other’s lives more times than you could count. You were just thankful he didn’t have to watch you die. “Jace is one of camp’s best healers. You’re in good hands.”

You nodded, not wanting to cause any more problems, so you bit your lip and bit your tongue and let him heal the rest of your injuries in silence. He was done soon enough, and you could feel both their eyes on you as you rifled through your backpack. Thankfully, Tate brought it in as you were dying. Your own blood stained the nylon.

“How do you feel?” Tate asked anxiously.

“Better,” you said, tearing your eyes away from it as you continued making sure all your belongings were still there. “A lot better. Not like there’s much competition.”

Tate chuckled, and Jace picked up a small bag from the bedside table and handed it to you—it looked like there were little pieces of fudge inside. “Here.”

“What’s this?” you asked as you took it.

“Ambrosia,” he said. “Wait a few hours before you have a piece, and only have a little if you feel a lot of pain. I already gave you nectar while you were out, and the last thing we need is you burning up.”

You looked at Tate with raised eyebrows and he smiled a bit. “Ambrosia and nectar are the food of the gods. It heals demigods in small portions, but take too much and you’ll get a fever. Worst case scenario, you’ll literally burn up from the inside.”

“Oh,” you said, and you stuffed the bag into your pack before zipping it up. “I’ll… I’ll wait.”

“Probably a good idea,” Jace said, and he looked over at your satyr as he stood up. “I’ve gotta get back to my sword-fighting lessons. Can you give her a tour?”

He shook his head. “I have to debrief with Chiron and Mr. D. There were some… rough things on the road.” Tate looked at you. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes— are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“It’s fine,” you said with a smile. “Do your thing. I’ll look around some, then we’ll find each other later.”

Tate nodded thankfully and went through an open door opposite your bed, and Jace gave you a tight smile as he started to put away all the medical supplies he used on you. You sighed, slung your bag over your shoulder, and walked out.

You shut the door behind you and blinked rapidly as you tried to adjust to the sunlight. Then, you heard someone sigh.

“Thank the gods you’re okay.”

You turned to see a boy standing up from the wall. Dark curls hung just above his eyes, a contrast to his tanned skin, slightly red from exertion. He was wearing the same bright orange shirt that your healer was—Camp Halfblood, it said in curved text. He was far too pretty for his own good.

“I’m the one who carried you in,” he said, and you realized you were frowning. “Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Oh,” you said. “That’s… that’s nice of you.”

“It’s been a while since we’ve gotten someone new,” he said. “Even longer since they’ve had such a dramatic entrance.”

You shrugged. You didn’t exactly know what to say to this boy. “Sorry.”

He paused for a moment, and then he nodded. “Not one for conversation. That’s fine.”

“I did almost just die,” you said wryly. “I’m fresh out of icebreakers at the moment.”

“Maybe I can help with that.” He held out his hand. “Luke Castellan. Head Counselor of the Hermes cabin, and apparent rescuer of damsels.”

You huffed a laugh as you stared at him. “I’m a damsel?”

“I’d say you were in as much distress as someone could be back there,” he said with a shrug. “I practically saved your life. I think that deserves a handshake.”

The slightest bit of tension dissolved from your shoulders and you shook his hand. His smile grew.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, dropping his hand. “You were pretty rough when I found you.”

“Better,” you said, though you grimaced a bit as you tested your shoulder, and you decided to switch your pack to your other side. “Whoever that guy in the infirmary is, he’s good.”

Luke nodded. “Son of Apollo—they’ve got healing abilities. Very useful when we’re all constantly getting injured.”

Your brows knit together. “So it really is all real.”

“You were nearly dead on our doorstep, and from those claw marks I’m guessing it wasn’t just a bad fall.” Luke offered a wry smile. “I’m sure you’ve known it’s all real for a while.”

“Of course,” you said. “It’s just weird to really know that it’s all real. To see all of you, really. Just knowing I’m not alone.”

He nodded. “That’s the best thing about it, knowing you’re not alone.” He looked around at your surroundings—various campers chatting as they walked with each other (some glancing at you as they went by), distant shouts and cheers, and a perfectly blue sky matching the perfectly blue house you just left.

“I’d say the worst thing about it is feeling like I still have no idea what’s going on,” you said. “Unless the gods exist just to be deadbeats. That’d be disappointing.”

Luke actually laughed at that, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and you found yourself smiling a bit. “I can tell we’re gonna get along.”

Your own smile returned—it was like his joy was infectious. “You think so?”

“I know so,” he nodded. “Just… try not to throw the gods’ names around like that. They don’t like to be talked about unless they’re being revered.”

You huffed. “Sounds like an interesting place.”

“Camp Halfblood,” he provided, and he gestured around you with his hand. “Keeping young heroes safe for over three millennia.”

“What,” you said wryly, “are you their PR guy?”

Luke laughed and shook his head. “It’s something Chiron likes to say.”

“You’re the second person to mention Chiron,” you said. “Who exactly is he?”

“You haven’t gotten a tour yet?”

You gave him a look. “Come on. You carried me in. You think I could have gotten a tour between then and now?”

“Fair,” he admitted, and he tilted his head. “I can give you one, if you’re so inclined.”

“I said I would wait for Tate,” you said. “He’s my satyr— I figure I owe it to him.”

“C’mon,” Luke said. “He’s meeting Chiron and Mr. D—that’ll take long enough on its own, and if we don’t get out of here soon enough, you’re gonna get dragged into a whole other conversation with them. At least this way, you can get a little bit of downtime before all the lore of this place is dropped on you.”

You bit your lip, and then you sighed and nodded. “Fine. But it can’t take too long.”

Luke smiled and held up three fingers. “Halfblood’s honor.”

You didn’t know where to start.

There were far more people than you expected, not nearly enough beds for all of them, and half were talking and a quarter were fighting and the others were just completely unfazed. All you could do when you walked in was stare.

“You get used to it,” Luke said, glancing over at you. “Everyone’s nice, I promise—just keep a hand on your pockets.”

You frowned. “Why?”

He gave you a crooked smile. “Hermes is the god of thieves. We learn by experience in this cabin.”

Your hands instinctively reached back to the pockets of your jeans, despite the fact that you hardly had anything to your name. “Why do they put the new, naive kids in here again?”

“God of travellers, too—all are welcome.” Luke saw your hand shoot to your pocket and laughed. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anyone mess with you too much—for now, at least.”

“Oh, good,” you said lightly. “The hazing doesn’t start until later.”

Luke smiled as he continued to guide you through the cabin, nodding to and greeting campers with equal parts names and handshakes as he walked past them. You got just as many stares as Luke did hellos, and your skin crawled at the attention.

“Why are they all looking at me?” you whispered to him.

“Like I said, you’re the first new camper in a while.” Luke glanced at you. “News spreads fast, especially in this wreck of a place.”

“It’s not that bad,” you said , but your grip tightened on your backpack strap. “Just very busy.”

“That’s what happens when they shove everyone in here,” Luke said. “All are welcome means all are welcome—Hermes kids, unclaimed kids, and kids of minor gods.”

You frowned. “Minor gods don’t have cabins?”

“This place is as much for us as it is in honor of the gods,” he said. “Twelve cabins for twelve Olympians. They don’t see it as a problem, therefore we can’t see it as a problem.”

You decided to bite your tongue, but you couldn’t hide your sigh. “I guess I’m gonna be here for the time being.”

He looked you up and down, and all you could think was that you must look like an absolute disaster. “I’m guessing you fall into the unclaimed.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line, a sad attempt at a smile. “Yeah, but I just got here—I bet my mom doesn’t even know it yet. Gods are busy.”

“They’re also omniscient,” Luke said wryly. “I’m sure she could have claimed you the second you crossed the border. Your parent could’ve given you a little divine intervention and kept you from nearly dying on the hill.”

“Well, I’m here for now,” you said with a bit too much force, and your nails dug into your palms. “So do you mind showing me around?”

Luke stared at you for a moment before he smiled. “‘Course not. I can also give you a quick tour of camp too, if you haven’t already gotten one.”

You shook your head. “Only the infirmary.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” he said, “you heal up well.”

“I don’t think that’s a credit to me,” you said. “I think it’s whatever magical drink that healer gave me while he was trying to bring me back. Tasted like pecan pie.”

“Nectar,” he said as he started walking, and you followed behind him. “Drink of the gods that heals demigods in small portions. It tastes like your favorite food—same as ambrosia.” He stopped in an empty corner and looked at you. “You like pecans?”

You shrugged, suddenly self conscious. “My dad makes it the best.”

“I hope you’ll be able to get the real thing soon,” he said, and then he gestured with a flourish at the same empty corner. “Welcome to your new home.”

You stared at him. “This is the floor.”

“We’re a little overbooked,” Luke said sheepishly. “If it makes you feel better, we’ve got sleeping bags. And this is a top tier corner. Quieter than the others.”

“…Great,” you said. “I feel very welcome.”

“I’m sorry.” To his credit, he sounded like he meant it. “Bunch of unclaimed kids, couple kids of minor gods, couple Hermes kids—it all kinda adds up to a mess.”

“...It’ll be better than camping,” you said, though mostly to yourself as you took your bag off your shoulder and let it thud to the ground.

“Hey,” Luke said, and his voice was softer, “it’ll be okay. With any luck, your parent’ll notice you now that you’re at camp, and you’ll be claimed before you know it.”

“I hope so,” you murmured.

“Luke, who’s the new girl?”

A boy with curls just as good as Luke’s walked up and clapped him on the back, smiling at you in a way that instantly set you at ease. He also wore the orange camp shirt, with long tan sleeves below that he’d pushed up to his forearms. He had kind eyes.

Luke said your name, his own smirk on his lips as he looked back at you. “You’ve probably heard about her dramatic entrance by now, but she’s the newest resident of the Hermes cabin.”

“Unclaimed or your sibling?” he asked.

“...Unclaimed,” you said yourself. You hadn’t even been here for more than two hours and it already felt like your own brand of shame.

He repeated your name with a nod and held out his hand. “I’m Chris,” he said. “Fellow unclaimed kid.”

A little bit less of a scarlet letter, at least. You swallowed your budding insecurity and shook his hand. “Sounds like a shitty club to be in.”

He snorted. “You’re telling me.”

“How— how long has it been?” you asked hesitantly, almost afraid to know the answer.

His lips pressed into a tight smile. “Couple years.”

“Gods,” you murmured. You didn’t know if you’d be able to wait that long. It had been hard enough already growing up without one—if your mother was just out of reach after all this time, you would surely lose your mind.

“Don’t worry,” Chris said, his expression softening a bit. “It won’t take that long for you. I can tell.”

“That’s what Luke said,” you responded wryly. “Do I give off a vibe that says ‘I’m unwanted, but not for too long’?”

Luke laughed and shook his head. “I promise, it’s all gonna be okay. I’ve been the counselor here for a couple months—kids get claimed all the time. I bet you’re next on the list.”

“Maybe,” you said. You didn’t believe it as much as they did—if they did at all.

You heard the door open and your head automatically turned to the noise, and you felt the heat rush to your cheeks in embarrassment as Tate came through, slightly out of breath. You stared at Luke—he said thirty minutes at least. He just shrugged.

“I figured you would be here,” Tate said, his chest rising and falling just so as he walked—trotted?—inside. “You didn’t exactly wait.”

You opened your mouth to speak up, but Luke beat you, already putting on a charming smile. “Sorry. We got to talking, and then I offered to show her around the Hermes cabin. Just so she could put her things down, y’know.”

“‘Course,” Tate nodded. “That— that was probably a good idea. Would have been bad if you got lost or something.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, and you went to pick your bag up. “Luke said you would be talking for a lot longer— I was going to come back after I was done with this.”

Tate shook his head. That nervous energy from the worst parts of the road was back, and you wondered how badly the talk with Chiron and Mr. D went. “No, it was a good idea. Better than you getting lost around camp or caught up with some troublemakers. Thanks, Luke.”

“‘Course,” he said.

“Not sure she’s in much better hands with Luke,” Chris said wryly. “He’s head troublemaker in the cabin of troublemakers.”

Luke just chuckled and shook his head. “It’s her first day. I wouldn’t let anything happen to her.”

You were only able to glance at Luke for a moment before your attention was drawn back to Tate as he gestured outside with his head. “Chiron’s waiting outside. He wants to talk to you some before the tour.”

And now you had to deal with it too. “...Great,” you said. You set your bag back on the ground, in your newly coveted corner.

“It’ll be fine,” Tate promised. “You already went through Hades to get here— he’s not gonna pile on you more. That’s why Mr. D is back at the Big House.”

This time, you did look at Luke. Thankfully, he understood.

“Dionysus,” he explained. “He’s our camp director.”

You blinked. “The god?”

“Yep,” he nodded. “Punishment from Zeus. Not the worst gig, but he’s… interesting.”

“Great,” you repeated, because you didn’t feel like processing that at the moment, and you looked back at Tate. “You’ll be with me, right?”

He nodded. “Not for the talk, but for the tour.”

You let out a loose breath, because it was going to be fine. He was just the authority figure of the one safe place in the world for you, and you were just an annoying kid that had no idea what the hell was going on.

“Great,” you said for the third time. You looked back at Luke. “I’ll see you around?”

He smiled and bowed his head. “Definitely. You do kinda live here indefinitely now.”

You nodded, more relieved than you wanted to show, and you started following Tate out.

You heard Chris mutter something to Luke, and you turned your head in time to see Luke jab him in the side. His head perked up when you laughed, and his whole expression changed as his smile returned and he did a little wave.

You couldn’t help but smile back as you did the same, and you left the cabin with a little pep in your step.

—

“You promise you’ll be safe.”

“Yes, Tate,” you said with a slight laugh. “The worst is already over—you got me here, and we’re both alive. I’m gonna be fine.”

“I know,” he said, and he managed his own smile. “I’m just worried about you. You don’t spend two weeks on the road fighting for your life with someone and not get a little attached.”

“You’ll be back here, right?” you asked. “I know your whole thing as a Protector, but you’ve gotta drop the demigods off too, right?”

“Of course I’ll be back,” he promised. “It… just might be a while. You’re the third demigod I’ve gotten to camp safely, now—Chiron’s trusting me with a bigger mission. It might be a couple months, but I’ll be back.”

“And you’re telling me to be safe,” you said wryly.

“I’ve been doing this for a while,” he said. “You just got here.”

“I know,” you said, and you pulled him into a hug. “Just don’t get killed out there.”

Tate laughed and patted you on the back before he pulled away. “So long as you don’t killed out here.”

“Thanks for everything,” you said with a nod.

“Thank you,” he said, and he gestured at the pavilion with his head. “Now get over there and make some friends. I’ll see you around.”

You hugged him one last time before you reluctantly went off, and you looked back to wave him goodbye before you really started on your way.

Your head still spun with all the information Chiron and Tate had imparted on you—so much about Greek mythology (and how it was all real), ADHD and dyslexia (and how they weren’t just there to make your life harder), your godly parent (who would hopefully claim you within the month) and so much more that you knew you would forget in an hour or two.

And Chiron’s talk. God, it felt more like you were in the principal’s office than anything, even though he was nothing but kind. You couldn’t help but be overwhelmed from it all, and though the talk was probably meant to stave some of that anxiety off, it really didn’t.

But you’d always felt out of place all your life. And now you were finally where you were meant to belong—that had to count for something.

Tate had dropped you off at the pavilion—nearly dying had taken a lot out of you, and it just happened to be lunch—and just as you neared the tables and realized you had no idea where to sit, your eyes were drawn to a boy raising his hand and calling your name.

You looked over and saw that it was Luke, the counselor from earlier, and you couldn’t help but smile. True to his word.

You weaved your way through various campers and around tables full of kids to finally stop next to Luke’s table—Chris, the guy from earlier, sat across from him, and they both smiled at you.

“How’d the tour go?” he asked.

“Fine,” you said with a nod. “A little overwhelming, but better than I thought.” You pulled at your new camp shirt, the fabric noticeably brighter than a majority of those around you. “I match now, at least.”

“Orange suits you,” Luke remarked, and he patted the open spot next to him. “Sit down—stay for a while.”

You chuckled as you sat down. You still felt out of place, but at least they weren’t going to hang you out to dry. “Bright orange seems like an odd choice when we’re trying to stay hidden.”

“Probably so Chiron doesn’t lose us,” he joked. “This place is huge, and there’s a lot of us. When the newest camper gets turned around in the woods during capture the flag and nearly dies to a monster, it’s easier to find them.”

You frowned, and you must’ve not been very good at hiding your panic because Chris shook his head.

“Luke, you’re scaring her. She’s already been through enough.”

“Don’t worry,” Luke said, patting you on the shoulder. “Just a little halfblood humor. You’re gonna be fine, I promise.”

“It doesn’t feel that way,” you said wryly. “It feels like I nearly died four hours ago and now I have no idea who anyone is or what to do.”

“Not true,” Chris spoke up, and he smiled. “You know us.”

“I’ll look out for you,” Luke promised. “And pretty soon, you’re gonna be good enough to look out for me.”

You let out a long lasting sigh. “God, I hope so.”

—

“You’re not holding it right.”

You adjusted your hold on the hilt, resisting the urge to wipe away the bead of sweat dripping down your forehead and the even stronger urge to hit him.

“You’re still not holding it right.”

Your teeth grinded together as you turned to look at Luke. “Are you gonna actually help me, or just stand there judgmentally?”

“I dunno,” he said. “The weather’s pretty good over here.”

You groaned and moved your non-dominant hand closer to the pommel, shifting your other down as well. “Is this worthy of your approval, Your Majesty?”

Luke chuckled as he walked over to you, and you could feel the calluses on his hands as he adjusted your form with slight touches to your arms. “It is acceptable, my lady, but your posture is not.”

“I don’t know how so many people at this camp like you,” you grumbled. “This is awful, and so are you.”

He smiled. “You’ve been here for two weeks. Give yourself some grace.”

“I’ve spent one of those trying and failing at the most basic basics of sword-fighting,” you said. “I spent the past hour losing to an Ares kid who I’m pretty sure actually wanted to kill me.” You looked over at Luke. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

“Trial by fire,” he supplied. “You’re still alive, so obviously you’re doing something right.”

“Yeah, probably because you’re here,” you said. “You can’t just kill someone when their counselor’s standing right next to them. It’s bad publicity.”

Luke huffed a laugh and shook his head as he crossed his arms. “Stop talking down on yourself. You managed to make it here with a couple monster attacks on the way—what’d you use then?”

“I started off with a screwdriver I stole from the garage before Tate and I left,” you said. “And then I stole a hunting knife from some outdoor store. Not exactly top-tier.”

“Lotta stealing,” Luke chuckled. “Maybe you are a Hermes kid.”

“They nearly caught me,” you said. “Definitely not.”

“Regardless of thievery, you still survived,” he continued. “You’re not a bonafide swordsman, that’s fine. But you’re resourceful, creative—scrappy in a fight is just what we need sometimes.”

“Great,” you mumbled. “I’m ‘scrappy’.”

“It’s a compliment,” he promised. “If we were all sword-fighters, we wouldn’t get far. Someone like you is gonna do us a lot of good.”

“If I don’t die before I even get out to the battlefield.” You knocked the helmet off of one of the straw dummies with your sword and sighed as it clattered to the ground. “This is the only enemy I stand a chance against.”

“You’re thinking too much about it all,” Luke said. “You’re literally wired for battle—didn’t you feel it during your fights on the way to camp?”

You shrugged. You guess you did—you remember not even taking the time to analyze the situation, just knowing your lives were in danger and finally feeling the ever-present jitters in your bones settle for the first time.

“It was rough,” you finally said. “But… it did feel like I knew what I was doing. Like my body understood it all even when my mind was still a couple steps behind.”

“And that was without training, and with,” Luke huffed an incredulous laugh, “a screwdriver. Just imagine what you’ll be able to do with actual Celestial bronze and actual training.”

“…I think I remember why people like you,” you said reluctantly. “And why I liked you.”

Luke grinned as he stood up. “That’s the spirit.” He picked up the fallen helmet and placed it back on the dummy, then looked at you. “I think I’ve put you through enough suffering. Let’s get lunch.”

“So a compliment was all it took for me to get out of this?” you asked in exasperation, gesturing with your sword as you worked to undo the ties on your armor with your other hand.

“Exactly,” he mused, and he took the sword from you to store it away. “I don’t get nearly enough compliments these days, y’know. Sometimes you end up taking that out on campers that don’t know how to swordfight.”

“Luke Castellan,” you grumbled as you finally got your breastplate off, “you are a piece of work.”

He winked. “Thank you.”

—

You didn’t think you were built for this life.

It was the only thought running through your head as you sat at a crowded Hermes table, absentmindedly picking at fruit with your fork as you stared off into the distance.

You’d been at Camp Halfblood for a month now, but it had already felt like a lifetime.

You’d managed to make a few friends—a Demeter girl who grew you a bouquet of your favorite flowers as a consolation prize for fighting dirty during training; an Athena boy who told you whatever interesting fact popped into his head first every time you ran into each other; the Hebe girl who had the misfortune to have the corner opposite you in the Hermes cabin and showed you skincare tips once in a while.

Throw in a smattering of Hermes and unclaimed kids and a counselor that seemed determined to make you smile, and you weren’t as lonely as you thought you’d be.

You were learning how to fight in your own way. Luke was right—you weren’t a swordsman, but you were damn good up close and personal. He’d taken you to the camp armory, you found a Celestial bronze dagger that spoke to you, and from then on you’d actually been doing well in training.

Your corner of the Hermes cabin didn’t feel as sad anymore, either. Luke took you to the camp store for retail therapy after you nearly burned your jeans off on the climbing wall, so now you had an AC/DC poster (courtesy of the little money you had) and an I ❤️ NY keychain to attach to your backpack (courtesy of Luke’s idle hands).

You were starting to come into your own, sure. You were doing better in training and making friends in the cabin you were stuck in and starting to get used to burning part of every meal, but the most glaring issue of all still hadn’t been resolved.

You still hadn’t been claimed.

And maybe it shouldn’t have been such an issue for you, but how could you not feel shitty? How could you see all the different tables and all the different kids talking and smiling and joking with each other that had parents who cared enough to at least claim them, and not feel unworthy?

Because you did. You felt unworthy, and it didn’t matter how many times you took your sparring partner down or bested the climbing wall or actually hit the bullseye at archery practice—your mother didn’t think you were good enough, so neither did you.

“How’re you doin’, Berkeley?”

You frowned. You didn’t have to look up to know it was Luke as he sat down next to you. “What?”

“Did you not hear me?” he asked, but you were already shaking your head.

“Berkeley,” you repeated, finally glancing at him. “That’s not my name.”

Luke shrugged. “I dunno what to tell you. You’re unclaimed. UC. University of California—first one I think of for you is Berkeley.”

You were staring now. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’ve got tons of UCs. I’ve gotta keep track of them all somehow,” Luke said, and he pointed at campers both at your table and walking around as he talked. “That’s LA, Irvine, Davis—the others aren’t here, but you get the gist.” He looked back at you. “Been savin’ Berkeley for someone special.”

“Oh gods,” you said, horrified. “I’ve got to get claimed.”

One of the girls at the table—Irvine?—rolled her eyes as she stood up and flicked Luke on the head. “Be nice,” she said before walking away. All he did was smile.

“Maybe give it to someone else,” you said. “I don’t feel special.”

Luke’s brows creased. “If you don’t like it—”

“It’s fine,” you said. “The name doesn’t bother me. The reason I have it does.”

His eyes softened as he said your actual name. “It’s only been a month. You’ve still got plenty of time.”

You looked across at the Hebe girl you’d become friends with—Marisol, if you remembered right—and hoped that your eyes didn’t show the desperation you felt. “How long did it take for you?”

She offered a sympathetic smile. “Six months. But it probably won’t be that long for you.”

“That’s what everyone keeps saying,” you mumbled. But it had been a month, and you hadn’t gotten a single sign.

“Because it’s true,” Luke urged. “Whoever your mom is will notice you—you’ve been killing it lately.”

“Really,” you said flatly, “I’ve been killing it.”

“Yes,” he said. “You don’t know it because you’ve only got your own experience—you went from nearly dead on our doorstep to taking down most of your opponents.”

“In training,” you said.

“That still counts!” Luke exclaimed. “Y’know, you’re holding yourself back. You’re incredible, but you’re the only one that seems to not notice it.”

“And my—”

“Do not say your mom,” he said, pointing a finger at you. “We’re not talking about the gods right now, we’re talking about you. And you, Bee, are killing it.”

That gave you pause. “Bee?”

“I’m trying to get you back up and you focus on the nickname?” Luke asked wryly.

“Just explain it,” you said.

“Bee shortened from Berkeley,” he said. “Not fully unclaimed, but still something special.”

God, you hated him. You’d been feeling shitty for a majority of your month here, but he always managed to make you smile.

“Sure,” you said.

“And a little annoying,” he added, earning himself a jab in the side as he laughed, “with a bit of a sting.”

“Aren’t you just so clever?” you mused, though you couldn’t help your smile widening.

“It’s in my genes,” he said proudly.

For the rest of a less than exciting lunch, Luke kept you occupied. Whether it was stories of his life before camp, or the couple of months that earned him counselor before you got here, or getting the other campers at the Hermes table to talk about themselves, he made sure you didn’t get a chance to spiral.

By the end, your face hurt from smiling

As you finished cleaning up, Marisol turned to you. “Me and a couple other girls were gonna go play volleyball—do you wanna come with us?”

“Yeah,” you said, and your smile grew. “Yeah, I’d love to. Thanks.”

“‘Course!” she exclaimed, and she linked arms with you. “I’d be a fool not to get you on my team after you took down Liam yesterday.”

She continued to talk as she pulled you along, and you looked back at Luke. He chuckled and gave you a thumbs up. “Go get ‘em, Bee!”

You gave him one back, and as you turned back to Marisol, you found that you couldn’t stop smiling.

—

It was two in the morning and you couldn’t stop crying.

You finally had a mattress against your back, and however stiff it was, it was better than the floor. A decent amount of kids got claimed over the past month, and half the cabin left after the summer was over, so you finally had the privilege of a bunk—thankfully, Marisol did too, and she was below you.

At least, until the summer-only campers that all the Hermes kids liked more than you returned. Then it was back to the floor.

Unless you got claimed before then. But that was less likely than being able to muster some good will from your cabin mates.

Because it was embarrassing, truly. You’d been at camp for four months now, and you hadn’t even gotten a single goddamn peep from whoever your mother might be. You just woke up every day on the floor, moseyed about a camp that still didn’t feel like home, burned offerings to a god that didn't want you, and went back to sleep on the floor.

And now you were crying in a bed that was barely even yours and it was two in the morning and you were wondering if it would have just been better for you to die on the road to camp the first time, because at least then your mother might have actually paid attention to you.

“Hey.”

And now you were really wishing you’d died because you’d woken someone up and they’re just gonna hate you more—

“Are you okay?”

You finally turned your head from where it had been buried in a pillow, a laissez-faire attempt to suffocate yourself or maybe just muffle the noise, and you saw Luke Castellan. Counselor of a cabin of thieves, vagabonds, and rejects, and maybe the only person that you didn’t want to see you like this. All that good will, the unearned faith you’d accumulated—this was the easiest way to lose it. His eyebrows were creased, and his whisper held what sounded like concern, but he was required to be concerned.

You nodded, still not moving, still not speaking. Tears rolled down your cheeks and stained the bed sheet.

“You’re gonna have to be a little more believable than that, Bee,” Luke murmured.

“No, I don’t,” you whispered back.

You got the tiniest huff of a laugh out of him, and he gestured towards the closed door with his head. “Wanna take a second?”

“It’s past curfew,” you mumbled.

“And you’re miserable,” Luke said. “You can’t feel any worse getting eaten by harpies than you do now.”

Still, you stared at him.

“It’ll be okay,” he promised. “Right outside the cabin. Harpies won’t even know.”

You rubbed a hand across your face, coming away wet with tears, and you realized that he wasn’t just going to leave you like this. So you got up as quietly as you could, careful not to disturb your bunkmates, and followed Luke. He pushed the door open and shut so quietly you wondered how many times he’s snuck out.

The cold air was sobering, and you wiped away more tears before wrapping your arms around yourself. Camp Half-Blood was always supposed to have perfect weather, but you guess not even they were immune to November nights.

“So,” Luke started, and in your peripherals you could see him leaning against the side of the cabin. You could feel his gaze on you, and you just stared off into the distance.

“So,” you repeated.

“You wanna tell me why you’re crying in the middle of the night?” he asked.

“Not really,” you said, because it felt ridiculous that a boy your age was acting like he’s ten years your elder.

Luke chuckled and tipped his head. “Fair. You want to say anything at all?”

“I’m sorry for waking you up.”

He shook his head. “I was already up. I’m a light sleeper.”

“Seems rough in a cabin like this,” you said.

“I’ve gotten used to it,” he said. “Did you have a nightmare?”

You frowned, because now it really felt like he was babying you. Luke must have caught on, because he laughed a bit and shook his head.

“Demigods have… extremely vivid dreams,” he said. “Typically horrific nightmares. Sometimes prophetic.”

Your frown deepened. “That’s awful.”

Luke shrugged. “It’s just the way it is. The gods can’t interfere in mortal affairs, so I guess it’s their way of letting us know what’s wrong.”

You shook your head with a sigh. “No nightmares, thankfully. Just… feeling overwhelmed.”

“About what?” he asked. “I told you you’ve been doing great.”

“It doesn’t matter how many times you say it,” you said wryly. “It doesn’t mean I believe it.”

“There’s no reason you shouldn’t,” he asserted.

You huffed a laugh. “It’s been four months, Luke. Four months since I got here after nearly dying in five different states, and I don’t even know who’s responsible for it.”

“Ah,” Luke said. “The unclaimed thing.”

“Yeah,” you said wryly. “I guess you could call it that.”

“Sorry,” he said, and he shook his head. “It’s a bigger deal than that, I know.”

“Maybe it isn’t,” you said. “There’s at least six other kids in there dealing with the same thing as I am, and none of them are waking up their counselor in the middle of the night with their tears.”

“Don’t talk about yourself like that,” Luke said with surprising conviction. “Like your feelings aren’t valid. Because they are.”

You crossed your arms. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

“They are,” he insisted. “A— and you’re not bothering me. We’re friends, and we help each other. I care about you, y’know.”

“I never said I was bothering you,” you said wryly.

“You thought it,” Luke said. “I know you did.”

“...Maybe.” You sighed and shook your head as you looked out at the stars. They really were beautiful here. “I just can’t help but be bitter about all this, and I feel so shitty about it.”

“Would it make you feel better to know you’re not the only one that thinks that?” he asked.

“A little, yeah.” You glanced at him. “No one else seems too bothered that their parents are never around.”

“Most of them have accepted that it’s just the way it is,” he said. “Doesn’t mean you have to.”

“Have you?”

Luke sighed after a moment of reluctance. “I… I have a complicated relationship with my dad because he was around. It was almost… worse to know him, and then to have him leave.”

“It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all,” you quoted.

“I don’t know about that,” Luke murmured. “But it certainly helps to talk about it.”

You glanced over to see him gazing off into the distance, a look in his eye that you couldn’t quite place. This was the most he’d ever talked about his past to you, you realized—and it still wasn’t much.

“When were you claimed?” you asked after a moment of contemplation.

Luke shrugged. “I never really had to be. Hermes stayed with my mom for a year after I was born, and she told me who he was when I was a little older. I’ve known basically my whole life—he had no reason not to claim me as soon as I got to camp.”

“So you’re saying my dad could be keeping secrets from me too,” you said.

“He might not know,” Luke said. “A lot of times, they don’t talk about it. Sometimes, we don’t find out until a monster’s trying to kill us on a field trip.”

You huffed. “What a great existence we’ve been blessed with.”

Luke smiled, though it was tighter than usual. He let out a deep breath, then fully turned to you.

“Do you have your dagger with you?”

You frowned. “It’s under my pillow. Why?”

“Under your—” Luke stared for a moment before he laughed and shook his head. “A little paranoid?”

You shrugged. “You said it yourself. You’re a cabin of thieves.”

“True,” he admitted. “How’d you like to get some of this emotion out?”

“We’re sneaking out even more?”

“It’ll be fine,” Luke promised.

“You always say that,” you said. “Eventually, it’s not gonna be true.”

He laughed and gestured at the door. “Get your dagger. We’re gonna make this a very bad night for some mannequins.”

“Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.”

You huffed as you ripped your dagger out of the dummy, a few strands of straw coming out of the new hole you’d torn in its forehead, and wiped the sweat off your forehead. “Are you kidding? This was a great idea.”

“Not this part,” he said. “The ‘being alone with you during a rage’ part.”

“I’m not in a rage,” you muttered as you slashed at the breastplate, “I’m blowing off steam.”

Luke hummed. “And you thought you weren’t a good fighter.”

You stabbed at the armor again then rammed your fist into its head, and you took a step back as the mannequin thudded to the ground. “I guess I just need to think about my mom before I go into battle.”

“Y’know, Bee,” Luke said, “you scare me sometimes.”

You shook your head, wiping your blade on your night shirt to get any debris off as you turned around. “You’re really gonna stick with that?”

“I told you I’d stop if you didn’t like it.”

“It’s not that. I just…” You sighed and shook your head again. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does.” Luke crossed his arms. “Everything you have to say matters.”

“Not if I say it doesn’t,” you countered, and you looked at him. “Who do you think it could be?”

“Your parent?” he asked. You nodded.

“Definitely not Apollo,” Luke said. “You’re way too dreary to be a kid of the god of the sun.”

“Gee,” you said dryly, “thanks.”

Luke shrugged. “You asked.”

“Well— who else?” You picked the dummy back up and dusted the armor off. “Athena, maybe? I’m smart.”

“Not smart enough to not be out past curfew with me,” he said.

“You suggested this,” you scoffed. “And I definitely needed it. If we get caught, I’m blaming you.”

“And why do you think that would work?” he asked, amused.

“You’re the camp’s golden boy,” you said. “I doubt you’d get in much trouble.”

“Sure, sure,” he said, nodding. “Or you just think I’m good enough to talk my way out of it.”

You tilted your head. “That too.”

“I never thought Ares before,” Luke chuckled, “but after all this, I think you might have it in you.”

“God, I hope not. Priya hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Luke said. “She just tried to kill you that one time.”

“And that other time during capture the flag,” you said. “She’s out for blood, Luke.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “She always is. She’s probably already moved onto her next victim.”

“I hope so.”

“Maybe Aphrodite?” he suggested. “You’re awfully pretty.”

You rolled your eyes. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s true,” Luke corrected.

You huffed a laugh but couldn’t help the slightest smile as you shook your head. “It’s not Tyche, at least. I have the worst luck.”

“Maybe you’re a Big Three kid,” he said. “How do you feel about the sky?”

“I like it,” you said.

“The ocean?”

“Not so much.”

“And the darkness?”

You huffed a dry laugh. “I’m not a Big Three kid, Luke. Even I know that.”

“No, you don’t,” he said. “You can never know for sure until you’re claimed.”

“If I was, I would be the biggest disappointment,” you said, looking at your reflection in your dagger. “Breaking their pact for a kid that can barely fight.”

“Why do you always do that?”

Luke’s voice had lost the joking edge from before, and when you glanced over at him, he was frowning.

“Do what?”

“You always put yourself down,” he said. “You don’t even give yourself a chance to believe that you’ll be great, or that you’ll succeed—you’re just a coward, or a failure, or worthless at the first bump in the road.”

“Luke—”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I need you to understand that you are so, so much more than whatever that shitty voice in your head says.”

You went silent. Any words you could have even said stuck in your throat.

“This is not an easy life,” Luke asserted. “We’re thrown into an ocean before we know how to swim, and we have to find the shore all on our own or die trying. We—” he laughed, but there was no heart in it— “we’ve got our parents above us that could guide us, could save us, but most of the time they refuse to even acknowledge us. And we’ve got every single goddamn obstacle in the way trying to kill us.”

He inclined his head towards you. “But in spite of all that, you’re alive. You’re still here. You’re pushing through everything in your path, and you are still fucking here. Do you get that?”

“…I’m still here,” you repeated, and your hands clenched into fists. It had never felt more right to have your dagger in your hand.

Luke nodded resolutely. “And you’ve got a couple lifeboats to help along the way.”

“You mean it?” Your voice came out softer than you thought, in stark contrast to the stiffness of your bones, but you felt like a kid all over again.

“With all my heart,” he promised. “For as long as you’re here, I’ll be here.”

Your throat tightened, and the telltale beginnings of tears pricked behind your eyes. This time, when you spoke, your voice was little more than a whisper. “Thank you.”

“Always,” he said. “And I mean that.”

You nodded, maybe a few too many times, and cleared your throat as you looked back at your dagger. “It’s late. We should get back before we actually get in trouble.”

Luke nodded too, and he helped you move the dummy back into place. You hated how your heart jumped into your throat when your hands brushed for the barest moment, but thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice.

“Thank you for this.” You played with your hands as Luke finished putting everything else away—extra insurance to make sure no one knew you were here—and only managed to make eye contact just as he looked at you. “It… it really helped.” More than he knew, you were sure.

Luke smiled, and he offered you his arm. “Always.”

You took it, ignoring the heat in your cheeks. “Just… don’t tell anyone about the crying.”

He chuckled as you started walking together. “After the way you’ve been handling that dagger? I’d be a fool.“

“Luke,” you groaned, “this is awful.”

“You were the one who said you wanted to spend time with me,” he said, giving you a crooked smile. “Spending time with me after the worst cabin inspection ever means cleaning the place head to toe for our next one.”

“Is skipping dinner really worth it though?” you asked as you scooped up a pile of dirty clothes and tossed it into the basket between you two.

“It’s the only time this place is completely empty,” he said. “I told you I could handle it alone—you’re the one that insisted on helping.”

“Maybe I do want to be a Big Three kid,” you grumbled. “At least I’d only be cleaning up my own mess.”

“You’d also have the wrath of the gods and every monster in the world to deal with,” he said.

You shook your head. “A small price to pay for a clean cabin.”

“And then you wouldn’t get to see me when you wake up every day,” he mused. “A much bigger price to pay.”

You huffed as you dropped to your knees, reaching under a bed to grab a stray camp tee. “Keep talking, pretty boy. It won’t clean the floors.”

Luke grinned. “You think I’m pretty?”

“I think you’ve got the messiest cabin in the world,” you said. “We’ve gotten the lowest rating every day for the past two weeks. I’ve been here for seven months now, and I don’t think we’ve ever gotten a full five.”

“Which is why you’re helping me!” he said. “Because you’re as sick of scrubbing the pegasi stables as I am.”

“You’re the counselor here!” you exclaimed. “You’ve gotta whip your siblings into shape.”

Luke gestured at you. “You’re basically my co-counselor. It’s just as much your responsibility.”

“And just what makes you think that?” you marveled.

“You’re the person in the cabin I like the most,” he said, “and we spend a lot of time together. That’s enough to make you my partner.”

“My stuff is always clean,” you said. “It’s you and the rest of the Hermes kids that’ve gotten us stuck in the stables and the kitchens every afternoon. Not me.”

You started remaking the unmade bed—would it kill any of the Hermes kids to make theirs right after they got up?—and shook your head. “It’s just not fair. Aphrodite’s cabin is basically Barbie’s Dreamhouse, and Demeter kids can grow plants to make it all pretty. We’ve just got a cabin of slobs.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, but when you glanced at him, you saw he was smiling. “It’ll all be fine.”

“You always say that.” You got the fitted sheet into all the corners then looked at him full-on. “Even when it’s not about something as stupid as laundry. How do you know?”

Luke shrugged as he nudged a ladder to a top bunk back into place. “I don’t. I just hope for the best.”

“How do you do that?” you asked. “How does anyone here do that? I feel like I’m the most pessimistic person here.”

“Every single one of us is an anomaly,” Luke said. “Freaks of nature. By all accounts of logic, we shouldn’t exist. But we do. All of mythology does. And when we have to literally fight for our lives for every single day, it doesn’t do much good to sweat the small stuff.”

“All I do is sweat the small stuff,” you grumbled, and you stretched your back out before you continued. “D’you think they’ll get annoyed that we just pooled all their laundry together again?”

“Nah,” Luke said. “If they didn’t want to have to pick all their stuff out after we so graciously do the laundry for them, they would keep their things clean in the first place.”

You chuckled and shook your head as you finished laying out the sorry excuse for a comforter—it would end up on the floor five seconds into the night, but Sisyphus and the boulder and all that—and sat down on the fruits of your labor. “I think this mess is the one thing I won’t miss when I get claimed.”

“You’re not as down about that as you used to be,” Luke noted.

“You know how they say a watched pot never boils?”

He actually laughed at that as he leaned against a bed post. “If you don’t care, you’ll get claimed faster?”

You shrugged. “Nothing else has worked. And like you said—don’t sweat the small stuff, right?”

“Like you said— all you do is sweat the small stuff.”

“Maybe I’m gonna try and turn over a new leaf,” you mused.

“I think that would be good for you,” he said. “You’ve been happier lately. It’s good to see you happy.”

“You’ve been watching?” you asked wryly.

Luke smiled. “You know I always am.”

You ignored the warmth stirring in your chest as you shrugged. “I’ve spent way too much time this year being sad over things I can’t control. Might as well start focusing on the things I can.”

“And to think,” he mused, “this is the same girl that wanted nothing to do with me when we first talked.”

“Oh, please,” you said dryly, “I’ve always wanted something to do with you.”

“And you still understand that flattery gets you everywhere,” Luke said with a grin. He pushed himself up and held out his hand. “C’mon—this place is clean enough. I think if we run, we can still make dinner.”

“Think we’ll get in trouble for partially skipping?” you asked as you stood up and took his hand, swinging your intertwined hands a bit as you walked together.

Luke chuckled as he pushed the door open and you walked out. “After the work we did here? We should be hailed as saints.”

“Luke,” you whispered.

His eyes shot wide open as he jolted up, and you had to stifle your laugh at his bewildered expression before he realized it was you.

He said your name groggily, rubbing his eyes as he kept himself propped up with his other arm. “What d’you need?”

“The stars,” you said. “They’re beautiful tonight.”

“So are you,” he mumbled. “You don’t see me waking you up in the middle of the night to tell you that.”

“Luke,” you said, but you couldn’t help your smile. “On topic.”

“The stars,” he said, barely nodding in his addled state. “Good for them. I’m going back to sleep now.”

“No, Luke—” you laughed softly and took his hand. “Come stargazing with me.”

He closed his eyes, but he didn’t take his hand away. “You’re insane.”

“Please,” you said. “I could never see the stars at home, not like this. They’re brighter than I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s so late,” he complained. “Can we do it in the morning?”

“Do you know what stargazing is?” you asked, amused.

“Hey, lovebirds.” The annoyed, tired voice of a camper rang out as they hit the wall. “Take it outside so we can sleep.”

Again, you had to bite back a laugh. Luke looked like he was holding back a groan, but he got up anyway, rubbing the grogginess out of his eyes. You moved to the door as quietly as possible, and you waited until he joined you on the small porch.

“Thank you,” you said, hearing the door close, “and sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Luke covered up his yawn as he held a jacket out for you. “Put this on. I’m not gonna be responsible for you getting a cold because you want to stargaze in February.”

Your eyebrows rose as you took it. “Is this yours?”

“Don’t think too much into it,” he said, but he had the slightest smile on his lips. “You wanna see the stars, right? Let’s see ‘em.”

“Not here,” you said, shaking your head as you zipped up the maroon hoodie. You held out your hand once you finished. “Do you trust me?”

“Oh, gods,” he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair. “We’re doing a trust exercise too?”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you remarked. You took his hand and started dragging him along, a clear spot in mind.

“You’re kidding me,” he said in exasperation. “I thought we were just gonna look at the sky for a couple minutes— you’re taking me to a second destination?”

“Hey,” you said, “don’t sweat the small stuff.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to use that on the harpies when they catch us and eat us,” Luke said offhandedly. “‘I’m sorry, ma’am—we’re really trying not to sweat the small stuff.’”

You laughed as you continued on your way, and out of the corner of your eye you could see Luke smiling too, despite himself. Suddenly, though, his grip tightened on your hand and he pulled you behind one of the thicker columns of the pavilion.

“Wh—”

He shook his head then gestured with it to the other side of the pavilion. One of the harpies—Aello, if you remembered correctly from Chris’s rant the past week about cleaning dishes—was walking past, muttering things to herself.

“Speak of the devil,” you marveled. You definitely weren’t a child of Tyche.

Luke gave you a look that quite clearly said be quiet, and for some reason that only made you want to laugh more. He must have seen that glint in your eye that he’d grown used to, because he placed his hand over your mouth right before the dam was about to burst.

You squeezed his hand tight as you tried to keep yourself from blowing your cover while Luke occupied himself with actually watching to make sure your path would clear. You were pressed right up against each other, and even through the jacket, even in the cold, you could feel his body warmth. He did say he ran hot.

Eventually, Luke let out a labored sigh and let his hand drop, and you wheezed, nearly doubling over.

“There is something wrong with you,” he said. He was barely able to hold back his own amusement.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, “that was awful.”

“That was your fault!” he exclaimed.

“How was it my fault?” you argued. “You’re the counselor here—you’re meant to be the responsible one!”

“I was being responsible!” Luke laughed again as he ran his hand through his hair then used it to gesture at you. “You were the one that nearly got us caught—you were the one who wanted to be out here in the first place!”

“Right,” you said, pointing your finger, “we gotta get to the beach.”

“Stargazing on the beach,” Luke marveled. “Definitely worth nearly getting eaten.”

“Oh, shut up,” you said as you continued to pull him along. “You could’ve said no.”

He squeezed your hand for a moment. “We both know I can never say no to you.”

Once you got to the beach you let go of his hand and laid down, taking care not to get sand in your sneakers. Luke sat down next to you but stayed up, watching the tide go in and out.

At night, without a hundred campers running around making all the noise they can, you actually felt like you could breathe.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” It almost felt wrong to break the sacred silence, to insert yourself in the ambiance of nature working together in all its glory.

“Yeah.” Luke’s voice was softer than usual, that rough edge you’d grown used to absent in the face of calmer seas. “Yeah. It’s…”

“Serene,” you suggested.

“Beautiful,” he said. When you glanced at him, he was already looking at you.

“Very smooth,” you said wryly. “Now stop flirting and look at the stars.”

Luke chuckled lightly as he let himself fall back. His hand bumped yours as he adjusted his position, and your breath caught in your throat for the barest moment. You moved it away.

The two of you laid there together in silence gazing at the stars for what felt like forever. The gentle waves coming to shore then leaving, the scattering of sand from quiet winds, and not a single angry car horn or police siren.

You missed home, the city. You were headstrong in your belief that Detroit was better than New York. But gods—sometimes, you just couldn’t beat camp.

You didn’t know what possessed you to break the silence. But something had been tugging at you since the moment you laid down on the beach, and so you did.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Luke didn’t miss a beat. “Always.”

“I…” you trailed off for a moment, but you bolstered yourself. “I’m scared of what comes next.”

You heard Luke shift in the sand and felt his eyes on you. “What do you mean?”

“After this,” you said. “The honeymoon phase of being a demigod.”

He huffed a laugh. “I wouldn’t say we have a honeymoon phase.”

“You know what I mean.” A shiver went down your spine and you put your arms on your chest. Like a coffin. “I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“I think you need to stop getting up in the middle of the night,” he said. “It seems you have all your existential crises then.”

You exhaled out your nose, a sorry excuse for a laugh. “I’ve heard about quests—how they can happen for no reason except a god’s will, to— to prove that you’re worthy. And all I can think about is that my mother will never claim me until I prove I’m worthy or die trying.”

Luke was silent. You could feel your throat closing up, the threatened onslaught of tears. You blinked them back.

“All my life, I have never felt seen,” you murmured. “And I’m terrified that the only way I will be seen is when I die.”

“Look at me.”

You turned your head—Luke’s eyes were piercing in the moonlight.

“I don’t care what anyone says, especially that voice in your head—you’re worth everything and more,” he said. “And you are worth so much more than becoming a martyr for a god’s approval.”

“I wish you could tell my mom that,” you mumbled.

“I would march right up to Olympus and say it to her face,” he said. “And if it bothers her that much, she can smite me right now.”

That got a breathy laugh out of you from the pure absurdity. Luke’s eyes flicked to the sky as he waited, and when he didn’t instantly die a horrific death, his gaze went back to you.

“I see you,” Luke promised, his voice low. “And I’ll make everyone see you the way I do. I swear it.”

You were starstruck. You couldn’t look away from him, from the determination etched into each detail of his face, the softness in his eyes directed wholly at you—the fact that he was here at all in the first place at an unholy hour just because you asked.

Oh gods. You were in trouble.

“It’s late.” You finally managed to break the spell that held you under. “We should go.”

“Yeah.” Luke made no motion to move, still focused wholly on you.

“Luke,” you whispered.

You could have sworn his eyes moved down to your lips, but he was sitting up so quickly that you knew you must have imagined it. You cleared your throat as you followed suit, brushing the sand off your—his— jacket.

“This was nice,” he said after a moment. “...Thanks for waking me up.”

“Of course,” you said. “There’s… there’s no one else I would’ve wanted to share it with.”

Luke smiled, and you didn’t think he’d ever looked more beautiful than he did now, awash in the silver moonlight. If you were braver, you would have taken his hand again. You would’ve done what the voice in your head desperately wanted to do—had wanted to do for the past two months.

But you didn’t.

“I guess it was worth nearly getting eaten, huh?”

“Yeah,” he said, and he shrugged. “But most things are worth it when it comes to you.”

You nearly melted right there, and it was a credit to your strength that you didn’t say anything horrifically stupid. Instead, you put on a smile, hoped he couldn’t see how much he was killing you, and started back up on the path.

“C’mon,” you said. “Before we end up having to clean the entire camp for breaking curfew.”

“Whatever you say,” he mused.

You groaned as you slumped into your usual spot at the Hermes table. You heard Luke laugh, and you felt his eyes on you as you put your head in your arms.

“What’s got you so down?”

“I’ve been fifteen for three days and I already feel like an old woman,” you said. “Everything still hurts.”

“Capture the flag was meant to be a birthday gift,” Luke said wryly. “And we did win.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” you grumbled. “I swear, some people went after me on purpose just because it was my birthday. I’ve got bruises all over.”

“You know, we have an infirmary for a reason.”

“They’re battle wounds,” you said. You picked up your head just to take your goblet. “Lemonade. Actually, pink lemonade.” You took a sip, but even that didn’t make you feel better. You buried your head back in your arms with a rough sigh. “Signs of our victory.”

Luke huffed a laugh. “Sometimes I really don’t…”

He trailed off suddenly, and you heard a collective gasp go up at the table.

“What?” you asked halfheartedly.

“You— you’re—”

You didn’t know why he couldn’t finish his sentence. You picked your head up to see Luke’s face awash in golden light, his eyes wide. Everyone else at the Hermes cabin was just as awestruck, and Marisol fumbled around in her purse until she pulled out her compact. She opened her foundation, the mirror pointing at you, and you realized why.

A glowing, golden, translucent sickle with a few sheaths of wheat floated above your head. You frowned.

Before you had the chance to say anything, Luke was yelling your name and tackling you in a hug. You let out a grunt of surprise as you barely managed to brace yourself, and when he pulled away he was smiling wider than you’d ever seen.

“You’re claimed!” he exclaimed, his hands gripping your shoulders. “You— you’re finally claimed!”

“Demeter,” you said, almost absentmindedly. It still hadn’t quite hit you.

“Demeter,” he repeated, nodding rapidly, that gigantic smile seeming like a permanent feature at this point. “I told you everyone would see you— I told you we would make them see you the way I do!”

The rest of the table was chattering away, and you could feel Chris patting you on the back and saying words that went in one ear and out the other. The rest of the pavilion was starting to catch word, and you could see a couple kids from a table on the opposite end standing up and craning to see. Maybe your new siblings.

(You should be happy.)

Your new siblings.

…Your new cabin.

You could still barely think, like there was static in your brain. Luke’s hands on your shoulders were the only thing grounding you.

(You should be ecstatic.)

A year of tears, silent prayers, and apathetic resolution had finally come to a close, just days after your fifteenth.

(Why are you not smiling?)

You’d been claimed. But you didn’t think you’d ever felt more lost.

#also you may notice. that these include the flashbacks mentioned at the end of bleedin me dry. bc i enjoy hurting people #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan fic #luke castellan angst #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #pjo x reader #x reader #sadie writes

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its-time-to-write · 7 months

Note

how about a Jamie x reader fic when they go away to Amsterdam they sit together on bus and they wake up cuddling and then there’s an issue w hotel booking and there’s a one bed trope and they end up waking up cuddled together and then they admit feelings and reader goes to game with a tartt jersey on <3

I’ve been thinking about this forever, and I’m terribly sorry it took so long!! I do enjoy being an adult, but I’m at a point in life where I don’t have much free time and if I do, I use it to sleep😂

I really miss the days when Ted Lasso was still airing and the x reader tags had new content every day. I feel like that one meme of Thanos when he’s like “Fine. I’ll do it myself.” Shoutout to all y’all who are still here and reading my stuff! Love you!!

smile at me

It’s straight-up fucked. It really, really is. But also maybe it’s good, as Keeley pointed out, because not having a boyfriend anymore means you can focus on yourself?

Or something.

Of course he had to break up with you right before leaving for Amsterdam. Hell, he broke up with you because you were leaving for Amsterdam.

“I don’t want you going to another country with a bunch of other guys,” he had said. “It’s them or me.”

“It’s literally my job,” you told him.

Apparently, that didn’t matter.

But what-fucking-ever, you’re at Keeley’s waiting for a car to take you to the airport, and she’s promised to make sure you don’t think about your stupid ex even once.

It’s times like these you wish Ted were still here with a spot-on pun and some dad-type advice. All you ever get from Beard is a weird anecdote and a vaguely threatening look.

Keeley chatters on for the entirety of the ride to the airport, through customs, and all the way to the lounge.

“You’re gonna get loads of great content for the socials, babe. Candids, action shots, behind-the-scenes. Friendlies are fucking amazing!”

Last time Richmond were in Amsterdam, they had lost horribly. They’re hoping to make up for it this time around.

The plane is full of Greyhounds, both footballers and coaches alike, with Rebecca at the very front. Keeley plops done in the seat next to her as Dani waves at you from the middle.

“I saved you a seat!” he calls. You smile as Sam takes your bag to put it in the overhead. “Thanks, Dani. You excited?”

Dani grins. “I think this time I am ready to see a whole field of tulips!”

You laugh as the lads roll their eyes. Jamie leans across the aisle toward you and says, “Oi, what’s the twat doing while you’re away?”

You press your lips into a thin line. “Not a clue.”

He raises an eyebrow and says, “You break up with him?”

“He broke up with me.”

Jamie twists his face into a scoff. “And you wonder why I call him the fucking twat. Prick. Bet it was so he could finally fuck his coworker.”

You shrug. Jamie’s never liked your boyfriend. It’s not like you were together long, only a few months. And sure, he was a little bit of a twat, but sue you. You had a special place in your heart for pricks with a heart of gold, only he didn’t even have a heart at all.

“You should date someone better,” Jamie continues.

You glare at him and retort, “Oh yeah, because it’s just that easy. You got some one in mind?”

Jamie gives you his most angelic look and says, “What about me?” which makes half the plane dissolve into laughter, yourself included.

“Cheers, Jamie,” you say as you wipe your eyes. “I needed that.”

A strange look crosses his face, but it’s quickly replaced by his usual cocky expression. “Anytime, love,” he replies as you turn to start a conversation with Dani.

As much as you’d like that, Jamie would never date you. His joke stings a little but you brush it off. Maybe you’ll find another twat in Amsterdam to distract yourself from the fact that you’re half in love with Jamie Tartt.

—

“I’m sorry, we don’t have a booking under you name,” the hotel concierge says.

You tap your nails to your wrist. “Are you positive? I’m with AFC Richmond, they should’ve had one.”

The concierge taps on his computer for a moment before shaking his head. “No, I’m afraid we don’t have anything. And all of our rooms are booked this weekend. Might I recommend the hotel down the road?”

Damn it. There’s no way this is happening. Everyone else has gotten to their rooms without a hitch and here you are, alone in the lobby as you pull out your phone to call Keeley. There’s no way this is fucking happening.

“Everything alright?” asks a voice behind you, and you jump.

“They don’t have a room for me, and they’re fully booked,” you explain.

Jamie looks at the concierge, who shrugs apologetically, then back to you. He asks, “Why don’t you share with me?” and you frown.

“I thought you were rooming with Declan,” you say.

Jamie lifts a shoulder. “Yeah, but he switched with Richard because O’Brien fucking snores and he don’t give a shit.”

You say, “So you’re with Richard, then,” and he shakes his head.

“Nah, Richard’s with Jan.”

“I thought Dani was with Jan,” you say. These fucking footballers. What’s the point in having set rooms if they’re just going to switch it all up.

“Dani is with Jan,” Jamie says patiently, as if this all the most obvious thing in the world. “But Dani’s a cuddler, so he’s probably going to fucking end up with, I don’t know, Isaac or someone. Which means I get a room all to meself.”

“Right,” you say slowly. “Alright, I can do that. As long as you don’t mind.”

Jamie winks. “Sharing a room with a pretty girl for four days? Ain’t a problem, love.”

You laugh and follow him to the elevator.

—

It feels a bit like playing with fire, agreeing to room with Jamie. Especially since you’re freshly single and definitely open to a rebound. But there will be two beds and a lot of space and anyway, you’ll be busy with the match and social media, respectively.

Except as soon as you walk through the door, you realize there’s a tiny little hitch.

“There’s one bed,” you blurt out, so surprised you’re unable to filter your words. Jamie blushes a little bit as he says, “Yeah, um, Cockburn and I hate sleeping alone, so we asked for one. He grew up sharing a bed with his brothers and I just fucking hate being alone. I can sleep on the couch if you want.”

“No,” you say firmly, “you need good rest. It’s not a problem.”

It’s not a problem.

Or at least it wouldn’t have been if Isaac had been a shittier captain.

But as it is he’s great, so he’s got the whole team going out to dinner at a pre-determined location complete with a dress code of no t-shirts and apparently you count as part of the team, so you have to go too. You’re in your massive bathroom trying to curl your disgusting travel hair when Jamie walks in wearing one of those white hotel bathrobes.

He asks, “You mind if I’m in here?” so you shake your head, struck temporarily mute by his bare clavicle. Fucking hell, you feel like a repressed Victorian woman.

Jamie says, “Mint,” and goes about his alarmingly detailed skincare routine. You’re pretty sure you’re done with your hair so you crane your neck in an attempt to check the back.

“Missed a spot,” Jamie says. “Want me to get it for you?”

You shoot him a dubious look but hand him the curler. He runs a hand through your hair, picking up the offending strand and it’s all you can do not to shiver.

“Mum taught me,” he explains and you nod ever so slightly, not wanting him to accidentally burn your neck. Jamie says, “All good,” and runs his whole hand through your hair this time, making the curls bounce.

You choke out, “Thanks,” and hurriedly put away your things, desperate to leave before Jamie can pick up on the fact that you can barely handle being in the same room as him, and that you have great concerns about what the night will bring.

—

“You look fucking hot,” is the first thing Rebecca says when you meet her in the lobby. Keeley looks mildly offended that Rebecca took the words out of her mouth, but she just laughs and taps your arm.

“Gonna break a few hearts tonight, yeah?” she grins.

You’re not sure about that, especially since dinner turns out to be a very domestic affair. It’s loud, sure, but it’s definitely toned down since it’s a pre-match celebration instead of a post-match one. You’re with Sam, Keeley, and Roy with Jamie far, far away. You push all thoughts of him from your brain only for memories of your ex to surface. You frown.

“The fuck’s wrong with you?” Roy says and for a moment, you think he’s talking to you. But he’s actually talking to Jamie who has moved from his place across the restaurant to right behind your chair.

“Fuck off grandad,” Jamie says good-naturedly. “Wanted to tell this one that some of the lads are going out dancing after this. Not too late,” he hastily adds at Roy’s burning scowl, “just for two hours and we’re only allowed one drink.”

You’re pretty sure that’s a bit more liberal than Roy likes, but he nods his head slightly so he must be in a good mood.

“So, you coming?” Jamie asks and before you can reply Sam and Keeley chorus, “Yes she is.”

You give Keeley a Look before turning back to Jamie. “Guess I am,” you reply.

The smile Jamie gives you does more to make your head spin than any amount of alcohol you’ve had in your lifetime.

—

Jamie has taken it upon himself to wipe that frown off your face. He might have been watching you over dinner and that might have been why he chose that exact moment to invite you out, but he’ll never fucking admit it to anyone except Sam. And Keeley. And maybe Cockburn when it was the off-season and they were a little tipsy. (But not drunk, never drunk.)

So yeah, sue him if he’s spinning you around on the crowded dance floor just because it makes you laugh. It’s not his fault that he’s been wildly in love with you since the day Higgins hired you. It’s not his fault that you’re easy to be around and have the most beautiful smile he’s seen in his life.

And fuck, it certainly isn’t his fault you can’t see in yourself what others do. Why you settled for a piece of shit like your ex, he’ll never know. But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do his best to show you how special you are. He knows you’ll never feel the same about him, but maybe he can help you level up your standards. Maybe if you’re with someone good, it’ll hurt less that it’s not him.

So he lets you hold his hand for the entirety of the two hours that the team is out and doesn’t say a word when you don’t let go in the cab back to the hotel.

You’ve gotten that closed-off look in your eyes again, the one that means you’re thinking about your ex, so Jamie knocks his shoulder into yours and asks why he can’t have the password to the team’s Instagram account, which is a sure fire way to get you to lecture him on irresponsibility and aesthetics and the best way to get your eyes to come back to life.

—

Honestly, it’s easier to fall asleep than you might have expected. It’s a big bed and you’re fucking tired.

You just didn’t expect to wake up in the middle of the night crying, but it’s always fucking like this when you go through a breakup. You go to sleep fine and wake up sad, so you do your best not to wake up Jamie except you’ve both ended up entangled in each other’s arms, so he can feel you shaking.

“Hey,” Jamie says in a soft voice, “You’re okay, love.”

You half expect him to push you away once he realizes you’re so close, but he only pulls you closer and presses a kiss to your forehead. Maybe it’s because you’re both half-asleep, but it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

You sigh and settle into him, drifting off in a matter of moments.

—

You wake up to a pair of blue eyes watching you.

“How you feeling?” Jamie asks, voice gravelly with sleep.

You just blink at him. It’s hard to form coherent sentences within the first ten seconds of waking up, and even harder with the memory of Jamie’s arms around you last night.

Wait. Not just the memory. The present reality because neither of you have moved.

Jamie misinterprets your silence and begins to extricate his arms.

“Sorry,” he says, “I’m not to trying to like, cross and fucking boundary or something. Should’ve left you alone.”

You’re still not awake enough to talk so you grab him to stop him from moving away. He gives you a questioning look so you say, “I wouldn’t have agreed to share a bed if I thought you were a creep.”

Jamie grins. “So like, if Jan had offered to share a room you’d’ve said no.”

You wrinkle your nose as you say, “Jan’s not a creep.”

“He’s the fucking worst,” Jamie grumbles, “And anyway, can we not talk about Jan fucking Maas this early in the morning?”

“Sure,” you say, “let’s talk about something else.”

Despite your comment, you both lapse into silence. You’re enraptured by Jamie’s blue eyes. You’ve never been able to study them this close before, and you want to take this opportunity to memorize every fleck of green.

Jamie seems to have a similar thought, except his gaze flicks to your lips.

“I have morning breath,” you tell him and he says, “Real men don’t give a shit, babe,” before leaning forward.

It’s softer than you’d expected, sweeter.

It’s also strange to think that you’re making out with Jamie in bed, and that he’s the one who initiated it.

The thought is so absurd that you giggle, mid-kiss. Jamie breaks away and says, “Oi, there’s no way that was a shit kiss.”

“No,” you say between giggles, “it’s just weird that we’re doing this. Like, how are we supposed to look each other in the eye after?”

Jamie moves so he can look at you better, and you roll from your side to your back. “What do you mean?” he asks.

“Oh come on, we share a room and a bed, we kiss because I have all these sad feelings and you’re feeling a lot of emotions about the match, and then we have to work together after. It’s silly.”

Jamie cocks his head. “That’s what you think is happening?”

“Yes?” you say. None of this is going how it’s supposed to. “What do you think is happening?”

“I like you,” he says, and there is absolutely no mistaking his meaning.

“Oh,” you reply in a small voice. “Since when?”

“Since before you started dating the twat. When Higgins introduced ya to the team.”

“That’s a fucking long time ago!” you exclaim. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

Jamie rubs his face. “Yeah, ‘cept you showed up to work tellin’ everyone how you started dating the twat. And I ain’t a home wrecker.”

You groan. “Fuuuck. I literally only dated him to try to get over you.”

Jamie shoots up. “What?!”

“Yeah,” you say, “I’ve been like a little bit in love with you ever since you winked at me during that first promo I did.”

Jamie blows out a breath. “Okay. Think that’s enough talking. C’mere. We’re making out proper, like, then we’re going to breakfast.”

You grin as you climb onto his lap.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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blue-slxt · 3 months

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Romancing Pandora 6

🔞Minors Do Not Interact🔞

A/N: Shoutout to the anon that said they read First Heat and wanted a version for Lo’ak. It was interesting writing this with a new dynamic so I hope you enjoy! All characters are aged up!

Pairing: Lo’ak x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

Warnings: P in V, Heat Cycle, Creampie

Your day was off to a normal enough start. You wake up and go eat and get to your daily chores. The only thing that was off was this slowly growing pain in your stomach. Was it your stomach? Maybe a little lower? It was distracting to say the least. Nevertheless, you don’t let it stop you from going about your business. It was odd though, you could notice things that you’d never noticed before. Smell new scents in the air that had never been there before.

“Hey, there you are! I’ve been looking all over for you.” Lo’ak says walking up to you, but for some reason, he stops just short of where you stood. His face looks like he’s just seen a ghost.

“Hey Lo. Sorry, today’s been extra weird for some reason.” You say stepping closer to him, but when you do, he takes a step back.

Hurt and confusion flash across your face. Was he avoiding you?

“Lo? What’s wrong?”

Lo’ak says nothing, but he starts to look around suspiciously. You try to follow where he’s looking, but you can’t see anything out of the ordinary. Without another word, Lo’ak grabs you by the wrist and leads you into the forest, away from the rest of the people.

“Lo’ak, where are we going?”

Still, he says nothing. He’s being so weird. But what’s even weirder is this sweet smell coming from him. He’s never smelled like that before, has he? The walk into the forest must be going deeper than you thought because you’re starting to sweat. That can’t be right, though.

Soon enough, Lo’ak drops your wrist.

“You wanna explain what the hell that was about?” you demand.

“Um, hello? Are you blind? All those guys were eyeing you like a fresh piece of yerik that they were about to jump on. I had to get you out of there.” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing ever.

Were the guys looking at you? You couldn’t remember now. It’s not like they ever payed much attention to you before.

“And what are you doing just walking around during your heat? You should be at home before your pheromones alert every male in a 10-mile radius!”

“My heat? Is that what this is?” you ask somewhat meekly.

Lo’ak looks like his eyes might bulge out of his head. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“Look, Lo, you know it’s only been me and my dad and he…doesn’t really talk about stuff with me. I don’t know about this kinda thing.” And suddenly the ache in your core hits you with a new intensity. It’s much stronger than before and you have to hunch over and take a few deep breaths to get through it. It wasn’t this bad before, but with this sickeningly sweet smell wafting up your nose, it’s as if it’s egging on the pain.

“How have you made it this far in life without knowing something so basic?”

“Alright then, if you’re such an expert, then tell me how to stop this pain because it’s really getting to be too much to handle.”

Lo’ak looks around as if he doesn’t want to say it which is trying on your already frayed nerves.

“Out with it!” you tell him.

“Well, you’re supposed to…ya know…mate to deal with it.” he half mumbles the end like he’s embarrassed.

You let out a sigh of frustration. Now, your body is punishing you for not choosing a mate yet? You figure that you’re royally screwed. That is, until an idea pops in your head.

Lo’ak is still pretending to look anywhere and everywhere else to avoid eye contact with you. The smell of him is starting to make your mouth water.

You take a step over to him and lightly hook your finger in the waistband of his tewng.

“Lo’ak…help me…”

You can see the internal struggle on his face as the realization sets in of what you’re asking of him.

“I-I don’t know. I m-mean I don’t think I…I shouldn’t—“ he stammers.

“Lo’ak! Please. Just shut up and help me”

Your voice is firm and it makes his ears lower themselves against his head. His expression still holds that hesitation, so you take the initiative to press up on your toes and kiss him first. He’s taken aback at first, but he soon relaxes into it and his hands come up to hold your face. Your tail wraps around his leg hoping to pull his body closer to yours.

Any and all hesitation melts away from Lo’ak when he pulls himself away from your lips and kisses down your neck while gripping at your breast.

It feels like knot after knot is slowly being worked out of your body with every touch and kiss.

He guides you both down to the ground and hovers over your body still trailing kisses down your neck to your chest and your stomach.

The hunger in your core grows with each passing moment, needing desperately to be satiated.

“Please…need you inside…” your voice is breathless and your mind feels fuzzy, but you’re present enough to know that you’ll lose your grip without being filled.

Lo’ak quickly undoes his tewng with one hand and uses the other to slide your own to the side giving him a perfect view of your impossibly wet pussy.

“Fuck…”

It’s just above a whisper but you can still hear him. He lines himself up with you and pushes in slowly. Your back arches off the ground further with every inch that stretches you.

A moan falls from your lips that perks Lo’ak’s ears up. He lifts your knees to your chest and immediately starts thrusting into you harshly. It feels like he’s reaching into your stomach with every push into you. Every punch to your cervix forces another moan from you.

“Ah! Haah! Lo’ak!”

His eyes are trained on your face that’s scrunched up in ecstasy. His mouth falls open and his thrusts get faster. Every stroke perfectly drags the tip of his cock against the spongy part of your walls. It has your thighs trembling in his hold and your toes curling.

“Oh fuck, I’m going to cum already”

Your eyes roll as your release washes over you. The burning feeling that was overwhelming you fizzles out and subsides for now. Lo’ak fucks you slowly through your orgasm letting you ride out your high on his dick.

When you finally come down, your body relaxes and Lo’ak releases your legs. Your eyes close as you start to try and catch your breath.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

Lo’ak’s hands grab you by the hips and flip your body onto your stomach and hikes your hips up so he can slam back into you. You’re given no time to think or react. And with your body and mind being lost deep in the fog of your heat, all you can do is take it. Your body naturally wants to submit to him and let him have his way with you. You have no real ability or desire to fight that instinct in this moment.

“Fuu-u-u-ck Lo-ak!” Your words are broken with every thrust.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum”

It’s completely subconscious the way your tail coils around his torso keeping him close to you so he can’t pull out. But for Lo’ak, that one gesture is enough to tumble him over that edge and spill inside of you. He cums with a loud groan and mumbles of ‘take it all’.

There’s a new warmth spreading through your body and instead of being suffocating like earlier, it’s a welcome comfort. It brings relief and satisfaction with it.

You both fall to the ground exhausted taking heaving breaths. Before you can fully compose yourself, a dull ache starts to linger in your lower belly again. Confused, you curl up on your side facing Lo’ak.

“It’s starting to hurt again. I thought you said that would fix it.”

He lets out a long sigh, “Your heat lasts for a few days. One time is only going to hold you for a little while.”

“Oh, Great Mother.”

Lo’ak looks you up and down, letting his next statement settle on his tongue.

“It’s fine. I’ll help you so just use me.”

Taglist: @tallulah477 @eywaite @stickyexpertbailiffjudge @quicktosimp @tumblingdevils @teyamshuman @rivatar @frogletscribe @witchsprit @luvv4j4ybe11 @hope-di-angelo

@neteyams-wh0re @itchaboi-itchyboy @pandoraslxna @neteyamsyawntu @teyamsatan @sulieykte @xylianasblog @justcaptiannoodles

#avatar #avatar the way of water #awow #avatar fic #avatar smut #loak smut #loak x you #avatar loak #lo’ak sully smut #lo’ak sully #lo’ak smut #lo’ak avatar #romancingpandora2024

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beauty-and-passion · 4 days

Text

Eurovision 2024: broken promises and one last hope

Hello.

I know this post took a bit longer than usual, but I needed some time to collect my thoughts about this year’s Eurovision.

Yes, I watched it. Why? Because it wouldn’t have been fair to the artists, who took part in this year’s competition. It’s not because of them that the show was so polarized, so they didn’t deserve to be punished for that.

Also, I needed to see how far the EBU would go. I needed to see and I needed to remember. And everyone needs to remember too. Remember this year and remember what happened, when the EBU followed its policy so strictly, it ended up making the most tense show I’ve ever watched.

I will share my thoughts and I will try my best to do it effectively. It won’t be a short post and I apologize, but I tried my best.

_________________________________

Sweden: was it worth it?

We all had big expectations for this year’s show. There was Petra Mede, everyone’s favorite host. And Sweden is well known for doing great shows. This year should've been great.

The first semifinal starts and we're bombarded by greatest hits of the past. Cool for five minutes, boring after one hour.

I’m disappointed: I expected something better from Sweden, not them recycling something already done in the past. But that’s what they did by sending Loreen back to win again, so I suppose it’s fitting.

Okay, so we have Johnny Logan, Ireland’s three-time winner. Is he singing one of his songs? No, he’s singing Tattoo.

Weird choice. Why call Ireland’s three-time winner to perform a Swedish song? Why call a representative of the nation who won as many times as you and make him sing one of your songs and not one of his?

If I were to think badly, I would think this was Sweden's subtle way to impose its supremacy on Ireland. A sort of: "You're not the best anymore, I reached you and I will surpass you. You will succumb to me". But Sweden would never do something like that, wouldn’t it?

Then we have the second semifinal. And we have a song, which can be resumed as follows: “We know we stole Finland’s victory last year, but instead of admitting there is a problem with the voting system (and the entire system for that matter), we’d much rather prefer to whine, because people have been sooooo mean with us. And yes, we will keep sending the same stuff every time, because it makes us win. At the end of the day, all we want is to keep winning, so shut up and love us.”

I don’t know you, but the line between being self-aware of your flaws and openly admitting all you want is to win (all while insulting the country that almost won last year, by saying that their show would’ve been so stupid ah ah, while ours is so cool, see how cool we are?) is very thin. And even the greatest hosting country of all time can succumb to its own hubris once in a while.

Then we reach the final. Okay, the semifinals' shows were meh and left me with a bitter aftertaste, but hey, that’s the final! It must be awesome!

After two hours, I was looking at the clock, waiting for the entire thing to be over.

Did we really need a thirst song about Martin Österdahl, the most hated EBU Executive Supervisor? Was it really necessary to sexualize this man? Is it because he’s Swedish? Is it because Sweden needs to kiss the ESC’s ass even more? Or is it because the ESC really really wants to make this guy more popular, considering people hate him?

After hinting at them in every possible way for the entire week, in the end we got AI-generated ABBA. Well, shoutout to the real ABBA for not participating in this: last year they said they would’ve not taken part and they didn't. Respect.

Alcazar were the biggest surprise of the entire week, because they are a piece of my childhood and Crying at the Discoteque is still a huge bop. But heaven forbid we having fun for more than five minutes, so they were sent away immediately.

At the end of the day, my question is: was it worth it, Sweden? Was it worth winning seven times, only to celebrate with the most boring show ever?

I cannot believe I’m saying this, but I missed Portugal’s show. Yes, the show I called “torture”, because they kept spamming the entire country for days.

You know what? I’d rather watch a country constantly spam its beauties and its culture, than another greatest hit compilation. By god, you’re hosting Eurovision. That's your chance to display your country on the greatest window Europe has to offer. And you use that chance, to repeat over and over “Eurovision good” and talk about it only.

I know Eurovision is good and cool and I love the reminder... but please, give us something more, Sweden. Something you. Listening to a country say: “We don’t have anything else to offer besides Eurovision” does not make me laugh. It makes me sad. It's not that you don't have anything else to offer, Sweden: it's that you don't want to show what else you have to offer.

You have gorgeous natural places (Höga Kusten and Gotland just to name two). You have the second-longest bridge in Europe and it's fucking impressive. Your capital is full of wonderful islands - and I found out there are tours with buses that go both on the ground and in the water. How fucking cool is that?!

Do we want to talk about culture? Your coffee breaks are literally part of your lifestyle and even have a specific name. You have that great concept of lagom which a lot of people should learn too. You are full of beautiful art and funny foods - heck, there is even a Disgusting Food Museum in Malmö! And I didn't find out thanks to Eurovision, but thanks to fucking Tripadvisor.

It's just sad, you know? Don't underestimate yourself so much, Sweden. You have a ton to offer besides this show.

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The Netherlands: victim of paradoxes

Europapa was one of fan’s favorite songs and of course it was: a catchy tune, funny singer, fun and happiness for a song that was both a celebration of Europe and a touching love letter from Joost to his parents.

Of course it got people’s hearts. We all love the story of a character who comes up with a dream and wants to fulfill it. And if we can, we want to make that dream come true.

So just imagine how devastating it was, to find out Joost has been disqualified. I was minding my own business when I found out and I was shocked, so I can’t even imagine how bad his hardcore fans felt.

The first question was, of course, why. What happened? What could’ve done a man who has always wanted to attend Eurovision, to get disqualified? Not warned, not penalized. Disqualified. What did he ever do, to put in jeopardy his lifelong dream like that?

I don't know if we’ll ever find out the whole truth. All we know is that Joost asked a woman to stop filming him, she refused and kept following him, so he made a “threatening gesture” towards the camera, while not touching her.

Which gesture? No idea. Maybe he showed his middle finger, maybe he tried to lower the camera, maybe he said “fuck you and stop filming me”, maybe he tried to hit the camera. I don’t know. But in this case, I would really like to know - and not just what he did, but how the whole thing went.

If this year taught us something, is the importance of context. If Joost Klein tried to punch the camera is one thing and he should be condemned for that. But if Joost Klein tried to punch the camera after being filmed without his permission, because a woman was harassing him and following him, thus breaking the agreement that wanted him to not be filmed after stage… well, that's another thing.

Sure, he shouldn’t have reacted this way. But you can understand by yourself that snapping at someone out of the blue is one thing and snapping because you’re fed up with harassment is another thing.

Did Joost deserve some punishment? Sure. But did the person filming him without consent deserve punishment too? Of course. If you have to apply punishments, you have to do it equally, not with a double standard. So if he was disqualified, that woman should've been removed from her position too. But as far as I know, she wasn't.

Also, why didn't the EBU tell exactly what happened right from the start? Why refer to it as “an incident” and give only vague explanations? Why not mention Joost's disqualification during the Grand Final? Why did people have to find out through social media and the Grand Final happened as if nothing?

That's weird, that's not the behavior of someone who has nothing to hide. What’s the matter, EBU? Why this weird lack of communication? And why not show the footage of the incident and make everything clear? Now you’re respecting Joost’s right to not be filmed? A bit too late for that, isn’t it?

So yes, in a paradoxical turn of events, Joost Klein got his dream denied by the same show he wanted to be part of. The guy with the most European song ever, the one who stuck to the ESC motto “united by music”, the one who celebrated Europe, the one whose childhood dream was to be part of this European show, got disqualified by the same European show.

What can I say? I just hope karma will do its job for him. If he's innocent, he will get good things. If he's in the wrong, he will get his punishment.

In the meantime, you can still support him, stream his songs and check his albums. Here on YouTube you will find basically all of them, since it doesn’t seem he has a YouTube channel (yet).

And if his fans still find everything absurd and unjustifiable, don't worry: if Eurovision 2023 (and all previous ones) taught us something, is that you don’t have to be the winner, to steal people’s hearts. Sometimes, you just need one performance.

And this one stole everyone's heart.

youtube

Also, since apparently paradoxes were not enough, it seems like European flags were banned for being political? European flags during a European show in a European country in the European continent.

Uh?!

EBU, one question: on which continent do you think you’re in? Spoiler: it’s not America.

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EBU’s biggest mistake

Let's talk a bit about the current global situation, shall we? No, you can't escape from it.

So, unless you lived under a rock until now, you know that the Israeli-Palestinian conflict has been going on for a long time and that recently it intensified again because of the new Gaza conflict. Israel pretends to not have committed war crimes, the rest of the world tells them to stop committing them, there are protests everywhere and people are ready to jump at each other’s throats to defend one country or the other.

Now, you’re the EBU. You say your show isn’t political. And that’s true: Eurovision isn’t political. Eurovision is a musical competition. It has nothing to do with politics.

But Eurovision takes place on planet Earth. And, as said, the situation on planet Earth is a bit tense right now. So you already know that, if you stick one single finger in this situation, you will get BIG reactions from the public.

So, what do you do, when Israel asks you to participate?

a) You tell Israel, very politely and very professionally, that you appreciate their application, but cannot accept them this year, because the situation is what it is and letting them in would bring chaos and potential dangers into a contest whose main foundation is being safe and non-political.

b) You let Israel in and let Palestine participate too, at least in spirit through people’s voices and decisions to mention it. This way, no one can say you’re taking sides, since you’re letting both sides participate.

c) You let Israel in and censor everything and everyone else, so not only you bring chaos inside your non-political contest, but make it even more political than ever and end up taking sides too.

Guess what EBU chose.

In order to stick to their non-political policy, EBU put blinders on and ignored the rest of the world. In order to let one country in because "Eurovision is non-political, so everyone is allowed to participate", they brought politics into their non-political show.

And no, it's not unexpected: it was obvious that, by letting Israel in, politics would've entered the competition too. This country and politics are bound tightly now, because of the current situation: of course if you let one in, the other will enter too.

And with politics, all the chaos of the current situation found its way in too. And that means EBU literally put in danger:

25 artists and their teams coming from all over Europe

the same Israeli gal and her team

all the tourists coming from all over the world to attend Eurovision

Swedish people who were living their normal lives and were suddenly surrounded by protests and chaos

the protesters who could've been involved in potential clashes

members of the police who also could've been involved in potential clashes

“But hey”, you might say, “nothing bad happened, in the end! You’re being too negative!”

Sure, thankfully nothing bad happened. But the risk was there, it was huge and it's not that "it would've been here anyway": the risk could've been completely avoided, by applying just a bit more human reasoning.

But even after politics found its way into the show, even after that, EBU could've saved the whole thing. If only one human being with a functioning brain said something like: "Okay, politics is in, even if we didn't want to. Now all we can do is let the other side of the conflict speak too, while we stay neutral".

But no, oh no. Mentioning Palestine and ceasefire means politics and our show isn't political. So let's ignore the fact that our decision to follow the policy verbatim led to politics being inside the show and let's keep applying the rules as if nothing: no one should mention politics, so Eric Saade cannot perform with the kefiah, Bambie Thug should remove their messages about ceasefire, Iolanda cannot keep her nails with Palestine's colors (seriously?!) and people's booing should be drowned with anti-booing technology.

You know, it's incredibly fascinating how EBU's stubborn decision to strictly follow the rules not only allowed politics inside the show, but led to the EBU itself taking a political stand, all while censoring every other opposition. EBU's rigid, mechanical application of the policy led to the EBU contradicting the same policy it was oh-so-religiously following. By making sure the show wasn't political, EBU applied censorship and not only made it even more political, but politically oriented towards one side of the conflict.

I don't know who the EBU members are and if they're human beings with functioning brains or just AI-generated bots, but please: stop following the rules like mindless robots and start using human reasoning in your decision-making process. And use common sense too, because if an idiot like me could foresee the consequences, you should've been able to foresee them too.

_________________________________

Israel: bullying cannot buy you victory

Now, we have Israel in. And the Israeli gal and her team perfectly know that their sole presence will lead to controversy and political stands.

So, if you were in their place, what would have you done?

kept a low profile during the entire competition;

showed at least an ounce of regret for unintentionally putting everyone in danger;

bullied everyone and tried to find any possible chance to beef with the other artists;

Guess what the Israeli team chose.

During the entire competition, these people kept harassing other artists, filming them without consent, calling them names, misgendering them. They kept this arrogant behavior, as if they owned the place and all other countries were just invited to their show.

And if there’s something I hate more than arrogance, is arrogance with a side dish of bullying.

So, to all the people whining because “Martina Satti yawned while Eden was speaking and Joost hid his face”: if that’s bullying, for you, you have a great life and I envy you. I wish I was bullied like that in school. But my bullying was more like… well, calling me names, harassing me and listening/spying what I was doing without my consent.

But apparently harassing the competitors wasn’t enough, so Israel decided to harass the viewers too, by begging for votes. Yes, they begged for votes. Yes, they spammed ads all over YouTube. Yes, I got one too and it was on a Eurovision-unrelated video and it made my blood boil. Yes, they were this desperate. And yes, that’s pathetic.

Also: is this legal? Is this allowed? EBU, are we sure this is part of the rules you follow so strictly? And please, tell me: is harassment also part of those same rules?

But do not worry: in the end, karma found its way. And despite the arrogance, the harassment, the tons of money spent to beg people, none of these means was enough to grant Israel the victory they oh-so-desperately wanted.

On the contrary: in a wonderfully ironic twist, the winner was one of the artists they kept misgendering and harassing. Mmmh, delicious irony, my favorite.

So thank you Israel for wasting money all over YouTube, I hope they were a lot. Thank you to all the people who made a political vote, you really got the spirit of the show, I hope you will never watch it again. Thank you Israeli team for harassing everyone and making an already tense competition even more tense. And, most importantly, thank you EBU for bringing politics in a non-political show: great fucking job, I hope someone will get fired.

And now, let's finally talk about music. Israel's song was nothing special, just the umpteenth bland song I've listened to 200 times already. And we all know it didn't get 300+ votes because everyone was in love with it. People's taste is not so bland and boring. And the final points proved it.

(On a side note, if I were Eden, I would be offended by these votes. At least the people who voted for Loreen last year didn't do it because of Sweden, but because of her talent. This year, I doubt that the people who voted for Eden gave a shit about her talent at all)

_________________________________

France: I need to make some apologies

Listen, you have to understand: we Italians know that French singers are good. We laugh, we say they’re “so French” and they keep Frenching and everything, but we know they rarely disappoint.

The problem is that France is good at the same things we’re good too. We’re both good at soccer, we’re good with food, wine, fashion. And we’re both good at singing.

So, France, remember: we might make fun of you but my god, your artists are amazing. When Slimane sang that part acapella two meters away from his microphone, I literally got shivers. He is a fucking great singer, his voice is incredible and he deserved more than 7 points.

I know French Frenching, but we should give credit when necessary:

youtube

_________________________________

Estonia, Spain and basically everyone else: two words and more apologies

Estonia 20th and Spain 22nd? Super robbed. The ignominy. The audacity. They served us beautiful Estonian language and a Spanish gal with a soft voice and that's how they got rewarded? They deserve more and better and people are stupid.

Also, I don’t know what kind of beef Greeks have with Marina, but she was good and doesn’t deserve all of this hate. Also because most of the complaints I've heard about make no sense, so… uh?!

Germany: fucking finally, people gave you votes. Thank you for persevering, your song was truly nice and I liked it too.

Armenia: yes, top 10! For great, lively, wonderful Balkan rhythm! You deserve it and your country deserves love and appreciation.

Italy: I’m okay with this result. Angelina’s performance was better, compared to the one in the semi-finals (also, better costume too, the other was too revealing and too much in general). 7th place is fine.

Ireland: I know that’s not a song for everyone and okay, fine, maybe it’s nothing special either… but my god, have you seen the performance they put on? A-ma-zing. It was interesting, captivating and full of details. And the narrative is perfect too: you can see how Bambie slowly befriends the demon and ends up killing it. It was truly enjoyable to watch. So I’m glad it got 6th place, they deserve an even higher position.

Ukraine: please keep slaying, your artists are always so great and they keep proving it every goddamn time. Also, that moment when Ukraine surpassed Israel was delicious: money truly cannot buy you love and support.

The UK: seriously, why are you whining about people not giving you points? The song was okay, but nothing truly special. Still, you got 18th place! What should Norway say, instead? Poor Norway, it has all my sympathy, the song wasn't this bad.

And now, to you all: you know what to do. Follow your favorites, stream their songs, shower them with love. Eurovision is over, but these artists are not disappearing. They are still out there, making beautiful music. Go check on them.

_________________________________

Croatia: “the audience will come to my concert, not the jury”

Baby Lasagna was a blessing and as Italian, I want to properly apologize for giving it 16 points total only. You deserved 24, shame on us for being stupid morons.

Croatia gave us a beautiful song, from a beautiful artist with a great message and upbeat sounds. And I’m not the only one who thinks this, because the rest of the public agrees with me. Marko gave us pure joy and entertainment in an evening that was mostly sadness, tension and boredom.

And yes, it’s sad he didn’t win… but he knew it, before Switzerland’s points have been announced. Look at his face, during the final voting: as soon as Petra said Switzerland only needed 182 points, he realized he was going to lose. You can see him understanding and accepting it. He knew Switzerland would get these points. I knew. Everybody knew.

So no, this wasn’t like last year: last year, it was a one-on-one game between Finland and Sweden and a tug-of-war between public and jury. This year, we had a lot of favorites. Marko was the favorite, but if Joost wasn’t disqualified, maybe the points would’ve been even more distributed.

But you know what? Marko actually got the best possible result you can get in Eurovision. People adore you, you become a legend and your country doesn’t have to deal with EBU’s bullshit. You get the best of both worlds and it doesn’t cost you a cent.

Also, consider that Marko accepted his 2nd place graciously and maturely, went back home and was welcomed by basically the whole Zagreb (Let3 were there too! Kings supporting a king, very fitting). And in an interview, he said something like “I don’t care about the jury points, because the jury doesn’t come to my concerts”. Which proves he is:

a mood

a king

the truth oracle

everyone’s spirit animal

the winner of the people

the coolest guy ever

So, Croatia: I understand your disappointment, the jury system REALLY needs to change. And no, you won't host Eurovision next year. But consider that you're everyone's favorite country now. And you won't have to deal with whatever shit will happen in 2025! So sit back, relax, may your tourism thrive and your quality of life be high.

And if all of you people really enjoyed Baby Lasagna, please consider he has a YouTube channel and there are two other songs, besides Rim Tim Tagi Dim. One criticizes social media and the influencer system, while the other is a piece of great life advice from the title: “Don't hate yourself, but don't love yourself too much”. Thank you, king, for being so real.

And in case you’re wondering, yes, they’re both huge bops.

Do your magic, people: subscribe to his channel, stream his songs, watch his videos, shower him with love and, most importantly, meow back.

youtube

_________________________________

Switzerland: a contest that can live up to its promise

In the end Switzerland won. And it’s a good victory, you know? You might not like the song, but consider that Nemo sang pop, rap and opera, all while jumping on that rotating platform-thingy and running all over the stage. And they even bent back, while keeping a high note and rotating. I can’t even keep a high note by standing still, let alone by doing all the stuff they did.

Also, this is the first victory for a non-binary person, so great for them. And basically no one knew Nemo before Eurovision, so the show came back to its roots, by giving fame to an unknown artist.

Last but not least, in an ironic turn of events, this victory is the least political thing that happened on that stage. In the most polarized, political show ever, the winner is the quintessential neutral country. Almost poetic, in a way.

And this victory is also a huge slap in the face for the EBU: in the end, it wasn't its rigid adherence to the policy that made the show non-political, it was the jury’s vote. How the tables have turned.

But there is another reason why this victory is good after all and it’s because it’s a hopeful one. The winner isn’t famous, they didn’t harass anyone, they didn’t use money to win, they brought nothing besides their identity, a kind heart and a flag they had to sneak in because of the weird “flag rule” EBU pulled out.

And I would like to remind you that, during their victory speech, Nemo said this:

"I hope this contest can live up to its promise and continue to stand for peace and dignity for every person in this world".

I think it’s a speech that tells everything about this year’s show. This year, the contest didn’t live up to its promise: it put people in unnecessary danger, it brought tension, it made it political. EBU’s strictness led to a lot of consequences, the exact ones it tried so desperately to avoid.

As a result, no one enjoyed their time. I didn't enjoy my time. When Sunday came, I was relieved that the week was finally over and I was able to leave Eurovision behind. I didn't feel an ounce of the usual post-Eurovision nostalgia. I was just glad it was over.

And it's sad and unfair, because Eurovision isn't this. Eurovision is a perfect little window of peace and unity, away from the chaos of the world. For a few hours, three evenings a year, we can leave the real problems behind and focus on silly ones, like which country should win, which should be forever ashamed and which artist will become a legend.

This year, it wasn't like that. This year politics found its way in and wrecked everything. What was supposed to be a silly, funny, lighthearted show became so heavily politically charged, it broke under the weight.

And now that I think about it, Nemo breaking the trophy is the perfect metaphorical representation of this year's competition.

Just like that trophy, Eurovision is something frail and beautiful and mishandling can break it. And oh boy, the EBU truly mishandled it. Even if it was an accident, even if it wasn't done on purpose, the trophy is still broken. The show is broken.

But when asked about their broken trophy, Nemo didn't mourn it: Nemo gave words of hope. Maybe the broken trophy can be repaired. And maybe Eurovision can be repaired too.

How? Well, maybe by starting to learn when and how to apply rules. By using common sense and sensibility. And by checking the world outside too. If we want Eurovision to keep being that small window separated from real world problems, we can't just ignore them: we need to check them and react accordingly.

And if we have to break a rule to guarantee peace and safety, then so be it. One broken rule is not as important as safety and unity.

After all, what makes Eurovision isn't a set of rules: it's the artists, with their talents, their messages, their hopes, their voices, their dreams. They are Eurovision. They are the pull that draws everyone in. They are the reason why people are "united by music". Not because a rule orders them to, not because of the EBU: because of these artists.

Maybe the EBU can start from that. Maybe it can start by looking at the human aspect. Maybe it can start by going out and looking around. And maybe it can learn to take more care of the artists who are the foundation of the show.

And maybe, maybe, they will be able to repair Eurovision too.

See you, hopefully, next year.

#eurovision #eurovision 2024 #esc #esc 2024 #sweden #the netherlands #israel #france #croatia #switzerland #baby lasagna #nemo #the artists are eurovision #I hope people will never forget it #thank god this year is over #time to recover now

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hockeyboysimagines · 4 months

Text

So far from the stars

Chapter 1

Pairings: Jeremy Swayman x Courtney Sullivan

Warnings: language, angst, kissing, alcohol/bars.

No summary because this one is written on the fly! Enjoy. Shoutout to my dear friend @cellythefloshie for sharing her goalie bf with me in light of recent events. If you guys haven’t visited her profile and read her stuff, you’ve been living under a rock.

“Do you wanna get drinks or something tomorrow night?”

Courtney glanced up from her spot on the couch to where Jeremy was sitting and smiled at him.

Most days she felt like the luckiest girl maybe ever to have him in her life. He was sweet, and thoughtful and one of her closest friends, and had been for years. There was really only one issue with their friendship.

He was madly in love with her and she had no idea.

He thought he made it obvious but she either didn’t want to recognize it or truly just didn’t have a clue. It was tough. He felt like his heart was constantly breaking when he saw her go on dates, or someone flirt with her at the bar. Sometimes he just wanted to grab her, shake her, get down on one knee and profess his love for her, but he was too afraid of what might happen when he did. So he would go back to secretly pining, and hanging on her every word, being the best friend he could be until she saw him otherwise.

He didn’t hold it against her, but it had made him a little bit bitter. Anytime they went out together he ended up being in a foul mood by the first time some douche got the courage to go near her. He wasn’t surprised, she was gorgeous and would be anywhere, but in Alaska she was out of everyone’s league.

Including his.

He couldn’t help it though, his feelings were now too big to ignore and he wasn’t sure what else he could do about it. He wouldn’t tell her, he couldn’t, risk losing her friendship if it completely weirded her out. So he would keep it to himself hoping that she would one day feel the same about him.

But he wasn’t holding his breath, because by the time she realized it he might be dead.

“Sure.” She said, smiling sweetly at him. He felt his face get red and his heart fluttered just a little bit.

He felt so stupid and lame every time and if he could he would kick himself in his own ass for how much of an idiot he made of himself around her, but he couldn’t help it.

She was special.

He smiled back trying to keep his cool “Really?”

“Yeah?” She frowned and ember eyebrows knitted tightly “Why wouldn’t I wanna hang out with my best friend?”

Best friend.

Most people would love to hear that, it would make them fuzzy inside.

But it made him sick.

He loved being her best friend, but it wasn’t enough for him anymore. He wanted to be another word that started with a B and ended with a friend, and the only friend he was right now was the friend zone, and by now he’d been there so long he was beginning to grow roots.

“I don’t know. Just wasn’t sure if you had something better to do. It is Friday after all.”

“If I had something better to do I would be out doing it.” She winked and he coughed to cover up the nervous giggle that would escape if he didn’t.

She glanced back down at her phone and started reading him a story from her phone. One of his favorite things to do was listen to her read out loud. She was so well spoken and articulate and her voice warmed his soul. At the moment, she was reading him a story about mysterious disappearances and even though it would surely give him nightmares, he would listen till his ears bled, because only she could make it sound so good.

The light was shining right on her, reflecting off her long soft hair, eyelashes casting shadows on her cheeks as she spoke. He often found himself just openly staring at her, completely zoned out from everything around him. Their friend group, who all knew how he felt, made fun of him for it but he didn’t care. But it made him wonder how other people could see his feelings and she couldn't.

“Pretty crazy right?” She turned to look at him.

“What? Oh yeah. Brutal.”

“Better not be rude to me ever again.” She smiled mischievously “This is giving me lots of ideas.”

He rolled his eyes “You would never.”

She laughed and smiled at him “Your right. I could never go on without you.” She stretched out and rested her legs across his lap and gave him a nudge “Rub my ankles. I have another story for you.”

If a stranger had walked through her door right now, they would think they were a couple. They looked like one.

Why were they not a couple.

He let his hand move up her ankle, down her socked foot and back up, fingers grazing her skin as he did. She gave a little shiver and continued to read to him, legs pressing up against his, sending a wave of heat through him.

Sometimes he hated his life.

**********

Thursday ended and Friday afternoon drug on agonizingly slow.

Left to his own devices, by 3 pm he was lying on his back staring at his ceiling thinking as usual, about Courtney.

He did this every morning, and every night before bed.

He couldn’t believe how big his feelings were sometimes. He had always felt hard to ignore emotions when it came to her but they’d been magnified more in the last year than ever before.

In high school, he assumed it was teenage infatuation and he’d grow out of them due to her stupid boyfriend Brad. When he didn’t he figured they’d go away if he met someone else. When that didn’t work he was absolutely sure that Boston would take those feelings away.

But if anything, his first day back in Alaska had magnified his feelings times 2.

And now he was here, daydreaming about a girl who thought they were just friends.

He was a real idiot.

He closed his eyes and went over it in his head again for what seemed like the millionth time.

In high school, they’d met in freshman English. He’d nearly failed, and she had been the only reason he’d made it out. Their school was relatively small so it didn’t take long for them to become friends and eventually close friends. Halfway through freshman year they had their own blended friend group, and that’s when the feelings started. Small at first, just an occasional flutter in his stomach around her now and again. But the time they were sophomores, they were pretty prominent and obvious.

Or so he thought.

He figured that by the end of the year she’d realize how he felt and with fingers crossed she too would feel the same.

But then Sophomore year came and went, and he was still wasting away in the friend zone.

Junior year was gonna be his year. They’d spent all summer together with their friends, he’d gotten a little bit bolder with his hints, and he was positive she knew now. He bounced out of bed on the first day of a school and walked into the front doors like a gladiator walking into the coliseum. And there was was with Brad.

What the fuck.

He didn’t even know Brad but he hated him and didn’t hide it. He spent all of junior year doing anything and everything he could to make his feelings go away and nothing worked. He’d even had a girlfriend.

In fact he’d had two.

But it didn’t work.

And when she’d shown up at his house crying because she found that Brad also had two girlfriends, he wanted to scream, cry and praise the gods and shake Brad’s hand for giving him one last chance.

But when he realized how hurt she actually was, he knew it wouldn’t be right to try and begin something with her when she was upset about the end of something else. It also made him realize he wanted to punch Brad in the face.

They’d become closer than ever that summer, and slowly she started to heal from it. He was very gentle with her, starting out with small hints, lots of support, and being everything she needed. Not just because he liked her in a romantic way, but because he wanted to be what she needed him to be. He wanted to be that guy for her.

And it hadn’t worked anyway.

He left for Maine and just gave up. He didn’t see the point in continuing to get his hopes up when it clearly wasn’t meant to be. He wasn’t going to force a relationship with her before it was supposed to happen, if it would ever. They’d stayed friends, talked almost everyday, and were always hanging out when he came home but that’s where it stalled.

And now he was here. In the same spot he’d been for what seemed like ages, kicking himself because he had so many chances to come out and say it and never did.

He felt his phone vibrating and reached around for it, seeing it was Justin and rolled his eyes knowing he was about to endure another round of being made fun of “Hello.”

“Don’t sound so excited. What are you doing?”

“Sitting here listening to this really annoying sound. What are you doing?”

“Ha ha. Let’s do something tonight.”

“I can’t-I-I’m going out with Courtney for drinks.” He was quiet and then continued “Go ahead. Make fun.”

“I’m not gonna make fun of you. It’s not funny anymore, just a little sad.”

“Fuck off.”

Justin chuckled on the other end of the phone “Just tell her buddy. You’re gonna feel so much better when you do.”

“That’s easy for you to say.” He said flatly.

His friends and hers, which were the only other girls in the group besides herself, didn’t seem to understand his hesitation. It seemed so simple to them, and maybe it was and he was overthinking it. They had this fantasy that she would realize she liked him and they’d live happily ever after, but he wasn’t too sure.

“So this is like a date?”

“What? No I don’t think so…why would you ask me that?”

“Well I don’t know. I mean usually we do something as a group and now you two are hanging out alone without the group.”

He frowned and looked at the light above his bed “So?”

“So… I’m just saying it seems like you guys have been hanging out by yourselves a lot.”

He frowned and looked back at the ceiling “Does that mean it’s a date?”

“No….but it doesn’t mean it’s not a date either.”

He sat upright nearly dropping his phone “Your right it does and I have to-“

“Woah woah woah. Don’t get ahead of yourself I-“

“Too late gotta go bye.” He hung up amidst the protesting from the other end of the phone and chucked it on his bed, not bothering to pick it up when it bounced and hit the floor, rushing to the bathroom to shower.

45 minutes later he found himself parking his car, and leaned forward to rest his forehead against the steering wheel.

He had no idea what he was doing.

He had been running on pure adrenaline at the idea that this may have been a date, even though he really has no clue if it was or not. He feared he was getting himself hyped up again for no reason, and yet he couldn’t help it.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and exhaled.

You can do this.

He opened the door, and made his way in, thankful that it wasn’t overly crowded and looked around for her. She was sitting at the bar already, phone in hand, jacket slung over the back of the stool.

She turned and spotted him, hair sliding across her back catching the light “Hey!” She hopped off her barstool and made her way to him, pulling him into a hug.

“Hey.” He smiled and ran a hand up her back as she hugged him tightly, and smiled a little because he was the envy for a minute of every guy in the bar, all of whom were looking at her as she hugged him.

She was smiling a mile wide and jerked her head back “Come on I saved you a spot.” She reached for his hand and pulled him forward. He glanced down at her hand wrapped up in his and felt a flush come to his face.

SHE’S HOLDING MY HAND

She looked incredible. She always did, but something about the way she looked today made all those other days seem like nothing. And then He realized he said that to himself every time he saw her.

He followed her towards two bar stools and sat down next to her, asking the bartender for a beer. She had a glass of amber liquid with ice on a coaster in front of her. He ordered a beer and turned to her, feeling bold.

“You look nice.”

She glanced down and then back up “Me?”

“No that guy over there. Of course I mean you.”

“Thanks.” She looked at him confused and he frowned.

“What?”

“Nothing you’ve just…never said that to me before.”

“I haven’t? Well I should. Someone should always tell you that.” He realized how lame that sounded and quickly changed the subject “You want a shot?”

She made a face “Ehhhh. I didn’t know this was a shot kind of evening.”

“I mean if you can’t handle a shot it’s fine.” He smiled a little and turned to see her raise her eyebrows.

“I can handle a shot.”

“Mmmmm I don’t think you can.” He said, giving her a sideways glance.

She grinned slowly “Sounds a little bit like a challenge. You’re on.”

Drink for drink, shot for shot they went, talking and laughing like always. Having conversations with him was one of her favorite things about him.

“I mean I have Kasey and Veronica, but that’s the extent of my girlfriends. You know that.”

He shrugged “Who needs girlfriends when you have someone like me?”

She laughed and leaned forward on the bar, the back of her shirt riding up a little. He felt his face get warm and looked anywhere but at her.

“I mean it would be nice. Then you wouldn’t be forced to hang out with me all the time.”

He scoffed “Hanging out with you is the best part of my day.”

“No-“

“No it is. I’m serious!” He said when she looked at him skeptically “We always have a good time don’t we?”

“I mean of course always have a good time.”

“And anyways I think after everything that’s gone down with some of your girl friends, it’s better that you keep the ones you have and don’t get anymore.”

He was talking about Annie, Brads other girlfriend, who had once been her friend. She had never quite gotten over the betrayal.

“True. Still can’t believe she did that.”

“I can.” He glanced at her and cleared his throat “I didn’t like her from the start. She was a horrible friend. But I never thought she’d do that. Did she ever tell you why?”

“Nope.” She took a sip of her drink before she continued “ I never asked but I’ve always wondered and I’m really not sure. Why do you think she did it?”

He shrugged and rubbed the stubble on his chin “I don’t know. Being too nice, too beautiful? Girls can be pretty jealous.”

She rolled her eyes and laughed “Well that can’t be true. I don’t think I’m that nice and I’m definitely not too beautiful-“

“I think you’re HOT.” He said loudly cutting her off and leaning forward.

The alcohol had numbed his senses and loosened him up more than she’d ever seen him. Things he wouldn’t normally say to her were coming out, and she kind of liked it. Even though they’d known each other for a long time he was still a little bit shy with her. But this was a whole new Jeremy.

“Really?” She said raising an eyebrow.

“Come on. You know you are.”

She shrugged “I don’t really think about that stuff, and even if I am it’s never gotten me anywhere.” She paused and then smiled a little “Except on dates with every idiot in Anchorage.”

“Not on any dates with me.” He said taking a sip of his drink and eyeing her.

She raised her eyebrows surprised “Are you calling yourself an idiot? Or saying you wanna date me?”

“Both?”

She squinted at him, wondering for a minute if she was having a dream. But she was fairly sure this was a real conversation she was having with him and she didn’t get how they ended up here.

He had never once alluded to wanting anything to do with her romantically. In fact, they had never even talked about significant others with each other until now.

He took a sip of his drink and pulled the hat he was wearing off his head and turned it backwards and she felt her stomach do a little flutter. He turned to her and smiled “You seem surprised.”

“I had no idea.” She wasn’t lying he could tell. She looked genuinely surprised and he believed her. She wouldn’t have looked so shocked if she’d known, and to put on an act wasn’t something she’d do, and he knew she would have let him down easy long before now if she had known. She was a nice girl, and wouldn’t put him or anyone else through that.

“That’s because-I’ve never told you.”

“But why?” She leaned closer to him, hair spilling over her shoulder and brushing his arm.

“Because…I was too scared.” He said shrugging, and turning to face her fully She had her chin resting on her hand looking at him puzzled.

“Of what? Me?”

He rolled his eyes “Yeah just like everyone else we know. And every guy we went to high school with. And random guys passing by. And-“

“Okay okay I get it.” She said with a giggle but she waved him off “Even if that’s true, my point still stands.”

He shrugged “Maybe you just aren’t looking in the right places.” But when he turned to her he saw that she was looking at him and smiled “Or maybe you are.”

She turned her head to the side “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier? Like 5 years ago earlier.” She asked chewing on her bottom lip.

“Like I said I was afraid and you had that stupid boyfriend in highschool, what was his name?”

“Brad. He was stupid. You could have saved me from all that drama if you had told me.” She drummed her nails on the bar and glanced at him from the corner of her eye.

He paused, bottle halfway to his mouth “What?”

“If you had told me I wouldn’t have dated him.”

“You-you would have dated me?” He pointed at himself in disbelief.

You DUMBASS. He thought to himself. He’d missed a chance years ago because he was apparently just as stupid as Brad.

“Is there a reason I wouldn’t have? I broke up with him summer before senior year and before that things already weren’t great.”

“So I had a whole year. I’m so stupid.” He leaned his forehead on the palm of his hand and let out a breath.

“Nah.” She stirred her drink and shook her head “I was the stupid one then. I spent senior year alone because of some idiot who cheated on me with Annie White in the hockey team’s bus during 6th period.”

He chuckled a little and shook his head “You have no clue the things that went on on that bus. And think about it this way, maybe she caught Chlamydia or something.”

She smiled but made a face “Ew! That would have made me feel a little bit better I guess. It doesn’t matter now though, and I’m glad I wasn’t more invested because it could have hurt a whole lot worse.”

“You guys dated a year though. You weren’t invested?”

“Were you invested when you dated Ashley for a year? Or Carissa?”

“No….But I wasn’t invested for a different reason. Why weren’t you?”

She shrugged “I don’t know. No one ever really liked Brad, and I just didn’t see it going anywhere. By the time I found out about the other women it was time to move on. Still hurt though.”

“I wanted to beat him up for that you know. And I would have too if he didn’t transfer schools.”

She chuckled “Nah. He wasn’t worth it.”

“Hey.” He leaned forward and put a hand on her wrist “It would have been worth it to me.”

She stared at him for a moment, eyes traveling down his face to his mouth and the back up to his eyes. The air seemed to freeze as he saw his window of opportunity closing, and leaned forward slowly.

“LAST CALL!” He jumped and nearly tipped over his chair, startled by the yell of the bartender and felt a blinding rage fly though him.

God DAMNIT

He wanted to scream as she straightened up, cheeks a little flushed and turned to finish her drink.

“What’s my tab?” She asked the guy pushing the glass back to him.

“45.70.”

“I got it.” Jeremy said tossing down money. She turned and smiled.

“Thanks but you don’t have to-“

“I do. Come on. Let me take you home.” Before she could protest or do anything else he boldly reached for her hand and pulled her along behind him through the bar.

By the time they made it to her front door she’d tripped twice and he’d knocked over a plant. He was now leaned against the side of her house giggling as she struggled to get the key in the lock.

“It’s stuck I can’t-“ she said in between laughs as she attempted to put the key in upside down.

“Here let me-“ he reached for key and unlocked it clumsily over her shoulder, just as she leaned forward on it, and it sprung open.

“Oof!” She said air escaping her lungs as they fell in the door, dissolving into laughter as they both stumbled forward, catching themselves on furniture. Her vision was a little bit blurred and her face felt like it was on fire, but she was having so much fun with him she never wanted the night to end.

“Wait wait wait I’ll help you hang on.” He reached for the couch to pull himself up and extended a hand to help her. She stood and immediately started to fall forward and would have if he hadn’t caught her. Her smiled was wide, stretched across her face, cheeks red, hair caught in the collar of her jacket as she straightened up, resting a hand on his arm to steady herself.

“I’m having so much-fun.” She looked up to see how close he was to her, hands holding her by the elbows, his front pressed almost against hers. His smile had started to slip from his face very slowly as he stared at her and the rest of the living room melted away.

“Jeremy.” She said softly eyes piercing his own.

Before he could answer she leaned forward and pushed her lips against his, resting them there momentarily until he gathered himself and started kissing her back.

It was everything he thought it would be, everything he’d been hoping for, and thinking about for so long it made his heart hurt. He wondered for a second if he was dreaming, like he did often but when she gripped the front of his jacket and pulled him closer he knew it was real.

He felt dizzy as they stood kissing in her living room, feeling like he was levitating as he backed her up against the wall, to steady himself more than anything, pulling away for a second before moving back in at a different angle.

She was kissing him back slowly, and for a second he had worried that she would recoil, but instead she tugged at his jacket, pulling it down his shoulders and tossing it to the side.

He ran his thumb across a sliver of skin on her hip that wasn’t covered by her shirt and she shivered a little. He was so warm as she pulled him against her, big hands holding her hips tightly. If she had known he’d be this good at kissing she would have kissed him years ago.

She reached behind her, hand smacking around looking for the doorknob to her bedroom and fumbled with it, finally opening it and stumbling inside with him. She pulled her own jacket off, letting it hit the floor and they landed on the bed, breaking apart only for a second before he bent down to kiss her again. He was slotted between her legs, one hand braced on the mattress by her head, and the other tangling in her hair. She reached between them, unbuttoning her jeans, and then reaching for his and he lost track of what he was doing for a second, as she sprung the button and pulled down the zipper. His heart was clocking around so loud he could feel it in his ears, and he wondered if she could too.

She pulled his shirt up, tugging it over his head, and lifting her self up so he could pull hers off. He’d never seen her unclothed and he felt himself get red again. She gripped the chain he was wearing and pulled him back down, tongue pushing into his mouth. Her nails scraped his kin as the moved down his sides to his lower back, pulling his pelvis forward against hers. He let out a breath and pulled back a second to collect his thoughts, and felt her hand gently pat his shoulder.

Her eyes were shut and she swallowed, one hand patting her chest.

“You okay?” He asked from above her, breathing heavily, chest heaving.

“Hmmmm I just need a second-I need.” Her eyes still closed and she took a deep breath. He leaned back to look at her as her eyes slid open and she covered her mouth.

“Can you get me water?” She asked softly eyes closing again “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Yeah sure hang on.” He stood, and buttoned his jeans, and made his way shirtless through her house, getting her water and hurrying back to her bedroom. But when he turned the corner he saw she was asleep.

His head fell forward against the door frame, and he let out a whispered, frustrated “Fuck!”, eyes closed as he pounded his fist softly on the wall.

Why was the universe doing this to him?

He turned to look at her, jeans unbuttoned, shirt missing, on her side sleeping peacefully and pursed his lips.

With a small sigh he quietly made his way to her dresser, finding clothing and very gently pulling off her boots, and jeans redressing her in something more comfortable that didn’t smell like a dive bar. He didn’t even look at her while he did, because it would have been wrong to do while she was out cold like that. He covered her up, and sat next to her a second, pushing a lock of hair off her cheek.

Gosh he loved her so much. So much that he was doing what most guys wouldn’t and was walking away from the only chance he might have with her.

But he wanted her to want it when she was sober and clearheaded, not drunk. He sighed and stared out her window. It was so frustrating to be him sometimes.

There was one picture that caught his eye. It was them, taken just recently, her arms wrapped around him, smiling widely. She had her head resting against his chest hugging him like her life depended on it.

Looking at that picture made it seem like she liked him. It just made sense. They looked great together if he did say so himself.

It just wasn’t fair.

And he wasn’t sure how much more he could take. It had been years at this point and he never saw a light at the end of the tunnel, until tonight and even that was beginning to grow darker.

He felt stupid and lame and wanted to punch himself, but instead he pulled the blankets up further, took one last look at her and left her room, made his way through her house and locked the door behind him.

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monarchisms · 8 months

Text

so for those who missed it, geoff talked a bit more about achievement hunter coming to an end on a f**kface break show on september 18th. some of it was stuff we've already learned from the announcement video/thread from AH themselves, but some additional information was mentioned exclusively on the f**kface stream. with rooster teeth being so great (sarcasm) at relaying info to their audience, i had to rely on a fan recording of the stream from twitter to get more context sooner, since the official recording won't be available until the 22nd at the earliest.

i'll put a full transcript of all the clips of the twitter thread under the cut, but if you want a tl;dr:

geoff's known about AH coming to an end for about 6 months (since march 2023), and that the decision to end it wasn't made lightly

he compares AH ending to when he went to quit red vs blue 15 years ago to co-create AH, somewhere between seasons 5-7, and how he continued to work on rvb until he couldn't anymore

also talks about how everyone at the company at the time (like burnie, gus, matt, and jason) were really supportive towards him, and how that led to AH lasting 15 years

he hopes that michael, trevor, alfredo, and joe get the same support he got from the audience when he made AH, and then eventually f**kface. also reassures the audience that all the content on the AH channel will stay as it is

heavily emphasizes that this decision wasn't made by the higher ups at rt or warner brothers, and wanted to nip that in the bud before the rumor went too far. notes that AH didn't fail, it just ended

talks about how there will be a couple more weeks of new achievement hunter content before they close up shop. some of the content includes the members paying an homage to past series and people at AH. it will eventually culminate into a final video that geoff's in where he gets "fucking verbose" about his feelings in relation to everything

gives a shoutout to matt, jeremy, and ray in regards to their streams on twitch, and finally ends his speech by saying that the audience should respect that the past + current AH members are continuing to do the things they love doing while being entertaining, just in their own unique ways

the full transcript:

Geoff: "The Achievement Hunter brand is coming to a close. We have decided to sunset it and to end it. And I've seen a lot of- for a very good reason- and that announcement came in tandem with another announcement, a very exciting announcement about a new brand called Dogbark. And I've seen a lot of excitement, a lot of appreciation from people, a lot of people supporting Michael and those guys [referring to Trevor, Joe, and Alfredo] going off into doing their own thing.

I've seen a lot of fear and uncertainty. I totally get and understand that; you guys are hearing this for the first time. Um, I've known about this for about six months. You know, this has been in some form of discussion or preparation for a while now. This wasn't a decision that was made lightly, uhh... but I think it's the right decision, and I hope that you'll understand and support that, and here's why:

15 years ago, I went to Burnie and Matt and Gus, and I said 'Hey, I'm losing my mind making Red vs Blue.' It was season 5 or 6, and I- I think it was 6 or 7, actually- and I was just so creatively drained and stifled. And I had such a wonderful time making Red vs Blue, but I had made it until I couldn't make it anymore. And I had this idea, and I was very passionate about this idea of this thing I wanted to try. And Burnie and Gus and Matt were so kind and supportive to give me the creative runway to launch and test Achievement Hunter out at a time when everybody- friends- everybody was telling me 'What are you doing, quitting making Red vs Blue? It's a huge hit! You're like, the #2 guy on it. You're a big part of this! Why would you leave that to do this unproven, untested thing?' And I had to! I had to follow my dream, I had to follow my passion. And like I said, Burnie and Matt and Gus and everybody else, Jason, everybody involved in Rooster Teeth at the time, were so fucking supportive and so wonderful to me in that period that 15 years later, we've had 15 years of Achievement Hunter.

We wouldn't be here on this set right now in front of all this Zimmer stuff, in front of fucking dumb pictures of Gavin and Garbage Pail Kids and Barbie and- fucking new Dallas poster, by the way. Uh, all of this has existed because they allowed me to take a chance and supported me taking that chance. And uh- I would be some kind of fucking hypocrite if I didn't provide the same level of support and genuine enthusiasm to Michael and Alfredo and Joe and Trevor as they embark on the same journey I went on 15 years ago! And this is a very- I don't want to speak for them. They didn't make this decision lightly, I guarantee you, and they will explain it in their own voice over the next few weeks as we say goodbye to Achievement Hunter and say hello to Dogbark. [actual dog barks in the background] We worked on that ahead of time.

Uhh... and so I would only ask that you give them the same level of support that the audience gave me when I tried out Achievement Hunter, this untested, unproven thing, and the same level of support you all gave us when we decided that we're going to make F**kface, an audio-only podcast recorded remotely, which is something that I never in a million years wanted to do or thought was a good idea until we did it, and found out it was simply too good, found out that it worked and it ended up becoming, I think, hopefully the best thing I've participated in. I really ju- I really just want to drive that point home. Joe and Trevor and Michael and Alfredo have spent years and years and years making content that they believe in to support and entertain you. And that's all they want to do with this new production.

Everything comes to an end. It's okay for things to end. I know it's scary and it's sad, but that doesn't mean it didn't happen, and that doesn't mean it's going away. We have 15 years of Achievement Hunter content online that you can still watch and enjoy. Hundreds of thousands of hours of content, hundreds upon hundreds of episodes of Minecraft and GTA that are still there for you to go and watch. I mean, hell, I think Emily and I are a great example of that. We've been watching a show that came out in 1978 called Dallas. It ran from 1978 to 1992, and that was 40 fucking years ago. And yet here we are enjoying it, just as if it came out yesterday. Justice for Sue Ellen, I think we can all agree, justice for Sue Ellen. So I would just say that I hope that you'll be excited about this new journey in their careers and this new opportunity for Rooster Teeth. It's sad to say goodbye to a thing, but it's not disappearing. It's still there. You can still go watch all those videos. You can still go enjoy- enjoy all that content, but you can also support them in what they're doing.

And one other little inaccuracy, or not even inaccuracy, but one thing I want to touch on- and then I'll get to breaking cards and being an idiot- is a thing that kind of bugs me, is that- I'm sure you've heard this phrase or some variation of this phrase before where it's uh, said that a lie can travel halfway across the world, while the truth is still putting its pants on, and-"

Emily: "That's kinda deep! I've never heard that before." Geoff: "You've never heard that before?" Emily: "No!"

Geoff: "Yeah, and I've seen a lot of supposition and people saying things that just aren't true. And I want to stop that right now before they travel halfway across the world. Because there is no truth to the idea that like- anytime we make a change that's controversial or a bit scary or different or new or unexpected, there's this idea that there's uh, some dude in a suit from Warner Brothers or Rooster Teeth standing just off-camera, sternly going, 'Make this decision. Follow this algorithm. We're chasing a demographic.' None of that is true. Rooster Teeth would be very happy if they continued making Achievement Hunter forever, but they weren't happy making Achievement Hunter, and they wanted to try a new thing.

They wanted to do what I did 15 years ago! They wanted to do what Ray did when he left Achievement Hunter, right? They wanted to bet on themselves and make their production. I love the work they put into- to mine, and I did my best to make it ours. But at the end of the day, I left Achievement Hunter five years ago! Uh, it would be really foolhardy and stupid and- and dickhead-ish of me to have a problem with them doing the same thing, uh, but it's also them. This is a decision that they made, that they wanted to make. It didn't come from anybody at Rooster Teeth or Warner Brothers. There was no, I don't know, this marketing department you always hear about that's telling them to make these decisions and- 'Chase the Gen Z crowd and come up- This is the name we've workshopped.' None of that's true! They came up with the name. They came up with the logo, they came up with the design, the color palette, the trailer, the content that's going to be released in a couple of weeks, that's all them! That's what they wanna do.

That is them following the same passion that I followed 15 years ago and the same passion that I followed when I created Let's Play, and the same passion that I that I followed when I created F**kface. And hopefully the same passion, the same passion that I created this with, and hopefully the same passion that I'll create the next and the next and the next thing with, and hopefully the same passion that they get to do, uh, as they continue their career. So all I'm asking for is give the new thing a chance, support it. It's a brave thing to do to walk out of the safety of Achievement Hunter into a new thing.

And also, uh, I've seen a lot of doomers that are saying like 'Ah, I called it ten years ago! I knew it was gonna fail!' It didn't fail. It ended. It was 15 fucking awesome years. And I'm going to stop talking now because I'm just going to get rambly. But I will say: There's a couple of weeks left of Achievement Hunter content coming out where they pay homage, if you will, to a lot of the videos and the shows from the past,, and the people from the past, and they have a lot of sweet things that they're going to do. And it'll culminate at the end with one last video that I am in where I get fucking verbose about my feelings about all of it. So if you want to hear more about my feelings of the 15 years of Achievement Hunter, I ask that you tune in to that last Achievement Hunter video. But I also ask that you tune into every video between now and then, because they're going to be saying goodbye to Achievement Hunter with a lot of love and respect and humor. And uh, I think that's what it deserves. And I hope that we all get to share in that together, and then, and then subscribe to Dogbark and give it a shot. [dog barks again] Thank you.

And uh, remember that all of these people that you've loved that have come and gone are still making content right now. Jack and BK, I think Jack's on vacation, but Jack and BK are over there in Inside Gaming, making content, playing video games 3, 4 hours a day, 3 or 4 days a week, playing Minecraft, playing all those old games that you loved to see us play. And Michael is making Face Jam every week. And Michael and Trevor and Alfredo and Joe are going to be making Dogbark every fucking day. And Gavin and I, we're making F**kface every day. And I'm making ANMA and I'm making So... Alright, and Ky has helped producing it all uh, behind the scenes.

Matt and Jeremy and Ray, they're streaming every fucking day of their lives, I believe. I think Jeremy's on, like, 18 days in a row right now, or something? [referring to Jeremy's uncapped subathon]. So all the people that you loved to support and who uh, entertained you throughout the years, they're still doing the thing that they love. They're just doing it in the way that they wanna do it, in the way that makes sense to them. And I just hope that you will be... respectful of that, and give them an opportunity to entertain you uh, in much the same way they entertained you last year and the year before and 5 years ago and 10 years ago. They just want to get up every day and make the best content they can make, and they're not- they're not making these decisions for any other reason than this is where their creative interests are leading them. And much like you gave me a chance 15 years ago, let's all give them a chance today. [dog barks again] That's it. I'm done. Let's open up some fucking cards."

#geoff ramsey #achievement hunter #dogbark #rooster teeth #f**kface podcast #that should be all the important tags i think #may have missed a few words here and there but hopefully not anything that removes context :)#holy shit i forgot how much geoff can ramble on and on #i lost track on how many times he says 'and'#like. i had to use a thing that makes automatic subtitles from a video before i started editing them manually #because this guy talks like his life depends on it #that's the sole reason the readmore exists. like i wrote a goddamn essay lol #anyways yeah. make of all of this as you will. i'm just the messenger :P

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bisexual-horror-fan · 9 months

Note

I know you’re requests are closed but I had an idea for a Mickey fic and I’m an awful writer and you’re amazing so imma just leave this here. What if reader and Mickey are both the Ghostfaces along with Nancy and they’re both like, literally insane. Like to the point where after they kill they gotta fuck then and there whilst covered in their victims blood blah. blah but in the end Nancy kills one of them and it makes the other completely fucking INSANE for revenge.

OKAY! SO! Anon! I fucking love this ask. I went so hard. I hope you enjoy this enemies to friends to lovers over 7K massive fic! I stretched out the timeline of Scream 2 because fuck you, this is fanfic and we can do whatever we want to! I love this request and where it leaves off? I already have a sequel planned and mostly plotted. So thank you Anon seriously. Also, shoutout to @mrsaltieri-real for helping me out on this one! You are the best.

—

Rating. Explicit. Length. 7.9K. Mickey Altieri X AFAB! Ghostface! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Reader Is A Killer. Reader Has Anger Issues. Fighting. Taunting. Teasing. Mickey And Reader Are ASSHOLES To Each Other. Blood. Gore. Murder. Death. Mild Fluff. Enemies To Friends To Lovers. Ghostface Partners In Crime Couple. Mickey Is Crushing Hard. Angst. Hurt. Crying. Emotional Pain. I Apologize In Advance.

—

“So Good To You.”

—

You never cared much for the idea of getting a college education, or at least that is what you told yourself because financially it was way out of reach for you, an impossibility. That was until you got an offer you simply couldn’t turn down, what that offer was? It was for a free ride at a college by a benefactor with money to burn and some revenge she needed to be carried out. It would be a hindrance for some, but not for you. The reason you were chosen was because of not only your previous experience with this, but your outright willingness to spill blood. So you accept, you follow her instructions to the fucking letter and arrive at school in September.

Once moved into your dorm, a few days into college you were meeting up with her in person, all the correspondence up to this point has been online and on the phone, meeting her had to be done carefully. The meeting is not even in town, the process must be delicate, and the wrong people cannot see you together lest there be talk and suspicion. When you show up and see that she is not alone you are confused, when you sit down, and she explains that you are not the only student she is “sponsoring” you are pissed.

You don’t hide this either, gripping your menu, so tightly it might bend, speaking in a hushed yell whisper, “Nancy, what the fuck?”

He, whoever he was, agreed, leaning forward and voice low, “Yeah actually, what the fuck?”

Nancy tried to have a measured response, attempting to calm you both, she set her own menu aside, fingers laced together, hands resting on top of the tablecloth. She says your name and then his, “Mickey-” you scrunch your nose, who the fuck is named Mickey? Like the fucking mouse?

“-I have to make sure this happens. You both know the motive and I figured having two of you would make this better, all the easier. I can be very hands-off and honestly, you are both such great talents. How could I choose just one of you?”

That pissed you off further. You keep your voice hushed, not wanting to be overheard, “It sounds to me more that you don’t think I can handle this myself and that I need some shitty fucking guy’s help to kill.”

Mickey scoffed, a roll of his eyes as he leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed as he said, “Yeah, you are such an empowered woman who doesn’t need any help to kill. So tough. So strong. If you are so capable, why do you need someone to fund your college career?”

You hated him. Everything about him. His stupid spiky hair, the dumb shade of blue on his sweater, his face, his voice, what he said in tone and also in content. “It’s called a scholarship. I know it’s a big word, you’ve probably never heard it, and what about you? She thinks that YOU need a woman’s help to kill, how sad is that for you?”

By the way his eyes narrowed, you feel like he doesn't like you either. Good. You don’t want him to.

The dinner is tense, but you manage to make it through and Nancy makes it clear that if you want to go or if he does that you can, but she will pull her funding and whoever is left will get to do it alone. You don’t back down and neither does he, so you are forced to work together, and you accept this fact with extreme reluctance.

The plan is for you and him to get as close to Sidney and her friends as possible, to insert yourselves and get in the right position at just the right time to make sure that this happens just as Nancy wanted. You did, and you were barely able to restrain your rage against him, it comes out sometimes, everyone else thinks it is an affectionate thing, a long-running joke of both of you disliking each other and exchanging barbs, but no one thought it was serious.

You had to get used to his presence, but that proved to be difficult, you would sometimes get so riled up after an argument with him that you felt like screaming and ripping your hair out, he got under your skin in the worst way possible. You got to him similarly it seemed, you sometimes knew he left your interactions being the one who could barely reign in his temper, part of you liked getting to him like that.

Staying away from him and avoiding any time you and Mickey were solo was a must, but sometimes you can’t help it when you are in the same friend group like this. You and he were at the same party and Sidney left to go use the bathroom, and Randy went to go get a drink, and that left you and him in proximity.

You and Mickey were both leaning against the same wall. He speaks first, “Getting real friendly with Sid there.”

You smile, proud of yourself, you were making a great impression, fantastic progress, you allow yourself to indulge in feeling pride as you agree with his assessment, “Yeah, I am.”

“She seems super invested. You do know that you need more than a low cut shirt to get her fallin’ all over herself for you, right?” He turned to face you, and you turn too as you respond, “Yeah unlike you, I am not a total slut, I am not trying to fuck her.”

“Why not?” He asked, and you laughed into your cup, making sure to keep your voice low enough just for him to hear, “Who am I? Billy Loomis? Gonna fuck her then gut her?”

He shrugs before taking a sip from his own cup, a swallow before he says casually, “I’ve read your papers in film class, derivative is your whole thing.”

“Is it now?” You ask and he says, “It is. Taking from someone great, and regurgitating it back out as if it is some amazing new or profound thought, something original all your own, when it very obviously is not.”

He was such an insufferable asshole.

You swallow what is left in your cup and then push off the wall, “I need another fucking drink if I am gonna have to be around you.”

He lets you go.

After lunch one day you, and he ended up in the same direction, you don’t want to deal with him and so you pick up the pace, walk faster, and he makes sure to speed up too, “Awe where you off to in such a rush? Gonna be late for your gender studies class, princess?”

“Gross, do not call me that shit.” You say as you adjust your backpack, rolling your eyes before you retort, “You ready to fail that test tomorrow? I know you haven’t been studying.”

His hands are thrown up, eyes skyward and a grin as he says, “Heaven forbid, I wanna enjoy the college experience and make the most of it out and about, not with my nose in a book all the time.”

“I think you could stand to be a little more well-read, you are painfully fucking dull whenever I am forced to talk to you.” Breaking off for the turn you head towards the building for your next class, he calls after you, “I am so, so hurt. Hey, don’t forget to spell women with a y, you’ll lose points otherwise, okay?”

He knew just how to really fucking bother you.

You know how to bother him, too.

A different day, you and him were meant to have a meeting with Nancy. You were waiting for her to arrive, and he was boasting about how he had gotten in with Randy and Derek, you said, “Finally, took you long enough. It’s weird, though, considering that you are the fucking worst.”

“I’m the worst?” He asked, and you nod, “Yes you are, I don’t know how you pulled it off, I have seen your acting ability.”

His hand rubs over his eyes as he asks, “You insult my acting ability now? What is wrong with it?”

“Mickey. Virgin teens faking on prom night are better actors than you are.”

His jaw drops, brows pinch together, and you pile on before he can respond, “You seem so chummy with Randy though, you blown him yet orrr?”

Nancy walked into you both locked in another augment, and she slammed the door, making you both stop. “Can you please, please, for the love of God, not fight for one day? I know it must be very hard, but do it for me?”

“It isn’t my fault she is such a frigid bitch.” He spits, and you say back, “Rich coming from the school slut, seriously, do you sweat chlamydia?”

Mickey opens his mouth and Nancy cuts him off, “Please, save it! Can’t you be the bigger person here?”

Mickey doesn’t even look at her, eyes locked with you, he says, “I know you are a real maternal figure, but I am not your fucking son so can you not talk to me like I am?”

You have to bite back the laugh you were about to bark out, and Nancy was just done, thoroughly over you both and your petty rivalry. “If you both don’t knock it off, I will call off the whole thing!”

That had you and he both turning to her, “You can’t!”

It is reminiscent of a tired parent on a car trip sick of hearing, “Are we there yet?” and responding with, “I will turn this car around!” When she tells you both, “I can, and I will if you don’t play nice at least in front of me!”

You and Mickey both know she is serious. You do your best to chill the hell out and just get through this without killing each other.

The road is long until the first kill is meant to happen. You and he have ebbs and flows of seriously deep hatred, neutral times of acceptance and even an instance or two of actually kind of getting along, at least on the surface. Below that, you still find times of hating each other.

One night after yet another tense meeting, after yet more endless frustration, you and he locked in another fight it happens without you meaning to. Both of you are just too pent-up and when he spits, “I am so tired of you being such a bitch, have you tried loosening up sometimes?”

“How would you recommend I do that in between keeping a low profile, getting closer to Sid and the rest, and keeping my grades up?” He tells you with crossed arms over his chest, “I’d recommend you taking a good dick every once in a while.”

“Does it always gotta come back to that? Just fuck my stress away and that will fix me?”

“Why not try it?” And he says it so smugly, something inside just snaps inside of you, leading to you both being in your bed. Your clothes don’t even totally come off, it is a messy hate-fuck, “I knew you wanted me-”

Your teeth sink into his throat, a sharp bite that makes him jerk back, his hips faltering as you respond, “I don’t want you, this means fucking nothing, you mean fucking nothing, okay?”

“Fine, fuck.” Another roll of his hips pulls a moan from you before he mutters out, “Crazy fucking bitch, just stop biting me.”

A terrible idea hits, and you execute it, a slap to his face as opposed to a bite and it is so shocking, catches him so off guard he has to actively fight the urge to cum. “Better?”

You ask sugary sweet, and he grits out, “I fucking hate you.”

“I fucking hate you too.”

Hate fucking when the wait for the plan to kick off becomes a somewhat regular occurrence, one neither of you chose to acknowledge unless you were splayed over a surface together.

Currently, you were in Mickey’s place. You and he agreed to head over to a party together to meet up with everyone else, you were in one of those times when you didn’t totally hate his guts, just mostly did, so you could tolerate his presence. You were getting impatient, you were a punctual person, and he was not when it came to things like this. You were tapping your foot on the bottom rung of a stool as you sat at the bar as you waited, calling out to him while he is in his bedroom, “What are you doing in there? Jacking off? I’d like to go sometime this century.”

“Yeah, I bet you like to think about that.” He called back, and you scoffed, “As fucking if.”

While you waited, your eyes flitted over the bar, and you noticed there were scattered papers about, you are so bored you start to sift through them, looks like some kind of project he was working on. You look further, wondering what it was, you skim pages and words caught on, “slice” and “blood”.

You start to look further, flip through pages, and you find descriptions of murder, violent kills, strangulation, knives stabbed into warm bodies. You read of terrible brutality and the feelings that are invoked while experiencing it. You become so absorbed in the reading when his hand touches your shoulder, you jump nearly a foot in the air, heart hammering.

“Catching up on some reading?” He asked with a grin, and you roll your eyes as you shake off his hand, “Creep.”

“Says the girl who is currently rummaging through MY shit.” Your eyes are back on the papers, ignoring what he said, and instead you ask, “What even is all this? Some fucked up project for a class?”

He takes the seat on the stool next to you, “It’s my work before coming to school.”

Your eyes go wide, you look at him, “Wait is this-”

He brightens further, “A scrapbook, yeah! I was rearranging it before you showed up, got a bit too into it, lost track of time, so I couldn’t clean it up before you came in, and then you were fucking rushing me-”

“Holy fucking shit, you have a scrapbook of your previous kills?” You flip through, detailed accounts, pictures, small souvenirs, more still. It was amazing but also infuriating, how the fuck did you never think to do something like this? Most you had was scrawled out diary entries post kill, but this was truly in depth, a testament to his commitment to wielding a knife and bringing pain.

He leans closer, starts pointing out particular details, and you have to admit, an impressive body of work, clear effort put forth into this catalogue of violence. “She was the first. She was in my math class in high school, the kind of girl who thought she was way too good for everyone, you know the type.”

His eyes meet yours, a taunting smile, and you find yourself letting out a laugh. He kept talking, and you kept listening until he says, “You are being awfully quiet.”

“Am I not allowed to be quiet?” You ask, and he laughs, “No. It just isn’t like you, normally you make your opinions very painfully known.”

You sighed, “I just can’t get over what a good idea this is, I’m fucking pissed I didn’t think of it myself.” You admit, and he laughed louder, “I got one up on you and you admit it? Fuck, it is a good night.” He gets up, collects the papers and puts them in the open box nearby. You try to stop him, “Wait, where are you going?”

You ask as he takes the box back to his room, and he says, “We have a party to get to, remember? I’ll let you read it in full another time for you to cream yourself over, alright?”

Yeah, sure, cream yourself over is what you’d do. You are simply curious about his work before you both met, you liked getting a feel for him and what he had done, it only makes sense since you are going to work together. He comes back and you both leave, but that night you had to admit is what started the shift, you started to look at Mickey a bit differently, had more respect for him. He obviously had skills to back up his talk, it was a comfort as well as just nice to get to know him on this level. No one else understood that side of you, getting to talk with someone else who has killed, he understands the depth, the complexity and more, you didn’t know how nice it would be.

After that night, you and he talk some more about it, his kills and yours, it is bonding, and it goes from hating each other and somewhat tolerating to being more like co-workers. A different night you were in your dorm room alone and both going over what your pasts. He showed you his newly minted scrap book, and you read aloud from your diary about how your first date ended in your killing the guy.

“How often have you gotten blood in your mouth?” He asks, and you gagged jokingly, “Too many times! You never think that it is gonna spray like that until the first time you slash a throat, right?”

“Seriously. Okay, okay. Least favourite part?” He asked, and you groaned, “Disposal, dead weight is such a bitch at times. Once a guy almost got away from me, I cornered and killed him at the bottom of some stairs, but once he was dead I had to drag him back UP those same stairs.”

“Fuck, how did you do it?” He genuinely asked, and you tell him, “With ropes and determination. How about you?” He hums, “My least favourite part has to be when the chase goes on for too long. Nothing worse than being winded before you even get the knife in them, feel like I can’t enjoy it properly, and I hate to do a rush job like that. It’s like the option is taken from me.”

“Lack of control is truly the worst.” You agree.

While you felt closer, a small kinship as well as more mutual understanding, Mickey could still be a bit much at times, you still clashed on occasion, but those times were becoming fewer and further between. It makes the path to the plan easier. You study on occasion, able to have meals together, Nancy is pretty pleased you’d both calmed down, and you find yourself consumed with regular daily life. The hate fucking isn’t so hateful and has also slowed considerably to a near stop.

When you got the go ahead, you and he were giddy. Alight. It caused one of the worst fights you had with him where you insisted that you be the first one to kill, you wanted to show that you could, prove yourself and also, it had been so, so fucking long since you had. Eventually, Nancy sides with you but insists Mickey be nearby in case shit goes screwy, and you can deal with that.

You revel in it. The phone call, the break in, the case and the actual kill. You being on top of her, stabbing her, running her through with one hand as your other is over her mouth. She struggles and whines, and you feel powerful, watching the light drain from her eyes the same way the blood does.

Perhaps you linger just a touch too long, but you just can’t help it. Mickey comes to get you, urge you out, and then he sees it, the aftermath. You still sitting on top of her in your costume, the knife to the hilt inside of her, and you turn, ghostly white mask with small spots of red and his breath catches. He read your accounts, you’d talked in depth, he’d killed people himself, but this, seeing it, you, post kill, was a totally different animal.

You pull off your mask, hair a mess, face sweaty with the effort, a manic smile as you ask, “What’s up?”

He lingers by the door of the balcony you were on, stuck in the threshold, the sliding glass was acting like a metaphorical doorway as much as a physical one, a turning point, one that cannot be forgotten or ignored. A shifting tide, your relationship, how he viewed you, permanently changed. His mouth feels dry, he swallows and says, “We have to go.”

“Shit, yeah, you’re right, just got a little uh-” You look down at the body, pull the knife out and drive it in one last time, you sound gleeful, “-stab happy.”

The laugh spills from you both unbidden and then, you flee the scene of the crime. Costumes stowed in bags and knife hastily wiped down. He couldn’t stop looking at you after that night. Every time he saw you, it was like you went from black and white static to live and in colour, as if he was seeing you for the first time, truly seeing you. He had it and had it so fucking badly for you, it was embarrassing.

You could get him, understand him on levels no one else could or probably ever would.

Mickey started treating you differently. You think it is because of what he saw, he finally was respecting you and sure it was part of it, but much more than you could have realized went into it. He was being much more than pleasant to be around, he was nice, fun to be around, he wasn’t an asshole like previously and slowly, much, much too slowly, after many meals bought, coffees given and notes shared you figure out that you think, he has a crush on you. It slips through even when with your “friends” and it doesn’t go unnoticed. Especially because he doesn’t hide it. He is kind, he flirts shamelessly, he makes his wants and intentions known.

You don’t know how to deal with or process that.

So you don’t.

You let him treat you better, you feel previous hate and anger melt, but you write it off as friendship, nothing wrong with that considering what you were doing. You take his compliments with a smile, you laugh off his over the top promises of “I’d be so, so good to you.” with a wave of your hand.

The plan continues on, stretches out from days to weeks, Nancy claims she wants Sidney to really suffer, and you aren’t going to question or complain.

The next kill is up to Mickey, you weren’t able to be there, but you got to see him after. Amped the fuck-up and excited, he told you about it all, how it went. “He was so pathetic, you should have seen him, begging for his life, crawling on the ground, oh my God.”

You watched him pace back and forth, animated hand gestures, his t-shirt was sticking to him from the sweat, your eyes aren’t sure where to linger, defined arm muscles or that wide sick smile. He flops onto the couch beside you, a large exhale, “It was fucking incredible.”

“And what are you feeling like, right now?” You asked as you looked down at him, and he says as his head pitches to look up at you, “I am feeling fucking starving. You want to order in a pizza?”

So you did. You ate sprawled on the floor and talked about the fact everything was meant to ramp up soon, that you and he were expected to both go in hard within the next few weeks.

It still goes on, you and both grow closer, another kill here, one there until finally there is a night where you have to murder together. The talking beforehand is frantic, both planning what was going to happen, honestly excited to do this together. You and Mickey started off hating each other's guts, but that seems so far away now, you and he were actually good friends and a united front on this plan.

It doesn’t go well at first.

The struggle is hard, you and he almost lose the two people you were planning on killing, but you manged it. Watching Mickey up close, not only that but you both doing this together, it makes something in you and your perception of him change. It is startlingly intimate, you are so in the moment, weirdly in sync with very little verbal communication, at one point you are gutting one of them while he holds them down and even through the masks, you know your eyes are locked, you can’t see his gaze, but you feel it.

It’s then. Between the smell of blood, the sweat making your black robe stick to you, over the screams of your shared victims, that all of it hits you.

It all comes crashing in, you thought he was the only one with a crush, with deeper feelings, that is not the case. You’ve come to realize that you have feelings for him too, deep and intense, scary and all consuming feelings, you care about Mickey and more than as a friend, a fellow killer, a partner in crime. You like him. Old memories flow through your mind now tinged differently, a highlight reel of neon recollection, synapses sparking, forcing you back, dragging you along to really look at those moments in the new light and context of your now fully exposed feelings. Raw and wriggling and out in the open air for you to contend with, screaming for acceptance and to be dealt with in some fucking fashion.

You had liked him for a long while and were far too stubborn and stupid to realize it. And you can’t ignore it any longer.

Snapped back into the moment you are staring. His strong gloved hands around the bitch’s throat, you can see the power he has, the way his arms strain from the effort, you can’t look away.

Once it was over, once they are both dead, you and he had to separate, and it made your mind run. You were so nervous, you trusted him completely now.

You knew Mickey was more than capable, but still, the thought of him actually being caught, you don’t know how you’d handle it. The sudden change steals your breath, you feel crushed by your new feelings, the unexpected care you feel for him.

The emotions run high during a kill night on the best of times, but the rough and rocky start, the joined act of killing, the fact the police presence as stepped up, it all mixes together. You were worried, very fucking worried, and that makes you terrified.

When you come back to the meeting point, he is already there, his mask is taken off, and you hastily remove your own. Staring across the space at each other, heavy breathing, and the look in his eyes upon meetings yours, he knows. He knows you feel differently now, and it can be felt in the air. You stride forward first as you exhale out, “Thank fuck you’re okay-”

As soon as you are close enough Mickey’s hands are on the sides of your face, pulling you to him and his mouth crashing into yours, swallowing you up in him, preventing you from speaking, stealing all words, you return his affection hastily, clumsily and with a moan of relief. Even during all your hate fucking, it wasn’t like this. There were no presses of your mouth to his, the only times your mouths were used were to bite, cause pain, or on occasion give each other some truly rough but brutal oral sex.

You are greedy, need to make up for lost time. You kiss him hard, want to make him as breathless as you are, more than the chase made him. You and he end up on the couch in his place. Costumes are long forgotten on the floor. His hands wander, touch you all over, help pull clothes away and aside, “I’ve been thinking about this so fucking much.”

A laugh slips out as you straddle him, helping him out of his shirt and throwing it aside, “Yeah Mickey?”

He takes in the view of you in just your pants and bra perched on his thighs, his hands run up your sides, fingers press over an already flowering bruise left from when one of your murder victims kneed you in the ribs. You hiss slightly, a sharp intake of air from the stab of pain, you retaliate, fingers in his hair, you thread, twist and pull. He gasps, smile widens, and he nods as much as you allow, “Yeah, been thinking about you just like this.”

“Just like this?” You grind on his lap, bare down on his clothed erection, short muted sounds of pleasure leave you both as you lose yourselves in the action, the friction before he manages to get out, “Almost, there are no clothes in the way, and I am buried deep again in that sweet fucking cun-”

You pull even harder and his sentence breaks off with a groan as you prompt him. “Stop talking and start doing.”

He was losing it. Normally whenever he hooked up with people he was sure, in total control, but you got the drop on him. He should know better, especially after all the previous very violent hook-ups.

At first, he was on top, or rather, he was trying to be, but all of a sudden a leg was around his hip and hands were on his broad chest pushing him until he fell onto his ass, back propped up on the arm rest of the couch. You settle into his lap quickly, straddling him and then lowering yourself, taking him deep, to the hilt, before he could protest. The moan leaves him on an exhalation at feeling how soaked and hot you are. His hands are on your hips, and he rocks up into you once before your hands are in his hair once more. Fingers thread anew, wrap around and twist before pulling, it makes his eyes shoot open, a harsh inhale from the pain, brows knitted together in confusion when you tell him firmly, "Stay fucking still. This is for me right now, not you."

He is shocked, stunned, your tone so harsh, leaving no room for argument, and you start to move, hips rise and fall as you ride him for all he's worth.

You look fucking stunning, gorgeous, and you feel even better.

He didn’t know he could be so into this, but he thinks it is because it’s you. He has seen you kill, seen how capable and powerful you are, he is so fucking into you, feels so deeply for you, he thinks you could carve your name into his flesh and he’d beg for more. The praise tumbles out between groan and gasps, timed with the falls and of your hips, the rolls of your body, and it makes you laugh breathy, “You are really into this.”

“Been a, fuck, while.” He confesses, and you slow your hips, “Mickey, have you kept it in your pants? Stopped fucking half the student body?”

You knew he was seeing other people in between your fucking for a while, but when you and he stopped, did he not get his fill elsewhere? He shrugs, tries to seem unbothered, but it’s hard when his hands are gripping your hips so tightly, browns pinched together, you clench on him and his head is thrown back against the arm rest of the couch. Sweat is down his temple, tendons in his throat as he swallows thickly, “Been busy.”

It is all he can force out. This is serious. Mickey the slut stopped screwing anyone else because he was crushing on you so severely. He did really like you, holy shit. Not an act at all, he was so consumed with you that fucking other people wasn’t something he wanted.

The emotion radiating off him is filling you, bleeding back into you, and you let it take you without trying to show it too heavily. You fucking care about him, you really fucking do.

Your hand below your waist, quick fingers bring you to your peak twice in short succession as you ride him before he finds his own high. The first time is frantic, needy, more about getting it out of your systems after so long without. It is undeniably satisfying and thoroughly enjoyable.

The next time happens that same night. With reheated Chinese and in his bed. You talked about it all, how the kill that night went and in the process worked yourself up once more and made the shower you shared after your time on the couch utterly pointless from how sweaty you got again.

After that night, you were together. You and he often fucked, maybe more than you should, but you just could not get enough. You’d been so busy that you hadn’t really fucked anyone other than him since getting here over a year ago. Times in your dorm or his, shared showers, traded oral in places that you shouldn’t like between library stacks. Once you had sex in the band pit of the theatre, your hands over his mouth and his over yours as you worked to keep quiet, him thrusting up into you, and you are slamming down on him as you worked each other over, bringing him and yourself to Earth shattering pleasure.

Both of you kept it more hush, hush, but another secret just added to it. You didn’t run from your feelings, nor did you attempt to hide how into him, you were. The dates squeezed in everywhere you could also try to make up for your stubborn bullshit earlier. Affection was, often, moments of tenderness and vulnerability in private were shared.

There is a moment that you keep coming back to.

Another kill. You and he are blood splattered, you had a quickie next to the body, a rushed moment of passion with you pushed over a desk. Your legs were shaking from the strength of the orgasm he fucked out of you. Over the past while you’d gotten much more comfortable with him taking control, it wasn’t a fight for dominance, it was shared responsibility that you give into as often as he does. His cum was leaking out into your panties that you had just pulled back into place. You were heaving, body slick, and resting for a moment when he comes around the desk. His mask is pulled up, and he leans down, gloved hands come to your face, one hand holds the knife in his leather clad grip, the other holds your cheek. You feel the knife handle against the opposite side, and he moves in, he kisses your forehead half-in-half-out of his killer garb, and you melt. You smile up at him and he returns it.

The lies and secrecy shouldn’t turn you on like this. Lying to Sidney and everyone else, the high you are both on from so far getting away with it is immense. You and he are too perfect of a fit.

It’s the day of. You and he are about to head out when the urge strikes. “Hey-“ Your hand quickly reached out and grabs his wrist, pulling him back from the door, so he was stood facing you again. His hand dropped to your waist, and he smiled down at you, that stupid damn devastating smile you used to hate that you now couldn’t see yourself living without, “- before we do this, there’s something I wanna tell you. Just in case.”

He noticed you looked almost nervous, weight shifting from one foot to the other, he had never seen this emotion on your face before, and he knew exactly what was coming before you took a deep, unsteady breath and opened your mouth to speak again. “I lo-”

“Don’t.” He said quickly, eyes wide, raising his hand to place it over your mouth, an action you had both done to each other God knows how many times in a much different context. “Save it. Tell me after we’ve won, okay?”

You rolled your eyes slightly, prying his fingers away from your mouth. “God, you’re such an overdramatic dork, Mickey. Okay.”

It was stupid. You shouldn’t have listened to him. You should have said it.

You and he and Nancy were in the theatre with Sidney. The monologue was underway, big speeches, reveals, shock and awe. You’d been watching from afar, waiting for your cue to come in, when it happens all too quickly. Sidney made Nancy so angry so fast, unable to control herself, and she points the gun and with a simple move of her finger, the trigger is pulled and all of a fucking sudden just like that night your world is coming crashing in. He wasn’t expecting it, the bullet holes in his chest pour blood out rapidly.

You are frozen in place. Rooted to the spot. You watch as his body falls. Here then gone. Stole from you in a single moment, no time to react, nothing to do, no time to process either. He was ripped from you, and it takes a moment for everything to come back into focus. Sidney and Nancy are struggling, and you find the strength.

You move.

The weapon in your hand is used on Sidney, not the way you’d intended to, the butt of your own gun is smacked full force on the back of her head. You knock her out and let her fall to the stage. You are left standing there with Nancy, who is wondering what you are doing. You are holding up the gun, pointing it straight at her, questioning her in the same way, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Why are you pointing that at me?” She asked in seeming disbelief, and you scoff, “Why do you think?! I heard you! I heard what you said, I watched you shoot Mickey, I know you want me dead next, right? Clean up the loose ends?”

You spit it at her with vitriol before you do your best impression of her annoying voice during her speech to Sidney, “There was a big scuffle, and you-” your foot kicking Sidney’s boot for emphasis, gesturing down to her with your other hand, “-shoot Mickey-”

Saying it makes you sob. Tears start to stain your cheeks, “I cannot believe you! Bringing us here, making us do your dirty work, and you were planning on killing us the whole fucking time!”

“What, did you really think that he’d get away with it? His big plan about blaming the movies? What jury would believe that-” She shouts, and you stomp your foot, “Shut the fuck up, that isn’t the point!” You weren’t going to tolerate her speaking ill of him, not while he is still bleeding out in the band pit, you kept talking, “You double-crossed us!”

Your gun moves down, and you shoot, getting her in the knee. She crumples under the weight of her own body. She is on the ground, and she is the one sobbing in short order. You make your way to her, you step onto her busted knee, grinding your boot down into it and revelling in her anguished screams. Blood gushes and you still are not satisfied. You sink down, you lay into her. First the gun across her face, teeth are knocked out, displaced and rattle as they roll across the wooden stage.

You hit her again and again, next the gun is dropped, your hand takes over, punching her, nose breaks, cartilage cracks, bones snap, she is coughing and wheezing and weak. Your knife is removed from the holster stored in your boot, and you hold it to her throat, “You are such a stupid fucking bitch.”

She was delirious, and you slammed her head against the stage, “Look at me when I’m talking to you!”

Her eyes are unfocused, but they are on you, “This is your fault. You are going to die, but you didn’t have to. You killed him first, and now I’m gonna kill you.”

The response is weak from her dry cracked lips, “Why?”

“Why?” You asked, a bitter laugh, you hold the knife closer to her throat, “Dumb cunt wants to know why? Sure, I can tell you.”

A deep inhale before you say, “You brought me here under false pretenses, made me work with one of the most annoying and insufferable people I have ever met in my life, forced me to be around him and in the process made me realize that…”

You can’t bring yourself to say it, but you instead say, “-That I care about him. That I needed someone else who could truly understand me on this level, who cared, who showed me how I deserved to be fucking treated and then, you just…You kill him, snuff him out, like he was nothing!”

You feel the tears falling again, “After all we’ve done to make your fucked up dream of a revenge plot come true, and you expect me to just lie down and take it when you kill him?!”

You can’t see her properly, not through how watery your eyes were. A steadying breath before you say, “And the way you did it. With a gun? It is insulting! Where is the intimacy? The care? The artistry, if he had to die by murder, he deserved better! Do you care about the art form at all?!”

You are tired of her, the anger and sadness had been bubbling up, it all comes to a head and bursts, the knife slices through her throat, she is choking on her blood when you tell her, “I’m not playing along, I’m not doing your stupid plot, not anymore. I’m rewriting it, Sidney’s gonna live.”

You don’t stop there. The knife is forced into her over and over. By the time you are done, her stupid white unflattering white suit is stained completely red.

Getting up from the complete mess, you look over your shoulder, Sidney is still passed out. This is your chance to run, but you can’t. Not yet.

Your steps are tentative, your knees hurt from how long you were on them while hunched over Nancy’s body while you were killing her. Your hands shake, and you peek over the edge of the stage and see him down there, amongst upturned band chairs, and your breath is stolen. You and he hooked up down there weeks prior, and now he was down there, looking wrong, totally fucking wrong. He looks lonely, and you hate that, you move quickly, one hand on the edge of the stage, and you jump down, it hurts your ankles from the height, you don’t care.

You stay there with him. You cling to him, you are reminded of that conversation, your least favourite. Dead weight. Quickly going cold, lifeless eyes staring up, past you, to some point on the ceiling, unseeing. You let yourself cry. You want to say it, tell him the depth of your feeling want to force the words out, you want to tell him you love him, but now it doesn’t feel right at all. He should have been able to hear those words from you while he was alive, while you still had a shot at a future together, whatever it would have looked like.You let yourself say this at the very least.

“You were right…” You sniff, you wipe at your cheeks and say, “The time we had was short but fuck. You were so good to me. I should have let you be good to me sooner. I should have been better to you, too.” The next words sit heavy on your tongue, no matter how much you want to they are left unsaid, and you make yourself leave him.

Before you do, there is one thing that feels necessary, like you have to. Hands cradle his face, one hand still holding the knife, and you lean down, you press a blood stained kiss to his forehead, near his hairline just like he did to you before. A mirror of that previous act of tenderness on a scarlet tinged afternoon but so much sadder because it was the last moment like this you’d ever have with him and again still, it was totally wrong. He can’t feel it, because he’s dead.

You get up and with one last forlorn look to him, you run.

Sidney wakes up unscathed but dazed, Mickey dead and Nancy too. You hadn’t revealed yourself, she hadn’t seen you, Nancy and Mickey hadn’t made mention of you, you’d been wearing gloves and there was none of your blood or DNA at the finale’ site, so you got away with it. They think the last person is still at large, but they have no clue who.

Your sadness is understandable, your real grief is able to be spread around, it is believable that it is for Hallie and Derek and everyone else but Mickey on the surface. You and Sidney drift apart. You tell her it’s too hard and she more than understands, she was initially suspicious at first, but you were too good an actor, your alibis too well planned and airtight.

The unmarked account that your tuition came out of was still full. You intend to transfer to a different college next semester. You can’t stay here, the idea of graduating from here without Mickey is horrible. You need a new state, a new school, a fresh chance to try and attempt to move on. It’s after winter break at that new school that you meet.

The events happened over a year ago, and you were still not doing good. Still sad, you wonder how you can ever process this pain, this total loss, no way can you talk about it, no way another person could ever understand.

Until that is one fateful day, you get a knock at your apartment door. You answer it and standing in front of you is a ghost, one person who you thought, just like everyone else, was dead, and maybe, perhaps, the only one who can relate to you.

Brows furrowed and gripping the door, so your legs won’t buckle, you asked nervously, in total shock and disbelief, “Stu Macher?”

He grinned with a point to himself, “That’s me. Can I come in?”

#Mickey Altieri X reader #slasher x reader #Ghostface x reader #BHF asks #BHF writing #HERE #HAVE IT #ENJOY IT #FUCK #FINALLY #Been working on this one for a WHILE

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eetherealgoddess · 4 months

Note

i found your works recently and I FELL IN LOVE <333 if you feel up to it would you be able to write about a foreign exchange reader with any tr boy possibly ending in smut?

Thanks for the support! I love when you guys send requests and love!! I hope you enjoy this! ♡︎♡︎♡︎

Shoutout to @deadxyeyes for our brainstorming that led me to this idea!! The original idea we talked about was a bully au but then while I wrote the story, it became different and my brain just went on autopilot.

ꨄYou’re Never Leavingꨄ

Oneshot - Yandere Foreign Exchange Student Au

❦You catch Kazutora’s eye❦

Hanemiya Kazutora x Reader

Not fully proofread

MY TR FANDOM WORKS ARE ONLY ON TUMBLR, AO3, AND WATTPAD UNDER EETHEREALGODDESS! REPORT IF YOU SEE IT POSTED UNDER ANYONE ELSE BUT ME!!!

Pretend it’s all in Japanese bc you learned the language, except when you speak to the people from your home.

I apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

I’ve only been an outsider to foreign exchange students visiting America when I was in high school. The reader will be from wherever you are and this will take place in college. I did a little research on studying abroad but I can’t promise complete accuracy!

Notice:

✩Y/n is 18+. I picture her as a black female but you can see her however.

✩Some parts of the story may not be realistic or factual. After all, this is a work of fiction.

✩Although it's a dark 'romance,' I do not condone any of the behavior displayed.

✩Dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit sexual content, etc.

✩There may be scenes that involve non con and/ or dubcon so don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable

✩That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

Enjoy!

You’re Never Leaving

Preparing years in advance for this wonderful opportunity, you finally reach the end of your second week at your new college in Japan. Excitement fills your senses as you take a selfie to send to your friends back home while sitting in the study room of your dorm. Your plan is to complete a whole year, having saved up all the money you made from working in high school for this very moment.

You’re currently sitting in a chair with a foot propped onto the mini wooden table in front of you. Your laptop open on an incomplete assignment you had been working on for the past hour, deciding to take a break. Your eyes meet the door when you hear a click, watching as a man you haven’t seen walks into the room.

You analyze his features, attempting to ignore your thoughts that begin to race at the attractiveness of the guy who entered the study room. You grab your laptop and set it on your lap after setting your phone down, continuing the paper. You keep your eyes on the screen as the brunette with blonde strands sits in the seat placed beside you.

“You’re one of the new exchange students in the dorm right?” He greets, a sly smile as he leans back in the chair, crossing his legs once his feet were placed on the table. He eyes you up and down, observing your features as well as your different aura. You turn away from your screen to acknowledge him with a friendly smile.

“Yes, I’m Y/n.” His smile seems to widen at the mention of your name.

“Y/n, Y/n.” He says, your name rolling off of his tongue as he plays with it. “Pretty name. Hanemiya, Kazutora. Call me Kazu. Say, aren’t you bored of your homework?” One of your eyebrows raise.

“Depends on where you’re going with that sentence.” You respond, giving a sly smile of your own. In all honesty, no matter where you're in the world, completing papers has never been your favorite thing to do unless it was something you were interested in.

“Let me show you a good time?” He offered, a hand raising as well as one of his eyebrows.

You give a look of contemplation with a finger on your chin. Deciding that you can postpone the completion considering it’s not due for another one or two days, you shrug.

“Sure.”

Once you packed everything, he walked you to your dorm room to grab your purse and set everything else you had aside, locking the door behind you once you got all your things. Throughout the night, he took you to different bars and clubs as well as the other hot spots in Japan, you both taking pictures with each other as you enjoyed your time together. You hadn’t known but you had already caught Kazutora’s eye from when you first moved in. The unexplainable attraction caused him to search a little more about you, though he couldn’t find much besides a few selfies on your social media.

He decided to get your attention so he could get to know you, take you out and see you in a more laid back setting besides school. He didn’t regret it, you both having a blast with each other as you drank the night away and danced. He pointed out different foods for you to try as well as feeding them to you which caused giggles that he already loved so dearly to spill out of that pretty mouth. He just knew that you’d be perfect together, your personalities fitting very well. He feels a connection he had never felt before with his one night stands and past girlfriends. Yes, he knows it’s ridiculous to be this infatuated with you and you only just met, though he can’t control how he feels.

The end of the night finally came and he walked you to your dorm. Usually he’d be in the girl’s bed, already getting to know her intimately, though he had wanted to go a little slower with you, deeming this a perfect opportunity to obtain an official girlfriend at some point. Yes, he’s moving fast but it’ll be worth it when you’re in his clutches.

“When are you free tomorrow?” He asks.

“Anytime after the morning. Gotta call my boyfriend.” You respond. His delighted expression drops when he hears the mention of your boyfriend.

“You have a boyfriend?” He questions in disbelief.

“Yeah! He’s so sweet!” You say cheerfully before dismissing yourself politely, giving him a ‘goodnight,’ before walking into your room.

He stares at the door for a moment before he turns red with embarrassment and anger. This can’t be right considering the obvious connection you two seemed to have. He can’t be wrong. How could you have a boyfriend when you had so much fun together? This is your fault for acting so casual. Your fault for leading him on. Your fault for seducing him. A vixen you are. A sneaky little serpent who tricked him. He walks away from your room to enter his own.

Over the weekend, you hadn’t heard from your new friend. A little concerned considering he stood you up the next morning, not answering your messages or calls. You let it go with slight disappointment, going on your own adventure as you toured the area, video chatting with your friends a couple of times and taking memorable pictures.

When the week began, you still hadn’t heard from Kazutora until he walked up to you during a break.

“Sorry I stood you up. Something important came up. Let’s make up for it tonight.” He says, giving a charming smile.

“That’s okay. I’m cool with that, but let’s have a chill night. I have to wake up early in the morning.” He nodded in response before you both separated and went to your designated classes.

When the night came, you both met up in the same study room you met. He brought some alcoholic beverages which caused you excitement because it helps you stay awake. You drink as you both converse and complete assignments together. As time went on, drink after drink you began to feel drowsy and hot, sweat building as the clothes on your body began to feel tight.

“You okay there?”

Kazutora had been studying you the whole night after he gave you the spiked drinks. He made sure you kept drinking by innocent friendly contests with the shots filled with aphrodisiacs, along with sleeping medication.

“I-it’s so hot in here! I’m burning up, man.” You whine as you take your sweatshirt off, too intoxicated to care that you’re only wearing your bra and pants. He smirks as he eyes your chest, ready to grab them though holding himself back to make sure the plan goes accordingly.

“Come ere.’ Let me help you feel better.” He says, motioning for you to come toward him. Your eyebrows furrow as you try to hold your head up.

“W-wait, Kazu. I c-can’t get up.” You whisper, your eyes closing as you lean against the chair only to open your eyes wide and try to hold yourself up. You look at the floor with confusion as a heartbeat forms in your panties, wetness beginning to stain.

“It’s alright, I got you.” He chuckles, standing up from his chair and picking you up, setting you on his lap cowgirl style as he sits back in his chair.

“You’re so pretty, angel.” He states, using his thumb to caress your cheek which causes a shiver to go down your spine. You grab onto his shoulders as you feel a bulge form through his pants. Barely holding yourself up you try to push back, the sensation of your whole body weakening slightly scaring you.

“I-I don’t know what’s happening.” You say as tears form. He brings your face closer as he uses his other hand to rub your back.

“Shh. It’s okay. I’m gonna take care of you.” He says as he unclasps your bra with one hand. He tosses it to the side as he eyes your hardened nipples.

“K-Kazu?”

“Relax. Everything’s okay, baby.” He flicks his tongue against your nipple, causing your breathing to pause as you look down at his mouth. He continues his kitten licks before closing his lips around the nub, sucking as he traces your back with the tip of his fingers. You couldn’t help but release a quiet moan as your hips moved against his bulge. Both of your arms wrap around his head as you lean into the sensation, grinding drunkenly as your head falls back. He continued to rub your back and suck your nipple as one of his hands moved into your pants, fitting into your panties as he parts your lips with his fingers, pressing against your clit.

Everything felt intensified, causing you to be sensitive by even the smallest touch. Pleasure engulfs you as you grind against his finger, fingers tightening in his locks as you moan shamelessly. He rolls his finger as he stares at your eyes, both of you making eye contact when your head hasn't fallen black with your eyelids closed.

“Feels good?” He whispers against your nipple, slightly nibbling. You nod your head causing him to stop moving his finger. You look at him with confusion.

“Tell me how good you feel.” He demanded with a husky voice. God you want this so bad, he can see it all over you. He just needed to hear it. Yearning for your praise.

With your hands placed on his face you lean over near his ear and whisper, “It feels so good, Kazu.”

“Yeah?” His face pink with an intoxicated look of lust on his expression, eyelids heavy without his usual smile. You nod, “Yeah.”

He continues to roll his finger against your nub, placing his lips back on your nipple as you grip his head and roll your hips. Your mouth stays slightly open as your head falls back once more in awe.

“Take my cock out. I wanna show you how hard I am for you.” He pulls his hand out of your pants as you comply, moving back to where you're kneeling on the floor in between his legs. He sits as if he’s on a throne, watching you pull his erection out after unbuckling his pants and pulling them down along with his briefs.

“See that? See what you do to me, Y/n?” You eye the length quietly, observing the veins and how the thick girth pulsates. Your pussy tingles as you feel more juices spill, leaking in your underwear as you become more turned on by the second. An intensifying heat spreads throughout your body as you lean against his legs for balance, still going in and out of darkness.

“Show me a good time.” He smirks as you nod, gently wrapping your fingers around the length. You lower your head, circling your lips around his tip, sucking lightly around the lining of the mushroom. His cock twitches in response as he gives a slight moan. You close your eyes as you fit his entire girth into your mouth, easing down your throat as your lips meet his base.

“Fuck.” He whispers, pulling his phone out as he aims it to your face, eyeing the angle through his phone as he makes sure to get your bare titties in there once he presses record.

You begin to bob your head slowly, saliva and pre cum dripping out of your mouth as you wet his dick, engulfing it in warmth as he moans, lifting his hips slightly when his head hits the wall of your throat. Too occupied with his cock you open your eyes, too high to register that a camera is in your face. You don’t care. You don’t care about anything right now. You only care about receiving his nut like the good little vixen you are.

Tired of recording, he presses the button to stop it as he sets his phone down. Using a hand to grab your head as he lifts his hips once more, pushing you all the way on his cock.

“Good. So fucking good.” He breathes as he pulls his hips back and begins fucking your mouth. Easing in and out as he accelerates. You begin to hold his thighs as he roughly thrusts his hips, becoming sloppier as time passes. Edging himself, he pulls you back abruptly.

“Take off your pants and get on me.” He says, ready to explore that pussy. You drunkenly comply as he helps you before snatching you off the floor.

“Show me what you can do.” He states, guiding his head to your entrance before you ease down, moaning as his girth stretches you out.

“Shit!” You hiss as his head immediately meets your g - spot. You grab onto his shoulders as you pull your hips back and drop down, grinding as he holds your thighs, helping you as he picks your body up and slams you back down, speed accelerating.

You both breathe heavily in each other’s ear, moaning and cursing as his hips meet yours, rutting against you desperately as he bites down on your neck.Your hands reach around his neck as you grip his shirt, scratching through the fabric with your nose scrunched and eyebrows furrowed. Eyes rolled back into your head as you bounced on his cock.

“Yeah! Just like that.” He grunts, fingers gripping your skin, nails piercing as they leave indents, his mouth hanging open as he leaves open mouth kisses on your shoulder. The effects of the medication begin to take you as you almost faint on his cock, drowsy by the sensations as they overtake you before he wakes you by pushing you back and using one of his hands to grab your neck.

“Stay with me, angel. S’ fucking close.” You groan as his cock repeatedly hits your g-spot.

“So deep, Kazu.” You whisper as a moan follows, a warmth building in your core before he slams you down one more time, the pressure causing you both to finally release, his semen shooting deep inside you as he holds you down against his lap while you grind out your orgasm.

“You did so fucking good, Y/n. My beautiful girl.” He holds onto you tightly as you begin to fall asleep on top of him, unknown to what awaits you in the morning.

You grunt as the constant ringing of your phone wakes you up, your hand grabbing your throbbing head as you slowly sit up in your bed. Your eyes are squinted as you read the contact name, confused as to why your boyfriend is calling you so early. You answer with a croaked out, “Hello.”

“How could you do this to me? To us?” He exclaims. Your eyebrows furrow with confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Look at what I sent you!”

You immediately put him on speaker as you comply, opening your chat. Your eyes widen and your hand goes to cover your mouth as you watch yourself sucking a random person’s erection, furrowed brows as tears form. You try to remember when this could’ve happened and how but you had no memory before today. Just distant memories of your first week in Japan.

“Derrick, I-I don’t know or remember, or even how this happened! You have to believe me, please!” You cry out, scared of losing the love of your life. The one you planned to marry. Tears threaten to fall as your hand shakes over your mouth.

“I didn’t know you were such a slut, Y/n.” You gasp as the line goes dead. You attempted to call him back but you were only met with his voicemail. You check the group chat with your friends to respond to all of the notifications, only to see the same video one of your friend’s said Derrick had sent to them. They shamed you and apparently blocked you. You searched their social media and couldn’t find anything.

You begin to cry, your life feeling as though it has fallen completely apart. You only hope that they won’t send the video around to anyone else at home, not that you knew many people personally. You skip your classes and sulk in your room, curtains closed as you weep for the rest of the day. You contemplate getting out of the bed when you hear a knock at your door.

With a blanket wrapped around your head and body, you opened the door to tell the visitor to go away. Of course, Kazutora doesn’t listen and walks in anyway, pulling you into a hug as he asks, “What’s wrong?”

You explain to him everything, anxiety filling your mind from your violation. You talk to him about how scared you are because of the unknown person you had sucked off, stds being a fear as well as just feeling shame in general. You couldn’t believe you allowed that to happen. He explains how it wasn’t your fault and he’ll go with you to the doctor’s. He embraced you and allowed you to cry on him. He knew you needed him. Heknew that you just needed a push in the right direction. He knew that there was nothing truly wrong with you considering it was just him. He’s clean anyway.

He was prepared for the tears and pain though he knew it would be worth it once you're in his arms. After a month of healing, you both became a couple, Kazutora asking you out in a romantic way. He had patience throughout the relationship, wanting you to be comfortable in your own skin once more. A year passes and you decide to stay in Japan, having nothing left in your old country. Having attended therapy, you both live on happily, though you are still unknown to the truth that ruined your life in the first place.

#yandere tokyo revengers #yandere reader #yandere au #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere #tokyo rev x you #tokyo revengers #tokyo rev x y/n #tokyo rev smut #tokyo rev x reader #kazutora hanemiya #kazutora x reader #college au #foreign exchange #student #college #toxic love

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dwobbitfromtheshire · 11 months

Text

Warning: Murray stupidly pushes Steve into outing himself. There is a happy ending. Shoutout to the person who recently posted about this and gave me the idea.

Steve looked around at the party, a warm smile on his face. Joyce was sitting in Hopper's lap as they talked to Claudia and Sue. Judging by the looks on Sue and Claudia's faces, they were boasting about him again. He doesn't understand why they felt the need to brag so much or why they made sure he heard it as often as he could stand it. They were celebrating the fact that the fourth of July was over and that there wouldn't be any more fireworks to retraumatize them. They were also celebrating the fact that they were all alive and well, the gates closed hopefully forever. Steve was sitting off by himself after having chased the kids around the Hoppers' new and spacious backyard with Eddie. Steve was tired, but Eddie somehow managed to keep going and now had Mike in a headlock.

"Finish him!" Erica hollered, causing Hopper and Jonathan to snort into their cups.

Steve laughed. That's when Murray plopped down in the empty chair next to him.

"I'm not sure if I like that kid or if I'm afraid of her," Murray said.

"I'm pretty sure she could have taken down Vecna just by talking to him," Steve said.

"I do not doubt it," Murray cackled.

Mike finally surrendered to Eddie, and he let go of him, cheering loudly. Steve smiled at him, his heart fluttering. Eddie winked at him, and his cheeks flushed red. Nancy cheered and clapped. Mike flipped her off, and Jonathan threw his empty cup at Mike's forehead, and when Mike yelled, Jonathan claimed he was aiming for the trashcan.

"Those two kids still together?" Murray asked.

"Mike and Jonathan never dated. At least, I hope not," Steve said, his brow furrowing.

"No! Nancy and Jonathan!" Murray scowled.

"Oh, yeah, no. They're friends, Nancy wanted to focus on school," Steve said.

"Sounds about right considering I was the one who pushed them together," Murray said.

"You were?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, she was dating this complete dud she clearly had no feelings for," Murray said. "I was all, 'we like Steve, but we don't love Steve'. Hey, you know, you have the same name as him."

"Yeah, it's funny how that works. Poor Steve, right?" He said. "They never love him. I'm the very same Steve, dumbass."

"Don't you like guys?" Murray asked.

"What the fuck?" Steve said, staring at him wide eyes, his cheeks flushed. "No, I don't!"

"I'm not gonna judge you, Harrington," Murray said, rolling his eyes. "I'm gay too. Safe space for you and your boyfriend over there."

"What business of it of yours?" Steve snapped. "And Eddie's not my boyfriend."

"Oh, do you guys need a little push too?" Murray scoffed.

"You do know bisexuals exist, right?" He asked, gripping his cup.

"Yeah, and are you?" Murray asked, amused at how mad Steve was getting.

"It's not any of your goddamn business!" He snarled at him.

"Are you still hung up on Nancy?" Murray continued to push.

"No!" Steve rolled his eyes, wanting this conversation to be over.

He stared ahead, not looking at him. Everyone was still conversing and horsing around while Steve was stuck, having the most awkward conversation of his life. Murray's words from earlier rolling around in his head.

"So, you don't have feelings for him?" He asked.

"I do, okay!" He exclaimed.

"Then what's the problem?" Murray asked.

"We don't love Steve, remember?" Steve growled at him, tear prickling at the corners of his eyes, and suddenly, he was back at Tina's party.

He stood up suddenly, knocking his chair back harshly, causing everyone to look at him.

"Steve, honey, are you okay?" Joyce asked.

"Oh, he's just being a little sensitive, Joyce," Murray replied.

Sensitive. The same word that Steve’s father used to call him when he didn't want to say the word. He always knew about Steve and the fact that he was too sensitive. Steve whirled around, and before he knew what he was doing, his fist was colliding with Murray's face and knocking him out of his chair. There were several gasps, and Murray cackled.

"There's no need to be ashamed of yourself, Steve," he said.

"I have never been ashamed that I also like men, and I am not ashamed that I like Eddie!" Steve yelled at him.

Suddenly, he realized that he just outed himself in front of everyone. Steve felt very overwhelmed. Well, Robin and Dustin already knew. Steve quickly apologized and ran around to the front to head towards his car. He pulled out his keys, but his hands were shaking so badly that he kept dropping them. He got to his driver's side door when he dropped them again. He squatted down to pick them up when he saw someone else's hand reach down to do the same. He looked up to find Eddie squatting next to him.

"Oh, sweetheart," Eddie said softly. "He had no right to push you like that."

Steve hadn't realized he had been crying until Eddie cupped his face and wiped away a tear with his thumb. He could hear the distinct voice of Joyce yelling in the backyard. They stood up, and Steve collapsed into Eddie's open arms. He shoved his face into Eddie's shoulder as he sobbed.

"We like Steve, but we don't love Steve. That's what he said," Steve whispered.

"Please tell me that you don't believe that shit, man," Eddie said. "Because everyone here loves you. . . Including me. Especially me."

"You love me?" Steve said, his voice small.

"Yep, in a very not straight way. I also like men," Eddie said. "I'm not ashamed of it either."

"I want to kiss you," Steve said softly.

"Right here? I'm okay with it if you are," Eddie said.

Steve pressed his lips to Eddie's, wrapping his arms around his waist and pulling the metalhead against him. His lips were soft against his own, and then Eddie pressed his lips hard against his as he deepened the kiss. Eddie wrapped his arms tightly around Steve’s shoulders as he tried to press himself further against him. Eddie broke the kiss, gently nibbling on Steve’s lip as he pulled away. Steve leaned his forehead against Eddie's, sniffling.

"I love you too, Eddie," Steve whispered.

"See, I knew you needed a push," Murray said.

Steve peered around to see him coming around the house, being dragged by Joyce and Hopper. Murray's nose was bleeding heavily. It was also clearly broken.

"Did I do that?" Steve asked.

"No. It was hard to tell who broke his nose, Sue or Claudia," Hopper said, chuckling. "But it was definitely Joyce who knocked his tooth lose."

"It's still hanging in there. Oh, and there it goes," Murray said.

"By the way, you didn't do shit!" Eddie exclaimed. "Fuck you and your tooth!"

"Yeah, I had a special evening planned tomorrow where I was going to make him dinner and then tell him, so thank you for that," Steve said. "With or without you, I would have told him."

"Wait, really?" Eddie asked with wide eyes. "Even though this jackass ruined your big reveal, can we still have dinner together tomorrow?"

"Yeah, it can be our first date," Steve said, smiling softly.

"You mean our first date wasn't our trip through the Upside Down together?" Eddie asked, and Steve laughed, shaking his head. "How about I do the cooking, big boy?"

Murray made a half assed apology before leaving. That's when Sue and Claudia came through with the kids following behind them. Sue, Claudia, and Robin started fussing over him.

"Oh, honey, are alright?" Sue asked.

"I'm much better, thanks, Sue," Steve said and pulled out of Eddie's arms to welcome her embrace.

"Oh, sweetie, we just want you to know that we love you," Claudia said.

"Yeah, we're proud of you, baby," Sue said, rubbing his shoulder.

"Yes, we love you, too, Steve," El said. "You and Eddie are cute."

"It's awesome!" Dustin exclaimed.

"Uh, why are Erica and Max whispering with their heads pressed together?" Steve asked.

"Uh, well, they said they were plotting Murray's death, but it was hard to tell if they were joking or not, and I wasn't going to ask," Lucas said.

"You guys really love me, huh?" Steve asked.

"Of course, sweetheart, you're family," Joyce said. "After everything you've done, it would be pretty shitty of us not to accept you."

"Yeah, you're our brother in arms," Lucas said.

"Our paladin," Will said with a proud grin.

"Our protector," El said.

"Our washed-up jock," Erica said with a fond smile.

"Our mother," Max said with an amused smile.

"Our kid," Sue, Claudia, Charles, Joyce, and Hopper said.

"My platonic soulmate," Robin said with a twinkle in her eye.

"My boyfriend?" Eddie asked.

"Your boyfriend," Steve said as he choked on his happy tears.

He swooped in and kissed his boyfriend in front of his entire family.

#stranger things #eddie munson #stranger things s4 #joseph quinn #eddie stranger things #eddie munson lives #steve harrington #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #steve gets outed #murray bauman is a creep #he's also an asshole #the party #the hendersons and sinclairs adopt steve

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dandylovesturtles · 5 months

Text

Top Ten Posts of 2023

I decided, why not? ^^

I'm limiting this to fics/analysis/headcanon/etc posts I made during the year and skipping over anything that isn't my actual creative work. That said, if you're curious, my actual top post was this funky screenshot from episode 2.

10. Everyone's just fine with Donnie modding the moon buggy? (362 notes)

It occurred to me that despite being MASSIVE nerds for the Jupiter Jim franchise, the bros seemed awfully chill with Donnie taking an actual on-set moon buggy and modding the hell out of it.

A few people argued with me in the notes that the Turtle Tank is so cool no one could possibly be mad about it and I do think that's fair. The Turtle Tank is easily my favorite thing Donnie made in the show.

9. Splinter and Leo talk post movie (443 notes)

And then his dad walks in and says, “I would like to talk to Blue, please. Alone.” And suddenly Leo doesn’t feel so good anymore.

This is the most recent tumblr fic I've done (I think lol), so seeing it make it this high felt pretty good. I love Splinter and his boys... they make me emotional.

8. A headcanon about the Disaster Twins (445 notes)

I have a headcanon that the twins are lowkey always trying to get each other to laugh.

This is still true.

7. A showcase of Donnie's injuries in End Game (462 notes)

So everyone talks about Donnie getting his shell shredded by the Shredder in Many Unhappy Returns but I feel like it’s underappreciated that that happened to him coming off of getting his ass beat in End Game like

One of the first posts I made when I made this blog haha. Poor Donnie |'D

6. Donnie records everything (617 notes)

broke: Donnie listening to what happened in the prison dimension woke: Donnie showing Raph Leo’s big damn hero speech since he wasn’t there the first time

The main reason why this has so many notes is because @roseverdict wrote a great fic down in the notes that you should all go read.

5. Leo asks Donnie a favor (829 notes)

“You might as well tell me what you need,” he says, turning to his computer and pulling up his list. “I’ll assess it and prioritize.” “No, no, that’s okay. It’s nothing,” Leo insists. “Nardo.” Donnie levels his best stare at him. “What is it?”

I love writing the Disaster Twins being soft and you guys love it when I write it too.

4. Present Donnie and Future Donnie have a little disagreement (CAS AU fic) (1,242 notes)

“What was I supposed to do, tie him to a chair?” “Yes!?” says Mini-him like he’s stupid, which warrants a scoff.

Shoutout to @skcirthinq who doodled a comic version of their conversation.

3. Casey Jr. and Uncle Tello troll Present Donnie (CAS AU fic) (1,701 notes)

Casey Jr, says Uncle Tello’s voice. Uncle Tello? Do you want to see something really funny?

This is my actual fic with the most notes! I'm glad you all enjoyed this silly little take on what was actually an incredibly intense moment in Cass's original comic.

2. Mikey contacts the Hamato ancestors (2,054 notes)

future Mikey: *trying to contact the spirits of the Hamato for advice and guidance in the apocalypse* Donnie’s spirit: Hello, you are now communing with Donatello.

I can't believe you guys gave over 2K notes to the stupidest joke I've ever made. Shoutout to @nonymous06 for this artist's rendition.

and finally, drum roll please.....

My top post of 2023:

1. A very silly idea for a separated AU (4,283 notes)

non-angsty ROTTMNT separated AU where the boys meet online and bond over their shared love of Jupiter Jim and skateboarding and Lou Jitsu. Then one day they agree to meet irl for the first time at a con and decide to dress as turtle aliens.

This post spawned an adorable fanart by @thatsmutbean , this hilarious fanart by @onionninjasstuff , and an entire fanfic called new phone who dis by @rbtlvr

This has been an incredible year! My love for ROTTMNT has not diminished in the slightest and I still have lots of ideas, so I hope you guys stick with me for 2024. Thanks again! Happy New Year!!

#no idea what to tag this as #if I put it in the main tag is that annoying #oh well #rottmnt

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sheridans-dynamos · 2 years

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Time Makes You Bolder

Pairing: Eddie Munson x reader

Summary: After defeating Vecna and getting your dad back, everything seems almost perfect in Hawkins, almost... until you realize that your newest friend, Eddie, has been acting a little strange around you.

Word count: 8.6k (oops?)

A/N: Here I am, officially on the Eddie train! I mean, I’ve loved him since the start, but I’ve finally written for him! Wasn’t expecting it to turn out this long, but that’s just where the story was taking me. I’m kinda proud of this one, not gonna lie, so I hope you guys like it!! (Special shoutout to @thedevilwearsvibranium for proofreading this for me, and coming up with a summary for me cause I was struggling lmao)

"Bye, Dad!" you spoke out into the cabin with your hand on the door, ready to make a quick getaway.

But not quick enough it seemed, for your father appeared in the door frame of his room before you even managed to turn the handle. "Woah there, kiddo. Where you headed like that?" Hopper questioned, his arms crossing over his chest.

You groaned as you turned towards him, letting your back rest against the door as you eyed your father.

You had been incredibly thrilled to find out he was alive, you missed him so much while he was "dead." You remembered your reunion and how you felt in that moment as if it was yesterday, even though it was actually close to five months ago now.

You, him and your sister, Eleven, had hugged each other and cried until all the tears had left your body. And you spent the few days following never leaving each other's side, having so much to catch each other up on in all of your respective lives.

Spring Break had been rough, with Vecna and the whole Upside Down mess. It wasn't the first time you had to deal with all of that, but it still wasn't easy.

Many times you had feared for the lives of your friends, the friends you'd had for years now, and also the ones you'd just made through this most recent brush with certain death.

Eddie had come really close to dying that day you defeated Vecna, but thankfully he'd made it through the fight thanks to your help.

Things were much calmer now, and it felt good to be able to just live your life like a normal person, graduate with your friends (yes, even Eddie finally got that damn piece of paper) and now enjoy your summer with everyone.

And as much as you'd missed your dad, that was something you hadn't missed. That overprotectiveness and constant questioning of your whereabouts. Even though you couldn't really blame him, considering everything that happened over the last three years, it was still exhausting.

"Just going over to Family Video to meet up with some friends, then we'll probably go hang out at the field a bit, I don't know," you answered his question, hoping that would be the end of it.

"That Harrington boy again? I still don't trust that kid," he gruffed, and you chuckled, amused that you were still at this point. Your dad had never really liked you being friends with Steve, always saying he didn't trust "boys like that" with his daughter, that they only want one thing and blah blah blah.

"Yes. And Nancy, and Robin, and… maybe someone else. And by the way, Dad, 'That Harrington boy,' as you call him, only has eyes for Nancy, you don't have anything to worry about," you tried to reassure him once again, even though you knew it wouldn't do much to calm his ever worrying mind.

"Hmm. Well. Have fun, then. And don't be home too late. And don't have too much fun," Hopper said as he slowly uncrossed his arms.

You smiled at him and his grumpy demeanor, thinking once more of just how much you'd missed him. You dropped your bag on the table next to the door, making your way to him and wrapping your arms around him, pulling him into a hug. He seemed surprised for a second, but quickly returned the gesture, holding you close to his chest.

"What's this for?" he mumbled against your head.

"I just love you, that's all," you responded as you pulled away, finally getting to exit the cabin.

Hopper smiled to himself as you closed the door and made your way to your car. "I love you, too, kiddo."

You tapped your fingers against the steering wheel of your car as you drove towards the video store, your head slightly bopping to the music you were listening to with your windows down. As much as you loved the current popular music, you couldn't let go of that one album from over ten years ago that just filled you with so many emotions. Fleetwood Mac's self titled album had seen you through so many tough times in your life, it would forever be your favorite.

Not that people knew that. You had a deep love for music, but mostly kept it to yourself. You could discuss music related things with people, but you liked to keep the songs and artists that mattered most to you close to your chest, not willing to let people intrude upon it.

You pulled into the parking lot at Family Video, turning your car off as you stepped out and made your way towards the door. You could already hear Steve and Robin bickering about something.

Their voices became clearer as you opened the door, making the bell ring, which would usually alert them to your presence, but they seemed too engrossed in their debate to notice now.

"Robin, she's not-" Steve was saying, but Robin quickly interrupted him.

"No, I'm telling you, she definitely has- Oh, hi Y/N! Didn't see ya there!" She abruptly stopped what she had been saying when she finally became aware of your presence, starting to fidget, which caused you to frown at her.

"Who were you talking about?" you questioned.

"Oh, you know, just… someone," Steve shrugged vaguely.

"A- a girl Steve likes!" Robin blurted, and Steve elbowed her, but she swatted at his arm, dismissing his protest. "Yeah, totally. We were talking about this girl Steve likes, and I was just telling him that obviously she likes him, cause, ya know, he's Steve and all," she finished off with an eye roll, which made you chuckle.

"So, who's the lucky girl, then?" you asked him. You were a bit surprised to hear he was into someone, considering how you knew he felt about Nancy. But if this could help him move on and be happy, then good for him.

"Oh, you know, it's um- just some girl," he told you, pretty much only echoing his answer from earlier. You eyed him cautiously, wondering why he didn't seem to want to share any information with you about this mystery girl.

"Okayyy," you let the word stretch, still confused, your mind turning over the possibilities, but snapping back to reality as Robin clapped her hands once, loudly.

"Alright, now that you're here, let's get going! Nancy is meeting us at the field."

You waited for her to continue, as there was still one person unaccounted for in your little friend group, but she kept silent as she hopped over the counter to make her way to the door, forcing you to say, "What about Eddie?"

The grin on Steve's face made you narrow your eyes, wondering why your question elicited such a response from him, but not thinking too much of it. "Oh don't worry, Eddie's probably already there, waiting for us." He winked at you, and you waved your arm off, dismissing this odd behavior as typical Steve shenanigans. Who knew why that man did any of what he did.

"Okay, well, let's go then! We shouldn't keep him waiting." You gestured for Steve to join you on this side of the counter and he obliged, the grin still ever present on his face as he jogged past you, ruffling your hair on his way and making you groan in annoyance.

"Dammit, Harrington," you grunted, smoothing your hair as you followed your friends out.

You walked a little bit behind Steve and Robin, watching them with a fond smile as they kept bumping shoulders in fake little tackles. You never had many friends growing up, but one good thing the Upside Down had brought to your life was this group of people.

You could see Nancy and Eddie sitting on a blanket a bit further down the path. You hurried along as you saw Eddie wave you over, his arm moving in nearly frantic gestures, with Nancy chuckling beside him, an amused smile on her face as she shook her head gently.

"Hi guys," you said as you let yourself plop down into a lying position on the blanket, having left Steve and Robin behind in your little run over to your hanging spot.

You let your head fall onto Nancy's lap, and she put her hand on your face, smoothing some hair out of your face as she greeted you. "Hey, Y/N."

You saw Eddie look at you with an odd expression on his face, but the second your eyes locked, he quickly looked away. You frowned slightly, but, deciding not to let the odd moment ruin your mood, you nudged the side of his thigh with your foot. "Hey, butthead."

"What?" he chuckled, but still avoided looking directly at you.

"You didn't say hi to me," you replied, poking his leg to make him look at you, which he finally did, albeit somewhat reluctantly.

"Oh. Sorry. Hello, angel," he mumbled, his hand coming to rest on your foot that was still on his thigh. You looked at him carefully, trying to assess him.

You never really understood Eddie. One minute he'd be all strange around you, barely acknowledging you, as if he didn't want to be around you, and then the next, he'd be all sweet, calling you pet names. It shouldn't affect you, and it didn't, not really, you told yourself. After all, it didn't mean anything. But you couldn't help the weird feeling you got in the pit of your stomach every time he called you something other than your name.

"Hey dinguses," Robin said as she finally made it to your spot, nudging your leg with her own.

"Move that leg outta the way and let me sit here. Unless you're hoping Eddie'll give you a foot massage or something." She wiggled her eyebrows at you, and you scoffed, moving and coming into a sitting position to allow her to come sit down next to you, now having her between you and Eddie. You felt a mix of relief and disappointment at the lost proximity. But both feelings were a bit too much to try and process when you were supposed to be having a fun time with your friends.

Robin leaned in close to you to whisper in your ear in a conspiratorial tone. "Sorry 'bout that. Wanna switch spots?"

You turned to her, confused by the question. Had your weird little emotional turmoil just now been that easy to read? You shook your head. No, there was no way she knew. There wasn't even anything to know, for crying out loud. Yes, sure, you were maybe a little more excited to go somewhere when you knew Eddie would be there. And he could make you laugh like no one else did, but that didn't have to mean something more than what it was, which was Eddie being a good friend, whom you'd grown to care a lot for over the last months.

"What? Why would I wanna switch spots? I'm fine here. And what are you sorry about?" you replied in the same whisper tone. She gave you a knowing look that seemed to say 'Oh, come on, you know why.' and you glared at her, dismissing her non verbal statement with your hand before turning to face Steve, who seemed to just be staring longingly at Nancy with no subtlety whatsoever from the tree he was leaning against a little bit further from the blanket everyone else was on.

You got up and made your way to him, snapping him out of his daze when you bumped your shoulder against his arm and spoke. "Hey, loverboy."

"Hmm?" his noncommittal response made you realize he hadn't actually snapped out of it, and you went in front of him to interrupt his line of sight before someone else noticed, especially Nancy.

"Steve. You're staring. And you're not even trying to be subtle about it." You sighed, feeling bad for your friend. You knew he never fully got over Nancy, but it seemed to have gotten worse since the events of Spring Break.

"What? I wasn't staring, staring at who? Who's staring?" he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he eyed you.

"Steve, please, you were practically drooling on the ground with your eyes glued to Nancy," you chuckled.

"Oh please, like you're one to talk," he replied.

"What are you talking about?" you questioned, having no idea what he was referring to.

Steve brought a hand to his face, his palm effectively slamming right onto his face. "Shit," he groaned. "Nothing, I'm just um- just projecting. Deflecting. Yeah, that's the word, deflecting." He accompanied his statement with a firm nod of his head, as you eyed him curiously.

"O…kay?" you said hesitantly. "Are you alright, Steve? I know how hard it can be, I mean, I can imagine, to have feelings for someone who you have to see all the time, but can't be with."

You put a reassuring hand on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze in an attempt to provide some comfort.

"Who, Nancy?" he said in a voice a bit higher than his normal register. The look you gave him made him reconsider his well thought out rebuttal. "Fine, yeah. It's hard. But it's okay, I'm dealing, best as I can, I guess."

You smiled sadly, bringing your arms around him to pull him into a hug, holding on to him for a few seconds before pulling back slightly and saying, "I'm here for you, Steve, always."

A grateful smile appeared on his face as he looked at you. "Same goes here. If you ever need to talk about anything, or anyone, I'm here."

You nodded, taking his hand to pull him back towards the rest of your friend group. You felt eyes on you as you approached, almost burning a hole into the back of your head, but when you turned to see who it was and your eyes locked with Eddie's, he quickly looked away, once again.

You were the only two left now, the rest of your friends all having gone home for the night.

Eddie had seemed a bit off still for a little while, but now that it was just you two, he was back to normal, joking around with you and making you practically forget about anything other than him in that moment.

He was currently going on about a new song he was learning to play on his guitar, explaining to you a particularly tricky chord change he was having some trouble with. You couldn't help the little smile that appeared on your face as you listened to him, seeing him so happy and passionate about something just couldn't do anything but make you happy as well.

You would've stayed there all night with him if you could've, just sitting together, talking about everything and nothing, just enjoying each other's company. You had spent many nights doing just that back when he was still wanted for murder and you all took turns staying with him to make sure he was alright.

But things were different now, your dad was back, and that was the greatest thing you could've ever hoped for. But it also meant no staying out all night, especially not with a guy, otherwise a search party would soon be organised to find you.

You looked at your watch, knowing you had to head back soon if you didn't want your dad to freak out on you.

By now you were both sitting on the ground in comfortable silence. Your shoulders almost touching, but not quite. It was often so easy being around Eddie, you weren't sure when or why things had started to feel more complicated with you two.

“I'm gonna have to get going," you said reluctantly, wishing you could enjoy this moment of normalcy with him a bit longer.

He nodded his head. "Right, right, yes," he said, nodding his head once more, as if trying to bring himself back from wherever his mind had wandered off to. "Do you need a ride home?"

You shook your head as you tried to rise, but Eddie was quicker, jumping onto his feet and extending his hand to you, which you gladly took, letting him pull you to your feet. He had tugged with a little more force than necessary, causing you to stumble into him. Your breath caught in your throat for a second, as you stayed pressed against him much longer than necessary, before you realized fully what had just happened and you pushed yourself away, chuckling awkwardly as you dusted off your pants with your hands. "Thanks," you breathed. "And thanks for the ride offer, but I actually came here with my car, it's right over there, so I'm good." You pointed at the little path where your car was parked.

"Oh, yeah, totally, right. Okay yeah, well, goodnight I guess, then," he rambled on, avoiding your eye as he backed away, probably towards where he had parked his own van. "Get home safe, yeah?" he added, finally looking up at you as he awaited your confirmation, probably also wanting to keep an eye on you as you made your way back to your car.

"Yeah. You too, Munson. Stay safe out there."

He seemed to cringe a bit at your words, but quickly masked the expression with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes, giving you a little nod. "Always."

You nodded too, turning away to get to your car. Once you sat in the driver's seat, you groaned in exasperation, wondering what had gone wrong. Things had been normal again between you two, until they weren't.

It had to be that moment when he pulled you up and you bumped into him. It wouldn't have been a big deal, if you could've just been normal about it. But no, instead you had to stay there longer than you should have and practically gawk at him, making things awkward. That must've been why he'd been so uncomfortable after that.

You let your head fall onto the steering wheel with another groan, the loud honk of your car making you jump back as you realized your mistake, seeing Eddie turn rapidly towards you, concern evident in his eyes.

You rolled your window down to shout to him, "Sorry, it was an accident! Everything is good!"

He seemed to hesitate for a second, but then gave a small nod and continued towards his car.

You willed yourself to start the drive home, suddenly feeling an intense craving for your bed, burying yourself under a ton of blankets, and forgetting everything about this disastrous end to your otherwise pleasant day.

You were on your bed, listening to some music as you read a comic book, trying to relax after a long day at work. You hadn't had much time to see your friends in the last couple of days, with your job keeping you quite busy.

You had considered going out tonight, but instead opted for a quiet night in, taking advantage of the fact that you were home alone to put your music as loud as you wanted.

But despite the volume, you still heard the faint noise of the telephone ringing in the other room. You sighed as you forced yourself to get up, leaving the comic book face down on the bed to remember what page you were on.

"Hello?" you answered the phone, not sure who was calling, but you knew the list of possibilities wasn't all that long.

"Hey, kiddo." You heard your dad's voice on the other end of the line, and you smiled to yourself. You still weren't fully used to the fact that he was back, that your family life was back.

"Hey, Dad. What's up?"

"Do you think you could go pick up your sister at Max's? She was supposed to sleep over there again tonight but something came up. I didn't really get what, something about that Sinclair kid I think. But anyways, I have a few things to finish up here at the station before I can get going, and I don't want her walking home by herself at night," your dad finished, and you let your back fall against the wall, groaning internally at the prospect. There went your quiet night in. But at least it gave you an excuse for a little late night drive, which also meant blasting your favorite albums in the car.

"Yeah, no problem, I'll leave right now," you told him.

You heard him sigh in relief, and you shook your head slightly at how stressed out he'd been over this simple thing. Although, to be fair to him, considering the lives you all led, it was understandable that he might be concerned. "Thanks, kiddo. I owe you one."

"Don't mention it. Alright, I'm gonna get going. Bye, Dad, love you."

"Love you, too, kiddo," your dad said before hanging up the phone. It wasn't something you'd always been able to say easily before, especially through a tumultuous father/teenage daughter relationship. But after everything you both went through, you liked to say it to each other as often as possible.

You took a few steps towards the kitchen table, where you had left your keys, and grabbed a jacket before heading out to the trailer park.

You got out of your car, looking towards Max's trailer. You started to make your way there, but out of the corner of your eye, you noticed that the door to Eddie's trailer wasn't fully closed. Concern for your friend instantly took hold of you, and you cautiously approached the trailer, wishing you had some sort of weapon on you.

You figured your sister could stay at Max's a few minutes longer while you investigated this. Although, she could've been useful if something bad was going on, but it was probably nothing, so you didn't want to worry her for nothing. But, considering everything that happened a few months ago, you couldn't be too sure of that fact, so you had to go and make sure.

When you got to the door, you called out Eddie's name, but no answer came. You knocked on the door once, waiting for a reaction, but when you still heard nothing from him, you slowly pushed the door, making your way in as you carefully scanned the place. The lights were on in the living room, and nothing seemed to be out of place. As you got closer to Eddie's room, you started to hear the sound of guitar, which instantly brought relief to you. Everything was fine, he'd just forgotten to close his door properly, as he'd done many times before and probably would do many times again in the future, and he hadn't heard you because he was playing his guitar. Although it sounded like it was his acoustic one this time, which he didn't play all that often.

You sighed, feeling as though you'd severely overreacted, and a bit annoyed at him for having worried you like that. You were about to turn around and leave, making sure to close the door properly this time, when you heard the soft finger picking of your favorite song in the whole world. You froze in your spot, then walked to the door of his room and pushed it gently to enter. He didn't notice you at first, too engrossed in his playing to be aware of anything else.

But standing there, you could indeed confirm that he was playing Landslide by Fleetwood Mac, which wasn't something you ever pictured Eddie Munson, the metalhead, playing alone by himself in his room at night.

"Didn't peg you as a Fleetwood Mac fan," you finally spoke up, starting to feel like a bit of a creep, just standing there and watching him play.

His head snapped to you and he jumped back on his bed, nearly throwing his guitar in your direction. He seemed to calm down a bit as he realized who was standing there, but he was still breathing rapidly as he brought a hand to his chest to steady himself. "Jesus fucking Christ, Y/N! What the hell?!"

You raised your hands in surrender, feeling bad for having scared him like that. "Sorry, sorry! The door to your trailer wasn't closed all the way, and I was here to pick up El at Max's, so I got worried and just wanted to check on you, but then… Fleetwood Mac, really? I didn't think that was the kind of stuff you listened to," you went back to your previous statement, too curious and shocked to let that one go. It was a pleasant surprise to hear him play this kind of music, but it just didn't make sense.

Eddie chuckled a little awkwardly, going back to the edge of his bed, where he'd been sitting before when you first came in, and he laid down his guitar gently next to him. "It's not. The kind of stuff I listen to, I mean," he said, and you looked at him, waiting for him to elaborate. "I- um…" his hand came up to scratch at his ear as he avoided your gaze.

You grew more and more confused at his reaction, wondering why he was being so cagey about a song he had been playing.

"I was playin' it 'cause of you," he finally said, but his answer only made you more confused.

"Me?" you asked, the expression on your face making Eddie's own soften as he nodded slightly.

"Yeah. I- uh, you know, with the whole Vecna thing and the music, I thought it'd be a good idea to have your favorite song in my repertoire, just in case," he told you, making your eyes widen in shock.

"How did you know? I've never told anyone this is my favorite song, and we've gotten a lot closer now, but we weren't really back then, so how could you possibly have known?" you questioned. No matter how much you tried to deny any emotions that came up when it came to Eddie, you couldn't deny the complete awe that you were feeling at the fact that he had bothered to do this for you, to protect you.

"Y/N, I sat behind you in English class for a year," he laughed, but something about his demeanor felt a little closed off, like he was embarrassed. "I- well you could say that I… noticed you… And I saw you coming in nearly every day with a Fleetwood Mac cassette in your player. Sometimes Queen, sometimes Billy Joel, but it always went back to that one album. And I heard you mumble the lyrics to Landslide to yourself during boring lectures more times than I could count. So I figured that was the one. But I learned the entire album, just to be safe."

You looked at him, completely dumbfounded. The fact that he had paid attention to these little details was one thing, but that he then held on to them for so long, you had no words.

"Eddie, I- wow," you started, going to sit next to him on the bed, his big brown eyes following your movements closely. "I don't know what to say," you breathed as you looked into his eyes. He seemed self conscious about his confession, but his eyes remained on you all the same.

"You think I'm a creep, now, don't you?" He added a little laugh to his question, as if he was joking, but you could tell from the expression on his face that he was worried.

"What? Oh my god, Eddie, no!" Your hand came to rest on his thigh, and his eyes widened in shock a little at the contact, as it was more intimate than your usual interactions, but you kept going. "This is literally the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me. I just can't believe you paid attention to any of that, especially when we didn't even really know each other that well back then. I just-" You paused. You wanted to wrap your arms around him and never let go. But you remembered the weirdness from the other day after your prolonged contact, and hesitated. The last thing you wanted right now was to make things awkward because you read too much into this situation.

"Did you… did you learn to play everyone else's favorite songs?"

He looked away, his hand going through his hair to tame it back as his eyes were fixed on a particularly interesting spot on the floor. "No… no, I didn't." It came out barely above a whisper, but you still heard him.

"Why me?" you asked, your voice as quiet as his. You couldn't help the question, needing to hear the answer from his lips.

"You're really gonna make me say it?" he groaned half heartedly, finally facing you once again. You scrunched your face up as you nodded slightly, causing him to let out a warm laugh before speaking. "Y/N, c'mon now. I've been in love with you for as long as I can remember. The reason I knew about your favorite song is because I spent so much time looking at you and trying to find a way I could approach you, but I always chickened out. Sitting behind you in class and just being near you was always the best part of my day. And then we became friends and the more I got to know you the harder I fell. I've wanted to tell you this for a while now, but I was scared you'd be creeped out. And I'm sorry if I've been acting weird around you lately, it's just been getting harder and harder to be close to you and stopping myself from kissing you and touching you and God now I definitely sound like a creep, I'm sorry-"

You cut him off by pressing your lips to his, stunning him into silence, but it only took a moment before he reciprocated the kiss, his hands burying themselves into your hair as your own hand came to rest on his chest. A small moan escaped you as Eddie deepened the kiss, and you felt him groan against your mouth at the sound.

You pulled away from him, just enough to be able to breathe, as you let your forehead rest against his own.

"Was that just for my benefit, to shut me up? Or did you mean it?" You could see the grin on his face as he said it, probably still needing the reassurance, even though your actions had spoken louder than words.

You pecked his lips once more, backing a bit further away this time so you could look at him properly.

"I meant every second of it," you said with a smile on your face, even though you could tell he already knew that from the way he was looking at you with stars in his eyes. "I've been lying to myself for so long, now, Eddie. From the moment I met you, I've been drawn to you. And that feeling grew stronger and stronger as we started to spend time together, but I always dismissed it as friendship. I didn't want it to be more than that, cause I was scared you wouldn't feel the same way. But I'm tired of running from myself, running from you, and from my own happiness. I've been happier this summer than I have in years, and that's in great part because of you. And if being your friend makes me this happy, I can't even imagine how happy I'll be getting what I really want with you," you finished, the smile on your face growing as you went on, feeling incredible relief at finally allowing yourself to be true to your own feelings.

Eddie's hand came to cup your face, and you leaned into his touch with a content sigh. He brought his face less than an inch from yours, mumbling against your lips before kissing you once more, "Fuck, I love you so much, darling."

"I love you, too, Eddie," you replied as soon as you had enough space to do so, but quickly closing in the distance between you two once more.

You hadn't been able to stay nearly as long as you would've liked making out with Eddie on his bed. There had been a reason for your presence at the trailer park in the first place, and you couldn't bail on your big sister duties. So you had, reluctantly, said goodbye to Eddie, and he promised to call you in the morning as he peppered your face with kisses.

El had been suspicious of your dreamy state as you picked her up, but you didn't feel ready to tell her about you and Eddie just yet, so you'd played it off, and she didn't press you further.

You were now back in your room, El in her own, and your dad still at work for God knew how long. You were doing your best to try to concentrate on your previously abandoned comic book, but your mind simply wasn't there.

All you could do was remember the feeling of Eddie's hands on you, the taste of his lips against yours, the sound of his voice, calling your name…

No. That last one wasn't a memory. You really could hear Eddie calling your name right now.

You rose from your bed, walking to your window carefully and drawing the curtains open, only to see a grinning Eddie standing out your window, looking up at you.

"Hey, angel. I know I said I'd call you tomorrow, but I couldn't wait that long to have you in my arms again," he said to you in a dramatic way, which made you laugh quietly. It hit you in that moment that you were in for a lot of theatrics, jumping into something with this man. But you wouldn't want it any other way.

"Hold on a second!" you whispered to him before opening the door to your room, making sure El was still in her own room. You scanned the cabin quickly, saw her door closed and felt satisfied with your conclusion, and so you turned back around, making sure to close the door as quietly as possible behind you.

You leaned over the window, extending an arm out to him, as the window wasn't all that far off the ground. "Come on, get in here, you drama queen," you told him, laughing as he grabbed on to your arm and you tried to haul him up into your room, you both struggling under the effort.

You finally managed to pull him in, but stumbled back as you did, and his arms wrapped around you protectively, causing him to join in on your fall onto your bed, him landing promptly on top of you.

You both laughed at the situation, exhausted from the effort, as he settled himself, one arm on each side of you, propping himself up as he essentially caged you on your bed.

"Hey now, you calling me a drama queen cause I'm missing my girl?" he asked, bumping his nose against yours and you laughed once more, having no idea how this became your life so fast, but you absolutely were not complaining.

"Your girl, huh?" you repeated, and he grinned at you, but you could see a bit of a question in his eyes, as if he was worried he was moving too fast. "I like that," you whispered before wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him in close to you for a kiss.

You had no idea how long you and him got lost in each other. It could've been minutes, just like it could've been hours. Time didn't seem to matter at all when you were with Eddie. All you knew was that this could actually be heaven.

Well, it would've been heaven, had it not been for-

"Hey, I'm ho- what the fuck is this?" Eddie jumped away from you so fast the second you both heard the voice of your father resound in your room. You had no idea how you'd missed him coming in, you usually always heard the door. Eddie really was one hell of a distraction.

Your dad had his hands into fists resting on his hips in a disapproving dad stance, and if this situation wasn't so mortifying, you'd probably be laughing about it.

"Sir, I-" Eddie started, scrambling to get off the bed, but your dad raised a hand out and Eddie instantly shut his mouth.

"No. Nope. You. Out," he gritted out, and you could see the utter fear on Eddie's face. You were almost worried he wouldn't want anything to do with you from now on, knowing how scary your dad could be. You saw him give you a sheepish look before he turned to the window, but your dad spoke again, "Through the door, young man."

Eddie turned once more, giving a small nod as he made his way to the door, wincing as he had to get past your dad to leave your room.

The second he was gone, you let yourself fall onto the bed once more, a heavy sigh escaping you.

"Dad, seriously?"

His hand came back into its original position, resuming his angry dad stance. Now that you thought of it, it was a stance you'd seen Steve in more times than you could count when he was interacting with the kids.

"Oh, me, seriously? I'm sorry, was I the one having sex in the room next to her sister's, with some shaggy-"

"Hey, don't bad mouth Eddie just cause you're mad," you cut him off. "He's a great guy, dad, best one I've ever met, actually. Aside from you, that is." You added that last part with a bit of hesitation, considering how mad you were at him at that moment, but you couldn't deny that it was true, so you had to say it.

"Flattery won't work on me here, kiddo," your father huffed, but you could see he'd softened a bit.

"And we weren't having sex, by the way. Just kissing. Not that I'm not planning on it in the future, cause Dad, I know you don't want to hear this, but I'm an adult now. And I love Eddie. I didn't know I did until recently, but I've realized I've loved him for a long time now. And I'm not giving that up. I know you love me and you want to protect me, but I need you to respect me enough to let me make my own decisions." You exhaled a breath after that little speech, having said more than you had expected. It was a conversation that was long overdue between you two, but it wasn't something you'd planned on getting into tonight.

"Alright, yeah, I get what you're saying," your dad admitted, albeit a little reluctantly, as he came to sit down on your bed. You rose into a sitting position to sit beside him. "But it's hard for me, seeing my little girl all grown up like that. It's gonna take me some getting used to. But I promise I'll try, alright?" He put his hand on your shoulder, and you smiled at him, wrapping your arms around him to hug him tight.

"Thank you, Dad." Your voice sounded muffled since you spoke with your face buried in his chest, but he still heard you.

"Why don't you invite him over for dinner sometime this week? I'd like to meet him properly, make sure he's right for you."

You hesitated. Afraid that it might freak Eddie out. Not just because it might be moving a bit too fast, but mostly due to the fact that your dad was terrifying, and known to be a bully to any potential love interest you or your sister may have.

"Is this to grill him and make sure he never wants anything to do with me again?" you questioned, your eyes narrowing at him in suspicion.

Your dad laughed a little at your mistrust. "Hey, I just promised to you I'd try, didn't I? I'm not tricking you here, this is me trying."

Satisfied with his answer, you nodded, going back to hugging him. "Then yeah, that'd be nice. Thanks, Dad."

"You're welcome. But no funny business alright? I understand that you can do what you want, but if you could do it someplace else, where I'll never have to walk in on it ever again, that'd be appreciated. For the sake of your poor old dad, I'm begging you."

You laughed a little at his statement, knowing that him saying that was progress enough for now, but still a very Hopper response. "Fair enough. But you know, you could also do this really cool, new thing that was invented recently, it's called knocking."

"Oh, I did knock, kid. But I guess you were so busy sucking that guy's face off-"

"Alright, alright, I get it," you protested as he made a face, making you laugh once more.

"I'll let you get some sleep now. Goodnight, and that boy better not come back through the window tonight, or I'll have to barricade it," he joked, a small teasing smile on his face, but you knew he wasn't kidding completely, and he'd definitely consider doing just that if he caught Eddie in your room late at night again.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't help the little smile that appeared on your face. "Goodnight, Dad," you said, stretching the word out to show you weren't impressed with his little joke, but he just laughed, waving his hand off in a dismissing gesture before he closed the door behind him, leaving you to yourself.

As soon as you heard your father get into his room, you ran out of your own to get the phone. Thankful for the incredibly long cord, you brought it into your room with you, instantly dialing Eddie's number. It only took two rings before he answered you.

"Y/N? Are you okay?" His voice sounded worried, and you couldn't believe he was concerned for you, after your father had all but chased him out of your room.

"Yeah, of course. Are you though? Eddie, I am so sorry about that."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good. That wasn't how I expected the night to go, though. Your dad sure doesn't like me much, does he?" He chuckled nervously, and your heart broke for him a little. You could only imagine him stressing over that whole interaction, and how he probably felt like he had to win your father over now.

"Eddie, it's okay. It's not personal. The only problem he had with you was that you were in my bed. But I talked to him, and he said he's gonna make an effort to be… less controlling about those things. He actually wants you to come over for dinner this week, to get to know you better. I know it's a bit fast, and like, with my dad being my dad, I would totally understand if you didn't wa-"

"Y/N." You heard Eddie's voice on the other line interrupt your spiraling ramble, and you closed your mouth, waiting for him to continue. "I would love to have dinner with you and your dad this week." You felt a smile form on your face at the softness in his voice.

"Now, I'm not gonna lie," he continued. "Your dad scares me shitless. But I wanna get to know him better, so that can change. And I also want to spend as much time as humanly possible with my girl." You could hear the grin in the way he spoke, and you had to stop yourself from kicking at the ground like a little schoolgirl with a crush at his words.

"Okay, good. I'm gonna go now. See you tomorrow when we meet up with Steve and Robin? And maybe after that we can spend some time, just you and I?"

"I'd love nothing more," Eddie said, and you smiled once more. "Oh, and, Princess?" he added, voice a bit lower than it had been 5 seconds before.

You were already melting at the nickname, but managed to say, "Yes?"

"I love you," he whispered, then hung up before giving you a chance to answer. You let your head fall into your pillow, sighing deeply.

You were truly down bad. But that wasn't such a bad thing anymore, because Eddie was yours, and you were his.

You made your way to the video store, having gotten there before Eddie. As much as you loved your friends, you couldn't wait to be alone with him again. And this time, not at your house with your dad to interrupt you.

You spotted Steve stacking movies on a shelf as soon as you walked in, making your way towards him.

"Hey, Steve. Where's Robin?" you asked as you scanned the room with your eyes, trying to find her.

That seemed to be enough to summon her, for she appeared out of the backstore. "Y/N!" she exclaimed as she jumped over the counter to hug you. You chuckled, slightly surprised by the welcome.

"Hi," you squeaked as she squeezed you tight. "What's up with you?" you asked, but you didn't mind, bringing your arms around her to hug her back.

"Nothing," she said, shaking her head vigorously, which definitely didn't convince you.

"Robin," you drew her name out in a scolding manner.

"Okay, okay. I've just been wanting to say something for a while now, and I've decided to fuck it and just say it now, so I'm kind of excited!"

Steve's eyes widened at that. "Robin, no! You know we can't," He shook his head at her. But if he thought this was helping, he was sorely mistaken, because now you had to know what they were both talking about.

"No, Steve, I'm sorry, but after last time, I can't keep it in anymore," Robin said, making you grow more and more confused.

Steve sighed, crossing his arms against his chest in resignation. "Ugh, alright, fine. I'm pretty tired of it, too. But if Nancy gives us shit for this, you're the one going down!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. There'll be nothing to be in trouble about once this is finally taken care of," Robin said, the last part said with a dreamy look.

"Guys, seriously, what are you talking about? Spit it out," you said, growing more worried by the second.

"Okay, here it goes," Steve started, seemingly deciding to take the lead in this after all. "We've noticed, all of us, over time. That you seem to- and he also seems to- what I'm trying to say is-"

"You're in love with Eddie, and Eddie's in love with you, and you guys need to get your shit together cause we can't deal with this dancing around each other thing anymore!" Robin blurted, tired of Steve walking on eggshells, not knowing how to phrase it.

You gaped at them. Had you really been that obvious to everyone but yourself? Well, thinking back on it now, and all your moments with Eddie, probably.

You started laughing, making them both frown at you.

"Y/N, please, don't try to deny it, or laugh it off, you have to see it! It's impossible not to!" Robin pleaded, mistaking your amusement for something else.

"I'm sorry, I just-" you tried to get out between fits of laughter, but didn't get a chance to, as the door opened and none other than Eddie entered the store.

"Speak of the devil," Steve chuckled, and Robin slapped his arm, apparently trying to maintain some of your dignity in front of him.

"Talking about me, I see?" Eddie grinned as he walked in, coming up behind you to wrap his arms around you, placing a kiss to the side of your head. "Hello, angel," he mumbled against your skin, but loud enough for everyone present to hear.

You smiled at him, before remembering you weren't alone. Turning back to face your friends, you wished you had a camera to take a picture of this moment, with both of their mouths practically touching the floor in utter shock.

Eddie followed your gaze, and instantly pulled back from you. "Oh shit, sorry. Should I not have done that? I want the whole world to know you're mine, but I didn't think to check if you were ready to tell everyone," he said, a concerned look on his face.

"It's okay, don't worry. I don't mind them knowing. And anyways, we wouldn't have had much of a choice in telling them, they were just grilling me about getting my shit together and admitting I have feelings for you."

"I'm sorry," Steve interjected. "When did this happen, and why are we only finding out now?"

"It happened uh… last night. So I think you're pretty much getting an exclusive here, Harrington," you told him, playfully rolling your eyes at him in mock annoyance. You were entirely too happy right now to be annoyed.

Robin, recovering from her shock, started to jump up and down as she clapped her hands. "This is so exciting! I mean, fucking finally, am I right?" She grabbed both you and Eddie into an embrace, nearly choking the life out of you in her excitement. "Nancy forbade me and Steve from saying anything to you guys, saying that you had to get there on your own, but man, it was torture watching you both go, I'm so glad you finally figured it out, even if it took you for fucking ever."

You laughed, hugging her before pulling back, letting yourself lean on Eddie a bit as he put an arm around you.

"Alright, well, now that that's settled, should we go?" you asked.

"Yeah, let's get outta here," Steve replied, and you all left the store, you and Eddie hand in hand.

"By the way, I've been wanting to ask, if you felt the same way I did, why did you make that face after I embarrassed myself by staying a bit too long against you when you helped me up from the ground the other day?" you whispered into his ear as you walked towards your car.

"Hmm? Oh. Darling, when you're madly in love with a girl and she calls you by your last name like a buddy, after you just saw her in a long embrace with Steve Harrington, it always kind of feels like a slap in the face. That's why I made that face. But I thought I hid it pretty well though." He frowned a bit, and you kissed him to take that frown away, your plan instantly successful.

"I notice things about you, too. And about Steve, I was just comforting him about Nancy." He nodded, knowing now that his jealousy had been misplaced, and you were the only one he wanted. You continued, "But duly noted. I'll do everything and anything to make you feel loved, pretty boy, cause that's what you deserve," you told him, squeezing his hand in yours.

He grinned at the nickname, taking his free hand to cup your face and bringing his lips to yours in a soft kiss.

"Okay, gross! Don't make me regret rooting for you guys, please!" Robin exclaimed, half hiding her face behind her hands.

You laughed lightly as Eddie pulled away, laughing himself. "I love you," he whispered in your ear.

"I love you, too," you said back to him, leaning your head on his shoulder as you resumed walking.

This was it. The way things were supposed to be. No Upside Down threat, just a normal day, you, your friends, and your love.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson x you #joseph quinn x reader

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moody4world · 1 year

Note

You idk if you taking requests but you know that one award show moment where Nicki Minaj is like “Shoutout yo Donatella for custom making this dress for me and shoutout to Michel B Jordan because he gonna be taking it off me tonight” PLEASE do one where Jack says something along those lines omg 😭😂 I just feel like Jack would say that about the reader

Big shout out

A/N: This is rapper!reader i hope that’s okay. I got this request a while ago but im glad i could finally get to it.

Jack and You have been friends for a couple years now. Both your careers started around the same time and you two became close after being part of the XXL freshman class of 2020. Jack was always very supportive of you and you of him.

He would give you advice on how to deliver your bars and flow while you would give him advice on his lyrics and beats. Things tended to get a bit hectic when albums had to be dropped and tours had to be done but the two of you always made time for each other.

Whether it’s a facetime or a brief text or a voice recording, you guys did not go a day without hearing from one another. Most people believed that the two of you were dating until you made an instagram post revealing your brand new relationship with Polo G.

That was your first mistake. Posting a brand new relationship was never a bright idea and unfortunately you learned that the hard way. You and Polo had a rough start to your relationship due to claims of him talking to other women while we he had you convinced that he was loyal. The two of you would break up and make up constantly and your business would be on gossip pages every few weeks.

On the other hand, Polo always had an issue with Jack being the friend you confided in during your fights with him. It ended up with him dissing Jack in one of his songs which simply lead to another fight between the two of you even though Jack never gave any reaction in return. December 2021 you finally had enough and posted an official announcement that Polo G no longer have or want anything to do with one another. Your comments were flooded with mixed reactions but sadly, most of them were saying how this is just another one of your stupid fights and you would take him back again.

This time you had put your foot down and wanted to start your 2022 peacefully with brand new goals ahead. Throughout all your drama, Jack never treated you any differently. In fact the two of you got even closer after your break up and dropped an album together in March. You had made an instagram post wishing him a happy birthday and it went viral unintentionally.

“The guy she tells you not to worry about.” Was what everyone but mainly men were saying. The thing is, you and Jack had never crossed any lines of friendship. Everything between the two of you has always been strictly platonic except for a couple suggestive jokes here and there but that was normal between friends. Everyone around you and Jack always say that there’s a spark and lots of tension between you two but neither of you ever acted on it.

Around may you noticed Jack started flirting with you a lot more and the lines of friendship began to blur. It wasn’t surprising but at the same time you were never prepared for the things he would say. “Megan asked you to perform at her birthday party right?” “Yeah, i’m excited.” “Isn’t it at a strip club?” “So?” “If I come will you do a dance?” He said it with such a straight face and that only made it more shocking to you. No smug or goofy smile that he usually had when he was joking.

The flirting went on for months and you were definitely flirting back.

September rolls around and it was soon to be the VMAs. You were set to perform your new song with Flo Mili and Jack was opening and co-hosting the show. You were getting ready in your hotel room with the help of your team when your phone started ringing and of course it was Jack.

“I’m getting ready what do you want?” You say while your makeup artist applied your eyeshadow. “Damn. No hello? Let me see you, all I see is the ceiling.” “Jack I can’t move too much i’m getting my makeup done.” You lifted the phone facing you and Jack let out a loud whistle that even startled your make up artist. “WHEW you look so fine my goodness.” He had a giant smile on his face just like a kid on christmas. “That color looks beautiful on you.” You were a giggling and flustered mess. “Thank you. Now show me your snazzy suit Mister Givenchy.” Jack panned the camera down to his all black suit that was snug around his small waist and just right around his wide shoulders. He looked so good you could just eat him up.

“You like what you see huh?” “Yeah I need me some of that.” You flirted back with no hesitation. “You don’t need Givenchy, you need jesus.” “That was disgustingly cringe worthy Jack.” You shook your head at him. “I’m gonna let you finish getting ready. Can’t wait to see your beautiful ass in that dress.” “You just saw me in the dress.” “Yeah but I didn’t see your ass cause you’re sitting on it.” Both of you couldn’t hold back your laughter this time as you hung up the call.

Once you got to the VMA’s black carpet everyone went wild over your dress and how beautiful you looked. The night went very well and you were having a good time. You enjoyed Jack’s opening performance and the two of you were sitting not too far from each other so you would dance to songs together and lip sync to one another.

Jack was nominated for multiple awards and he had already won 2. This next category was his last nomination and it felt as if you were more nervous than him. “And the award goes to…JACK HARLOOOOW” You screamed of excitement as Jack got up, hugged you and dapped dj drama who was sitting next to him up, before going on stage to receive his final award of the night.

“Wow…three in a row that’s a new record.” The crowd cheered loudly as he took a moment to admire the trophy. He let the crowd calm down before yelling into the mic. “BITCH I TOLD YOU” and the crowd went wild all over again. “I just want to thank everyone on my team, my producers, my parents.” “And just before I go I wanna give a big shout out to Givenchy for custom making this suit for me and shout out to y/n cause she’s gonna be taking it off of me tonight. Thank you.”

The stadium was louder than ever. Your hand was covering your open mouth in shock of what Jack had just said live at a world known award show. You could feel your cheeks get super warm as everyone else was cheering at his boldness. You two definitely had a lot to talk about later that night. Once the show was over and you guys left together, not much talking was done. Unless body language counts….if so, more than enough was said.

#moody4world #moody fics #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow #anon

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rxgirlie · 16 days

Text

The Verdict- Chapter Nine

Pairing: Vincent Renzi x OFC

Warnings: familial trauma, abortion, medical procedures, medical terminology, discussions of birth control, protesting.

A/N: this chapter is extremely dark and heavy. if you have any trauma regarding abortion or subjects tied to it, please message me and i will give you a TLDR. i swore i would never, ever write anything like this but you guys asked for drama, and now you’re getting it. Also huge shoutout to @melancholicmelanin for being my beta. My elite employee.

Grumbling quietly in the back of the Uber, Leah, with all the politeness she could muster, requested the driver to keep driving. She recognized the neighborhood's landmarks, recalling specific apartments and details from her recent walks with Vincent to and from her current destination. The driver, growing increasingly impatient with Leah's distracted directions, muttered frustrations in French, navigating the streets aimlessly as Leah anxiously scanned her surroundings, hoping for a familiar sight.

"Stop!" Leah's sudden command made the driver slam on the brakes.

Quickly exiting the vehicle, Leah made sure to proceed towards her due diligence of tipping the poor man. Tapping away at her phone in a hurry, she overpaid the driver before giving a forced smile through gritted teeth.

"Thank you," she called out while crossing the street, "Uh, merci!"

Spotting a familiar figure smoking on the terrace above, beckoning her like an old friend, Leah hastened towards the door. Joan, draped in a silk robe, welcomed her inside with an understanding gaze.

"I had nowhere else to go," Leah confessed.

"Come inside," Joan ushered Leah through the foyer and into a cozy sitting room that Leah hadn't noticed during the party.

"What happened?" Joan asked, her concern evident. "Is Vincent okay? Are you okay?"

She sat down, gesturing for Leah to take a seat.

"Yeah," Leah shook her head, "No, I don't know?"

She sighed, "I, uh, left the restaurant in a rush after I saw, uh, well, Vincent and Sandra clearly having a moment. I left my bag with all its contents, and I didn't have anywhere else to go," she explained. "I'm sorry for ambushing you."

“A moment?,” Joan questioned, “What do you mean?”

Leah sighed heavily again. “He was holding her and caressing her,” Leah, visibly upset, said while wringing her hands, “And she touched his face, caressing his cheeks, and they just stared at one another.”

Leah’s voice cracked as she continued, “And I know that type of look,” Leah stopped long enough to wipe her tear stained cheeks, “I’ve been on the receiving end of that look.”

"I feared this would happen," Joan paused to grab a cigarette from the case on the coffee table and lit it. "History repeating itself."

Leah shrugged and sank back into the couch. "What the hell am I supposed to do?"

Joan nonchalantly flicked her ashes into a chic ashtray on the side table. "Do you want some tea?"

Confused by the sudden change of topic, Leah nodded.

"How do you take it?" Joan inquired.

Leah chuckled wryly. "I never drank tea until I came here, so however Vincent makes it is how I've been taking it."

“Black tea with honey and milk, I think?” Leah suggested, “That’s how he taught me.”

_______________________________________

An hour passed as Leah and Joan delved into discussions about what Leah should have done, could have done, and would do.

"You kept Vincent from his father, and yet, you're telling me that I should be honest with Vincent, disregarding everything I saw back at the restaurant," Leah sighed, closing her eyes. "Are you telling me to be honest with him because you have an emotional stake in this or because you think it's the right thing to do?"

"Vincent's father was a pickpocket by trade and a drunk by hobby," Joan explained. "I was twenty when I had Vincent, and I went back to Ireland to tell him about Vincent a year or so later, only to find out he'd knocked up the bartender at the local bar." Joan continued, "For months, we robbed, partied, and lived off Guinness until we were finally caught. I was arrested, deported, and found to be pregnant at the very last minute."

Joan lit a cigarette and pointed a finger at Leah. "So don't draw comparisons from me."

"But it's hard not to when you're telling me all these things," Leah said. "The only difference is I'm thirty-two, Vincent is forty-two, and I live on an entirely different continent," Leah stated, continuing, "We're old enough and established enough to have a child, but that doesn't necessarily mean we should."

"It's your right to choose," Joan said, “Even Vincent will tell you that.”

Joan lit another cigarette and pointed at Leah. "It's not my place to tell him about the child, nor is it my burden to bear," she continued. "But keep in mind that he is not some fly-by-night, piece of shit who's going to move on and pick up the pieces when you fly out of here." She ashed the cigarette, and Leah made a mental note that this is where Vincent must have inherited his chain-smoking gene. "He is going to be right where you left him, loving you all the same."

"See, the thing is," Joan inhaled sharply. "Sandra never loved Vincent back," she explained. "Maybe platonically, sure, but he fell hard, and I think he is now seeing what he lost but also what he has gained. You love him back. That’s the difference."

Leah shook her head, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. "But is that enough?"

Joan smiled sadly at her. "Is anything ever enough, lovely Leah?"

_________________________________________

For an hour, Vincent walked around Paris with an overpriced Prada bag in his grip. Leah had felt guilty the day she bought it, telling him about the people starving and the wars being fought around them. She expressed how selfish and materialistic she felt, but she didn't plan on being the richest person in the cemetery when she died. She intended to spend what she could while she still had a pulse. Vincent liked the way she rationalized the purchase and stood happily behind her with his hands clasped behind his back as the attendant took her on a guided trip through the store.

On this particular night, Vincent longed for the simplicity of those first few weeks they'd spent together. As he searched the streets of Paris as if she might jump out and surprise him around any corner, like the entire thing was one big joke, he wished he had never met her. Quickly banishing that thought from his mind, he realized it was a blatant lie. Convinced she had moved on in New York City, perhaps with the old flame she had mentioned weeks ago in a wine-fueled confession during one of their many midnight chats, he wondered why he continued to want her the way he did.

Then, as his phone vibrated and he squinted to read the brightened screen, a text from his mother read, "She's with me. Go home."

“Why is she there?” He texted back, walking aimlessly in the direction he had been going.

His phone vibrated again and he quickly opened the chat, “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”

Vincent scoffed, forever humbled by his mother, and headed in the direction of her apartment.

_________________________________________

"Vincent, don't come in here to start an argument," his mother warned as she opened the door and gestured for him to enter. "And wipe that smirk off your face."

He complied silently, knowing well that his mother was not one to be swayed in an argument.

She closed the door behind him, tightening her robe around her before pointing a finger at his chest. "Do not wake her up."

He took a step back, raising his eyebrows. "She's at my mother's house."

Joan nodded firmly. "My house, my rules." With that, she turned and walked away, throwing a final warning over her shoulder. "You better not wake me or Tim."

He chuckled to himself, shaking his head in disbelief as his mother disappeared from view.

Taking a deep breath, he navigated through the dimly lit apartment, finally reaching the sitting room where Leah lay curled up on the couch. He let her bag slip out of his grip, the sound of it hitting the floor breaking the silence. Leah jolted awake, gasping, her eyes darting around the room in a panic as she struggled to orient herself.

"I thought I was supposed to be the one mad here," she remarked, sitting up and pulling a throw blanket around her shoulders.

"You chose to come here?" He inquired, a mix of confusion and frustration in his voice. "Why?"

Leah shrugged, a hint of defiance in her demeanor as she shook her head. "Where else was I supposed to go?" she retorted, her tone sharp.

"Leah, you should have gone home," He ran a flustered hand through his hair, turning to face her. "You shouldn't have run away from me," he chastised.

"Home is over three thousand miles away, Vincent," she retorted sharply. "What did you expect me to do?" Her voice cracked with emotion. "Stay and watch that? Put yourself in my shoes for once."

He shook his head, starting to pace. "What you witnessed was two people closing a chapter and moving on."

She scoffed, her tone laced with sarcasm. "Sure, call it that," she said, rolling her eyes as she locked eyes with him. "Maybe next week I'll walk into your apartment and find you fucking her, and we can label it as 'grief therapy.'"

He let out a heavy sigh, his gaze shifting to the ceiling. "What happened to you in New York?" He inquired once more.

She abruptly rose from the couch, pulling the throw tighter around her shoulders.

"I finally came to my senses," she declared, her eyes fixed on the Parisian street beyond the sliding glass door.

"Do you mind sharing, because I can't read your mind?" he asked, moving to stand beside her, both looking out onto the same street.

Leah met his gaze, tears welling up in her eyes. "That you're in love with her," she confessed, her voice trembling. "And I'm in love with you." Wiping away the tears hastily, she continued, "I came here to explore international law, to step out of my comfort zone, but I can't even tell you a single thing about French law because all I've been is a puppet on a string. I've played second fiddle to the ice queen of the Alps because you're so deeply in love with her, Vincent." A sob escaped her, and she quickly muffled it, torn between shame and fear of waking Vincent's mother.

"I don't even know you," she shook her head, a sense of resignation washing over her. "This should never have gone this far," she admitted, closing her eyes. "And I don't share. I refuse to play second fiddle to anyone," she declared.

Vincent chuckled incredulously. "There it is, that American brashness, always rearing its head when things don't go your way."

She let out a sarcastic laugh. "It seems to be a recurring theme, doesn't it? You never miss a chance to remind me of my Americanness." She tilted her head and met his gaze. "You'll eventually scold me for not learning French, one of us will jump out of a window, and history will repeat itself."

"What are you even talking about?" Vincent's face registered bewilderment as he spoke softly, mindful not to disturb his sleeping mother. "Have you thought this through? What's gotten into you?" he inquired.

"It's hard not to dwell on it after what I heard during the case," she sniffled, her voice tinged with distress. "That USB file is haunting me in the most unsettling ways."

"I may be many things," he reached out to touch Leah's shoulder, gently turning her to face him, "But I am not Samuel, and you are not Sandra," he reassured her. "You could speak an alien language, and I would still be in love with you just the same."

She nodded, resting her heavy head in the space between Vincent's shoulder and neck, surrendering, if only for one night.

_________________________________________

Leah had made up her mind before she had actually made up her mind. It was a familiar pattern, reminiscent of her second year of law school when she found herself with two different guys, rotating between them over a span of six months. She walked quietly into the Joan Malin Health Center, the same place that had been the center of protests the week before, causing chaos in the already bustling streets of Brooklyn. With Kate beside her, she completed the necessary paperwork, underwent an exam and ultrasound that they both averted their gazes from, and with a swift IV placement, she drifted off into unconsciousness. Sometime later, she awoke in a sterile, brightly lit room with Kate faithfully by her side. On the way home, Kate grabbed some pizza for both of them, a decision they both wholeheartedly agreed was the best choice, including the one Leah had made earlier in the day. Maybe it had been more emotionally charged that day, Leah couldn’t recall in the moment. Had it been that easy? Had she not felt anything?

It had been about eight years since that day, Leah estimated, as the Uber dropped her off in the sixth arrondissement, her former residence before moving in with Vincent. She pondered whether she would have even made the trip to Paris if she had become a mother back then. Would she have pursued a career in law? Pushing aside these thoughts, she relied on Google Maps to navigate the streets, drawing closer to the address provided by an associate of Le Planning Familial. The associate had promptly responded to her email late at night, providing her with a list of names and locations, allowing her the autonomy to choose where she wished to seek treatment.

Upon her arrival, she took a deep breath before entering the multilevel practice. After riding the elevator to the correct floor, she promptly checked in, grateful that the receptionist spoke English. She didn't want any additional challenges that morning, so she chose a seat far away from the other women waiting to be seen.

It seemed like hours had passed before her name was called, and she was ushered into what appeared to be a doctor's office. They meticulously reviewed her medical history, discussed the procedure, and outlined the pre- and post-procedure protocols. He recommended contraceptive devices to her, to which Leah declined for obvious reasons, not thinking of any sort of future outside of this building, this room. Adoption, she explained, wasn’t even an option to put on the table. Dr. Shah, as he introduced himself, noticed Leah's nervousness as he sighed and leaned on both elbows, studying her.

"It's not too late to change your mind," he offered sympathetically.

"It's not that," Leah shook her head. "I'm just trying not to vomit all over your desk." She placed her shaking hands under her thighs.

“Here,” he stood up and guided Leah out into the hallway, leading her to an exam room down the hall. Opening the door and flicking on the lights, Leah blinked a few times at their harshness.

“Get on the table and make yourself comfortable,” he requested.

Feeling cautious, Leah followed his instructions and settled onto the table, accepting the blanket he offered her.

As he exited the room, Leah took a moment to observe her surroundings. She glanced out the window, taking in the view of the city, and noticed the various pieces of art adorning the walls. Among them, she spotted delicate peonies painted to blend in with the earth-toned decor. If they were placed there for relaxation purposes, they most definitely were not working in Leah’s favor.

Leah picked up her phone and quickly FaceTimed Kate, whose blurred face came into focus after a few rings.

"Was I normal the day I had my abortion?" Leah asked without preamble.

"Leah," Kate began, looking around, "No warning at all?"

Looking past Leah, she asked, "Where are you?"

Leah sighed, "I'm at a clinic in France."

Leah watched as she walked into her office, sighing heavily as Kate sat at her desk, her numerous accolades and photos scattered on the shelves behind her. "What the fuck? I told you to come home, and we would take care of it."

"Was I normal that day?" Leah asked again.

"No," Kate shook her head. "You were shaking like a leaf the entire time, throwing up multiple times, and could barely sit still in that dirty waiting room."

"And those protesters," Kate rolled her eyes, "Their pamphlets were everywhere in the lobby."

Leah let out a shaky breath. "Why don't I remember any of that?"

"Because memory is tricky," Kate offered. "Come home, sissy cat, and we will take care of this."

A nurse knocked on the door and entered the room, carrying materials and a tablet. Leah motioned for Kate to wait, placing the phone beside her. The nurse offered Leah a kind smile, urging her to sit up as she tied a tourniquet around her arm. Nervously, Leah pulled back. "I'm not ready for the procedure, and I don't want general anesthesia. I have no one that can be here with me to take me home.”

"Not yet," the nurse comforted her. "I'm just going to start an IV filled with saline, give you some nausea medication, and medication for anxiety."

"I'll take it all," Leah relaxed and allowed the nurse to do her job. Within minutes, she felt calmer, a little lighter than she had in weeks. Following the nurse's instructions to undress from the waist down, a challenging task that Leah managed one-handed due to the IV placement.

"Are you okay?" Kate questioned as Leah picked up the phone again.

Leah shook her head. "Yes, no, maybe?" She closed her eyes. "I messed up big time, Kate."

"I gotta go, I can hear them discussing my case outside the door," Leah rushed out.

"I love you, sissy cat, and I'll love any little baby you have." Kate blew her a kiss and hung up the phone.

The doctor entered a few minutes later, wheeling an ultrasound cart in behind him. “Feeling better?” He asked, and Leah nodded. “As best as I can, given the situation.”

A few quiet moments passed between them as he set up the machine and had Leah lie back. The same song and dance as before: feet in the stirrups, the cold probe, warm gel, deep pressure. Leah wanted to make a joke about the French being prickly, about how kind and attentive they had been to her, but she quickly realized that was expected of people in their field.

"Once again, an IUD would be a great choice for you. I just want you to know all your options," Dr. Shah said, glancing up at Leah before turning back to the monitor.

"I know it looks like I'm a dumbass American who came to France for fun and got more than she bargained for," Leah sat up and locked eyes with the doctor, "but I took a Plan B and started birth control and still ended up in this situation."

The nurse placed a reassuring hand on Leah's shoulder. "We don't judge here."

“Mesure environ six semaines et cinq jours,” The doctor spoke to the nurse, who tapped on the tablet, nodding as he continued the exam.

And there it was: the steady beat of a drum, the galloping of horse hooves, the steady ticking of a wristwatch under a pillow. Leah thrummed her fingers along the exam table, keeping time with the rhythm, finding comfort in it as she closed her eyes, immersing herself in it.

The doctor looked up at her, his eyes on her dancing fingers, then back to her face. “Are you sure you want to proceed?”

Taglist:

@weakling-grace

@bibistatic

#maitre vincent renzi #vincent renzi fanfiction #vincent renzi x original female character #anatomy of a fall vincent #vincent renzi #the verdict

35 notes · View notes

sirdindjarin · 2 years

Text

Streetwise Hercules - (Sierra Six x F!Reader)

Sierra Six is paid to safeguard you. Too bad he's bossy and sarcastic and hot as shit.

A/N: This was supposed to be a 3k blurb and it is ... not. I'm so sorry lmao. I love this man and I want to hold him and never shut up about him.

This is a prequel, but - like Part One - I think you can read it alone. I think it's best to read Parts One and Two first since I wrote this last lol.

Shoutout to @crownofdecit for hyping me up 🥹

TAGS: Angst, Fluff, Lead Up To 👉👌, Snark, Six Being a Sassy Sexy Bitch, Idiots to (Eventual) Lovers

WARNINGS: None. Curse words? Sheer horniness without relief?

WORD COUNT: oh god I don't even want to tell you guys (it's 9.9k. I'm adding lil dividers and breaks because I know it's long)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

How exactly was this place designed to be a “safe” house?

The house was a single story with more glass than wood. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the east side, while trees guarded both sides. The lot sits on a downward slope, a valley in the background.

The amount of glass made it look insecure if anything. But, you had no say in it - if you wanted to be paid, you’d work here. You’d not given your employers a timetable on your project, and you had hoped they wouldn’t request one. They hadn’t. Unfortunately, that meant your stay here would be indefinite.

After a long ride across a border you hadn't been able to read, a mysterious driver had dropped you off in the gravel driveway. A single custodian had been sweeping when you pulled up, and he had been less than welcoming. You’d said, “Hello,” but the young man had simply inclined his head at you and continued his task.

In less than half an hour, you had found your room and unpacked most of your belongings into the rattan dresser. It was evident the money spent on this secluded hide-out was in its design and the protection detail, not the furniture. You notice there is no en-suite bathroom, and the nearest one is down the hall.

That’s annoying.

The only other room along this hallway must be the bodyguard’s room. It’s at the opposite end, facing yours. You suppose that’s so he can keep an eye on you, and you sigh. It’s hard to believe you could need all of this fuss. You’ve worked in high-security locations and needed top-tier clearances before, but having to leave your apartment to live in this place while an unknown man supervised you? That was not something you’d get used to quickly.

It was Sunday, so, seeing as you preferred to keep a regular work week, you decided you’d survey your workstation tomorrow. You tour the kitchen.

A marble countertop complete with a coffee machine, stovetop, and hanging microwave mark the space. Next to the coffee machine, you notice a crystal vase filled with an amber liquid.

Don’t mind if I do.

The whiskey flows smoothly into your glass, the smoky aroma soothing. You then take a seat at the island bar. The late afternoon light comes through the glass patio door, heating the space. Your head cranes to the right to study the view, mentally wandering through the hills, the trees, and the city far below. The whiskey is excellent, burning your throat pleasantly.

The hinged squeak of the front door opening rings through the house. You swivel counterclockwise on your barstool. A man in a dark gray suit steps over the threshold and into the living room, shutting the door behind him. It’s darker in that section of the house, so he flips the switch to his right. A ceiling fan blinks to life above him, and his blonde hair is highlighted.

“Oh, hi,” you smile.

You hop off the stool gracefully and stroll through the large, open doorway between the living room and kitchen. Extending your hand, you meet him between the couch and the flat-screen television.

You’re stunned by how handsome he is. His eyes are kind and brilliantly blue. His hair is parted to the side and lightly gelled, and his suit barely covers the fact that he is rather muscular. That last part you had expected given his job title.

“Hello,” he says simply, shaking your hand with the slightest grip.

His jaw is working, and you realize he's chewing gum. When he drops his hand to clasp them together, as if he’s at ease, you notice a tattoo of a palm tree and a sunrise on his left hand.

“You weren’t supposed to be here yet. I haven’t had a chance to look around.” He chides.

“Oh,” you’re taken aback by his directness. “I was just given the address and told to be here today. They didn’t give me a time. I wasn’t told anything, actually. Didn’t even tell me who I’d be meeting.” You laugh, hoping he’ll tell you his name without you needing to ask.

“They didn’t tell you -?” He’s frustrated by the poor organization. Anyone could’ve met you here and you’d have believed anything they said. He decides to make further progress in his planning than he’d originally intended for tonight. “Alright. I’ll get to work. I’ll stay out of your way.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you insist in reactive politeness. Taking into account his brusque, business-like manner, you amend quietly, “I’ll stay out of yours.”

He nods once in agreement.

Taking the hint that the conversation is over, you turn around and head back toward your barstool. The kitchen is dimmed in the growing dark, so as you walk through the doorway, you reach out for the light switch.

From behind you, you hear steps, firm and determined, which make you instinctively turn your head to face him.

“Actually, can you sit here on the couch while I…?” He trails off and makes a circling motion with his index finger.

“Sure, yeah.” You’re getting nervous about how seriously he’s taking his job, so you sit as he requested.

Is there an actual threat to me? Am I actually in danger? You eye your whiskey glass on the counter.

As he steps into the kitchen, he sees the alcohol and quizzes, “Did you bring that yourself?”

“No,” you answer, already knowing he’s about to tell you that you can't drink it.

“Don’t drink it.”

“I believe it was courtesy of my employer. I’ve already had several sips - it’s fine.” You assure, a touch annoyed.

You know caution is his job, so you’re mindful of your tone. His impersonal manners are disappointing given how long you'll be around him.

He doesn't reply. Instead, he looks blankly at you before grabbing the drink and delivering it to you. Your fingers close around his as you take the glass, and you smile in gratitude.

Something tells him this is going to be a frustrating assignment; you don’t seem to feel at risk. And truthfully, you don’t. He’s here as an extreme precaution on part of your company. But this man appreciated better than anyone that life could change in an instant.

The next morning you’re awoken by your alarm. You silence the phone and grab a change of clothes. You crack open your bedroom door, hoping the bathroom is free so you can shower. Luckily, the man from last night is nowhere to be found.

He never told me his name; that’s so weird, you realize.

He had checked the house and found nothing of interest, then returned to the living room, motioning to you that you were free to go. He'd spoken no further, and you'd kept your word about staying out of his way.

After getting ready for your day, you walk into the living room to find your workspace. You open the only door you’d not been through: a nondescript wood-paneled barrier beside the kitchen. Sure enough, inside is an array of equipment and a desktop computer. Everything you’d need to perform your job is located in this garage-sized space.

You march into the kitchen to make yourself a pot of coffee. In a cabinet, you’re drawn to a mug with an artist-rendering of the sun. It’s a cloudy morning, so you find it appropriate.

You stand in front of the coffee maker, waiting patiently for it to stop brewing, drumming your fingers on the counter in time with the song stuck in your head. The hair on the back of your neck prickles, so you turn your head to look around. Seated at the bar behind you is the man, dressed now in a bright blue suit, focused on his laptop.

“Oh, my god!” You exclaim, nearly dropping the empty mug. “When did you get in here?”

“You didn’t hear me sit down?” The man queries, his eyes jumping from the mug in your hands to your face.

“Obviously not,” one hand presses over your heart. You can't help but notice that his eyes match the color of his suit.

He snorts once in levity at your misplaced distress and returns to his computer.

“I’m glad you find it funny, Mr. - ?” You prompt.

"You don't need to call me ‘mister,’” he says politely without looking up.

“Okay, well, what do I call you? 'Chatterbox'?” You’re irritated by his lack of apology for scaring you and poor conversational skills.

He looks up sharply, but his eyes are entertained. "I think we’re getting off on the wrong foot,” he states. “You can refer to me as Six.”

Given that this man is your only source of human interaction for an unknown length of time, you're willing to take the second chance.

You reply, “Okay, Six. The right foot sounds good. We’re stuck in this house together. Let's not make it weird.”

“We’re on the same page, then,” Six observes drily, his eyes returning to his laptop.

The coffee maker audibly spits out the last few drops into the pot, and you quickly pour yourself a cup; without speaking another word to the man, you disappear into your workspace to begin.

Four weeks later, you’ve established a routine: each morning, you’d pull out the same mug, make your coffee, and wait for Six to make an entrance somehow. He was generally unable to form routines due to his lifestyle, but each morning he would enter the room from a new direction, laptop in hand, and sit.

The first week, Six’s stealthy entrances had caused you to jump in alarm. He would be standing around the corner or appear behind you when you least expected it. On mornings when you’d slept well, you’d laugh. After that first time, Six started to kindly apologize when he scared you.

He didn’t speak much outside of a “Good morning,” unless you spoke first. Forcing an intimidatingly attractive man who doesn’t want to speak to do so was nerve-wracking. Sometimes you felt too shy to talk to him, but some mornings you were brave enough to ask him how he slept, or what he had planned for the day. He'd always respond with the fewest words in a courteous tone, but you found his patience in indulging your questions somehow charming.

Six started to find the morning routine oddly compelling. He enjoyed watching you drink from the same mug, the same amount of coffee, and make the same well-mannered smile at him. Technically, it was something mundane, calm, and normal - but not to him. To Six, this was fascinating. He knew that letting himself enjoy the company of another person, however silent he remained, was dangerous for his psyche, but this wasn’t a permanent job - he could be reckless short term.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One Friday evening, you send out a week’s-end report to your company then wonder what you’ll do for the next two days. You’d spent the past three weekends working. It’s not a major problem considering your average time off was spent reading or watching your favorite movies on rotation, but you could go for a normal conversation with normal people tonight.

Unfortunately, you’re not able to leave the house unless approved by Six, and you’re pretty certain that will never happen. He had been nice, but distant and a touch paranoid. Maybe you’d work for a couple of hours to get ahead instead - then you’d be able to go home sooner.

You stand from the computer in your lab, powering it off. Exiting the room, you’re nearly run into by Six as he leaves the kitchen.

“Oh!” You exclaim. “I’m sorry.”

You’re not surprised by the sudden butterflies in your stomach. He may be reserved, but his physical appeal was impossible to ignore.

"It’s okay,” his arms had gone up automatically to grab your shoulders, but he drops them before touching you. “I’m sorry, I normally hear you.”

“Huh?”

“I usually know exactly where you are because I can hear you. You’re not very quiet.” He speaks without a hint of scorn, but the accusation offends you.

“Of course you can hear me. This is a small house and we’re the only two people in it.”

“You don’t seem to hear me,” Six argues, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. He pulls out a stick of gum and pops it in his mouth.

“Because you do your best to scare me to death at every opportunity,” you chastise.

“Scaring you to death would defeat the purpose of my being here."

You have no retort to that, so you brush past his sizable shape and laugh, “Touche.”

You squat in front of the shelf beside the TV. If the only person you’ll get to be around is Six, you might as well try to make friends.

“Want to watch a movie?” After passing little pleasantries for a month, you figure it’s a normal enough thing to ask him.

You hear him question from behind you: “It’s Friday night; you don’t want to go somewhere?”

“Am I allowed to?” You don’t look at him.

“Not without me.”

“As much as I’d love to go on a date with you, Six, I think I’ll just sit here.”

He doesn’t respond, and you hear nothing, despite straining to make out his footsteps. If he is still there, you refuse to turn around and give him the satisfaction of knowing you regret your words, so you try to focus on the movie.

It becomes obvious that he did leave at some point as you hear the water running in the hallway bathroom to your right. You feel your body relax.

When the movie ends, you pick up a book and retire to your room. As you close the door, Six leaves the bathroom in only a towel. He doesn't see you as he walks toward his own room. His bare back fills your vision despite the distance, and you find yourself staring. He's built powerfully. His smooth skin is broken on his left arm by a jagged, discolored scar.

You inhale sharply at the visual representation of the kind of life he lives, and his head whips around at the sound. You slam your door shut, praying in vain he didn't perceive you.

He stares at your now-closed door, one eyebrow raised. Did you just gasp at him being half-naked? Maybe you weren't expecting him to be there and he scared you again. Six decides to ignore it. Or to try to.

Trying to forget the moment yourself, you pull up some music on your phone and lay across your bed, your hands rubbing your eyes. Your phone’s low-quality speakers mean the Bonnie Tyler song you choose isn't loud enough for your liking, but it's so nice to hear something other than silence that you sing along. You sit up and start folding some of the clothes you'd washed the previous night, still singing along.

A quick knock startles you into standing.

He never talks to me after I shut my door, you're curious as to what he wants and you hope it's not to tell you to stop ogling him.

You move to the door and pull it open cautiously. He's fully dressed in a gray t-shirt and sweatpants. You focus your eyes above his neck, but that doesn't help the blushing, either.

"What's up?" You successfully sound casual.

"I can't hear."

"Can't hear what?"

"Myself think," he gestures toward your phone as the last notes of the eight-minute song begin to fade.

He just can't let me have a single shred of pleasure. Your embarrassment abruptly changes to frustration.

"Can't imagine there's much to hear," you snort. Then you grimace, reminding yourself again it's his job to be alert. You cover your eyes with one hand, "I'm sorry. That was not nice."

But he laughs one, short chuckle. He actually laughs, and the shock of it has you drop your hand to gawk at him. He has a nice laugh; it's soft, ironic-sounding. But he isn't explicitly smiling. It's almost as though the sound escaped him at gunpoint.

"Alright. Continue," he allows with an impassive wink, turning away from you. He leaves you standing there gaping after him.

A wink? What the fuck? This man's getting off on flustering me. When he shuts his door, you swear he's hiding a smile.

You can’t quite pin down your feelings. You’re not afraid of him, but he makes you nervous. Though he’s unsociable, you can see there's something soft behind his professional mask. Maybe it was the gentleness of his eyes or the warmth he unwillingly emanated, but it was impossible not to like him.

Periodically, if he felt secure enough, Six would sleep during the night. He was able to get by with five hours' sleep, and he often took that around lunchtime, but tonight he'd let himself rest. After all, this contract was a farce. There'd been no credible intelligence; your company was paranoid. Six could get behind that, but after a full month with no issues, he was confident he'd be able to sleep.

Of course, he kept his laptop on, flipped multiple alarms, and set a timer for every hour. His reputation wasn't for nothing.

He sits on his bed, wondering why he knocked on your door. Yes, he could hear you - you honestly were not quiet - but it wasn't bothersome. Six found himself relaxing at the noise, at the knowledge that another person was nearby, untroubled.

Your openness, even your petty irritation at him, was fun. You were genuine, natural around him. Most everyone treated Six only two ways: with respect or fear. You treated him as if he were an average person. Was that why he found himself paying attention to you?

Six decides that he doesn't want to know why he sought you out, and he lies back, falling asleep nearly immediately.

You spend the weekend alternating between watching movies on the couch and walking laps around the acre of land. It's boring, so you start working again late Sunday evening. While bent over your desk, you hear a rap at the door.

"Yeah?" You call, unwilling to walk away from your task.

"Are you staying in there much longer? You're typically in bed by now."

"Oh, shit, what time is it?" You ask rhetorically as you pick up your phone to check. Eleven-thirty. "Uh, yeah, I'll head to bed."

You organize your materials for tomorrow, then open the door to see Six, arms folded, waiting for you.

"Are you gonna escort me to my room safely?" You tease him, offering a conspiratorial eyebrow raise.

"Would you rather I got you there unsafely?" He rejoins, his brow imitating yours.

"I'd rather not need anyone to get to my room, but I guess I don't have a choice."

You traipse through the living room. You make it just past the couch before it hits you that he hasn’t done this before.

"Why tonight?"

"Sunday Special," he deflects.

As he walks you the few paces down the hallway to your bedroom, you feel faint heat against your lower back, then a tingling sensation at the base of your spine. It feels almost like someone is touching your skin. Brushing it off as anxiety, you slip into your room and away from Six.

"Okay, job well done. Goodnight, Six,” you remark, shutting your door without looking at him.

He makes no noise, but you can almost feel the nod of his head.

One of the cameras had failed. The other four were fine, but Six was nothing if not proactive. If someone was sneaking around, he needed you in your room. As soon as you are out of harm’s potential way, he pulls his weapon.

Six carefully sweeps through the building, checking corners. All clear, he steps out the back door, utterly silent. The malfunctioning camera was the one overlooking the driveway, but if someone had knocked out only one camera, they likely expected him to check there first. He tediously makes his way to the front of the house.

Above the front door, pointed at the ground, was the camera. A small feather clung to the broken piece of tech. Six looks around for the poor bird who must’ve smacked into it, but finds nothing. He reaches up and unhooks the camera. He’d need to either repair it or find a new one.

Satisfied you and he were not under attack, he returns inside. He won’t be going to sleep tonight; his body will remain alert. He begins to tinker with the camera, already looking forward to his afternoon nap.

Several days later, after having had to stop exactly zero intruders, Six feels comfortable enough to continue sleeping overnight. It’s a treat he enjoys too infrequently, and he wakes early Friday morning with energy to spare. He ventures out into the kitchen, enjoying the sun’s rays creeping over the trees. He retrieves his laptop and sits at his usual spot.

Having slept badly, when you walk into the dim room, you're startled by the shape of a man at the bar. Then you notice his profile silhouetted by the sun, and you exhale in recognition.

"I should really just expect you around every corner, shouldn't I?"

He raises his eyebrows at you in jest and shrugs, “Might be best.”

His elevated mood lifts your own. Your smile lights your face. If only he could be this relaxed all the time. You breeze past him to your coffee pot to continue the morning ritual.

Waiting for the machine to brew, you turn, leaning against the counter, and tilt your head toward the window.

"It's not a bad view, huh?"

"I have noticed," he says honestly.

Though that sounds nearly sarcastic to you, to Six it's another slip in his exterior. He doesn't often get the chance to enjoy something for its beauty, but he has been taking full advantage lately.

Your workday is long, but you take a break near lunchtime to find Six seated where you'd left him. You grab an apple from the stocked fridge, then pull a clear glass from the cabinet. In the shiny reflection of the stainless-steel fridge, you notice Six's head tilt to look at you. You fill the glass with water from the tap, then turn and set both items in front of the curious blonde.

"What's that for?"

"You. This is food and water." You grin. More seriously, you wonder, "Have you eaten? I don't think you have."

Six was typically excellent about fueling his body, it was his livelihood as well as his life, but you were right, he had neglected it this morning.

He blinks for a moment, unsure what your angle is. "Why- are you giving it to me?"

"Because I can," you state. "I didn't poison it." You smirk at him and make a face like maybe you should have.

"A poisoned apple would be cliche. I'm sure you have something more creative in mind for me." He examines you, his eyes shining.

You can see his lips fighting a smile. It makes you want to try harder; you need to make this man lighten up.

"Nah, I need you, Six. Who else would I not talk to every day?"

Six licks his lip and shakes his head in defeat. He huffs a short laugh, and you chalk up a victory.

You slap the counter and cheesily announce, "Alright, see you around."

The weight of his eyes on you as you leave the room makes you feel giddy.

Been a while since I've had a crush, you laugh to yourself. From his wit to his patience, his profound eyes to his muscular build, Six makes your stomach twist.

Six is left sitting in turmoil. Why did you care? Do people normally look out for each other like that? He'd done it for his brother, often making him meals, but that was a close familial bond. Six is essentially a stranger to you, despite the month of small talk and close quarters. Worse than a stranger, he was a tool, a product… wasn’t he? Six feels something shift in his chest. A tiny pull, like a bond creating itself. He does his best to push the thought away.

You wake the next day much later than usual. After showering, you leave your room ready to spend the day similarly to last Saturday. As you exit the hallway into the living room, however, the housekeeper is walking out the front doorway.

"Hey! Good morning," you call, excited to see another person. "How are you?"

The youthful-looking man acts flustered, but answers in an accent you don’t recognize, "I'm fine, thanks. You?"

"I'm great. Do you mind me asking your name?"

"Ma'am, I was told not to speak to the residents here. I hope you understand."

"Oh! I'm sorry to have put you on the spot, then." You feel deflated.

"I restocked the pantry and the fridge, and the kitchen is clean," the kid reports.

"Thank you. Can I offer you anything?"

"No, ma'am, I'm on my way out for today."

You thank him again and let him go. You're hidden away so thoroughly that you're not even allowed to speak to other people. The depressing thought makes you seek out your only source of relief.

You find him in the garage, messing with a black, foreign-looking car. Though the sunlight from the open garage door makes you squint, you notice he’s wearing a dark t-shirt and tactical pants today. Six makes your heart spasm when he looks up to greet you.

Goddamn him, you swear internally like it’s his fault you’re attracted to him.

“Morning,” his voice is rough as though he hadn’t spoken in a while. Probably not since the last time he spoke to you.

“Morning. Is this yours?”

“It’s technically the house’s. ‘In case of emergency.’” He explains, disappearing from view as he leans into the trunk.

“Oh. Is it bulletproof?” You joke.

“Yeah,” his voice is muffled.

Your brow shoots up. Is he serious?

His head rises from behind the trunk lid. His eyes are full of amusement.

“You’re fucking with me,” you accuse.

Laughing, you walk around the car, knocking on the windows. You can’t tell.

He chuckles once, then slams the lid. It echoes in the concrete space. Six walks around the opposite side of the car, so tall that the vehicle barely comes up to his ribs. He leans his forearms on the roof, hands clasped, looking at you.

“The windows in the house aren’t normal glass, either,” he smirks at your innocence. He doesn’t tell you they’re not completely bulletproof. He figures they’re close enough.

For your own health, you’re ignoring how seductive he looks propped against the car.

Changing the subject, you tell him, “The housekeeper was here a moment ago.”

“He’s not just a housekeeper,” he corrects but doesn’t expound.

“Ah. Okay. Is anything around here exactly what it looks like?”

He turns his head to look out the garage door.

“You are,” he says after a moment. “I am.”

You tilt your head, "You know what - that's absolutely true."

"I have a question. Can we quit listening to 80s music?" He taunts. He must've heard you again last night.

"We don't. I listen to it, and you invade my privacy." You whip back.

"Once you're singing over sixty-five decibels, it stops being private and starts being a neighborhood nuisance."

His left cheek pulls upward, and he shifts onto one elbow. The movement causes a lock of hair to fall onto his forehead, and you're disarmed - unable to form the scathing rebuttal you want.

Smiling, you do your best, "Well, the neighbors can fuck off. I've got to do something to stay sane."

You know you're barely loud enough to be heard. He was just hellbent on giving you shit for it and you had to admit, it was kind of funny.

Your stomach growls. "Are you hungry? I’ll make breakfast.”

“It’s 11 a.m.”

“... and I’m going to make breakfast.” You walk inside, directly into the far side of the kitchen.

Six follows a few minutes later, shutting the garage door with a click. You’re in the middle of breaking eggs into a mixing bowl when he sits at the table - a rare move for him. He can’t see you well from this seat, and that’s intentional. He keeps his focus on the acre outside.

“Do you want any?” You call to him.

“No, thank you. I'll eat later.”

You wonder why he’s sitting in here with you. You make extra, just in case. When you’re finished cooking, you sit at the bar to eat, feeling on edge about sitting at the table with him.

Six takes the hint and gets up to leave the room. As he passes the stovetop, he sees you’ve made him some anyway. His heart tugs at him once more. He changes direction and picks up the plate.

Without looking at you, he murmurs, “Thank you.”

You smile warmly, “Anytime.”

He takes the plate to his room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That evening, as you curl up in a couch corner watching a mindless TV show, Six sits on the opposite end. You're cold but feel too awkward to grab the blanket from Six's end of the furniture. Feeling his mood, you wait for him to say something first. He never does. After several minutes, you break.

"Were you lonely in your room?" You rib him.

He looks over at you, and you meet his eyes with a quick grin. He shrugs.

"You get used to it," you tell him.

You look back at the TV and rub heat into your upper arm with your left hand. Maybe I should get up and turn the ceiling fan off.

He scoffs. You? Lonely? Compared to him? Then he thinks about it for a moment and realizes you haven't contacted anyone since you've been here.

"You don't have people waiting for you to come home?" He means family, friends, anyone.

"Nope. I got nobody." You say it with lightheartedness, though it makes you sad.

"I got nobody, too." He mimics your phrasing with a frown.

You turn to him again with a smile and offer, "Well, we can be nobodies to each other."

Six's mouth twitches and his eyebrow quirks up. You feel a rush of heat, embarrassment.

But then he makes a soft, pleased grunt and he hands you the blanket.

That next weekend, in the kitchen, you find Six shuffling a deck of cards. Curious, you make a face at him.

"This was how we passed the time in prison." He begins laying out a game of solitaire.

There's so much about his statement that makes you sad, but you ask the obvious question: "Prison?"

"I was in prison, yes."

"Violent offense, I assume?"

"Yes."

"Was it deserved?"

"The crime or the punishment?"

"What you did," you clarify.

"I thought so. Still think so."

Needing nothing else answered, you climb up on the barstool next to him and take the cards. You pick up the few he'd already laid out for solitaire. You weren’t letting him play cards alone.

"Have you ever played 'War'?" You shuffle the deck and begin to deal.

He hides his astonishment at your nonchalance. He'd never told anyone who didn't already know. But to you, it wasn’t a surprise. Your employers had been sure to tell you they’d hired one of the most elite assassins. You’d never expected that person to have lived a privileged, easy life. And you'd always been an excellent judge of character - Six's character was as solid as they come. Whatever his crime had been, it was justified.

"Yes, I've played War. Good way to get into a fistfight." He says, thinking of his long, terrible eight years.

"I could take you," you lie.

Your challenging look is met by his intense eyes, and he grabs his dealt cards.

"Loser has to make dinner."

"Deal," he agrees.

Later that evening, you stand at the stove top, cooking dinner for the both of you. After he beat you soundly in War, you'd insisted on a rematch, but he'd won a second time. Losing somewhat graciously, you told him you hoped he liked poorly made food. You weren't a good cook.

He'd done a perimeter check after that last game, but he was back in his favorite spot now, leaning forward on his elbows. As you flitted between the cabinets, the stove, and the pantry, he watched in near-awe. He didn't care how bad this food tasted. Watching you make it was enough. He didn't think he'd ever get used to how pleasant domesticity was.

As you walk past the stainless-steel microwave, you realize it's reflective enough to see behind you, and Six is currently hyper-focused on you. The fierce look in his eyes sends butterflies soaring in your stomach.

What the fuck is wrong with me? Six is just bored. The poor man hasn't seen another woman in over a month. Of course he’s going to look at the only available one.

You plate the food, setting one in front of him, for which he thanks you sincerely. You take your own into the living room to escape the air between you two. You flip the TV on, hoping for some background noise to distract you from Six. It works as he remains in the kitchen. After finishing his food, he washes his dish, then retrieves yours and does the same.

"Thank you, Six," you swallow thickly.

"Mhm," he grunts.

Why does the energy between us keep changing?

"I have some things to do outside," he reports.

Oddly relieved, you cheerfully tell him, "Okay, have fun."

He glances at you with a look you can’t identify, then exits through the patio door.

We're both going stir-crazy.

After changing into a tank top and pajama pants, you figure the decanter had been left lonely for too long. You down a couple of shots and put a movie on. This time you pick something you're only vaguely interested in, knowing the alcohol will do the work for you.

You hadn't seen Six since he walked out, but you know he's somewhere nearby. You'd love to offer him a shot, but it's hard to imagine him being willingly impaired.

After a few hours, another glass, and a consecutive movie, you stretch out on the comfy, tan couch. As you lay there, you feel the waves of drunkenness rocking you to sleep.

You're awoken by a masculine voice calling your name. Your eyes crack open to see Six standing over you.

"Six! You wanna shot?" You sleepily propose despite having stopped drinking yourself hours earlier.

His voice is decisive, "No, thank you. Are you planning on sleeping out here?"

"Maybe. 'm I allowed?"

"No," he asserts.

"I thought we were friends, now," you grumble, glaring.

"We're nobodies, remember? And I'm not sitting out here all night making sure you don’t puke," he clears his throat to disguise a laugh.

"Why not? It'd be like a sleepover."

You snuggle down into your blanket and try to find unconsciousness again, but you feel his hand on your shoulder. Your stomach lurches - not from the alcohol, you're barely tipsy now - and your eyes fly up to his face. He's never touched you.

He attributes the blush spreading across your face to the alcohol.

"Don't make me carry you," he tries to threaten, but the idea sparks an evil grin on your face, so he repeats himself, "Don't make me do that."

His jaw clenches at the knotted pit forming in his stomach. Deep down, he wants you to make him.

You sigh dramatically. "Why can't you leave me alone out here? Is it really any less safe than my room?"

"Yes, actually." He doesn't elaborate. "Am I going to get to sleep myself or am I gonna stand here arguing with you until dawn?"

"Okay. Fine. So demanding," you sit up and fold your fluffy blanket as his hand retreats.

He sighs. His biceps jiggle when he crosses his arms tightly.

“You really can’t stand me, can you, Six?” Your voice is sultrier than you intended. You look up at him through your eyelashes.

You watch with confusion as he blinks and swallows hard. He doesn't move or look away from your pouting face. His body heats up as he valiantly fights the temptation to look down your tank top.

Shaking off his lack of response, you stand, and step over to the entertainment center. You then bend to turn off the TV. When the screen blackens, in the reflection, you see Six’s head cock to the side, then snap away from you.

Was he just checking out my ass? No way. I'm drunker than I thought. God, I'm a lightweight now.

Since you’re inebriated, you decide to push your luck, so you turn and brush your fingertips across Six's forearm as you walk by him, murmuring, "Goodnight."

You’re almost to the hallway when you hear his husky voice.

"’Night, sweetheart."

Your theory is confirmed. You must be absolutely black-out drunk because there was no possibility Six called you "sweetheart." You curl up and pass out almost instantly on your bed, laughing at your love-sick, impaired brain's desire for him.

Was he drunk? Six's jaw clamps shut as soon as the word leaves his mouth. He'd never called anyone a pet name. He didn't even know he knew any. He had been headed to bed, but now he couldn't face laying there in the dark with his thoughts. Six walks out the front door, intent on performing unnecessary checks. His thoughts follow him anyway.

He's not sure what's happening to him. Six isn't going soft, he's still hyper-alert, still deadly. But he is softer, somehow. When he looks at you or thinks of you, he feels a protectiveness that has nothing to do with his paycheck. He feels like he could be happy if he could just keep looking at you.

And really what was the point of being freed from prison if he didn't take every opportunity to live before he died? He could allow himself to feel an attraction to you, as long as he didn't name it. As long as he didn't act on it. Six decided he wouldn't fight this, but he also wouldn't encourage any feelings from you. He wouldn’t drag you into this. He would let himself have a friend - no more - if only for a little while.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, you keep your ritual. You have no hangover despite being sure you’d drank too heavily the night before. As you reach for your mug, your fingers brush empty space. It's missing from its place in the cabinet. Groggy, you take a better look around you, and you blink when you see the mug next to your coffee pot.

Weird - did I leave it out yesterday? Hm. Must have.

The telltale squeak of the barstool echoes in the quiet room.

Without turning, you greet him, "Morning, Six. I hope you slept well."

"Oh, you can hear me now?" is his fond response. His tone makes your heart skip.

"I'm sure you're just being louder for my benefit."

A chuckle leaves his lips. You aren't wrong.

Six watches you brew the coffee, imagining what it’d be like to have this view forever. He knows that’s a concerning thought, and he knows he’s torturing himself. It doesn’t stop him. It feels too good to let himself believe this could be his life, just for a moment. In some alternate universe, he could have a wife who loves him, a home, simple mornings, and peace. Six wants to imbibe as much of this as possible.

You finally turn after filling your mug. You peer out the window, but it's still relatively dark outside. Instead, your eyes dart to Six. He's focused on his laptop, so you freely admire him. Your gaze trails over him while you stir your drink.

A white t-shirt clings to him just enough to build pressure in your core. Since he's seated, you can't see his lower half, but you're sure it's some slacks that fit him perfectly. His hair is coiffed as usual, but his facial hair is scruffy. He looks good. If you were honest with yourself, you'd fuck him right there on the counter.

Six didn’t notice every single time you looked at him, but it was close. He didn't know why, but he marked each glance he caught. And right now, he could feel your stare as if it was a physical weight. The pleasure it gave him was electric, addictive. This base desire was easier to understand than the others you made him face, and he felt slightly more comfortable imagining it. This feeling could be partially alleviated.

Six would never act on his desires with you, though. You were under his authority, his protection. You had seen only one other man in over a month. He was new to the strength of these feelings, but he wasn't stupid. You were bored and lonely. He was more lonely, and he'd already let you in further than anyone else. That would be a problem. No, he would be content to let himself bask in your skin-deep attentions and your kindness, but he wouldn't torture either of you with physical complications.

During the silence, while the two of you thought about the same thing, the sun rose, casting you in a golden light. Six's back was to the window, but the sunshine catches his blonde hair, illuminating it. At the same time, both of you smile at each other - yours much larger than his, but no less genuine. He watches as your smile fades into your eyes, and you wet your lips. Nerves tighten in your stomach, and Six sees your throat constrict. Despite the distance between you, your eyes fall to his mouth. His do the same.

Registering the spark in the room, Six abruptly stands to avoid ignition.

"Have a good day," he offers quietly. He heads toward his room, toting his laptop.

Too shocked to reply, you stand there staring after him in the morning sun.

Holy shit, what just happened?

Over the next month, your morning routine is kept mostly the same, except your coffee mug is nearly always next to the machine when you wake. Six is civil, friendlier than he was at first, but you feel a wall returning. It's clear he's keeping some kind of boundary and you respect that. You could use a friend, and he does his best to be just that.

Throughout the month, there are times he finds you seated on the couch and sits with you. He doesn’t speak much, only answering your questions or agreeing with a comment you make about a movie or TV show. It’s the bare minimum that you both need, but it’s not fully satisfying for either of you.

It settles in your mind that you want to tell him you care about him. Platonically and in the most casual way possible, of course. You get the feeling he’s never had someone to look out for him, and that makes you sad.

On the last Friday of the month, you find the courage to say something. He’s seated on the opposite end of the couch, as far as he can be, in companionable silence as you let a comedy play.

“Six,” you begin, your heart already racing. But as you look at his profile, you fizzle out. “Are you hungry?”

He turns to you, face grave. “As long as it’s not the rubber chicken you made yesterday, yeah.”

“Well, maybe you should cook for a change.” Would you ever not be trading jabs at each other?

“I do cook,” he argues.

You roll your eyes. “Mac and cheese from a box for a week straight does not qualify as cooking.”

“You’re alive, aren’t you? That’s all I’m paid for. Special cuisine is extra.”

He’s joking, but the reminder of the nature of your relationship makes you cringe. You’ve let yourself grow far too attached to the handsome, quietly witty man, and knowing there was an asterisk on your friendship causes you more sorrow than you thought you’d feel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One sunny morning, as you sit on the patio step, your ever-present coffee mug on the ground next to you, Six joins you. He doesn’t sit, instead, he stands behind you. Overlooking the valley, you ask him random questions that pop into your mind. You’re putting pieces of him together while trying not to pry any further than you know he'd like.

"Favorite candy? Besides gum," you add at the same time he answers.

"Gum. Oh, Skittles," he edits.

“Shoe size?” You turn to look up at him, shielding your eyes from the sun.

His lips twitch, “Eleven. You gonna buy me a birthday present?”

“When is your birthday, Six?”

He hesitates before responding, and when he does, you’re not sure it’s the truth.

“November 12th.”

You nod once and move on. "Ideal vacation?"

"A quiet beach."

“Favorite song?"

He's stumped on that one, "I don't think I have one."

"What about a favorite band? Or a singer?" You ask more generally.

"Hm, Bonnie Tyler." He declares, a gleam in his eye.

You laugh, "You're trying to rile me up, but I bet you probably are a fan of 'Holding Out for a Hero,' aren't you?"

He quirks an eyebrow at you so you explain, "She mentions Greek mythology," you gesture at his left arm, "and I know you love the Greeks."

You pause, then sing your own version of the lyrics to him, markedly offkey, "You're my streetwise Hercules -” Breaking off quickly in laughter at yourself, you bend forward to hug your knees.

You're no longer looking at him, so you miss out on the way his cheeks fight a brilliant, natural smile. You miss the way he loses and has to turn away from you to let the adoration color his face. And he misses the triumphant shutter of a camera in the distance.

The following day, Six is surprised to feel his phone vibrate. Few people had his current number.

Heard you got that cushy contract? I suppose you deserve it after saving my ass so many times.

Ah, it’s Denver, Six knows immediately. Not one for texting, Six leaves the message alone. The less he says about you the better - even to someone Six could almost call a friend.

He mulls over the phase ‘cushy contract’ and frowns. Six was now two and half months into this job, and he knew it would be coming to an end soon. Apparently, you were making good progress because your employer had notified Six they’d be terminating his services shortly - probably at the end of the month.

Two weeks until you were gone. Now that he understood exactly what he was missing, Six wasn’t sure how he would go back to his isolated murderous-errand-boy status. But what he felt didn’t matter - he would be going back to the existence he’d known for nearly twenty years.

You stroll into the common area one afternoon to see Six standing on the patio, contemplating the horizon. His gray suit is bright in the daylight, and you watch as the wind tosses a lock of hair. You take the opportunity to soak him in, to think about how much you care for him.

You open the door and walk out to stand beside him. He doesn’t move. You follow his eye line to see fluffy white clouds amidst a deep blue sky. Curious to know what he’s thinking, you clear your throat.

“You see something?”

“The same thing you do,” he gives you a tiny smirk. A breeze wafts the scent of his gum and you smile at the essence of him.

He slides his gaze along the tree line. You can hardly take your eyes off him, though. Six fascinates you. The CIA’s deadliest ex-asset was standing out here, looking like that, enjoying the countryside. He was quiet and closed-off, but he was also incredibly funny and warm.

God, what I wouldn't do for him. A surge of attraction consumes you for a moment, and it leaves you feeling unsteady.

Oh, he probably came out here to be alone. I’m interrupting.

“I’ll leave you be,” you say, your voice catching. You turn to go.

Six’s jaw clenches, and his lips part to tell you not to go, to tell you he prefers your presence to anything else on earth, but he doesn’t speak. Honestly, he doesn’t know how to say it - and he hears the door click shut behind him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two weeks later, Six is anticipating a text from your company telling him to stand down. He’s on edge all day, reigning in his thoughts. Trying to learn how to pack the pieces of humanity you’d given him into something he could carry with him. He can’t decide if it’s best to spend time around you or avoid you.

Six’s phone vibrates for the third time since he’d been here. Fully expecting another text from Denver or your employer, he’s stunned by what he does see.

Three photos have been sent to him by a blocked number. Each one depicts the two of you; each one shows Six exactly how fucked he is. He stares at the last one and the mixed emotions nearly buckle his knees.

Six had never seen happiness on his own face, but there it was. You’d sang to him, made a joke as only a friend could, you’d reminded him he was a man with choices and desires. It had struck him then hardest of all. Six wanted you. He wanted you in every way a man could want a woman, and in that moment he knew he’d never be the same.

But seeing that moment now through the lens of a threat? Six’s body kicks back into the high-alert state he’d been in for two decades. He springs off his bed, grabs his weapon, and sprints out to find you.

Because these photos are of Six’s reactions to you, he knows this isn’t about your work. Six knows exactly who this is and why. He also knows his adversary is probably running on fumes and therefore probably weak in resources. That means Six had some time.

He knocks on your lab door, and you call out, “Yeah?”

“Just checking,” he assures.

He moves off to scan his cameras, then the grounds. He finds nothing, so he retreats into the kitchen, half-facing the direction that the last photo had come from. Six works at his laptop until the sun sets. Through connections and rumors, he figures out someone (he needed no guesses as to whom) had placed a decent sum of money on his head.

His theory had been right, his foe was broke. It was obvious that the guy had poured all of his remaining funds into the bounty on Six's head. Six estimated he had roughly three weeks until a team could be expected. At least he wouldn’t be saying goodbye to you just yet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The end of the third month comes and goes, and another week drags by. No word arrives from your employer. Going home had become something you no longer wanted, so your research had intentionally slowed. You spent more time outside of your lab than in. As time wore on, your mornings with Six became longer. Instead of standing across the kitchen from him, you found yourself seated next to him at the bar more often than not.

But Six had been strange lately. His brow furrowed constantly, he was as uptight as he was when you met him. Six became strict about knowing where you were at all times. And for the past two weeks, he had walked you directly to your room at night, hand hovering over your lower back. It was a weird mixture of familiarity and distance between the two of you.

This morning, you’re both sitting at the bar in comfortable silence. You're reading while he does god-only-knows-what on his computer. You both jump when his phone buzzes and violently dances across the counter. He snatches it up and sighs.

“Next week, some extra people are going to be hanging around.”

“What?” You’re dismayed. The private bubble that had been suspending the two of you bursts.

He has to tell you. If not the whole truth, then part of it.

“There's been a- a threat. It’s not a definite thing, but it could be a problem,” he hedges.

The world drops out beneath you. Not only is the intoxicating time you’d had with Six coming to an end, but it’s doing so because you could be hurt. You take a deep breath, willing your nerves to go away. Your eyes close and you place your palms flat on the bar.

Six suddenly remembers that this isn’t your life, you’re not used to life-threatening events. He slowly, firmly covers your hand with his own. It’s rough and warm; your internal monologue gets derailed.

It’s terrifying to learn that someone will try to assault you. It’s something you never thought would truly happen. However, you know your work has led you into some high-risk areas, and you’re strong enough to hold the information, to accept it. And the appreciation that the person protecting you is Six? He was everything you could ask for.

“You’ll be okay,” he promises, his voice aimed at your stampeding heart. It’s the one thing he knows he can give you, and he feels wildly territorial. He was damned if he let anyone near you.

He reluctantly removes his hand, and you take a second breath. You’re facing straight ahead, but you can feel his eyes reading your face.

“I know. I trust you, Six,” turning to look up at him, you find the courage to tamp down your fear. You give him a sad smile.

Your eyes water, and Six begs them not to spill over. He won’t be able to stop himself from wiping away your tears - it’s his fault they’re there.

Your childlike faith in him jars him with a realization: he would do anything for you. If you asked, he would do it. He was wrapped around your finger, and he liked it. His heart swells. And, for the first time in his adult life since his grueling training, he's overcome.

···

You spend the next week anticipating the arrival of the anonymous men. Six had warned you that - like the housekeeper - these men were not supposed to speak to you.

At the same time, Six divested himself of you as best he could. Once this immediate situation was dealt with, and the contract terminated, he wouldn't see you again. Six's lifestyle would not allow him to have you, and he couldn't change it. As badly as he wanted you, Six would never ask you to leave your career, your home, your life to be with him.

He wrestled with it, though. Six often found himself thinking of scenarios in which he could show you how he felt. Maybe after he killed Lloyd he could come back for you. Maybe after the contract ended you would realize it wasn't boredom, it was real. Maybe your feelings were as strong as his. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

The return of Six's coldness confuses you. You miss him despite him being in the next room. You knew why (or you thought you did), you knew he was being paid to be here for this exact situation. It didn't stop you from feeling rejected.

The day comes and a van pulls up in the driveway. Four large, armed men pile out. They all look similar, terrifying. You retreat to your room before they come inside.

Six greets them, instructing them in what he's had planned. He walks the grounds with them but doesn't divulge his personal plans in regards to you. Six wanted everything compartmentalized and separated. No one could know who you were or why Six was there. These are Denver's men, but Six trusts no one completely.

Nearly a full day later, when you get too hungry to stay in your room any longer, you tiptoe to the kitchen. Your heart sinks at the empty room; you'd been subconsciously hoping Six would be at his spot.

As you reach the sink, you hear footsteps enter the room. You turn to greet Six, but you're visibly shocked by a stocky man standing there instead.

"Is everything okay?" You ask when the man doesn't say anything.

"Yeah, sorry. I didn't realize there was a woman here."

"Oh," you laugh, "Well, here I am."

Forgetting that this is not actually your home, and you didn't need to play hostess, you offer the man a drink.

"Water? Or some whiskey? But you're probably like Six with that, huh?"

"Yeah, naw, I can't drink on the job. Thanks though, honey. You been up here a while? You seem happy to see me." The man laughs good-naturedly.

You continue without answering his question, "Anything to eat? We've got plenty." You wince at the way you use 'we' as if you and Six had been playing house.

"I appr-" the man is interrupted by Six flinging open the garage door.

"Why are you in here?" His question is authoritative yet calm, and both you and the man start to answer at the same time.

"No, you." He nods at the man.

"Sorry, man. Should've known." The man quickly retreats outside. The patio door slams shut.

"He didn't even know a woman was here?" You put the query to Six. "Why? What'd he mean by 'should've known'?"

"His job is to watch that direction." Six indicates outward, toward the perimeter. "Not what goes on inside. I don't want anyone knowing anything unnecessary." He doesn't address your third question.

"I'm unnecessary now?" You already know it's a catty remark.

He throws you a withering look. "They're not supposed to be inside at all. If you see them, tell me. I'll take care of it."

"I mean, okay. But that guy was nice. At least he talked to me." You mutter the last bit.

Six has never felt jealousy, so when it flares in his stomach at your words, it burns. His eyes narrow and he strides over, stopping close enough to touch you.

"My job is to protect you. My job is not to entertain you. I'm not paid to be your friend." He sounds frustrated; like he's been trying to tell you something.

Six is overwhelmed and conflicted. He wasn't paid to be your friend - that came naturally. And he wasn't even being paid at all anymore. The deposits have stopped and Six is still here. He can't find a way to tell you that fact, though.

Abashed, you duck your head so he doesn't see the tears that spring up. Gravity works against you, so you look up to the ceiling, fighting the tears back. You feel lonely despite the best friend you'd had in a long while standing in front of you.

Six's mouth goes slack. He's horrified. He just made you cry. Six had made new-widows cry, sure. But never had his words caused the tears of a woman he cared about. He feels unbalanced. Six has no idea how to process anything going on inside him.

You sigh.

I'm the one who's pushed this friendship. He's always been honest about what this was. I can't very well be mad at him when he does his job.

"Okay, Six. I'll stay out of your way." Your voice is hoarse.

You bolt to your room as he stands staring into space, fists clenched.

A few days later, you leave your lab to find an apple and a glass of water waiting for you on the bar. A faint smile pulls at your lips. You realize you've not eaten today. On the countertop is your favorite mug. Peering inside, you see whiskey. Your small laugh breaks the heavy silence in the house.

After eating, you take the mug and sink down onto the couch. The gaming console makes an electronic jingle as you turn it on for the first time. You'd been working hard, again, but your morale was poor. You were miserable without Six's easy humor.

You pick up a game controller and start to scroll through the downloaded games when you hear Six's footsteps enter the house from the garage. Your heart twinges at the discovery that you have his footsteps memorized. He trudges through the kitchen and stops in the entryway to the living room.

You stop yourself from fully appreciating him in his gray suit, but it's hard as you can see your favorite black t-shirt underneath. He sees the mug in your hand and his face becomes hopeful.

"I haven't played a video game since 1995." He confesses, now staring at the TV.

"You want to play?" Your voice cracks embarrassingly.

He almost smiles at you, "Loser makes dinner?"

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