#which again she's like 'sounds nice but what about your freedom?'

[makethiscanon]

Snuggle Bug - [Ojiro x Reader]

Word Count: 3500

Rating: G

Warnings: none

Tags: Reader-Insert, Pining, Class 1A Shenanigans, House Party, Fluff, Slow Burn

------

One evening during summer vacation, the entirety of Class 1-A decided to pile into the Yaoyorozu family estate, ready to celebrate a few weeks of freedom from your studies.

Yaoyorozu was more than happy to host, and her parents were even happier to retire to their summer home so that everyone could relax without any parents cramping their style.

"Let's play a game!" Declared Ashido excitedly, barely waiting long enough to let everyone settle in.

"Did you have something in mind?" Jirou asked with a roll of her eyes, knowing fine well Ashido had been scheming from the moment today's plans were first announced.

"You bet."

Her smile was devious. It unsettled many.

Just to her left, you were sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Hagakure on one of the many plush armchairs dotted across the lounge. You were interested in what Ashido had to say, but couldn't help smiling as you looked around at everyone.

You were a few weeks into summer vacation, meaning you hadn't seen many of your classmates in that long. You were surprised by how much you'd missed them.

"Hey, stranger," Hagakure murmured, leaning close to your ear. "Don't think you're leaving here without arranging a hangout with us, Miss 'I never answer my texts'."

Her words lingered as you smiled sheepishly.

"Sorry, Hagakure. It's been a busy few weeks."

Truth be told, you hadn't been busy at all. But something had happened in the final week of term that had left you dealing with feelings you didn't know what to do with. And you were sure hanging out with the gang would only make those feelings worse.

Without meaning to, your gaze wandered across to Ojiro. He was sharing a couch with Tokoyami, looking as calm and as cheery as always, wearing black sweats and a grey, sleeveless hoodie that kept pulling your gaze back to the broad definition of his shoulders.

He glanced your way as you watched him. He seemed surprised at first, but smiled and gave you a little wave hello. With a jerk, you sat up straight and dragged your attention back to Ashido, already feeling your cheeks threatening to burn.

You just couldn't look at him the same way now.

During the last week before vacation, you had found yourself in just the right place at the right time to overhear Ojiro defending you to a group of boys from another class. Apparently they had said some less-than-reputable things about you. Which wasn't unheard of. You knew you were a bit of an odd-bod and people did like to talk.

But you'd never heard Ojiro so angry before. He was quick to defend you, and even went as far as rattling off a long list of things he liked about you to prove that they had misjudged you.

Honestly, you'd never heard anyone say such nice things about you before. Let alone so many at once. Every time you thought back on the moment, you ended up flustered.

Trouble was, now you couldn't look at him without feeling nervous. He'd only defended you as a friend, but knowing that he had your back like that, and that he thought all those nice things about you... it was hard not to look at him differently. It was hard not to notice the softness in his expressions, or the deep lull of his laugh, and suddenly you were seeing handsome little quirks in his mannerisms that you were sure hadn't been there before.

Your feelings were getting out of control, and what was worse, you knew you were making a bigger deal out of him defending you than necessary.

You didn't like that your heart was trying to jeopardise your friendship, so you were doing all you could to hold Ojiro at arm's length until you got it under control.

"Let's play snuggle-bug!" Ashido announced.

The declaration was met by confused silence.

"Snuggle-what-now?" Hagakure asked. She sounded intrigued, but no less confused than anyone else.

"Snuggle-bug!" Ashido said again, like she couldn't believe no-one had heard of it before. "Oh, come on. It's like hide-and-seek. We draw lots to decide who the bugs are, then everyone spreads out; the bugs have to hide and everyone else has to find them. If a bug isn't found in ten minutes, they win. Otherwise the person snuggling them at the end wins."

"Snuggling them--?" Mineta nearly choked. "You mean actually, physically cuddling them?"

"Yes!" Ashido said with a gleeful grin. "And if someone else finds your bug before the end of the game, you've got to give up your bug and find a new one. So if you like your bug..." She made meaningful eye-contact with a few different people, including you. "You'd better keep them hidden."

The hairs along your neck stood up. For some reason you felt like your secret feelings had already been rumbled. But surely Ashido couldn't know. You'd told no one, and had done your best to keep things under wraps.

"Let's do it!" Kaminari said eagerly, leading a charge that rippled through everyone and got them into a man-hunting mood.

That, or everyone really needed a hug.

After some prep-work, Ashido had all of you pick a slip of paper from a bowl. Three of the slips were bugs, and the rest were blanks.

You checked your paper. On it were the words: 'snuggle bug.'

Your heart started beating nineteen to the dozen. That was a lot of pressure.

Faced with the uncertainty of who could be about to cuddle you, you suddenly became aware of all the different players. You glanced at Mineta, in particular. If he wasn't also a bug, you needed to make sure you hid well.

When the game began, Yaoyorozu shut off the lights then everyone fanned out. You had one minute to hide, then the claxon would blare to signal the start of the game.

You didn't know the layout of Yaoyorozu's home all that well, but luckily, aside from the class president herself, no one else did either. Hoping to use that to your advantage, you put as much distance between you and the lounge as you could. The main house was large. It would take anyone a while to search room-by-room. So you needed to find a far-away corner to sit tight in.

And you found just the spot in Yaoyorozu's parents' room. You hesitated at first, realising whose room it was, but figured that the same hesitation might stop others coming in to find you, too.

You climbed into the large ottoman at the foot of the bed just as the claxon sounded.

Ten minutes. You could do this.

As you waited to hear the second claxon, you congratulated yourself on finding such a comfortable hiding spot. You hoped Yaoyorozu's parents could forgive you for lying on their folded bed-linens, though. Even with ample wiggle-room, you tried to keep still so things wouldn't get too creased.

It was hard to tell how much time passed. You were in total darkness and the linens muffled most noises, but when you listened closely you could hear people running around. You wondered if another bug had been found yet.

The creak of a floorboard suddenly pulled you from your thoughts and back to your senses. The fact you hadn't had to strain to hear the noise meant one thing: someone was in the room.

Suddenly aware of how loud your breathing was, you clamped your hands over your mouth and stayed deathly still. You wondered what your chances were of remaining unfound. But then again. If you were anyone else, the person-sized chest would be the first place you'd check.

Their footsteps were quiet. You really had to strain to hear them -- which immediately put you on edge. They either had to be someone light-footed, or someone who weighed less than average because they were small.

That last thought horrified you.

You prayed not to see Mineta's purple hair as the chest opened.

Truthfully, you were only half-relieved when you saw it wasn’t him.

“Ah. You found me.”

You looked up at Ojiro, noticing that his tail started wagging when he realised who he had found, nestled amongst the bedding.

Even in the dark, you could see his pleased smile.

“I guess I don’t need to ask if you’re a snugglebug, then?”

He stepped back, offering you his hand to help you out of the chest.

But you hesitated to move. You could only be thankful for the lack of lighting. It hid the fact you were both giddy and panicking at the same time.

The game dictated that you and Ojiro had to cuddle. It was the best—no, worst—no... it was a situation, and you didn’t know how to feel. You weren’t sure if your heart could take having Ojiro cuddling up to you now, not when you were trying desperately to deny your own feelings for him.

But you supposed snuggling was the name of the game. You had to do it, to avoid the question of why you didn’t want to do it. It would only be for a short while. You could endure the cuddle, as long as your heart remained under strict instructions not to run off with your feelings.

Perhaps Ojiro caught wind of your hesitation, as he let his hand drop when you failed to climb from the ottoman. He cleared his throat, then sat down with his back pressed against the outside of the box. For a moment, he looked back at you with a friendly smile then turned his attention elsewhere.

When he seemed to look settled, you quirked an eyebrow. You opened your mouth to ask if he actually intended to cuddle you, but stopped when you realised it would come out sounding desperate.

You couldn’t ignore how disappointed you felt, lying alone in the ottoman now.

“Aren’t you… meant to hug me or something? That’s how the game works, right? You cuddle the bug?”

You did your best to play your nerves off as a playful dig as you sat up, resting your chin on the lip of the ottoman. Ojiro couldn’t help but chuckle when he saw what you were doing, how childish you looked with a small pout on your lips that you weren’t aware you were making. But then his smile faltered.

“I won’t force you into a cuddle you don’t want. I’d never want to… make you uncomfortable.”

Silence followed. You weren’t sure what to say. His words felt loaded, and you could hear a melancholy tone to his voice that made your chest ache. This wasn’t like him.

As Ojiro continued, he ran his hand up through the back of his hair awkwardly.

“…You’ve been acting different around me recently. Kind of skittish. The last thing I want is to invade your personal space if... you don’t want me there.”

Guilt hit you instantly. Of course Ojiro had noticed you keeping him at a distance. And instead of calling you a bad friend, he was being considerate of your feelings. Just another reason to add to the pile of why your heart increasingly, desperately wanted him.

However, his wording really caught your attention.

You cleared your throat with a quiet cough.

“So, um, just to clarify… do you want to cuddle with me, or not?”

Ojiro’s tail swished like a suddenly-wary cat.

“Not if you don’t want me to.”

You rolled your eyes at his answer, then sat up so you could lean out of the ottoman to look at him properly.

“I asked what you want.”

It was dark so you couldn’t see the full effects of your statement, but given that you only managed to hold Ojiro’s gaze for a moment before he glanced away, you had to wonder if he was blushing. His tail swished again.

“I’d… I’d like to cud—I’d like to cuddle you.” He stammered, though his final words were definitive. There was no chance for misinterpretation. And hearing them only made your heart ache more. Not only were you fighting your feelings, but now you felt guiltier. Because no matter what Ojiro was to you, you had pushed him away and he had noticed. And he wanted to cuddle with you – whether for comfort or something else, you didn’t care. You only knew that you weren’t going to turn him away now, your heart be damned.

Despite the turbulence inside yourself, your words came out in that same, playful and calm manner Ojiro knew from you so well.

“Come cuddle me then.”

You laid down in the ottoman, pressing yourself to the front of it to give Ojiro space should he actually want to join you.

You held your breath. You didn’t know how this would go. But to your relief, you heard Ojiro heave himself up from the floor then he carefully climbed in behind you, before pulling you tight against his chest with very little ceremony, his muscular arms holding you close to him.

You had to fight to hold in the gasp that threatened to burst out of you. You hadn’t expected Ojiro to be this willing to have you pressed so tight against him.

“Sorry,” he said immediately, his breath fanning the back of your ear as his words came out softly. “It’s a tight fit with my tail. It’s always getting in the way.”

You tried to reason with yourself then that, at least in part, Ojiro’s bold embrace was strategic. Holding you close was the only way to get you, him, and his small-human-sized tail into the ottoman all at once.

When he was settled, Ojiro’s tail flicked the ottoman closed, then he rested it over you, hugging you with it like a third arm.

Your face felt like it was on fire. So much of Ojiro’s body was pressed against you, and it felt even better than you could ever have dreamed. His strong muscles, now relaxed, were spongy and soft like pillows, yet you could still feel the strength in arms as he held you.

You weren’t sure you could utter a word coherently right now, so you kept quiet, and instead listened to his breathing as his presence invaded your senses. He was so close. He was so warm. His breath fanned gently against the back of your neck, and he held you so close that you could smell that familiar scent of oranges and vanilla that he liked to wear, mixed in with the comforting smell of his skin.

Unable to find the words, you stayed that way for some time, simply curled up in Ojiro’s arms as you fought to hate the feeling, but you couldn’t. It felt too good.

Just then, you heard the creak of a floorboard. You gasped in surprise, while Ojiro pulled you closer. His wasn’t a jumpy, knee-jerk reaction like yours. It was a slow and deliberate movement, like he was pulling you closer to make you feel safe.

Both of you listened for a while, waiting to hear another sound. But nothing came. Not from close by, anyway. You could still hear the muffled sounds of your classmates around the house, both yells and laughter, but nothing to make you think you’d been found.

You didn’t want to be found. You wondered if you might manage to stay here until the game ended, whenever that might be.

As you thought about that, a knot twisted in your stomach. You didn’t know how much longer you had left. What would happen when the game was over and you no longer had the obligation to cuddle with Ojiro… and he no longer had the obligation to cuddle with you?

“Ojiro…” you began, but couldn’t bring yourself to say more; to admit how you were really feeling. But as the quiet carried on, you realised it needed to be said. You couldn’t bear Ojiro thinking you were uncomfortable around him; that he had done something wrong. You didn’t want him thinking that this cuddle… that you were only willing to do it as part of a game. Because you knew that was the furthest thing from the truth.

You dared to bring your voice just above a whisper as you swallowed to clear your throat.

“I overheard you at school.”

Ojiro pulled you closer, lifting his head so his cheek was pressing against the side of your face so he could hear you better.

“When?”

“When you defended me against those boys. What you said about me.”

His body tensed. It was hard for you to miss.

“I…” he began to stammer, his voice barely contained to a whisper. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I’m sorry if I— I didn’t mean to speak out of turn. Is that—is it why you’ve been acting off around me—”

Hearing the desperation growing in his voice, you cut him off by finishing your thought.

“It made me so happy.”

Ojiro went quiet. He breathed a single word, like he couldn’t believe what his own ears had heard.

“What?”

You touched his arm as he held you, both as a sign of affection and to steel yourself for the rest of what you had to say.

“I’ve never heard anyone say such nice things about me before. It made me happy. Maybe… too happy.”

You paused to take a breath. You knew you had to tell him why you’d been avoiding him. You knew you had to come clean.

But before you could utter the words, Ojiro turned his face towards you to speak, his nose nuzzling your cheek as he did.

“I meant every word of it. You really are the sweetest girl. You might be a little different but that’s why I like you.”

“Ojiro, I—”

“That’s why I really like you.”

His words hung in the air. What had first sounded like a confirmation of friendship, now had your heart in a tizzy.

“You... like me?”

You murmured, sounding shocked and in disbelief.

Ojiro squeezed you. His tail started wagging, thump-thump-thumping against the side of the ottoman.

“I really do. And I only realised how much once I thought I’d done something to make you hate me. It made me realise… I don’t want to lose you.”

Your guilt at keeping Ojiro at arm’s length hit you all over again.

“I’m sorry. I only kept my distance because I was afraid of my feelings.”

Ojiro’s tail started thumping harder against the side of the ottoman. He couldn’t keep the excitement from his voice.

“Do you like me too?”

Unfortunately the revelation came too late, as Ojiro’s excited tail became a beacon for your location. He had no time to rectify his mistake, as in the next moment, the top of the ottoman lifted up and the pair of you looked up to see Kaminari peering down. Ojiro’s hold on you grew much tighter. You groaned at Kaminari’s terrible timing.

Oblivious to the moment he had just interrupted, Kaminari grinned triumphantly.

“Which of you is the snugglebug?”

Seeing no way to get the moment back, you begrudgingly raised your hand.

“I am.”

Kaminari’s grin only broadened. He threw his thumb over his shoulder, looking at Ojiro.

“Shift it.”

Ojiro hesitated. He made no effort to move at all. Then, suddenly, the claxon blared, making all three of you jump. Kaminari straightened up after hearing the sound, throwing his hands into his hair with an exasperated groan.

“Are you kidding me? I was just about to snuggle with a hottie. Come on!”

The fact he had technically won did not seem to matter. Kaminari felt robbed.

As he skulked off, Ojiro began untangling himself from you, then helped the both of you out of the ottoman. When you were out, in true Ojiro style, he started trying to straighten out the crumpled bedlinen out of respect for Yaoyorozu’s parents. You watched him with a smile, though you felt nervous. Both of you had just confessed your feelings like it was the most natural thing in the world, but you had no idea where that left the two of you.

You bit your lip as he straightened up then closed the ottoman with his tail, giving his attention back to you.

Now that your eyes were adjusted to the darkness, you could see the warmth in his expression as he looked at you. It eased your worries, but you needed to know for sure.

“So… what now?” You asked.

Without missing a beat, Ojiro offered you his hand to hold.

“How about a movie this weekend? Not with the gang, I mean. Just... you and me.”

You could hear the nerves in his voice, like he was putting his heart on the line for this.

With a warm smile, you slipped your hand into his then gave it a squeeze to reassure him.

“I’d like that.”

Now that your fingers were intertwined, the two of you headed back to the lounge, both feeling as nervous but as happy as each other. Neither of you were prepared for Hagakure’s happy, banshee-like screeching the moment she set her sights on you.

You smiled as Ojiro’s hand held yours tighter, then he led you into the room.

So, you didn’t manage to win snugglebug. But truly, you didn’t mind. What you had won, and what the future held, was much, much better.

------

[WRITING MASTERLIST]

#ojiro mashirao #x reader #x you #x yn #snugglebug #snuggle bug #tailman #fluff #romance #bnha #my hero academia #happy birthday ojiro #seven minutes in heaven #spin the bottle #ojiro #mashirao

[felikatze]

thank u three hopes for permanently putting queerplatonic sylvain/mercedes into my brain. it will never leave

#feli speaks #sylvain rlly like. platonically propses to mercedes. EXPLICITLY PLATONICALLY #and mercedes would accept BUT she doesnt because now sylvain would be the one who can't marry whom he loves! #but what if. get this get this. aro solidarity #WHAT IF. stay with me. sylvain doesnt have anyone he wants to marry romantically? #so like. it all starts with sylvain catching wind that mercedes is being pressured into an arranged marriage #so he's like. if you dont wanna marry that guy you can marry me and do whatever with your life #which again she's like 'sounds nice but what about your freedom?' #and this is so. god i love how three hopes does sylvain? i really do? #anyway. qpp marriage mercedes/sylvain is STUCK in my head now #remember the implication that sylvain was a skirt chaser to deter women from wanting to marry him #because he hates that he's viewed as just his crest. and that it's the same deal for mercedes. anywa #marriage proposal in a fucking B support......

[pepprs]

posts like that break my stupid fucking heart lol. i hate being in this situation and i hate that i hate it because im convinced im delusional about how bad it is right now and that it’s my fault for being a terrible selfish daughter and also it could be SO much worse. but no im not entirely terrible or selfish and yes this situation is bad even if it’s not the absolute worst it’s ever been or ever could be. i know we’re working on fixing some parts of it but that does not negate that i am living a suffocated life right now and never have fully known that freedom even when i haven’t lived in this house and still have so much work to do to finally get it and im so overwhelmed by this that i keep putting it off and running away

#purrs #also it’s like.. how does ANYONE live without the autonomy and shit you inevitably get as an adult. or the way people take you seriously #more and give you space and stuff. because i know i will miss some aspects of living like this but i think life after this will be so much b #better and freer. yeah it’s scary to make your own choices and move your own ways but also ummmm i am not living in a good situation and #there are so many fucked up things happening here. also i was gonna say something else ughhhh what was it. omg #OH yeah well idk if this was The thing but my parents don’t want me to ever have a place of my own bc they’re worried about my safety. i am #also worried about my safety but i think maybe i would like some independence. and i can’t work it out in my head lol #OHHHHH WAIT i remember. ok. so also. im 23 years old. my mom moved out of her parents home when she was 25 but she was already like dating a #and stuff and i.. well you know. but it’s like im 23 but i don’t think im even going to be able to afford a place of my own that is also #nice to live in. so i am going to have to find a roommate which is fine and also i want one anyway bc again i think it’s safer living w #other ppl and not just me and i just have to make sure that my future roommate/s are like.. not as bad as my 2 roommates i had on campus LOL #but it’s like I don’t think im going to be able to even split the cost for a place that is more than just bedrooms a bathroom and a common a #area. and ite like. when in my life if at all am i going to have other rooms to furnish besides my own bedroom. and when in my life am i #gonna be acceptable to my parents to live by myself. and when in my life do i stop talking to them every single day and depending on them fo #for every single decision. when in my life is my mom gonna treat my 40 h/w job (that in fairness i just started and technically haven’t EVEN #starred) with the same seriousness as my dad’s 40 h/w job. and when in my life is this fucking pandemic gonna end so i can go to conferences #and not be a burden or a disappointment and when in my life am i gonna find a life partner etc etc etc. i know i sound naive ungrateful #entitled etc etc and i don’t know what to say about that other than that my mom would think the same and already does lol but im tired of #longing and i would like to be able to function at a bare minimum level of freedom and comfort <3 #delete later #also my parents don’t want me living in the city on top of not wanting me to live independently. so. lol <3

[gamermattsgf]

Silk ribbons // sub Chris

Warnings: major sub Chris / mommy kink / blindfold kink / restraints kink / overstimulation / praise kink / cum kink (I literally have no idea what to call this lol, you’ll get what I mean tho… hopefully) / degradation / slut shaming / male masterbation / hand job / female masterbation (if u squint)

Summary: chris invites you around to bake brownies, but after a slight mishap with your underwear he finds it increasingly difficult to concentrate on anything but the sight of them.

Author’s notes: this oneshot is literally the physical embodiment of training wheels by Melanie Martinez ugh, it matches the vibe perfectly. You guys wanted sub Chris so I delivered, enjoy yourselves thirsty hoes ;)

“I love everything you do, when you call me fucking dumb for the stupid shit I do… I wanna ride my bike with you, fully undressed, no training wheels left for you…” - Training Wheels, Melanie Martinez

Chris thinks he’s a little strange.

Ever since he’s been young he’s loved all things to do with the colour baby pink, and he’s always led a life of soft aesthetics, pearls and strawberry shortcake daydreams. He’s grown up looking around at other people and thinking there has been something wrong with him because there’s no way a man should have been this obsessed over all things soft and delicate.

But he couldn’t help it.

He just couldn’t resist the gentle look of soft pink bows, used for both accessories and decor, and he really loved his mom’s antique pink china tea set, so much so that whenever she offered to make him tea he’d always shyly request it to be poured into one of those cups. He just liked the look of them, that’s all.

He also loved his mom very much, he was for sure a momma’s boy, but unfortunately her affections and coddles rubbed off on him a little too well, which left him as a touch starved 20 year old… absolutely terrified of being asked to top.

Truthfully, he really had no idea what he was doing in the bedroom, he didn’t like the control or the freedom to do whatever he wanted.

Within his sexual fantasies he’d much rather have been the subservient one to whoever was willing to entertain his strange desires.

Because he wanted to be babied, he wanted to be degraded, he wanted hair strokes and wrist ties.

He had met you at his local skatepark whilst sitting on the edge of a ramp.

Biting his lip, he had been peeling off the paper from the sticky side of a hello kitty bandaid that he had needed to use to cover up a graze. His nostrils had flared and he had hissed at the rawness of it on his skint kneecap. He knew he should have worn his jeans that day, not his jorts.

Whilst securing it onto his cut, the skateboard that he had been sat on top of creaked gently underneath his weight. Suddenly, the wheels to another skateboard had filled his ears whilst he focused in on the calming pink colour of the bandaid, admiring the soft little white cat print. The gritting sound of them on the concrete had forced him to look up to you, who had now stepped off of your own skateboard and kicked it up into your hand.

You had smiled down at Chris cheekily, curious but shy in front of him. Fondly laughing, you had pointed to the hello kitty plaster on his knee that had covered up his cut as he sat before you on the floor. ‘Nice bandaid.’ Chris had swallowed nervously, thinking that this stranger was about to tease him about the girly looking bandaid… but - to his bewilderment - you had sat down next to him instead, your perfume a waft of sweet roses that again, readily attracted Chris because of his acute love for all things light.

‘Got a spare for me?’

And after that day you two had just clicked.

You’re not really sure if you were friends or something more, but Chris undeniably felt attracted to you, partly because when he had muscled up the right amount of nerves to invite you around to his place, you had excitedly freaked out over his coquettish room, marvelling at its cuteness and flopping onto his bed to grab his monkey stuffed animal and cuddle it into your chest.

Chris had been so fucking terrified that you would have been weirded out by his taste in room decor, but on the contrary- you had found it extremely interesting, that someone as masculinely set and attractive as Chris had such a unique aesthetic.

You had never really met anyone like Chris, and that excited you. His room was queer, a perfect mix of both boyish and girlish things. His skateboard was always leant up against the door to his closet and random pictures of rappers haphazardly dotted themselves about his walls. Additionally, a desk with a pc sitting on top of it took up the left hand corner of his room whilst his blue and white headset constantly rested on top of his Xbox.

Oddly, you hadn’t expected his bedcovers to be a pearly silk pink when you had first entered the threshold, nor expected the white fluffy throw blanket draped lazily over the side of it, but you hadn’t complained. You had loved it.

Looking back, it didn’t surprise you much. He did wear an awful lot of pink. A deep pink puffer jacket, pink t-shirts, a pink button down for formal occasions and he had even doodled pink swirls onto his white Nikes with acrylic leather pens. He usually skated in them, and one day when you asked him where he had gotten them from he had told you did them himself. This only made him ten times cooler in your eyes.

On this occasion, you were around at his place to hang out downstairs. Chris had suggested baking brownies and you had been quick to agree with him, finding a recipe online and opening different cupboard doors to select ingredients.

For some reason however, sexual tensions between you two had been high. You felt it hit you extra hard whenever your sides brushed or whenever Chris flicked his powdery blue eyes to meet yours, before he shyly averted them and cleared his throat. Multiple times you had looked down to his arms to see that the soft hairs of them were raised to attention, and whenever Chris’ palms touched against yours to help you stir the mixture you felt them to be clammy with sweat. It was only when you bent down to grab another mixing bowl that you realised something was truly up, because Chris had gone silent.

Why you ask? As you had bent down, your soft white sweats had slipped from above the handles of your hips to reveal the tight waistband of your lacy underwear pinching against your skin perfectly. Chris’ throat had gone dry. Fuck, he had felt like such a pervert looking at the soft cherries of your ass cheeks that were covered over with your sweats, but he couldn’t help the way the butterflies shooting through his gut quickly traveled past his own underwear and right to his cock.

You were wearing lacy pink underwear.

Chris was a naturally anxious and nervous person that liked to overthink. Immediately his mind drew itself to a bunch of different conclusions over something probably meaningless. Were you wearing that set because you knew that you were going to be around at his and that the colour pink reminded you of him? Or was it just a coincidence that you chose to wear literally the most tantalising pair of underwear that you could have in his presence.

He wasn’t sure, but his mind overwhelmed himself with these thoughts whilst his eyes greedily drank in the eyeful you had given him. Reacting quickly, he thought it necessary to speedily dart behind the other side of the counter before you could turn around and see how embarrassingly hard his cock had gotten. He felt wet, his tip hot and soaking as he quickly plummeted into humiliation at his lack of self control. He pressed his hips into the counter, flustered with a stupidly obviously blush dusting lightly over his cheeks whilst he held his breath, trying to conceal any noise he might have been tempted to make at the rub of the hard-wooded counter against his flushed cock.

You had turned back around, completely oblivious to what had happened and unconsciously pulling your sweatpants back up by nature.

After quickly edging his way to the exit of the kitchen and rushing an ‘I’ll be right back’ shakily, he stumbled his way up the stairs, practically cupping his length so that you couldn’t see it before sprinting into his room and closing the door behind him.

*

Chris has never felt more embarrassed in his life. You are still downstairs and he still has a raging boner.

Panicking, he doesn’t feel like he can get rid of it by willing it to go down with just images in his mind, so he worriedly comes to the conclusion that he’s going to have to touch himself.

His heart races, and his cheeks flush a humiliated red, getting even hotter the more he meekly pads over to the side of his dresser with his cock throbbing and his balls tight. He frowns when all his mind can do to help is cast 3D printed images of your ass snuggled into the pair of underwear you were wearing right in front of his field of vision, evidently making his stiffy now much worse.

He slaps his clammy hand to his forehead, his fingertips lightly brushing over the yellow bandana that he has on to pull back his hair. His shoulders heave as he squeezes his eyes shut in disbelief.

As he reaches out his other hand to his top dresser drawer, he swallows when noticing it’s shaking with nerves. He can’t believe he’s going to have to do this whilst the girl he normally thinks about when he strokes himself is actually downstairs in his house.

The thought makes Chris want to throw himself out of the window, because he’s generally embarrassed wanking off with his family in the house, no less with the girl that he likes as more than a friend residing just downstairs in his kitchen. But there’s no other way to get rid of it, and wouldn’t it be more embarrassing for him to be parading around you with his cock proudly on show than for him to quietly sate his horny hunger in the comfort of his own room?

Sliding the drawer out, his jittering hand goes straight for the tube of lotion, knowing that he’s going to have to make this as quiet as possible so that you don’t get suspicious as to where he’s actually gone.

Rapidly sliding off his sweatpants, he takes a shaky breath at the feeling of the fabric rubbing against his sensitivity before the soft material drops down to his ankles and he has to step out of them.

Kneeling onto his bed, it squeaks quietly underneath his weight and Chris has to cringe in both guilt and arousal.

Inconspicuously worming his bottom half under the silky pink covers, he tunes in his ears to make sure that the house upstairs is silent and that there can be no creaks of floorboards heard before blinking and flipping open the cap of the lotion.

He squirts a heavy amount of the sticky clear liquid onto the palm of his sweating hand before gulping and arching up his hips so that his spare hand can thumb itself into the band of his white boxers. Pulling them down he pants a little and shamefully looks at his twitching cock, his tip a bright red and his skin a needy pink whilst the thick vein on the left side of his shaft bulges outwardly.

Before he begins, a surge of sexual excitement hits his nervous system and has adrenaline pulsing through his blood. He decides to grip onto the hem of his shirt at the last minute so that he can tuck it into his mouth and bite down on it as a last ditch effort to suppress any noises he knows that he’s going to make.

Another thing Chris is embarrassed about is how loud he gets, and this statement still rings true as the already cherry red flush on his face seems to thicken even more after he looks down at his cock to observe the way his hand spreads the lotion along the hot thickness of his girth.

At the first touch, his back arches slightly, and he has to take in a laboured breath at the feeling of his cock, rock hard in his grip and begging to be stroked by his hand.

‘Ugh fuck…’ he moans breathlessly into the bite of his t-shirt, humiliation swarming him in waves as he starts to jerk his hand up and down. It was like torture, being forced to listen to the sticky slickness of the lotion moving upon his throbbing skin as he whimpered and spread his legs slightly with the current of pleasure that came with it.

‘Fuck… fuck… f-fuck…’ he stutters quickly through more pants, his fist tightening perfectly as he feels the slimy texture of his guilty filth run over his hand. His back rests against the headboard of his bed but it doesn’t stay there for long intervals at a time because of how much it arches.

He sweats, and breathlessly feels like he doesn’t know what to do with himself the more he stimulates his cock. His other hand grapples and fidgets, first clutching onto his thigh, but then moving restlessly around to grope his pearly pink pillow, only to then move once again up to his headboard. His arm extends across the expanse of it whilst his fingers knuckle the wood.

Chris’ head tilts and hits the wall with his eyebrows furrowed when his thumb comes up to quickly swirl over his tip before he whimpers into the air and allows his t-shirt to drop down out of his mouth and crumple back into its original resting place. He simply cannot hold it within the bite of his lip anymore because all his mouth does is lay slackened and open.

He then allows himself to tune out the rest of the world, only focussing in on his pleasure until playing with his slit becomes too sensitive.

Looking down once again in fascination at his hand working against his cock, the erotic noise of the lotion lubricating his skin makes him mumble a quiet ‘Jesus Christ…’ before he’s shutting his eyes again.

This time however, when he shuts his eyes an almost incriminatingly foul image crosses his mind, and he wants to slap himself for thinking such a dirty thing about such a sweet girl.

But suddenly, he sees visions of an elegant you, lying down sprawled across the other side of his bed. An elegant you that seems to be wearing a matching two piece set in baby pink…

The bra is see-through, allowing Chris to fantasise about what your nipples may look like whilst your tits lay perfectly nestled in between the sheer silky material with bows and pearls decorating the pale pink lace, he also seems to imagine it being one of those pretty bras where the fabric is detachable from the wires so that Chris can easily suck on your tits, drooling all over them like a lovesick puppy.

The panties are indeed too, lacy and decorated with a little bow on the top, however, scandalously attached to the sweetheart underwear are sensual-looking garters, that pull up knee high white socks with tiny pink love hearts stitched into them, the frills at the top also being a matching baby pink.

Chris moans again at the image and pants into the air at the thought he fantasises just for himself. His absolute dream underwear set on you.

But that’s not all. Because along with the temptress-esque underwear he has you wearing, your knees are also propped up with your legs spread out, one hand perched lazily on the covers. You lie there, with a somewhat helpless look on your face, whilst your other hand slips down your bare navel to in between your spread legs so that you can delicately play with yourself.

The noises Chris imagines you let out are soft, and you almost purr desperately, looking at him with lustrously hooded eyes and your hair fanning out around you like an angel.

‘Aren’t you going to play with me Chris…?’ His imagination pouts gently to him in the warped voice of you, your finger circulating where Chris wants to touch the most before you hiss quietly in pleasure.

‘I want you to touch me… please… be my good boy, I’m aching for your cock…’ you whine again, panting quietly whilst Chris moans once more, whimpering this time a pathetic ‘mommy…’ that more so comes out like a babbling baby’s whisper, before he dares to look down at the image he’s conjured up in his mind once more to help himself get off.

‘I’m dripping Chris… please… I need you angel boy… I- I- I wish you could just stuff me full of your cock. I’ll always be your sweet girl, I promise! Haven’t I been a good mommy? Do I not deserve it?’ You coquettishly pout once again, your big beautiful glassy eyes almost welling up with tears as you perfectly demonstrates the balance between sadness and sexual desire. You look like his strawberry shortcake daydream… and Chris so badly wants to sink his teeth into your flesh.

This almost pushes him over the edge, his legs spreading the furthest they can go to make sure that his hand can get the best access to his cock whilst the covers that he once had concealing his embarrassed sensitivity now rolling down his legs.

The bed squeaks as he fucks his hips upwards gently into his hand. The more he gets carried away within his groans of struggle and hitched breathes of a long awaited high, the more agressive he gets with his grip.

All of his incoherent speeches are drowned out by the squeaking groan of his bed and the sticky stroke of his cock. Now, the red blush from his cheeks has spread to pretty much his whole entire face, his sinful act also feeling so so fucking addictive. And he feels like he’s swimming in ecstasy, mumbling your name in pleasure, over and over again. That is… until there is a gentle, almost timid knock at his door, the cupped fist most likely belonging to the only other person in the house at the moment. You…

…oh fuck.

‘Chris what are you-’

You suddenly burst into his room, completely unannounced after your knock, because you had heard the guttural stutter of your name…

And there Chris sits, like a deer caught in headlights, frozen with his lower half naked and his boxers clinging to the skin of his thighs. You clock the discarded bottle of lotion on the left side of his bed covers and then gawk at his glistening cock, wrapped up within his right fist.

‘Oh- fuck, sorry!’ You yelp suddenly, yourself unable to look away and Chris too stunned with embarrassment to rush and cover himself up. There would be no point now anyway, it was so fucking blatantly obvious what he was doing.

‘N-no please it’s my fault. I- I just didn’t want you to see. Thought I could get rid of it quietly’ Chris stutters back at you, now finally gaining the common sense to cover himself up by draping his duvet over his nakedness so that he could regain some of his decency back. But his decency quickly crumbles once again when you let out a huge breath. You relax, your eyes blinking as you cock your hip to the side. ‘Why’d you stop…?’.

Chris swallows nervously and his jaw goes slack at your question, he furrows his brows, slightly confused, ‘why’d I- why’d I stop?’. His voice sounds hoarse and he has to clear his throat ever so slightly in awkwardness.

‘Yeah… doesn’t really bother me to be honest’.

His hands are shaking underneath the plushness of his silky covers.

‘Umm… well I just thought you’d be a little weirded out by it that’s all… s’that not normal?’ He chokes out, feeling it very queer to be having a conversation with you like this, still hyper aware that his cock is painfully hard and that you can probably still see it poking up from under his bedsheets. He squirms around at this thought, his cheeks red and emanating heat.

You just shrug. ‘I mean… for some people probably, but not me’ you smirk ‘what were you thinking about?’. As if Chris isn’t embarrassed enough already, this question makes everything so much worse. ‘Umm… well I- uh’ he bumbles stupidly, struggling to find the words, which just makes you even more smug. You’re not stupid, you had heard him mumble your name from the other side of the door before you had burst it open.

‘C’mon Chris be a big boy now and spit it out’ you chided him, walking towards him a little. In response to this he shuffles further back up his bed, trying to get away from the overwhelming burden of having to admit that it was you he was thinking about.

‘Umm… just- stuff’ he jitters, and you roll your eyes. ‘Don’t bullshit my Chris, you and I both know that it was me… believe it or not you weren’t dealing with it as “quietly” as you thought you were’. Chris knows there’s no way to possibly skirt around this, so his chest deflates and he sighs. Fucking curse him for being too noisy. His eyes shyly look to his bedcovers, refusing meet yours. ‘Fine… it was you. Sorry… I just couldn’t help it’. His hand not covered in a thin layer of lotion comes up to his eyes and pinches them shut.

‘Don’t be sorry. I’m flattered to be on your mind. Because you sound so pretty getting off to the thought of me…’ you smirk when Chris snaps his eyes open, his misty blue irises flicking about your face to scan for any hint of a lie. But there’s none there to detect because you are being genuine with him.

Chris is a very interesting person, so you feel like he’s the kind of guy to have interesting kinks… I mean… look at him, so feminine yet so fucking masculine at the same time. He’s the kind of person that anyone would be lucky to taste before they die.

‘Yeah? You think about me with your hand down your pants often Chris?’ You taunt him, your heady smirk working him up into a flustered state of stuttering. ‘No! Well- I- yes… but it’s not like-’.

He vigorously tries to defend himself but he only makes a mess of his speech pattern, so you do him a favour by hushing him softly. You’re now towering over him, his big eyes trained on you and his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. ‘What do you like Chris?’ You ask, leaving the question opened ended. This could have been about anything, but of course, you only have one goal in mind. You want to know what gets him going, gets him hard, gets his back arching and his legs spreading…

‘What do you mean…?’ Chris decides to play dumb, his shyness seeping through every pore in his body. ‘Chris you know what I mean. What keeps you up at night… what do I do in your imagination that makes you want to touch yourself until you’re making a mess all over yourself hm?’ Your voice is light and gentle whilst you bravely reach your hand out to cup underneath his jaw. You lift his chin gently, the weight of his head softly resting on your hand as he swallows again.

‘I like…’ he mumbles breathlessly, struggling to get the rest of the words out before you are peeling back his sweetie pie pink covers to expose him. You look down to see his thighs twitching slightly at being revealed to you once again. ‘Oh Chris that looks sore baby…’ you coo, and his hips squirm. ‘Keep going’ you respond to him, wanting him to finish answering your question. But this time, you reach out your hand to grasp onto his cock, his texture warm and damp.

Chris bites his lip and feathers his eyes closed, his head tipping back and a boiling hot surge of pleasure scalding his gut as soon as you start to work your hand against his slick skin. ‘Um… look- look in my bedside drawer…’ he moans, his voice struggling to crawl up his throat without a whine tinging to every single word. You furrow your eyebrows, keeping your hand on Chris as you lean over to use your other one, which wraps around the handle of his drawer slowly.

Sliding it out, you look inside to see all of the typical things kept in a man’s nightstand, as well as some girlier things like a bundle of different pearl necklaces, but you’re not interested in that.

You’re more interested in the pink silk ribbons, that are long enough to wrap tightly around someone’s wrists and restrain them there.

‘Chris… are these for…’ you trail off, subconsciously squeezing his cock a little harder as your eyes sparkle at the cheeky silk ties. Chris nods, filling in the gaps for you and answering your suspicions with an ‘uhuh’.

Your hand dives in without a moment to lose, fishing out the exiting looking toys that you can play with. ‘Chris you little slut’ you giggle with a surprised air about you, admiring the way he looks at the ribbons as you place them on his bed.

‘Hey! M’not a slut!!’ He snaps his head back up to look at you, whining in offence, but you shake your head, finding that so fucking hard to believe.

‘Is that so… well, in that case I’ll just have to make you into one using them then’ you slur seductively, before slinging your leg over his naked lap. Chris nearly chokes at your fast actions whilst you fully straddle him and push his back into the headboard. Wrestling one of his wrists up to the holed wood Chris pants and slides his bottom half further down onto the bed so that he can lie on his torso whilst you tie his hand to the headboard. Chris doesn’t put up a fight… he wants this.

He’s wanted it for so long.

The second one doesn’t come long after.

He hisses suddenly at how tightly you had tied them, his wrists practically unable to move in their awkward position slung up over his head and pinned to the headboard. The pretty pink silk brushing against his skin delicately makes him ache, and he admires your work.

‘Where’d you learn how to do that?’ He utters in breathless wonder whilst you find it hard not to smirk at what you’re going to do next. ‘Practice’ you muse whilst Chris shuffles about, unable to get comfortable. Your hands then shoot out and come to rest on the yellow bandana neatly pushing back his long wavy hair.

‘W-wait, what are you doing?’ he stutters as you use them to gently slide the fabric down over his eyes. This conceals his line of vision, and you watch the way his fingers and arms flex helplessly, his mind immediately trying to move his hands to push the bandana back up onto his forehead. But it’s no use, and he moans in frustration when he realises that there’s no way he’s going to be able to slip the bandana back up because his wrists are restrained.

‘Fuck… t-that’s not fair!’ He cries out in defiance but all you do is snigger, getting off of the bed so that you can admire the way his long legs stretch out to the bottom of his bed and kick about restlessly, his cock still red and throbbing whilst his colourful t-shirt rides up just above the curves of his slutty little waist. Strands of his soft looking hair fall over the yellow bandana that rests on the delicate curve of his nose whilst he twists his neck from side to side, his wrists bending and yanking helplessly against his silk ties.

‘Oh really? If you’re going to be a naughty boy and touch yourself like that without my permission then you’re going to be treated like a naughty boy’

Chris’ cheeks flame at how much he enjoys this degradation, his prick now painful and needing to be touched once again.

‘You got anymore requests before I give you what you want baby boy?’ You quip, extremely excited and getting wet at the fact that Chris has absolutely no idea what you’re going to do to him because of the blindfold obscuring his vision.

Chris hums, debating on whether or not to reveal to you his deepest and most yearned for sexual fantasy.

You don’t skate around his debate though, ‘Chris just say it, I think we’re a little too far into our friendship now to judge each other’. He sighs at this and stops biting his lip in contemplation.

‘Can I- can I call you mommy? Please’ he shyly requests and your stomach squeezes at the idea of being called mommy. You’re not surprised that Chris has a mommy kink, it’s pretty obvious with the way he carries himself, his actions are always so soft and delicate.

‘You can call me whatever you like Chris’ you say, before crawling back onto the bed. Chris’ back arches at the freedom you give him and his head twists from side to side yet again, trying to look in vain to see if there is anyway he can possibly clock where you are. But it’s no use. His makeshift blindfold has completely obliterated his sense of sight, equally, his sense of touch is also limited which heightens his other senses tenfold.

Running your finger tips up the inner sides of his thighs, he shivers with his breathing hitched and his shoulders heaving. He looks so sweet practically defenceless before you.

‘Go on then Chris… call me mommy… beg for it’. Chris whines into the back of his throat when he feels the pad of your thumb slowly sliding over his weeping tip. ‘Please mommy- call me a slut, I don’t care… just- just touch me’ he breathes, a surge of power flowing through your veins at the way you can make him unravel at the sound of your voice. Even the faintest of touches to his cock makes him worm about pathetically.

‘There’s a good boy’.

Finally, you find it right to praise him, and by god does it illicit the desired reaction. Chris’ lips curve up into a proud little smile, his legs spreading and his head throwing all the way back to put his powerful jaw on show, his masculine neck heavily contoured and highlighting his strong throat structure within the dim lighting of his room. ‘I am a good boy mommy’ he meekly responds back whilst your hand rewards him further by wrapping itself around him yet again.

He feels nice in your palm, warm and thick, precum dribbling down his tip and mixing with the lotion that is still making him sticky enough to easily slide your hand over him. And doesn’t he just look like the sweetest darling, all messy and panting beneath you?.

‘You like the way I touch you? Is this the kind of thing you dream about baby?’ You muse as you work your hand along him to stimulate his prick. You know he’s not going to last long, he had edged himself enough already before you had interrupted him. And you know that he is most likely going to have the most earth-shattering orgasm at your touch.

He nods shakily, his hips thrusting up accidentally to get more friction. ‘All the time’ he states, this time a little more confidently, and you hum in satisfaction.

‘You look pretty in pink baby boy’ you suddenly compliment him, and this makes Chris the happiest he’s been yet. He gets flustered and shy, especially after you stroke his ego with telling him he looks nice is his favourite colour. Something about someone complimenting him in that way makes him feel soft and light. ‘Thank you mommy…s’my favourite’ he shyly peeps, his voice as smooth as butter and making your thighs quiver. You’ll definitely be around at his place a lot more often after this to get even more of his strawberry goodness.

‘I know sweet boy… and that’s why you look so pretty in it’ you praise him even more, and he moans uncontrollably, his cock twitching within your hand. ‘Fuck, is my good boy ready to cum already?’.

He hums vigorously. ‘Y-yes mommy… so bad’. You sigh, feeling sad that this moment is over so soon, because he just looks so pretty tied up and blindfolded below you, but you conclude that he’s suffered enough already with having to hold on for this long, and so you let him cum.

‘Okay then sweet boy, you cum when you’re ready’.

And cum he does, a fuck load. It melts and drips all over his stomach, and Chris curses into the air after every time your hand works down his length with a squeezing motion to get rid of as much cum as you can. After the sticky strings of them are spent and Chris whines in overstimulation, you let go of his cock.

Chris thinks it’s over, and he cools down with his chest heaving and his mouth panting, that is, until you unexpectedly place your hands on his stomach, right into his puddle of cum.

Chris chokes when your hands start to make a slow ascent up his stomach, past his happy trail and up to his chest, absolutely covering him in his own cum. He moans at this, feeling your sticky fingers trailing over his rib cage. You smirk at him.

‘Thought you weren’t a slut Chris…? Good boys don’t like this kind of thing’.

His tilted head snaps back up, cutting his enjoyment short with a pout and a pitiful ‘but I am a good boy-’, his blindfold still completely concealing the way his eyes are probably glassing up with worry. ‘Really? Because I don’t think so…’ you tease once again, knowing that it’s just going to get him even more worked up. Gathering up a dollop of his cum onto two of your fingers you sneakily gravitated them up to his mouth whilst he fusses about underneath you.

To shut him up, you use your spare hand to open up his mouth fully and slot your two fingers onto his tongue. ‘Shhh, suck on this baby, you just focus on how you taste and I’ll worry about everything else, that’s what mommy’s are for yeah?’.

This quiet babying seems to work to get Chris to calm down, and his needy figure relaxes whilst curling his tongue around your two fingers and licking off his own cum. He swallows it all in one go. Removing your hand from his mouth, finally, you let him see once again by pulling off the yellow bandana, leaving his hair in a ruffled, fluffy mess.

His lips are blood red and his cheeks are a light pink, his silk ties matching his sheepish complexion whilst he watches you unravel them. After they’re removed, you look to see the red marks they’ve left on Chris’ wrists from how tightly they had been tied and equally how hard Chris had been tugging against them within his pleasure filled trance.

Suddenly you begin to giggle. And you can’t stop. A tired looking Chris gazes over at you in confusion, his stomach and chest shining with a trail of his own cum.

‘What?’

He shuffles around insecurely, his shyness once again blocking up any other emotion.

‘Nothing… it’s just… I kinda always knew you had a mommy kink after you mumbled it in your sleep one time I was staying over. Think you were having a wet dream’.

Chris goes red once again, his eyes widening as he smacks his lips, grabbing his fluffy white pillow and affectionately hitting your head with it at not telling him sooner that you had actually heard something you shouldn’t have.

This of course, initiates a playful pillow fight between the two of you, which slowly transitions into somewhat of a messy make out session with your tongues twisting against each other’s and your noses brushing before you both collectively hear the sound of the smoke alarm going off in the kitchen.

You gasp and pull away from Chris’ sugary lips.

‘FUCK, THE BROWNIES!’

Author’s notes p.2: phew that was a lot. Can u guys tell I love the colour pink?? I’m lowkey obsessed with coquette baby girl Chris ngl, he’s literally the male embodiment of a Melanie Martinez song. I hope u guys enjoyed my take on sub!Chris, but request and ask me anything as always!! :) @luverboychris this one is for you wife, I know you’ve been waiting for it <3

Taglist: @lovingmattysposts @luvmila444 @luverboychris @luv4kozume @strniohoeee @sturniolosreads @thesturniolos @vecnasnose0 @meanttomeet @ellie-luvsfics @matthemunch @mattsleftnipple03 @robins-scoop @asturniolos @imwetforyourmom @sturnioloenthusiast @breeloveschris @kvtie444 @rootbeerworshiper @strawberrysturniolo @chr1sgirl4life @hrt-attack @gigisworldsstuff @stargirlsturniololover @imlidewwallyhittingdagwiddy @sturniololoverr @jahlisa22 @bernardsgf @luvasr @meg-sturniolo @blahbel668 @liz-stxrn @sturnreblog @ratatioulle @isabellehoran @carolsturns1 @1800chokedathoe @lovergirl4387 @sophie21153-blog

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sub matt sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo #mommy k!nk #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo x reader

[kamiversee]

➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

✧.* CHAPTER 20 || The Night of Regrets

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?

[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language, alcohol consumption, angst, smut, & fluff. (!!Brief drunk sex warning!!)

[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 4k

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.

[ [ chapters mlist } ]

——AND OH HOW YOU HATE being alone like this. Especially because it wasn't just a one-day thing.

No, instead, Choso distances himself from you.

It hurts like hell too. His messages get drier, and he has an excuse for every time you try to hang out with him, and your calls go unanswered.

What a sweet form of torture it is to have your crush give you the same treatment you give your blackmailer. At some point, you think you wallow yourself in a self-isolating pit of pity.

Shoko thinks she hears less from you more than ever, Gojo still receives the same treatment as always, Geto tries to comfort you every now and then but it's no use, and Choso continues to set boundaries for you and him.

It gets pretty rough for you mentally after that.

How are you supposed to deal with being stripped of the company of the one man who sought to bring you joy? There were some nights you cried about it and some nights you took out that stupid journal with that stupid list and scribbled out every name there-- only to rewrite it back afterward.

Reluctantly, you ended up telling Gojo that you managed to sleep with Choso, to which he was quick to send you money. Getting paid was nice and all but the money felt meaningless when you no longer had Choso by your side.

What's another six thousand dollars when the guy you like won't even read your texts anymore?

The panging you get in your chest every time you think about it all is dizzying. After all, no matter how you think about it, none of it is your fault.

Sure, you could've had your bedroom door closed that day Gojo walked in but... would such a small change have made any difference to your situation? The man could've still recorded you. Hell, knowing him, he probably would've.

You hate him so much.

You wish you knew how to express just how deep your hate for him goes but it's difficult to do so as he tries to make up for his wrongdoings.

Every notification from Gojo never fails to piss you off but it gets one hundred percent worse when you no longer have Choso around. Not being able to get with the man you like is obviously Gojo's fault so anything from that man reminds you of the situation and you get upset all over again.

This leads to one night full of mistakes, regrets, and... surprises.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

What started your unfortunate night was a final text from Choso that consisted of him explaining that it's hard to talk to you because of how he feels about you.

It was a long paragraph that explained how every time he talks to you, he wants to express his feelings more and more, which ultimately makes it difficult for him to communicate with you because it hurts to know that he's not yours and you're not his. Very explicitly, Choso basically says he doesn't want you to text him anymore.

He wasn't rude about it or anything; even making sure to carefully request such a thing in kind consideration of your feelings. Though, that didn't change how much it hurt.

Choso was your way out, your slim form of freedom. And yet, you lost it.

Where does this lead you? To a bar.

Was heading there the best decision in the world? Probably not. Did you care? Not one bit.

You needed something to relieve your stress, something to take this weight off your shoulders, even if only for one night. So there you sat, swallowing down drink after drink after drink in hopes of washing away all the pain you felt.

Does the sting of liquor down your throat and warmth over your body help you feel any better? For a moment, yes.

It was like all the voices in your head stopped screaming for just a second. No longer were you cursing yourself out for every mistake you've made leading up to now and no longer did you think of all the terrible things happening to you right now.

Instead, you felt just a slither of peace again. The sounds of laughter and soft clicks filled your ears as you calmed your brain, sinking into a tipsy state.

After swishing down your nth drink of the night, you found yourself feeling incredibly good. Almost too good, honestly. Not only was your body warm and your mind at ease but, there was this annoying pulse spurring in between your legs.

The only downfall of you drinking your sorrows away was that you happen to be one of the most unfortunate forms of drunk. Not any angry drunk, silly drunk, or sad drunk but, a horny one. And terribly at that.

The feeling is frustrating actually. It'd been a while since you last went out for a drink and you almost forgot how ridiculously horny you get after some time. The throbbing you feel is so very annoying, especially when all you can do is mentally replay events with Choso.

The man has actually made you squirt more than once. And every time it was because he was giving you head. You recall riding his face once, as per his begging request, and at this moment all you can remember was the way he looked at you and that damn tongue of his lapping at your cunt.

Just thinking about it again makes you dizzy, your stomach churning as you remember it all. His deep guttural groans and pretty whines still echo throughout your mind.

Then there's the way he fucked you-- the feeling of his cock hitting all the right places inside you, making you cry out his name for hours on end, and his praising words... it all haunts your mind.

Shit, now you're really horny. You wish you could call him. If he wasn't upset with you, you'd definitely call him right about now. You're so worked up that you could probably get off on just the sound of his voice right now.

A sigh leaves your lips as you realize you can't even call him. God, you miss him so much and it hasn't even been that long since the last time you saw him.

With a frown on your face, you move to rest your cheek against your knuckles, holding your head up with your hand.

"Y'know, the last thing I expected to find today was a wonderful piece of ass sitting at this bar with a frown on her face," A sudden voice to your left points out.

You physically revolt against the man's words to you. You don't even spare the male a glance in response to his comment, acting as though you didn't hear him.

A sudden god awfully strong collonge seeps into your nose, the smell clearly expensive but unpleasant nonetheless. Then, in your peripherals, you notice this male leaning toward you.

"Oi, I know you heard me." He pesters.

With a groan, you cut your eyes over to him, eyelids rising at the sight. Just your fucking luck, you managed to run into Naoya at the bar and he's absolutely disgusting. Well, at least every time he opens his mouth.

His face on the other hand makes up for it, to some extent. Your gaze is met with sharp brown irises from the male who just spoke.

Your upper lip twitches as you scrunch your face up at him, disgusted by his words to you. "I wasn't aware you were speaking to me." You hum plainly, glancing away from him.

He scoffs, "I cannot stand women who lie."

"That's wonderful but, I don't remember asking." You comment, your tone cold.

The arrogant man tuts, "And she's rude too? Hah, juuust my luck."

Slowly, you force yourself to turn your head to him, your gaze void of emotion. "If all you came over here to do is foolishly run your mouth, I suggest you fuck off because I'm not in the mood." You say to him.

The corner of his lips pulls into a smirk. Damn the way it resembles Toji most weirdly. "What are you in the mood for then, dollface?" Naoya questions.

Ugh, you cringe at his question. He's so very lucky that you have a list to complete because that's the only reason you're tolerating him right now.

"Truthfully? Mindless sex." You blurt out. It's very obvious that you're drunk by this point because the sober version of you would've never uttered such a thing, especially not to this asshole.

A haughty grin spreads across his visibly handsome features and dyed blonde hair with deep dark green roots sways whilst he tilts his head. "Well, then you're in luck. I happen to be an expert at that." Naoya tells you with a wink.

God, you hate everything about his personality already.

"Is that so?" You ask dryly.

"Yeah," He responds, clicking his tongue, "Maybe if you're good enough I'll show you."

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Instead, you slide out of the barstool you sat at and-- oh. He's taller than you expected him to be. Even so, you blink away the realization and simply sigh at his words.

"If I'm good enough? Please." You reply, "How about this, since I'm not in the mood to argue with you and make you feel small, I'll give you two options."

His brows push together, "Make me feel small? Excuse me-"

"You can either fuck me or fuck off." You interrupt coldly. Beneath your drunken state, you wish he'd fuck off and magically disappear from the list but unfortunately, that's not going to happen.

Naoya stammers for a moment in reaction to your straightforward words. After a second of collecting himself, he shrugs, "Well..." He chuckles, "How can I say no when you give yourself up to me so easily?"

Another sigh leaves you, "Right..." You say, finally allowing your eyes to roll before you grab a rough hold of his shirt and begin to drag him away from the bar.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

The whole thing is a mess.

For your first time having drunk sex in the bathroom at a bar like the true whore you've unwillingly become, it wasn't completely terrible.

Naoya may have a disgustingly offputting way with words but, he's not that bad as fucking you against the wall. Your chest and face are pressed into the cold bathroom wall as the man sloppily rutted into you from behind.

This was most definitely your lowest moment yet. The sex was so... vanilla. Naoya lacked foreplay in every way possible that you're pretty sure he doesn't even know what it is. Half of your moans were fake because there were only a few times when you felt the tip of his cock kiss that sweet spot inside you.

His thrusts were too fast and not in a pleasurable way but in a way that made you want to scoff. Naoya was pale in comparison to the past men you've been with. The only thing saving him was the size of his dick and the fact that you were already horny.

If not for those two factors, this whole thing would've been terrible. He tried dirty talk but it all went through one ear and out the other due to how terrible it was. To make up for that, you can't deny the fact that his grunts and groans turned you on.

"Aagh, fuck." Naoya would groan, his voice near your ear and causing your cunt to flutter around him.

There wasn't much else that he did that fueled your arousal though. You were mainly getting off on the sounds of sex and the few times he thrust into you at the proper angle. That aside, to even come close to an orgasm, you had to imagine you were with someone else.

It's sad but, at least the man's name would be checked off the list after this.

A single orgasm was building up within you the very second you imagined it was Choso with you. You could practically hear the way he'd moan into your ear, begging you to cum around his cock and make a mess of him.

The thought alone made your eyes roll back and you were so close. Then, to the least of your expectations, Naoya selfishly pulled out of you, leaving you high and dry.

Your brows furrowed quickly as you panted against the wall. With a loud grunt that fills the bathroom, Naoya cums embarrassingly onto the floor. You have to bat your eyelashes as you gather what the hell this man just did.

Surely he's not done... right?

To your disappointment, he is. The sound of Naoya fixing himself with not even a word uttered to you can be heard, his hands working his member back into his pants before he moves to wash his hands.

You blink in slow motion, pushing yourself off the wall and standing on legs that are also trying to process what just happened. You'd just been denied an orgasm completely.

You scoff, "Is this a joke...?"

Naoya raises his brows, "Is what a joke? You've fulfilled your purpose, you can go now." He dismisses.

And that does it for you. Annoyed, you move to hike your underwear back up your legs and then tug your dress down into place, feeling absolutely disgusted with what just occurred.

"You..." Another scoff exits your mouth, "You asshole..."

The man chuckles at your claim before heading toward the bathroom door, "I've heard worse." He hums, winking at you, "And hey, for what it's worth, you have good pussy." He... compliments?

You send the man a dumbfounded look. Is he for real right now? Like, is he so fucking for real right now??

"You could probably make lots of money off it, honestly," Naoya comments one last time before opening the door and leaving.

Your skin is crawling with an overwhelming feeling of disgust. Never in your life have you felt so utterly used. This feeling is worse than what Gojo's put you through. You're ashamed you even let that dickhead of a man put his dick inside you.

You shudder at what you just did, a permanent scowl stuck to your face. This is worse than when you thought Choso left you. Hell, you'd prefer that a million times over what that misogynistic fuckface just said and did to you.

After gathering yourself and making sure you don't look like a complete mess, you are about to leave the bathroom when the nasty mess he left on the floor catches your eye. Even drunk, you didn't have it in you to leave such indecency on the floor.

So, you were quick to grab paper towels and clean it up, saving the janitor who'd later have to come in there from doing so.

After that, you toss the paper towel into the trash and stumble out of the bathroom. With everything you just experienced, another round of drinks is screaming your name. There's absolutely no way you're going to allow yourself to sober up after that.

So, you make your way back over to the bar and return to your previous activities, now feeling so unsatisfied and unhappy with everything.

Every drink you swallow down merely provides you with a temporary moment of satisfaction. The second you feel that the excessive drinking isn't working, you feel sad all over again, just like how you did when you first entered the bar.

You wanted to cry and scream at the same time. Your head was spinning and your vision began to blur a little, terrible feelings bubbling up inside you as your regret washed over you faster than the alcohol washed down your throat.

When your eyes grew teary, you were quick to scramble for your phone. If not anything else, the one thing you could use right now is either a good fuck that'd make you stop thinking or, someone who can give you genuine advice so that you don't feel so shitty anymore.

And who can provide either of those things for you? Well, none other than Geto Suguru himself.

Your thumb swiped through your recent calls, hazily spotting his contact and calling him. The phone rings for barely even a second, the call connecting as soon as you lift the device to your ear.

"Hello?" The man's voice rings through your ears, making you smile ever so slightly.

You swallow, "Hi Sugu..." Your words are so obviously slurred to anyone listening.

There's a second of silence before he responds, "Hey, you alright?"

"N-No..." You hum, "Can you uhm... C-Come pick me up?" You suddenly whisper drunkenly.

You hear a sigh then some shuffling, "Where are you?" He asks.

You giggle, "The bar."

There's another pause. Then, you hear him sigh again, "What bar, sweetheart?"

"I'll send you the uhm... the uh..." Your brain suddenly freezes as you search for your words.

He makes up for you, "Address...?"

"Yeah, yes. That." You say quickly.

A slight chuckle is heard over the phone, "Alright, send me the address, sweets. I'll be there soon."

"M'kayy," You hum as you move to send him the address.

You end up simply sending your location but you were too drunk to see the difference, not that it mattered. As the message is sent, an amused chuckle is heard over the phone.

You furrow your brows, bringing the cell back to your ear, "What's so funny?"

"What're you doin' all the way across town, love?" He asks in return, finding it humorous.

You pout, "I dunno, can't remember why I came all the way-," You burp slightly, "Out here."

You can't see it but the male shakes his head, "I see. Are you drunk?" He asks, tone concerned.

You smile, "Mayyybe."

"Maybe? Yes or no, sweetheart."

"Yeah, kinda." You sigh.

He hums and you can hear soft car noises in the background, "And I assume you're alone...?"

"Mhm."

"Why?"

"Didn't wanna bother Shoko with my..." You sigh heavily, "My problems."

"Did something happen?" The man questions, "Why would you go out drinking alone?"

"I dunno Sugu, I just need to drink away my problems, y'know?"

"You could've done that with..." He trails off for a second before finishing, "With me."

You yawn, "Yeah, I could've..." Your words come out lower and the man over the phone can tell you're growing drowsy.

"Are you fallin' asleep on me over there?" He asks, chuckling slightly but clearly nervously.

You move to lay your head down on the bar, just barely holding your hold up against your ear, "Mhm."

The sound of him sighing is heard, "Need you to stay awake for me, sweetheart."

"Sugu..." You mumble tiredly, "Why do you keep calling me that?"

There's a sudden silence over the phone.

A throb pains your head and you wince at the abrupt feeling. "S-Suguru?" You call out, your voice revealing your pained state.

"Y-Yeah?" He responds.

"You didn't answer my question..."

"I know." He states, "Are you okay over there? You sound hurt? What's wrong? Talk to me please." The male rambles, clearly panicked by the sound of your voice.

The most he knows is that you're at some bar alone and drunk so to hear you in pain has his heart worried in more ways than one.

You struggle to respond to him as you steadily slip from consciousness.

"Fuck, c'mon, don't fall asleep on me." He urges, his voice anxious.

"M-Mhm..." You mumble.

"Sweetheart, listen to the sound of my voice okay? I can't have you pass out before I get there."

You groan a little, "...Okay."

He smiles at your reply, "Keep yourself awake by talking to me, tell me about your day."

"M-My day?" You frown, "It was shitty..."

"S'that why you went out for a drink? You had a bad day?" The way his voice has gone all soft makes your heart throb for some reason.

Your eyes get teary all of a sudden, "Y-Yeah."

"Tell me what happened." He requests, "You can do that, right?"

"Uhuh..." You agree.

"Good girl," The male praises, his words giving you encouragement. "C'mon, tell me what happened."

"Well..." You steadily begin to explain the events of your day.

From how normal it was to how Choso's single text ruined your mood and then to the terrible sex you just had, you explain everything over the phone with a slur to your words every now and then. Your explanation comes out slowly since you're fighting sleep but you get through it.

"Then I..." You exhale softly, "Then I called you."

"I see." He hums, "Well, I'm right around the corner so keep your eyes open til' I get there."

"No promises." You say with a chuckle.

"Not funny, sweets. I need you awake." He replies sternly.

You groan, "Whyyy do you keep calling me thaaaat?" You whine.

Again, there's no response to your question.

"I'm gonna hang up on you, Suguru." The chances of you doing so are unlikely but you are seconds away from falling asleep.

"You better not." He says.

"Then tell me why..." Your voice fades out as your eyes shut comfortably. Mentally, you got your question out but realistically, your sentence trailed off.

Distorted sounds of your name being called are heard in your ear but second after second, the sounds fade away and blissful white noise engulfs you.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Your sleeping frame is spotted by the man you called as soon as he enters the bar minutes later, his heart rate all over the place. Quick and long strides are made to approach your resting body and hands fly to your face, lifting your head from the cold and dirty bar to get a good look at you.

Even through your sleep, you're pretty sure you hear a familiar voice whisper to you, "What am I gonna do with you?"

Those same hands move from your face and to under your legs and behind your back. Your limp body is lifted from your seat bridal-style and your head relaxes against a lean chest.

The slap of brisk fresh air causes you to stir awake for only a moment. Your eyes flutter open and the smell of cologne is in your nose, the scent almost... nostalgic? It quickly makes you think of Gojo for some strange reason.

"Suguru?" You croak out.

The male holding you is quick to look down at you, his eyes filled with worry. "Sweetheart, you gave me quite a scare," He says softly, his voice making your brows furrow. "Are you okay?"

You groan and rub your temples, feeling the remnants of a pounding headache. "Not... really," You admit, your voice still slurred from the alcohol. "And why do you..."

You end up trailing off as you shift your gaze upwards to the face of the person holding you right now. The question gets stuck in your throat while you eye the man's face.

Soft blue eyes are peering lowly at your drunken expression, a firm pair of slender hands carrying you as if you weigh nothing, ruffled white hair bright enough to blind someone and a face that's all too angelic for the hate you hold for it.

After a gulp, you bat your eyelashes and squint, wondering if you're seeing things. "Gojo?" You whisper softly.

A beautifully broken smile is given to you along with the sound of a shaky yet relieved sigh, "Yeah?"

You pout, "Why are you here...?"

"Well, love," His voice is gentle, "When you call..." He leans just a little bit closer to you, "...I come running."

GOJO SATORU ✔︎

GETO SUGURU ✔︎

TOJI FUSHIGURO ✔︎

KAMO CHOSO ✔︎

ZEN'IN NAOYA ✔︎

NANAMI KENTO ☐

??? SUKUNA ☐

mlist || previous chapt || next chpt

#the f*ck list #the fuck list #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #gojo x reader #choso x reader #toji x reader #nanami x reader #sukuna x reader #naoya x reader #geto x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #sukuna ryomen x reader #nanami kento x reader #choso kamo x reader #smut fic #jjk smut #gojo smut #geto smut #choso smut #toji smut

[aoxizu]

i have another 2.1 character dynamic post in the recesses of my brain but i need to get this out first

star rail's 2.1 update main plotline leans a lot more into existentialism and absurdism than i thought it would which is a really nice surprise

like i thought before 2.0 that at most it was just going to be some "oh no capitalism bad ipc bad cults also bad" thing but honestly what we got is so much more interesting. the spoilers start now

also massive disclaimer i am not a philosophist and actually i really don't like philosophy because it makes my brain hurt and i would much rather just look at logical nice things like math and plants so. if i get anything wrong please correct me

acheron's past and how she became an emanator of nihility reminds me somewhat of the absurdist theme of how people always look for meaning when there isn't any, until they finally realize that the universe is meaningless

and the entire path of nihility basically is a road towards that realization that people tread on, and the difference between the real world and star rail is that in the real world here we have people who will see that and then go write a book about a guy not crying at his mother's funeral, whereas in star rail it seems that just accepting that the universe is meaningless turns you into a pathstrider or even emanator of the nihility (not sure if i remember the details, correct me if i'm wrong)

and then aventurine's whole motivation is trying to understand why the universe is so cruel to him, and to find meaning when you have everything except freedom, both of which are absurdist themes

the leap of faith argument often attributed to søren kierkegaard claims that even though there is no rational logic for believing in god, you should do it anyway because the alternatives are madness, suicide, and ignorance. this was one solution to the problem of confronting the universe's meaninglessness: choosing to believe in a higher being regardless

later world wars i and ii both contributed heavily to the rise of absurdism as people returned from the war, having seen so many others die around them, and then just going back to a normal society with none of what they as individual soldiers had contributed seemingly doing anything. and then it happened again, but on a much greater scale with even more deaths. both wars and the destruction they brought led many people to start questioning why a supposedly moral god could allow this suffering, and this is where camus comes in and says that actually religion and nationalism both aren't good solutions, and instead we should just accept meaninglessness and keep living despite the absurdity

and i think dr ratio's scroll thing kind of relates to that

he tells aventurine to open it when he's about to die, or when he's completely out of answers for the question of how to confront absurdity

and dr ratio's answer for aventurine is to just tell him to keep living, good luck

which is. yeah

it's the argument that there are more answers to nihilism than just 1) going insane, 2) pretending like it doesn't exist, and 3) dying

it's the bold claim that despite everything, you can still choose to live

sure nothing makes sense but that does not detract from your life. it doesn't need to make sense at all

and with the understanding that things do not need to fit our human definition of meaning, we can continue on knowing our true place in the universe

and with that aventurine walks into the very big black hole like look at that thing you cannot tell me there is no symbolism there

let's go back to acheron.

in the part where you get a snippet of acheron's conversation with some guy just before this cutscene, the other party states that "[IX] leave[s] woven strands of fate for humans to walk, and together THEY weave a great shadow...And this shadow silently envelops them."

which to me sounds like a statement on how people across time and space have again and again come to the same question, what is the meaning of life?

and acheron's whole color thing seems to mean that she is one of the few who, after walking so far on the path of nihility, somehow have not died yet, be it from madness or something else

like it seems implied that many many more have seen the meaninglessness of the universe and have not reacted as well as acheron has

ok i have more to say about the elation and how it in turn relates to the nihility but that will have to come later but there is. a lot of interesting things there to explore

once again disclaimer: I Am Not A Philosophist And Do Not Know What The Correct Definitions Of These Words I'm Throwing Around Are. thank you for coming to my ted talk that was more of a longwinded ramble

#hsr #honkai star rail #2.1 spoilers #hsr aventurine #dr ratio #(briefly but i think i might have more to say about him later once my brain gets working) #acheron #hsr analysis #i should make a tag for that because this is probably not the last time i'm going on a wild tangent about star rail #but bad #bad hsr analysis #someone save me and take me back to the luofu i don't want to be doing english homework while playing a supposedly relaxing upbeat game #or whatever it was that shaoji promised in the 2.0 livestream #i just want to go back and see dan heng and jing yuan and qingque and bailu and you get the point #get me out of this dreamscape.

[brights-place]

John Dory X Country Troll! reader? PLEASEEE

John Dory X Country! S/O

Pairings: John Dory X Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Slight Angst at the end neheheheh

A/N: Ah yes the country trolls I LOVE THEM SO MUCH THEY ARE SO CUTEEEEEEEEE! anyways love yall ( ˶˘ ³˘(⋆❛ ہ ❛⋆)!♡ - COUNTRY TROLLS ARE SO CUTE LIKE OML HAVE YOU SEEN THEIR DESIGNS?!? OMG LIKE THEY ARE SO COOL LOOKING! - John dory once he broke up with brozone explored and met diffrent genres but then... He met you when visiting the country trolls - You were an country troll and you were gorgeous you had the basic troll body type from the waist upwards and wore you usual country troll attire with the lower half of their bodies being that of a horse, complete with hooves and tails. your F/c tail and hair and 2nd f/c skin - Your hair was fluffy and puffy it was gorgeous and made john dory eyes widened you were talking to delta with an huge smile the two of you sitting at an table together as you re-tuned delta is banjo - John dory couldn't help but slow down his walk to stare at it before seeing you noticing John dory as an look of confusion appeared on your face - You walked over staring down at John Dory and the fact you towered over him made him blush slightly as he stared "Uhm- I-" he started as you raised an brow "Whats your name sugar cube?" you said as he became even redder - "John... John Dory" he said trying to sound tough and dominant but became quiet once you raised an brow "John what?" You asked again as he blushed as Delta raised an brow judging John dory - You decided to welcome him but delta judged John dory and telling you to be careful which you were but you wanted to make him feel safe with you guys - Delta soon was fine with John dory around as Delta spoke pointing towards you doing your daily chores "Don't be scare bumpkin'! Our precious (name) is one of the best cowboys in town and you won't find someone like her! She's like a needle in a hay stack, she is!" Delta said chuckling as John dory watch you from afar - He asked about you and country trolls whenever he was wondering and you explained some common values and beliefs often associated with Western societies include individualism, democracy, human rights, the rule of law, freedom of speech, equality, and a strong emphasis on personal and economic freedom. - He literally paid attention to every single thing you said and literally fell in love with you the moment you turned to him smiling and then asking him about pop music and pop troll culture - You wanted to know stuff about him? he literally smiled talking about himself self and he introduced you to some pop music which you then decided to introduce him to country music showing him and teaching him about country music but you literally froze when he spoke up - "Whoa... so its hillbilly music?" literally had to run away as you chased him around he easily lost the small cat and mouse chase and was close to being beaten the shit out of by you - Delta and other cowboys had to hold you back before you told them what he said and everybody was close to beating Up JD who apologized quickly but got stink eyes from many Country trolls

- Since most of country trolls eat  BBQ good most of the time you make him food for fun - He likes when you take him out on rodeos or take him out for dinner whenever he finds it nice and relaxing - He was dancing with you at an barn dance and you placed your cowboy hat ontop of his head and walked away some country trolls jaws drop - "Wow! They done give y'all their cowboy hat? Y'all have a good time now, (Names) sure are picky 'bout what they like." Delta said chuckling patting John dorys shoulder as John raised an eyebrow at her confused "What?" - Wear the Hat and ride the cowboy IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!!! -Because of your four legs your quite fast at running, have great endurance and are quite strong all of country trolls are but loves when you run around with him sitting and chatting with you as he tells you stories about his trips while you do your duties

- You two started to get close and he'd randomly kiss your cheek whenever he can or pull down your cowboy hat to tease you while your chatting with country trolls who snicker at both of your interactions - You would go on picnic dates and teach him how to do survival skills and he'd learn them and find most of them useful using them himself when he goes exploring - You and Him would have an photo of both of you together smiling and singing that some country trolls took - But John dory explores and travels around he doesn't stay in one place that's normal for him but for you... you were hurt - You cried calling out to "John Please you can't just leave" you said tearing up "(name please you know I move around alot you know this had to be coming right?" You stared to the sand floor before looking up to him with furrowed eyebrows as he spoke "(name)" he started but you cut him off as he reach an hand out to you "Don't... John listen if you do this I won't forgive you we literally are together and if you do this I'm repeating myself but I won't forgive you and what we have will no longer - He left... like he did with the other genres of trolls he left you after you begged him to stay longer or just live with you

reblogs + comments are appreciated ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

©brights-place 2023 — do not repost on another platform, copy, translate or edit my works! if you fit my DNI list please don't interact!

#fluff #headcannons #x reader #trolls #trolls band together #trolls 3 #dreamworks trolls #john dory headcanons #john dory x reader #trolls x reader #brozone x reader #john dory trolls #trolls fandom #trolls dreamworks #brozone #john dory

[heyiwrotesomethings]

Hi!, I saw your requests were open, If it’s okay maybe kirari’s secret girlfriend/wife coming to the school and everyone reacting to how similar or different they are?

Not So Different

Kirari Momobami x She/Her Reader

A/N: There is something special about a character who seems nice but can actually be pretty scary. I like it. Anyway, here you go, I hope you like it! Word Count: 2,513

The student population was abuzz after the student council president, Momobami Kirari, gracefully slid out of the glossy black car she arrived in every morning, but this time, with a catch. She held her hand back out to the open car door, and to the surprise of those who cared enough to pay attention, a hand emerged to grasp it.

Another girl slid out of the leather car seat behind Kirari and even after the chauffeur closed the door and returned to his seat to drive away, the girl’s hand remained with Kirari’s as they walked towards the school gates. Though she was wearing the school’s uniform, no one recognized the girl at all. A new student perhaps? And already in the claws of the president, poor thing.

“Good morning, President!” Sayaka greeted her at the front gate as she did every morning, then with less enthusiasm and a smidge of bitterness, she greeted the other girl as well, “Good morning, (Y/n). Welcome to Hyakkaou.”

“Thank you, Sayaka. Good to see you again.” (Y/n) smiled earnestly.

Of course Sayaka seemed to know what was going on. Though Kirari had a vexing mysteriousness about her, no one was more suited, nor dedicated enough to chip her way through than Sayaka. Though even she would say she only knew the tip of the iceberg when it came to Kirari. Although she did know a lot more than the average person, including the fact that Kirari had been betrothed to (Y/n) before either of them had even been born, something about dangerous business deals and complicated Bami Clan traditions for the family head.

Until recently, it was forbidden for the arranged couple to even be seen together in public until the Honebami family had disposed of all the threats. This would be the joining of two very important and influential families after all. Many contracts and a stupid amount of money was hedging on this union.

Now with all possible usurpers and hired guns sinking to the bottom of the Mariana Trench, the couple was given more freedom to do as they pleased which Kirari promptly took advantage of by helping (Y/n) transfer to Hyakkaou.

“President, I have tea warming in the student council room should you like a cup before the morning meeting begins.”

Kirari hummed thoughtfully, tilting her head towards (Y/n), “Would you care to come for tea, my dear? At the very least it would be a good way to meet the rest of the council.”

“Sounds good to me!” Came the chipper response.

Most of the student council was already loitering about the room doing their own thing, but seeing a new face joining the President had piqued the interest of a few members.

“Ooo, who’s this, Kirari?” Runa asked around a mouthful of cherry hard candies. She had only barely glanced up before returning her eyes to the colorful screen in front of her.

“This is my fiancée, (Y/n). She will be joining us for the remainder of our last year. It would have been preferable if we could have shared more of our school days together, but such is life.”

“Better than nothing.” (Y/n) smiled, giving Kirari’s hand a quick squeeze.

“No way, fiancée?” Yumemi gasped. “When did this happen? I’ve been so out of the loop!”

“This union was predetermined by fate and the stars before we even existed.” Kirari colorfully explained, taking her seat at the front of the table, almost dragging (Y/n) down with her, but she declined to sit in Kirari’s lap. Kirari gave a low hum of disappointment.

“It was a high stakes arranged marriage.” (Y/n) corrected. “It wasn’t safe for us to be in public together until recently. For a time, the less people who knew about it, the better.”

“Oh, okay. I know a thing or two about paparazzi myself,” Yumemi flipped her hair over her shoulder, “They just gobble relationship gossip up.”

It was a little more involved than paparazzi, but neither Kirari nor (Y/n) cared enough to get into it.

“Well, it’s good to be meeting you now.” Yuriko chimed in, fidgeting a bit nervously in her seat, “Will you be joining the council?”

“Wouldn’t that be interesting.” Kirari spoke first, “Although… there aren’t any seats open, are there? Not now that I let Sumeragi in due to her father’s generous contributions. Would you give up your spot, Yuriko?”

Yuriko flinched. Why had she opened her mouth at all?! She couldn’t lose her place on the council! Her lip wobbled and she tried to speak, but fortunately, (Y/n) saved her.

“Don’t be mean, Kirari,” she gave Yuriko a reassuring look, “Don’t worry, student government isn’t my thing.”

“Oh…” Yuriko visibly relaxed in her seat, making Runa and Midari laughed.

“I’ll just come by to hang out. You guys can just pretend I’m not even here.”

“Already on it.” Kaede grumbled, clacking away at his laptop.

“Then perhaps keep your mouth closed, Manyuda. If that is truly your intent.” Kirari warned, eyeing the treasurer over the rim of her tea cup.

“Spooky, Prez!” Midari grinned, “I’ve never seen your puffy sleeves get ruffled so easily before.”

“Let’s all just simmer down.” (Y/n) took the seat between Kirari and Ririka, resting a hand on Kirari’s thigh. Kirari’s demeanor returned to normal with a single lazy blink. (Y/n) turned her attention to Ririka next.

Though Kirari had explained to her that Ririka was supposed to be the mysterious vice president until the proper time, whatever that meant, she still wanted acknowledge her soon to be sister-in-law anyway.

“Good morning.” She greeted with a quick wink.

Ririka smiled beneath her mask and gave a nod in return. Shortly after, Itsuki came running in just before the meeting was set to start. Frazzled, the girl looked for an extra chair. (Y/n) offered hers up.

“I should look around the school and find my classroom anyway.” She told Kirari, “Good luck with your schemes!”

“Schemes,” Kirari smiled, amused, “Really now?”

“Yes, schemes.” (Y/n) affirmed. She wasn’t blind to this whole house pet racket Kirari had going on, but growing up in the families that they did, she hardly batted an eye. “See you in class.”

Because of course Kirari made sure they would be in the same third year Hana class. Though Kirari would have rather her stay to help ease the boredom the meeting would surely bring, she let (Y/n) go explore.

“Are you sure you should let her just wander around? She is new…” Yuriko tentatively spoke up against her better judgment.

“Yeah, wouldn’t that be something if your girlfriend became a house pet while your back was turned?” Midari cackled and leaned back in her chair. “A nice girl like that will be sniffed out and ripped apart in no time.”

Kirari giggled resting her knuckles beneath her chin. Looking at her in just the right light, one would see a wild glint in those arctic ice eyes.

“Do you think so?” She asked.

***

“Yumeko, it was just a stupid rumor. You look like an idiot!” Mary hissed, pulling Yumeko away from the stairwell wall she was bent over, looking down for a sign of the president and her mysterious guest.

“Oh, it’s no rumor, Mary. It is one hundred percent factual that Kirari and her betrothed were recently given the green light to be in public together. It was such a big secret, that many of the family branches didn’t even know about it! Knowing Kirari, I would bet that with the restrictions lifted, she enrolled her fiancée to our school.”

“And what of it? Why do you care?” Mary crossed her arms, back stiff, annoyed that she had to follow Yumeko around all morning.

“It’s simple,” Mary swore she saw a glint of red in Yumeko’s eyes, “I want to gamble with her!”

“That’s so dumb,” Mary scoffed, but then, she reconsidered.

Actually, this could be good… If they could win a high stakes gamble against Kirari’s fiancée and make a house pet of her… that would surely get a rise out of the aloof tyrant masquerading as a student council president, right?

“You know what, count me in.”

“Yay, Mary!”

“Don’t touch me!”

“I could have sworn it was supposed to be on this floor… oh dear.”

Mary and Yumeko paused their little scuffle to stare at the girl who just passed them by. The way she checked every room placard as she walked cemented the fact that she just had to be new.

“Excuse me,” Yumeko wasted no time slipping in beside the girl, “are you lost?”

“Yes,” the girl sighed, relieved at the prospect of a helping hand, “I’m looking for the third year Hana classroom. Could you help me?”

“That’ll be easy enough,” Mary chimed in, “We’ll take you there.”

“Thank you guys so much. I’m (Y/n) by the way.”

“I’m Yumeko and this is Mary, nice to meet you!”

They shared a bit of small talk as they climbed the stairs to the third floor. When they reached the correct classroom, (Y/n) thanked them both.

“Thank you both for the escort. I’d love to give you a favor in return sometime.”

“You may be able to fill that favor in right now, actually,” Yumeko circled, finally stopping behind (Y/n) to drape her arms over her shoulders in a loose hug, “You are Kirari’s fiancée, right?”

“Yup, that’s me,” she chuckled, slipping out of Yumeko’s arms, “feels weird to get to tell people that now. Anyway, what’s the favor?”

“Mary and I want to gamble with you!”

“A gamble, with me?”

“Yes,” Mary came to stand beside Yumeko, trapping (Y/n) between them and the wall, “gambling is a big part of how this school functions. But you probably know that given whose circles you run in.” Mary tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice. Though (Y/n) seemed nice on the surface, she was still betrothed to Kirari who was by far the worst person Mary knew. (Y/n) could be just as deranged.

“Wow,” (Y/n) audibly exhaled, “an invitation already. Well, when in Rome, as the saying goes. Game of choice and stakes?”

“You’ll really do it?” Yumeko was practically foaming at the mouth, but (Y/n) didn’t bat an eye.

“Well, I have a favor to repay, don’t I?”

“Why don’t we take this to the library then.” Mary suggested.

(Y/n) soon found herself being ushered away from the classroom she had been searching for and into a library study room turned gambling den. Yumeko gave her an excited smile.

“Why don’t you pick the game, (Y/n). Then we may discuss the stakes…”

***

Sayaka had only left the student council room for a moment and already she had heard the most disturbing rumor. Jabami Yumeko, demon, Antichrist, what have you, had slithered up to (Y/n) like the snake she was and proposed a gamble!

Now, Sayaka’s feelings on (Y/n) had been… not so good in the past when she had first discovered the arrangement, but the girl had wormed her way into her heart, giving her the more direct praise and validation that Kirari was so stingy with. It also probably helped that she introduced Sayaka to her current therapist who in turn hooked Sayaka up with some really top tier medication.

Needless to say, the moment she heard (Y/n) and Yumeko’s name in the same sentence, she was bursting back into the student council room and falling over herself to tell Kirari.

“Really now?” Kirari rose from her chair, an easy smile spread across her blue stained lips. “This meeting can be picked up at a later date. I hope they haven’t started yet.”

“Are you going to stop them, President?” Sayaka asked hopefully.

“Oh Sayaka, of course not. I wish to observe.”

“Nyahahaha!” Runa laughed, “Alright, my interest is piqued too. Let’s see how the new girl holds against Yumeko.”

“Yumekooo!” Midari wailed, “I gotta see too!”

A majority of the council was curious and chose to follow Kirari and Sayaka through the halls, students parting like the Red Sea when they saw them coming. A frightening sight to behold. They sauntered into the library, found the correct study room, and crowded inside. Seating around the table, Yumeko had a crazed excitement about her, Mary was looking pale, and (Y/n) had her back to the new arrivals.

“Saotome is involved too? Oh, what a treat.” Kirari observed, “You couldn’t have found a better pair to test your gambling mettle against. Having fun, darling?”

(Y/n) slowly turned in her seat to look back at the invading council members and all but Kirari shuddered under her gaze and chilling smile. Apparently, (Y/n) was a pretty good match for Kirari after all. Though she seemed like a normal, easy-going girl on the surface, she could actually be quite vicious.

“Oh yeah, I’m having a great time. Yumeko and Mary put up quite a fight, but I think they are at the end of their rope.”

And sure enough, when the cards were cast to the table, (Y/n)’s were the highest possible combination, knocking both Mary and Yumeko’s out of the game.

“No…” Mary whispered, clenching her fists.

“We lost!” Yumeko’s heart was pounding, excited to hear exactly what it was she would be losing.

Before the game began, each girl had written down what they would make the others wager. Now was the moment of truth, what had (Y/n) forced Mary and Yumeko to wager.

“What have we lost, (Y/n), show us! I can’t wait another second!” Yumeko begged.

“Okayyyy,” (Y/n) peeled up a corner of the paper agonizingly slow and flipped it over. Mary and Yumeko leaned in to read, finding that they both owed… absolutely nothing. “There it is. You’re welcome. Try to mess with me like that again however, and I may not be so forgiving.”

Mary fell back against her chair, to emotionally exhausted to even feel relieved, while Yumeko slumped into her chair in disappointment.

“Well, it’s been nice meeting you, but I should to get ready for class. Kirari,” (Y/n) turned to face her, looking much more unassuming than she had a few moments ago, “walk with me?”

“Always, but let’s go somewhere more exciting.”

The couple exited the study room together, leaving everyone behind in various states of shock.

“This is where we differ most. You could have taken them for all they had and more. I don’t know exactly what Yumeko was hoping for beyond a gamble, but Mary surely wanted to take everything from you.” Kirari pondered as they walked.

“I just don’t see the appeal. I’d feel bad taking from people who didn’t know what they were getting themselves into.”

“Ah, but they should have known. You are my fiancée after all.”

“I guess you have a point.“ (Y/n) shrugged.

The couple made their way to the roof of the school and took off in Kirari’s private helicopter while rumors that the student council president and her fiancée were not as different as they initially seemed, spread. Not when it came to their gambling prowess anyway.

#kakegurui oneshots #kakegurui x reader #kirari momobami x reader #kirari x reader #kirari momobami #requests #anonymous

[7-wonders]

Hopes, Dreams, and Everything In Between (Morpheus x Reader)

Summary: Just when Morpheus finally escapes capture at the hands of the Burgess lineage and begins to make his way back to his realm, his weak connection to his power disappears completely. Left stranded in a world with no knowledge of what has transpired for over a century, no powers, and no clothes, Dream of the Endless must let down his guard and place his trust in a human whose path he was quite literally dropped in the middle of.

Word count: 10.7k

A/N: So! Here we are, with what is arguably the longest oneshot I've ever written. @glitchmeharder had left a comment on a post I made, pointing out that they wanted more fics of Morpheus getting stuck in the Waking World and needing to live with Reader for a little bit.

My mind took this sentence and RAN with it. Like, I apologize in advance for how long this is. I'm pretty pleased with it though, especially for my first Morpheus fic. I hope you're pleased with it too.

(Also, the POV jumps back and forth between Morpheus and Reader, but it alternates every other section and is pretty clear which POV is which)

(Also-also I've been staring at this fic for so long now I don't even know if it makes sense anymore)

Let me know your thoughts! Likes are appreciated, comments, asks, and reblogs make my world go round! My inbox is always open for you guys :)

*This fic uses she/her pronouns and includes the use of Y/n*

Freedom.

After being held captive for 106 long, painful years, Lord Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, King of Dreams and Nightmares, is on the precipice of securing his freedom. The younger Burgess’s lover had erased a small part of the runes encircling his glass cage with the wheel of the old man’s wheelchair, sending little more than a sorrowful glance back towards the prisoner. So this was how he would attempt to secure his safety, by breaking the circle of runes surrounding him. Barely a scuff, really, but it’s enough.

It’s enough for Morpheus to feel the faintest bit of his power return to him.

It’s enough that it’s all too easy for him to influence one of the security guards, waxing poetically about his upcoming beach vacation, to close his eyes for just a moment.

It’s enough for a dream to form, one of sun and sea and sand. Sand that Morpheus is able to gather a handful of, right in front of the horrified guard’s dreaming eyes.

The guard, lost in his dream nightmare, shoots at what he thinks is Morpheus. In the Waking World, he’s shooting at the orb that he’s meant to be diligently watching. A bullet hits, and a crack forms. Another, and another, and another, even as the other guard screams at her colleague to stop.

The glass explodes, and Morpheus fills his lungs with his first huff of fresh air in over a century. He can’t get lost in the joy that threatens to burst like a dam at finally seeing and feeling freedom. Not when he has a job to do, not when he has a kingdom to return home to.

He steps past the broken runes, now useless at keeping him trapped, and towards the two that are commanding him to stop where he is. He does as they ask, standing still in front of them. When the female orders him to open his closed fist, he is nice enough to listen to that command as well, lifting it to his mouth and blowing the sand in their faces.

A portal forms above him, and all Morpheus can think of is home. The Dreaming. He can feel it calling to him, a kingdom beckoning its ruler back. His power lifts him, and Morpheus welcomes the sensation of traveling through realms.

Then, just as quickly as he had his power, he loses it again.

Like a spelunker who’s just had their trusty rope give out on them, Dream finds himself free-falling with no way of stopping or controlling where he’s going. He tries desperately to clutch onto the tendrils of power that have abandoned him, but they refuse to obey.

He lands harshly on cold pavement, weak and disoriented with no idea of where he is. There’s a flash of blinding lights, the sound of rubber squealing, and then…

Darkness.

•••

It’s late at night, late enough that the few traffic lights that you pass are continuously blinking red and yellow. You hadn’t intended to be out so late, but catching up with friends at a restaurant had led to all of you losing track of time, talking and laughing and reminiscing until a manager politely informed your table that the restaurant had closed ten minutes prior.

Large tips had been left as apologies and your group hustled out of the door, leaving one another with hugs and goodbyes and promises to do this again, sooner than the months it had taken to get together in the first place. You got into your car, locking the doors immediately after, and you were happy.

Still, as you watched those you know and cherish depart with their significant others, you can’t help the pang of melancholy that taints an otherwise-wonderful evening. You’re at the age now where everybody that you know is in relationships, getting engaged and married and settling down and coupling up. You, however…are not. And you’re happy with being single, truly; the best company you can have is yourself. But knowing that you’re going to return home to your quiet apartment, where you’ll go to sleep in your empty bed and wake up to eat breakfast alone before repeating the monotonous cycle that is working a full time job and being an adult in general is making you just a little bitter.

You dwell on this as you drive the deserted roads home, even though you shouldn’t be. Shaking your head at your tendency to mope, you decide to do something about it and turn your radio up with the hopes that something good is playing on the random playlist that had begun when your phone automatically connected to the car’s sound system. Hell, maybe even something bad. Anything to get you out of this thought pattern that is quickly attempting to derail your mood.

“Now here I go again, I see the crystal vision

I keep my visions to myself

But it's only me who wants to wrap around your dreams, and

Have you any dreams you'd like to sell, dreams of loneliness?”

Ironic, considering you were just lamenting your own loneliness, but you’ll forgive Stevie Nicks for almost anything, so you let it slide. Tapping your thumbs on the steering wheel, you hum along to the song and stare out at the empty, rainy landscape ahead.

Empty, until it’s suddenly not.

You don’t look away from the road, you know that you don’t. But in the literal blink of an eye, a white figure appears right in front of your car. Slamming on the brakes with a scream, you watch as the figure collapses ahead of you. You don’t hit whatever it is, thankfully, and after lurching to a harsh stop, you peer through the windshield at what your headlights illuminate.

It’s a person, or at least you think it is. They’re pale, paler than any person you’ve seen before. They’re also stark naked, which, for a number of reasons, can’t be comfortable. Should you get out and help?

You bite your lip as you consider this, stories of human trafficking ploys and hitchhiking serial killers appearing at the forefront of your mind. It’s dangerous, and probably stupid, but something in you knows that this isn’t a scheme to kidnap you. Your eyes were on the road the entire time, and this being was literally dropped down right in front of your car. Grabbing your phone, throwing your hazards on, and unhooking the pepper spray from your keys, you cautiously open your car door and walk to the front of your car.

“Are you okay?” you ask, looking down at the man. 

He’s laying on his side, his face tucked into the crook of his arm. A mop of unruly, jet-black hair covers any other facial features that might have made him distinguishable to you. 

He doesn’t answer, and you swallow harshly. Oh God, is he dead? You thought you didn’t hit him, and your car doesn’t have any damage, but maybe you did.

Crouching down next to him, you take note of just how skinny he is when you lay a hand on his wrist to check his pulse (which is thankfully thrumming steadily beneath his near-translucent skin). No, not skinny. The man in front of you looks emaciated. What happened to him?, you wonder as you move your hand to his bony shoulder and begin to shake him.

“Hey, can you hear me?” 

This time, a muffled groan answers you. Okay, that’s better than before. At least he’s semi-conscious. Still, he doesn’t look well at all, and you should probably get him to a hospital to be checked out. When you voice this thought, you finally elicit a reaction from him. Long, ice-cold fingers grip your wrist weakly, and you stare at him in shock as he mumbles something unintelligible.

“What?” You lean down next to his covered face, trying to hear what he’s saying.

“No…” he mutters. “Please…no…hospital.”

He’s delirious, that much is obvious. Still, you find yourself mulling over his request. He really does need some sort of medical attention, but he managed to muster up enough strength to specifically tell you that he didn’t want to go to a hospital. As you think about it, you also start to come around to the “no hospital” idea. 

After all, what are you going to do? Show up at the hospital and dump a naked, starving man on their doorstep while claiming that you have no idea how he got like this? At best, the authorities would probably be called and you’d be questioned for kidnapping. No, it’s probably for the best to keep away from the hospital.

Logically, you know that you’re so stupid for even considering the idea that you’ve had. But really, what is this man going to be able to do to you? Even if he weren’t in and out of consciousness, he’s so frail that you could easily take him down were he to try and attack you. Against your better judgment, you decide what you’re going to do.

“I’ll be right back,” you assure the man, who you’re not even sure can hear you, before you stand up. “I think I have a blanket in the trunk of my car.”

A quick search through your mess of a trunk does reveal a blanket, hauled around at the insistence of your mother who preached needing an “emergency kit” in your car at all times. Now, you silently thank her as you grab it and hurry back to the man, though you definitely will not mention to her what the emergency kit was finally used for.

You haul him to a sitting position, his head falling back limply as you fix the blanket over his shoulders. “Do you think you can stand? I’ll get you to the car, I just need to get you on your feet.”

He makes a slight movement that looks like a nod, so you move his arm around your shoulder and wait until you feel his light grasp on your shirt before slowly bringing both of you to stand. Once you’re sure that you’re not going to drop him, you struggle with him towards your car. He’s lighter than most adult men, but considering he’s dead weight, it’s still tough to walk with him. You fumble with the handle of the car door, nearly throwing it open so that you only have to let go of him for a brief moment.

You cringe when he falls backwards onto the seats, landing harshly across them. It doesn’t seem to hurt him at all, the only sign that he even felt anything is a groan in the back of his throat. Whispering out a “sorry,” you cover his body with the blanket and make sure all of him is in the car before closing the door and getting into the driver’s seat.

Sighing heavily, you think about your life choices as you glance into the rearview mirror to look at the unconscious man in the back of your car. You’re really going to do this, aren’t you? Taking home a naked man that passed out on the road in front of your car so that you can hopefully wake him up and get him well enough to be on his way without killing you?

Yes, you are.

•••

The first thought that crosses Dream’s mind when consciousness finally returns to him is that his limbs ache. They really, truly ache. It’s not often that an Endless has lingering pains, but it does happen. He stretches his legs out in front of him, feeling his muscles twinge as he attempts to loosen them.

The next thought that crosses Dream’s mind is that he shouldn’t be able to stretch any of his limbs, considering he’s meant to be curled up in a glass ball.

His eyes snap open when he realizes this, and he’s bewildered to find that he’s not staring at guards looking at him disdainfully from the table they’re always perched at, nor is he looking at the wrought-iron bars separating the large, underground room from the staircase upstairs. No, instead, he’s looking up at what looks to be a ceiling fan, spinning lazily around and around.

The events of what happened before he ended up here (wherever “here” is) begin to come back to him in fragments. First the runes being erased, then securing the sand from the guard’s dream. The orb shattering, sand being blown, and beginning to make his way home. That’s where his memory becomes muddled.

There were lights, and a voice. He thinks he remembers the vague sensation of being moved, but he’s not too sure. Whatever happened, he ended up here…on a couch, under a number of blankets. Certainly not in the same basement that he had been in for over a century, with its familiar cold seeping through the very glass he found himself trapped in. No, this room is warm and inviting. Comforting, almost.

Wherever he is, it’s not in the Dreaming. More alarmingly still is that he can’t sense the Dreaming at all. After that small glimpse of his power that got him out of the Burgess basement, his power has completely abandoned him. A not-unusual feeling, considering he spent the last 106 years without it, but being “free” and powerless is not something that he’s used to.

He has had a lot of time to think about what his lack of power feels like. After a few decades, the best he could liken it to is missing a sense or losing a limb. It’s something functional, something that he should have, but that he doesn’t. Cruelly, he was granted a taste of what he should have for a mere second before fate or karma or the universe itself decided to play yet another cruel joke on him.

Dream slowly takes in his surroundings, his thoughts sluggish and confused. There’s a table next to the couch he’s laid on, a glass of water placed on it. A black screen sits on a stand across the room, and he stares at his reflection in it for a moment before the sound of humming draws his attention away.

A figure – the person humming, he assumes – comes through a doorway, eyes immediately meeting his own. Curiously, she smiles at him when she notices this. Dream’s muscles tense, on guard in the presence of an unknown being so soon after escaping Burgess. Has he escaped one prison, only to land in another?

“You’re awake!” she exclaims, as though she’s happy to see this. “How are you feeling?”

He ignores the human’s question. “This is not the Dreaming.”

“No, this is my apartment.”

“I must go.” Dream attempts to stand up, but finds that he struggles to just barely sit up. “I need to return to my realm.”

“You’re not going anywhere, look at you! You’re too weak to even move.”

She begins to approach him, but the glower he sends her way is enough to stop her in her tracks. It does not matter that she was stating the obvious when she said what she did, referencing his physicality. He will not be told what he can and cannot do, where he is allowed to exist. Not anymore. “Do not come any closer, mortal.”

“Okay, I won’t.” 

She puts her hands up in the air, presumably to show him that she means no harm. The move reminds him of what one might do in the presence of a frightened animal. In her mind, he is a frightened animal. 

“Have you drank any of that water? I don’t know where you were before I found you, but you look like you haven’t had anything to eat or drink in a while.”

He looks at her warily, but slowly takes the glass that is apparently designated for him. After over a century, he’s more than a little parched. Though he will not show any gratitude before it is earned, he is thankful that at least one of his needs is being met.

The woman waits patiently for him to make the next move, choosing to sit on a large chair near the couch and tap at a rectangle she holds in her hands. Morpheus appreciates not being watched as he greedily drains the water that he’s been offered. Only after he places the now-empty glass back on the table does she look up at him and wait for him to make the first move.

“How did I end up here?” Morpheus asks slowly.

“When I found you, you basically appeared in the middle of the road from out of nowhere. You were passed out, and you only really came around so that you could tell me not to take you to a hospital.” She nervously plays with her hands, which rest in her lap. “I wasn’t about to leave you out there, so I brought you here.”

“Why?”

It comes out harsher than he intended, but considering the only interaction he’s had for so long with other beings involved threats and pleas for immortality, riches, and power, he isn’t expecting much. In fact, Morpheus is preparing himself to listen to her list of demands before acting. Though he’s powerless right now and unable to manipulate her dreams the way that he did the guards at Fawney Rig, he still has millenia of experience to draw on when it comes to escaping a captor.

Contrary to his belief, she looks at him in surprise. “Why?” When he nods, she shrugs. “I guess…because if I were naked and unconscious in the middle of the road on a rainy night, I’d want somebody to help me to relative safety.”

Ah. It’s at this point that Dream realizes that he is, in fact, very much still naked. Though he’s hardly shy about his form, he is aware that most humans have a more puritanical point of view when it comes to the covering of bodies.

“Are you hungry? You look like you’ve been starved, so I’m guessing it’s been a while since you’ve had something to eat.” The woman stands and takes the glass off of the table, musing to herself as she walks to another room. “We’ll probably have to start you on something light so that you can get used to eating again. Maybe toast?”

She doesn’t stop rambling even as she returns and hands Morpheus another glass of water. Though, even if she were to stop long enough to take a breath, Morpheus doesn’t know what he would say. He’s so bewildered at this entire situation that the Prince of Stories himself is at a loss for words.

He’s been left completely powerless in the Waking World, and he would have to fend for himself were it not for this random human whose path he’s been literally dropped in the middle of. A human who, apparently, has no devious intentions towards him, though he finds it hard to believe that all humans aren’t evil and heartless like Roderick Burgess and those complicit in his captivity. He finds it especially hard to believe that the first human he comes across after the Burgess affair would be the exact opposite of those he’s been around for so long.

Destiny himself must surely be breaking his stoic demeanor to laugh at his younger brother’s misfortunes.

“Seriously, when was the last time you ate something?” After a moment of silence, Morpheus realizes she’s asking him a question.

His attention is brought back to the woman, who’s reclaimed her seat in the chair across the room. Lifting his chin, and with what he hopes is a voice befitting the ruler he once was, he says, “One hundred and six years ago.”

She laughs at what she assumes is a joke, until she realizes that the expression on his face doesn’t change. He can see this mortal begin to make the connections in her mind. His mention of his beloved realm, the fact that he called her “mortal” to begin with, the century plus of imprisonment. The Waking World is so quick to dismiss magic and the supernatural as “fairy tales;” if it is beyond their comprehension, then it therefore doesn’t exist.

Yet, even with what they believe to be sound logic, humans just know when they encounter something that they can’t quite explain. Morpheus has always seen it in the way that people back up when he or his siblings or any of the many other preternatural beings that wander this plane walk past. The fear in their eyes as something primal activates within them, something telling them that they are no longer the apex predator.

Even with his lack of powers, he still carries his innate abilities that are woven into his very being. He can hear the woman’s heart beat faster, see her pupils dilate in apprehension. She knows, even if she does not want to admit it.

Quietly, she asks, “Who are you? What are you?”

“I am Lord Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, King of Dreams and Nightmares.”

A long minute passes as she takes in the information he’s given her. She does not run away from him in fright (which has happened to him a couple of times), nor does she call for someone who will attempt to capture Morpheus and use his powers to their own advantage. Instead, she thinks over what she’s heard and nods.

“It’s nice to meet you, Lord Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, King of Dreams and Nightmares,” she smiles after saying all of his titles, apparently finding it amusing to be in the presence of a king, “I’m Y/n.”

Morpheus is not used to thanking others, especially mortals. However, this woman’s helpfulness seems to warrant that he learns how to do so, so he nods. “I thank you for offering me aid in my time of need, Y/n.”

“I’m going to get you some food.” He hardly opens his mouth to make a rebuttal before she’s pointing at him accusingly. “Don’t argue with me, you need food. Then after that, we’ll get you some clothes. Sound good?”

She doesn’t wait for an answer before she’s back through the door, presumably towards the kitchen. Though Morpheus is still wary of relying on anybody, let alone a human, he doesn’t exactly have a choice. Not when he’s this weak, and certainly not when he’s powerless. No, he has no choice but to place his trust in this strong-willed woman who was crazy enough to rescue a stranger in the rain.

Fates help him.

•••

So, the random, naked stranger you saved out of the middle of the road turns out to rule the collective unconscious of all of humanity. And he now lives on your couch for the time being (with clothes, thankfully; you had procured a shirt and a pair of sweatpants for him when he had finally agreed to let you help him), because he’s apparently lost the powers that connect him to said collective unconscious. No big deal.

You didn’t want to believe Morpheus at first. After all, just the mere idea of some being who is eons old and is, in his words, “the anthropomorphic personification of the concept of dreams” sounds insane. But the same sense that told you that it was safe to take him home tells you that he’s telling the truth. And as you get to know him more, you find that that sense was right.

From the way that he talks to the memories of empires long gone and the recollections of those great figures of history that he’s met and inspired, all of which he shares with you as the days go by and it becomes obvious that he can’t just ignore you and hope that you go away, you find it very easy to believe him. He hasn’t given you a reason to not believe him, and until he does, you’ll continue to trust what he tells you.

It’s at least a week before your new roommate is strong enough to move easily around your apartment, though he still looks half-starved. On his second day of staying at your apartment, you had offered to help him to the shower. After all, if you had been deprived of showering for 106 years, it would be one of the first things that you wanted to do. After thinking it over for a long couple of minutes, Morpheus had begrudgingly agreed. The moment he attempted to stand, he had been unable to support himself and had fallen to his knees. This left him no choice but to take your outstretched hand.

It was very obvious that the proud king felt humiliated at needing to use you to support most of his weight as you maneuvered him through your apartment and to the bathroom. You couldn’t exactly blame him, because you’re sure that it is humiliating, especially when you’re a being that’s normally more powerful than a literal god who has to rely on a mere human for help walking a few feet.

According to Morpheus, if he had his powers, he would have recovered at a much faster rate. Since he doesn’t, though, and he’s effectively human for the time being, he has to recover as a human would. When you come home from running a couple of errands one day to find him sitting up on the couch without needing to lean on anything for support, reading a book from your collection, you’re extremely glad to see that his “human” recovery is progressing nicely.

As time passes, though, you’ve found an odd companionship with him. He’s slowly become less wary of you, and you of he, which has allowed you both to trust the other and actually, dare you say it, form a tenuous friendship.

It seems like he’d been expecting you to basically tiptoe around him and ignore him throughout the duration of his stay with you. Considering you don’t want to wake up to a corpse on your couch because you abandoned him in his time of need, and because you’re a person with a conscience, you’ve done the exact opposite, much to his chagrin and bewilderment.

You’re in the kitchen chopping vegetables for a soup, still working on building Morpheus up towards being able to eat actual meals, when he actually comes to you seeking companionship. He hovers at the edge of the kitchen, watching silently as you go through the familiar motions. Finally, he moves just a couple of steps closer, like a feral cat being enticed by food from a human who’s determined not to look at them. It’s not that far off from reality, you realize.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

Though it’s pretty damn obvious what you’re doing, you decide not to be sarcastic with him. “Making soup.”

He nods, leaning against the counter to watch. You feel a bit like you’re on a cooking show with the way that he’s viewing your actions so intently.

“What’s so interesting?” you ask after another moment of unwillingly being on Iron Chef.

“I suppose I’ve never really watched someone cook before.”

The knife pauses in midair, and you turn to look at him. “I’m sorry, what? You’ve been alive for as long as beings have had consciousness, but you’ve never watched someone cook?”

“It’s not often that I have to eat. If I choose to enjoy food, the palace staff typically prepares it for me.”

Oh yeah. It’s easy to forget that Morpheus literally has a castle when he’s standing in your kitchen with bedhead. You would make a joke about him being spoiled, but you suppose that if you were in his position, you also never would have taken the time to actually step inside a kitchen.

“Do you want to learn?”

“How to cook?” You nod. “Are you sure that you want to teach me?”

“I’m literally just going to have you cutting vegetables,” you say with a laugh. “It’s a pretty easy task, even for you, your highness.”

His lips just barely move upwards, and you stare at him, stunned. Did he just smile at you? You didn’t even know that he knew how to do that. You’re about to try and convince yourself that it was just a trick of the light when he says, “Being that I am a king, it’s ‘your majesty,’ not ‘your highness.’”

He did smile! And he made a joke! It’s such a small accomplishment, yet you can’t help but to feel immensely proud of yourself. Hiding your own pleased grin, you step back from the cutting board. “Okay your majesty, come over here so I can teach you to cut vegetables.”

Morpheus definitely isn’t going to be on any cooking shows of his own anytime soon. Actually, you don’t know that you’d even trust him to be in the kitchen by himself anytime soon. He nearly cuts off a finger a couple of times, and he struggles to figure out how to hold whatever he’s cutting so that it can actually be cut. The vegetables he’s been in charge of cutting are uneven, but you can see how proud he is of having completed this task himself. You’re proud of him too; though you can tease him for having never done something like cooking before, it must be hard to learn a new skill after so long.

After this, Morpheus becomes less of an unwilling house guest who’s only putting up with you because he physically can’t leave and more of a friend. It became inevitable that you would have to spend time together, since he’s living on your couch until he can figure out how to get back to the Dreaming, but it’s become actually enjoyable to be in his presence, and vice versa. Though he can still be cold, distant, and haughty, that’s to be expected. Your relationship has changed, and he’s changed.

It takes a couple of weeks, but Morpheus finally starts to feel well enough to re-enter the land of the living. At least, he’s well enough to insist that he can start researching how to regain his powers or go home. Naturally, you join him. Morpheus has long-since given up on asking you why you help him, finally realizing that this is just how you are. If he wanted to be left alone, he should have landed in front of the car of someone who didn’t care about his well-being.

You’re sitting in your local public library with him, one of your now-regular visits as you search through book after book to try and find answers. The both of you are tucked in a corner near a set of windows, enjoying the way that the sun warms your skin. Books from a variety of subjects are scattered all around you; religion and history, mythology and occult. Anything that could potentially give you an idea of how to help an Endless regain the powers that they were created with. Needless to say, there’s not a lot of material written on this topic.

Yet another book with no answers is tossed to the side in frustration, and you begin to just fire off random ideas off the top of your head. Most of them involve seeking the help of any magic contacts that Morpheus has here in the Waking World, which is made difficult by the fact that Morpheus has no way of contacting these beings. Both because of his lack of powers, as well as the fact that he’s not the most open person for one to make a contact with.

(“You? Not friendly? I’m shocked, truly,” you had said with obvious sarcasm coloring your tone. Morpheus simply sighed, turning the page of the book he’s reading harsher than needed.

“Yes, have your laughs at my expense.”)

It’s more than a little discouraging to have absolutely no answers, and you’re starting to get desperate. You tap your fingers against a book you’ve already looked through, hoping that maybe you’ll learn something through osmosis.

“You could…”

You pause, trying to think of a good idea. Your mind is racing as you turn from logical plans that could actually work to the illogical. After all, if you can’t find something that works, you’re at least going to have some fun. 

“Throw me off a bridge, maybe? That’d surely get your sister to show up.”

Morpheus only looks at you. “That is not funny, Y/n.”

“I didn’t say it was!”

“I know your sense of humor well enough by now to know that you find this suggestion of yours at least slightly amusing.”

Your lips twitch, because he’s right. The mental image of Morpheus chucking you off a bridge and then eagerly waiting for his sister, literal Death, to appear while you’re screaming and falling to your end does make you want to laugh. 

“Well, it’s the only idea I’ve got,” you say with a shrug.

“A terrible idea, truly.”

You roll your eyes jokingly and mutter, “Jerk.”

When you first met Morpheus, he would have taken your words and actions quite seriously and been offended at the perceived insults. Now, he simply rolls his eyes right back at you and smirks. Just one of the many things that have changed between you.

It’s here, on the floor of the library, that things majorly change between you. It’s here that Morpheus kisses you for the first time.

You had taken a solo walk around a few of the shelves under the guise of seeing if you had missed any research, but really you needed to get away from the corner of no answers before you started shredding books out of anger. It helped enough that you were able to return to the research with fresh eyes, and it seems like it’s paying off.

In a book about pagan rituals, you find the first promising information that you’ve seen in the last three library trips. You lay your hand on Morpheus’s shoulder to get his attention. “Wait, listen to this! This book talks about summoning the Fates.” 

You point down to the passage. 

“‘It is fitting to begin December with an offering to the Three Fates, the weavers of destiny. Put out three small cups of red wine, fruit and bread, along with three knives. This is a way of honoring the powers that will bring more provisions during the coming year. Have ready three candles, red, black and white.’ It’s not December, but I would think this could potentially be done year-round? We give them an offering, they recognize who it’s coming from, and they give us some answers. What do you think?”

When you look up at Morpheus, you find him already looking at you with his beautiful blue eyes. He’s told you that, when he has his powers, his eyes resemble two stars. With the way that they always twinkle when they catch the light just right, you’d argue that they already do. You smile at him, unable to stop the awkward giggle that escapes you as he continues to look at you with something you can’t quite name.

“What?”

His eyes look from your eyes to your lips and back again. Your breath catches in your throat as you realize what he’s about to do, a mere moment before he leans in and presses his lips to yours.

Morpheus is a really good kisser, which is to be expected since he’s been alive for longer than you can fathom. He kisses you softly and sweetly, and the butterflies that flutter in your stomach make you feel a bit like a teenager receiving her first kiss from a beau. You sigh against his lips, bringing a hand to his cheek while he places one of his on the back of your neck.

Then, it actually hits you what you’re doing. Though you don’t want to (like, you really don’t want to), you need to put a stop to this. What if the only reason he’s doing this is because he feels some sense of gratitude towards you for saving him in the first place? You can’t take advantage of him like that, even if he is a very attractive man that is currently kissing you.

“Wait.” You put a hand on his chest to put some space between you, though you still rest your forehead against his. “I don’t want you to kiss me just because I’m letting you crash on my couch.”

“Do you think that I am incapable of making my own decisions?”

“No, of course not! I just–I worry that you feel like you owe me, or something. You don’t.”

You can feel Morpheus smile under your touch. “It is chivalrous of you to refuse me because you believe that you are taking advantage of me. However, I can assure you that you need not worry.”

“Are you sure? What about, like, power dynamics?”

“Y/n, I’m eons old. If anything, I have all of the power here based solely on that.” Oh, yeah. Before you can actually beat yourself up over the stupidity of that statement, he continues. “I can promise you that I have my wits about me, and there is nothing clouding my decision-making. I care for you, and I would very much like to continue kissing you.”

“Okay,” you whisper, unable to believe that this is actually happening.

He laughs lightly. “Now, may I kiss you again?”

You nod. “Yeah, you can definitely kiss me again.”

Morpheus is more than happy to reclaim your lips with his.

It would almost be embarrassing, how quickly you’ve fallen in love with Morpheus, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s fallen just as fast. You’ve lived blissfully in your own little corner of heaven with him for almost four months now. Though getting him home is still important to both of you, it’s also become less of a priority as you’ve fallen more in love with each other.

(He’s also very happy to be sleeping in bed with you instead of on the couch.)

Laying in bed with him one night, you’re transfixed with mapping out every inch of his skin that you can touch with your fingers and watching goosebumps form in their wake. You don’t think you’ll ever get over just how unreal Morpheus seems to be. You understand, of course, that this is due to the fact that he’s an Endless, that he is physically more than a human, and thus a human form can not truly contain all of him. But to be up close and personal to such a phenomenon really drives home just how ethereal he really is. You can easily see why he’s been mistaken as a god so many times throughout history.

“What’s it like?” you whisper to him, unwilling to fully break the tranquility you’re experiencing.

In the dim light, Morpheus looks at you. “What is what like, beloved?”

Your heart jumps at the pet name, so sweet and unexpected. Fighting to keep your wits about you, you ask, “Your kingdom. The Dreaming.”

“I don't even know where to begin when I tell you that it is the most wondrous place you will ever lay eyes upon.” He closes his eyes briefly and sighs wistfully. “It has been over a century since I have been home, and yet I can still see it as if I were merely there yesterday.”

“If it’s hard to talk about, you don’t have to.” You should have realized that asking him about the home he currently has no way of getting back to would make him upset.

“It does not make me sad to talk about it. Rather, I love the Dreaming so much that it overwhelms me sometimes. I am the Dreaming, you see. It is a part of me.”

“So it’s perfect, then.” You don’t mean to say that out loud, but the way that Morpheus looks away bashfully makes you glad that you did.

“That is what some believe, yes. It’s a vast plane, considering all the universe’s dreamers use it when they close their eyes at night. The area around the palace, my direct kingdom, is stunning. Imagine the most beautiful landscape you can. That beauty would pale in comparison to Fiddler’s Green, with its orchards and valleys and rivers and mountains.”

“Really?”

“Mm. My personal favorite is a small clearing ringed by trees that make it seem as though you’re completely blocked off from the rest of existence. There’s a waterfall there, too, and I believe you’d quite enjoy the mermaids.”

All of it sounds wonderful, but that last word has your mind sparking with excitement. “Mermaids? Like…actual mermaids?”

“Of course. Mermaids are creatures of dreams. And nightmares. They are subjects in my realm.”

“That’s amazing.” You pause for a moment. “Would I be able to meet them?”

“You will be able to do anything you wish when I finally get to bring you to my realm. Though, it may be difficult to get you out of the library once you’re there.”

“I should have assumed you’d have a library.”

“Yes, and it is my sanctuary in the Dreaming. The library holds every book that has ever been written, every book that will be written, and even books that have merely been ideas in the minds of authors. It is overseen by Lucienne, without whom I fear the library would fall into permanent disrepair.”

“That sounds wonderful.” You yawn, your eyes too heavy to keep open for much longer. Morpheus notices this and pulls you closer to him. “Tell me more about it. Then maybe I’ll get lucky and be able to catch a glimpse of it while I sleep.”

It’s merely wishful thinking, considering dreams since the night that Roderick Burgess trapped Morpheus in his basement have been nothing more than fragments of scenarios. But his voice is so deep and calming, and you can tell that it makes him happy to talk of his home. Maybe tonight will be the night that the Dreaming decides to welcome its king back home. And even if it doesn’t, you’ll enjoy falling asleep in your lover’s arms.

•••

When Morpheus first woke up after his captivity, alone and confused and without his powers, he thought that he would never be able to feel anything except anger. Anger at his situation, anger towards those that had captured them. And for a few days, anger was all that he felt. But slowly and surely, Y/n had managed to chip away at the anger that had threatened to harden around his heart. Though he was not looking for love, nor did he expect to ever deserve love again after everything he had done to ruin every relationship he had been in, he had found it with her. The anger became replaced with an incandescent happiness, happiness that threatened to swallow Morpheus whole if he allowed it.

And he was certainly tempted.

It’s been approximately four months since the night he was freed, but it certainly hadn’t felt that way. Where he had spent the past 106 years counting day after agonizing day, four months with his beloved seemed to pass in the blink of an eye; an impressive feat for an Endless. Morpheus has, dare he say it, enjoyed getting to be a human, learning more about humanity and all that he had missed. Though he still lamented the loss of something so integral to his very being as his powers, his realm, he was able to recognize the gift that he had been given in spending the last four months with Y/n.

He’s sitting with her on the couch where it seems as though everything began, reading yet another book in the hopes that he might find a way to regain his powers, while she watches a movie on the television about some sort of battle in space (yet another aspect of humanity that she enjoyed teaching him, modern technology and everything along with it). She had meant to show him this movie, claiming that it was one of her favorites and that she believed every being needed to see this. Of course, it took a total of five minutes before he found himself hopelessly lost among the plot and had turned to the book next to him.

She had pouted for a moment, more to try and make him feel bad than from actually being upset. He had simply smirked in her direction, kissing her forehead before laying his arm around her and drawing her closer to him. Yet another thing that he loves about her, among many things, is that he can just exist in companionable silence with her. It’s rare, at least in his experience, when one finds another where this is possible.

Her head falls against his shoulder, and he smiles down at her when he sees she’s fallen asleep. In moments like these, he wishes more than anything that he was connected to the Dreaming once more. What he wouldn’t give to be able slip into her mind and give her the sweetest dreams that she deserves. As he closes his eyes and leans his head against hers, he imagines that he can feel that link to his realm.

After a moment, Morpheus opens his eyes and jarringly realizes that he can feel it. Her dreams, and the Dreaming itself. After 106 long years, the Dreaming returns to him as naturally as if he had simply blinked. His power suddenly twining through his veins again, something which he had taken for granted nearly his entire existence, has tears pricking at his eyes. Oh, how he has missed this.

Morpheus can return home now to reclaim his mantle and rule the Dreaming once more. He should be thrilled about this. He is thrilled about it. Thrilled, until he looks at the sleeping woman leaning against him and realizes that a decision must be made, and soon.

His power has returned, yet it’s still incredibly weak. Weak from not using them so long, and weak due to his not having his tools–his sand, his helm, and his ruby. Thus, he cannot be at his full strength until he recovers them. Will his power disappear yet again if he waits too long? If he wakes her to relay the good news, to take a moment to say goodbye, will the Dreaming escape from him? If his power does leave again, will he ever have another chance such as this?

It’s something that he cannot risk. And yet, he finds himself unsure, even though he knows what he has to do. This woman, this mortal, has managed to ensnare his heart so completely that Morpheus considers potentially forsaking his kingdom just for the chance to properly part with her in the way that he wants to, in the way that she deserves.

Morpheus takes great care not to wake her up when he moves her off of him to lay down on the couch. His fingers trace the slope of her nose, down to her lips and across her cheeks, mapping out her face. If this is to be the last time he sees her, he wants to remember everything about her. Knowing that he will have to depart without telling her where he is going or knowing if they will be together again grieves him. He has not felt pain of this kind since he helplessly watched Jessamy be murdered in front of him.

He lingers when he kisses his beloved’s forehead, not sure when, or if, he will have the pleasure of seeing her again. If she’ll forgive him for what he has to do, how he has to leave her. He whispers this in her ear, a simple, “I love you. Forgive me.”

Then, he closes his eyes and feels that tug that has always connected him to the Dreaming. He envisions the sandy dunes outside of the Gates of Horn and Ivory, the way they melt into the rolling hills of Fiddler’s Green in the distance. He sees his castle and his library, Lucienne and Mervyn, Cain and Abel, the seas of dreams and nightmares. He places himself there, and when he opens his eyes to see Lucienne leaning over him, when he feels the sands of his realm against his back, he knows…

He’s home.

•••

Waking up on your couch that day with no sign of Morpheus anywhere had confirmed your worst fears. Just as suddenly as he had appeared in your life, he was now gone without a trace. And as the hours eventually turned into days without him, you had to come to terms with the fact that he was really, truly gone.

Life without Morpheus, after having had him as yours for a few glorious months, just felt dull. Literally, it felt as though your senses were dulled now. Colors weren’t as bright, songs weren’t as beautiful, things didn’t taste as good, flowers didn’t smell right, and things that were once soft now felt harsh against your skin. He was gone, and you were alone. Things were as they were before that fateful night when he landed in front of your car.

It’s not even that he left you. Rather, it’s how he left you. Never would you have expected him to just completely abandon you, with no note left behind or anything to explain where he had gone. You assumed he had gotten his powers back, which was wonderful, truly. After all, that was the end game, wasn’t it? But for him to just…leave, after everything you had been through and shared with each other, hurt worse than you could have imagined.

You became intimately familiar with the five stages of grief in those first few days after his departure, cycling through each stage until you would come back around to the beginning and do it all over again. It felt pathetic that you were this heartbroken, but how could you not be? Morpheus had held your heart in his very hands, only to discard it as if the gift you gave him, of your love, meant nothing. You couldn’t even mope for as long as you wanted to, because you just reminded yourself of fucking Bella Swan in New Moon, and god forbid you share any similarities with her.

Eventually, you settled on feeling angry. Angry at him, angry at the circumstances, angry at yourself, angry at the world. You’re so mad, but then you feel like you have no right to be mad, because he got what he wanted! He has his powers and his realm back, which was the only reason he was with you for as long as he was. You both knew that, and still…

You really wish that you could hate Morpheus.

He hadn’t even come to visit you in your dreams, which had really sealed the deal for how little you meant to him. If he had gotten his powers back and returned to his realm, surely he would have spoken to you while you were asleep to at least let you know that he was alright? But no, you didn’t even receive that from him. And so you were left without closure, which made getting over him really difficult.

Still, you try your best to get over him, even though you really don’t want to do so. Two months after Morpheus vanished without a trace, you’re finally returning the last library book from your research sessions with him. You felt silly, holding onto it for as long as you did, but it proved that he had been here, and that what you had experienced was real. It was a tangible link to him; it was your only tangible link to him. Unfortunately, the library has only let you renew the book so many times before needing it back, and today is that day.

You stand in front of the book deposit box in the library, holding onto the book and feeling the cover that you’ve mapped out time after time as you attempt to work up the courage to let go. Let go of both the book itself, as well as the hope that Morpheus will come back to you. It’s obvious that it’s not going to happen, and you’re doing nothing but hurting yourself by continuing to hold out hope that it will. You need to live your life again, even if it means letting go of the best thing to ever happen to you.

Somebody clears their voice behind you to draw you out of your inner monologue, and you realize that a line has started to form. Smiling sheepishly at the grandma waiting for her turn, you whisper “sorry” to her before taking a breath and finally dropping the book inside. The flap of the box closes with a finality that signifies that you aren’t getting that book back. Stepping away from the deposit box to allow the line to progress, you take a deep breath as the finality of the situation hits you.

That’s it. All that you’re left with from your four months with Morpheus now is memories. You were hoping that this would feel more freeing, that you’d feel a weight lifted off of your shoulders and go waltzing out of the library like the main character in a coming-of-age movie as the end credits played to signify that you were turning a corner in your life. Instead, you just feel a pit in the bottom of your stomach, a sickness that this is really it. Now, you have to figure out what to do next.

Even as you turn to leave, you can’t help but think of Morpheus. You glance into the corner of the library that you spent many days with him in, the corner of the library where he kissed you, and you just want to cry. You miss him. You really, truly miss him, and it seems like it’s going to take more than returning a library book to get over that.

You wish you had pictures that you could burn, like every other normal relationship.

As you exit the library, you find yourself making eye contact with the fucking crow sitting in the tree across the street that seems to follow you around now. You’re probably just paranoid, because you don’t even really like birds, but it feels like you see that giant black bird everywhere you go. At first, for a hopeful second, you had allowed yourself to believe that maybe it was a sign from Morpheus. But when you had quietly said hello to it and it just did crow things, you realized that you were being stupid. Of course a random bird isn’t going to be a messenger from the lover that had left you.

Because this is already a terrible day, it gets worse when you harshly knock against someone when you’re walking in the parking lot to find your car. You stumble backwards, nearly falling from the force of it. The only reason that you don’t fall is because the person who you’ve just inadvertently assaulted grabs onto your forearm to steady you.

“Shoot, I’m sorry,” you mumble, squinting against the sun.

“I believe I’m the one that should be apologizing.”

That voice. You know that voice. Could it really be, or have you just finally lost your mind and are imagining what you want to happen?

But then your vision clears, and you look at him, and no. It’s real. He stands in front of you two months after you last saw him, looking down at you like you’re the one that left him suddenly.

Your mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. There are so many things that you want to say to him. After all, how many times have you imagined this exact scenario and all of the things that you would say to him in said scenario? Now you’re here, with his hand around your arm, and all you can think to say is, “Morpheus?”

He looks better than he did even at his healthiest when staying with you, which goes to show just how drained he was without his powers. His lips are lifted just slightly, his version of a smile, and he looks good. His coat fits him perfectly, as though it were made just for him (it probably was). He’s dressed in all black, of course, from the coat down to the black boots he wears. You finally meet his eyes, and you gasp when, for a split second, you see the stars that make up his eyes before you blink and they’re back to the blue you’ve known.

“Hello, beloved,” Morpheus says. The deep timbre of his voice sends shivers down your spine, a side effect of not hearing it every day like you used to.

You want to be mad at him. You are mad at him. He left you with no warning and disappeared from your life without a trace. He had left you so suddenly, in fact, that sometimes in the middle of the night when you were out of tears and hadn’t yet cried yourself to sleep, you wondered if you had simply imagined everything about him. Yet, seeing him again, all you want to do is fall into his arms and tell him how much you missed him. 

When you lunge forward, it’s not to hug him, which is what you always expected you would do if you were to be reunited with him. Instead, you say, “I can’t believe you fucking left me!” and shove at his chest in anger, which, if the look on his face is anything to go off of, he hadn’t been expecting either. 

The shove hardly moves him, but it fills you with satisfaction to be able to physically assert just how upset you are, so you shove and hit his chest again and again. Morpheus, to his credit, just stands there and takes it, hopefully because he knows he deserves it.

Even the patience of an Endless, however, is not endless. Morpheus grabs your wrists with one of his large hands and stops the physical manifestation of your rage in its tracks. You fight him for a moment longer, but eventually the hot tears building in your eyes spill over, and you look up to face him defiantly. If he’s going to make you cry, he’s going to have to see it.

“You couldn’t have left, I don’t know, a note or something? Just to let me know that you were going to disappear without a trace?”

Morpheus looks pained at this, and a sick part of you whispers ��good, he deserves to feel bad.’ “When I realized that I could feel the Dreaming after you fell asleep that night, I was not sure if that would be my one and only chance to reclaim my throne. I had to make a choice, however difficult it was, to return to my realm through your dreams.”

“But you didn’t think to let me know that you were okay after you made it back?”

“You remember my tools? My helm, my sand, my ruby?” He waits for you to nod. “I had to retrieve those before I could return to you.”

“Don’t forget about the whole ‘dream vortex’ thing after that! Ugh, that was a mess.” You look up when another voice chimes in, only to find yourself looking at the crow that you had been mentally cursing minutes ago.

“Did–did that crow just talk?”

“Raven, and yes.” Said raven flutters down to land on Morpheus’s shoulder, who glances at his corvid companion like he’s a nuisance.

“This is Matthew, my emissary,” Morpheus introduces.

“Uh, it’s nice to meet you, Matthew.” You feel a bit stupid saying hello to a raven, but it’d be rude not to. “I’m Y/n.”

“I know!” Matthew says cheerfully.

“You may return to the Dreaming, Matthew. I no longer require your assistance.” You stifle a laugh at how obviously Morpheus wants his raven, who is apparently enjoying being a third wheel, to hit the road.

“Right, right, you don’t have to say another word. I’m off!” Matthew flies from Morpheus’s shoulder and presumably back to the Dreaming, though you’re not quite sure how the logistics of traveling between dimensions work.

Left alone now, Morpheus stares at you, and you he, for a long moment. He seems to be waiting for you to make the first move, to see if you’re going to react with anger again. Finally, you rip your hands from his grasp and throw your arms around him. “Fuck, I missed you.”

Though slowly, Morpheus returns your hug, pulling you to him and pressing a kiss to your forehead before resting his chin on your head. “I missed you as well. I have ached for you and your presence since the moment I had to leave. Believe me, if I could have taken you with me, I would have.”

You close your eyes, savoring the feeling of actually having Morpheus here and being in his arms. It’s all you’ve dreamed of, for lack of a better term, since he left, and it feels just as good as you imagined it would. You could stay like this forever, and you almost do…until a car honks at you and you remember that you’re standing in the middle of the parking lot.

Sheepishly, you wave at the car and mouth “sorry!” as you grab Morpheus’s hand and pull him towards the actual parked cars. The driver that you’ve now royally pissed off glares at you the entire time that they slowly drive past you, making you giggle nervously. When you look over and see the bewildered look on Morpheus’s face (you would love to know how he would have reacted had you been flipped off), your laughter increases.

Your laughter is cut off when Morpheus leans down and kisses you. Whether that be because he’s trying to get you to shut up or because he actually wanted to kiss you, you’re not sure. Either way, you enjoy finally getting to kiss Morpheus once more.

When you pull away, you look him in his piercing eyes and say, “I’m still mad at you, y’know.”

“You have the right to be so. However, if you are amenable to spending more time with me as I attempt to win back your affections, I would like to show you my kingdom.”

“You wanna take me to the Dreaming?” Morpheus nods, smirking at the way you try to act nonchalant and not excited. “...Can I meet the mermaids?”

This makes him chuckle, a rarity for him. “Yes, you can meet the mermaids.”

The excitement at this prospect wins out, and you grin. “Okay then. Woo me, your majesty.”

•••

Morpheus had feared the worst when he had decided that the Dreaming was rebuilt well enough to receive its (hopefully) future Queen. He worried that Y/n would have taken another lover, or that she would not love him at all anymore. A frequent criticism by his siblings is that he gives too much of himself to romantic relationships, and that very well may be true. But Morpheus knew for certain that, were Y/n to turn him down when he finally reappeared in her life (and he would not even blame her for doing so; not with the way that he left and remained away for so long), it would crush him in a way that no other rejection ever had.

He thinks it would hurt even worse than the Nada affair.

When he finally coaxed his beloved to smile in response to something that he said–a sight which he will never take for granted again–those fears were assuaged. When she agreed to accompany him to the Dreaming, Morpheus allowed himself to hope.

Hope. A word so simple, yet a word that carried so much within it that it could defeat Lucifer themself.

Hope blossoms within Morpheus as he holds out his arm for Y/n to grasp onto so that they can travel safely to the Dreaming, and it turns into a flame when she instead grabs onto the lapels of his jacket and allows him to wrap his arm around her waist.

#morpheus #morpheus imagine #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless imagine #the sandman #the sandman imagine

[happy74827]

Hiii! I was wondering if you could just write a very fluffy Marty McFly imagine of him and the reader being two idiots in love! THANK YOU!!!

Stupid With Love

[Marty McFly x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Who would've thought that a simple trip to the mall would change everything?

WC: 3,530

Category: Fluff

Oh my god a Marty request?!? I’m literally so in love. Thank you so much for requesting this!! Completely made my day 🥹🥹

『••✎••』

One of your favorite things about the weekend was just the pure, unfiltered, raw freedom it brought with it. You got to do things that you weren't usually allowed to do on a school day. Sleep in until noon, stay up all night long, and the best part of all, you had the weekend to spend with Marty Mcfly, your very best friend and the person you had the biggest crush on.

You could say your relationship with him was a bit complicated. The two of you had been best friends forever, but there were times when you thought there could possibly be something more between you, times when you wished there could be something more between the two of you.

He was always so sweet to you, and he seemed to like spending time with you. He'd come over to your house all the time to watch movies with you or to “study,” which was code for lying in bed listening to his new records while you played with his hair.

Sometimes, you could've sworn he was flirting with you, but then he'd do something that would make you think otherwise. One second, he'd be telling you about his day, and the next, he'd be talking to one of his female classmates, who you swore he wasn't interested in. It was confusing.

You were lying on the bench of a park, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the sounds of the birds. A peaceful Saturday afternoon, or so you thought.

Just as you closed your eyes, taking in the sweet serenity, your Walkman was snatched out of your hands, and your earphones were ripped out of your ears.

Your eyes snapped open, and you looked to your right to see none other than the boy you'd just been thinking about.

The smirk on his face told you that he was planning on giving you a hard time. Fortunately, he was nice enough to block the sun from your face, casting a shadow over you.

He looked even better today if that was possible. His hair was perfectly tousled, and his blue eyes were shining.

He was dressed comfortably, wearing a simple dark shirt and his signature denim jacket. His jeans were cuffed at the ankles, showing off his worn-out Converse.

You looked up at him expectantly, waiting for him to hand you back your music player, but he didn't budge.

Instead, he rested his skateboard on the bench and hopped over the back of it, taking a seat beside you.

He placed your Walkman on his lap, holding it close to him. You were a little frustrated, but the smile on his face was making you soft.

“How’d I know you’d be listening to Kate Bush again?” he asked, his tone playful.

You narrowed your eyes at him, reaching over to snatch the device out of his grasp, but he was quicker than you, pulling it away from you and standing up. “I mean, what even is this? ‘Hello Earth’? Sounds pretty trippy.”

“Hey! Don’t talk about her like that; she is an angel and a very talented musician. Only an idiot would fail to recognize that, and I guess that makes you an idiot.”

Despite the clear annoyance in your tone, he just laughed at your attempt to insult him. It was almost like he found your irritation endearing.

His smile was infectious, and it was hard to be mad at him when he was smiling at you like that. You tried your hardest to remain annoyed, crossing your arms over your chest, but you couldn't hide the grin that was making its way onto your face.

You could tell that he noticed because his smile grew wider.

"What's wrong? Is it too hard to look at the sun?" he asked teasingly, tilting his head down slightly so that his hair fell into his face, casting a shadow over his features.

You scoffed, sitting up and resting your elbows on your knees. "I've looked at you enough for one lifetime."

"Oh, you wound me." he feigned a dramatic frown, bringing a hand up to clutch his chest.

You rolled your eyes at his antics, reaching out to grab your Walkman again, but once again, he was too fast.

"I swear to God, McFly. I'm going to kill you!" you threatened, glaring at him.

"Okay, okay, I'll give it back, but only if you let me buy you a slushie." he negotiated, holding the music player high above his head.

"A slushie?” You were a little suspicious. That was the last thing you'd expected him to say. He seemed a little too eager to give you back your Walkman, and the glimmer in his eyes told you that he had something else in mind.

He nodded enthusiastically, the excitement obvious in his voice. "Ah, you’re right. Milkshakes are much better. How about a milkshake?"

"Marty... what are you up to?"

"Nothing! I'm just being a good friend. Letting you enjoy a delicious cold treat.”

“And holding my Walkman hostage is considered a friendly gesture now, is it? I see how it is."

"Aw, come on, please?" he whined, pouting his lips and making puppy dog eyes at you.

You sighed. Damn it, how were you supposed to say no to him when he was looking at you like that? "Okay, fine."

"Great! Let's go." He grabbed your wrist and pulled you off of the bench, not letting go of your hand as he grabbed his skateboard and started walking.

You didn't say anything; you didn't pull away from him; you just followed him as he led you to the mall, rambling on about the new music that he had bought the other day. A part of it sounds like a hit to the music you were listening to earlier, but you chose to ignore it for the sake of peace.

As soon as the two of you reached the entrance, he let go of your hand. The sudden lack of warmth caused a pang of disappointment to shoot through you, but you brushed it off.

You'd held hands before. It was nothing out of the ordinary. He didn't like you like that. If he did, he wouldn't have done it so casually. He wouldn't have let go.

He pushed the glass door open for you, smiling politely. "After you."

You raised a brow at him. "Such a gentleman. What's with the chivalry, McFly?"

He shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. "What? I can't treat my girl, right?"

"Oh, so I'm your girl now?" you asked, your heart thumping in your chest.

He paused for a second, looking slightly panicked.

"W-well, yeah, I mean- y-you know, as friends- you're like my best friend, so yeah..." he trailed off awkwardly.

"Right."

That was definitely a lie, but you didn't press him on it, afraid that you might make things even more awkward.

The two of you walked in silence, the only sound being the chatter around you. It was a little uncomfortable, the tension thick.

Finally, he broke the silence. "So, uh, where do you want to get the milkshakes from?"

You shrugged. "I don't know. We could go to the food court. There's a really nice burger place there, and they have milkshakes."

"Alright, sounds good."

What sounded good was the fact that the food court was on the opposite side of the mall, which meant a lot of walking. And therefore, a lot of distractions.

You weren't really interested in shopping, but Marty certainly was.

You couldn't count how many times he'd stop at a store and say, "Hey, that's a cool shirt” or "Hey, look at that poster. Isn't it amazing?"

Every time he did, he'd turn to you, waiting for your reaction. He'd look at you with such an eager expression, and his eyes would shine so bright. He looked like an excited child on Christmas morning, and it was adorable.

However, out of all the things he mentioned and pointed out, only one had caught your attention.

It was a vintage music box. It was a beautiful thing, a deep red color, with intricate designs carved into the wood. It was a work of art.

You could tell that he noticed.

"Do you like it?" he asked, leaning forward to get a closer look.

"It's gorgeous," you admitted, smiling as you examined the carvings before lifting the lid of the music box. The familiar sound of 'Edelweiss' began to play, filling the room.

Out of all the songs in the world, this was one of your favorites.

Marty seemed to share your sentiment. His lips were curved into a soft smile as he watched you.

He had an almost wistful look in his eyes, but it disappeared the second he noticed you watching him.

"What?”

"Nothing. Just, uh, just thinking."

"About?"

He smiled, and it wasn’t one of his usual smiles. It was warm, soft, and full of tenderness. You were stunned. You had never seen him look at you like that. "Just how good those milkshakes are gonna be."

You couldn't help the blush that rose to your cheeks.

"Right. Milkshakes," you said, shutting the music box. Your heart stung a little at the sound of the song ending, and seeing that price tag did not help. So, with a sigh of resignation, you turned around, walking away from the beautiful artifact.

"Wait, where are you going?"

"We're here for milkshakes, remember?” Your voice was flat, and the words sounded hollow. “Let’s go."

"Are you sure?"

You nodded, and without a word, he followed after you.

He was quiet for the rest of the walk, but he kept sneaking glances at you.

As soon as you reached the food court, the smell of food invaded your nostrils. Your mouth began to water, and the sound of your stomach growling broke the silence.

"You hungry?"

"Starving."

"Good, 'cause I'm buying."

"Marty—”

"Don't argue with me," he said, holding up a hand and shaking his head.

You opened your mouth to protest, but the look on his face told you it was pointless, so you gave up and allowed him to lead you to the burger place.

The food was delicious.

You'd eaten there many times, but it never failed to amaze you. The taste was heavenly, and the way it melted in your mouth was indescribable. Not to mention the damn milkshakes. They were incredible.

Marty's choice of food was not as fancy as yours.

He'd chosen the most basic burger with no toppings. It wasn't surprising. You'd learned over the years that he was a man with simple tastes. Even his milkshake was as basic as can be.

Vanilla. His reasoning behind it? “True classics never go out of style. Simple and delicious, what more could you ask for?"

You couldn't really argue with him on that.

The two of you sat there, talking about nothing and everything, joking and laughing. The time seemed to fly by.

You didn't realize how much time had passed until you found yourself alone by the fountain in the center of the mall. Marty had just gone off to the bathroom, leaving you to wait for him.

You took a sip of your leftover milkshake, letting out a soft sigh of contentment. Honestly, this had been one of the best dates you'd ever been on.

The thought made you pause. Had this been a date?

It definitely hadn't felt like one, but then again, this was Marty. When has anything been normal with him?

Maybe it had been a date. Maybe it was just his weird way of asking you out.

As if on cue, he walked back over to you.

"Hey, are you ready to go?" he asked, taking a seat beside you and resting his arms on the edge of the fountain. He looked at you expectantly, waiting for a response.

That’s when you noticed it: a small piece of grey material sticking out of the pocket of his jacket. That definitely wasn’t there before.

"What's that?" you asked, pointing to it.

He looked down, noticing what you were talking about. "Oh, that? It's nothing."

"Oh, really? Cause it looks like something.”

"You must be seeing things."

"Marty,” you deadpanned, shooting him a look. He ignored you, though, instantly getting distracted by a flashy poster hanging on the wall across from you.

He was staring at the poster, his jaw hanging open. He looked like a kid on Christmas morning, and you were the present under the tree.

You cleared your throat, trying to get his attention.

"Marty. What's that thing in your pocket? What did you do?"

He tore his gaze away from the poster, turning his head to look at you. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Guilt? Fear? Nerves?

Whatever it was, it wasn't a good sign.

"Jeez, you really gotta kill the mood, huh? Can't a guy be happy with trash in his pocket?"

"Trash? You stuffed… trash in your pocket?"

"Yeah, I did."

"Why?"

"Cause it’s your trash." And with that, he pulled the small piece out of his pocket, which happened to be a grey plastic bag, and held it out to you.

Within a minute, you went through all the stages of grief, denial being the first.

"What the hell?" you asked, staring at the bag incredulously.

He grinned, holding the bag open and waving it in front of your face.

You took a second to examine it. Small, but not overwhelmingly so. A pretty shade of red, with silver and gold designs etched into the sides.

Your eyes widened in realization. By the ever-growing smirk on his face, he could tell that you'd figured it out.

"You did— I can't believe you did that!"

"It's nothing, really," he said, feigning indifference.

"Nothing? How did you even afford this? I looked at the price tag earlier, and I almost passed out. This thing's expensive!"

"It wasn't that bad. I mean, yeah, it costs a fortune, but what's the point of saving up if you can't spend the money on something cool every once in a while? I wanted to buy it for you, and I did."

"Marty..." You didn't know what to say. How could you express just how grateful and touched you were? “This is… This is way better than my gift.”

"Hey, we don't have to worry about that now. The important thing is that we both got each other—” It seemed as though his mind caught up with him because the second the words left his mouth, his eyes widened in panic.

"Wait, what?" He turned his head to face you, his eyes wide. "Did you just say that you got me a gift? You stole my idea?!”

You shrugged, trying to act casual. You failed. "What? I didn't say anything."

"You said you got me a gift! Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I was saving it for later when it was appropriate."

"And is this not appropriate?" His tone was teasing, and a small smile was starting to form on his face.

"It wasn't. And I still can't believe that you did that. The music box was way too much. I should've gotten you something better. Something more deserving."

"Well, you didn't. So, where is it? Come on, don't keep me waiting. Let's see what you got."

"Fine." You took a deep breath and reached into your jacket pocket, pulling out a small square-shaped item wrapped in brown paper.

"Wow, classy."

"Shut up."

He took it from you, unwrapping the paper and examining the contents. His expression went from excitement to shock to… confusion.

"Uh, thanks?" He held up the gift, which happened to be a Walkman… but not just any Walkman. It was your Walkman.

"Yeah, you're welcome. I saw how jealous you were, so I thought I'd give it to you."

He snorted. "Jealous? You do realize I have one of these, right?"

"But not this one."

"So?"

"So, this one is special. What do you think I was doing at the park, sitting all alone in the middle of nowhere, listening to music?"

He raised an eyebrow.

"I was listening to this." You pulled the headphones out of your pockets and placed them over his ears. "This is a mix tape. All of your favorite songs. I spent weeks compiling them."

His expression changed again, his face softening. "How did you—"

"I have my ways. And, yes, I did throw in Kate Bush. I know you hate it, but… I like her."

"Of course you do."

You smiled softly.

"I know it's not the greatest, but—”

"Not the greatest? Are you kidding? This is amazing. I could literally kiss you right now— I mean… not literally... but, yeah, you know what I mean. This is great. Thank you."

You nodded, your heart fluttering.

"You're welcome. And thank you for the music box. I could kiss you too— not literally, I mean, well, you know what I mean."

"Right."

The two of you were silent for a few seconds, neither one of you saying anything. The air was heavy with tension, but it wasn't the bad kind. It was the good kind, the kind that made your heart race and your palms sweat.

The kind that made you want to kiss him.

He was looking at you, and the look on his face made your heart melt. It was soft, tender, full of affection and love. His eyes were shining brightly, and they were filled with wonder, admiration, and excitement.

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Instead, he let out a nervous laugh.

"The more I think about it… maybe it would be better just to kiss you, y'know?"

"Oh, yeah, I agree."

He laughed, his gaze drifting to your lips. His pupils were dilated, and his breathing was shallow. Oh… Oh.

"You’re actually… wow, okay."

That made him pause, his brows furrowing.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just… nothing."

He stared at you, confused. "No, come on, what is it?"

"I thought you weren’t… well, I mean, you don't look the type."

"Type?"

"Y'know, the romantic type. You just never struck me as the sort of guy who'd do stuff like this. And don't take that the wrong way because it's a compliment. It's just… I totally thought you were kidding.”

“What? Kissing you?”

You nodded.

His face fell, and he let out a humorless laugh.

"You really think I'd joke about that?"

"I don't know. We're friends. You've never shown any interest in me. Hell, you're always making fun of me for being so romantic and shit. Ironic, since you bought me the most romantic thing ever."

"Well, yeah, but that's because… I mean, why wouldn’t I be interested in you? You're beautiful, funny, smart… I can overlook the bad taste in music."

“Well, I can overlook your obsession with Pepsi. But just a little bit. Coke is way better, and you know it."

He rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine, whatever. But I am interested. I just didn't know if you were interested, and I didn't want to ruin anything, y'know? But then you made me that mixtape… and you know what they say about gifting music, right? It's, uh, it's very symbolic.”

"Right.” You nodded, smiling along with his rambling.

"I mean, who makes someone a mix tape anymore? Especially if they hate half the songs on it? That's pretty serious."

God, you were so gone for this boy.

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"And what exactly do you think I'm saying?"

"That you have feelings for me."

"I mean, I have very… very strong feelings for certain aspects of you. If you get my drift." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Your subtlety is astounding."

"Oh, yeah, you know how it is. But, uh, yeah. I guess I'm saying… that I like you. A lot. And not in an 'I-think-you're-really-cool-and-we-should-hang-out' kinda way. In an 'I-wanna-kiss-you-and-hold-your-hand' way."

"Wow."

"What?"

"Just, wow. That's probably the cheesiest thing you've ever said. And the sweetest."

"Hey, if it works, it works.” He smiled again, and you felt a warmth spread throughout your body. “So, what'd ya say? Want those future milkshakes to be a little more official?"

"Only if you agree to one thing."

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "And, what's that?"

"Kate Bush stays on the mix tape."

"You drive a hard bargain." His breath tickled your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. "But, I think I’ll be able to make the sacrifice."

"Yeah?”

"Yeah."

And with that, he closed the distance between you. His lips were soft and warm, and you felt butterflies erupt in your stomach.

His hands cupped your face gently, and he pressed his forehead against yours. The two of you stayed like that for a while, your breaths mixing together just like the songs on the mixtape.

And, as you stood there, surrounded by the smell of food, the sound of laughter, and the feeling of Marty's hands in your hair, you couldn't help but think…

Marty McFly, you’re one hell of a romantic.

#marty mcfly #marty mcfly x reader #marty mcfly/reader #marty mcfly x female!reader #marty mcfly imagine #marty mcfly fanfiction #1980s movies #1980s #x reader #reader #fanfic #fanfiction #back to the future #marty mcfly x you #back to the future fanfiction #bttf x reader #bttf fandom #bttf #marty mcfly fanfic #marty mcfly gif imagine #michael j fox #michael j fox x reader #bttf fanfic #bttf fic #doc brown #1985 #alex keaton #alex keaton x reader #fluff #anon request

[aislinrayne]

[𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱]

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: Lucy's having her first serious fight with her girlfriend and needs her old room back for the night; leaving the current occupant of the space with no place to sleep.

ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: Mature

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: Light sexual content, strong language, no use of Y/N.

𝔄𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯'𝔰 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: Happy (still technically) early Valentine's Day to the little gremlins in my phone <3 This was supposed to be a nice short oneshot to help me overcome some writers block around my main series, but, uh... once again, it got out of hand. Special thanks to @websterss and @why-what-no for helping me figure out how to approach the attic scene, which ended up being the catalyst of this veering so far out of control 😂 Hope you guys enjoy! (Oh god I completely forgot to mention, the title is from I Love You So by The Walters)

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 5.3k

It was a quiet night at 35 Portland Row, the team having a rare evening off between jobs that seemed to double by the day.  Gaining fame and notoriety had been Lockwood’s goal since the day he and George had officially formed Lockwood & Co. several years previously, and to say they’d been successful would be an understatement.  

There had been a call for him to increase his numbers and branch out as a better manned agency many times, but to do so would mean giving up certain freedoms he wasn’t willing to relinquish.  Including the house he and his agents had come to call home.   Hiring extra hands would require extra accommodations and though that would come with its own set of bonuses, there was something to be said about the consistency and approachability of a single door at street level on a seemingly unassuming family home.

At least, that’s what he tried to remind himself as he was startled from a rare peaceful sleep by the sound of a closed fist pounding insistently on his front door.  

For a solitary moment, he considers ignoring it.  

“ANTHONY!  I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME!  GET YOUR ARSE UP AND OPEN THE DAMN DOOR.”  A familiar voice hollers from the front porch.  

He’s out of bed before his sleep-addled brain can register the movement, turning on the lamp on his side table and grabbing a grey sweatshirt off the chair at his desk, pulling it over his head as he descends the stairs at a breakneck pace.  

The several locks on their front door had never really seemed like overkill before, but they’d never stood between him and a friend in obvious distress before either.  He fumbles the last of the bolts and pulls the door open to find Lucy Carlyle looking disheveled, eyes rimmed red and lip trembling, the picture of misery.  Wordlessly, he opens his arms and she crumbles into them without hesitation, burying her face in his shoulder.  

They stay like that for a while, until his toes remind him that he’s still barefoot and London nights are cold this time of year.  He pulls away enough to usher her inside, closing the door behind them and locking it tight for the night once more.  She sniffles, allowing herself to be led into the kitchen and sat in her old chair as he goes through the motions of filling the kettle and setting it on the stove to boil for tea.  

He doesn’t push, doesn’t try to interrogate her.  If and when she’s ready to talk about it, she’ll tell him.

“I need my old room for the night.”  She mumbles eventually, using a finger to trace the outline of one of the many unflattering doodles of Lockwood on the thinking cloth.  “Norrie and I got into it tonight, she says she needs some space.”  

He remains silent as he pours water into their mugs, trying to puzzle his way through how to make that happen.  She knew that room was occupied now, and he knew she wouldn’t ask if she wasn’t in desperate need of the comfort of her old home.  

Nodding decisively, he walks back to the cupboard and pulls out another cup.  

“I’ll go wake her up and get the bedding changed over.  Do you want to talk about it?”   She shakes her head vehemently at the question, choosing instead to drop her head onto the table with a loud thud.  He has to smother a laugh at that.  Despite understanding the serious nature of the situation, he’s acutely aware that this is their first major fight in three years.  Chances are they’ll be back to their obnoxiously happy ways within the week, but if he doesn’t treat this as seriously as Lucy is clearly feeling it is then he might as well turn in his best friend title on the spot.  

He places her tea on the table beside her head and his own across from her, patting her shoulder reassuringly as he withdraws his hand.  Doubling back to the counter, he picks up the third cup and takes it with him out of the kitchen and up the stairs, closing the door to his room as he passes it on his way to the top of the house.

Standing on the landing outside her door he falters, almost losing his nerve.  Then he reminds himself this is for Lucy.  

Rolling his shoulders back and straightening his posture, he raises his free hand and raps his knuckles against the wood.

Silence.

Brow furrowing, he knocks again.

Still nothing.

Raising his eyes to the ceiling he silently curses heavy sleepers, under no illusions that most of his resentment is’t based in envy.  

Weighing his options for a moment, he grimaces.  Go tell his woe-filled best friend he’s too much of a coward to wake their coworker himself, or risk having whatever items have accumulated on her bedside table thrown at him when he enters her room.

Unfortunately, it’s a no brainer.

He places his hand on the handle, foolishly hoping it would be locked.  

It’s not.  

Muttering curses under his breath, he pushes the door open and ascends the last flight of stairs into her room.

He finds himself frozen in place on the last step, entranced by how serene the scene before him appears.  

She’d fallen asleep with the lamp beside her bed still on.  It casts a soft golden glow across her face, and for a moment she takes his breath away.  

She’s still fully dressed from the day, passed out on top of her blankets with a book laying open beside her.  It’s so easy to picture her laying on her side, one hand tucked under her cheek, fighting to try and make it through just one more chapter before the weight of her eyelids won and sleep finally overcame her.  

He could feel a soft smile making itself at home on his face, an affectionate exasperation at her dedication to the written word settling comfortably in his chest.  

If he hadn’t already, this would have been the moment he fell in love.  

Wrestling himself from his thoughts and trying to shape his face into something at least slightly less lovesick, he thaws his feet and makes his way over to the bed.  

“It’s time to wake up, beautiful.”  He says, the last part slipping out unbidden.  

She doesn’t react, so he closes her book and moves it to her side table to make room for himself to sit on the mattress beside her.  The bed settling under his weight makes her stir, rolling onto her back and mumbling something incoherent.  

When she makes no move to wake any further, he reaches across to squeeze her shoulder gently.  She whines, scrunching up her face in indignance and opening bleary eyes to blink slowly at the disturbance.  Her eyes come to focus on him and the tension drains from her face, a sleepy smile taking its place as she hums and rests her eyes shut again.  

He smiles right back at her, letting his hand run down her arm.  His intention is to pull away, but apparently she has other plans.  She reaches after him, catching his hand with her own and pulling back towards her.  His heart leaps into his throat and he can actively feel the blood rushing to his face as her body curls in his direction.

“Come back to bed…”  She mumbles, voice still laced with exhaustion, resting her forehead against the back of his hand and sighing contentedly at the contact.  He’s completely forgotten how to function, torn between blindly following her wishes and remembering why he’s in her room this late to begin with.

He’s saved from having to decide anything by her eyes suddenly flying open, face transforming from sleepy bliss to sheer mortification in the blink of an eye.

“Oh my god.  I AM SO SORRY.”  She shrieks, flailing away from him with such vigour that she throws herself straight off the opposite edge of the bed.  He dives across the bed in a valiant attempt to catch her but he’s just a hair too late, the echoing thud of her body hitting the floor making him wince sympathetically.  

He peeks over the side of the bed to find her laying on her back with her hands over her beet red face.  She parts her fingers, staring miserably at him from between them.  

His lips are pressed together tightly with the effort maintaining his composure.

She cracks first, a giggle slipping past her hands.

Within seconds they’re both in stitches, almost crying with laughter.  By the time they manage to compose themselves, several minutes must have passed.  

He stands and walks around the bed to offer her a hand.  She wipes the tears from her eyes, heaving for breath as she reaches up to accept his help and is pulled to her feet.  

“Now that that’s out of the way, what the hell are you doing in my room at this time of night?”  She gasps, bracing her palms on her thighs as she struggles to make her lungs understand she’s not suffocating.  

Lockwood’s eyes go wide with horror.

“I’m an awful friend.”  He rushes out, covering his mouth.  She does a double take in response, looking like she’s about to get whiplash from the sudden shift in topic and energy.

“Beg your pardon?”

“Luce is downstairs in the kitchen right now.  I guess she and Norrie had a lover's quarrel?  She needs her room back for the night.”  

He cringes as she gapes at him.  

Thankfully, instead of scolding him she bolts into action.  The bed is stripped bare before he can even process the speed with which she’s moving and suddenly she’s shoving his arms full with fabric.

“Laundry room!  Now!”  She snaps, already across the room rifling through her wardrobe for fresh bedding. 

He’s on the second step by the time she calls him back to ask what Lucy was wearing when she showed up on their doorstep.  

“Jeans and a jumper.”  He calls over his shoulder as he descends the steps two at a time.  

The laundry room is close to George’s room, so he decides to err on the side of caution and leave the items in the washing machine and makes a mental note to start it in the morning.  By the time he finishes separating everything and has it all organized, he can hear footfalls approaching rapidly from overhead.  There’s a stutter in her step and a brief scrambling noise that has him holding his breath, but she manages to rebalance herself and continues down the next flight on her way to the kitchen without losing any momentum.  

His shoulders slump in relief and all at once the late hour catches up with him.  

Or does it officially qualify as early now?  

He’s still pondering that when he almost slips on a small puddle of liquid at the top of the stairs.  The adrenaline wakes him up a bit but now he has another, if slightly more pressing, question.

What the hell is on the floor?

And then it clicks.  

The tea.  

She must have grabbed it off her bedside table on her way downstairs and spilled it when she almost took a tumble of her own.  

He chuckles and shakes his head, almost uncomfortably aware of how smitten he is with the small tornado occupying the attic room as he turns back to grab a towel from the room he’d just left.

By the time he makes his way into the kitchen, she’s helping Lucy out of her chair and herding the girl upstairs.  

He raises his eyebrow at her in a silent question, but she shoots him a look that says ‘stay here, I’ve got this’ and an almost shy smile that promises she’ll be back soon.  He dips his head in understanding, shooting her a smirk that hopefully says ‘I’ll be here’ and not ‘I’m hopelessly in love with you’.

After the girls exit the room, his eye is drawn to his now lukewarm tea on the table.  He sighs, reaching across the table to grab his cup.  

He stares at the liquid for a while, already hearing one of George’s endless rants about wasting tea bags rattling through his head.  Even when he’s asleep, Karim manages to torment him.  

Shrugging, he dumps the cup out into the sink and busies himself making another to pass the time.  

The kettle is starting to whistle on the stove as he opens the cupboard to grab himself a tea bag.  He’s about to close it but hesitates for a moment before reaching in to grab a second.  If his tea had gone cold, hers had as well.  

Sure enough, her cup sat abandoned beside the sink, only down the small amount that had spilled on the staircase.

She walks back into the kitchen in a fresh pair of pajama shorts and an oversized t- shirt that looks strangely familiar just as he sets their mugs on the table, shooting him a grateful smile as she collapses into her chair.  

She clasps the tea in both hands like a treasure, taking a sip and letting out a sinful sound of enjoyment that almost makes him choke, effectively distracting him from inspecting the shirt.  He barely manages to pass it off as a poorly timed inhale, but she’s considerate enough to accept it with minimal teasing.

They’re both half finished before either dares to address the elephant in the room.

“So…”  She starts, giving him a rueful smile.

“I’ll take the loveseat in the sitting room, you can sleep in my bed.”  He states matter-of-factly, intending to leave no room for argument.  

Her cocked eyebrow tells him very quickly his intention failed.

“No, I really don’t think so.  I can sleep on the loveseat, your neck will be kinked for days if you do that again.”  Her eyes are filled with a warning he readily ignores.

“I couldn’t very well call myself a gentleman if I let you do that, and you know it.”

“Anthony-“

“I’m not arguing this with you.”

“Fine then, we can share the bed.”  She retorts, a prideful twinkle in her eye as she stares a challenge at him.

“Seems like a valid compromise.”  He surprises them both with his answer, the words hanging in the air.  For a moment he wishes he could unsay them, but then her face shifts.  

Her eyes widen, cheeks flushing the prettiest shade of pink as she gapes at him.  He beams at her, finally feeling as though he has the upper hand.  

She pushes herself away from the table, standing up abruptly and padding out of the room as he leans back in his chair victoriously.  

But instead of rushing to hide away in his bedroom as he expects, she catches him off guard by stopping with her hand resting on the doorframe and glancing back over her shoulder. 

“Well…  are you coming?”  

His mouth goes dry.  Okay.  He hadn’t seen that coming. 

Lockwood considered himself a charming man. He prided himself on being capable of sweeping a woman off her feet with a few carefully placed words or gentle touches.  There were very few people on this planet that made him feel like an absolute simpleton, but unfortunately, she was one of them.  Just once, he’d like to be able to maintain his composure around her and not make a fool of himself the second she looked in his direction

Disarmed and feeling like a floundering imbecile, he sits there in silence for a second, begging his brain to come up with some kind of charismatic reply to help him save face.

An unrecognizable emotion flashes across her face and she drops her eyes, leaving him even more confused than before.  

And then his mind catches up.  

Vulnerability.  Uncertainty.  Insecurity.

Concern.

He’s on his feet before he can overthink it, gesturing for her to lead the way.  Her relief is raw, undisguisable.  He passes her at the top of the stairs, opening the door to his bedroom for her and giving a teasing little bow.  She laughs and rolls her eyes at his theatrics, but he can tell she appreciates the effort to set her at ease.  She saunters into his room, giving the space a curious scan and he realizes it’s the first time she’s actually been in here.  

He leans against the door frame, watching her approach his bookshelf and run her fingers along the spines, searching for any titles she might find familiar.  A tender smile finds its way to his face once more, and this time he doesn’t even bother trying to hide it.  

When she’s satisfied with her search, she shoots him a look before sighing dramatically, lifting the back of her hand to her forehead and pretending to faint onto his bed.  He laughs, shaking his head as he crosses the threshold.  

He considers the door for a moment, trying to decide if he should leave it open or close it.  

His eyes wander across the hall to George’s door, and he closes his own with sudden and complete confidence in his decision.

A giggle from his bed tells him she’d watched his thought process play out and agreed with his choice.  He turns to make a clever remark, but the words die on his tongue as soon as he lays eyes on her.  

She’s laying on her side across his pillows, propped up on her elbow with her chin resting on the palm of her hand, watching him through her lashes with… another unfamiliar emotion flickering behind her eyes.  

Before he can dwell on it too much, an idea occurs to him.  He crosses the room swiftly with a mischievous grin, jumping and twisting his body at the last minute to land on the mattress sideways.  She shrieks as she’s bounced at least a few inches into the air, cackling as the momentum from the landing rolls her closer to him.  Their shoulders rub together as they laugh, laying on their back and staring up at the ceiling before falling into a comfortable silence.  She lifts herself up onto her elbows, looking down at him.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m absolutely exhausted.  Do you know what time it is?”  She queries, tilting her head in curiosity.  He lifts himself up enough he can see the clock on his bedside table, hissing a breath between his teeth at the glowing numbers taunting him.  

“You don't want to know.”  He groans, dropping back to the bed.  She pokes at his side with her elbow until he looks up at her, gesturing towards the pillows with her head.  A sly smile breaks out on her face and her eyes twinkle at him.

“‘Come back to bed.’”  She echoes her own words from earlier back at him playfully, poking fun at herself as she rolls onto her side and crawls up his bed.  He laughs freely as he watches her, something he’s grown quite used to doing around her over the past few years.  She lifts the covers, diving beneath them and wiggling around until she finds a comfortable spot laying on her side close to the wall.

Trying not to overthink himself into a tizzy, rolls onto his stomach and pushes himself onto his hands and knees, grunting with the effort.  He follows her lead to climb under the covers, though he’s sure he’s not nearly as graceful or cute as she had been.  

Once he’s settled comfortably beside her, he finds himself feeling oddly out of place.  He’d never been so aware of where his hands were while laying in bed before, but now he has no idea what to do with them.   He settles for resting them awkwardly on his chest.

He can feel her staring at him.

He keeps his gaze fixed firmly on the ceiling.  

She sighs in exasperation, the bed dipping under her weight as she shifts to lean over him and turn off the lamp on his side table, somehow oblivious to him forgetting how to breathe as he becomes hyper aware of every place her body is touching his own.  She retracts her reach, but doesn’t move all the way back to her spot, leaving him completely blind and incredibly confused by her continued proximity.

Her hand touches his forearm, fingers dancing across his skin until she reaches his wrist, grabbing it and gently pulling until he lifts the arm closest to her into the air.

There’s shuffling noises and movement beside him, leaving him even more perplexed, until she’s resting her head on his shoulder and he declares himself officially braindead.  She scoots closer, tucking her body into his side and resting her open palm on his chest.

“Goodnight, Lockwood.  Sweet dreams.”  She whispers in a calm voice that would have had him completely fooled if he couldn’t feel her heart pounding against his ribs.  Her words restart his brain, allowing him to drop his arm around her, his hand automatically coming to rest on her hip.

“Goodnight, darling, you too.”  He whispers back, and though it’s too dark for him to see her face, he can still feel the heat radiating through his shirt.

He’s honestly thankful for how tired he is, otherwise he’d never be able to fall asleep with the adrenaline coursing through his veins alongside his blood.

His fingers trace absentminded swirls on her hip as his eyes begin to droop, sleep overtaking him before his conscious mind can register it happening.

For once, his dreams are actually sweet.

When he’s finally dragged unwillingly back to consciousness, the perpetrator is sunlight streaming in through his window and directly into his eyes.  

He tries to lift his right arm to block it out, but there’s an unexpected weight holding it in place.

The events of the night before rush back to him, and suddenly the blinding sun isn’t anywhere near the top of his priority list.  He lets his head roll towards her just to find her already awake and looking at him.  

Her hair is a mess, and he can’t help but laugh as he reaches across his body to brush it away from her face, though he’s sure he looks much the same.  

His fingers linger on her cheek of their own accord.  

That look in her eye from last night is back, and if he didn’t know any better he’d swear her gaze flickers to his lips for a split second.

And then, with the kind of clarity only morning light can bring, it hits him.  

A bonafide lightbulb moment.

He really is a bloody simpleton.

Truly, he could be an absolute moron sometimes, and he swore to himself in that moment the next time someone told him so he’d willingly agree with them.

Acting without thinking had gone surprisingly well for him in the past twenty-four hours, so what’s one more gamble, in the grand scheme of things?  

His hand slides down from her cheek, his fingers lightly caressing the back of her neck as he guides her face towards him.  Her eyes flutter closed and he swears his heart is about to break free from his chest.

His lips ghost over hers, giving her plenty of room to pull away if she’s in any way uncomfortable.  

As always, she surprises him, rolling her body towards him and gripping the front of his sweatshirt with both hands, using it to pull him closer to her.  

There’s a need poured into the next kiss, a desperation and hunger born of pining they’d both been so certain was one sided.

He meets her intensity with his own, slipping an arm underneath her waist and placing a hand on her back to pull her tightly against him.  

She lets a muffled moan slip, and a thrill runs up his spine at the thought of spending as much time as he wants learning each and every noise of pleasure she’s capable of making, and how to coax them out of her like music.

Her hands release his shirt, roaming over every inch of his body they can touch instead.  

Her exploration must have caused his shirt to start to bunch around his waist because as the hand on the nape of her neck finds its way into her hair, one of her roaming hands grazes a sliver of bare skin on his hip and he gasps, automatically tightening his grip and giving her hair a gentle tug in the process.  She whimpers against his lips, breaking the kiss as her head falls back in an instinctive response.

Oh.  He was going to have to remember that for later.

Not that it would be a problem, that noise was going to play a part in all of his fantasies for the foreseeable future.

Never one to pass up an opportunity, he takes advantage of the opening to pull her closer and kiss her neck.  

His name falls from her lips like a prayer and as he grins in delight his teeth graze her skin.  

She moans in earnest at that, back arching involuntarily as she presses her body against his so close he can feel her heart beating through their clothes.  

Keen to test a theory, he presses kisses up her throat until he’s high enough to catch her earlobe, letting it slide lightly between his teeth.

“Fuck.”  She hisses, digging her nails into his hip.  He can’t stop the growl that rumbles from his chest at that, and she hooks a leg over him in reply.  

He feels like he’s drowning in her, everything in him is screaming to surrender and worship her like the goddess she is but he knows it would be too much too fast for both of them.  

So, exhibiting strength he didn’t know he had, he pulls back.  Gulping oxygen like he’s been holding his breath for hours and sliding his hand back down to her neck before pulling her in close enough to press a firm and reassuring kiss to her forehead until he can compose himself enough to swear he isn’t in any way rejecting her.  

Somehow, as always, she understands exactly what he’s doing and balls her fists in his shirt, taking stabilizing breaths of her own.

Once he’s confident they’re both back in full control, he slides his fingers under her chin, lifting her face and pressing his lips to hers in a leisurely and indulgent kiss that promises it won’t be the last.

She hums contentedly when he pulls away again, chasing after him to give him a gentle peck.

“I really am a dunce, aren’t I?”  He asks when he’s regained his composure, replaying so many events from the last several years over in his mind in a whole new light.  

“Do you want an honest answer?”

“Always.”

“Yeah, you’re right thick sometimes.”

“I really am, because now that I’m thinking about it, you are terrible at hiding how you feel.”  He grins as she smacks his arm, tossing her head back and laughing.  

“Like you’re one to talk!  Anthony Lockwood, you are an open book and I’ve been a fool not to notice it before.”  She teases, tilting her head to rest their foreheads together.  He shrugs, planting a peck on her nose before dragging himself reluctantly out from under the covers.

“Up you get, if we stay in bed too much longer they’re going to start asking questions.”  He offers her his hand as he whispers the last part conspiratorially.  

She rolls her eyes at him but takes the offered appendage anyway, letting him pull her to her feet before trudging across his room to the door.  She places her palm on the handle, but hesitates before turning it.  

Seeming to steel herself for something, she turns instead to face him.

“And if they do?  Y’know, ask questions?”  There’s a crease between her brows that speaks of concern and it makes his heart ache, something in him begging to reach out and smooth it away.

“I suppose that depends.  How attached are you to the attic?”  He deadpans.

“What?”  She’s taken aback, confusion painted across every feature.

“I mean, personally, I’m rather fond of this room.  I did move out of the attic because I felt I’d outgrown it, but I am willing to compromise.”  He smirks, waiting for her to catch on.  “I’m far more fond of sharing a bed with you.”  He adds quietly when she continues to stare at him in bewilderment.  

Her eyes go wide when she pieces it all together.

“Sorry, wait, hold on… rewind for a second.  Did you just skip straight to asking me to move in with you instead of actually verbally admitting that you want to date me?”  She gawks at him incredulously.

“I believe I did, actually, yes.  Thoughts?”  

“I’m bad with heights and it is freezing up there in the winter.”  She replies without a second’s hesitation.  Soothing the twinge of protective guilt at the thought of her shivering alone in the cold with the knowledge he wouldn’t let it happen again, he grins and crosses the room to pull her into a passionate kiss.  

He almost loses himself to the softness of her lips and the feeling of her body pinned between him and the door, but he manages to hold himself at least partially to the task at hand.

“Just to be perfectly transparent,” He manages to add between kisses, “I would very much like to date you.”  She lifts her arms and lets them drape around his neck, pulling him close for one last kiss before separating.

“Good, because I would ‘very much’ like to date you too.”  She laughs, giving him a playful shove back to make enough room to open the door to the hallway.  

They exit his room holding hands and bumping shoulders as they venture towards the stairs.  

George’s door flies open and they freeze, both looking at him like deer caught in headlights.  

He blinks, takes off his glasses, rubs his eyes, puts his glasses back on, and stands there staring at them for a long moment in only boxers and an oversized shirt.

“Fucking FINALLY.”  He hollers with the intensity of a man infuriated by years of their unending mutual idiocy, storming off to the bathroom and slamming the door behind him.  

They slowly turn to look at each other, breaking out in laughter for what must be the hundredth time in the past two days.  

Before they resume their journey downstairs though, George’s oversized shirt had reminded Lockwood of something.

“Hey, I almost forgot to ask.  Is that my shirt?”  He asks, raising an eyebrow at her.  The colour spreads from her neck to her face almost instantaneously as she begrudgingly nods, looking pointedly at the ground.  He wraps an arm around her shoulders, his signature smile plastered on his face.  

“Good.  I like it.”  He confesses, squeezing her arm reassuringly.  She leans into him, wrapping her arm around his waist as they descend the stairs and head for the kitchen.

What they find upon entering the room is wildly unexpected.

Lucy and Norrie are sitting side by side with their arms crossed, both wearing the same smug smirk, five mugs of steaming hot tea placed around the table in front of them.  

The girl tucked into his side gasps, connecting the dots rapidly and letting loose a quiet shriek of betrayal and indignation.  

“You sneaky bitches!”  There’s awe in her voice when she finally speaks, though she’s clearly not certain if she should be grateful or angry at the manipulation.

Even though he should probably be upset, feeling the warmth of her body against his and already making plans to move her belongings into his - their room, he just can’t bring himself to be anything other than thankful for their intervention.

Looking at the calendar on the wall, the final piece of the puzzle clicks into place.

Sneaky bitches indeed, he finds himself thinking as the women in question pick up their teacups to cheers each other. 

Reaching down to press a kiss to the top of her head, he leans in close enough to whisper;

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

⤛⊹ 𝔣𝔦𝔫 ⊹⤜

𝔉𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝔱𝔞𝔭 [𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢]

#aislin writes #lockwood and co netflix #lockwood and co #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #george karim #reader insert #x reader #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood & co #lockwood x reader #lucy x norrie #norrie white

[sirdindjarin]

Never Let Me Down Again - Joel Miller x Reader (Part One)

While searching cross-country for his brother, Joel stumbles across Ellie and you, her older sister. Persuaded into letting you two tag along, Joel is reminded that there are some good things left in the world.

A/N: This is a non-canon (timeline is fucked with), highly indulgent story. Based on Pedro Pascal's excellent daddyness in the HBO adaptation of The Last of Us. Also, I'm from the South so I get to make fun of it and beautify it.

Masterlist ->

AO3 Link♥

RATING: Mature - sexual pining, cursing, gore, canon-typical violence, blood, death of an animal (rabbit).

TAGS: Age Gap (reader is mid-twenties, Joel is mid-forties), Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Angst, Fluff, EVENTUAL SMUT, Happy Ending.

WC: 10.5k

Before the world ended, many a weekend had been spent sleeping under the stars, smelling the heated smoke of a campfire, and listening to your father tell stories of his wild childhood.

But now, in this diseased world, the quiet woodlands around you feel more like victorious kingdoms. 

Eight years ago, nature began a war, successfully colonizing mankind. Neither cities nor the country were safe, but at least the wilderness was fairer: a chance at freedom controlled only by fate and capability. 

You’ve grown to like this area, as far as you can like anywhere that isn’t fortified and full of supplies and weapons. Determining which QZs or communities weren’t run by a violent government or another type of evil had been too risky. You had her to think about. 

The scope of your rifle trains on a furry patch of gray and tan. The rabbit's fluffy head snaps up, preternaturally aware of the danger. As you breathe into the squeeze of the trigger, a bronze shape shifts into your field of vision. You relax your finger and adjust the scope to identify the intrusion.

A man. His hair is downy, a mixture of mahogany and gray, similar to your previous, smaller target. He, too, has a gun pointed at the doomed rabbit. He seems to feel the attention of your firearm as his gaze pinpoints you.

The man has guarded eyes the color of coffee. With a powerful build only broadened by his thick tawny jacket, he's imposing. But his unkempt hair, full lips, and strong jaw tug at your sensibilities.

You recognize the look of hunger on his face; the memory of that feeling ghosts through your gut in empathy. Your weapon lowers, and you tip your head toward the animal, signaling to the stranger.

The man returns your gesture in gratitude and fires. You back away, gun still at the ready, as he advances to retrieve his dinner. Being nice didn't mean that you had to let your guard down.

       ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"You bitches," the elderly woman shrieks. "Where's our fuckin' eggs?"

Your hands point skyward as you stare down a shotgun. It’s an antique double barrel. Your grandfather had one like it. You wonder where it is now.

Lightning fast, you kick out to the left, hooking Ellie’s leg, indicating she should get behind you.

"No, ma’am. We didn't take any of your eggs. We came up here to ask you honestly for some." You try to explain, backing up a step. Ellie’s hands are tense on your back, ready for whatever you tell her to do.

The small farm sits in a holler near the base of a mountain; a half day's walk from your failed rabbit hunt. It wasn’t much anymore - the barn had long ago fallen to splinters and the pens contained no livestock.

However, a handful of chickens cluck around in the front yard. Neither you nor Ellie could believe the sound as you approached the old, single-story farmhouse.

Your excitement quickly dissipated. Sickles, rusted farm equipment, and bleached bones you hadn't the time to identify were strung around the front porch. Mason jars filled with suspiciously-colored liquids lined the railings.

"Bullshit. We ain't seen not a single livin' person outside of us in years, and my eggs go missin' the same day you selfish brats appear? Pfft." 

What remains of the woman’s stringy hair flies about as she spits in the dirt. It was hard to believe she’s had a roof over her head all this time. Her once-white nightgown is splotchy and torn. The shotgun is too heavy for her, shaking in her frail arms.

“‘We?’ Ten bucks says she's living with a dead body," Ellie quips under her breath.

"John, get out here!" The woman calls over her shoulder.

"Lady, seriously, we'll just move on," you try again.

"JOHN!"

The silence of the woods had been disturbed by the woman’s accusations and was now replaced by the intimidating thumping and squeaking of a large man's footsteps on bowed, rotten wood.

A bear of a man, roughly mid-fifties (though it was hard to tell through the beard trailing to his chest and the ball cap on his head), stands in the doorway. In his right hand gleams a hammer.

"We like to save bullets," the old bitch sneers.

"Listen to me, lady, we did not take anything from you!" 

John steps slowly off the porch, his eyes trained on you. It was almost ridiculous. Did these people really think you would stand there while a man beat you to death with a hammer? You'd take a shotgun blast over that.

The problem was Ellie. The gun was a double-barreled shotgun which meant the woman only had two shells. If you could get her to fire and miss twice, both of you would have time to run. 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Under the cover of a pine tree, Joel Miller squats, watching the scene unfold. With three eggs in his hand, he feels mildly bad about you being blamed for their disappearance. Especially since he recognizes you as the girl who gave up a rabbit for him. 

Joel hears the woman call you thieves and shakes his head. Honestly, the old woman should be on-her-knees-grateful he didn’t take a whole fuckin' chicken. As he watches, he notices that she can barely hold the shotgun. 

They’ll be fine. 

His knees crack as he straightens and turns to leave, but then the shrieking echo of her calling for a man makes him pause. Joel didn’t like the odds so much anymore. He sees the look on the gun-wielding granny’s face and concludes that something far worse than justice for egg theft had fermented in these hillbillies' minds.

Joel's sharp eyes examine you. He can see the gears turning in your head, the plan forming in your mind. Gut feelings and snap judgments were important when they were the difference between life and death. Joel had become adept at both. Joel’s snap judgment was that you were capable. Smart. He figured you probably would be okay without his help, but his conscience grabs hold of him. 

He owed you.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"A’right," a man's low, smooth voice commands. "No need for all this."

Fear drops a weight in your stomach. The voice came from behind you and you don't dare turn. Now you’re outnumbered. And if this man also has a gun, it’s truly game over.

You swallow down the crushing dread, trying not to cry. Guilt and desperation stab at you over your failure to protect your sister.

But as you look at the homeowners' faces, you're confused. John’s lip is curled into a snarl, and his mother shakily moves the gun back and forth between you and the newcomer.

You decide it's worth the risk. You rotate, and from your peripheral, you somehow recognize the figure stepping out from the twilit woods.

How is that possible? Everyone you've ever known - or even heard of - is dead.

"Put it down," the man's southern accent is clear. 

You try to place it subconsciously. The Carolinas? No, his accent is too soft on the vowels. Georgia, maybe?

Slowly, the old woman hunches over the gun as if to set it down, but instead pulls the trigger in the direction of the mystery man. The recoil sends her stumbling. The sound explodes in the clearing, conjoined by the concussion of the newcomer's firearm discharging. The shotgun clatters to the ground, along with the old woman. Blood pools in the grass around her head. 

John roars and charges the man who killed his mother. Dropping your arms, you cage Ellie behind you. John races past, single-minded.

Your savior calmly stands several yards away with a rifle in his hands. To your utter shock, it’s the man from your earlier rabbit hunt. 

How the fuck? 

He’s as unmoving as the surrounding mountains despite Big John barreling down on him. The man from the woods fires one shot. John drops to the ground with a sickening thud and a winded moan. Shot in the gut, he has a few moments to live.

"How're y'all keepin' chickens alive out here for eight years?"

"Fuck you, boy," John chokes up blood, sputtering. Then his breath rattles once, twice, and stops.

The scruffy stranger reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tan egg. "Haven’t had an egg in..." He retreats from that memory.

You snort good-naturedly, "Well, I was going to say ‘Nice to see you again,’ but that dampens my gratitude."

“Owed you for the rabbit, too” he explains. 

"What's he mean by that? What rabbit?" Ellie inputs.

You ignore her and laugh. “Why didn’t you take a whole chicken?” 

“What’m I gonna do with a live chicken?”

“Eat it.”

“Well, that wouldn’t have been very nice of me, would it?” He mutters, toeing John. “Sure would like to know how these idiots survived all this time without bein’ raided, though. This place isn’t that hidden. We both found it.” 

His suspicions were starting to sprout in you, too. “Maybe it wasn’t just those two. We should check the house. Might be good stuff in there.” But after the way this family looked and acted, you knew you were unlikely to find anything besides toads collected in jars.  

The brown-eyed man nods, "Yeah, guess so."

“What’s your name?” You inquire.

The man simply looks at you.

“So I can call if I need something.”

He sighs, hesitating.

“Joel,” he answers, his voice quick and deep. It suits him. Strong, fitting somehow. 

“Alright, Joel.” You give him your name. “Let’s get it over with - I’m getting the creeps out here, and I doubt it'll be better inside.” 

“Fuck me, I guess?” Ellie chimes in again now that a bit of trust has been established.

Joel looks at her, shocked, but addresses you: “She always talk like that?”

“Yeah, pretty much. You keep watch, El.” You point to the stump of a fallen tree. “Get comfy.”

The interior of the house is precisely what you expected. Dirt, decay, bugs, and stains cover every surface. Mold decorates several corners of the ceiling, and at least two walls have water damage, causing the old paint to swell and burst. The living room is cramped - a time capsule of trash litters the floor. You gleefully point out a crushed can of Vanilla Pepsi. 

“They released that like a month before it all went to shit,” you remember. “I loved that soda.” 

Your mind wanders, no longer seeing the house. Ellie was only six back then. You, just seventeen. You’d taken your younger sister out of school early. You’d bought that same soda and driven to a park, watching Ellie be a kid on the playground. 

How incredible the difference a few hours can make. It was painful to remember your parents, and you tried not to. When you left the house that morning, did you say goodbye properly? Did you hug your mom? It’s been too long to remember with certainty. 

An impatient voice slams you back into the present, “Can’t be cryin’ over trash all day.” 

You paw at a lonely tear with your sleeve. “You know damn well I wasn’t crying over trash.” 

He’s got his back to you as he leans to dig through a cabinet in the adjoining kitchen. In the center of the floor, an old rug makes a squelching noise when he steps on it.

“Can’t be cryin’ over that now, either,” he says with a glimmer of empathy, moving through the kitchen with a practiced sweep of his rifle. It reminds you that he, too, has a tragic backstory. Everyone does. 

You inhale deeply to collect yourself and regret it. You quickly pull the collar of your flannel over your nose. A sickly sweet smell permeates the place, as if the house itself were decomposing.

The floorboards, once a pretty oak, are black and squishy. The walls are yellow and the black-and-white photos framed down the hallway wall make the place seem even older than it is. This house is condemnable.

You sweep the other rooms, all of them in nearly unlivable conditions, and find nothing besides two equally disgusting beds. But it was strange. How were these people thriving? They must have friends. A compound nearby, a trader, some smuggling friends, someone.

You step out from the last bedroom and back into the long, yellow hallway. 

Joel stands in the living room, backlit by the open front door. He’s staring at a piece of paper in his hands like it’s a map to Atlantis. It might as well be.

“You good?” You ask as you advance on him, curious about his find. 

He looks up and his face, while unsmiling, is excited. “My brother’s on a damn beach.”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

In the east, the sun rises over the hill. You’re awoken by the bright heat on your cheeks and eyelids. To your left, among the trees, you can hear fabric rustling and buckles snapping together. Joel must be packing up his gear. He’d slept as far away from the two of you as he could after making your deal. 

In the dying light of the previous evening, you had offered to watch his back and help procure food if he’d let you tag along to his brother’s camp.

Joel had let slip that this brother of his was a “joiner; joins every ‘good’ cause he can find” and whatever he was up to typically meant his location was safer than most. After aimlessly wandering for the last several years, you figure a destination would be good for Ellie. 

Groggily, you sit up and unzip your sleeping bag. Ellie’s arm is thrown over her face, yet to awaken from the natural alarm clock. You groan as you stand, your back not as young as it once was. Catching his attention, Joel lifts his pack and stomps toward you - or, maybe he’s just a big guy and I’m not used to staring at a man when he walks, you think amusedly.

He clears the tree line and asserts, “Need to go. If you’re still comin’, we’re gonna be slow, an’ it’s already a ways.” 

You disagree, “We’re not gonna slow you down. We both made it to that place,” you wave at the chicken coop down the hill, “at the same time, buddy.” 

“Technically, I got there first,” he argues. 

You suck your teeth, unwilling to battle technicalities this early in the morning. You move over to your sister and gently shake her arm.

“I didn’t sleep at all,” she moans.

“Yeah, El, welcome to life. Get up.”

She glares up at you, huffing, and rises from her makeshift bed. 

Joel stands with his hands on his hips, watching impassively. From under the curtain of your hair, as you squat to roll your bag, you take stock of him.

The lines radiating from the corners of his eyes and across his forehead tell you that he’s older than you by at least a decade, probably two, but the wavy, graying hair, solid build, and confident demeanor only add to your interest. His pack looks bulky and burdensome, but he carries it on his shoulders as though it weighs nothing. He’s hardened but kind enough to have felt in your debt. His red, faded plaid shirt is snug across his torso and his biceps. His hands are strong and capable. 

As you study his hands, you notice he wears a watch. It looks old, its face cracked, but your brief once-over isn’t enough to be sure. That would be odd if so.

Why wear an old, broken watch?

Maybe it was broken recently and he hasn’t noticed. But Joel didn’t seem like the type of man who wouldn't notice something like that, nor would he keep items of no use to him. Your eyebrows furrow. 

Maybe it’s sentimental.

You absentmindedly touch your necklace and your heart aches for him. That makes more sense. You have no proof besides a quick character study of the man, but you’re sure he wears that thing for the same reason you wear yours. 

Joel's mind swells with impatience, nearly telling you that he’s leaving without you several times despite it taking you less than five minutes to pack. As he opens his mouth to speak his mind, you rise from your squatted position. 

Since you'd already been staring, you make eye contact with him. Your warm smile brands him. Joel blinks twice, his bad mood disarmed. He has no idea how long it's been since someone genuinely smiled at him.

“Uh,” Joel clears his throat, “Okay. We’re goin’ east.”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

It has been silent for several hours at this point. Hiking uphill was strenuous no matter the athletic ability, and talking was out of the question. Your head hangs as you focus on your two feet crunching upon the dead leaves and brambles. Dead twigs scratch at your boots. 

You might’ve been embarrassed about your lethargy if Joel hadn’t been worse. His legs actually stomp, determined to get where they're going. He had been ahead when you first started this morning, but now he was level with you. You couldn’t blame him. He was in excellent shape, but this was exhausting. 

“Wanna - take a break?” You push out the words between breaths. 

From under his hooded eyes, he throws a sidelong glance at you, unsure if you’re mocking him. He looks over his shoulder at Ellie. She throws him a thumbs-up. 

“She’s a baby. We’re not,” you tell him. 

He snorts and you want to believe his lip twitches. “What are you - twenty-two?” 

“No,” you answer. He snorts again in disbelief. You continue, “I haven’t been twenty-two in a while.” 

“It was, like, a few years ago,” Ellie interjects. Her face is amused. She knows.

“A few years is a long time out here. Especially on my poor back.” You glare at her.

Due to the incline of the earth, you plant your legs to keep yourself from tumbling down the hill. Joel follows suit, sitting down where he’d been standing. You take a swig from your canteen, the cold water almost painful to your parched throat.

Joel paces his breath. His heart begins to slow and his body relaxes before his peace is ended by Ellie.

“So, Joel, what’re you doing out here? So far from your home… of…?” 

Her arms are propped on her knees, her chin resting on her folded hands. It isn’t a polite question though she asks it with innocence. She's as curious about him and his accent as you are. 

It was rare to meet someone out here that wasn’t an automatic enemy, so Joel couldn’t blame your sister too much for asking. He’s still irritated by it. 

“I'm transporting cargo.”

“What cargo? Something cool?”

Joel motions between you and Ellie.

“No, dude, I mean where are you from and what were you doing before you ran into us.” She sounds exasperated.

“Nothin' for you to be worried about,” Joel answers with honesty and finality.

Ellie holds up her hands in surrender, “Hey, I was just curious. We’ve never met a man like you out here is all.” 

Joel wants to let that go in one ear and out the other, and he doesn’t comment on it, but internally he feels a spasm of some long-forgotten emotion. A man like him? A smuggler, a criminal, a murderer? Sure she has. 

             ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

A few, long days later, Ellie tries again.

"Georgia?" She quizzes. She gets no answer from the wall of Joel's back. She tries again:

"Florida?"

Joel snorts. "No." 

"Texas?" You finally guess.

Joel freezes his face to prevent giving anything away, but that's his biggest tell. Walking near him, you can see his mouth twitch, too.

"Ah. So, a cowboy," you say slyly. "The best kind of southerner." 

Joel scoffs, not wanting the praise. "Wasn't no cowboy."

"What'd you do? If you don't mind me asking."

"I do mind." He successfully shuts you up.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“I’ve always liked North Carolina,” you offer to no one in particular. 

It’s been five days of walking in this new triad. Joel sighs. You and your sister talk so much. He refuses to acknowledge the part of him that would 've enjoyed the banter.

As the three of you plod along, the wind picks up and the Carolina pines creak in response.

“You’ve never been here before,” Ellie accuses. 

All you can see is Joel’s broad back as the two of you follow him down the empty road, but he might’ve shaken his head at the petty argument. 

The freeways and interstates were impossible to walk down due to the number of cars, but these state back roads were almost pleasant. Few people had evacuated this way, but occasionally you'd pass a long-abandoned car.

“I know, stupid. I saw pictures.” You might be her guardian, but you’re still sisters. 

“Hey Joel, have you ever been here before?” Ellie goes over your head.

A single head shake. 

“Is the beach nice?” She continues.

Joel stops, half-turns, and looks over his shoulder. One eyebrow is raised as he deadpans, “You wan’ me to tell your fortune, too?”

Ellie rolls her eyes. “But you’re old. You were around before. Surely you know more than she does.” She jerks her thumb in your direction. 

Joel’s eyes flick to you, then he abruptly turns back around. He hoists his bag higher onto his shoulder and continues walking.

“I was basically an adult on outbreak day, Ellie.” You mouth at her: What the fuck are you doing? 

Why do you care? She mouths back, I think you like him.

She punctuates her statement by pointing at you, then his broad back. She curls her arms as if she were in a body-building competition. Your cheeks flush.

He - is - helping us! You wave your hands dramatically, semi-mocking her and instantly feeling less mature for the motion.

Oh, yeah, out of the goodness of his lil’ heart? She looks incredulous. 

Maybe! Your eyes widen, trying to convince her.

You could believe it. Sure, he had a rough exterior, and you doubted he’d be throwing his ass on the line for you again, but he was decent enough to give one or two shits.

Ellie belts one short laugh, easily mistaken for a cry of alarm which causes Joel to whirl around sharply. His large, dark eyes dart behind and to either side before he realizes you’d just been communicating between yourselves. He says nothing, his expression once again that of a disappointed parent.

“Sorry. Thought of a… great joke.” Ellie bites her cheek to quell the laughter in her throat. 

Your younger sister is a horrible liar. Ellie had been banned from all diplomatic jobs required for survival. If it required white lies, good lies, or bad lies, the job fell to you. 

Joel grimaces, “Well, keep it to yourself.”

Ellie salutes with her first two fingers; Joel turns away once more, only partly curious as to what you’d been talking about. It made him miss his brother. Made him miss laughing with his brother. The kid sure was a pain-in-the-ass right-fighter, but god, he loved him.

A few hours later, Ellie catches you admiring the fit of Joel’s jeans. In your defense, his red flannel had ridden up underneath his backpack like a velvet stage curtain. His brown leather belt lined the edge of his deeply-tanned skin. The colors look so warm - he looks so warm. It’s such a pathetic thought and you feel an insane desire to giggle. You clamp a hand over your mouth, and Ellie slaps you on the arm.

“You’re so obvious,” she whispers. “Are you okay?” She’s half-serious, half-mocking, but at the mention of it, you do a mental calculation and realize something. 

“No, I’m losing it. I’m gonna need to find some water. Been a couple of days,” you frown. 

Joel must've heard you because he stops and pulls out his map.

“Says there’s a creek running just south of us,” he leans against the first car (crashed and unusable, of course) you'd seen in nearly an hour. He nods toward the woods, tapping the map against his thigh. You grab Ellie by the hand, and trek in the direction he’d indicated. 

While you’re gone, Joel interrogates the map. How in the sweet fuck did he get this lucky? If he had to guess, he’d say that Tommy had either given those hillbillies this map in case they needed to find him (Tradin', maybe? Or to give them a place to retreat to?), or they had stolen the map from someone else who had it for the same reasons.

It didn’t matter, really; all Joel cares about is that Tommy’s name and handwriting had circled a spot near the coast. At least a ten-day walk, probably more; he sighs. 

Joel lifts his eyes to the moody sky. The breeze cools the sweaty, tan skin of his throat. Joel closes his eyes, allowing himself a moment of calm. 

Projected on his eyelids, he sees you lowering your gun amongst the trees, allowing him to have the rabbit. You’d been there first. Food wasn’t something people compromised on and yet… you’d had mercy on him. A stranger. 

His eyes fly open and he shakes his shoulders, unhappy about the squirming feeling inside him. 

Since he'd met you the second time, you’d talked more than he’d heard anyone speak in over a month. 

“Our parents used to take us into the woods and announce that we had to ‘Fend for ourselves.’ It was a fun exercise - at the time. We learned how to fish and hunt and gather berries or mushrooms or edible plants, and it was always this big adventure. We’d pile everything next to our campfire and my dad would say-”

“Eatin’ goooooood t’night!” Ellie finished the story in your father’s inflection, a tinge of sadness around the sound. You’d nudged her shoulder in camaraderie.

 Joel had yet to smile or talk about himself. The two of you asked enough questions, but he did his best to ignore them. He was completely confused as to your gaiety. 

You hadn’t lost as much of your social nature as you believed. Joel supposed having your sister by your side constantly would go far in preserving your pre-outbreak self. 

He’d been on his own too long. That was another reason he hadn’t denied your suggestion to follow him to the coast. The accompaniment of two unreasonably optimistic people caused him anxiety, but having experienced companions he could trust (and, inexplicably, he did feel that he could trust you) would always be invaluable. 

Joel had formed another snap judgment about you: you’re naive. He couldn’t understand how that was possible, though, and he almost felt guilty for even thinking it. You have survived with the added pressure of a dependant for eight years in this shit sandwich of a world. How could you have done that if you were naive? 

But his own eyes saw your willingness to give up food, your honesty in trying to ask for eggs, and now your blind trust in his guiding you three.

You needed an objective partner. He was willing to be such temporarily, and wherever Tommy was would be a safe place for you and your sister. 

You return a little while later clearly unhappy. Ellie, fighting a self-conscious smile, brings up the rear. She’d taunted you more about your infatuation with ‘your savior,’ as she’d called him. Which, of course, he wasn’t. Technically, he was the reason you’d gotten into trouble in the first place. 

You'd explained to Ellie that he was like a new toy. Different, interesting, and unthreatening. 

Well, sort of. 

You ring out the ends of your hair as Joel asks, tilting his chin up, “What happened?”

“Accidentally tipped her into the stream,” Ellie answers, patting your elbow apologetically. “I was just trying to nudge her as a joke but -”

“I slipped on the moss.” You finish for her. Since you were able to catch your fall, you hadn’t been soaked, but you had fallen on your knees and part of your hair had swung into the creek bed.

Joel lowers his eyebrows. You could’ve been hurt, or come down with pneumonia had you gotten your clothes wet. Spending winter nights in sleeping bags wasn’t the haven you wished and doing it wet may have killed you.

Joel eyes Ellie. Her cheek is twitching as if she’s nervously biting the inside of it, and her hands twist in her lap as she plunks down on the ground. 

She feels bad. Good. He was assessing a threat. If the kid was so wanton about causing problems, he’d re-evaluate this deal. But no: Just a kid actin’ like one. 

“Sun’ll be down in about an hour. Might as well set up shop here.”

“That's cool with me - it’s a nice view,” you can’t help but observe. And you’re right. The old state highway curves around and down a small, rolling mountain. Old farms divvy up the valley below like a patchwork quilt. 

Uncaring about the cliche, you’re struck by the sight. So many people spent their lives looking for a purpose. Thrills? Surviving? Power? You may be young, but you saw the answer every day, and you see it now. Your eyes drink in the blue ridges of the hazy mountains and the safe greenness that was alien to so many who sequestered in the QZs. 

Your head turns a fraction to see your sister stand and quirk her lips. Her hands land on her hips as she squints into the distance, thinking the same thing you had been. Beauty and love.

Your irritation is erased as if it had never been. Still smiling, you turn to Joel and ask, “Alright, you want to start the fire or set up the tent?”

Joel is staring at you. His face, so often canyoned by worry lines, was open to you now. Wide, coffee-colored eyes shine as he wonders who you are. How you could be so untroubled. 

But the look disappears the instant you register his curiosity. His brow drops and he grunts, “I’ll set up the tent.”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The next morning, your vision is filled with a utilitarian-green canvas ceiling. This tent belonged to your parents. It was one of your prized possessions, only pitching it when necessary, or whenever safe enough.

Later, you would convince yourself your cold, wet hair had been what led you to whip out the tent that night, not the inherent security of Joel’s presence. He, of course, had remained outside the tent despite it being just big enough to squeeze the three of you. You wouldn’t have let him inside, anyway. Trusting a man only went so far when it concerned your baby sister.

A crackling sound licks your ears and you smell smoke. You fight your way out of your sleeping bag and unzip the tent.

Joel is tired. He’s wearing his heavy jacket in the chill of the morning, and the biting breeze tussles with his already windswept hair. His eyes meet yours and he thins his lips in greeting. His lackluster "good morning" notwithstanding, he looked simultaneously soft and rough - in your opinion, exactly how a man should. 

He looks so fucking good. Your stomach somersaults in response. Wonder if I’d be this easy if the world hadn’t died, you laugh at yourself.

"Caught another rabbit. Here,” Joel leans, plucking a small piece of cooked meat from a roasting stick. 

You stride over to him and take the hot food from his outstretched hand. Sitting down next to him, your warm fingers graze his cold ones. Joel leans back, retreating a short distance. 

“Mmm, been a while since I’ve had rabbit,” you nod your head in thanks and plop the bite into your mouth. It burns your tongue for a moment, but you let it, imagining that it’s heating your entire body. 

“Can’t say the same,” he replies, then can’t help but ask: “Why’d you do it?” 

It’s been gnawing at him ever since. Joel’s concluded that you’re a good person. Too good, in fact, and you had your sister to think about. How could you put him - a random man - over your reliant sister? You were a walking dichotomy. Happy when this world is unhappy, kind when this world is unkind, trusting but alive.

“You were hungry,” you answer simply, shrugging. Humanity is rare now, and therefore precious. 

That doesn’t satisfy him in the least. “And you weren’t? And…” he doesn’t want to use Ellie’s name, it feels too friendly. “Your sister?” 

This time you turn your face to look up at him. He’s so much taller, so much larger than you, even sitting down. His chin is licked by the orange glow of the flames. The sun has started to rise over the mountain ridge behind him, recoloring his jacket from brown to gold. 

Apocalypse or not, he's fucking hot. You had the answer to your earlier thought. Dwindled pool of men? Who cares when he looks like that?

“We had food. I’d found a few houses a couple of days before and we still had, like, two or three granola bars and some berries.” You turn your face away to the view beyond your encampment. 

Joel blinks twice in disbelief. A couple goddamn granola bars?

“You need to be a better guardian,” he reprimands you.

Your head snaps to him, a look of shocked anger coloring your face. “What?” 

Joel looks down toward the valley where your eyes had been peacefully resting a moment earlier. “You can’t think about other people when you have her to worry about.” 

“I’ve kept us alive for almost a fucking decade, Joel. I know what to do.” You sneer his name and stand. 

“Listen, I appreciated it. You backin’ off the bunny. But I’m just saying, that girl’s gotta be your priority. You have to be your priority.” 

Joel doesn't know why he cares. Or at least, he wants to pretend that he doesn't know. He clamps his lips shut. 

“Thanks for the advice,” you say acidly, “I’d love to see you raise a kid through this.” 

You watch as his jaw ticks, as he looks away at your words, but you’re too angry to analyze that at the moment. 

“Teaching her that we can still be good people is almost as important as surviving. I don’t need to justify myself to you, but I'll warn you, in case you think you can take advantage of us: I’ve killed for her. I have done awful, horrible things. Things I see at night when I try to sleep. Things you’d probably be proud of.”

A statement meant to hurt him.

“But you go ahead and judge me from your fucking high horse.” 

Joel’s eyes never meet yours, but they involuntarily trail after you as you disappear into the tent, zipping it shut with as much violence as possible.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Joel doesn’t apologize. Neither one of you speaks during the trudge down into the valley. The silence is broken only by the breathing and grunting of descending a steep hill. You glance back at your little sister and she grins at you. The answer to Joel’s question was so obvious. How could you sink into despair when you had her? You answer her grin.

“Oh, good, I thought maybe I snored too loud or something.” 

You laugh, “What?”

“You’re acting all,” she scrunches her eyebrows, “pissed. I haven’t seen you this mad since that guy in Philadelphia last year.” 

“That guy was twice my age and I was downright angelic to him,” you grimace. 

“You never told me what he said about me,” she pushes. 

You stop and look at her, certain that Joel had kept walking. That was fine with you. He could keep going.

“What that motherfucker said was so vile, I’m not going to dirty my mouth by repeating it.” 

“Dude... you stabbed him in the balls. I saw that. So violence is fine for me to see, but I don’t get to know the dirty joke that made you mad?” Ellie asks, genuinely curious. 

Joel’s sonorous voice answers from right behind you, “Violence is necessary. The only reason we’re all still here. As a kid… no, you shouldn’t have to get used to it, but that’s not an option anymore. Perverts, you don’t have to get used to - so you shouldn’t.” 

Your head turns sharply to look at him, taken by surprise. He backed you up. His explanation isn’t entirely articulate, but Ellie seems to understand. It’s also the longest he’s spoken to her. He catches your eye briefly, then continues down the road. Ellie grabs for your hand.

What’s going on?

She mouths, seeing too much for your liking.

Nothing.

Your eyes are wide, convincing, as you reply. You once read that liars tend to make too much eye contact, or none at all. Looks like you’re the former.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The ear-splitting crack of a firearm echoes through the sparse valley. Two dilapidated houses sit on either side: one next to the road and nearly destroyed by fire; the other, a pale blue, one-floor ranch style, sits on a steep incline slightly back from the road, and from its living room window comes the flash of a muzzle. 

There is no need to think. Your brain automatically identifies both the location of the shooter and your closest cover. Your hand clasps around Ellie’s wrist and you sprint to the right, up the burnt stone steps, and into the blackened house. 

Some timbers still stand, and some crumbling walls as well, but your goal is through what used to be the kitchen and down behind the back of the house’s foundation. As you skirt around a piece of drywall in the kitchen,  a bullet blasts into it, sending powder and small chunks into the air. 

A short scream escapes you in surprise, but you yank Ellie down the back steps and behind cover. Joel is there a heartbeat later, his weapon already in hand. He sits back against the concrete slab, his face alight with frustration.

“Damn,” you tell him like this is a minor inconvenience, though your heart is hammering like a carpenter. 

His eyes fall to the gun in your hand and a deep chasm appears between his eyebrows. No, you glance down, he wasn’t looking at your gun but at your arm. A red substance? Blood? 

Your head whips to your sister, but she’s looking at you with concern. Your head snaps back toward Joel. 

“I’m shot?” You ask breathlessly. Then - bless those adrenaline chemicals, they did their best - then, the pain waves over you, through you. Your arm burns as your nerve endings erupt. That piece of shit had shot you through the forearm. 

Joel examines the bloody mess, then his calloused hand rips a strip off his undershirt and loops it around your arm. You grind your teeth to bear the pain as he tightens the fabric, but darkness offers to take you away from it anyway. Joel ties it off and the darkness retreats.

The bullet’s path hadn’t gone through your arm but across it, cutting a gaping trench in your flesh. That’s good. No digging for gold necessary. The shots continue at a slower rate, intentionally keeping you three pinned down. 

“It’s not that bad,” Joel drops his head to steal your attention, his eyes intensely boring into yours. “Hey, listen. It’s not bad. Can you wiggle your fingers?”

You shake your head, eyes filling with tears before you even try, the pain so all-consuming. But your fingers curl when you command. 

“Guess so,” you groan.

“Right. Not that bad,” he cannot let you panic now. “You’re not a lefty, anyway. You can shoot?” 

Inhaling, you nod. Words were an unnecessary use of energy. His eyes continue pouring into your own for a moment, willing you strength.

“This is my valley!” A man’s booming voice announces. He sounds much closer than the seventy yards between the two houses. “We're not going to no concentration camps!”

Joel finally looks away from you and slowly raises his head over the edge of the concrete foundation. A tall man around Joel’s age stands in full view. Based on the man’s pronouncement, he doesn’t seem to have a complete grasp of reality. 

Joel thinks about answering. He thinks about telling the man that you three meant him no harm, that you were only passing through. Joel doesn’t feel like killing today. 

But then he looks down and his eyes snag on your face. He feels your pain, sees your terror, and it wrenches something loose in his chest. 

You’d done nothing wrong, you were innocent and this man just shot you. You could still die from an infection or blood loss. This man might’ve just killed you. Joel’s jaw sets so angrily that you hear his teeth grit. 

As his thoughts catch up with him, Joel’s rifle fires twice. One bullet tears through the shooter’s center of mass. Joel watches the man stumble, fall. If he strained his ears, he could probably hear the man’s last pained breaths. 

Instead, he stands and rushes through the burnt debris, taking shelter behind a small tree before deciding the shooter is alone. You call after him quietly, unhappy he went alone. He cautiously starts up the driveway. You groan in resolution as you force yourself to your feet. 

Heavily breathing, Joel kicks away the gun from the now-deceased man and busts through the ripped screen door. It’s incredibly dim, and the air is heavy. Bedsheets cover the windows and Joel’s eyes aren’t as young as they used to be. He notices the house is relatively clean. The baseboards are layered in dust, but there is a decent couch, blankets folded in a neat pile, and books neatly lined up on the shelf. Joel turns the corner to the hallway and, finding it clear, slowly treads down the carpeted path. 

The bathroom door creaks once as he pushes it open with his boot. A blue shag rug, gray walls, and a clean sink greet him, but his attention focuses on the medicine cabinet. He strides forward, his gun in one hand as he searches through the cabinet. 

Ibuprofen. Helpful.

Tums.

Nail clippers.

Saline solution. He snatches the clear bottle from its dusty place, a satisfied smirk.

Menstrual pads? Could be helpful if this fucker ain’t got a goddamn bandage. Er, maybe helpful anyway?

But then Joel sees the red cross. He picks up the white case, cracking it open just to check. Yep, bandages. You were going to need stitches, too. 

Needle an’ thread; he turns away from the cabinet.

“Joel?” You ask soberly, standing out of view beside the doorway. You didn’t want to startle him and have him shoot you, too. His stomach lurches at the tone of your voice. He chalks it up to you getting the drop on him. 

“Yeah. Y’alright?” His boots clomp to the doorway and he tilts his head down to see you in the gloom. 

“Did you check the whole house?” You’re staring at the last door on the right and Joel doesn’t wonder why. A notepad is strung up next to it, and a pen is taped to the wall. A list of times and dates is scrawled down the cover page, and instinctively you know that there are many pages similarly marked. 

“In the bathroom,” Joel indicates behind him with a commanding whisper.

“No, I’m here to cover you,” you look at him like he’s stupid. 

Course. The fuck’s wrong with me? Joel moves forward. 

You take a position diagonal to the door, your right hand directing your weapon while your left arm is cradled to your chest. You ignore the throbbing, biting pain as best you can, and what you can’t ignore, you hope sharpens your senses. 

Joel twists the knob and kicks the heavy, wood door open so violently that it nearly swings back on itself. His flashlight casts a ghostly white pall over the room. You see nothing but a dresser from your position, so you move forward, following Joel into the room. It’s a master bedroom. Spacious, dusty, cold. 

Tomb-like, you observe.

The body on the bed confirms your thought. Joel’s flashlight trains on the corpse, and it’s clear that it had been an infected woman. She’s been dead for several months, probably nearer years, as the fungus grows throughout the bedroom. You slowly back out of the room in horror. 

Your eyes catch on the paper hanging next to the door:

November 4th, 2009 - I couldn’t stay away. I’m not sure she’s gone.

November 5th, 2009 - I think she ate a little bit today. Fed her roast beef and mashed potatoes.

November 6th, 2009 - She smiled at me today. I’m so relieved.

On and on, this man had cataloged his descent into madness. Daily, he had been visiting his wife. Feeding her, hoping she’d heal from the infection and return to him. How had he not managed to get infected? Your stomach heaves. 

Joel appears and gently clutches the upper portion of your uninjured arm to haul you out of there. His fingers accidentally brush the side of your breast and Joel fights down the sick thrill he feels.

“C’mon.” 

He guides you to the front porch and sits you down on the steps. The body of the man next to your looks unbitten, uninfected. He must’ve kept her in that room alone until the infection killed her. 

The two of you take a moment to breathe in clean air. It’s quiet. The sun is hidden behind the clouds now which casts the valley in a gray shadow. Ellie pops her head up from across the road.

Standing over you, Joel can’t help but like the way you look up at him. His imagination takes him by surprise: your soft skin under his calloused hands, your legs hooked around his waist, and the way you might tell him his own name. 

Fuck, you’re as perverted as the guy she stabbed. Joel grumbles something unintelligible to you and heads back inside the house.

Ellie’s sneakers slap on the pavement as she runs up the driveway, “Oh, god, are you okay?”

You manage a smile, “Yeah. Don’t go in there, though. It was disgusting. Guy shat everywhere.”

“I mean your arm, dumbass.” 

“It’s not as bad as I thought it’d be,” you lie again. 

Joel, exiting the house with the medical supplies, hears your lies with satisfaction. Maybe his earlier words had been unnecessary. Ellie was lucky to have you.

“I need to get that wound cleaned out but it’s gonna hurt like hell,” he explains. “You sit behind her,” he suggests to your sister and she eagerly positions herself to support you. 

“This is helpful of you considering we’re just cargo,” Ellie mutters. 

Joel ignores her and addresses you, “’m serious, it’s gonna be a bitch.”

“You think I’m such a wimp,” you feign offense.

“No, I don’t,” Joel states, opening the bottle of saline. He unfastens the makeshift bandage made from his shirt and, without warning, pours some of the bottle’s contents onto your wound. 

A strangled howl escapes. You force your body to confront the pain, then try to accept it and lean into your sister. Your breathing is ragged. Ellie wraps an arm around your middle, comforting you with a squeeze. 

“’m gonna stitch you up now. You’re still losin’ blood. It’ll hurt.” His face drops to a thoughtful frown. “Might be better if you don’t fight it,” he advises, giving you permission to lose consciousness.

You clench your teeth in preparation. Your right hand grasps Ellie’s arm around your waist, and this time, Joel waits until you’re ready. You meet his dark eyes and nod. He carefully takes your elbow in his left hand. Then he pierces the needle through your skin. 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The pain in your arm has subsided to a constant throb as your body restores itself. The wound was deep and would eventually leave a thick white scar. But for now, you keep it clean with the saline Joel had found. 

Four more days pass, and in that time Ellie wears Joel down even further. On the rare occasion when you three had traveled down a freeway, Ellie rescued a tattered book full of jokes and puns from a vacant car. 

Having known the girl her entire life, you’re not sure you’d ever seen her as happy as she was now. The first day she found it, she must’ve read four full pages aloud. 

Joel had put a stop to that. 

You’re grateful to Joel for his presence, but her happiness outweighs his opinion, so you encourage her. Was Joel amused or irritated? It was hard to tell. Sometimes you were certain that he always felt them together.

“Knock knock.” 

You oblige, “Who's there?"

“Amish.” 

“Amish who?”

“Really? You don't look like a shoe.”

That one earns a snort from you. “Not your best work, El.”

She dives back into the book, trying to get away with one more for the day, “Joel, your turn.”

“No.”

“I found the perfect one, I swear,” Ellie promises.

“No.”

“Knock knock.”

Joel swivels his head to glare at her. 

“C’mon, Joel,” she pleads. “Knock, knock.” He doesn’t budge.

“Who’s there?” You undermine the stoic man, smirking.

Ellie bites her lip to prevent her laughter, “Cargo!”

Joel makes a disbelieving scoff, “Wow.”

You snicker, enjoying Joel’s defeated face before you continue the joke: “Cargo who?” 

“No, car go ‘beep beep’.” Ellie delivers the lame punchline with gusto. 

Joel sets his hands on his hips and stares at the ground. He fights the tug of his cheek, then, in a moment that cements Joel in your heart, he shakes his head and huffs one, tiny laugh. 

"That was so fuckin' stupid."

“Ha!” Ellie whoops victoriously, a sound so pure that you start to laugh with her. “I told you.” 

Joel shakes his head more fervently. “I didn’t laugh. I snorted.”

“Same shit,” she retorts, still grinning.

“You get two of those a day, kid.” Joel holds up two fingers and resumes his path. 

          ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Two weeks after meeting Joel, or, if you went by Ellie’s timeline, ten chapters in her book later, the sound of the ocean fills your ears. Crossing the flat farmland of the piedmont was the worst part of the journey as there had been no landmarks, no wind, and scarce game. 

Now, there's a breeze you’ve never felt before. Your senses are full of the smell of salt, the whooping call of the few remaining gulls, and the clouds flitting by as though they have places to be. Your and Ellie’s wonder at the coast was not lost on Joel. He, too, feels lighter for the soaring sensation of the oceanside.

Ellie sits on a bench outside of an old tattoo shop. Your eyes scan the storefronts along the abandoned beachside tourist trap. This wasn’t a huge area. Probably a spot that only the locals came to, which is why the souvenir shops looked like they’d dried up several years before the outbreak. 

Joel has the map fully unfolded on the hood of a car. His palms are flat on either side of the document as he hunches over it, fully engrossed in determining the exact location he was supposed to find; and while he’s distracted, you are on high alert. 

In the best-case scenario, there are decent people waiting for you. At worst, there were infected around. Either way, you needed to be looking out for other bipeds. 

To Joel’s consternation, you weren’t seeing anything except old blockades, boarded-up windows, and trash that had yet to decompose blowing down the ghostly street. 

“Think there’s any decent food leftover in those restaurants?” Ellie asks having never eaten seafood.

“That would be a no,” you chuckle. “Seafood doesn’t keep long. And it stinks.”

“It kinda stinks out here sometimes,” Ellie observes.

“That would be what they make seafood out of,” Joel pipes up for the first time since breakfast, unintentionally mimicking your words.

“That’s what fish smells like?” Ellie’s eyes bug out of her head. “People ate that?” 

“So, their camp, settlement, compound - whatever the fuck it is - is at the end of this town. ‘Bout two miles that way,” Joel tilts his head. 

“So, go east more?” You joke. “When do we get to see a different needle on the compass?”

Joel bites the inside of his cheek, refusing you the satisfaction of a smile. “When we split up, I guess.” 

Joel pretends not to notice when both of your faces steel shut at his words. Better to let you two live your life somewhere safe where someone decent will watch your backs. It’d be best for all of you. He turns back to his map, pushing the two of you from his mind; he stares at the circled location trying to decipher what his brother would be doing here. 

  ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

There’s nothing here. A day later, you’ve explored the length and breadth of the beachside town. There are no signs, no maintained fortifications, and no people. At one point there had been, though. Some walls had been erected between a few alleyways, creating a warren-like hideout. But they were empty. Joel had grown increasingly angry as the search went on. No one spoke. 

The discovery (or lack thereof) was disappointing for you and Ellie, but devastating to Joel; he went missing for most of the afternoon, returning just before sunset. Curiously, he seemed to be in a better mood.

After ensuring that no one had overlooked anything, you and Ellie follow Joel out onto the sand behind an ice cream shop. Ellie wouldn’t have mentioned it for a while to be mature, but she’d been dying to see the actual beach all day long. 

Joel sits on the soft, clean sand. A dune covered in beachgrass at his back, he relaxes. Clouds float by, and though it’s mostly sunny, the winter air is chilled further by the steady wind. Ellie continues out to the water, while you stand next to Joel. Thinking only of body heat, you lower yourself onto the sand as close to Joel as you dare.

“I’m sorry.” 

It feels inadequate. There are only a handful of reasons Joel’s brother wouldn’t be here and only one is hopeful.

“All this way. Two weeks of walkin’, and now I’m gonna have to go back out there,” Joel grumbles. 

Oh, okay. Optimism? He clearly wasn’t giving in to the idea that his brother could be dead, which relieves you. 

“Well, I’m sure you’ll find him. You’re the type of person who finds what he’s looking for,” you smile fondly at him. 

Joel’s heart spasms again. He wishes you’d stop smiling at him, and at the same time, he wishes you’d only ever smile at him. 

“Is our deal over?” He wonders. He hadn’t fulfilled his end yet, but the way you were talking made it seem like your partnership had ended.

“I’m not going to make you drag us cargo all over the United States.”

Joel smirks. “Technically, I ain't held up my end.”

“You and your technicalities. Technically,” you mock him, “I owe you. You’ve saved my ass twice now.”

“First time doesn’t count. I got you into that,” Joel actually laughs this time. It’s short and low, but you’re suddenly out of breath. His cheeks and eyes wrinkle when he grins, and he catches you staring. His grin fades.

A gust of icy wind blows by as you hide down in your thick flannel. You turn your attention from the captivating older man beside you to watch Ellie trying to skip rocks into the waves. She notices you and holds up both hands in a “What?” gesture. 

You shake your head and chuckle at her.

“She’s a good kid,” Joel agrees. 

Would this man ever cease to surprise you? He’s just spent two weeks walking and being tortured by Ellie’s joke book, with a single goal in mind - only to find the goalpost has moved; and he’s being friendly? 

“I’m pretty fond of her,” you reply. 

A lull in the conversation leads to a comfortable silence as you enjoy the sea air. 

Eventually, Joel speaks again. “’m sorry I said those things. It wasn’t my place.” Joel is turned away from you, looking out over the waves.

Though it’s been almost two weeks, you know which words he means. “I know I seem silly to you. Too frivolous and… optimistic, I guess, but I have and will always put her first.” 

Joel doesn’t reply. He’s tempted to deny your first and second statements, but he feels too exposed already. For fuck’s sake, he had been almost sad about the prospect of going your separate ways.

“Guess I’m easily pleased,” you muse.

“What?” Joel doesn’t know how to take that, but he knows the way he wants to take it.

“You know. The meaning of life and shit?” You wave your hand to indicate everything.

“Oh. Did you two plan this?”

“We - what?” 

“Ellie gave me a spiel earlier ‘bout how we need to find reasons to keep going or fightin’ or whatever the hell she said.” 

“She did?” you laugh. “I taught her well. I mean, what’s the point of this? Just surviving? Eating your next meal? Creating power-squabbling communities that end up getting people killed? Ration cards in the QZs? That sucks.”

Joel looks into the sand as if it has the answer. “I think most people lost their reasons a long time ago.” 

And you’re still staring at him as he checks his watch. His old, busted wristwatch that’s been telling only one time for eight years. 

“Yes, you’re right,” you agree, “but there are always other reasons. Sometimes it’s a bunch of small reasons combined with big ones, like the beauty of the earth and my sister for me. Or sunrises, or,” you indicate the waves rolling in front of you. “But there are always reasons. You find them if you look.” 

Taking more bravery than the first time you met an infected, you place your hand on Joel’s wrist, letting your thumb stroke once over his skin. He’s as warm as you hoped, and it makes you want to cry. You knew Joel’s coldness was a front. It’s his defense. 

Joel becomes a statue. It’s the first time you’ve touched him and his first thought is that he’s glad he took his jacket off. His second thought is that you should not feel so comfortable with him. You both needed to be able to separate without lingering emotion.

But, damn, this is like starin’ at the sun. Even when I look away I see her.

“Sorry.”

You remove your hand, not wanting to cause him distress.

“Ellie is right. People need reasons to continue fighting. Otherwise, you end up fighting for the wrong things, or giving up.”  

“You two are gonna love my brother - sound jus’ like him.” 

He earns another laugh from you. “Your brother sounds like a good guy.”

“He’s nothin’ like me,” Joel snorts good-naturedly.

“Well,” you murmur, “that’s not a point in his favor.” 

Joel hums in his chest. “Mm. It’s not?” 

Maybe lettin’ go once wouldn’t be so bad. She’s so... so - Joel realizes he’d leaned into you at some point. 

Your face bravely tilts up to study Joel’s reaction when you shyly shake your head. 

In disbelief, you watch as Joel’s eyes fall to your lips. Your heart pounds in your throat. His side is touching yours now and the contact radiates heat throughout your body. The world could end a second time and you wouldn’t notice. 

“I think it’s been too long since you’ve known a good man, because I sure ain't the standard,” Joel’s warning is coated in his thick accent. 

“I know a good man when I see one. That’s why I gave him my rabbit,” your voice is barely above a whisper, but Joel is so focused on you that he catches every inflection. 

“Hey, I’m hungry.” A teenager’s voice cuts the tension between you and Joel like a scythe. 

Both of you jump, heads jerking up to see Ellie standing much closer than you thought. 

“Um, I think Joel found some edible stuff from a general store.” You unwillingly turn back to him, “Is there enough to split? If not, I’ll take her foraging.” 

Joel’s looking out across the ocean again, refusing to meet your eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, there’s plenty.” 

Too close. Get a fuckin' grip. Joel watches you stand and walk Ellie back to the store you’d set camp in. He can’t help but watch as you walk away.

Wouldn’t be a one-time thing. I’d never leave. 

You think he’s a good man. Is it your naivety? Or do you mean that in spite of everything you can assume he’s done, he’s still capable of good?

Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter. 

Joel rips himself away from his daydream and from his pocket, he pulls the piece of paper he found earlier. Written in the NATO phonetic alphabet leftover from Tommy’s military days, the note is directed at Joel. Tommy’s handwriting is cramped and terrible, and it makes Joel grin.

If, by some crazy chance you’re reading this, J, we left. Sorry. Got wind of a group in WY that’s doing some real good. Leaving this note as a long shot. Miss you, man. 

™

He had found it in the store Tommy knew Joel couldn’t pass up. It was a cramped music store featuring acoustic guitars in the window. The shop set back a little from the main thoroughfare which kept it mostly untouched. The note had been taped to a guitar just like the one Joel owned a decade ago. 

It’d been eight years since Joel had cried, and he wouldn’t now, either, but he felt a sting. Wyoming is a long fuckin’ way. He felt frustrated at having walked for two weeks in the wrong direction. A brief, petty thought to abandon his goal of finding his brother crossed his mind - but it was one born of exhaustion and anger. 

The map he carried was an East Coast map. He’d have to find a map of the country, but by his estimation, he was in for a two-month walk minimum. A list of supplies began scrolling in his head, and he itemized everything.

The southeast had been less plundered than the rest of the US, so it’d be worth it to scour the outdoor supply places. Grocery stores were all but ransacked instantly, so he’d be less inclined to check those unless one seemed particularly promising.

You and Ellie. He swallows. He hadn’t forgotten - just had been avoiding it. Should he ask? You always had the opportunity to part ways at any moment, but did he dare extend the offer? 

Two months of puns from the kid. Two months of sufferin’ them as cargo. He looks at his hands to distract himself from a smirk.

More mouths to feed. It’d be nice not to be alone. He pushes this thought away in search of one he can work with.

More eyes, more hands. The older sister’s smart. And brave. She doesn’t even complain about her arm. And the kid… Kid’s a flat-out liability but she’s got her own charm.

Joel quiets his mind and lists the pros and cons. He makes his decision.

Continue->

#fanfic #my fics #myfics #joel miller #joel miller hbo #the last of us #the last of us hbo #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal x reader #ellie williams #the last of us fanfic #the last of us fanfiction #personal

[gxthicwxrm]

The Beginning Of The End: Chapter 2

Pairing: Johnny Slaughter x fem!reader, platonic!Sissy x reader

Summarry: the aftermath of chapter one

Please enjoy and let me know how yall feel about this series.

------

Laughter echoes in your ears as your heart pounds against your ribs. With your feet stabbing into the ground, you see a barricade ahead in the narrow tunnels. Speeding up your movement, you jump to dive over the obstacle, the feeling of a metal object gliding across your back as a stinging radiates from the spot before you crash into the ground. Before you can gasp for air, you pull yourself up and keep running, looking for an exit, when you see a metal door wide open, only a few steps away.

Freedom.

Panting, you push yourself hard through the door before slamming it close behind in, in the face of your attackers. With your calves burning, you run up the stairs in sets of twos. When you are on the landing, you look around at a creeping kitchen and a hall leading to the front door. Much to your surprise, the front door was open as well. Hesitating, you looked around, thinking it was a trap, and saw no one. The sound of a metal clashing on metal causes you to start running again, flying past the front door and towards the exit in the distance. 

“I’m going to get out of here!” You laugh as you pass a fence when a short woman jumps at you.

“Hi there!” She laughs loudly, slashing her knife towards you as you jump out of her way when you turn and see two men rushing out of the house towards you.

Run.

---

A loud bang wakes you up, startling you as you look around your room and spot Sissy dropping cardboard boxes onto the hardwood flooring. It’s been almost two weeks since you’ve woken up with no memories, and you’ve spent most of them knocked out on painkillers and herbs Sissy has been giving you. Surprisingly, sleep has allowed the burns on your limbs to heal under the salves, and wrapping Sissy would religiously change. Luckily, in the last few days, you have been able to move out of your bed without pain, which has allowed you to start navigating your home.

“Do ya like?” Sissy says, holding up a light blue short sleeve dress with a white lace trimming. The fabric had tiny white daisies spotted throughout the piece. It was stunning. With a smile on your face, you nod as you turn to get out of bed, but Sissy drops the dress and rushes to your side, helping you even though you don't need the support anymore. When you took a step, your feet no longer radiated with pain, and you were starting to feel normal. 

“I love it!” You gush, picking up the discarded dress and holding it to your frame. Warmly, Sissy smiles at you, a light shining in her eye as she squeals.

“I knew you would!! Well…Put it on.” She gestures towards the nightgown she has lent to you. Pausing, you look at her, holding the thin dress fabric in your hands as you glance towards the open bedroom door. 

“But, what if-” You start.

“What? We are family. No one is going to see you. Put it on.” She says convincingly. With a nod, you agree, putting the dress on the bed before pulling the silky white fabric over your head. The cold breeze from the opened window perks your exposed nipples, goosebumps washing over your naked body. Scrambling, you grab the dress and pull it over your body.

The neckline was low but not enough to cause concern. The fabric rested inches above your knees and flared slightly at the waist.  The material was soft against your skin.

“Turn around.” Johnny’s voice causes vibrations through your body when it cuts through the silence. As if you were on autopilot, you obey and face him. There’s a mirror on the wall Johnny is leaning against, a toothpick in his mouth. Catching your reflection, you are shocked when you see how nice you look. 

“Thank you, Sissy. It’s beautiful. Where did you get all of these?” You say, not turning away from Johnny as he smirks.

“You’re welcome, doll! I’ve just collected them over my travels. There’s plenty more in the box. Some other stuff, too!” Sissy giggles, jumping around like a child. 

“It looks…gorgeous on you, darling. Now, I have to head to the shop with Nubs. I’ll be back later, okay? Sissy, let her help you with dinner. I’ll see you in a few hours.” He says with a kiss on your cheek before disappearing into the hallway. The display of affection shocked Sissy as well as yourself, as Johnny has been in the background, always lingering but not talking to you and hardly interacting with you if he could help it.

Turning to face the blonde - a wisp of yellow hair, spots of red, the shine of metal in the moonlight-- the imagery takes you by surprise as you stubble backward, reaching your hands out to steady yourself as your eyes find the other woman. Sissy comes to your side and guides you to the bed when you stop her.

“I’m okay. Just turned too fast. I want to see what else is in the box.” You smile, convincing her the searing images that slammed their way into your brain and the pain that accompanied them were nothing more than a misstep. She smiles back before dropping to her knees and pulling the box to her, then yanking out clumps of fabric before finding what she was looking for.

“Ta-Da!” She sings, holding out three nail polish bottles: bright red, light purple, and dark blue. “I want to paint your nails. Do you want me to? I know you do. Do you?” Sissy bounces on her heels impatiently. 

“Only if I can paint yours, too.” You giggle, feeling a warmth fill your chest as you feel safe with Sissy. The two of you spent the evening painting each other's nails and playing dress-up with all your new dresses. Time has flown by because Sissy glances at the clock and mutters a ‘shit’ before placing the dresses and novelties back into your box.

“Come on, hon. Time to get dinner ready. Lucky for us, it will just be the three of us tonight.”Her words bring your thoughts back to Johnny. He’s been gone most of the day, occasionally peeking his head in the doorway before disappearing again. You didn’t mind; he was giving you space, which was what you needed to process your memory loss and these horrifying nightmares. 

Dinner was easy to prepare, a simple shepherd's pie. Johnny stood by the door, watching you as you moved around Sissy, chopping and sauteing vegetables while Sissy seasoned the grounded beef. Homemade mashed potatoes rested on the stove. Using a washcloth, you wipe sweat from your brow before putting it in the pocket of your apron. Glancing to your side, you catch Johnny’s eye, giving him a sweet smile before mixing the meat in the sizzling man. Much to your surprise, he smiles back. Sissy washes her hands before walking past Johnny.

“I’m going to set the table. Y/N, you’ll know when to put it together.” Sissy called as she went into the next room. Johnny steps in and leans on the counter beside you. Silently, he watches you cook, inching closer to you as you flatten the vegetables and meat into a casserole dish, putting the mash on top and popping it in the oven. Turning to face his towering form, you look up at his features, studying the curves of his nose and the many scars you figure came from working on cars. Subconsciously, your fingers trace the scar across his cheek, him stilling under your touch before leaning into your hand when you cup his face.  

Once you realize what you are doing, you pull away, but Johnny stops you. Wrapping his strong arms around your body, he pulls you against his frame. One hand brushes your arm to your neck before grounding itself in your hair, tilting your head gently to face him.

"You do look gorgeous in that dress." He says, brushing a lash from your cheek. " I missed you today. Couldn't wait to get back home to you." He grips your hip softly before holding you tighter.

"I missed you too. I hope you had a good day. Sissy showed me a bunch of cool stuff earlier. I'd love to show you after we eat. If you'd like that." You say timidly, suddenly worried he wouldn't want to spend time with you. He waits a moment before nodding.

"Yesh, I was thinking about taking you home to our place. You know, now that Sissy doesn't need to watch your every move." He jokes, but the words have an edge to them. "We could go after we eat. Would you like that?"

"Yes! Yes, I would. Oh, I've been waiting to see what our home looks like. Maybe some memories will come back when I see our things." You say, giggling as you peck his lips. "I can't wait until you can have some of this pie. I think it's the best I've ever made, at least all I remember making." You joke with him, winking as you push against his body with a smile. 

"I could just eat you up; you are so delicious." He whispers, his eyes holding yours as he lowers his lips to yours. "So fucking delicious." 

His lips are soft and wet against your own, lighting a warmth in your body as your hands find his hair and his hands roaming over you. Heat flows over the two of you like a cloud, and your only thought Is getting his shirt off of his chest when someone clears their throat, causing you two to break away and adjust yourself before turning to face Sissy.

"Get a room, you two. Move, let's plate up." Sissy announces, pushing past the two of you and grabbing a plate. Whether you remember them or not, this is your family, and you accepted them like they did for you.

---

After the three of you ate at the dining table, you helped sissy clean up while Johnny grabbed the items Sissy had given you and placed them in his truck. 

"Thank you for being so welcoming and understanding. This is all so…crazy, you know?" You say, hugging her into your side once you've dried the dishes, placing them in the cabinets. 

"Oh, doll. Of course. You are the sister I never had. I'm just happy you are finding your place in the family. It's nice to have a pal around." She says, holding your cheek before squeezing you. 

You hear Johnny walk into the kitchen, but Sissy doesn't pull away, almost crushing you, but you accept her hugs as a thought hits you. 

A recipe for pecan pie. Instantly, your mouth begins to water despite your full stomach. 

"Oh, for the next dinner. Could I make a pecan pie? I loved it when I was little and used to make it with my granny." You clap your hands happily as you look between the two siblings. They are both still, staring at each other intensely as if they are speaking in a way you can't hear.

"Yes, baby girl. You can make whatever you like." Johnny says before grabbing your wrist and slowly taking you to his truck with Sissy following. 

"Let's get going," Johnny says, moving towards his door before he stops, turning around, and opens your door, waiting for you. Hugging Sissy goodbye, you tell her you'll see her tomorrow for a picnic, receiving a squeeze and a squeal at the announcement.  

Walking towards Johnny, memories of the kitchen warm your core as you stroll over to his spot against your door. 

"Thank you, gentleman." You hop into your seat, adjusting your dress while Johnny shuts the door and seats himself before roaring the engine to life. 

The drive was short; you were minutes before driving past the white picket fencing. There's a massive house that Johnny passes, following a trail toward a single-wide trailer in the house's backyard. 

"Who's house is that?" You say, opening your door and hopping out as Johnny kills the engine, coming to your side. 

"Just some old lady. I…pay her rent." He dismisses, pulling you toward the door of the trailer.  Opening the door, Johnny walks in first before grabbing a few shirts from the coffee table and throwing them to a chair across the room. The place wasn't messy, just disorganized. A few deer antlers hung on the wall, making you cringe away. He leads you to the shared bedroom before grabbing your face and pressing his lips to yours. 

Without thinking, your hands grip his hair as you fall back onto the queen-sized bed. Johnny's hands roam all over your body, pulling your legs around his waist as he grinds his growing erection against your core, sending electricity through you- waves of pain hit you as the air is knocked from your lungs, dirt breaks your nails as you move along the ground, sinister laughter rings in your skull- with a gasp, you pull away. 

"What the fuck? Are you okay? What just happened?" Johnny's brow furrows as you feel over your body, feeling no pain like you did moments before.

"I-I don't know. I, uhm, I think it just might be happening too fast. I don't think my mind can keep up." You try to laugh the awkwardness away but just cringe at yourself. An angered look crosses his face before he quickly replaces it, looking up at you.

"We can take it slow for tonight. But maybe this will be the best way to gain your memory back. Okay?" Johnny says, and you agree with a smiling nod. 

"Okay. But tonight, we sleep.  I am spent." You say, peeling off the dress before throwing on the shirt J hands you. Silently, he removes his cut shirt and jeans, leaving his boxers on before pulling the covers over himself. Quickly, you join him. 

He lays beside you, stiff as if unsure what to do, unnoticed by you. You wrap your arms around his frame and wrap a leg over his waist, laying your head on his chest. His rigid muscles soften under your touch, and he wraps his arms around your shoulder, pulling you closer while he sinks into the bed, and you sink into him. 

#johnny slaughter fanfic #johnny slaughter imagines #johnny slaughter x reader #johnny slaughter #johnny tcm #johnny sawyer #johnny sawyer imagines #johnny sawyer fanfic #texas chainsaw massacre fanfic #texas chainsaw massacre game #texas chainsaw massacre #tscm #slasher fic #slasher fandom #slasher imagines #slasher x reader

[harringtonstilinski]

Always The Babysitter - Chapter Twenty-Six: The Hellfire Club

Author: @harringtonstilinski​ Characters: Steve Harrington x Olivia Henderson(OC) Word Count: 3,303 Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff Smut: no | yes; A/N: Hi, friends! I can't believe we're on the last season!! Buckle up, friends, 'cause it's a lot this season!! If you like this chapter, please do not hesitate to reblog and give some feedback, whether it be in the reblogs, comments, or my inbox. As always, read at your own risk and enjoy 😊

prev | current chapter | next

season masterlist

series masterlist

series playlist 

The phone ringing startled me awake as I sat up straight in the bed. Looking at the clock, I tried to count three hours backward from the time shown, slightly struggling before jumping to my feet and rushing to the phone, answering with a groggy and breathless, “Hello?”

“Can I read this to you?”

I sighed at the sound of El’s voice before answering, “Of course, sweetie.”

She always read me her letters that she wrote to Mike, asking for my advice on whether or not it sounded good enough. “Okay. Here it goes. ‘Dear Mike, today is day 185. Feels more like 10 years. Joyce says time is funny like that. Emotions can make it speed up or slow down. We are all time travelers if you think about it. For example, this week is going very fast. I think because I am so busy. I have to make something called a visual aid. I hope Mrs. Gracey will give me an A. Some exciting news; Joyce got an amazing new job. She gets to work at home. She says she loves the freedom. Will is painting a lot, but he-he won’t show me what he’s working on. M-maybe it is for a girl. I think there is someone he likes. Because he has been acting… weird. Jonathan is acting weird, also. I think he is just nervous about college. He is still waiting for his big letter. I hope he and Nancy get to go together. But I don’t know how he’ll ever get to college because his car is still broken down. His funny friend Argyle has been taking us to school. His hair is longer than mine. And he and Jonthan like to smoke smelly plants together. Jonathan says the plants are super safe because they come from the Earth, but to not tell Joyce. Me? I’m twice as happy now. You were right. It just takes time. I think I have finally adapted. At first, I missed all the spring flowers, but now I find it pretty here, too. I even like school now. I am still best at math, but my grammar is good now also. Thanks in part to Olivia back home. It helps that everyone is so nice here. I have made lots of friends. Even so, I am ready for Spring Break, mostly because I get to see you. I am so excited to see you, it is hard to breathe. Are you excited, too? I think you will love it here like me. I think we will have the best Spring Break ever. I hope my spelling was better this time. Miss you. Love, El.’”

She breathed deep on her end of the phone, silently asking me what I thought. Taking a drag from my cigarette, which I rarely ever do, I nodded my head before saying, “It’s good! But the part about friends? I’m not sure that should be in there.” El’s kept her word on telling me every detail when she calls me. This bitch Angela bullies her to no end, and it pisses me off to the point where I want to get in my car and drive to California to beat the shit out of this girl… but I can’t since she’s a minor and I’m 19 years old. “Maybe just tell him the truth?” I took another drag, holding it for a moment as I said, “The truth–” I blew the smoke from my lungs. “Is a lot better than having to cover up your lies in front of him when he’s there in a couple days.”

“Livvie! Are you smoking again?” Mom hollered.

“Shit,” I whispered, dabbing my cigarette.

“Steve will be here soon!”

Holding the mouthpiece of the phone, I hollered back, “Okay!” Sighing and shaking my head, I removed my hand, saying into the mouthpiece. “Listen, get ready for school, do the finishing touches for your visual aid that I know you’re gonna kick ass on, and have a good day at school, okay? I’m sorry this phone call is short.”

“It’s okay,” El said. “Can I call you tonight?”

“I’ll be at Steve’s, but sure,” I smiled. “You can call.”

“Okay. Argyle is here. I finished my visual aid before I called you.”

“Okay, sweetie. Have a good day at school.” “I will. Bye, Olivia.”

“Bye, El.” I hung up the phone, yawning after I did so. Going into the kitchen, I made myself a cup of coffee, adding my sugar and cream into it before taking a sip and walking back into my room.

No, Steve’s parents didn’t come home last night. Dustin needed help with something for school, so I told him I’d come for the night to help him. My plan was to go back to Steve’s, but I ended up falling asleep on Dustin’s bed, him waking me up to kick me out of his room. As I entered my own room, my phone was ringing, so I walked to it, picking up the receiver, answering with, “Can’t I just enjoy a cup of coffee this morning?”

“Good morning to you, too,” Steve said.

Sighing, I said, “Oh. Morning, baby.”

“Hey, listen. I’m gonna leave here in a few minutes to come get you and then pick up Robin, okay? So, be ready this time.”

I chuckled. Last time he had to come get me from my house I wasn’t ready for work. He and I had had… a night and I was super tired the next day, so I didn’t wake up with my alarm. We were late for work and Robin was late to school that day.

“Okay, I’ll be ready.”

“Promise?”

“Promise! I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

I hung up the phone, taking another sip of my coffee while looking at my closet door. I set my mug down, walking towards the door when I heard a knock on my bedroom door. “What?”

“Liv, I need you to stall Mom,” Dustin said.

“And why, pray tell, do I need to do that?” I asked, turning to look at him with my arms crossed.

“I’m talking to Suzie and I need you to not tell her what’s going on behind my door.”

Scrunching my face in disgust, I said, “Dustin, I don’t need to hear you two have radio sex.”

“We’re not! It’s something about school,” he exclaimed.

Sighing, I said, “Fine. Whatever. But you owe me.”

“Thank you!” he said, running back across the hall to his room, sliding his door closed.

I turned back to my closet, finally able to go into it to pick my outfit for the day; a graphic tee, comfortable but tight-fitted jeans and my Converse. I’ve been working with Steve and Robin at Family Video since October and I have to say I quite enjoy it. Not the whoring out my boyfriend part, but everything else about the job, aside from Keith, is awesome!

Once I was dressed, I heard talking on Dustin’s Cerebro, that he somehow installed in the house, so I poked my head in to see what was going on.

“That’s a negative, Dusty-bun,” Suzie said.

“Son of a bitch,” Dustin said, pressing a button on his radio. “Try tigers86.”

“Tigers86, copy that.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” I asked, walking into his room, sliding his door to a crack.

“Liv, not now,” Dustin said. 

I sighed, “Alright. Oh! I can’t pick you up tonight. Steve and I are going to the game and then I’m going back to his house.”

“Fine, whatever,” he said, going back to his radio.

“Jiminy Crickets, Dusty,” Suzie said. “I’m in.”

“Holy shit,” he said.

“Wait, is she… is she hacking into the school system?” I asked.

Dustin and I jumped at the sound of hearing pounding on his door, Mom’s voice ringing on the other side, “Dusty, what’s going on in there? You’re gonna be late.”

Mom went to open the door just as Dustin shouted, “Don’t come in! I’m naked!”

She shut the door before saying, “Oh, Livvie! Steve’s here!”

I said, “Shit!” at the same time Dustin said into his radio’s mouthpiece, “Running out of time here!”

I walked out of his room as I heard Suzie tell him to hold on. Walking past Mom in the hallway, she told me to grab a slice of toast on my way out, which I told her I would, grabbing it and a banana before rushing out of the house, hearing Steve honk his horn. “Alright, Harrington! I’m coming!”

Opening the passenger side door, I tossed the banana at him, my piece of toast hanging between my teeth. As I buckled my seatbelt, he backed up out of our driveway and started towards Robin’s house before he sighed out and said, “Good morning, Henderson.” “Harrington,” I said, muffled through a bite of toast. I shook my head while taking the toast from between my teeth, saying, “Ew. No.”

He chuckled, handing the banana back to me. “You’re lucky I let you eat in my car.”

“At least I brush the crumbs off my legs when I get out of the car.” I finished my toast by the time we got to Robin’s house. Getting out of the car, I brushed the crumbs off my jeans, turning to go back in the passenger seat when Robin called out, “I need the front, Henderson!”

When I turned to face her, she shoved her shako into my hands, the yellow and white plume sticking out of the top. Yes, I know marching band lingo, shut up.

As we started driving, Steve was telling her about our date we had the other day when we had the day off. “And then we went to Enzo’s and had an amazing dinner–”

Leaning between the seats, I interrupted, “I literally thought he was going to propose, it was so freaking romantic.”

“And then we went back home and watched a movie–”

“Cuddling on the couch before I fell asleep to the movie.”

“What, no sex?” Robin asked.

Chuckling, I said, “No. Not that night. The next morning, however…”

“Gross.”

“You asked!” I exclaimed.

“Liv, I’m not fully awake yet. It is 7:00 in the morning, we have this stupid pep rally, and I woke up looking like a total corpse.” She pulled her face back after fluffing her hair a little bit.

“Oh, you’re worried about a basketball pep rally?” Steve asked. “You expect me to believe that?”

“Newsflash, Steve, you were in the pep rallies, remember?” I said, poking his cheek.

“Yeah? So?” Robin said. 

“We all know what this is about,” I said, looking at her profile. “He’s not buying any bullshit. This is about Vickie.” I smiled at her as she turned her head to look at me. “Absolutely not.”

“Yes, it is, and you know what else I think?” Steve said.

“I don’t care–”

“I think you gotta stop pretending to be someone else when you’re around her.”

“You just gotta be yourself, love,” I said.

“You’re both quoting me to me, you do realize that right?” Robin said.

“Well, maybe you need to listen to yourself,” Steve said. “Ever think about that, smartypants? I mean, I listened. Look at me. Boom. Back in business.”

Looking at him, I deadpanned, “You’ve been in business, Steve. For over a year!”

“It’s not the same thing,” Robin said. “And Liv’s right.”

“Plus, when you asked out girls, they all said no,” I said. “Big deal. Nothing happened, other than your ego getting bruised–”

“I ask out the wrong girl, and bam, I’m a town pariah,” Robin added. 

“Yeah, I’d buy that, except Vickie is definitely not the wrong girl,” Steve said.

“We just don’t know that, do we?”

“She returned Fast Times paused at 53 minutes, 5 seconds. Do you know who pauses Fast Times at 53 minutes, 5 seconds?”

Silence.

“Oh, my god,” I breathed. “People who like boobies, Robin!”

“Ew, don’t say boobies!” she said.

“I like boobies, Steve definitely likes boobies, you like boobies! Vickie definitely likes boobies,” I said.

“Wait, you like boobs?” they both asked.

“We’re not talking about me.”

We got to the high school, Robin and I getting out before I handed her her shako hat for the pep rally. We hugged before she ran off with her friends, chatting and walking them as she met up with them.

“Were we like this?” I asked, leaning over a little bit.

“Yup,” Steve said. 

I looked at him, our eyes meeting. I smiled as he leaned in closer, our lips meeting for a second before I heard kids through the opened windows saying, “Get a room, Harrington!”

We pulled apart as I groaned, resting my forehead on his shoulder. “Get me off this campus before I beat the shit out of these sophomores.”

He chuckled, driving off to our day job that helps with the bills… metaphorically speaking.

~~~

I was standing with Steve on our side of the counter when the phone rang, and because I was standing by the phone, I turned around and picked it up, answering it with “Family Video, this is Olivia speaking. How can I help you today?”

“Liv, I need you tonight for Hellfire.”

Chuckling, I said, “No way, Dustin. Not tonight.”

“What?! Come on!”

“I don’t even know how to play! Plus, I’ve got a date with Steve tonight.” I turned my head over my shoulder, watching Steve help out a female customer. 

“Just move your date this one time! Come on.”

“What, to hang out with you and Eddie? I’ll pass this time.”

“What about Steve?”

“Negatory, little brother.”

“He’s just jealous because I have another older male friend.” 

I heard the smug little smile on his stupid little face. “Yeah, I don’t think he feels the same. Besides, Steve and I really dig each other. I think that he could… well, I know he’s the one.” I watched as some girls walked into the store. “Oh, I got– well, Steve has customers. I’ll call you back.” I hung up the phone, faintly hearing Dustin say that he’s at school.

Turning my head over my shoulder, I whispered, “You're on, babe.”

~~~

Once we were done with our shift, Steve and I went to grab a bite to eat before heading to the basketball game. I said hey to Nancy as we walked in and gave a small wave to Lucas with a thumbs up. He slightly smiled back at me, going back to his warm ups.

After Steve and I found a spot in the bleachers, I turned into him after he put his arm around my shoulders once we sat down. I looked up at him, asking, “Baby, would it bother you if we won this game after we’ve graduated?”

“Interesting point,” he said. “Thanks for bringing that up, babe.”

I chuckled, wrapping my arms around his middle while still looking at him. He looked down at me, giving me a chaste kiss on my lips. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he said, a smile ever present on his face.

The principal came up to the microphone that was in the middle of the gym, asking, “Everyone now please rise for our national anthem.” You could hear everyone standing, collectively. “Singing for us tonight, we have a very special guest. All the way from Nashville, our very own Tammy Thompson!”

I clapped while looking confused at Steve as he looked over at Robin, a confused look on his face as well. Tammy started singing, the microphone giving feedback as she did.

“Told you,” Steve whispered. “Muppet.”

“Oh, my god,” I whispered, trying to hold back my laugh at either Steve calling her a muppet or her singing, I couldn’t decide. Maybe a little bit of both.

“Okay, she does sound like a Muppet,” Robin whispered.

“Oh, my god, totally,” I heard Vickie agree. “She sounds like Kermit.”

“I was thinking it was more like Miss Piggy.”

I snorted, turning my head into Steve’s shoulder, his hand coming up to rest on cheek from my shoulder.

When the game started, we got two baskets right off the rip. I honestly didn’t get basketball, I just knew the basics from what Steve had tried to explain to me over the years. But everytime he got to what he thinks is interesting stuff, I would always fall asleep. 

I swear I was getting whiplash just watching the boys run up and down the gym, shooting baskets, colliding with one another, almost getting into fights with other team and the ref.

Seeing movement from the corner of my eye, I looked in Lucas’ direction, seeing him running onto the court. “Oh, my god. He’s putting Lucas in. He’s putting Lucas in!” I exclaimed, jumping in my seat, happy that one of my kids is actually playing.

I knew three of them were on school grounds with Hellfire, so I wasn’t worried about them. I wasn’t worried about Lucas either, moreso happy for him that he’s finally getting to play.

Steve was enthusiastic as ever, standing and shouting at our players to shoot the ball, to pass it, to not travel with the ball. I swear to god, seeing him in this element turned me on like no freaking other.

Steve and I were standing, the ball being passed and dribbled around before he said, “Shoot it!” as one of our players got the ball, making the basket.

A few more points in and Jason, the captain, called a timeout. The team huddled together as the drumline started to play a cadence. I secretly did band throughout middle school and freshman year of high school. I quit once Steve became King, not wanting him to be associated with a “nerd.”

Once the game continued, Jason got the ball, and from what I heard from Dustin, Jason’s a cocky motherfucker who thinks he's the top dog of the high school just because he’s King. No one will ever meet up to Steve as King.

Jason shot the ball, not making the basket at all. Ha ha! That’s what he gets. Lucas grabbed the ball as it bounced off the rim, breaking out of the huddle to run a few feet from the basket, turning around to make the shot as the buzzer went off.

You could hear everyone collectively stand again as the ball flew through the air. I could feel Steve behind me as we watched the ball bounce off the rim to the backboard and into the basket, giving us the Championship win!

Steve and I jumped, excited for Lucas and excited for the win. He wrapped me in his arms, giving me a kiss on the lips as the players and cheerleaders ran over to Lucas, chanting his name.

We had waited outside for the team to come out after hitting the showers, Lucas spotting us right away.

“Oh, my god,” I exclaimed, giving him a big hug. “Congratulations!” 

“Thanks, Liv,” he said. When we pulled apart, he kept his hands on my shoulders. “Thanks for coming.”

“Of course!” I said. “I wouldn’t miss my little brother playing for the world!”

He smiled before looking at Steve, giving his thanks to him as well. Jason and his small crew came out, calling Lucas over to them. He walked with them as Steve and I started our own journey to his car. 

I stopped him as I watched Dustin and the rest of Hellfire walk out of the school. He spotted me, raising his hands in the air. “Liv!” Dustin shouted. “We won!”

Giving him a smile, I raised my thumbs out to him, letting him know I was proud of him.

Steve and I went home that night and celebrated with a movie and popcorn, clothing optional.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

prev | current chapter | next

season masterlist

series masterlist

series playlist 

~~~

A/N 2:  hi, friends! pls be kind and reblog! it really helps us content creators out <3

Additional Note:

~~~

Forever / Everything Taglist: @stiles-o-dylan24​​ @stixnstripesworld​ @fandom-princess-forevermore​​​ @quanticobae​​​ @mischiefandi​​​ @kellyashcroft @lauren-novak​​​​

Steve Harrington Taglist: @madaboutjoe

If you’re tagged and didn’t want to be, please let me know.

~~~

*Please don’t post my writing anywhere else without my consent. The author of this work will always and forever be @harringtonstilinski​.

All characters, story lines, and plot aside from y/n and her storyline & plot, are all of the work of The Duffer Brothers.

*These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited.

No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

Posted on April 22, 2024

#steve harrington x olivia henderson #steve x olivia #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x oc #steve harrington #olivia henderson (oc) #stevia #always the babysitter #atb #dustin henderson #lucas sinclair #erica sinclair #eddie munson #max mayfield #robin buckley #mike wheeler #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #will byers #joyce byers #eleven hopper #chief jim hopper #murray bauman #argyle #vecna/henry/001 #henry creel #season four episode one #original character #home slice olivia was all me #stranger things fandom

[tobiasdrake]

Break time's over. Heading on up to the... second floor? I think this is the second floor.

OH IS IT

IS IT REALLY

I am going to remember this and retcon your personal history with it.

...

Wow, having a temporal awareness is weird. That sounded like a threat but actually I think it's going to be a good thing?

Can I just say how much I love this entire nation of LGBT normalization? This is such a rich culture of gender freedom.

...given the context, I think Odile just admitted to being trans.

I'm not 100% sure that's what she meant by that. But that feels like what she meant by that.

Either way, good for her.

...given the context, Isa definitely just admitted to being trans - Well, genderfluid, but nonetheless living his best gender life. I am 100% sure that's what he meant by that. There is no other way to take that.

Good for him.

A second one of these. The last one we fought had a strange crest that let us delete Tears from our path.

Looking at it now... I kinda wonder if these things are what's producing the time-freezing Tears? It does look like it's actively crying.

Then again, it's a Sadness. They're all Sadnesses. So any of them could be making Tears. There's no reason to assume it's a specific kind that's doing it.

I dunno.

But this one is clearly tied to the Tears in a way that none of the others are. What is it's deal?

Also, it's a Star crest. And the Nostalgie looks like a star. But stars are on our side.

But stars are also directly connected to time manipulation. And the Tears freeze things and people in time.

There is something here. I can't see the full picture. But I see connections.

Bonnie and I are of one mind. It's stealing requisitioning time.

The funny thing is, I see both sides of this. On the one hand, there is something funny about extending respect for chosen names and pronouns and stuff all the way to regal titles. Like can I become Duke of Vaugarde by telling everyone that I'm Duke of Vaugarde now? The answer, it seems, is yes.

But you also have to realize that despite the King being the King, Vaugarde nonetheless still is not a monarchy. Calling him the King conveys no actual political authority to him. The big threat here is that he's going to freeze time; That's not a political thing.

So even though it sounds like a regal title, the people of Vaugarde aren't doing anything different from just. Like. Respecting his chosen name. So I can become Duke of Vaugarde by telling everyone to call me that, but I don't gain any authority from doing so. I just get to be called Duke of Vaugarde.

We already knew this but it's a nice reminder of the source of Mira's insecurities: Fear of inadequacy in the shadow of the Head Housemaiden. It's not easy, trying to live up to a great mentor. I don't think anyone ever feels truly ready to take on the responsibilities of the people that shaped them.

I would like to say that no one could have done better than Mira already has but I've been mashed into salsa by a giant rock twice.

Both of which were my own damn fault. I'm just saying. Perhaps. Mira could work on her hiring standards.

ROCK

AGAIN

This House has too many giant rocks. Someone needs to do something about that.

It's gotta be me. The House keeps throwing Rock because of my Scissors. It knows.

But I rifled through it THOROUGHLY. Ugggggggh. Yeah. I get it. With the rock in the way, we are utterly screwed in this revolution. Only one thing to do now.

I'm about to kill myself so anything I do right now is consequence free. Now is not the time to test me.

Hey. Hey, Odile?

I think your field of research is the study of HOW TO BE A BUTT

Hahahaha catch me now, suckers!

#in stars and time #drake plays in stars and time

[kikiiswashere]

Children of Zaun - Chapter 21

Pairing: Silco/Fem!OC

Rating: Explicit

Story Warnings: Canon typical violence, drug use/dealing, dark themes, smut

Chapter Summary: Katya teaches Silco the crawl. When they go their separate ways for the evening, each wishes they hadn't.

Special Note: Many, many thanks to @sand-sea-and-fable for being my swim expert and beta-ing that part of this chapter ❤️

Chapter CW: Masturbation and sex dreams, MDNI

Previous Chapter

Word Count: 8K

“Ya don’ think it sounds too threatening?” Vander asked, eyes glossing over the note again.

We are the Children of Zaun

Consider the coin the beginning of your reparations

We are the Children of Zaun

We are The Storm’s Fury

And we demand freedom.

“Sure makes a statement, doesn’ it?” Benzo said, glancing over his friend’s shoulder. He didn’t seem convinced either.

Silco stared at them from across Vander’s kitchen table, his fists gripping the back of a chair, cigarette dangling from his sneering lips.

“We are not going to ask nicely for our freedom. We are not going to ask for it at all.”

“’M not sayin’ we gotta go in with ‘pretty pleases’ n’ the like,” Vander sighed, setting the paper down. “’M just sayin’ is it wise to be so aggressive off the mark?”

“They are not going to believe that the airship crash was an accident. They are going to come at us with their teeth. They need to know we have our own,” Silco retorted. “That we won’t be pushed around any longer.”

His eyes went to the clock on the wall, and he pushed off the chair. Plucking the cigarette from his mouth, he crushed it into the ashtray at the table’s center.

“You goin’ somewhere?” Vander asked, eying the sudden movement.

“Kat wants to show me something. I’m supposed to go meet her.”

“Showin’ ya? What’s she showin’ ya?”

Silco averted his gaze as he said, “She’s going to teach me a few swimming strokes.”

Benzo guffawed. “Where? It’s bloody cold out.”

“Apparently there are some hot springs near those lagoons that kids like to play at. The ones between Zaun and Topside,” Silco explained blandly, going to gather his bag by the door. Katya had instructed him to pack a towel and dry change of clothes. “Besides, I need to give her the coin.”

At the top of their meeting, Silco had proposed the Children spare a negligible percentage of their recent treasure to Katya, so she could afford Viktor’s higher tuition rate for the upcoming semester. Vander and Benzo had agreed without a second thought.

Brothers and Sisters looked out for each other after all.

They all knew this would not be a long-term solution; and they all privately hoped that by the next time Viktor’s tuition fee came around, that their cause was far enough along that Piltover was agreeing to fully foot the bill.

Vander frowned. “Sil, I think we need to talk about this message some more. What if Piltover comes down hard on us?”

Silco slung his bag across his back, a hand patting protectively at the pocket that held the sack of gold.

“When have they ever come down easy on us? The only thing that will change is that they will now know there is a concentrated effort on getting their bootheels off us. Send the message.”

With that, he slipped out of the room. Benzo sighed and sat heavily next to Vander.

“What a fuckin’ prick.”

“He’s not wrong, I suppose,” Vander murmured, looking at the message. “No matter how we word it, Topside’ll still come after us. Best they know we’ll meet ‘em head on.”

His eyes drifted back to where Silco had been, his stomach knotting.

Silco stalked down the hall and through The Last Drop’s backdoor. He and Katya were meeting at the Bridgewaltz. The location was central enough, and made more sense than meeting at either of their homes.

When he arrived, it was mostly deserted. Which was to be expected in the early-afternoon; the Waltz did not burst to life until very late in the evening, Zaunites and Topsiders alike milling about the colorful streets taking in everything the Undercity had to offer: Crispy and well-spiced street food, boisterous musicians, and clever artisans with their unique wares.

But there was awhile before such nightly festivities began. Now, a few slow-moving, but dedicated, proprietors tended to the upkeep of their booths and stalls. A few Zaunites were hunched over tables or countertops, having fallen asleep the night before and had been deemed too troublesome to try and shoo away.

“Silco.”

He spun to see Katya strolling down a slim corridor of colorful awnings. She smiled brightly at him and adjusted the bag slung over her shoulder. His lips quirked and heart pattered at the sight of her; relieved and happy. Despite her invitation, he had been concerned that what had happened in the airship – how yet another thing did not go to plan – would scare her away from the Children. From him. But it had not, and he found himself inordinately relieved.

She wore her usual long, too-big charcoal coat and her hair fell loose around her shoulders. As she passed under a string of chem-bulbs, he noticed a flash of rosy gold undertones to her locks. He felt compelled to reach out to run his fingers through the strands to find that hue again.

Instead, he tightened the grip he had on his own bag, and nodded at her in greeting.

“Are you ready?” she asked, skirting around a vendor’s table to him.

“I believe so,” he said, jostling his pack. “Lead the way.”

They walked together through the Bridgewaltz, the winding alleys and gangways of the Lanes, and a short section of the Promenade before heading toward the Oases. The sun gleamed on the Promenade stones and the pair squinted against it as they traveled. Despite the brightness, the chill in the air was persistent, a promise of the cold season arriving shortly. A few shops they passed were even beginning the process of decorating for Snowdown. Business owners had threaded ribbons of gold and silver over window boxes and door lintels. A few storefronts boasted colorful paper garlands and delicate, star-shaped string lights. A few shop owners they passed were swapping details and ideas of impending holiday sales.

Before long, Katya led them down a steep rickety staircase that ended abruptly. She had always assumed that the builder had gotten fed up with trying to navigate and place the iron posts and steps over the uneven and sandy rocks, and had just given up halfway down the embankment. It would be easier and faster to travel down to the small rivulets that would lead to the Oases with Silco than it was with Viktor. She had nearly forgotten how quickly the landscape could be traversed. They walked along the bank of the largest tributary, mindful of the runoff trickling down from the sewer outlets that peppered the stone walls that rose above them.

“How did you learn about these hot springs?”

Katya shrugged. “My parents always took me to them. I do not know how they discovered them.”

As they neared the larger lagoons of the Oases, the sounds of screeching and laughing children overtook the noise of the gently running water. The pair spied a gaggle of scrawny Undercity youths scampering along the banks of the largest lagoon. It was too cold to swim, but that did not stop the children from investigating the shoreline, or skipping rocks. Katya was certain she spied a couple of Sevika’s sisters, but made no mention of it.

“This way,” she said as they approached a fork in the small river.

She veered right and Silco followed. The sandstone pressed in, narrowing the chasm they traveled, until a cave mouth yawned open and Silco took in this little secret of Zaun. The cavern itself did not seem particularly deep; the sun was able to illuminate most of the rocks and steaming, turquoise pools within the cave’s maw.

“Does anyone ever come here?”

Katya shook her head. “I have never seen anyone else here.”

She leapt down from a rock and stepped into the warm cave, swinging her sack from around her shoulders and dumping it to the ground. Silco remained at the mouth of the cavern, eying the glistening pools within apprehensively.

“It will be difficult to learn how to swim on dry land.”

Silco started, and looked down to Katya. She lifted her thick eyebrows and grinned at him.

“I won’t let you drown,” she said. “I promise.”

Silco returned her smile and followed her into the cave.

It was balmy. The heat of the water swirling around them in clouds of steam. The air smelled of the tang of minerals and wet sand. Katya knelt down and opened her sack, pulling out a large, fraying towel. She sat on it and began unlacing her boots. Silco began doing the same. When she stood, he looked up at her in slight confusion, but the question died on his tongue as she began unbuttoning her pants.

She noticed his wide-eyes and uncharacteristically stupefied face, and explained, “It will be easier to learn without soaked through clothes. Just in our underthings. Is that alright?”

Silco nodded. “Yes, that’s fine.”

He casually looked away as she slid the trousers down her legs. He felt a warmth blooming inside him that had nothing to do with the springs. He began to follow suit, writing off the tremor in his fingers as a need for a cigarette. When she shed her shirt, leaving her only clad in underwear, a camisole, and a brassiere, he bit the inside of his lip. He kicked his trousers off and stood, and unclasped the hooks that held his shirt in place before peeling it from his back. He tossed it next to his bag and tried to stand as nonchalantly as he could, dressed only in his thin undershorts. His pale skin was turning pink, and he prayed that she thought it was only because of the cave’s warmth and humidity.

Katya began braiding her hair, and glanced him over once. Twice. And then at his head.

“Would you like a hair tie?”

Silco’s hands flew to his lanky hair and pet at it. He looked to the water, and then back to Katya. “Will one help?”

She shrugged. “It might. Hold on.”

She bent over to dig through her bag, and despite everything inside him begging him not to, he eyed the curve of her wide hips and swell of her ass. She rose again and handed him a small elastic band.

“Here.”

He mumbled a thank you and began pulling his hair back as Katya headed to the nearest spring. She delicately jumped in, the water rippling and gently splashing around her body. A soft, pleased groan blew from her lips as her muscles were wrapped in warmth. The pool only came up to her chest and she dipped beneath the surface, wetting her hair. As she came back up, she wiped her bangs from her eyes, and looked back to the edge of the pool. Where Silco stood, waiting for instructions.

She noticed his slender body in a way she hadn’t during that initial physical. Slightly broad shoulders and chest that tapered to a very narrow waist; his muscle sat tightly against his bones, the cut and shape of them becoming more apparent as sweat and moisture collected on his skin. He had very little body hair. A small, light smattering across the planes of his chest and a thin line that began beneath his navel and disappeared under the waistline of his shorts. Her gaze lifted back to his face, the angles of his cheekbones and nose more apparent now that his dark hair was swept back into a messy knot. Lean, elegant, and magnetic she thought.

Beautiful.

Katya nearly choked at the word as it flashed through her mind. She played it off and jerked her head back, beckoning him.

“Come on. Hop in. The water is far better than the Pilt.”

Silco toed the pool’s lip for a moment more before jumping in. He created a larger wake than Katya did, and she laughed at the small waves that splashed at her.

“Sorry,” he chuckled, stepping forward, cutting his sinewy arms through the water.

Wiping the water from her eyes, she chuckled, “It is fine. I’m already wet anyway.”

Silco gave her an apologetic grin as his feet and toes squeezed and gripped the uneven rock beneath them, feeling the slight slick of algae that grew there. There were nerves coiling his stomach. He didn’t want to make a fool of himself. In general. And not in front of her.

“What’s first?” he asked, infusing his tone with a confident, blasé bravado.

“Well, since you can already not drown,” she cheekily said, “I figured we would just focus on a more efficient technique.”

First, Katya took him through a few arm and shoulder warm ups, and mobility exercises: instructing him through shoulder rolls, chest and back stretches. She mimed the crawl stroke she was preparing to teach him by throwing her arms into the air in controlled, alternating sweeps. He did his best to copy her. And to not feel foolish.

“Keep your arm in its socket,” she told him, stepping over and gently adjusting his right shoulder down, away from his ear. “Use the muscles in your back, not your ligaments and tendons, to reach and pull.”

She touched the muscles in the center of his upper back and at his sides in direction. Silco adjusted his technique.

“The arm that is drawing back, bend its elbow more,” she added as he mimed the movement again. “It is called the crawl, yes? Imagine that you actually pulling yourself through something. Like this.”

She turned her back to him and did the stroke into the air, making a point to exaggerate pulling back through her elbows. He watched the slight rotation of her wrists and hands as she went, as if she were pushing material out of the way. He watched the way her back muscles moved. How the band of her brassiere strained under her camisole.

Katya turned to face him again, and gestured for him to try. He obliged and she nodded at his technique. She then explained the breathing pattern for the crawl: to turn his head in the same direction the arm sweeping back.

“Both sides?”

“Typically, yes. But you may find it easier to just turn your head to your dominant side for now. You’ll get a feel for it once you start swimming. You use your left hand, yes?”

Something pleased fluttered inside Silco that she knew that. He nodded.

“Good. Now, I want you to use your arms like that and swim the length of this pool,” she said, walking over to one end.

Silco looked at her, then to the spring’s opposite end. It wasn’t too long; maybe forty feet.

Slowly, he waded across the pool to her side. She gave him an encouraging smile, and he rolled his shoulders before launching forward into the warm water. Shifting the movement he’d just learned to a horizontal position was harder than he anticipated. His arms didn’t feel as strong and his lower body kept sinking, despite kicking furiously. Every time he turned his head to breathe, not only did he get a mouthful of air, but water splashed in, too.

Finally, his fingers scraped against the ledge of the pool’s far side and he stood up, panting. He looked down at the ledge, and then turned to look at Katya at the other end of the pool. The water between them was frothing and choppy, but she gave him an encouraging smile.

“Not bad,” she called. “Now, come back.”

Silco heeded her instruction and attempted the crawl again as he swam back. He was huffing and puffing by the time he returned to Katya’s side.

“I don’t know why,” he gasped, “but I did not think it would be so tiring.”

She smirked up at him. “Swimming is a different beast from roof running. It probably doesn’t help that you smoke, either.”

He recalled her final comment that night he had shown her Zaun.

You shouldn’t smoke, anyway. It’s bad for you, too.

He slyly grinned back at her, and purred, “I am allowed a vice. Piltover has made life hellish enough to deny ourselves any small pleasures. I’m sure once I get this stroke down, I’ll swim just as fast as you. Perhaps faster – “

Katya snorted, throwing her head back. “That sounds like a challenge.”

Silco shrugged cockily before diving back into the water and practicing again. After a few more laps, he began to get a better handle of how to move his arms and neck, his stroke pattern becoming smoother, surer. Slowly, he began cutting through the water instead of splashing against it.

“Very good,” Katya congratulated once he returned to her side again. “I think it is time to talk about hips and legs.” She turned to the pool’s edge and placed her hands on a relatively level slab of rock. “One of the reasons your lower half is sinking is because you are kicking too much with your knees. You will swim faster and more efficiently if you keep your legs straighter and kick from your hips.”

She kept her hands on the rock, and allowed the rest of her body to float up in the water. Her rear breached the surface, and Silco fought not to stare. She made a point to flex and straighten her shapely legs and kicked. Despite the movement, very little water was splashed up. Silco scooted down the edge of the rock a bit to find his own level piece. Once he was set up, he kicked his lower half up to the surface. Very ungracefully. His jaw squeezed and brow furrowed as he did his best to lengthen his legs taut and access his hips.

“It is a balance,” Katya explained, stepping over to him. “Straight legs, yes. But allow there to be a little give in your knees so that they remain soft.”

“So keep my legs straight. But don’t keep my legs straight.”

Katya smirked and shrugged. “Viktor can do it. And his bones are warped. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Silco huffed and tried again. It was challenging, but eventually he got it enough that Katya didn’t need to keep reminding him.

“Do not swish your hips so much,” she said, reaching out and gently touched the top of his hipbone.

The feeling of her fingertips on him caused Silco to jolt and stop swimming. He spun to look at her.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she gasped, hand pulling back. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s okay. I just – I just wasn’t expecting it.” He smiled reassuringly at her. “What did you say?”

“You are rotating through your hips too much. It’ll make you tired. Keep your hips steady. The rotation comes from your back. Remember? From the crawl stroke itself.”

Silco tried again, imagining that an iron beam holding his hips in place. A couple times, Katya reminded him to keep his knees and feet a touch softer. As she watched him, her eyes squinted and she brought the tips of her fingers to her temple.

“What?” he asked, pausing to catching his breath.

“I am trying to think of another way to explain,” she sighed. “Have you ever seen people on the Promenade ride . . . I think they are called Bi-sickles, or something? A metal frame with two wheels on either end?”

“Bicycles. Yeah. I’ve seen them.”

“Okay, well, the leg movement is not dissimilar. Steady hips, strong glutes and thighs propelling the motion, but some soft give from the knees down. Does that make sense?”

Silco pondered for a moment, thinking on the Topside youths he’d seen racing their toys through the Promenade streets. He recalled how their legs pumped their mode of transportation, strong and efficient strokes that powered the bicycle to impressive speeds. He nodded and tried again.

After several minutes, she suggested he put the two together and try swimming another few laps of the pool. Silco rolled his shoulders and shook his legs out a bit before venturing back into the middle of the water and piecing together what he had learned.

Just as before, it took him a couple laps to achieve smooth movements. Once he found a rhythm, he felt like a harpoon slicing through the water, especially compared to how he felt in the Pilt a few days ago. After his tenth lap, he stopped for a break at the far end and turned to look at Katya. His heart tapped firmly against his breastbone to see her beaming at him. Her skin was glistening from the warmth and water, her cheeks rosy. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her so pleased or carefree, and he was excited to think he was the source of her happiness in that moment.

Suddenly, Katya leapt forward and swam towards him, streaking through the water like a waverider. He hadn’t really paid attention the night they jumped from the airship, but she moved seamlessly – as if she became one with the water. It didn’t froth around her limbs, just rippled in smooth wakes. It seemed as easy as breathing for her. Despite the improvements he had made to his own abilities, he knew he floundered like a beached fish in comparison.

She appeared at his side, that sun-bright smile still on her face.

“Race?”

Silco stared at her for a moment, his eyes glancing down to her smile, then his own split across his face. He couldn’t remember the last time he had ‘played’ – had had unproductive fun. He was sure Katya felt the same.

“Prepare to eat my wake, Kat.”

Katya did not eat Silco’s wake. Quite the opposite. He struggled to keep up, but laughed at his own ineptitude in the water. Although, the more and more laps they swam, the surer in his skills he became. Katya told him his slight build would work to his advantage, something he quietly preened at because he never considered his physicality being an advantage for much.

Eventually they tired, and lifted themselves from the pool. They spread their towels over the cave floor and sat, allowing their bodies to rest and dry off. Silco did his best to avoid staring at Katya, at the way her wet clothes had sheered from the water and now clung to her body. A heat that had nothing to do with the hot springs spread through him.

To distract himself, he fished an apple and a small knife from his bag. He cut a slice and handed it to her. Katya stared at the offering for a moment, stunned, before taking it.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, because that it what you said when someone gave you something.

Unsettled warmth bloomed across her chest as she bit down on it in a satisfying crunch. It had been a long while since she had had a bite of apple. It had been a long while that someone had provided for her. She wondered if she would ever get used to being thought of, sought after, taken care of, considered. Silco’s companionship felt as much of a treat like this apple.

The fruit was crisp, juicy, and sweet against her tongue. As it broke down in her mouth, and the sweet sparked into surprising notes of tangy sour, compulsory sadness curled in her stomach; that her experience of the treat was nearing its end. Then her eyes fell onto the fruit by Silco’s pointed knee, and realized she could have more. That one bite was only the first. Her mouth watered and stomach rumbled.

“I brought some bread, too. One of mum’s reject loaves.”

Katya’s eyes flicked up to his face. Why had she gone so long denying herself of company? Denying her own needs? Pointedly skirting the care and lives of others? If she had kept to her solitary way, she would not have this apple, this bread. This man, and his caring mother.

“How is she?”

Silco’s nostrils curled. He cut his own slice of apple and ate it. He shrugged.

“Like she said, it always gets bad this time of year.”

Katya’s eyes softened, empathy and sadness leaching out the joy that had lit them up.

“She is probably due for another vial of medicine,” she said. “I will grab one when I am at the clinic.”

Silco gave her a weak smile and retrieved the lumpy loaf of bread from his bag. He tore a piece off and handed it to her. She took it and held it in her hands, thinking of how she might smooth out the lines that had appeared on Silco’s face at the mention of Enyd. How she might dampen the small flame of ire that had appeared in his eyes, and rekindle the joy that had been there earlier.

“I am glad I got to show you this place,” she decided on, looking up at the stalactites on the cave’s ceiling. “As grateful as I am that only Viktor and I seem to be the ones to ever come here, it’s so beautiful that I feel badly for it that so few people visit. Know about it.”

Silco hummed, biting down on a piece of bread and looking around at the cave. It’s towers and divots. At the lush moss and algae that collected at its mouth, and hung down from its opening like a shredded curtain.

“This is where your parents taught you how to swim?”

Katya shook her head. “No. I learned in the Oases. Like a lot of the children do now. When it came time to teach Viktor, his body did not handle the cool water well, so Papa taught him here. Being in the water also helps relieve some of the chronic aches he has in his body.”

“How did your father find this place?” Silco asked, looking around again.

“I never thought to ask. I wish I had now. He used to talk about taking me and Viktor out on a boat someday. To explore the Conqueror’s Sea.”

“It sounds like he had an affinity for water.”

Katya chuckled and took a bite of bread. “I suppose he did, now that you mention it. One of the books he would read to us most frequently had to do with ocean life. Various habitats, animal and plant life – that sort of thing.” She laughed and said, “My favorite chapter was about the deep sea, and all the monstrous creatures down there. It sort of reminded me of the Undercity. I found it fascinating, but I don’t think Viktor did.”

“How come?”

She shrugged. “He is more interested in building and creating things. He preferred when Papa read about inventions and why they worked. Engineering and chemistry and physics, and those sorts of things. Biology never grabbed him as tightly.”

“But it did you?” Silco asked, taking his knife to the apple again and slicing it twice. He handed one piece to her, and placed his own on his tongue.

Katya shrugged again and bit thoughtfully into the apple’s flesh, Silco’s eyes flicking down to her mouth as she did.

“I do find it interesting,” she said around the fruit in her mouth. “It certainly has served me well with my role at the clinic. And with caring for Viktor. And like I told you, I think I would like to become a doctor once Zaun is free. Once we have the ability to manage such things.”

“That reminds me,” Silco gasped, reaching for his bag. His hand gripped the small satchel of gold within and he drew it out. “Vander and I wanted you to have some of the coin from the airship job. To help with Viktor’s tuition next semester.”

He handed her the purse, and she slowly took it. Her eyes glossed over and became distant as she uncinched the bag’s mouth and peered inside. Gold glittered up at her. Katya sniffed and her throat squeezed tightly. She looked back up at him, and her heart cracked at the soft – almost adoring – smile on his face. She opened her mouth to thank him, but all that came out was a teary choke. Silco scooted over and wrapped his arm around her.

“I got you.”

Katya’s voice failed her again, and she simply leaned against him. She curled against his side; her face pressed into his neck. She nodded against it, overwhelmed and humbled by the sense of gratitude. Her body alight with the feeling of belonging. She felt treasured and valued.

She wasn’t able to speak, but as she closed her eyes and felt Silco’s jugular pulse against her cheek, she thought You have me.

Eventually, when the sun began to fade, they toweled off and redressed, preparing to head home. Katya wrapped the small bag of gold in her towel and shoved it deep within her sack. Despite the extra weight on her back, her heart felt easeful and light. The children that had been at the Oases were gone. Headed home for supper, or for work, or to nothing at all. Silco and Katya hopped onto the bottom step of the incomplete staircase and headed back into Zaun.

The Bridgewaltz was just beginning to brighten and stretch into its evening routine. The chem-bulbs above twinkled various colors, casting rainbow splotches on the pavement and across scattered tables and chairs. A few of the food stalls and kiosks already had customers gnawing at kebabs and drinking whatever brew was offered; the passed-out people Silco and Katya had seen earlier had since woken up and staggered off.

“Would you like me to walk you home?” Silco asked, as they came to a stop.

Katya looked up at him, voice stuck in her throat. The shadows and light did mesmerizing things to the angles of his face, and his pale eyes reflected the flickering magenta, orange, and green lights above.

Would she like? Would she want?

“That’s okay,” she finally answered. Her stomach curled in displeasure at her own words. “You should get home and check on your mother.”

Silco smiled and nodded. He ignored the pang of disappointment that flicked at his heart.

“Right, then,” he said, adjusting his bag. “I’ll see you soon. Yeah?”

Katya beamed up at him. Her milk-colored skin glowed in the colorful light, and Silco’s fingers twitched, fighting the urge to run them down her cheek.

“Yes. I will see you soon.”

“Thank you again for the lessons. For today.”

Something open, vulnerable, and wanting cracked behind Katya’s ribs, and she closed the distance between them, wrapping Silco in a tight embrace. He returned it with an immediacy that left his mind reeling and surprised. She felt warm and solid – not unlike that dream he had had the night he’d fought the enforcers. Turning his head slightly, he nestled his nose into the crook of her neck. The smell of brine, minerals, and warmth from the Springs was stuck to her.

“Thank you for today,” she whispered. “And for everything else.”

Katya gave him one last squeeze and drew back. Silco followed suit, his heart hammering against his chest.

“Walk home safe, Kat.”

“You, too.”

Silco watched her for a moment, before turning himself and walking home.

When he arrived at his and his mother’s apartment, it was quiet except for the warm, prickling drone of the phonograph needle swirling on a record that had finished playing. A singular light from the living room bled into the front hall. Silco quietly removed his boots, and set down his sack by the door before venturing further.

“Mum?” he called quietly, stepping into the living room.

Enyd was propped up in her rocking chair, a sewing project in her lap, her head lolled onto one shoulder, eyes closed. Her breath came in soft, long wheezes as she slept. Silco smiled tenderly at the sight and tip-toed to the phonograph, gently resetting the needle in its bed.

“Mum,” he said again, walking over and placing a hand on her shoulder. “Mum.”

Enyd gently started under his touch and blinked awake.

“Wha? – Oh, Silco. You’re home. I – I didn’t realize that I fell asleep.”

She adjusted in her seat, the chair rocking slightly with her movement, and she peered down at the bundle of thread and fabric in her lap. An amused huff blew from her lips at the sight, and a string of dry coughs followed it. When they passed, she straightened her shoulders and looked up at her son with watery eyes.

“How did it go today?”

“It went well. Kat’s a good teacher. It was nice. Spending time with her. Mum, why don’t you go to bed if you’re tired?”

Enyd batted away his concern with a flick of her thin wrist. “I’m fine. I want to get this done before I turn in anyhow.” She gestured to the sewing project in her lap. “Would you mind starting the record again?”

Silco turned back to the phonograph and reset the needle. Soft, warbly music echoed from the soundhorn and Enyd hummed appreciatively, lifting the needle and thread back up to the light.

“I’m going to take a shower. Do you need anything?”

His mother shook her head. She smiled at him, and said, “I’m glad you got to do something light today. Fun. Joyful.”

Silco’s insides squeezed – with what, he wasn’t entirely certain – and softly smiled in agreement.

“Me too.”

With that, he headed to his bedroom, grabbed his pajamas, and then locked himself up in the bathroom. He turned the water in the tub on, holding one hand under the faucet, waiting for it to turn warm. When it did, he was surprised that he could feel the difference between this warm water and the stuff he’d been swimming in a few hours prior. He didn’t know water could feel different. Pulling the tee diverter, the shower head rumbled and spat to life. He quickly divested himself of his clothes; surprised when a flash of Kat in her wet underthings flickered in his mind. He swallowed, tossed the clothes into the hamper by the toilet, and stepped into the shower.

The warm water sluiced over his frame in vaguely relaxing rivulets. The sensation paled in comparison to the heat and comfort he’d found in the Springs. He’d found in the excited, pleased beam of Kat’s smile. Silco ran his fingers through his hair, unraveling any snags and snares he found. He closed his eyes as water ran down his face. The image behind his eyelids was that of Kat standing in the shallow end of the pool, water to her knees, her underwear, camisole, and brassiere wet and sticking to her body. Her skin glowed and shone with the warm mist of the cave. Silco sighed, and finally allowed himself to ruminate on what he’d seen while he lathered himself up with soap.

Like many trenchers, Katya’s body hungered, but it hadn’t kept her hips and breasts from filling out. His mind’s eye roved over her legs. Stopped, and stared at where her thighs thickened into the swell of her hips and ass. Salivated at how the damp sheerness of her underwear had allowed the suggestion of curls at the crux of her thighs –

Silco gasped as he brought the soap to his groin, and found himself half-hard. Balls beginning to lift and ache. For a moment, he considered turning the water to ice cold, to put a stop to this. But his hand made a cursory sweep down his length and the space behind his navel tightened with anticipation. With a plead.

Silco’s imagination took creative license, and the Kat behind his eyes shifted her expression to something sultrier. Hungrier. Her lashes sat low over her golden eyes – those mesmerizing gold eyes. Silco braced one hand against the shower wall, while the other took hold of him in earnest. Kat bit just the inside of her lower lip, and Silco worked himself to full hardness in steady strokes.

His mind’s eye traveled up the length of her torso, wondering what it would be like to touch (taste?) the delicate flesh that ebbed and flowed into that beautiful hourglass shape. Her breasts – their details and shape brought into stark relief by the wet, clingy fabric – were devastatingly heavy and ample. Her nipples had puckered and lifted. He wanted to touch them. Roll them into impossibly tight, pebbled peaks between his fingers. And then suck and bite at them. How she would writhe beneath his attention –

Silco’s breath hitched as a callous on his palm caught along his frenulum. He bit back a groan, grateful for the noise of the shower and the record playing in the other room. Despite those buffers, he choked back any vocalization that threatened to give him away.

The promising lift behind his navel was intensifying – little shimmers of pleasure licking up his spine. The squeeze of his pumping hand tightened, and the one bracing against the shower wall collapsed to its forearm. Silco’s forehead pressed against the meat of it. His eyes clamped shut as his mind shifted, giving form to tamped down fantasies and maddening questions.

What would those plush thighs feel like wrapped around his waist? Kat’s heels pressing into his tailbone as he fucked her –

A whimper vibrated off his lips. Despite the water, he could tell that his cock was leaking all over his hand.

How would she feel wrapped around him? Glorious, he knew. His fist would never be able to compare. Warm, soft, and slick. And tight. Would they fit together like puzzle pieces?

How would she look beneath him? On top of him? Looking over her shoulder at him? He imagined her mouth hanging open – her dusty pink lips turned red and kiss-swollen. Her intense, expressive brows pitching up in elation as she hurtled toward her release. Pleasure he’d brought her –

Silco’s hips bucked into his hand as his own climax neared. Those little laps and zips of pleasure he’d felt earlier grew into spine arching, toe curling flames as his fist became a blur around his cock.

How would Kat sound? How would that rolling, molasses-sweet accent sound in the throes of ecstasy? Would she mutter in her mother-tongue? Chant his name? Look him in the eye and say “You have me”? –

“Kat!” Silco rasped, unable to keep her name behind his teeth. And he came. Strong, pulsing spurts onto the shower wall that were promptly washed away by the water’s spray. His hand worked himself through each throb of his orgasm, until his body felt blissfully heavy on his skeleton and he leaned against the wall.

He stood there for a moment, the water beating against his back; residual glimmers of ecstasy shivering up and down his spine. He huffed and puffed, heart hammering and lungs swinging. He placed his left hand on his chest, and felt the steady percussive, beat within.

As the gooey, post-orgasm feeling draped over his body, Silco finished cleaning himself. And made a point to make sure the wall and floor of the shower was clean of any ‘sign’ of him, too. He dried off, dressed, brushed his teeth, and went to bed. All the while thinking on what he had done, and whom he’d thought of.

Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling – one hand on his heart; the other tossed over his head – a lonely, wanting, foreign ache pressed into him. The sensation eased as he drifted to sleep and dreamt that Kat was curled against his side.

Katya glided through the dark, star-lit water of her dreamscape. Smooth, warm, and malleable. Like liquid glass. A few easy frog strokes propelled her forward, the water rippling gently. She wondered if she’d ever reach an edge here, if there would ever be something to grab hold of. Something to rest against, in case she ever tired.

“Kat.”

She gasped and sputtered. The water splashed as she spun. She’d never heard anything but her own breath here. The sound of her own body in the water. But now, a few feet behind her, there was a pale figure with lank dark hair and piercing blue eyes.

“Silco?”

He smiled at her. She realized how endearing – almost awkward – the fullness of it made him look. In life, he’d only ever smirked or grinned at her. Expressions that kept his coolness and distant persona intact, kept him at arm’s length from most people.

Now, he was beaming at her, and she was enthralled.

He paddled toward her. “Shall we?”

Katya blinked at him, and then she smiled in return. Laughing, they pressed forward into the endless space. Silco swam just about as well as he had at the Springs – not with the best form, water splattering about him. But neither cared. They moved together, Silco splashing at Katya; Katya dodging his sprays by elegantly flowing around him. Eventually, they tired enough to slow their pace, lazily floating along the surface. The stars sparkled and winked above them.

“Kat.”

This time he said her name softer, his tone lifting as if in question.

Katya stopped, her arms and legs barely needing to tread water to keep her upright. She looked at him, tilting her head in equal curiosity. He fixed her with an intense, earnest look that held her in place. An enticing heat banked behind his eyes, and he closed the small distance between them. One of his hands slipped up from the water and gently cradled her cheek. The etheric nature of the dreamscape made his touch feel ghost-like, a whisper of how his hand had felt in hers, but it made Katya’s breath hitch all the same. His thumb gently pressed against the beauty mark under her eye and dragged down. His blue eyes left her gold ones to flit down to her lips, and then back up. The look, the touch, sent a blaze through her body. As if her insides were a smoldering fire, and he was a great gust of wind, igniting her in a mighty WHOOSH!

Katya’s fiery heart thundered wildly in her chest as she leaned forward and kissed him. The hand on her cheek wrapped to hold the nape of her neck, and Silco’s other hand wound around her waist, drawing her flush against him. She gripped his shoulders and pressed her mouth more firmly against his, annoyed that the sensation of him was gauzy. She wanted to feel him, taste him.

She tilted her head and slid her tongue along the seam of his lips, pleading for access; hoping it would give her something more solid to experience. Silco obliged, his own tongue melding against hers. Katya squeezed her eyes tight as their tongues, teeth, and lips hungrily explored each other. For too brief of a moment, she thought she could taste cigarettes, thought she could smell that citrus tang and deep terra scent that had been on that shirt he’d given her.

Silco surged forward, his kisses a strange combination of intense and distant. Katya gripped at him, fingers digging into the slick and firm muscles of his shoulders and back. She gasped when her own backside pressed against something solid. Somehow, for the first time, she was able to feel an edge to this dreamworld. She couldn’t see it, only feel it. Silco’s right hand pressed into the starry surface next to her head, his breath a mere suggestion against her warm, damp skin. He leaned forward, his lips brushing against hers, the blade of his nose caressing her cheek. The inferno within Katya’s belly blazed for him. Her body ached, breasts heavy and heaving, core throbbing.

“Kat,” Silco breathed, pressing against her.

“Yes.” Katya’s breath came in shaky, pleading huffs.

Her legs lifted in the water and wrapped around his hips, drawing him closer. There was a probing pressure at her aching center and a desperate, excited cry pealed from her throat.

The exclamation woke Katya up. She jerked awake in her bed, back arching, breathing erratic. Initially, she was confused, borderline distraught. As her vision cleared and she took in the dark, empty space of her bedroom, she understood what had happened.

She was home.

Alone.

Disappointment settled in her stomach, lead-heavy and cold. Despite this, the ache between her thighs persisted; annoyed at being left unattended.

Katya steeled her jaw and turned onto her side, eyes closing, determined to just go to bed. She would inspect that dream in the morning. Or maybe she wouldn’t. It was only a dream after all.

However, her body refused to fall into stillness and slumber. Her mind swam with images and sense-memories of Silco. His intense gaze, low, syrupy voice; his lithe frame, how his hands had felt in hers, how his hands might feel on her body. Holding her in place, exploring . . .

Katya grunted and turned again, her core reverberating with a nearly painful, needy pulse. Her nipples were pointed and tight beneath the shirt she wore. His shirt. She laid still for a moment, considering. Finally, her fingers skirted across the gusset of her underwear in an exploratory swipe. Her body shuddered at the light touch and she gasped to find the garment soaked.

She decided to not think too hard about it, nor deny her bodily desire any longer. In quick, furious movements, she stripped her underwear down her legs and kicked them off, sending them somewhere deep within the folds of her blanket. Her hand was quick to cup herself, and an intense and relieved sound was pressed out of her lungs.

Her hips lifted into the heel of her hand as her index and middle fingers swiped lightly through her slit, gathering and coating them in her arousal. Slowly, she dipped them inside. A gasp left her, her back arched, her free hand reached for the pillow above her head and gripped it tightly. She was overwhelmed by how warm, wet, and ready she felt. Burying her fingers inside her felt relieving and maddening. Her body grateful that it was being touched, but desperately wanting more. Needing release.

Her fingers began to pump in and out, the heel of her hand trying to rub against her clit. Pleasure ebbed and swelled inside her, promising tickles fluttering behind her navel, up and down her spine. Images flashing through her mind provided titillating inspiration that drove her further and further into carnal need.

The shape of Silco’s member; she’d sneaked a peek of him when his shorts were wet and clinging to it earlier that day. Her fingers couldn’t compare.

The way Silco’s muscles moved over his body as he swam.

Silco’s head between her thighs, those piercing eyes watching her intently.

Silco’s hands grabbing needily at her thighs and hips as he rut against her.

 Katya’s body shook hopefully at the thought, her fingers pumping faster, the heel of her hand desperately wriggling against her apex. A whimper trickled from her mouth between ragged breaths. Despite the pleasure building within her, entangling her low spine in teasing tendrils, she needed more. The hand gripping the pillow snaked itself under her shirt, squeezing and pinching at the peak of her breast. A hiss whistled through her clenched teeth, her body writhing.

It wasn’t enough.

She rolled onto her stomach, pinning the hand working at her between her soaked sex and the mattress. Her hips humped and ground into her palm. The position, aided by her weight and gravity, offered deeper, sweeter sensations the ability to curl and build. Katya gasped and cried into the pillow, her legs propelling her hips into her hand hurriedly, the movement not dissimilar to the firelight swim stroke.

“Si – Sil – “

Katya’s breath hitched into a new tempo as her body rapidly approached the peak of her climax. Her toes curled, the soles of her feet flexing in anticipation; thighs and hips quivering.

“P-please. Oh, Gods. S – “

She moaned loudly into her pillow as she crested her release; hips pulsing and grinding over her hand of their own volition, chasing her high, squeezing every last drop of pleasure out of it. Eventually the sensation ebbed away, leaving Katya wrung out, and panting. Slowly, she withdrew her hand from herself and carefully stretched her legs out, rocking her hips side-to-side experimentally.

While she felt satisfied on an animalistic level, as the heavy blanket of sleep began to lay over her, the feeling of loneliness crept back in. Into her chest. Into her bed.

The sleep she was granted was dreamless.

Notes: Ahhhhh! These crazy, pining kids! When will they *actually* make it happen?? Soon hopefully 😈 I hope you enjoyed the start of some smutty-smut! I was really happy to finally get to this point in the story 😅 What do you think? Let me know your thoughts! Please comment and reblog ❤️ Til next time, my sweets!

Coming Up Next: Piltover's answer to the Children's declaration, Zaun prepares for the Snowdown holidays, and Kells attempts a monsterous act.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @pinkrose1422 @dreamyonahill @sand-sea-and-fable @truthandadare @altered-delta

If you're interested in being added to the taglist, just message me 😘

#children of zaun #coz #arcane #arcane fanfic #silco #vander #benzo #young silco #young vander #young benzo #original character #silco x oc #silco x katya #silkat #smut #mdni #silco fanfic