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andvys · 7 months

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I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss | part 20

Warnings: angst, kinda mean!Eddie, mentions of an ED, fluff at the end

Pairings: Steve Harrington x fem!reader, Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Summary: Tension arises between you and Eddie when Steve steps back into your life.

Word count: 8k+

A/N: If there's any typos or mistakes, you didn't see them! @hellfire--cult thanks for feeding me ideas, I'm blessed to have you

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You can’t explain the awful feeling in your stomach or the suffocating feeling in your chest.

You have trouble understanding why it all feels so wrong when it’s all you have dreamed of for so long. Steve kissed you in a way he had never kissed you before, not even when you had just started dating did he kiss you with so much passion and love the way he did last night.

His touch was gentle, his lips were soft and he was so desperate to feel you against him – you were just as desperate and the kiss just showed how much you still love him, how much you still want him, how much you crave him even after everything that happened between you both. But, not even the passion of the kiss could erase the things he had done to you.

The moment it all caught up to you, the moment something else came to your mind, you pushed him away and you ran, you ran away from him and now you feel guilty for it but you couldn’t stay, you couldn’t stick around any longer.

You found Robin and Chrissy, blabbering out what happened to you before you begged them to take you home.

Now, you are laying in your bed, staring up at the white ceiling. You’re glad that you haven’t had much alcohol last night. The sharp pain in your lower stomach is already bad enough, you wouldn’t want to deal with both a headache and the awful cramps.

You don’t know how, but you manage to drag yourself out of the comfort of your bed. When the pain in your stomach gets sharper, you suddenly regret the plans that you had made with your friends for today.

Your heart leaps to your throat when your phone starts ringing. You don’t bother to hurry down the stairs to pick it up. You know who it is but you aren’t ready to talk to him.

Eddie had done nothing wrong, he had never done anything wrong.

But the thought of talking to him or even facing him fills you with an awful feeling, one that you can’t describe. You know you can’t run from it, you had made plans with Robin, Chrissy and Eddie.

You let the phone ring and disappear into the bathroom, you close the door and drown out the voice of the shrill sound.

You hope that a hot shower will help you get rid of that sickening feeling but your mind can’t rest and every time you think back to that kiss, you feel that immense guilt. Why? You wanted it, you wanted it just as much as he did.

Steve is single and so are you, there is not a reason for you to feel guilty about something that you had wanted for so long.

Or, maybe you feel guilty for doing this to yourself… again. Because why are you letting him back in? Why are you giving him the chance to hurt you again?

It doesn’t matter how he feels about you, it doesn’t matter how much he loves you, it doesn’t matter, not anymore.

He hurt you too many times for you to just let him back into your life like this.

You cannot give him the chance to hurt you again.

The clock strikes 2 when the doorbell rings. You furrow your brows when you look at the watch on your vanity, the one you never wear. Eddie is always on time when it comes to you but never when he picks up Robin first, she is always running late. You take one last look at yourself, fluffing out your hair a little more before you drop the lipgloss on the table. You smoothe down your skirt and reach for your little purse, picking out your favorite cardigan on the way out.

The doorbell rings again when you walk down the stairs, “I’m coming!” You sigh.

When you open the door, you don’t expect to see him on the other side. The smile that tugged at your lips instantly falls and tension arises in your body.

“Hi.”

Steve.

Your shoulders slump as you take in the sight of him. The soft and apologetic eyes, the hopeful look in his features. The messy hair.

“Hey,” you whisper.

“C-Can we talk?”

You’d rather not. The fear that he will pull you back in is too big.

“What about?”

You keep holding onto the door, staring at him as you try to calm the feeling in your chest. He had already walked you home last night, even though you tried to protest against it, he could’ve talked to you then but he stayed quiet, you did too.

He licks his lips as he looks down nervously. The atmosphere around you had changed yet again. You were ready to let him back into your life. You smiled at him again, you talked to him again, you wanted to be his friend – he ruined it all with a kiss and he knows it.

“I-I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

As you look into his eyes, you know, you just know, he is genuine about it. There’s remorse lingering in them and fear – fear of losing you again.

“Steve,” you sigh.

“I-I wasn’t – I wasn’t thinking about how much I would hurt you again a-and, I-I just wanted, no, needed to kiss you again. I messed up, I was a selfish prick. And I promise, it won’t happen again if you don’t want it.” He is pleading with his eyes as he looks down at you, “I loved every second of it b-but I shouldn’t have done it. I-I just, please forgive me, dolly.”

Steve had never begged for forgiveness when you were still together, he had done so many awful things, he hurt you so many times but he never begged for forgiveness, he just dismissed them and moved on and acted like he had never done anything wrong.

“I won’t ever do it again,” he says, even though kissing you is all he wants to do. “I just, I don’t want to lose you again.”

You don’t want to lose him again either.

Something about the look in his eyes and the sadness in his voice makes you feel guilty.

You nod.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, “just, promise me that you won’t kiss me again.”

“I promise!” He exclaims with wide eyes, “I promise, I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do. I-I know that we’re not exactly friends but I-I’d love for us to be friends again.”

Right now, you don’t see the Steve that hurt you. You see the boy you used to play hide and seek with. The boy who used to pick flowers for you. The boy who used to pick you up in the afternoons to get sundaes at Benny’s. The boy you made a pact with when you were little kids – that you would stay friends, no matter what.

And Steve really needs a friend. He doesn’t have Tommy anymore, he doesn’t have Nancy anymore – who is left?

“Steve?”

“Yes?” He asks, furrowing his brows when you completely dismiss his words.

“Who do you hang out with?”

“No one,” he says without a single moment of hesitation.

It might be his fault but you still feel bad for him. You and Tommy were his only friends and now he has neither one of you left.

He has no one.

No friends and not even his parents to come home to – they are never there.

Maybe it’s the image of him alone or maybe it’s just the look in his eyes that makes you feel heartbroken, sad for the man in front of you, the one who used to be your everything.

Suddenly, you feel the need to keep the promise that you had made as kids.

You open your mouth to speak but the sound of a car – a van pulling up to your driveway makes you freeze in your spot. Your heart leaps to your throat and you swallow harshly.

Eddie.

Oh no. You had been ignoring his calls all day, breaking the promise that you would call after every party – you didn’t, at least not last night. You couldn’t.

He gets out of the van and closes the door. You are so focused on him that you don’t see Chrissy and Robin on the other side of the van. Eddie stares at Steve’s car with a frown on his face and when he looks your way, he freezes.

Steve notices the panicked look in your eyes, the nervousness is written all over your face. He turns around. Eddie stands there with a frown on his face, anger in his features and disappointment.

Robin and Chrissy share a look when they find Steve on your front porch. They are the firsts to walk towards you, glancing at Eddie nervously.

You tear your eyes away from Eddie when Chrissy walks up the stairs, brushing past Steve, completely ignoring his presence.

“Hey!” She smiles but with a questioning look in her eyes. You know what she is thinking; what is he doing here?

“Hey Chris,” you smile and greet her with a hug. She places her hand on your shoulder when she pulls back, eying the skirt you are wearing, her eyes lighten up, “oh my god, is it the one we bought last week together?”

“Yes!”

“I love it, it’s so cute!”

“Don’t you have the same one?” Robin asks, chuckling as she approaches you, eying Steve weirdly.

He rolls his eyes and sighs.

“Yes but it’s not the same color, Robs!”

Robin gives Chrissy a teasing smile before she looks over at you, “hey wild child, are you good after last night?” She tilts her head in his direction, raising her brows at you as though to say ‘what the fuck is he doing here?’

You would’ve laughed at the nickname she just gave you if it wasn’t for the intense look that Eddie is giving you as he walks up the stairs as well. You see his clenched jaw, he is angry – angry that you ignored his calls, angry to see him here. But there is also a hint of sadness in his brown orbs and you can’t take it – you can’t stand to see even a sliver of sadness in his eyes.

He quickly masks it with something else, just the way he always does.

“Thanks for the call, sweetheart,” he says sarcastically, furrowing his brows with a fake smile on his lips, “I mean for thanks for letting me know that you got home safe. Oh and super nice of you to keep ignoring my calls all day too.”

You can’t even look at him so you look down.

Steve’s brows stayed furrowed, the tension and the awkwardness isn’t hard to miss. Eddie looks at him in a way that almost makes him shrink under the weight of his eyes. So he turns back to you. You are blinking, chewing on your bottom lip and breathing heavily. You feel guilty, so guilty that you can’t even look at Eddie. Steve’s heart drops a little. He remembers how he felt when Nancy kissed him, how he couldn’t look into your eyes without feeling like the guilt was eating at him. He felt horrible, even when it wasn’t a kiss he initiated or even let happen, he still felt guilty, just as guilty as you are feeling, right now.

But you and Eddie are just friends, right?

Robin and Chrissy look at each other awkwardly.

“Eddie, I-I’m sorry,” you say softly, “I had the worst headache–”

“Yeah, I can see that,” he mumbles, glancing at Steve.

Steve rolls his eyes at Eddie’s attitude.

“Look, can we just go?” Robin asks, wanting to escape the awkward situation.

“Yes please,” Chrissy mumbles.

You look up, slowly looking between your friends. You already know that Robin and Chrissy are both going to be too busy with each other and Eddie is clearly pissed – you have seen him angry before but the anger was never directed at you and you know very well how he can be when he’s pissed.

Before you can stop the words from spilling, you look up at Steve.

“Steve is coming too.”

All four of them turn to you, looking at you wide eyed – as though you had gone crazy.

Chrissy looks annoyed, Robin looks confused, Eddie looks at you in disbelief and Steve, he stares at you with softened eyes.

“I invited him,” you lie.

Steve shakes his head at you, he doesn’t want you to feel like you have to include him, this is not what he came here for. He just wanted to apologize and make things right.

Robin looks away with a clenched jaw and Chrissy looks down to hide her eye roll.

“Can I talk to you, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, tilting his head.

“Yeah,” you whisper, nervously.

You walk past Steve and the girls, clutching your cardigan tightly as you step out on the porch. Eddie places his hand on your lower back and leads you down the stairs and towards his van.

“Eddie, I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean to ignore you–”

“Did something happen?” He asks and finally swallows the anger down. He can hear the trembling in your voice, the shakiness of your hand which might be caused by something else.

He feels the urge to cup your cheeks so he can see your eyes but you keep looking down at the graveled ground.

You simply shake your head.

“Why didn’t you call me?” He asks softly, this time.

“I was really tired and I drank too much, I wasn’t thinking.”

You raise your head a little, daring to look at him.

“You’re lucky Robin called me otherwise I would’ve broke into your house.”

Your lips twitch and you break into a smile, “wouldn’t be the first time.”

He can’t help but smile back at you, his anger melting away.

“I-I’m sorry for inviting him, I know none of you want him around.”

“Then why did you invite him?” He asks, not out of anger but out of curiosity.

You can see the annoyance lingering in his eyes, the same annoyance you saw in Chrissy’s and Robin’s eyes.

You don’t know why you feel the need to explain yourself but when you look at him, you know you have to.

“He is just a friend now, I promise. I-I don’t want him like that – he’s just my friend.”

Eddie’s eyes skip over your face. Your brows are furrowed, eyes pleading and filled with honesty – he just doesn’t understand what the guilt is for.

“I still don’t understand why he has to be included.”

“He’s alone, Eddie.”

His brows knit together and he shakes his head.

“No, he isn’t? He’s with Nancy and bitchy Carol and fucktard Tommy–”

“He broke up with Nancy and he doesn’t have friends. Not anymore.”

Oh.

If there is one thing Eddie knows, it’s loneliness. And he can’t help but pity him. There isn’t much that he knows about Steve except for the things that you told him and his absent parents – it’s something that he unfortunately can relate to. He knows what it’s like to have no one. But fear grows inside of him at the news of Steve being single.

“Fine, don’t expect me to not mess with him though.”

You roll your eyes, snorting at his words.

“You two will be menaces to each other.”

Whenever Eddie felt vulnerable, angry or hurt, he’d put on a mask, he would hide his true feelings by putting on a front. He had never felt that need to do that with you, not until now.

He watches you with a weird feeling in his chest when you walk back to Steve.

Robin gives Eddie a pitiful look but the latter refuses to show how insecure or sad he is. He puts on a fake smile and looks over at Steve.

“I always wanted to take your girl for a ride.”

Steve’s head snaps towards him, halting his movements, he stops jingling with his car keys and gives Eddie a weird look.

“Excuse me?”

Robin and Chrissy look at you before they turn to each other, erupting into a fit of giggles at the double innuendo.

Eddie briefly glances at you before he nudges his chin into the direction of Steve’s BMW.

Steve squints his eyes, “yeah, keep dreaming, Munson.”

Eddie chuckles, “I will.”

“Wait, are we taking your car?” You ask, turning to Steve.

Robin mumbles something under her breath and Chrissy shushes her in response, nudging her shoulder.

“Can we talk, y/n?” Steve asks.

“Yeah, at the movies.”

You know exactly what he wants to talk about. He doesn’t want to intrude and he probably feels awkward to be around your friends.

“Come on.”

Steve sighs, knowing that you won’t take no for an answer, he just gestures for you all to get in his car. He expects you to take the passenger seat but instead, you take Eddie’s hand in yours and lead him to the passenger side.

“You can sit in the front,” you smile at Eddie as he looks down at you in confusion.

“I’ll sit in the back with Chris and Robin.”

“Uh–”

“Let’s go before the movie starts!” You say before anyone else can protest.

Eddie and Steve share a look, not a very excited or happy one, it’s more one of annoyance. Neither of them want to spend time with the other. But they get in the car nonetheless.

Chrissy and Robin get in as well, begrudgingly so.

“Are we still going out for pizza afterwards?” Robin asks, looking between Chrissy, Eddie and you.

Steve looks at you through the rearview mirror, seeing the way you scrunch your face up in disgust.

“Yeah, we can order some when we get back to my place,” you mumble, “I definitely need some McDonald's today though.”

Robin raises her brows in surprise, “what, is that hangover food for you or something?”

Chrissy chuckles beside her.

“Not exactly.”

No. It’s not your hangover food. Steve knows it. You only ever craved McDonald’s once a month.

“Hey Robin, did you tell y/n about your new job yet?” She asks, trying to ease the tension in the car.

Your lips part when you look over at your friend, “wait, what new job? You found something new?”

“Yes!” Robin says, pretending to be excited, “I’m starting next week.”

“Where?”

“Scoops Ahoy!”

Chrissy smiles, nodding in excitement.

Steve turns around, looking at you, surprised. His lips twitch and you almost laugh. Eddie glances between the two of you.

“Oh,” he furrows his brows, “the ice cream shop, huh?”

“Yup.”

Robin doesn’t even acknowledge him properly, just nods into his direction. Oh, this is going to be interesting.

“So, have you met your co-workers yet?” You ask.

She twists the rings on her fingers, shaking her head.

“Nope, I guess, I’ll meet them on monday.”

“You don’t have to,” you giggle.

“Huh?”

The look of confusion amuses even Steve.

You point your finger at Steve, who waves at Robin mockingly.

Her eyes widen, for a moment she looks shocked before she lets out a groan of annoyance, “you gotta be kidding me..”

“Hey there, co-worker,” Steve says, unable to hold back his chuckle.

She slumps back, looking very miserable before her eyes light up and she sits back up, “wait! Does that mean that you have to wear one of those sailor uniforms too?”

At that, Steve groans and looks away.

“Sailor uniforms?”

“Come by on monday and you’ll see Steve in a pair of skimpy sailor shorts,” Robin winks at you.

While you and Chrissy laugh and even Eddie joins in, smirking at Steve, “are you gonna wear some slutty shorts, Harrington?”

“Shut up,” Steve mumbles, closing his eyes.

“Alright, alright,” Robin mumbles, “can you start the car, dingus? We’re gonna miss the movie!”

“Yeah,” he sighs as he starts the car.

The drive to the movies wasn't the most joyful one you’ve been on. Eddie kept pestering Steve about his music choices. Steve kept rolling his eyes at him and Chrissy and Robin kept whispering to you.

‘Why is he here?’

‘Why did you invite him?’

‘Are you with him again?’

‘What about –’

You never got to hear the end of Robin’s question, Chrissy slapped her shoulder before she could finish it.

Walking into the movie theater has always been a nostalgic feeling to you, it always takes you back to your childhood. It’s oddly comforting. The smell of popcorn and butter makes your mouth water and you can’t wait to dig into the sweet treat.

After buying the tickets, Chrissy takes your hand and leads you over to the lounge area while the others go to buy the snacks.

The moment you take a seat, she starts bombing you with questions again. Rambling and throwing one after the other at you, not even giving you the chance to reply.

“Chrissy–”

“No, please don’t tell me that you’re getting back with him,” she says, crinkling your nose. She watched you cry over him more than once, even before the break up.

You shake your head, “no,” you mumble, taking a look at the others as they stand by the counter.

“I just – he’s different now.”

Chrissy scoffs at your words, rolling her eyes.

“Right, they all change when they get dumped.”

“He didn’t get dumped, he broke up with Nancy – and it doesn’t even matter! I don’t want to date him, I-I just, we’re friends now, I guess.”

Chrissy knows that Steve had always been more than just your boyfriend. He was your best friend, long before she became friends with you.

“I just don’t want him to hurt you again, y/n.”

You tilt your head and smile at her, “please, don’t worry about me. I won’t let that happen, not again. We’re friends. That’s all.”

She nods at your words and glances at the others. Steve and Eddie seem to be fighting about something, she can’t help but chuckle in amusement.

Eddie rolls his eyes at Steve, leaning closer to him to mock him about something.

“What’s so funny?”

She tilts her head at you, “well, I guess, Steve tagging along makes things more entertaining.”

With furrowed brows, you take a look at them – Eddie is holding a bag of popcorn in one hand, throwing some at Steve with the other.

“Guys!” You hear Robin’s annoyed voice.

You snort.

Robin is the first to come back, annoyance written all over her face,“they are so immature.”

She hands Chrissy the bag of popcorn and a box of Reese's pieces.

“They’re men, what do you expect?”

“You’re right,” Robin says to Chrissy.

“Sweetheart, tell Steve that you prefer salted popcorn,” Eddie says when he comes back, “he insisted on sweet popcorn.”

Steve rolls his eyes at Eddie, stopping next to him.

“Here we go again,” Robin mumbles under her breath.

Steve already knows your answer so he doesn’t even look at you expectedly. Eddie seems to look like he knows your answer too and he does, but today it isn’t the right one.

“Uh.” You get up and look at your best friend with an apologetic look in your eyes as you reach for the bag in Steve’s hand. “I’m sorry…”

Eddie’s eyes flash with confusion and his face falls. If you didn’t feel so guilty already, you would’ve been amused by the look of betrayal on his face. He is so dramatic. You’d be lying if you said that it’s something you don’t love about him though.

“W-What?” He scoffs as his lips set in a pout, “we always get salted popcorn!”

“Yeah and it’s my favorite but I’m craving something sweet today. I’m sorry, Ed’s.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and looks away from you, “and how did you know that?” He asks Steve.

Steve could have been smug about it, especially, seeing as it makes Eddie mad.

He shrugs, “it’s just something that we always used to get when we came here,” he lies.

Suddenly, you want to run, you want to escape. So you grab your purse and leave the group, pretending to look at the ticket that you were holding all this time. Chrissy gets up to follow you and so does Steve.

Robin and Eddie stay back though, glancing at each other.

It’s not that they hate him. They don’t. But they know what he did to you, they know how much he hurt you, how much you suffered because of him and he had done nothing to earn your trust back. He just weaseled his way back into your life and you let him.

And despite his jealousy and the fear of losing you, Eddie still isn’t as angry as Robin is – because he thinks about your words; ‘He’s alone, Eddie.’

Eddie and Robin follow the three of you, he watches you, he watches how you interact with Steve and Chrissy, laughing at something he said.

“I’m so fucking pissed,” Robin says.

“Why?” He asks but keeps his eyes on you.

“Because he will just hurt her again. I can’t believe she feels bad for him after the shit he did to her.”

“Well, can’t really fight her when she’s this stubborn,” Eddie shrugs.

“Yeah, but he doesn’t want to be friends with her – I mean, when Billy kissed her he was like all rough and shit, and then Heather – fuck, when Heather told me she kissed Steve, I was fuming!” She says, looking up as she groans in anger.

Eddie feels like someone had dropped a bucket of ice cold water over him. He freezes and halts in his tracks, eyes widening as he feels his heart sinking to his stomach.

“W-What?” Eddie mumbles.

Robin stops walking when she notices that Eddie is no longer beside her. She glances at the three of you before she turns back to him and sees the look of confusion and sadness in his eyes – fuck. She should have known. She should’ve known that you didn’t tell him. That is why you didn’t call him. That is why you didn’t pick up any of his calls.

“S-She kissed Steve a-and Billy?” He asks with widened eyes, “please, tell me you’re joking, Robin.”

Robin’s own eyes widen as well and she starts shaking her head wildly, “no! It was spin the bottle.”

A part of him feels relieved but the other part is still tense. His eyes begin to hurt.

He curses at himself for not being there last night. You wouldn’t have to kiss Billy if he was there, you wouldn’t have to kiss Steve.

“B-But it was just a game, right?”

A guilty feeling overcomes Robin and she already begins to regret that she even mentioned it.

She wants to say ‘yes, it was just a game’ but Robin was never a good liar and even if she tried, he would know that she is not telling the truth.

“It was just a game,” Eddie repeats, “her kissing Steve was just a game, right?”

He doesn’t even care about Billy, the kiss with him was just a game.

“Eddie–”

“Come on, Robin,” he mumbles, shakily.

He knows he has no right to be upset over a kiss. You are not even his to lose. But he always hoped, deep down, he always hoped that there might be a chance for him someday.

“She told me that he kissed her again afterwards – outside.”

Eddie’s shoulders slump, his heart feels heavy in his chest. He feels so stupid to think that you wouldn’t do this. You could only resist him for so long. Steve Harrington still has your heart after all.

“But Eddie, I don’t think that it meant anything to her. She rejected him and then came to find me.”

Her words do nothing to make him feel better.

Robin looks at him, anxiously. She knows how resentful Eddie can be when he’s hurt and by the look on his face, she knows that he is deeply hurt.

“Are you guys coming?” Chrissy asks, interrupting Robin who was just about to say something.

Eddie looks down with a clenched jaw. He doesn’t even want to be here anymore.

“Yeah. Come on, Eddie.”

Eddie follows begrudgingly. He knows that he shouldn’t feel that way. It shouldn’t hurt as much. You are still just friends after all, you are not his girlfriend, you are not his, your heart isn’t his.

You never gave any signs that you wanted him back, not even once.

He shouldn’t be this upset. He shouldn’t feel so jealous.

But it isn’t just the kiss or the kisses.

You have only spent one evening with Steve, kissed him twice and you are already distancing yourself from him. Ignoring him and his calls. He is already losing you.

His mood only gets worse when he finds you sitting next to him, giggling at something he said to you. He rolls his eyes and sits down on the other side of you.

You turn away from Steve and towards him, smiling at him, “hey.”

“Hey,” he grumbles.

He doesn’t even see the creased brows or the saddened look in your eyes, he’s staring at the white screen.

“How was the campaign last night?”

“Good.”

“Okay,” you mumble and lean back again, you frown in confusion. Is he this upset over some salted popcorn?

Steve looks over at Eddie, his jaw is clenched, he blinks faster than usual, he is pissed. He was pissed before but not like this, he seemed to have calmed down on the drive here and even while they were at the counter, buying snacks, he seemed fine and even laughed and teased him, now he just looks angry.

He glances at Robin who sits next to him, she is chewing on her bottom lip and bouncing her knee, completely ignoring Chrissy’s rambling. The room might be dark, but Steve can see the guilt in her eyes.

“Hey Robin,” he whispers.

She rolls her eyes at him, “what?”

“You didn’t tell Eddie about the kiss did you?” He whispers, careful that you aren’t listening.

She freezes a little and that is enough of an answer. Shit. Steve doesn’t really care about Eddie or about what he feels. He understands him but he still doesn’t care.

He cares about you. Back at your house, he saw the way you avoided Eddie’s eyes, the way you looked so scared and guilty, you were scared of his reaction that’s why you avoided him. You didn’t want him to know.

Now he knows and you don’t know that he does.

“Are you not gonna tell me about it?” Steve hears you asking him.

Eddie doesn’t even glance at you, he only leans further away from you.

“I would’ve told you if you picked up the fucking phone last night.”

You’re taken aback by the anger in his words, by the curse words that he never ever directed at you.

Normally, you would have said something but the guilt that you are still feeling makes you unable to talk. Besides, you are too intimidated to say anything back, scared that he will lash out on you because, clearly, he is deeply upset about something.

Steve watches how you turn away from him, you roll your eyes but the sadness gives away how hurt you are by Eddie’s attitude towards you.

Steve glares at Eddie, the urge to whack him across his curly head is strong.

He nudges your shoulder and gives you a soft smile when you look at him, “you okay?”

You hesitate, “...yes.”

Eddie narrows his eyes to look at the two of you and he keeps doing it during the whole movie.

Normally, you would comment on certain scenes, so would he. Normally, you would laugh together and you would lean your head on his shoulder, he would wrap his arm around you.

Today, he leans away from you and after a few attempts to talk to him or make him laugh, you give up when he keeps brushing you off. You lean away from him as well. He doesn’t comment on anything and neither do you anymore. He is still pissed and you are still tense, your mind is filled with thoughts that you don’t want to think about and despite the painkillers you took earlier, your stomach is still cramping. You are hurting today.

Despite the funny moments in the movie, you cannot laugh, in fact, you feel like crying – whether it’s your period making you overly emotional or just Eddie.

Eddie is giving you the cold shoulder and it hurts, it fucking hurts.

He had never done anything like that to you before.

You have been close friends for almost a year now and not once had he said or done anything to hurt you. But now, he is giving you the silent treatment, the cold shoulder and you can’t stand it because it’s something that Steve used to do to you.

Whenever he was upset about something, he wouldn’t talk, he wouldn’t tell you what was going on in his mind, he wouldn’t tell you what you did wrong, he would simply give you the cold shoulder and ignore you for the rest of the day.

And now Eddie is doing the same to you.

Eddie who you thought would never do this.

The moment the credits start rolling, you jump up from the seat and push past Eddie. You rush out of the room after making up some excuse that you have to use the bathroom.

“Is she okay?” Chrissy asks Eddie.

“How would I know?” He snaps at her and gets up as well, leaving the others behind as he makes his way out as well.

Chrissy scrunches her face up and looks at Robin, “what’s gotten into him?”

“Jesus..” Steve runs his fingers through his hair, “what a brat.”

“Who?” Chrissy asks as she takes a proper look at his face for the first time today, “Eddie?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re right,” she mutters under her breath as she gets up, “I can’t believe I’d ever agree with you.”

Steve isn’t offended by her words. He knows that your friends never liked him and he doesn’t blame them. They have always been protective of you and of your feelings, something that he wasn’t when you were dating.

“Let’s just go,” Robin says, “I need the pizza now.”

After some internal pep talk and five minutes of trying to keep yourself from breaking down, you leave the bathroom and step back into the empty hallway – almost empty hallway. You are almost startled by his presence. Out of all your friends, you didn’t expect to see him waiting for you.

You halt in your tracks. He is looking at you the same way he did when he just came to your place.

Eddie looks at your eyes, he notices the glassiness right away, whether you cried or not, he feels awful, despite the jealousy and the anger that he is still feeling.

“Who pissed in your coffee this morning?” You finally snap at him.

If he wasn’t so on edge already, he would’ve laughed and he would’ve loved the cute frown on your face.

If he didn’t have a sleepless night, he maybe wouldn’t have been so pissed but the sleepless night was your fault.

Even through the angry haze, he can see how beautiful you look today – you always look beautiful but something about the way you look today makes his heart race even faster. Maybe it’s the new skirt or maybe it’s the way you did your makeup or the fact that you are wearing his ring – you always wear it but, somehow, it means even more to him that you are wearing it today, even after the kiss with him.

Eddie never gets to answer your question.

Your friends join the two of you and interrupt your little tense moment.

“Let’s go, we’re gonna order some pizza.”

You tear your eyes away from his, sighing as you walk past him.

“Yeah, can we order? I don’t feel like eating there.”

Robin and Chrissy nod. They pull you away from Eddie and Steve.

Both men stay behind for a moment, Eddie looks at the ground, a mixture of guilt and anger still deep in his features.

Steve wants to say something and he opens his mouth but decides against it. Anything that he will say, will only anger the metalhead even further and he doesn’t want to risk making things worse.

So he turns around and walks away.

You are surprised to see Robin and Steve sharing a knowing look when you all get back into his car, they both take a look at Eddie, who is silent, unlike on the drive here.

Chrissy leans closer to you, she cups her hand over her mouth, “did something happen between you and Eddie?” She whispers, giving you a look of concern and confusion.

You shake your head at her and shrug. You are just as confused.

Her eyes soften when she sees the worry and the hurt in your eyes, she gives you a sad smile and takes ahold of your hand, trying to comfort you.

Your lips twitch, you squeeze her hand back before you turn away, looking out the window instead.

The day started off good, the sun was shining and the breeze was warm but, just like your mood, the weather had taken a turn for the worse. The clouds appeared like dark shadows over the pretty blue sky and the breeze turned into a harsh wind. It isn’t raining yet but you know it’s about to start falling any minute.

Somehow, the weather always matches your mood.

“I thought we were getting pizza?”

You were so focused on watching the clouds move, you didn’t pay attention to where you were driving.

Your eyes light up a little when you see the McDonald’s sign.

“Y/n doesn’t want pizza,” Steve says as he pulls into the drive through, “she wanted burgers.”

For a moment, you forget about Eddie’s anger, the pain in your stomach or the guilt. Your eyes widen and a smile tugs at your lips, you have been craving burgers and fries all day.

“Oh! Fries too, please, Stevie!”

You don’t hear Eddie’s scoff over Steve’s chuckle, “I know, dolly.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and clenches his fist.

“Does anyone want anything?”

Eddie mumbles a ‘no’.

Robin simply shakes her head and Chrissy leans closer to Robin to look out the window, reading the menu board.

“Oh, can I have a strawberry milkshake?” Chrissy asks shyly, already reaching for the walled in her purse but you stop her, placing your hand over hers.

“I got it, Chris.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Steve mumbles, looking over his shoulder, he glances at you both, “I’ll pay.”

She raises her brows, forcing a smile as she mumbles a quiet ‘thanks’.

Robin is awfully quiet and you just notice it now when Chrissy leans back and you get to take a look at her. She keeps running her fingers through her hair, looking out the window with tense shoulders, just like Eddie.

What the hell is going on?

Chrissy looks just as clueless as you though.

When Steve hands you the bag and the milkshake, a few minutes later, you almost squeal in excitement. Chrissy laughs at the look on your face and takes the milkshake from your hand.

“Do you wanna share?” She asks, offering you the drink after taking the paper off the straw.

“No thanks, I need the fries now.” You rip open the bag, the smell of greasy food makes your mouth water, “I’m so hungry,” you mumble as you reach for the fries.

“Want some?” You ask Chrissy and Robin, “I’ll share, it’s too much for me anyways.”

Robin shakes her head, “nah, I’ll wait for the pizza.”

Chrissy takes some, “you’re missing out, Robin.”

“Right?” You mumble through a mouthful, “you gotta dip them, Chris.”

“Not in a strawberry milkshake though!” She laughs, “it’s gotta be vanilla.”

Steve glances at you through the rearview mirror. His heart flutters when he sees the smile on your face.

“Do you guys want some?” You ask, offering some to Steve and Eddie.

“It’s all yours, hangry,” Steve chuckles, using an old nickname.

“I’m not hangry!” You slap his shoulder.

“You want some Eddie?” You ask softly.

He shakes his head, continuing to give you the cold shoulder. So he really is mad at you. Eddie never says no to fries, he steals some from your plate every time you go out to eat – or he finishes the ones that are left on your plate when you get too full to finish eating them yourself.

You exhale and slump back in your seat, feeling sad all over again.

You look down at the fries, suddenly, not feeling as hungry as you did before. Still, you continue snacking on the fries, choosing to save the burger for later.

Chrissy looks at you worriedly when you frown and look down at your food, sadly, not as happy as you did a few moments back. She knows that you had been struggling in the past few months, you haven’t been eating as much and whenever you do, you quickly lose your appetite. Whether it’s the past memories that take away your appetite or something else – you have a problem. A problem that Eddie usually tries to help you with.

She doesn’t know what happened but she can’t help but glare at the metalhead.

But Robin is acting off too, so when you finally arrive back at your place and you all walk into your house. Chrissy takes Robin’s hand and pulls her away to the dining room to talk to her.

“We’re gonna order the pizza!” Chrissy shouts as they disappear in the hallway.

“Uh – okay.”

Throwing your cardigan and your purse on the dresser, you walk into the living room.

“Should I get some drinks?” Steve asks you, following you.

“I can do it–”

“No, sit down, I’ll get some,” Steve mumbles, giving you a smile before he walks past you, disappearing in the kitchen.

You reach for the remote to turn on some music on the TV, you always need the background noise, even in a room full of people. From the corner of your eye, you see him. You are surprised that he’s still here, you figured that he’d take his van and leave the moment Steve parked the car in your driveway.

A part of you wants to say something but the other part doesn’t. You don’t want to give him the silent treatment back, you are just scared of his explanation.

On the way home, you kept trying to figure out what made him so angry.

Did he know about the kiss? Did Robin tell him? Is he upset about that?

Even if he knows, he can’t be upset about it – even when you think about what Nancy said to you, it still makes no sense. Why would he be upset? You aren’t together. You are not his girlfriend.

Then again, it doesn’t explain your guilty feeling either. Just like you aren’t his, he isn’t yours. You have no reason to feel so guilty about kissing Steve – you can kiss whoever you want.

Besides, you went on a date with Ray and even kissed him before he turned into a major douchebag – Eddie never got upset about the fact that you wanted to go on a date. So he can’t be upset about this either, right?

It has to be something else.

Is he sick of you?

Did he finally realize that you aren’t worth his time?

Did he have a sudden change of heart just like Steve did when he went from loving boyfriend to awful boyfriend overnight?

Did your radio silence piss him off that much?

He is still standing by the doorway.

You can’t help but roll your eyes at him and of course, it doesn’t go unnoticed by him. You still don’t say anything though, too afraid to make things worse.

The tugging in your chest gets even worse, if that is even possible.

“What’s wrong, dolly?”

All appetite is lost the moment you hear the mocking in his voice. You still blame your emotions on your period but deep down, you know that it’s not that.

You feel the coil in your throat, the hollow feeling in your stomach and the sickness in your chest. You don’t know whether you want to throw up or break into tears.

You can’t take this, not from him.

His words weren’t even bad or offending in any way but to hear the tone in his voice, to receive the cold shoulder from someone who you wouldn’t hesitate to give your everything to, makes you feel like you’re taken back to Halloween – where it all fell apart.

“Did you have fun last night?”

His question makes you frown. For the first time, you look at Eddie with a glare.

“I did.”

“Yeah, I figured,” he scoffs and looks away.

What the hell?

Chrissy and Robin walk into the room, both looking a little tense.

“Uh, pizza is ordered,” Chrissy says awkwardly.

She notices your heavy breathing and the way you are blinking quickly. The way you keep glancing at Eddie who refuses to look at you.

Steve comes back into the room with a few cans of coke, he places them on the small table. Steve’s presence seems to anger Eddie even further and Chrissy is starting to get annoyed by the attitude that spawned out of nowhere.

“Hey, are you okay?” Chrissy asks you.

Eddie is not looking at you. He isn’t even glancing at you. He doesn’t care. Why doesn’t he care anymore? What happened?

Your eyes burn. You can’t sit here any longer, you get up and walk away.

“Hey, do you not want to eat your food?” Steve asks, pointing to the takeout on the table.

“Not hungry,” you mumble.

“But, you haven’t eaten all day!”

Suddenly, Eddie feels even worse than he did before. He let his anger control him, all fucking day.

Steve sees your trembling lip and the tears in your eyes when you look back for a split second before you brush past Eddie and disappear into the hallway.

Chrissy calls out for you, jumping up from the couch, she runs after you, bumping into Eddie on purpose with a death glare.

He looks down with a sigh.

Steve has had enough of his behavior. He shakes his head in disbelief before he walks over to him, startling Eddie by grabbing his shoulder roughly, pushing him forward.

“What the fuck, dude?” Eddie snaps at him, trying to push Steve’s hands off of him but the latter has a strong grip on him and he pushes him towards the entrance, ripping the door open, he pushes him out.

For a moment, Eddie thinks that he’s getting kicked out.

Robin jumps up, looking panicked as she watches them both leaving the house. She follows behind, opening the door that Steve just slammed shut.

“What the hell is your problem?” Eddie asks, pushing Steve’s hands off with force.

“What’s my problem?” Steve chuckles in disbelief, pointing to himself.

Eddie scoffs and looks away.

“Get your fucking jealousy in check before you keep hurting her!” Steve yells over the harsh rain that is falling.

“She is not – I-I’m not..”

“Yes, you fucking are. You were fine before the movie, so I’m guessing you –” he points at Robin, who breaks eye contact right away and slumps, “told him something and I have a pretty fucking good idea of what it is!”

Eddie’s shoulders slump, he looks down, his eyes are burning.

“It’s just–” Eddie’s words get cut short because what can he say? How can Eddie tell him he is mad because he can’t compare himself to Steve Harrington? How can he tell him that he isn’t just jealous but also hurting? How can Eddie say anything at all when he has no chance whatsoever?

For a split second, Steve is able to see through Eddie, the look in his eyes gives it all away.

“Eddie,” he sighs, hurting himself with what he is about to say. He could lie to him, he could leave it all like this, be your knight in shining armor and pick you up after today but he won’t use Eddie’s insecurities and your vulnerability to weasel his way back into your heart.

Steve looks up, taking a deep breath.

“She pushed me away when I kissed her and I think we all know why.”

Eddie’s eyes widen.

“Now get your ass up there and fix it,” Steve says angrily.

A million questions run through Eddie’s mind but now is not the time to ask them. Steve won’t take no for an answer. He simply nods before he walks back into the house.

Robin crosses her arms over her chest, she is impressed by Steve. She’s a little surprised, she expected a fight to break out, she didn’t expect this to be cut… so short.

“Good job, Dingus.”

He rolls his eyes at her, “let’s get inside.”

Chrissy is standing in front of the bathroom door, leaning against it as she keeps trying to convince you to come out.

“Please, y/n,” she sighs, softly.

Eddie eyes the cheerleader warily, for someone with such a kind face, she sure gave him the kind of death glare that even intimidated him.

He takes a deep breath.

“Can I try?”

She turns around at the sound of his voice, snapping her head up with a frown. Her brows knit together, her mouth twists and she rolls her eyes but steps away from the door nonetheless.

“Yeah,” she mumbles, “don’t mess it up, Munson.”

That is a threat. Yeah, with the look on her face, it definitely is a threat.

He really messed up.

He knocks on the door softly, closing his eyes as he tries to calm his breathing.

“Sweetheart,” he speaks with a much gentler voice than before, “can we talk?”

Silence.

“Please?”

He opens his eyes when the faint click of the lock sounds through the hallway. He grabs the doorknob and twists it, he opens the door and steps inside. You are sitting on the edge of the bathtub, wiping away the tears that keep rolling down your cheeks – because of him.

But why? Why would you cry over him?

You look up at him with glossy eyes and you rise to your feet.

“D-Do you hate me Eddie?”

His eyes widen and he shakes his head quickly.

Eddie doesn’t even hesitate, he immediately pulls you into a tight hug. His own heart breaks, not once in his life did he think he would hurt you but, here he was, causing you pain because of his own selfishness.

He can feel you clinging to him, your arms are wrapped tightly around him, your tears are seeping through his shirt but he doesn’t mind.

“No baby, you didn’t do anything wrong. I was just being stupid,” he sighs, not even noticing the nickname that rolled off his tongue so naturally.

“I don’t want to lose you, Eddie.”

The trembling in your voice and the sadness makes his heart hurt even more.

Not once in his life was anyone ever scared to lose him, yet, here you are, the girl that he loves, scared to lose him. You could have anyone, you could have Steve but you are scared to lose him.

Whether it’s platonically or not – you are scared to lose him and that has to mean something.

“You won’t lose me, I promise, you won’t,” he whispers and kisses the top of your head. “I’m so sorry – fuck,” he blinks his own tears away, hating himself for what he did. “I’m such an asshole.”

You only hug him tighter in response.

“No, you’re not,” you mumble, “just don’t do it again.”

“I won’t. I promise, I won’t.”

“I’m so–”

“Stop apologizing. Just hold me,” you mumble into his chest, “we can talk later.”

“Okay,” he whispers, hugging you even tighter.

This is what you need. To be held and comforted by him.

You lean your chin on his chest and look up at him, “will you stay with me tonight?”

For some reason, your question has him stunned.

You have had sleepovers before, many sleepovers in fact. But, something feels different. He doesn’t know what it is but something has shifted.

Something has shifted between the two of you after last night, he felt it earlier already and he feels it now as well.

His heart thumps wildly in his chest and he’s sure that you can feel it because he can feel yours.

“Yeah, I’ll stay with you.”

tagging mutuals

@taintedcigs @mysticmunson @wroteclassicaly @corrodedcorpses @corrodedseraphine @xxhellfirebunnyxx @take-everything-you-can @trashmouth-richie @sherrylyn628 @nemesis729 @succubusmunson @chrissymjstan @somethingvicked

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson angst #stranger things angst

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heartcereql · 10 months

Text

a/n: i'm a slut for this man.

war!tommy shelby x nurse!reader

chattering in the background. the faint smell of alcohol. but not that alcohol. not rum, not scotch. clean alcohol. hospital alcohol. more voices. cloth against his forehead. it was cold. ice cold. and then he remembered. the fire. the wound.

tommy's eyes shot open, upper body lifting slightly from the sudden action, though it was mere seconds before he fell again on his back, his body tired and hurt, unable to support him.

and then he saw you. his eyes must have been blurry from the time they spent closed because he could have sworn there was a glazy halo surrounding your figure, all dresses in white, hair pulled back from your features, allowing him to gaze upon your features. you looked like an angel.

before he could even process the woman before him, said woman was approaching where he laid.

"you're awake! how are you feeling?" you spoke in a sweet tone, a smile softening your face.

he just gaped at you for a moment. you were even more beautiful up close. how was he feeling. all the better now that you were here, certainly, but even in his shocked and dumbfounded state he could distinguish that he couldn't tell you that. he tried to check if his body hurt. he felt a bit numb, probably he was on some sedatives; besides a light headache, he didn't feel much.

even though all these had happened in a few seconds to him, you were getting worried at his lack of response. maybe he was worse than you thought.

"sir?" you called his attention, a frown clouding your expression.

this seemed to bring him back to earth.

"yes, i'm alright, yeah" he nodded, giving you a smile of his own.

adorable. sharp cheekbones, the most beautiful eyes you had ever seen, he was certainly delightful to look at. and he seemed like a sweetheart.

"that's great. let me check this..." you put your hand over his forehead to check his temperature. you were short on thermometers so you had to do it the old fashioned way for now.

his world stopped. breath caught in his throat, eyes widening in the tiniest bit- so that you couldn't notice, heart picking up its rate. your touch was feather-like, but lasted enough for him to feel the softness and warmth of your skin; the trace of your fingers still lingering on him when you pulled your hand again.

"not bad; the fever's going down... i'm going to change the bandages now, okay?" you said. you couldn't explain it, but you couldn't cease to smile.

he mumbled in agreement as your hands found his wounded arm, untying the now stained cloth. as you unwrapped his pained arm, your hands steadied on his bicep, making goosebumps arise on his skin.

once the wound was uncovered and fresh air hit the injury, tommy winced. you gave him an apologetical smile before turning to find a wet towel to clean the dried blood. his eyes never left your figure, studying your every move. when you returned and started washing the blood off, he forced himself to look away. he didn't want to creep you out.

but, on the other hand, nurses came and went easily; what if he never saw you again? so, on second thought, tommy's eyes returned to you, savouring every second.

as you finished, you looked at him, only to meet those enchanting icy orbs. you both smiled again, soft laughs, looking away shyly to hide your embarrasment.

you started to bandage his arm again. he wanted to ask you about yourself, find out about you. though knowing he was the reason you kept smiling made him feel all the better.

"um, so, you've been a nurse for long?" he asked, voice unsure, testing the waters.

he immediatly regretted it: you looked his age, 'been a nurse for long'? please.

but you didn't seem to share his thoughts, as your eyes glimmered a bit before answering.

"not really, no, but my mother and grandmother were nurses for the better part of their lives, so i know my way around" you answered, eyes suddenly too timid to meet his.

as the both of you engaged on a pure and warm conversation, bandages finished long ago, you lost track of time. your only focus was on him.

“y/n!” you were pulled out of the conversation as someone called for you.

“shit, uh, that’s me. i- i have to go.. but it was lovely to talk to you!, um…” you trailed off as you still hadn’t caught his name.

“tommy. tommy shelby” he replied with a smile.

“well, tommy shelby. you get better. and when you do, you look for y/n y/l/n” you offered him one last grin before sprinting off to where the voice came from.

y/n. oh he would definitely look for you. granted.

#tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #thomas shelby x reader #peaky blinders #cillian murphy x reader #heartcereql

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moondirti · 9 months

Text

13. A CHALLENGE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN OF ANIMALIC | MIGUEL O'HARA X F!READER

↼ chapter twelve / chapter fourteen ⇀

summary: you ask for a challenge. miguel gives you one worth your salt

mature | 10.2k words warnings: praise kink, mentorship with benefits, sparring, sexual tension, loads of banter/flirting, mild angst, sexual fantasies (including blowjobs), insecurity, blood and injury, mentions of death, dirty talk, arousal notes: i know y'all hate me after that end

Sunday, 14:45

“How long’s it been?” You urge, voice strained with thinning breath.

Miguel – for all his insistence that you push yourself beyond normal measure – doesn’t seem to hear you, gazing off into a distant corner. His forehead looks especially flickable from this angle, in this particular moment, and you have to curl your fist to quell the urge as it arises.

“Hm?” He hums, finally snapping out of it when you walk to the stretch of ceiling above him, intruding on his eyeline. The conditioned air of the gym itches the parts of you that are damp with sweat, particularly that exposed by your drooping shirt, draped under your bra to reveal your abdomen. Gooseflesh pocks your skin.

“The time.”

“Right.” He blinks, lifting his wrist to pause the stopwatch he’d set, then makes a small noise. “Double the last. You’re getting better.”

“Yeah, well–” To dispense the effects his praise has on you, you turn to make your way over to the pull-up bars at the back. They were your means of getting up on the ceiling, and they’re your way off. “S’not really difficult. I’m just hanging, trying not to throw up.”

“You could start practising on walls. It’d make the whole ‘getting down’ process easier.” He says, almost admonishes. As good as you’ve gotten at defying gravity upside down, you’ve stayed clear of testing your luck by doing so perpendicularly. “Not to mention, accessible. You won’t always have conveniently placed support to help you.”

“I don’t quite trust it yet.” Because you don’t, and it’s hard to imagine you will. The whole idea feels like a big fuck you to every physics lesson you’ve ever digested. “It makes no sense.” Swinging off the bar, you make sure to land on a wide stance to prevent your tumble. Your extremities have long since numbed, and you’ve already learnt your lesson on how that generates a lack of stability for the first few seconds until adjustment. “If everything in the universe operates on the same laws, I won’t be the exception.”

“You’re right.” Miguel ducks to fetch the bottle you left beside him, handing it over before you can ask. “You wouldn’t be. Several spiders manage it just fine.”

“Several spiders also have several one-ups on me.” The cold slice of water cuts through your thirst, tamping the headache you could sense starting at your sinuses. Recovery, in absolute contrast to your endurance, has cut by half. You’re recuperating from exertion a lot quicker than before.

“Like?”

“Failsafes in case they fall. Web-shooters, assistive gear.” You neglect to broach the topic of your own infallible; him, never too far out of reach. Not only would its mention go against your point, you’re still unsure of the nature of his aid – whether he would catch you if the severity of the situation did not call for it. If he’s here because you need him, or in commitment to a duty beyond your understanding.

(Tallying what you know about Miguel, you’d bet on the latter.)

“Everyone starts somewhere.”

“Very helpful, thanks.” You’d offer him your drink, but even the thought of his lips touching where yours once did makes you flush with molten heat. Late at night, tucked on your bed as you watch the highway leading to Second Base, you strain to remember what they felt like, mashed to yours in a laser confined cell. If you knew back then how things would end up, maybe you would’ve savoured it for longer. “Experience too. With the constant danger they face, they pretty much have to equip every skill at their disposal.”

“Is that what you want, then – danger?” He teases, mouth curling in a downwards smile. You’re too quick to shake your head. That word, want, still haunts you.

“You’re missing the point.”

“Am I, now.”

“I’m just saying,” Biting your cheek, you scramble for a fitting sentiment. Nothing quite encapsulates the crux of your little tangent, and you can’t help but compare yourself to Miguel. No matter how far the conversation strays, he always finds a link to tie it altogether. Unshakeable, poised. Like the sun, pulling comets into its orbit until they shine brilliantly, their tails forged under the radiation pressure. “A challenge might hit your lessons closer to home. Y’know, thrill, adrenaline – forcing me to resort to lengths I wouldn’t typically go to, instilling in me all the marks you want me to land on.”

(But if he’s the sun, what would that make you? Pluto, far on the other side of the solar spectrum, barely doing enough to keep its cosmic status? Even dwarf planets have their pull, some force strong enough to accrete nearby matter, and so it seems ill-fitting.)

Your mentor accepts your argument regardless, nodding minutely.

(Perhaps you’re the comet itself – coming from nowhere, heading nowhere, meant for the one, singular event that could give your existence meaning. That crossing paths with a star, to burn brightly in its influence before dissolving into nothing.)

“Similar to the planking exercise we do. Up the stakes and simulate something real for you.”

We. Your stomach lurches to your chest and you have to swallow it back before speaking. “Y-Yeah.”

“Te entiendo. Alright.” He agrees. “If that’ll get you to make progress. Come.” You follow him to the centre of the room, stumbling over hurried strides until you reach the combat training mat. “You remember our first day here.”

“Feels like centuries ago, but yes.” You respond, assuming he means the premiere lesson of yours, betiding this very spot. You’d christened it by letting him fuck your throat, and that’ll forever be the memory that occurs to you so long as you keep returning to this gym. It’s hard to forget.

“What did I ask you to do?”

“Er– Pin you down.” Your pitch drops an octave in an effort to mock him. “Three seconds, and you’ll have proved your point.” His inflection is tough to nail down, though – unique to the broad-shouldered form that affords his vocal folds more space, subtly curled where his accent comes through. You end up sounding like a parched frog more than you do him.

He shakes his head, nose twitching. It’s a vague quirk that says nothing about his amusement.

“As I recall it, you couldn’t.”

“As I recall, I was kept quite busy.” You, of course, are referring to his cock and it’s wedging into your mouth. And if he didn’t get the implication on word alone, then your lewd miming of the act fills in what gaps remain. Miguel sighs, waiting for your redolence to subside to continue. Though his weight shifts from one foot to the other, like he’s ridding himself of the tension that swells at your suggestion, and the small action speaks louder than what he likely intends. To think that you might have the same effect on him as he does you, however physical, is a tempting thing.

“Before that.”

You acquiesce, arm flopping uselessly to your side. “Sure. Though to be fair, I’ve no knowledge on how.”

“Good.” He crosses his arms. “We’re going to try again.”

“Right now?”

“No.”

“Well don’t keep me in suspense,” Rolling your eyes, you start to fold your sleeves to sit above the elbow. “Or next thing I know, I’m trapped in a cage with Rhino and a knife for defence.”

That drives a chuckle from him. It’s warm and coarse and low, and with the way your stomach churns at the sound, you hardly care that it’s at your expense. “Proper spectacle that would be. You wouldn’t last ten minutes. The best I’d give you is a weaponless Vulture.”

“Are you forgetting that I took down a symbiote on my own? Where your first instinct was to throw punches at it.” You huff. “They’re regenerative!”

“An oversight on my part. ‘Course, I didn’t want to get involved in the first place.” His chin practically sits on his chest now, tipped down to look you face-to-face. It’s the way through which you realise how close you’ve gotten, nose millimetres away from his forearm. He smells infuriatingly clean – fresh patchouli aftershave, soap, clothes fragranced from the laundry, familiar only because you use the same detergent. “Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately for you, your opponent continues to be me.”

“And you want us to wrestle.”

“Given a few caveats.” He shrugs when your expression pinches. “To make it more real.”

“Okay…”

“Today will continue as is. I’m going to teach you the basics of taking down a larger opponent and we’ll drill it until you understand.” You cut his explanation into small fragments for better digestion – takedown, larger than you, drills – and show your attendance with wide eyes, following as he circles you. “Pinning me down in a static setting is simple enough. Your challenge is to do so unexpectedly, somewhere outside of this gym. Within the next week, I want you to sneak up on me and staple me to the ground for upwards of three seconds. Anywhere, any time of the day; so long as you aren’t following me on missions, it’s all up to you. Take me by surprise, use it to your advantage. But remember–”

You cock your head, earnest. As he speaks again, it’s seven trumpets to armageddon, deep punctures to the anticipative silence you’ve built.

“When you come for me, I won’t be holding back.”

Ribs echoing with the rattle of your rapid heartbeat, you wipe your palms on the loose fabric of your sweats and take longer than you perhaps need to register his dare. He wants you to act much like a hero would on a stealth operation. That’s fine. You can do that. You’ll be taught on how to disable him and all that’s left is the matter of covertness, in which you have an advantage given your newfound ability to walk on the overturned pathways of HQ. Except–

“Wouldn’t your spider-sense–”

He shakes his head. No. And though he doesn’t state it explicitly, you’re reminded of his claws and how divergent they are to the standard spider-power. It seems, then, that he differs in more ways than one. No enhanced intuition. You couldn’t imagine.

But it’s new. Exciting. It’s exactly what you needed, and again, you’re left wondering how he’s gotten so good at reading you. If in place for his deficits, he’d been granted a supernatural knowledge on body language. Even now he’s looking, studying your restrained appearance for a hint of your feelings on the subject. You give it to him with a devilish smile.

“That the best you got?”

“Big talk.” He winds around you, positioning behind your back. “We’ll see how you feel in seven days.”

“Glorious, having kicked your ass ‘n’ all.”

“Okay, sparks. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Miguel says, before patting your hip. His hand is heavy, and you brace yourself against the urge to shiver under it. “Most people are left leg-leaning. Not always, but it’s a statistic you can count on for learning. Put it forward. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

You do as he says, adjusting to an open posture, slanting your torso so your head faces the same direction as your left foot. The man appears in front of you after making a few corrections, mirroring your effort.

“Because I’m anticipating what leg you’ll resort to, I’ll bring my right leg forth. Always match same side foot. It’ll give you leverage towards your opponent’s vulnerable areas.” You sway a bit when his muscles stretch the taut material of his shirt. As you try to picture what more is hidden by his civilian clothes, it occurs to you that you’ve never seen him nude enough to make that a possible feat. “Assuming you’re shorter than them, aiming for their lower half is your most efficient bet. But you want their focus away from it when you make the jump.”

Blinking, you reorient yourself away from your tangent. “Right.”

“So you’re going to reach.”

“Rea–”

Suddenly, he’s grabbing for your face. It’s swift and done with enough aggression that you don’t process what you’re doing until your arms come up to defend it. Split second instinct, your spider sense combing through the hairs on your neck. And he takes the obliviously-given opportunity to duck, hooking his foot behind yours, back hand wrapping around your knee to grip onto his other. His head pushes up on your ribs to stand you on one leg, off balance, and faster than it started, it stops. The attack throws you backward, slamming you onto the cushioned floor. Air syphons out of your lungs.

“When they’re down, you don’t hesitate to straddle them.” He adds. “The blow will probably knock their limbs to the side.” He bridges over you, lowering so that his knees touch the surface above your shoulders and his feet anchor onto the bits below. His weight rests on your upper arms now. You, despite the loss, can’t help but flick your gaze down to his crotch. If he notices, he doesn’t comment on it. “The technique’s called stapling. Pressing down on two points to completely immobilise.”

“Feels awfully familiar.” You grin, only to choke on the spit accumulating by the back of your throat when he not only acknowledges your innuendo, but reciprocates.

“Used to being on the bottom?” Huffed sardonically, with all the constituents of a flirt yet none of the sticky-sweet charm. And he doesn’t give your stunned-self a chance to quip back either, rising and gesturing that you do the same. You scramble off your back, rubbing the sore spots left by his grip, watching him warily. It’s facile to convince yourself that it didn’t really happen at all. “Your turn. Right foot forth this time. Remember, reach and duck.”

You stay locked onto him when you throw your fist up at his face, stopping shy of his jaw. He isn’t as ignorant as to believe you, but his elbows draw away from his hips to allow space for your consequent assault. Squatting, you step forward to completely embrace his left leg. Quick calculations tell you that his weakest point is at his knee, so you lower your clutch around it, cheek squishing onto his stomach, before lifting the appendage off the ground. It isn’t heavy on you, all his mass directed to the back leg he now has to balance on.

And then–

And then… what?

He’d done it so briskly that you completely missed his method.

“Tell me what you did wrong.” Miguel examines. He’s got your head scissored in one strong arm, and if you weren’t struggling to comprehend how he gained the upper-hand, you’d be salivating with how potent his cologne is from this distance.

You mutter a faint “Agreeing to this.” and hope your bowed pose muffles it enough.

“Overcommitting. If I wanted to, I could shove your neck downward and take you on from behind.” He shakes you off his leg. “Don’t put your chest on my thigh. Lace your right shoulder over it so that your crown hits my ribs. Yeah, that’s it.” He smooths his hand over your back. It’s merely a graze and almost enough to have you collapse out of position entirely. “See how your head is preventing my arm from leaning on you? Good. Now use that, knoc– oomf.”

You don’t let him finish, driving him up until he tips backwards. The gratification stalls you for a split-moment, pride trembling up your frame, knocking your bones together. But he raises an eyebrow at you from the ground, and you remember the second part of the expectation.

(If this were the real thing, you’d be squashed by now. He’s holding back, guiding you semi-gently through this practice round.)

With no further ado, you seat yourself on his abdomen. His biceps are too large to pin your calves to while keeping both your knees and toes to the ground, so you spread until you can do so over the bends of his arms. Your pelvis aches with the near-split, and you find you couldn’t care less, shivering in high delight.

“Huh. Would you look at that.” You wiggle to reinforce your point. “And how did I do for my first time?”

(Admittedly, it’s a much milder line than what you had in mind; but even you have your limits, and congratulating him on taking your wrestle-victory virginity is just out of bounds.)

“Everyone starts somewhere.” He says, purposefully echoing his earlier attitude, recognizant of how it irritated you so. The answer pops your ego before it could begin to surmount to anything. “But you wavered, don’t pretend I didn’t see that. Get off. We’re going again.”

Tuesday, 22:00

Your first attempt at his challenge comes late.

The logic felt elementary; wait a day before trying anything so he’s caught further off his guard. It was a plan born with sights on his warning – when you come for me, I won’t be holding back – and, admittedly, your anxiety to it. This new equanimity you find yourself within is fragile, a compromise held up on couth alone. You’ve fought Miguel at his best, with claws reared and fangs snarled right at you. It never ended cleanly. And if either of you lose sight of the labour that is keeping it civil – away from that exact past – you’re terrified that things will shatter in pieces that tear you apart.

(There also remains the knowledge that you’d lose, sorely, should the match be equal.)

So, you didn’t want to give him the opportunity to resist at all. To your sleep-deprived self, there were a few steps in ensuring that:

Find him late at night, following a presumably long day, having just been lulled into faux comfort by his last meal before retiring. Beyond the fact that you skipped a day since his initial proposal to act on it – with a belly full of food, the lights of HQ dimmed low, and a drowsy filter cast by work, he’ll grow lax. Complaisant. At least, that was your theory, based on patterns you’ve observed in yourself. And it had been solid enough to ground your hopes on, especially when all that was required of you is to disarm him.

Only as you wait for him to emerge from the cafeteria do you realise the various other factors you forgot to take into account. Ones that complicate your lattermost objective.

The bridge is still, a thick cover of quiet befalling the sector. Bobbing outside the asymmetric windows is a waning gibbous moon, its luminescence casting lurid shadows onto the carpets and columns surrounding you. You sit, crouched behind a bench on an offside seating area, tracing patterns onto an adjacent palisade with your eyes. The moulding on it is triangular, like everything else in this building, and the task is mind-numbing enough that it hits you, then and there. Entirely too late.

He only taught you the one way of tackling your opponent.

Head on, with no room for stealth in your approach. Unless Miguel comes out of the cafeteria with a blindfold on, he’ll see you running towards him and squander the endeavour with ease. It’s like you to resort to your worst suspicions when cornered, so you can’t help but believe he did that on purpose. Either to test your ingenuity, or for some other convoluted reason you’ve no mind to get to right now.

Fuck. That bastard.

Should you back down now, you won’t trust yourself to face him tomorrow. Already, you’ve stalled for far too long, prudent to the approaching deadline. A week's time. Seven days to prove you’re worth your salt, to overcome the obstacles he’s thrown your way. Unlike your other exercises, you weren’t guaranteed anything in return for mastering this. He probably expects you to want it so bad that you become motivationally self-sufficient. And he’d be right. You do. Christ, you’d asked for it – this much needed intervention on the monotony you’ve been living in. It’s given you something to do beyond your lessons, and a victory might encourage him to design more like it. So–

You’ll stay. Work something out – an alternative plan. He hasn’t been in the caf for long. Given the chance he chose to have a sit down meal, you’ll have time.

“Lyla.”

The artificial intelligence flickers into being above you, hovering at your shoulder. She appears wildered, blinking owlishly at the source of her summon. You’d never called on her before – until now, you didn’t think you could. But desperate times call for desperate measures, and your throwing caution to the wind seems to have paid off.

That is, if she’s willing to proffer Miguel’s position.

“Upgraded from haunting worlds to our very own HQ?”

You shrug, blaisé to the jab you’ve heard so often. “Promise I’m on my best behaviour.”

“My, my.” She belly flops onto a nonexistent surface, still level with your nose, to shelf her chin onto her hands and kick her feet behind her. A small smile worms its way onto your expression when you notice her attire; a silk set of pyjamas, bunny slippers and a heart-shaped sleeping mask, pushed back to keep her bangs off her forehead. “Wonder what the boss has to say about that.”

“The boss can’t know I’m here.”

“My lips are sealed.” After miming the action, she glitches onto the ground in front of you, peeking from behind the bench to spy on the automatic doors leading into the cafeteria, much like you’re doing. “What’s with the secrecy? Please tell me this is a proposal. You’re certainly underdressed, but we can work what we’ve got. Oo!” She straightens to a ram-rod posture, alongside the exclamation mark that pops above her head, clothes returning to normal and a clipboard materialising in her hand. “We can add a little jeuje to the space. What’re we thinking? Flowers–” An orange array of digital peonies projects onto the bridge, fat and blossoming with accelerated speed. “Or streamers?” The petals are soon replaced by banners and curled ribbons, drooping from overarching beams.

Face molten with panic – and a hint of mortification – you wave through her incorporeal form to hurriedly interrupt her tangent. You can only hope that none of the commotion gave away your primacy.

“No!” Whisper shouting, you bow your head to the floor to look her in the eye. “Nothing like that. Listen, I just need you to watch Miguel and report back to me on his status. Preferably, before he exits the cafeteria. It’ll help me anticipate his approach while I think of what to do next.”

“Hmmm.” The lifeform approximation takes her sweet time considering it. Your gaze oscillates anxiously between her and the door, your body in perpetual flight or fight. Any longer, and you’re afraid quick-trigger reflex will have you jumping regardless of whether he emerges or not. “Don’t know what you’re trying to do, but I gotcha. Double agent Lyla, at your command!”

And then, she disappears.

Her aid does not reassure you. Baby hairs tickle your nape, matted with sweat. The condition persists, extending to your palms, which lay pressed to the tiled floor to tamp the perspiration seeping from them. Adrenaline – the very response you’d predicted – makes you sick and dizzy despite, bubbling up your gut in violent bursts. For all that you should be focusing on a course of action, her words claim a monopoly in your mind.

Double agent.

Do you want to know?

No, you decide. Not now. Whatever it is, it’s bound to hinder your performance. You settle back down.

Moments later, she crops back up.

“He’s on his way. If I were you, I’d up and turn around. He looks hangry.”

“Thanks, Lyla.” It’s about the worst thing she can say to you right now. “Go back to… sleep.”

Giving a final bow of her head, she departs. Her exit marks the milliseconds before Miguel’s entrance – sacred suspense stretching, spreading, only to implode by the schwip of the automatic door. It unlatches, layer by layer, to reveal a wide silhouette, framed by the bright fluorescents of the still-open cafeteria.

She’s right. Based on posture alone, you can tell he isn’t in the best of moods. It’s the only clarity you’re afforded as the entryway closes off, plunging him – and you – into the void of your surroundings. You strain to see where he begins or ends now, navy-suit obscuring his edges, punctuated only by the red accents on his chest. They become your indication on how and where he moves, the angling of the lines informing you that he’s headed straight towards you.

In complete contrast to the plod he takes on, your internal dialogue is a tangled mess of stray worries. An old, feral part of you – the girl who had to fend for herself for a year, untreated to the woes and safeties of regular food and board – claws out with a vengeance. She’s scared, she has nothing to lose, she’s plump with horror at the sight of a prowling hero, which had only meant one thing for her – and the sheer force of it all crushes you into choked submission. Perhaps it’s foolish to think you’ve moved on from your past when old habits return so easily. So she is still you, and it takes a good bit of convincing – of spotting and counting backwards from ten and breathing real slow – to prioritise your objective in face of the sudden regression.

By the time you manage it, in fact, he’s already a few paces away.

There goes your plan.

Frantically, you spring off your haunches, shooting to the side to hinder his track in an bid to salvage what’s left of it. It’s clumsy, lacking all the grace necessary for you to have even the chance of success, and when he stutters short of stepping on you, you make matters worse by curling around his ankles, striving to destabilise him by tugging at the roots of his support.

It fails. Obviously.

(In a rather anticlimactic way.)

He releases an exasperated sigh, staring down at your writhing form with what you can only imagine is regret at having ever agreed to this. “What are you doing?”

“Um–” You stop, glancing at him with one, hesitant eye. “Tackling you.”

Miguel blinks. Once. Twice. His foot bounces, pushing you off. Then–

“Up, before you hurt yourself.” Unphased. Strict.

You clamber to a stand. He gives you a once over, shakes his head, and brushes past you to continue his route. As he walks off, you catch a quiet huff, followed by a mutter – the reflection meant only for himself to hear. “Tackling me. Honestly.”

Wednesday, 10:20

Your second attempt finds you asleep under his desk.

Not deliberately, of course. You didn’t drag a pillow and comforter to his lab like an impromptu nap would lend you an upper hand. The position that brought it forth is hardly even a comfortable one – tucked under a squat table that has you bending your neck to fit, raised high off the ground on a hovering platform, in a cavernous office whose only lightsource seems to be the overhead aperture and orange monitors. They beep multiversal jargon and blare the occasional alarm, which never fails to send your heart rate sky-high – and if you hadn’t at all been convinced in your plot, then you would’ve left after the first couple minutes wait.

It’s torturous. Depressing. How he’s able to think, let alone work here, is beyond you. It can only be an optimal environment for what you set out to do – and perhaps that’s a point you should take up with him, should he care about being snuck up on by a more competent threat.

But you dozed off anyway, made weary with all your fretting, legs pressed close to your breast, cheek slotted upon them. It was cold, and he hadn’t arrived yet – off being the responsible spider-hero that he is, conducting city patrol while you tarry for the opportune – and Hobie’s gifted cardigan is snug enough around your frame that it serves as a blanket of sorts. Your course of action, set on an unremitting loop in your mind, was the last straw – a lullaby, cradling you down onto security. Fully drafted, practised, with no room for mistakes given the lessons you learnt last time.

Even submerged in sleep, it’s all you think about.

On account of an oversight, you’d panicked. Lept at him with no regard for the tactics you’ve learnt, instead of rerouting an alternative or preparing for contingencies. He’d taught you to tackle him head-on, and while that isn’t ideal for the covert-component of this challenge – like on that bridge, where he would’ve seen you coming from miles away – you can still make do with what you’ve got. That’s why you’re here, early in the morning, waiting for him to come to you, all while remaining oblivious to your presence under his desk. Not only does it grant you cover while he stands mere centimetres away, it ensures his hands are too busy to defend him when you strike, raised to tap away at his screens.

Those are the foundations you worked out on your chagrined walk home last night. The logistics – intricacies you have to calculate spontaneously – can be dealt with as they come up. Like sneaking in undetected. (Accomplished successfully.) Or whether space will allow you to lunge out onto him when he appears. (You practised it first thing – one eye on the door in case he comes in – and established that with a bit of improvisation, it’s possible.)

Your fingers twitch, triggered by muscle memory into acting the attack out on a smaller scale. It’s odd that you recognise it – still somewhat unconscious, suspended in an hypnopompic state where both your dreams and reality intersect. Elements of both topple over one another, porcelain dominoes that splinter on impact. You feel your fingers twitch, yes, and the scrape of your chapped lips – things you abstractedly assign as real – but they’re strewn between memories that run like worn film, singed at the edges.

A warm hand cupping your neck, callused fingers rubbing lightly over the curve of your shoulder. Shallow breaths, fanned across your lashes, struggled in keeping still.

Multi-coloured motes, flipping through a catalogue of colours in dark corners.

A headache, nipping the nerves leading to your brain. Pain, excruciatingly itchy above your elbow, up the back of your arm. Whiplash, smouldering agony across the junction of your shoulder.

A voice, hummed from the depths of a broad chest. Resonant, rugged. ‘Don’t move’ – the demand so steady it could’ve been gospel. Him, keeping you stable. Him, the only constant you know.

For a moment, you believe you’re still there. Buried under mounds of grey rubble, nestled on his lap. Oxygen depleted, injuries severe. No hope of escaping or checking in on the population of Earth-15, whose fate you screwed by merely existing on the same plane. The past number of weeks were fable, then, conjured by your sick mind to help you die easy. Creating a story besides the one that ended you; where you and Miguel worked something out.

And if it’s true – if you truly imagined it all – then that’d entail you never grew out of your hatred. You never got to rest on a bed, or take a shower, or bask in a filling meal again. It’d mean you didn’t leave any legacy beyond that of Wraith; destroyer of worlds, bane of his existence.

(And that you never counted as anything more to him than just that.)

Gradually, the pseudo-dream morphs into a nightmare born of stressful thought, and at its peak, it shakes you so hard you wake up. Bones jolting out of your skin, legs ready to kick outwards; raptured in fight-or-flight until you remember where you are, why it’s so cramped – because his desk is obnoxiously short and not because a building toppled over you – and how you got here.

You’re thankful you’re able to collect yourself so swiftly. Had you smacked your head on the belly of the table, or otherwise panickedly flailed about, then you would have alerted the man currently standing in front of you. His upper body is cut off from your sight, but you’d recognise those muscled thighs anywhere. Clad in his digital suit, little patterns shimmering on its surface. You see them clearer in your proximity, correlating them to the figures you’d observed on his monitors. Parallel lines and concentric circles, like maps of the spider-verse projected onto a navy backdrop.

How long were you out?

Despite your semi-awareness to your surroundings, you hadn’t heard him come in. Nor did you feel the platform drop to allow him to step onto it. You brush the confusion off, figuring it’d do you no good, and rub the drowsiness from your eyes while catching yourself up to speed.

You’re here to tackle him. The voice in your head begins chanting the plan again; leap out, grab his forward leg, ram his ribs with your head and pray it’s enough to tip him over. That’s one.

Two: you’re a quiet sleeper. You can’t imagine the embarrassment had you not been – if he were to catch you napping in his office by following the sound of your groans. You suppose it’s a frivolous thing to get hung up on, but you remember how your college roommate would talk during her nightmares. It never failed to capture your attention, even with headphones clasped tightly to your ears.

Which leads into your third remark–

He doesn’t realise you’re here; the most important thing considering. You’re still in the clear to go ahead.

Right now, Miguel is a smidge too far away for it to work out. You knead the sore flesh of your nape, stalking his feet for the slightest movement. They stand on the other side of the platform, verging near its brink, tapping in cogitation. Then, when he swipes a screen away from his direct view, his weight leans onto the back one. The manoeuvre brings his pelvis lower, cut-off rising to his midriff. It’s all you can do to remain dignified, gaze locked on anywhere except his hamstrings and where they round out to form a pronounced behind.

Would it be wrong for you to abandon your objective on justification of lust? It strokes some primal part of you seeing him so dedicated to his work. You’re instantly overwhelmed with the urge to crawl out and service him like this, on your knees, while he maintains his concentration. To give him a soft mouth, soft hands, maybe elicit an iota of pride over how well you behave. It’s depraved – you won’t deny it – but in your darkest moments, nothing consoles you like the thought of his unequivocal praise. Acceptance. There’s no one it would matter more from.

(No one it could matter more from. It’s true that he’s the only constant presence you’d ever had, even before your world went to ruin. Though you’re unsure of whether it’s in good providence, or if you’ll ever fully accept the fact.)

Miguel steps closer. You repress the reverie, slapping yourself softly to land back on target. A bit more to his left– yes, that’s it. He’s in front of you now.

When you’d practised, your head had to be out from underneath the desk for the manoeuvre to work. Pushing up into a squat, you shuffle forward. All you need is a distraction so he doesn’t catch you peeking out in his peripheral, and it comes in the form of child laughter.

Distant, as though it’s been passed through a speaker. With the way it repeats, incessant like that of a fond video playing over and over, you can appreciate that it isn’t happening live. Perhaps it’s a subject he’s keeping his eye on, or he’s slacking off with a movie. Not that it matters, of course – so long as he’s honed in on anything other than you.

His knee is at your eyeline. You scoot further. The low metal of the desk slips over your head. Now or never.

Pouncing, you wrap a gable grip around the bend of his leg, using the momentum of your squat to spring upwards. It’s bull-like when your forehead slams onto the exposed expanse of his ribs, toes skidding for acceleration as you force him to balance on the one limb, driving onward. The force could’ve concussed, had he not been cushioned by brawn. It’s certainly enough to almost throw him over, in any case. He stumbles backward, arm slipping across your back, and the scuffle is so promising that you let yourself relax slightly.

That’s your fault, you admit.

He exploits the slip-up to wrench your arms off from around his knee, using the appendages to pull you out from underneath him. With a frankly painful tug at the wrists, he twists you so your back is facing him, before pinning them in one strong grip. You’re shoved onto his desk that way, unceremoniously bent at the hip, nose ramming into the reinforced durasteel. Warmth trickles from it. A metallic taste fills the back of your mouth.

“¡Maldita sea! What the hell?”

Pain crackles up your nose, where ichor continues to bloom and slip from your nostrils. His aggression perhaps shouldn’t surprise you – he did say he wouldn’t be holding back – but it’s parallel to the treatment you received as Wraith, and you can’t help but assume that he resorted to what he was used to in all the adrenaline.

“That hurts.” Groaning, you wiggle your fingers in a plea for release. His pelvis flattens on the plump of your ass, and it burns the longer he continues to press into you. The situation is almost reminiscent of the fantasies you create when alone; rough-treatment and all.

“Christ.” He hisses, backing off at once. Despite asking for it, you mourn his absence, rubbing the brand left by his clothed crotch, sheepishly turning back to look at him. The instant he sobers up, he’s opening the drawer to his left. “I didn’t realise it was you.”

“Who else...” You murmur, ducking to shield your bloody nose from his attention. It’s done in vain, though – he already has a towel in hand, heading towards your face. Erroneously, you think he’s passing it to you and reach out to grab it – only to brush across his knuckles when he instead presses the white cotton to your lip. “Security that big of an issue?”

“You got in, didn’t you.”

“Har har.” As the red is wiped off your skin, he steadily lets you take over, dropping the towel to allow you to tamp the flow on your own.

“How long have you been under there?”

“Ah–” You pretend to occupy yourself with the task at hand, waiting for the heat to diffuse from your cheeks before you speak again. “Depends on what time it is.”

“Half past ten.”

“Two hours then.” You’d come in at eight. “Give or take.”

“I’ve been here for one.” He adds, prodding for a more satisfying explanation.

“Don’t worry. I wasn’t snooping for intel or anything.” A necessary preface and not at all a bid to steel yourself for your confession, the prospect of doing so filling you with shame. “I fell asleep.”

“You–” Like his stutter, his brows spasm at a rapid pace, creasing together in a flash before smoothing out to form a more pleasant expression. With eyelids fluttered shut and lips quirked at the edges. Amusement. Your stomach cartwheels. “You fell asleep.”

“Sure.” In complete contrast, you imagine your expression is solemn. Loss is an ugly and hopeless beast, roaring in your gut. You place the towel on his desk, starting to make your way out with a petulant march. “Like this place isn’t built for it, you gloomy jerk. I mean, where are the lights?”

(If he managed to overpower you despite doing everything correctly, then what chance have you got?)

The universe has a sick sense of humour too, it seems. Your argument is interrupted by the border of the platform, where you teeter over a fifteen foot drop. Fear blazes through your nerves, suddenly awake with the knowledge that you’re hovering mid air, no fence or handrails to hold you in.

Miguel chuckles from behind you, sounding way too pleased with himself when he asks. “You need help getting down?”

You throw a dirty glare over your shoulder, hoping it compensates for the humility you have to succumb to. “Yes.”

His arms stay crossed over his chest, holding out.

Fucking fine.

“Please.”

Thursday, 13:05

You plonk the heavy bag of scraps onto your table, sighing in relief as the weight redistributes off of you.

All morning, you’ve snooped around HQ with a nimble hand. It’s vast, after all, with many winding halls and unfrequented corners, of which you’re probably the only person to have walked through in weeks. Accompanying you, a makeshift pouch and a cover-up story; if any outsider should inquire – then you’re exploring the building that’s been your home for the last month. It would be suspicious, if the venture could not be so easily misconstrued.

No. You’re not worried. Far from it, in fact. You’re sure that the gadgets you pilfered won’t be missed. Some even had a thin coating of dust when you picked them up, their uses long neglected in favour of newer technologies. You’re merely giving them a new purpose, reshaping bits and bobs to suit your goal.

(A far-fetched one, for certain. But it’s wild enough that he won’t expect it.

That’s what you need. To stop playing by his rules.)

“Lyla.”

The AI glitches into translucency at your beckon, saluting as though you were a general and she a cadet. “Lyla á la espionage, reporting for duty!”

“No. Not this time.”

“Theeeen…”

“Can I count on your discretion?” Squinting, you stare straight through her pink-heart glasses, like lying is an expected part of her programming. Her last remark occupies a small portion of your mind. Double agent. You still haven’t asked, and you’re running at a speed too fast to jump over that hurdle now.

“Perhaps.”

Shaking your head, you do away with the ambiguity. “I’m hoping you’re good with tech.” You say anyway. “I need help.”

She only grins, wickedly, skipping over to peer into your bag. You spread it open for her, laying out the stolen paraphernalia. Then–

“Wraithy.” She adjusts the moniker so that it rhymes with baby. “I am tech.”

Saturday, 2:00

Nueva York streaks past you in blurs of blue and purple.

The sky lifts its buildings from the top up, spires pierced into its inky surface. You count the panels that pose a stark, golden contrast to the night-drenched landscape, lit up by residents whose lives are framed in the tiny windows. It’s a worthwhile distraction from the vertigo damaging your systems – all your efforts directed in looking forward, not up, as the ground shrinks farther and farther away above you. Yet with every metre, your distress worsens, distending to become a ferocious force.

Eventually, not even city gazing is enough.

You’ve trained on ceilings. On balconies. But the bottom-side of an elevator is another matter entirely, especially as it moves with zipping speed. You’re terrified that, at any moment, it’ll wobble and send you plummeting to your untimely death. And Miguel, who currently stands on the flip-end of it, won’t be able to process your presence or scream for help by the time you hit the ground.

That’s the calculated risk you convinced yourself into making when you sought him out today. It’s evolved beyond the point of learning a lesson, or whatever prompt you’d initially proposed to get him to agree to this. Now, or in the way it has been for the past two days, it’s personal. Your ego is bruised but not battered yet, and if the cuffs on your forearms have any sway in it, then you’ll get your solatium soon enough.

The apparatus is impressive, by standards of the day it took to hurriedly construct it. A smooth fit to your wrist, with narrowly hammered metal and a small compartment designed to hold your personal, synthetic formula. Lyla had pulled schematics from a large archive, handing you one she deemed ‘friendly for beginners’. You begrudged the coddling, if only because you yourself were worried about your competency with it.

You tested it, naturally. It’s functional. The fluid is durable, if not sticky. If worse comes to worse, you can rely on the prototype to catch yourself. That’s what you tell yourself, at least, all the way up to the top floor of HQ, which comes at a gradual halt of the lift.

Eager, you hook your fingers over the brim of the platform before flipping over to the right side up. You somersault so your landing isn’t as heavy-footed, and blood bursts down to your numb legs as you reorient yourself with gravity. It’s all you can do to wait until you regain feeling in them, before following the man out the door.

He’s multiple steps ahead already, traipsing with a tired gait. You match it, careful to set your toes down first so as to not make noise. The floor isn’t one you’ve been to – and it isn’t so much a floor as it is a singular hallway, lined with tilt-and-turn glass windows that gleam like all futuristic things do. The aesthetic is juxtaposed by a frankly retro carpet, shades of yellow and brown cut into a pattern you recognise from the bridges in the lobby.

Plastered to the edge, away from the subjection of the spotlights down the middle, you wonder where he’s going. It’s gotten late – you’ve been shadowing him for the better half of a day, since Friday afternoon after your lesson. The plan was to tackle him on his way out, right as he was about to leave to go home, but it’s two a.m. now and he’s at work. Still in hero attire. Wandering a corridor you’ve no reference to, with sight set on the door at its end.

If he waited this long to get to it, then it must be important. That’s what you argue against, anyway – that he likely arranged to complete this task at night when he would be ensured total privacy. How questionable is it, then, that you’re violating that?

You could turn back now, find him later instead. Yet today marks your final day before the deadline he set expires, and you want at least one more chance to try should this attempt turn to shit.

The right glove of Miguel’s suit disappears, digital projection flickering to white as the nanotech retracts into his palm. You notice the act only because his fingers soon flick out, a key pinched between them. It’s red and patterned with the same arithmetic lines as his ensemble.

Smart.

Once he arrives at the door, he uses the pass to unlock it. It comes open with an effortless swish, sliding completely open to allow him access. He lingers for too long, though, and you press closer to the wall in case he suspects your pursuit. He doesn’t turn around though, instead hitting a setting on his watch that causes the entryway to slip shut.

Before you can catch up. Before you can sneak in.

Your heart drops.

Floundering, you run to pull at the lock. It doesn’t budge. Nor are there any other ways in, the narrow hall composed solely of this door at one end and the elevator on the other. You can’t go in by any manner except pass through, and with every slap of your hand on the wall, it becomes increasingly apparent that your powers won’t miraculously emerge like they have before.

Nails digging into a fist, you reassure yourself that not all is lost if you give up now. It’s an unofficial loss, made outside the scrutiny of anyone besides yourself. And though you’ll kick yourself to sleep over being so inept in your own abilities, at least he won’t come to the same conclusion. That’s what matters – doesn’t it? His opinion of you.

Giving a final, aggravated sigh, you’re about to relent when you catch sight of it – a silver lining, adjacent to you. Levelled on the same plane as the door, separated only by the right wall of the hallway, opened to the high atmosphere air – a casement, hinged to a window much like the one you ogle at it through. Leading into the room he just entered. Just a short jump and swing away.

You shiver at the notion, first instinct loud and conclusive. No. Absolutely, positively not. It’s a ‘jump’ over a hundred-story fall. Even if you manage to crawl out of the first opening with your sanity intact, you’re nowhere near experienced enough to make it to the second. Unless–

Your belly lurches with pre-emptive nausea, and you sink to your knees to massage it without retching. You can’t believe you actually consider the reckless idea, sitting with your poor excuses for web shooters, triggers flat on your palm, looking far flimsier than anything you could trust. Your refusal to walk on walls comes back with a vengeance, laughing in mocking echoes at the simple obstacle you can’t overcome.

Whispering, you try your last alternate. “Lyla.”

There’s a lag before she appears, glasses skewed upon her nose. “Huh.”

“Do you…” You rasp, swallowing the bile surging up the back of your throat. “D’you think you could, y’know–” When words fail, you gesture to the locked door with the cock of your head.

“Oh-ho-ho. No can do. I’ve done a lotta favours for you sister, but this is crossing the line.”

“Okay. Okay, sorry for asking.” Your chest tightens. The corridor narrows. The shapes on the carpet warp to resemble the plunge off the end of a skyscraper. You have to ask to abate the panic. “What’s in there, anyway?”

“Find out on your own accord.” She doesn’t take the bait, fur coat rising with a brief shrug of her shoulders. “Good luck.”

And in a blink, you’re on your own again.

You must sit like that for half an hour, rocking back and forth in anxiety that refuses to settle. It gnaws on your energy until the passion depletes, draining out, leaving you to wallow as an empty husk. Every so often, you press your cheek to the cool glass spanning the side of the hallway, wishing the problem had magically amended itself since the last you checked. But the ground remains where it is, bottoming endlessly down below, and so does the window to the room, built just out of reach.

Of your concerns, there’s a resounding question that doesn’t quite fit. Its edges and curves search for a spot to click into place, but you aren’t able to find it – not until you give the piece further contemplation.

Why haven’t you left?

If you’d given up hope, then why haven’t you gathered your wounded pride and salvaged the rest of your night? You could’ve been in bed by now, cosy under a heavy comforter, ruminating over your failure in a safer setting. Yet you’ve chosen to stay and prolong your torture, egged on by the reminder of what you couldn’t do.

You’re not waiting for him to emerge. That hadn’t even occurred to you.

(And a tiny part of you already knows the answer, keening by the base of your skull. It just takes some work to admit.)

It’s that stupid, idiotic, dangerous philosophy he’s instilled in you. The ideology that gets heroes killed. The conviction that marks scars on their body or gives them the peace of mind when walking on walls and swinging across heights that could permanently ruin them.

What had you spread out underneath him, cupping your knees while his tongue lathered your wet cunt. Or when his fingers shoved into your pants, scissoring you open to the seconds on his stopwatch. The thing that’s kept you coming, fighting, over and over again despite receiving the brunt end of your endeavours every time.

Resilience.

You’ve internalised it. You’re here, where you wouldn't have stayed a month ago. And it’s forcing you to face the second lesson he’s been trying to teach; a value impossibly scarier. Courage.

You know you won’t rest until you embody that too.

Rising, you take your first step towards it by unlatching the fastener to the window in front of you. The pane upturns, pitching open like a gluttonous mouth. Frigid wind rushes in, biting at your cheeks. You breathe in the crisp freshness of it and ignore the threat it might pose to your welfare. Pessimism is a hulking burden. It’ll only weigh you down.

The rest follow in a clumsy sequence.

You sit on the edge, sticking the soles of your shoes onto the wall outside. It fixes in that newly familiar way, like how it does when you’re upside down, sucking onto the perpendicular surface. You don’t stand up despite the mild relief that washes through you, though – you understand now not to let your guard down until the task is done.

Keeping a firm grip around the window for stability, you scoot off the support it provides your bottom. You’re hanging out, posted on the external side of the hallway. There’s nothing but air underneath you. You don’t linger to process it, moving on to the next operation before dread knocks you out.

Tapping the button on your free hand, you test your web shooter one last time. Once to equip, twice to release. Once to equip, twice to realise.

When you sling it to the adjacent slot, your gaze is bolted forward. Never, ever down. Nothing exists, you cry to yourself, nothing exists but this small jump. And the web holds firm when you tug on it. You’ve tested the fluid against your own mass. It’s held strong. You’d have to be a novice scientist to have overlooked that; and you’ll be fine.

Nothing exists beyond this small jump.

(Except for maybe the cosmic forces you pray to. You invoke God, the sun, the stars. Even the moon, who gently glows down on you. It hits you, then, that you’re the closest you’ve ever been to any of them.

That verity reassures you just enough.)

You jump forward.

Tears bud on the corners of your eyes, scleras burning with the whip of air, sinuses scorching alongside it. Your organs hurtle to your feet, and your heart beats like bullets to your chest. It’s a vile, sickening sensation – akin only to the paralysing disbelief after finding out you’d brought an early apocalypse to your world. Nothing has required more bravery from you than enduring it, but…

You don’t fall.

In fact, your angling is so flawless that you glide into the space between the window frame and casement. The grace ends there, however, as momentum throws you hard onto a piece of furniture, toppling over it to smack head-first on the tiled floor. Pain blazes up your shoulder, jerked back by the web you forgot to release. You blink to diffuse the black dotting your vision, slowly coming to terms with the havoc you’ve wrought. The commotion had made way more noise than intended, and it seems you aren’t the only one who thinks so.

Sure enough, the light in the next room flicks off. It’s a choice made with the careful contemplation of a trained hero; if Miguel suspects an intruder, then he knows that he’d have the upper hand in the dark, within this space he’s far more familiar with. You feel around for the seat you tripped over, crawling behind it for cover.

As your vision adjusts, you’re able to make out the advent of his faint silhouette. His pants are looser than that of his suit, his arms bare – judging by the fleshy colour, hardly illuminated by the ambient lighting outside. The change would confuse you had you not been honed in on your challenge, reconciling stealth as you calculate your next course of action. The pound-force per square inch of your splitter-web function isn’t high enough to shoot across the distance you want – that being the expanse between you – so either you move closer, or he does.

The circumstance mirrors how things played out in this lab. Although this time, he creeps away, cautiously navigating the space with a prowess that can only be explained with night vision. Perhaps it’s a part of his spider-granted abilities, or otherwise he frequents the foyer often enough to know when to side-step to avoid incoming furniture.

Unfortunately for you, you don’t have either luxury. Thrill rockets within you, striking every nerve like a pinball game gone wild, fuelled by the fortitude your indiscreet stunt afforded you. He’s taking far too long to search his surroundings; at the rate it’s going, you’ll have lost your will before he comes close enough to wrestle onto the floor. You decide it’s much too intoxicating a sentiment to sacrifice, then, settling on the former bet.

Move closer it is.

You don’t run at him like you’re inclined to do. That hadn’t resulted in your favour the last time. Instead, you stay on all fours, bound inching in the opposite direction he takes on. You use the bulky chattels surrounding you to escape his notice, ducking behind the shaded shapes until you’re mere inches away.

The web shooters practically hum on your flesh now, mimicking your excitement as you point them to the angles intersecting his arms and torso. You hope your aim is as good in this less perilous scenario, the ploy contingent on your initial shot. Binding his extremities together would reduce possible scrimmages to zero, which buffs your chances of pinning him down to a pretty percentage.

And you make sure he spots you before you fire.

(Nothing satisfies like the slight widening of his eyes when he realises it’s you.)

The bombardment allows him no room to escape, discharged in every possible way as you run a three-sixty around his thrashing form. Your webs secure his arms, yes – but also his legs to one another, and his hands flush to his hips. For extra measure, you even go so far as to switch into long-form shots to wrap the final product once, twice, thrice, so he’s adequately swaddled and cuffed.

You don’t know how he’s still standing once you’re done. It can be seen as rubbing it in at this point when you tip him onto his back – but really, you just want to hit every aim he’d set out for you.

Within the next week. Check.

Sneak up on me. Check.

Anywhere, any time of day. Check.

Staple me to the ground for upwards of three seconds.

As you crouch down to straddle his abdomen, you count. Check. Check.

Miguel’s face is hard to read, shrouded and pursed in an indecipherable lour. You bite your lip with the appreciation that, despite his vague disapproval, your pride is still wholly valid.

“I won.” You croak, voice hoarse with misuse.

He shakes his head, slowly, then quicker when you combat it with an eager nods.

“I won. I won. I wo–”

“Web-shooters were never part of the challenge. ”

“Call it ingenuity,” You smirk, tapping on the metal contraptions. “You should add it to your list of traits befitting a hero.”

“Let me go.” He growls.

“Not until you admit it.”

“Let me go.” Firmer. It's smouldered by a fire you can’t locate the source of, for all that his tone rings familiar.

“C’mon, O’hara. I can see how badly you want to cut me the credit.” Arching down, you only mean for your next bribe to be heard more clearly, yet your chin brushes against his and his cologne hits you like a brick wall. Tension crackles in the same way it did then – when you’d been at the wheel of a cop car, hurtling towards a fate that’d always been coming for you. Promising ruin. Promising change in the sense that things could never be the same again. “It’s as much of a victory for you as my mentor, I think.”

“Hardly, seeing as you followed me home.”

(Home.

Of course it doesn’t go in the way you expect, though. Nothing ever does.)

“Wh–” All of a sudden, things start to make a whole lot more sense. You look around like the revelation will paint your setting in new colours. “You live at work?”

“I own the building.”

Your bravado shrivels to a minute thing, becoming a fraction of what it was. Just like that, he captures the upper hand again, all the while still dormant underneath you. The sun – you remind yourself. Always the sun to your comet.

“Alright, well.” You mumble, nipping the soft tissue of your cheeks. “I still won.” Though the proclamation holds foolish meaning now; not at all worthy of the lengths you went to.

Miguel’s hips thrust up, jostling your thighs, which remain pressed on him. Your core keels with the movement.

“Let me go.” He emphasises again. You shift to do exactly as he says, succumbing to the crushing pressure of your diffidence – only to be interrupted by his continued warning. It’s tricky. Devastating. It stops you right in your tracks, tearing the fibres of your chest apart with mad violence. Yet the implosion is only as powerful as the various fantasies that’ve gone into this very moment, and you can only attribute your reaction to your depraved self and not the filthy words that exit his mouth.

In truth, you have to hold on to his leg to make sure you heard him right.

“Lest I change my mind about fucking you silly, you bold little thing.”

chapter fourteen

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fleurriee · 1 year

Note

from the jealous, protective and territorial prompt list LOVE THE WAY YOU WRITE NETEYAM 💗💗

❝ i just didn’t like the way they were looking at you. like you weren’t mine. ❞

+ [ CLAIM ] for one muse to possessively place their hands on their shoulders or hips.

ILYYYYYYYYY

so, this was a lot longer than i'd originally anticipated lmao. think i got a little to into the back story here <33 hehe tyyy im glad im doing him justice!! ily too 2k drabbles!

pairing ; neteyam x fem!reader

synopsis ; neteyam never did like it when others looked at what was his.

themes ; fluff, suggestive content - including heated kissing & groping, established relationship (mates).

Change had always been something you struggled with. From a very young age, you couldn’t stand it when even the littlest thing changed - whether your family had to move your tent to a different spot, no longer in the one you had grown to love; or, on a much larger scale, when people in your clan started to die more frequently due to the raging war.

You liked routine more than anything, you enjoyed the idea of doing the same thing everyday, nothing unexpected turning up out of the blue to catch you unawares. It was always considered more stressful if something changed within your day, because then the rest of it would.

The only change you ever did love, was when you became mated with Neteyam. It was obvious from the moment he had asked to court you that things were going to become different in the long run, but for once in your life, you didn’t find yourself worried about it. Instead, you craved it more.

It was so easy to fall in love with Neteyam Sully, that he eased you completely until you felt like you were an entirely different person. You weren’t scared when it came to having to meet new people who would eventually become your family; you weren’t scared of having to move your whole life into a different tent that would now be shared with your mate; you weren’t scared of waking up every morning with a different routine.

You weren’t scared - not if it meant Neteyam was by your side.

But, just because he had helped guide you through such a big change for you, that didn’t mean any other future ones to come weren’t going to scare you.

So, when it became known to the entire Omatikaya clan that the Sully family would be leaving to find another, somewhere far away so the dangers would follow them, no longer harming others that weren’t involved… it absolutely terrified you.

Of course, it was expected for you to go with them, too, as you were mated to the eldest Sully, and he was your entire future. And, whilst the reassurance of having him with you was comforting, the idea of leaving everything you’ve ever known behind - your family, your friends, your routine - was attempting to outweigh all of that.

Nothing would ever be the same again - not truly. You didn’t know if the next time you’d see your parents would be when you were much older, a family held safely under your wings they could scarcely recognise you. But, you didn’t have much of a choice, not when you were Neteyam’s other half - where one of you goes, the other follows.

It was safe to say that you struggled more than you’d care to admit when you first arrived in Awa’atlu. Everything was so startlingly different, you were surprised you didn’t create a headache from how much your eyes were flickering about the place, taking each and every thing in before the possibility of it disappearing could arise.

The Metkayina clan were so opposite to your old one in the way they do certain things - the way they hunt, the way they fight, the way they celebrate. It was a lot to take on board for a newborn, let alone someone who now needed to change their ways for a fresh start away from any lingering danger.

And, that’s what you kept in your mind, constantly repeating it to yourself whenever things got tough. This was for your family - now that every Sully was away from where they’d always been, the danger would disappear from the forest and struggle to find them. You were doing it to ensure everyone’s safety.

You’d repeat such a thought in your mind when you got things wrong, when you couldn’t control your breathing correctly so you could swim with the rest of them, or when you couldn’t understand what they were signing and instead laughed at your confusion.

So, the offer of Tsireya teaching you on a one-to-one basis everything you were struggling with was the best it could get. She was the kindest of the lot you’d met so far - her free-spirit and calming demeanour always making you feel all the more welcome - and you couldn’t have thought of a better teacher.

You’d been there for a little while now, the two of you conversing about the different signs that were of paramount importance when under the ocean. Her fingers were depicting a variety of shapes, pointing this way and that, until they dropped down in her lap, her expectant gaze looming on you.

“Um,” you thought, repeating the action within your mind and contemplating up an answer, “not here… danger nearby…?”

Your answer came out as more of a question rather than exuding any confidence, but when her once encouraging smile grew larger and her eyes lit up more, you felt pleased with yourself. “Yes!” she congratulated you, small claps from her lowered hands, “correct!”

A giddy laugh escaped your lips, feeling proud you’d manage to finally understand something they were saying. Ears perking up, they caught onto something else that didn’t include the obvious exuberance of yourself and Tsireya - turning your head, you noticed a group of boys lingering on the forest line, looking over at the two of you and watching you with hawking eyes.

Shrivelling in on yourself, eager to disappear from their view, you were moments away from turning back to Tsireya and telling her if you could go somewhere else. But, before you could, a pair of gentle hands placed themselves upon your shoulders, thumbs rubbing into the skin there. When you looked, it was Neteyam, back bent forwards so he was closer to your sitting figure, a hint of a smile on his lips - albeit, one that was slightly tense.

“Hi,” he greeted, “can I borrow you for a little bit?” he questioned, eyes flickering over to Tsireya for permission. Neteyam knew it was important you learnt their ways just as much as the rest of them, so he didn’t want to upset the one who was teaching you.

With an understanding nod, Tsireya got up from her spot and left, sending you a look that told you she’d find you later. Once gone, just the two of you left along the shore, your mate stood up straighter, gesturing with his head for you to follow him. Confused, you did as he’d wanted, his hand grasping your own as he led you further and further away, until there was nothing left but the sounds of the waves clashing against one another.

Bringing you to a stop, he placed you in front of him, so he could see you entirely. His features were pointed, slightly scrunched, as though he was agitated. It wasn’t often when you saw your mate such a way, so when you did, it was always something that must’ve annoyed him quite a bit.

“Ma’teyam, what-” you started, but there was no chance to finish, not when he suddenly grabbed you by your hips, pulling you into him until you were chest to chest, and placed a firm kiss upon your lips. His tongue clashed against your own, such passion and aggression intermixing together until you could feel your knees go weak.

Subconsciously, your own hands lifted higher until they were placed upon his broad shoulders, steadying yourself just in case you toppled over from the extreme love he was showing you - despite knowing he wouldn’t let you fall, not with the grip he had on your sides, anyway.

It was so rare to see Neteyam like this, especially when the two of you were in public, but it only made you all the more flustered.

Pulling away from one another, a subtle smirk stretched across his lips, pulling at the edges until he was only exuding cocky confidence. “Had to get you out of there,” he explained, words a slight pant from the breath you’d stolen from him. But, his words only made you more confused, considering you were only with Tsireya. He chuckled. “I just didn’t like the way they were looking at you… like you weren’t mine.”

Eyes widening just a smidge, you realised he’d been jealous of the group of boys. Still, that didn’t seem to explain much, seeing as you were sure they were mocking you. “But-“

“No,” he cut you off once more, shaking his head adamantly and stepping somehow closer to you. He squeezed your hips, dangerously enough to bruise you, something the two of you loved - showing off the marks that showed you belonged to someone, to Neteyam. “No, you’re mine, you understand that?” His smirk grew wider, fangs on display wickedly. “Hmm, maybe you need reminding of that, huh?”

#𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐔𝐑𝐑’s work ── ✎#2k drabble special #neteyam #neteyam sully #avatar #avatar 2 #neteyam fluff #neteyam smut #neteyam x reader #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam x you #neteyam sully x you #neteyam x female reader #neteyam x fem reader #neteyam sully fluff #neteyam sully smut #neteyam x pregnant reader #dad neteyam #dad!neteyam

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chiharuhashibira · 9 months

Note

Hello! I really like your works and i want to make a request,basically headcanons of genya,kaigaku and obanai with a s/o that has anemia(feels weak/tires very often,has headaches,loss of appetite,Shortness of breath with mild activity or even at rest,Numbness and tingling of hands and feet) but still being a sweet and shy person even when its feeling weak, maybe they would met reader in the butterfly state(obanai) or even they are childhood friends to lovers(genya and kaigaku).

If youre not comfortable with this youre free to decline! Have a nice day/afternoon/night

Thank you for the request @ultravioletqueen~

No worries! I would love to write about this! 💓

𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽

𝑨 𝑻𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝑶𝒖𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑯𝒊𝒎

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: 𝐎𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐢 𝐈𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐨, 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐲𝐚 𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐳𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐰𝐚 & 𝐊𝐚𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐤𝐮

Content Warnings: None ^^

The headcanons would be SFW and fluffy just for you~

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

🌸𝑶𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒊 𝑰𝒈𝒖𝒓𝒐🌸

❥ You never thought that meeting the Snake Hashira, Obanai Iguro, at the Butterfly Mansion would change your life.

Obanai was sitting quietly at the engawa with bandages on his chest. It was obvious that he had just arrived from a mission, and coincidentally, you just did too. You are aware that Hashiras are someone that you can't just easily approach, so you gave him a bow and wished him good morning. Thinking that he wouldn't answer back, you stood up and started walking away when he called you back, raising an eyebrow with your actions. You were scared that perhaps you'd hit a nerve and he was pissed off with your actions, but no. Obanai patted the seat beside him and asked you to sit down and accompany him for a while. And there, impromptu conversations about how his mission went or casual introductions innocently arise. Both of you never knew that this moment would spark a deeper connection between you and him. Curiousness brought the two of you together. Obanai knew about your weak body and how it never stopped you from becoming a demon slayer, and you knew about his flaws that led him to this path. A simple admiration at first, but it eventually led the two of you to care so much about each other that it made both of you fall in love.

❥ Knowing how frail you are, Obanai became so protective. Whenever he is done with his missions, he makes sure to visit you at the Butterfly Mansion, bringing you your favourite dango.

❥ You stopped going on missions and decided to just help at the Butterfly Mansion. But even the mildest work would exhaust you. Your headaches were bad, and even Kocho-san told you that you are anaemic, so you shouldn't tire yourself. But then, you don't want to be a burden, so you still insist on helping. And whenever the news of you overdoing yourself reaches Obanai, he'll suddenly pop out of nowhere inside your room, in the middle of the night, giving you a concerned look.

"I told you that you shouldn't be doing so much, right, Y/N?" Obanai sits beside you with Kaburamaru on his neck. You tried to sit up but he stops you from doing so. "Just rest. I'll stay with you."

❥ Nights like this aren't full of enthusiasm, but they aren't gloomy either. Obanai was too tired to scold you out, and he also knows that you wouldn't follow him anyway if he insists you just rest until you recover. The numbness in your hands began to subside as Obanai's warm fingers softly wrapped around them.

❥ He wouldn't say it loudly, but you know how much Obanai wants to take care of you. Whispers of apologies came out of your mouth, as you really hated worrying him. But Obanai would stop all of them with a gentle embrace.

❥ As much as you wanted to just kiss his lips, he says he's too afraid to expose his face to you. Scared. A feeling you didn't think he could possibly have. But the bandages around his face didn't stop him from planting a kiss on your forehead. "Sleep now. I'm here." He always says this before you drift into a good night's sleep.

❥ Even if you've already gained some of your strength, Obanai will still visit you. Too often, the girls at the mansion would tease you. Obanai would usually ignore them and ask you to come with him to the engawa, where you first met.

❥ The Snake Hashira would casually intertwine his hands with yours, making your heart skip a bit. The headaches are still there, but you seem to forget about them when Obanai's with you.

❥ Obanai would still make sure you were okay, even if he returned from his assignment injured. You're one of his priorities, and he never fails to make you feel that way.

❥ He would always blush whenever you told him that he was the most important man in your life. You swear that you saw Kaburamaru blush too.

❥ Obanai would deny it, but he really loves hearing you say those words. Heck, he would kill just to see your smile. Obanai loves you so much that he cannot contain himself at times. Sometimes between your cuddling sessions at night, when the dizziness overtakes your body, he will ask things like, "What if you just lived with me?" or "Would it be better if I stayed with you longer? He really wanted to give you everything, but being a Hashira is tougher than it looks.

❥ You know that you're not allowed to fight with your physical state anymore, so sometimes you feel jealous. Especially whenever you see Kanroji-san with your precious Obanai. In times like that, you'll often avoid him, swatting his hand away from you whenever he tries to touch you. And being Obanai, he would let you cool down, leaving you alone for an hour. And when he finds you crying, as this happens most of the time because of insecurity, he will always pull you into his arms, soothing the tingles on your body.

❥ Perhaps a few more jealous moments led him to reveal his full self to you. You were flabbergasted at first as you saw the huge scar across his mouth. The pain he had endured was too much, and it almost made anger bubble up in the pit of your stomach. But then Obanai seizes the moment to give you a long-overdue kiss. In between kisses, he said something about how much he loves you that made all the jealousy and insecurity fade away.

"I love you, Y/N... I'll always be with you." He says. Once again, your world slowed down.

❥ Obanai would never admit it, but he would want to be with you forever. He would take all your pain if he could. And of course, you might hear those words soon too. Just as his I love you casually escapes his lips now whenever he is with you.

🌸𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒚𝒂 𝑺𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒛𝒖𝒈𝒂𝒘𝒂🌸

❥ Genya has always been a hot-headed child, perhaps since you met him. He was full of scars, and you'll bet that even his heart was full of these wounds.

❥ All you wanted to do was be his friend, so despite all his attempts to shoo you away, you still stayed. Your radiance gave him a second chance to find his path. Or perhaps that sunshine was just seen when he was with you. Your patience made him soften up a bit and finally made him fall for you.

❥ Now, as a hot-headed teen, you were always telling him to be nicer to other people. But Genya won't listen. He'll still close his doors for others, except for you.

❥ Every day after his training, he would visit your home, checking if you were alright, as lately you have been feeling under the weather. Weaker than before, the tingles caught up to your body, giving you headaches that always stole your chance to sleep. Genya is concerned and will try everything to comfort you.

❥ Despite this weaker state, sometimes you still find yourself tangled up with him, giving him lazy kisses that definitely soothe your tremors. Genya would casually run his fingers through your hair, giving you a gentle massage that would eventually teleport you to your dream world.

❥ Genya would frequently bring you flowers, and he'd get quite red-faced anytime you kissed him after he gave them to you. He would go out of his way to make you feel at ease in his company, even at the expense of his own privacy. When you fell asleep on his lap, he'd use the time to give you a relaxing head rub. No one would have guessed that this rough-looking guy actually cares about you.

❥ Genya would notify Himejima-san to come home and take care of you when your anaemia became too much to bear. Your family and Genya's were both killed by demons, and once the two of you became lovers, Genya took it upon himself to be there for you through everything. He would give you massages, make you tea, and even help you take a bath. Turning bright red every time he does the latter.

"Why are you so red? You would often tease him, which would eventually make him grunt. The boy is just too flattered to be around you, especially when you're bare and vulnerable in front of him.

❥ But of course, those little teasing will lead to you taking the initiative to kiss him, relieving your weariness and the tension between you two. You just love this boy so much.

❥ You could see that Genya put forth his best effort, even if he was unable to use Breathing Styles. It's not always you who's exhausted. You'll embrace him casually from behind when he's at his lowest, telling him he's the greatest Demon Slayer you've ever seen in hushed tones. And even if the boy turned as red as a tomato, he would turn towards you and plant small kisses on your lips, wishing his frustrations would just permanently fade away.

"I don't know why you're this nice to me because even my big brother hates me..." He says this after your kiss, blaming himself for the past and his present relationship with his own brother. "Because you deserve to be loved, Genya. I love you so much."

❥ Genya won't ever say that he loves you back. He's just afraid that if he does, you'll be gone like his family. But you will always assure him that that thought won't ever happen. And because of it, eventually Genya opened up and finally told you his first "I love you too, Y/N.", deepening the bond between the two of you.

🌸𝑲𝒂𝒊𝒈𝒂𝒌𝒖🌸

❥ Kaigaku, the man who lived with his bad side all his life, never knew that somehow, beneath those dark pasts, you would manage to be a big part of his life.

❥ He was once a childhood friend until your destiny took you away from him. Perhaps this is one of the reasons he became angry with the world.

❥ But one day, he came back into your life, saving you from a demon who almost tore you apart. There and then, your eyes met, bringing back all of those buried memories in the back of his mind. You would swear that there was a tear that escaped his eyes if you weren't already crying at that time.

❥ And that encounter somehow changed Kaigaku. He became your friend once again, and eventually your relationship deepened. But still, a part of him was mad at himself and the world because he had let you go before. He was also afraid that you might drift away before he could ever lay his hands on you.

❥ You became so frail that he could notice how your breathing went uneven even if you weren't near him. Back when both of you were children, you would steal a bite from his apple. But now, you even don't have the appetite to do so.

❥ Kaigaku's very vocal when he's mad and frustrated. And he often does whenever you shut him away because of your headaches. Sometimes you just don't want him to see how weak you are right now, feeling scared that he might call you pathetic like he does with other people.

❥ But then, beneath that bitter facade, Kaigaku loves you so much. He'll do anything for you, even if it means that he has to make a deal with the devil just to have you by his side.

❥ You never approve of some of the bad things that he tends to do. But in the back of your mind, you might think that maybe the world just broke this man. So, you did your best to stay there and make him feel that he could be better. And yes, Kaigaku would never admit it, but he somehow feels better when he is with you.

❥ A few more months into your relationship, Kaigaku would bring you kimonos after his missions, saying that those fit you well. But the man's quite crazy sometimes and says that perhaps you'll look better without them, which will eventually make you blush.

❥ Despite his harshness, he never hurt you. There are small fights, but it's all because he just wants to be the best for you but is still having a hard time doing so. But even if these frustrations make him feel the worst, you make sure to appease him by giving him the validation that he needs. He may be bad at times, but you love him so much and believe that the Kaigaku you knew before is still there inside of him.

❥ He loves you. He tries to change for you. One day, you even saw him help a little boy who fell on the floor while playing. A blush formed on your cheek as hope crawled back into your heart. "Maybe Kaigaku is really changing?"

❥ And the days that followed were filled with him lending a hand to those in need. Even though you're shaking from the pain in your head, Kaigaku has no idea that you're watching him and admiring his efforts.

❥ When he returns, you always welcome him with open arms and a passionate kiss. Telling him you're happy for him without being completely honest about your knowledge of his recent good behaviour.

❥ Kaigaku will eventually blush and kiss you back. Finally telling you how much he loves you. And you would always tell him how much you loved him too, perhaps more than he could imagine.

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

𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚, 𝒘𝒆'𝒓𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒆!

I wish that you all will love this headcanon~

Honestly, I had a bit of hard time writing for Kaigaku as he made me feel so bad in the anime T_T But eventually, I thought like... what if I give him this sad backstory that isn't included in the KNY universe? Like what if the OC was the reason why he became that way? XD

And there, the magic took ahold of my senses and poof! We have a Kaigaku headcanon XD I enjoyed it HAHAHA!

With Obanai and Genya, I was blushing HAHA That little tension with Mitsuri XD AAAAAH I need to write it sorry HAHA And Genya's blushing! I want it now!!

Anyways, thank you for reading this again! I hope you like it! Feel free to comment and reblog UwU

Also, requests are still open! Keep them coming as I will definitely read 'em! And of course, write XD

Arigato minna-san!

~𝓒𝓱𝓲𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓾-𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷🌸

#genya x reader #genya shinazugawa #obanai x reader #obanai iguro #kaigaku x reader #demon slayer imagines #demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kimetsu no yaiba imagines #Kimetsu no yaiba headcanon #demon slayer headcanons

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sexhaver · 3 months

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i love the dedication myself and other turbo-MTG-brain-damaged Johnnies have for theorycrafting bespoke game states involving Panglacial Wurm and nonreversible mana effects (usually Selvala, Explorer Returned or Chromatic Sphere) that would be unresolvable under the Comprehensive Rules, thus proving their fallibility, like theologicians asking the old "could God create a rock so heavy even He could not lift it" chestnut.

the crux of the issue here is that Selvala and other mana sources that move + reveal the top card of your library like Chromatic Sphere and Millikin are "nonreversible" because they reveal information from a hidden zone (your library). normally if an illegal game state arose for some reason, you can just reverse 99% of the possible actions in the game, but these guys are the exception (note the last sentence):

now this would be enough of a headache on its own, but then you add in Panglacial Wurm, notably the literal only card in the game that you can cast in the middle of searching your library. this, in turn, lets you activate mana abilities. including ones that interact with the top card of your library. the top card you can already see (but nobody else can), because you're in the middle of shuffling your library. and in the very likely event that some illegal game state arises (say you need 4 extra mana to cast the Wurm and Selvala only reveals 3 nonland cards), you explicitly CANNOT reverse these mana abilities.

you see the problem(s).

and it's a genuinely interesting line of questioning because as it turns out the main answers we (rules alchemists) get from judges boil down to "come on now, if this actually happened in a real game, the judge would know you created this situation on purpose while knowing how close it is to cheating and hand you a warning/game loss", which is more of an engineering answer than a mathematician answer imo. and then you start pressing the details further and end up in bizarre territory where you could be handed a warning/loss for "intentionally creating an illegal gamestate" when you try to cast Panglacial Wurm without enough mana because of Selvala, Explorer Returned RNG or even misplays like accidentally tapping Millikin for mana before Mul Daya Channelers, as described here. also a special shoutout to this thread:

they are doing things on MTGSalvation that Richard Garfield doesn't know about

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levia-chan · 3 months

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YOUR GUARDIAN ANGEL pt.1

Hello everyone I decided to share with you some headcanons about what kind of guardian angels the Obey Me characters would be for you. So read and enjoy (I hope you enjoy it :3)

Preface: They have been your guardians since you were born.

Warnings: contains spoilers for S1 og and S2 NB.

Others: MASTERLIST

Credits: The banner image in this post belongs to @diodellet

MICHAEL

He rarely takes someone under his care because of the heavy workload (he is literally the ruler of the Celestial Realm, which is what you expected). Plus, he mostly patronizes pastry chefs.

And the question immediately arises: why did he take custody of you? Everything is actually quite simple. He was attracted to your soul. It was so bright and pure that he just couldn't pass by, losing such a soul would be a senseless loss to heaven and a waste of potential.

So he's been protecting you since you were born. Whether it was a bad feeling, prophetic dreams or problems with transportation, he always tried to protect you. However, sometimes he messed up when he was too deep in his thoughts.

He always tried to be there for you. His presence is soothing, and his touch is so warm, and suddenly all the problems don't seem so serious.

When you have nightmares, he replaces them with some funny and vivid dreams. And you often notice that the wounds on your body heal faster than others. Well, he doesn't like it when you suffer, so he helps you in any way he can.

He wasn't thrilled when you were chosen as one of the exchange students representing humanity. Especially when you were sent to Devildom literally against your will.

He was a little jealous when you started getting closer to your brothers (he just wanted it too ☹️). But he came to terms with it pretty quickly.

Oh, and how angry he was when Belphegor attacked you and hurt you. If Barbatos hadn't brought you back, he would definitely have curtailed the entire exchange program, and relations between the two Kingdoms would have deteriorated greatly.

He felt so bad because he couldn't meet you when you came to the Celestial Realm with Luke, Simeon and Solomon. But he hopes that you will still be able to meet in the future.

And even though he protects you, sometimes you give him severe headaches. Well, that is, not because of you, but because you are constantly getting into some kind of trouble. In this regard, you are no better than Solomon.

He was very nervous when he lost touch with you. He quickly determined that you were in the past, but for some reason he couldn't get you out of there. So he helped as much as he could. Angel was very relieved when you and Solomon finally came back to the present.

He's become twice as protective of you after all this. He just loved you and doesn't want to lose you, don't be angry :<

#obey me michael #om! shall we date #obey me nightbringer #obey me #obey me shall we date #omswd #my favourite angel #obey me angels #obey me headcanons #obey me barbatos

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from-izzy · 2 months

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every day is a lovely day... | tbz lee juyeon

pairing » the boyz lee juyeon x gn!reader (lmk if i missed anything)

trope/au » strangers to lovers, non-idol au!, university au!

genre » mostly hurt/comfort(...?), mostly fluff, a pinch of angst (i always say this but i'm kinda confident in this statement this time lmao), deep reflection on life and aspects of the earth, juyeon who basically falls in love with you at first sight, juyeon being kinda confident towards reader, picnic date by the beach after finishing you last exam!, comforting boyfriend chef (not actually his occupation) lee juyeon!

word count, estimated reading time » 2249, ~8 mins

warnings (lmk if i missed anything!) » reader didn't sleep well, reader uses caffeine to battle tiredness, the slightest of academic difficulties (it's just a dash imo), deep thoughts of sea and sky life (not an expert in this field at all), mentions of open water/vast landscapes in the thoughts

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 part of 'especially to you...'

i swear that banner changes colour before my very eyes. because i do understand that it's bright and at first glance, you can barely see the water on the bottom right. but when i change tumblr to a lighter mode, stare at fading wind lines near the top of the image for some time, my eyes adjust and the water becomes very obvious. i think it depends on colour context because on dark mode, it's hard for the 'effects' to kick in. is it just me...? it's messing with me...there has got to be a study about this somewhere...😭 anyway!

(i accidentally released this earlier so for those who saw anything: no you didn't!! 😭)

happy birthday to you @littleroaes !! ngl i was gonna give up on this birthday present but then i was scrolling through and found this little wip and tried to modify it to what you like. i was gonna do f2l like you mentioned you like but my brain stopped making ideas for that as soon as i told myself to write about it 😭 so here's my very first short story on strangers to lovers that thankfully you have appreciation for 🫶 from your profile, i read you like fishes, the colour blue, kimbap, spring rolls and of course, lee juyeon!! 😸 so i tried my best to incorporate these prompts here. i tried something different for the fishes 🐟 topic but i hope this incorporation is fine 💙

here is your boyfriend that will get you through uni! hope you have the happiest birthday!! 🎂🎉 love you!! mwah!!

Everything changed for you when Juyeon walked into your life.

No, literally.

Well, maybe not…literally.

You remember the prominent eyebags you’ve carried for the last month since university started. The new semester has weighed you heavier than the headache that is arising from the lack of sleep and the missed attempt to get your daily caffeine content since you slept through your alarm. At the very least, you’re thankful that everything is now electronic because you are so unprepared to be commuting to campus with a heavy mind, heart, eyelids and straps on your shoulders that would surely give you a very sore back.

That day started horrendously. You really thought that the alarm was the only thing that the universe threw at you for their entertainment but it was the embarrassing fact that you dozed off during class. Your elbows were propped up too comfortably against the desk and the perfect temperature of the lecture room didn't make it any easier for your natural melatonin to kick in. The next thing you knew, your palms cupped your cheek and there was this loud bang that was accompanied by the sharp pain on your cheekbone when you hit the wooden desk.

Everything is going awesome and you just attracted around a hundred students back to you. Thankfully your lecturer didn't take it to offense and shot you an emphatic smile.

You guessed then after that the universe felt bad for the negative attention that you got and they canceled the next class on your filled weekly schedule. Usually, you would be annoyed at the sudden change but this gave you a little hour to bask in the sun, the open green space and your favourite cup of beverage wrapped protectively by your hands.

Only to find out that you left your wallet at home.

“I’m sorry,” you said to the worker who tried her best to reassure you and to take your time as your frantic fingers ran through the items in your bag.

Your knees fell to the ground and sweat started to creep against your forehead and to the side of your head, a silent reminder to be mindful of the long line of students who are mostly probably just as stressed as you are in their university journey. The lighting above you helped with your sight in your receipt-filled bag but suddenly, the long papers with their minuscule printings became hard to read and a deep voice stated his order.

At first, your instinct was to defend yourself, tell the person who cut in line and added an order between you and your caffeine to wait a little bit longer but his choice of words registered into you before you could voice out anytime.

“I'll add an iced Americano with the order, please.” And then the familiar beeping sound of a successful transaction rings.

Your neck cranes up towards the stranger that only made your day easier and you couldn't help but let out a gentle gasp. A sharp pair of eyes yet soft and curious like a cat, his perfectly shaped nose and the slight upturn of the corner of his lips with the smile that beams down on you.

The chain necklace around his neck dangles above you and you were sure it hypnotised you to say, “It's an angel.” These were your first words to Lee Juyeon.

“Ah,” the recipient of the compliment could only blush first at your words, a hand sneaking up to mindlessly scratch his nape. “We should at least get out of the line.”

Now it's your turn to have your cheeks heat up at the realisation that you're blocking everyone else’s caffeine intake.

You thought that maybe Juyeon would just walk away and wait for you to join him on the other side of the table with the hanging ‘Pick up orders here' sign hanging from the beige ceiling. Yet, he crouched and helped you sort out your materials, collecting your pencil case and books into one arm, the other swiftly scooping up the straps of your bag along his other forearm.

Your eyes couldn't help but widen at your empty hands, and you were flustered at how he was still holding onto your things even when the customer who stood behind him joined you both after paying. Juyeon’s bangs shook when he refused to give your things back, insisting that you should be the one to carry the coffee instead.

“Coffee is important.” He convinces you with that warm smile of his. “Don't drop it!”

With the promise to pay him back for another cup, came a few promises to help with common subjects and overlapping knowledge. And with time, came the fluttering feeling in both your hearts that only grew when you comforted each other in the long nights leading to assignments and exam periods that came all too quickly but passed by excruciatingly slow.

Juyeon made it all worth it though. You walked out of the last two-hour prison of the semester to be greeted with your usual reward packed in a paper bag. If it was anyone else but Juyeon, the contents of the bag would be mushed as you hug it close to you but it's the person that you have missed so much that gets your love first.

“You called me last night, bubs,” Hearing his voice not through the help of technology is more refreshing and you couldn't help but tighten your hold around his figure.

“Every day is missing Juyeon day.”

“Well for me, every day is a happy day when you're in my life.”

It's a line that he has said to you many times even before he started dating you. Juyeon tried to make the line more interesting each time but one day, mixed with his tiredness and excitedness of finally seeing you, it became the line that revealed his adoration for you.

Hand in hand, Juyeon's thumb caressing the back of your palm, your right arm closely stuck to his left, you both sway and skip to the nearby beach to relish in each other’s company with nature. The light salty breeze scent hits you before you can even see the gigantic natural blue space that seems endless and seamless with the blue sky. As your outfit becomes one with the direction of the wind and the sun is still bright enough for you to know even when your orbs are hidden beneath your eyelids. It’s the little moments like these that the Earth seems to be so rich in beauty and life becomes beautiful although you’ve been studying endlessly for the past three months.

You couldn’t help but let your mind wander to the body of water that eventually begins to seep into your view as you walk up the small hill. You imagine the school of fish including the friendly dolphins to the misunderstood sharks and all the shapes and sizes of the life forms in there, some dependent on their family whilst some choosing to live alone.

That’s why you’ve always been so enamoured by the living, along with the sea plants that they harmoniously live with.

You wonder what kind of thoughts these creatures have as they live in a world much bigger than the land you stand on and if they ever want to explore the whole ocean like most people would love to see the landmarks scattered across the world. If they visit the landmarks of the ocean, would they even remember it? Or would they just swim away, finding it more than satisfactory with the fact that they’re free, especially those who swish through the water with company?

Same with life in the sky, do they ever get tired from flying? Like some people who are scared of a large body of water but are already mid-journey, how do they persevere in their flight and keep going? Do they sometimes look at human transportation and hope that they could bask in that luxury as well? Sleep in the moving vehicle and relax your tense muscles against the cushioned interiors even if it’s just for ten minutes. You want to know the answer to that and maybe, you’ll be able to learn something from the other life form.

You wish sometimes you would be one of them but it’s hard to say so as well because all forms of life experience different hardships and it’s impossible to generalise anything, nor is it truly fair to say one has it better than the other.

That’s when life becomes so complex and beautiful. The fact that you’re so small in the context of the horizon that stretched too far for you to see and comprehend, leaves you appreciating the small things in life.

For you, the arms encircling your middle remind you that no matter what hardships you face, you’ll be able to safely fall back onto someone. That you can freely cry without judgement and that life is lovely whenever he’s in it. Juyeon steals a kiss from your lips before placing another one on your cheek. Your eyelashes flutter open and you swear that Juyeon’s smile is brighter than the sun that smiles down on you both and louder than the crashing waves against the eroding rocks.

And whenever he asks you, “Feeling better?” You know that Lee Juyeon is the one person that you can answer the question truthfully and genuinely.

You both settled with a picnic blanket underneath a substantial amount of coverage from the sun by the park near the beach, the crashing ocean waves still in sight. You observe the tree above you dancing freely in the winds while the birds seem to sing for both of your accomplishments.

When you look back down by the cue of a single, proud hand clap, you're greeted with numerous small glass containers clinking next to each other. The colours from the neatly presented food only lifted your energy further and your boyfriend’s orbs glimmered more with the help of the sun that still peaks through from the leaves above.

Juyeon complied when you asked him for a bite of his homemade kimbap and spring rolls. The flavours instantly make you nod. “I refuse to believe that your mum didn't make this.”

Your boyfriend’s smile flattened, dipping further into a frown, “She helped but I did all the cooking and rolling!”

“Okay, you cute clingy baby.” Leaning in to press a quick kiss against his pouting lips. “I’m just joking around with you.”

To Juyeon, the peck is way more than just unsatisfactory and his thoughts about it are clearly reflected first from his eyes. Then, his hand landed next to the food box on his far left and made a sweeping motion on the cotton blanket to the right, pushing all of the obstacles between you and him. His knees slide his body closer to you that was once on the other side, and now with your boyfriend only looking at you with the softest, loving gaze between his overgrown bangs, you couldn’t help but purse your lips momentarily. You couldn’t let out a question or comment but that changed in the blink of an eye when leaned in Juyeon, replacing your growing confusion with a muffled chuckle instead.

A soft groan vibrates to your lips, Juyeon complaining about how there was nothing to laugh about—not when his soft lips are between yours. A palm made its way around the back of your neck, pulling your still extensive smile against his more serious ones. Eventually, with the way that Juyeon poured his love into you, you’re determined to do the same to the only person who would only let you claim his lips. A part of his blue and white sweater is now captured in your fist but it did nothing to your heartbeat which starts to pick up whenever Juyeon pulls away to adjust his lip’s position on yours.

The subtle nose nudges only served your fingers to trail up his arm that held you close, tracing along the vein that started near his elbows and ran his wrist near your pulse on the side of your neck. Now, with the way that your thumb brushes softly on his soft skin, Juyeon could melt further into you, leaning in further to deepen his presence to you. Whenever he pulled back, you would be the one chasing after him pulling on his sweater, wanting to indulge in his loving space even more.

“Who’s the clingy one now?” That lands him a shy hit to his chest that only made him let out a weightless chuckle in the air. “The love of my life and the only one for me,” he whispers sweet nothings as your foreheads kiss each other, a sweet gaze grazing upon your facial features. “I love you, bubs.”

So maybe you weren't hypnotised at all that day. Maybe, the universe didn't hate you after all. Maybe, this was all meant to happen even though you did go through some stress when the sequential events happened.

“I love you more.”

But at least, the universe gave you a free coffee.

Two, you really did meet an angel named Lee Juyeon.

And three, just like how he holds the day when you confess to him that you love him back, you repeat the words that he said to you at the start of all your lovely days, “Every day is a lovely day when you're in my life.”

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 'especially to you...'

tags (send a dm/ask if you would like to be here or removed!): @deoboyznet 📢❤️ @k-labels 💙🤍 @k-films 🤎🎞️ @kflixnet 📺🍿 @sanaxo-o

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toskarin · 2 months

Note

do you have any plans to upload your music to spotify? or are you sticking with exclusively bandcamp

I'll be honest, the majority of my music is so niche that I don't think I'd actually gain anything from it being on spotify

well, at least not enough to make up for the potential headache of navigating legal issues that start arising when you use distributors

it mostly boils down to the fact that I despise copyright systems and enjoy having the freedom to just do whatever without worrying whether some mentholated cunt in a suit is trying to DMCA teenagers for using my song in the background of their minecraft stream or something

I may eventually look into it, but it's not likely unless I decide to start playing in more viable genres one of these days and reevaluate the value there (can't write this off)

in the meantime, as long as you link back to the bandcamp page, I don't make a point of looking for people reuploading my music onto youtube. I do ask with peace and love that you not monetise videos that are just my compositions, but I'd hope that's self explanatory lol

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bruh-changbin · 9 months

Text

pamplemousse

pairing: yang jeongin x afab reader

genre: smut + fluff (minors dni)

warnings: mentions of food (grapefruit lawl), oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), kissy, that's it

word count: 1.5k

a/n: SHORT I KNOW but i'm busy and lowkey wasn't feeling this while i was writing it but was also too stubborn to scrap it and also havent posted for skz in like eons so here also first jeongin fic yay enjoy and lmk thoughts

you’ve always been impartial to mornings.

they’re so boring.

and desolate.

and……. ugh.

who would rather be up at the ass crack of dawn being productive instead of getting a couple of extra z’s in? your boyfriend would, much to your dismay.

being a vehement night owl has been an integral part of your persona since highschool, when papers and essays that in hindsight were not all that important kept you up late into the night. the ink splotched sky dotted with milky white stars a solace from the glaring blue light of your laptop that dried your eyes and gave you a headache.

in post-secondary you never strayed from your nocturnal ways, often times only crawling under your covers to get some rest when the sun had started making its way up the horizon. whenever asked your greatest weakness the first word that always comes to mind is procrastination.

still, there’s something so hauntingly beautiful about being awake and alone in the late hours of the night. you’re able to gaze upon the moon and the pale glow she casts upon your surroundings. you’re able to take in the sounds of the world when people are removed from the equation. you’re able to ponder, allow your thoughts to swim around in your brain without interruption. all of which is washed away when tinges of orange, yellow and pale blue begin to streak the sky in the morning.

ergo, you were somewhat disappointed upon the discovery that your lover does not feel the same way; quite the opposite actually.

to be completely fair jeongin’s schedule is to blame for his early rising, but it makes no difference to you. most mornings you wake to an empty bed, hands feeling around before your eyes are open to search for a warm, 5’10” body and instead being met with cold sheets.

of course it’s not the worst thing in the world but still, it’d be nice to bathe in the warmth of the late morning sun while wrapped in jeongin’s buff arms - morning sex is also a plus, should the opportunity arise (which it almost never does due to you usually waking up alone).

this morning you wake up to an empty bed, as per usual. the screen of your phone lights up when you tap it and tells you that it’s nearing 11:00; you spend a few minutes scrolling through your socials before forcing yourself to get up.

you laze your way through your morning routine, making sure to wash your face and make your bed and throw on some clothing with more coverage before making your way downstairs. upon entering your kitchen you spot a plate that’s been placed on the middle of your counter with a spherical object of some sort on top of it - a grapefruit. half of a grapefruit, to be precise.

it looks refreshing, with the flesh a pretty pink, the veins white and spongy, the rind a pale yellow that’s waxy to the touch. crystalline specks of sugar are melted into the juice, the sweetness a contrast to the bitterness of the fruit.

you indulge yourself by digging in with a silver spoon, scooping out coral coloured chunks of fruit and placing them in your mouth, leaving a tart coating on your tongue and the back of your throat. syrup slips past the corners of your lips and you lick it away, not wishing for a drop of the fresh juice to go to waste.

despite there being no note or whatsoever you know this was jeongin’s doing; and you know that he had the other half before he left this morning so in a way the two of you still had breakfast together (not really). of the small things he does for you in your relationship this is easily your favourite - knowing that your brain is barely operating when you first get up and head downstairs so he makes it easy for you to nourish yourself before starting the rest of your day.

looking after you is second nature for jeongin, who tends to act as if you’re a precious baby bird who fell out of its nest and needs help getting back on its feet. you don’t mind it of course, and he knows where the line between pampering and coddling lies and rarely crosses it (you’re not actually that reliant on him, and he knows that). being the youngest in stray kids means he’s constantly being taken care of, and he just likes to do the same for someone else - that someone else being you.

he’ll massage your back when it hurts, run to the convenience store when you’re craving something specific, dry your tears when you cry over a sappy rom com that you forced him to watch with you.

he lets you play with his hair and help him choose his outfits. he’ll wrap his arms around your waist and kiss his way down your neck when you’re doing the dishes. he’ll fuck you in the middle of the night when you wake him from his slumber, claiming that you’re too turned on to fall asleep and his body is the only thing that can satiate you.

the devotion he has to you is constant, and you can feel it in the way he talks to you, takes care of you, touches you. through this you’ve learned his quirks and nuances, how to tell what he needs and when he needs it.

much like tonight, when, after coming home from a devitalizing day of practice, you can tell that all he wants is to feel your warmth and you his. the pads of his fingers are rough as they slip under the hem of your shirt and smooth against your sides and your back, his pouty lips coming in contact with your jaw before pressing against your own. with movements that have an undertone of urgency jeongin guides you towards your shared couch in your shared apartment, his arms bracing your frame as he all but pushes you up against the cushions.

with his chest flush against yours you inhale his scent, dragging your fingers through his hair and whining when his teeth pinch your bottom lip. the grip he has on your restless hips is strong, and when he glides his tongue against yours and you swear you can taste the faintest hint of grapefruit juice in his mouth.

the warmth you lose when jeongin pushes himself off of your body is only worsened when he pushes the fabric of your shirt up to expose your tummy, his curious fingers dipping into the waistband of both your pants and panties, both of which are stripped from you when jeongin drags the fabric down and off of your legs.

you instinctively clamp your legs shut, yet you allow jeongin to pry them open with his firm grasp and position himself in between your limbs. his pupils swallow up the rest of his eyes as his gaze falls upon your bare cunt, tongue flicking out to wet his lips as he kisses and nips his way down the flesh of your inner thighs.

your pussy is sticky and wet with sweet nectar that jeongin laps up and swallows down like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. his tongue pokes and prods at your flesh, your cunt clenching around nothing when he teases your clit by flicking it with the tip of his tongue.

“baby~ don’t tease,” you huff in annoyance as jeongin refuses to focus on one place for more than a few seconds. his right hand moves from where it was perched on your hip to allow his index and middle fingers to toy with your now dripping hole, only slipping inside once you’ve whined and complained enough.

he continues to suck on your clit as his fingers dip in and out of your pussy, causing your stomach to churn and your heart to flip in your chest as you writhe in pleasure. your breath hitches in your throat each and every time the silver rings at the base of jeongins fingers graze your hot wet cunt, his digits now surely coated in your arousal.

his fingers keep thrusting and his tongue keeps teasing and soon enough you’re cumming all over him, moaning aloud into the open space of your living room as your orgasm slowly ebbs away.

the sight of jeongin making his way up your body after tongue and finger fucking you is one to behold, with his pout swollen and pink and coated in your juices and his hair a mess from the way you were tugging on it. his cheeks are flushed a subtle shade of rosy pink, much like the colour of the grapefruit you shared this morning. you pull his body against yours and kiss away the sweetness on his lips.

#stray kids smut #yang jeongin smut #jeongin smut #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids fanfiction #skz fanfiction #stray kids blurbs #skz blurbs #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #yang jeongin x reader #yang jeongin fanfiction #yang jeongin burbs

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yelenasvestenthusiast · 4 months

Text

savior ; kate bishop

summary: no one should spend valentine's day alone. well, according to kate, anyway. warnings: none. gender neutral if you change like one word, though

you close your eyes, relishing the cool water sliding down your throat. the headache from last night had started to fade, though the cuts still stung.

you rest your head against the kitchen wall and sigh, stretching your neck a bit as an attempt to get rid of the ache in your muscles.

a buzz comes from your kitchen counter, signaling a call. you pick it up, smile at the contact name, and hold the device up to your ear. "what is it, kate?"

"can you open the door please?"

your smile starts to droop. "what door?"

"your door. duh."

"oh, please don't tell me she got in trouble again." you groan, but walk to your front door anyway. once you open it, you're met with kate, clumsily attempting to hold a box of pizza, a bouquet of flowers, a paper bag, and lucky's leash all at once.

"kate!" you exclaim, catching the box of pizza before it reaches the floor. "what-"

you aren't even given the chance to finish your sentence as she strides towards your kitchen, sighing with relief as she puts down her 'packages' on your table and lets lucky run free.

"what's this?" you demand, your hands on your hips.

kate ignores you and brings out a heart-shaped cake from the paper bag, lighting it with pink candles.

"kate."

"this," the archer blows out the flame from her lighter, picks up the bouquet of flowers, and does a little twirl towards you. "is me saving your valentine's."

you glance at your phone, still unlocked on the kitchen table, and see that it is, indeed, fourteenth of february.

you give her a look, followed by a sarcastic, "really?"

kate shrugs. "figured you, as a miserable single person-"

"hey!"

"-would've spent valentines alone. since you're too nice for that, i've decided to spend it with you!"

"you're single too!" you protest, but thankfully accept the flowers.

"exactly. also, take it as an apology for dragging you into whatever last night was."

a beat. and then a smile slowly forms on your face against your will. before you could say anything, kate takes out a slice of pizza. "so. you hungry?"

lucky comes running from wherever he was, and it was only then you realize why the dog looked different. kate had put a bowtie on him.

"kate!" you laugh. you squat down to pet him, feeding him a slice. "aw, you little gentleman. c'mere. you want pizza? yeah? sure you do, you good boy."

"sorry pizza's the most romantic dinner i could get."

"it's fine. really. you have cake and flowers and everything."

she taps her fingers on the tabletop, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth, thinking. you notice her silence and give lucky a last kiss before approaching her. "you okay? you don't look very happy."

"i'm fine. um." kate takes a deep breath. "so, i was.. thinking. that.. i.."

"yeah?" you're listening carefully. you were really grateful for her. she was supposed to be resting at home and yet she'd gone through all this trouble to make sure you weren't alone on valentine's day. much like she made sure clint wasn't alone on christmas.

"that i wanted us to be each other's valentines."

"we technically are, though."

"no, i mean-" she closes her eyes. "not platonically. like, i'm asking you... to be my girlfriend."

"oh."

"but it's okay if you don't want to! i mean, i guess i'm sort of putting pressure on you, buying you stuff and all, but i'm not bribing you! i'm just genuinely asking because i really like you and think you're cool, so-"

you turn her around to face you and shut her up with a kiss.

she melts. immediately. you can feel her body relax into you, her hands tentatively placing themselves on your waist. she kisses back, evidently unsure, so you caress her cheek with the pad of your thumb to assure her that it's okay and you'd meant to do that.

when the need for air arises, you part. kate is grinning. "i'm assuming that means yes?"

"it means definitely."

lucky barks, bringing both of your attention to him. he sits there innocently with his tail wagging and his mouth opened into a dog's version of a smile. you start to laugh, kate following shortly after.

so far, this was the best valentine's day ever.

a/n: happy valentine's day, single or taken :)

#kate bishop #marvel #mcu #oneshot #imagines #kate bishop x reader #kate bishop x male reader #kate bishop x y/n #kate bishop x female reader #kate bishop x you #male!reader #female!reader #gn!reader #hawkeye

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muzansfangs · 5 months

Text

Guilty pleasure.

Starring: Muzan x f!reader; Douma x f!reader; Akaza x f!reader Giyuu x f!reader; mention to Shinobu x Giyuu; Zenitsu, Nezuko, Tanjiro, Inosuke, Sabito, Daki, Nakime mentioned;

Warnings: mention to nsfw, language, grief, mourning, paranoia, conflicting feelings, hangover, possessiviness, yandere behavior, mention to body horror, stalking, brute behavior, jealousy;

Plot: dealing with a terrible hangover, you come across the news of what had happened yesterday night. Muzan interrupting your research though only make you remember that you could not trust him. The temptation to somehow defend yourself and your heart from him begin you arise and you find yourself swimming in the grey sea of paranoia and questionable actions. In the meanwhile, Giyuu is saying goodbye to his old friend and, now, more than ever, he needs you.

MASTERLIRST | PRIVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

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BURY A FRIEND.

"Before you start questioning my appearence, I had a bad dream, yeah. Like, I fucking thought I made out with Kokushibo" you grumbled, hands tightly wrapped around your warm mug as you scrunched up your face for the bad headache you were currently experiencing.

You surely had learnt your lesson. Never drink that much again, not for a man anyway.

Your body ached, as you tried to discern reality from the blurry imagines pestering your mind. You just remembered one thing: you had drunk that much because Muzan had not showed up at your date. It was foolish to hurt yourself like that for someone like him, but maybe you had started to let him in. How could you not? His charm and mannerism would have not left anyone indifferent. Not even you.

Akaza almost choked on his coffee, his eyes widening even so slightly as he coughed at your revelation "It sounds like the intro of a scary movie" he simply commented, leaning against the kitchen counter, as he locked eyes with you.

"It is. The cherry on top was the argument with the white-haired bitch..." you added, pinching the bridge of your nose and wincing softly for the sharp pain in your head. You needed a pain killer, there was no doubt about it.

"Douma?" Akaza inquired, quirking his eyebrows up questioningly.

You chuckled softly, shaking your head and hopping down from the stool you were sitting on "The other bitch" you clarified and, judging by Akaza's knowing look, he immediately realized who you were talking about.

"Oh, she's about to come and grab her coffee. Girls fight?" he asked, an amused grin crossing his lips as you stared at him horrified by the news. With all the stuff you had to do that morning, the last thing you needed was bumping into her again, therefore you were quick to wave your hand at him and walk back towards your room.

Drawing your phone from the back pocket of your jeans, you checked the news. Among more gossip about Muzan and the mysterious girl he helped out at the park, your attention was caught by a specific breaking news.

"BOMBS IN THE UBUYASHIKI INDUSTRY: FOUR VICTIMS FOUND ON THE SCENE".

You were about to click on the link, when someone behind you cleared his throat and you hastily locked the screen in panic, your grip on the phone almost slipping. Whipping your head towards the direction of the voice, your eyes met Muzan's ones. He was already dressed to leave, his outfit impeccable as per usual, his expression somehow softer than what you were used to. Maybe, he was about to apologize for having stood you out at the restaurant. Your sharp tongue obviously did not miss the chance to taunt him about it.

"You've been a jerk" you said, folding your arms over your chest and showing off a forced smile.

Muzan quirked his eyebrow up "Oh, good morning to you too" he replied, not moving an inch from where he was standing. His plum red eyes travelled attentively up and down your frame, assessing that you were probably about to leave too.

"Well, you said you wanted to really try to court me. Having your First in Command attend the date you had planned for us at your place was kind of a turn off" you punctuated, narrowing your eyes at him as you motioned to enter your room.

His voice, however, made you halt.

"That's why I have taken the morning off from my duties. I would like to spend some quality time with you. No guards around, no one to disturb us. Just you and I" he explained, sounding genuine despite his monotone tone of voice. This was weird. Yet, it was surely a good way to make amend. The bastard surely knew how to play his cards right.

You cocked your head to the side, your foreteeth sinking onto your bottom lip as you let his words sink in. You were still kind of puzzled by it, but you could not help the soft smile stirring on your face. You were up for it. This relationship, fake or real, had to work. Was there even a better way of acting natural around your partner than settling down and spending time together?

"What exactly are you planning, Muzan?" you asked him, leaning your shoulder against the closed door and staring up at him in curiosity.

The raven-haired politician straightened his black satin tie and locked eyes with you once again "I want to know you better, that's all" he declared.

You parted your lips in disbelief, but it did not last long, as your eyes narrowed and you decided to simply ask him the main question that had been haunting you throughout the night "Where were you yesterday night?" you asked him, mouth unnaturally dry for the fear of receiving an answer you would have not liked.

What if he was with Daki, or Nakime?

Your stomach churned at that thought, your heart thrumming in your chest while you waited for him to answer you. You found it odd how the possibility of him spending the night with another woman irked you more than the idea of him plotting crimes. Perhaps, your subconscious had come to terms with the fact that he was a criminal. But a cheater, well, it was a whole other story.

"I attended a poker night with some gentlemen in some private club. I brought Douma and Nakime with me and that's the till receipt. Feel free to call the club, if you do not trust me" he answered, no hesitation in his voice as he pulled a small piece of paper from his wallet and handed it to you.

He knew how to lie and he did not have to think twice to do it. In his head, this was the rightest thing he could do. Why? He wanted to protect you, it was obvious, but probably the answer to the fatal question implied by that concept made his own veins shiver. Who did he want to keep you safe from?

The answer was plain and simple: from himself.

When you then grasped that piece of paper and your gaze flicked up to meet his one, he knew he had tricked you. He did not like the idea of playing with you like that, leaving you completely oblivious of his nefandous actions, but he could have not stood to see you staring at him the way you did when he had killed your father before your eyes. What if he triggered something in your mind and you remembered? What if you ran away from him?

You could not run from him.

"Oh, I see. — you said, as you read the name of the club printed on the small, creased rectangular paper — You know, I would have come with you, if you had asked me to. I totally suck at playing cards games, but I know how to behave" you reasoned, your stomach churning once again at the thought that getting involved with him was living with constant trust issues.

He was not lying now, was he? He had given you evidence of where he was and, you even had the club name as a reference, in case you wanted to check on his alibi.

He was about to take the receipt back, your hand stretched out to hand it to him, when the sound of Douma's voice rang in your ears and Muzan turned around to face him. It was right in that moment that the devil on your shoulder, whispering wicked melodies to you, began to chant his plan in your ear.

As Douma waved his hand at you, you smiled at him, but you did not listen to any word coming out of his or Muzan's mouth, for what could matter. All you were focused on was Muzan's back facing you as Douma showed him something from a tablet. It was the perfect timing. You glanced at the phone in your left hand, checking if it was mute, before swallowing down forcefully.

Do it. Check it. Prove him wrong.

Your headache was almost getting worse, as you tried to fight back the malicious intent to investigate further. What would you have done, if you somehow succeeded in solving the puzzle? This was not you, this was not your style. You were not this person, were you? Plotting a vendetta was not in your plan, just like falling in love with such a morally grey man.

But, apparently, living in a house in which the most innocent inhabitant was a stalker taking compromising pictures of people and doing wax play on his colleague's bed was affecting you.

As you glanced at the club's name alluring you to become a 'spy', you did it. Yielding to your impulse, you took a quick picture of the receipt and exhaled, after locking the screen of your phone once again. You had taken the first step in becoming a psychotic moon too. The thrill of having done something like that right under Muzan's nose felt almost exciting, almost as if you were the one in charge this time.

"No. I will personally accompany her to buy the dress for the Gala. Cancel all of my meetings for tomorrow evening" Muzan said then, snapping you out of your stream of consciousness and reminding you of the big day in which you have probably been announced as Muzan's new official flame.

As Muzan glanced back at you, his dark eyebrow up as you stared at him with the face of a toddler listening to her parents talking about her, you flashed him a thin-lipped smile and pretended nothing had happened.

Douma hummed and cocked his head to the side, his eyes locking with yours as you started to feel a little discomfort at the thought that, the last time you met him, he had witnessed to you moaning like a pornstar while riding Muzan. You needed to get out of that situation and you ended up saying the first thing that came to your mind.

"Douma, I'm glad to see your nose is no more swollen" you noted, hinting at the punch your soon to be husband had kindly delivered to him in the parking lot.

"Ah, you're so sweet, sweetheart! My nose has gone back to be pretty!" Douma beamed, winking at you, only for Muzan to dart his plum red homicidal eyes back on him in contempt.

"Leave, unless you'd like to get plastic surgery this time" Muzan flatly stated, as you felt your jaw go slack in utter shock for what he had just said.

The eerie silence swallowing the corridor made you question if Muzan really meant every word he had said. Of course, he did. He had not hesitated to punch Douma right away in tha past and he surely had done far way more deranged things to people. You did not comprehend why it was still kind of hard for you to picture him covered in someone else's blood. Maybe it was because you were catching feelings for him, or because you would have loved him to be a better man.

As Douma shrugged and turned his back at you two to leave, you sighed and nudged Muzan's ribs in irritation "Oi, was this really necessary?" you flatly asked him, furrowing your brows and grasping his hand to slap the receipt onto his palm not so gently.

Muzan towered over you, his eyes reduced to two slits now, while he closed his hand in a fist a dropped his arm down his side. His free hand reached up, grasping your chin between his thumb and forefinger, before leaning down and kissing you slowly.

Your eyes widened even so slightly, your lips moving in sync with his ones, while your body relaxed authomatically under the influence of his kiss. You had missed him, you had missed the feeling he was capable of giving you, that unhinged turmoil of emotions leaving you wide awake at night.

But as he suddenly pulled back and stared down at you with his typical stern face, you shot an interrogative glance at him, which he returned with your same question "Was this really necessary?" he inquired, making you sigh and roll your eyes.

♚

"Which Moon did this?" the raven-haired Slayer merely said, his tone barely audible as his ocean blue eyes were transfixed on the dead body of his friend. He knew their lives were in constant danger. He had seen his fair number of dead comrades to say he could have been the next one laying on the metallic table, covered by nothing but a white blanket.

However, he somehow always refused to foresee this event involving him.

He hoped this was an illusion, some terrific lucid dream, but it was real. Fox, his best friend, the boy with a peculiar scar on his cheek and those weird lavender eyes was dead. Sabito was dead. Calling him by his code name was useless. He was gone forever.

Grasping the hem of the blanket, he tugged it up over his pale face and took a few steps back, waiting for Shinobu to speak.

She stayed silent for several seconds, before taking her gloves off and tossing them in the bin "Actually, it was not a Moon. Inosuke's mother had a 'K' carved onto her cheek. It's rare for him to take matters into his hands but, when he does, he always makes sure to leave his mark" she said, her gaze flicking up over his face. His jaw was clenched, his hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers as he listened carefully to her.

They were all mourning. Yet, Shinobu never lost her occasion to sneakily get what she wanted. Someone would have said she was insensible, cunning and detached from the world. But how could she cry over the body of someone she never even considered her friend, when he had not even had the decency of expressing his condolences to her when Kanae had died? All because he thought she was only a snake.

"You look terrible. — she chimed then, walking up to him and reaching her hand up to stroke his cheek — Come with me. I can fix that" she said lowly.

But she was not probably ready for his reaction. His hand latched around her wrist tightly, causing her to widen her eyes in shock and wince in pain, while he glared at her "Shut the hell up. Stay away from me" he hissed, roughly pushing her away as she ended up hitting the lockers behind her with her back.

She scoffed, her eyes narrowing as she massaged the bruised area of her tiny wrist. If eyes could kill, Giyuu would have probably been dead by now. She did not have much time to say anything, or react, for he had stormed out of the morgue, slamming the door behind him.

He was dead inside, his heart pumping the blood so fast he felt his ears ringing. He could not spend another minute of that day there with the others. He dashed out of the building, his hand grasping the keys of his car in his pocket, and he only slowed down when he spotted the new recruits gathered in a small circle in the parking lot. He was not good at comforting people, he kept his distance, watching the way the Kamado silblings, Shinobu's younger sister and Zenitsu tried to provide a shoulder to cry on to Inosuke.

They were so young. He remembered the day they were announced to be the newest addition to the Corps. He would have loved to discourage them, tell them to leave and explore the limiteless possibilities life offers to the young generation. Talking, however, was not his forte. Grief, pain, mourning, fear and anger were what made people grow up.

Sabito was not inexperienced, still he had succumbed. Hopping into his car, he wondered who would have been the next among those young recruits. Thunder? Beast? They were both fragile right now. The former dealing with the betrayal of his cousin, the latter devastated by the loss of his mother. Ribbon? Flame? They were broken beyond repair but, as long as they stack together as one, nothing could truly bring them down. What about Cherry, though? Shinobu's younger sister, the pride and joy of the late Kanae, the girl esteemed to be more skilled than Shinobu. She was pretty damaged too.

But that was nonsense talk. No one facing death was ready to die. No matter how much damaged you are, when a blade is on your neck, you do not push your jugular on the edge.

Unless you do it to protect someone.

Giyuu groaned, his knuckles turning pale for the tight grip on the steering wheel as he pushed the gas pedal and drove down the street with blurry eyes. Only one name was in his mind now, one face and one smile he wished to cherish and protect for the rest of his most likely numbered days. And it was you. You were the only one he cared about.

As he stopped at a red light, he grasped his phone and texted you. He did not need to add details, pour his heart, or what was left of it, into the words. You would have understood, because you were the only person who knew him better than anyone else. You were his little hope in a desolate land crowded by monsters and shadows.

GIYUU: Meet me at the rooftop tonight.

How many nights he had spent with you, sitting on the rooftop of your old house, a blanket around you two as you rambled about the ghosts of the past and the fears of your future. Growing up, this habit did not change. He always met you on a rooftop, he always brought you your favorite blanket, but you sipped on beers on the rooftop of your new house now.

Under the same old starry sky, he needed to cry tears on your shoulders that tasted like remorses, for he had changed the shift with Sabito that night too and the dead body in that room should have been his one.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hello there! As I have previously announced, here we are with another Chapter. The story is slowly approaching a turning point. Lot of things are yet to come. I’m sorry to break it to you, but pain, like, a lot of pain, is going to crash over those folks. Yay, I’m a sucker for angst, I’m sorry!

As per usual, likes, comments and re-posts are greatly appreciated.

Until next,

x o x o

TAGS: @persuasivus @mrskokushibo @ladytamayolover @tired-writer04 @hjjks @kakuchosbff @yazzzmints @bookandstar @z3rOart @cherrymanhuas @kazuhaslvt @selenenyx0124 @infinitedilf @yunixkill @shigarakithings @i-loveyou013 @yoriichi-second-wife @sunaswife @lucikittyxoxo @heartsforjeongin @ishmealmendes @wondermilka @dangerousdreamkitty @crazycatlddy

#muzan x reader #kibutsuji muzan x reader #muzan kibutsuji x reader #muzan x y/n #douma x reader #giyuu x you #tomioka x reader #kokushibo x reader #demon slayer fanfic #demon slayer x reader

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