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fuckyeahdindjarin · 2 years

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VIII ║ Concentric

Dieter Bravo x f!reader

{ << Part 7: Contrary | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E (18+ only)

Summary: You and Dieter come full circle.

Warnings: Shenanigans, fighting, drinking, swearing, dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving), face sitting, safe unprotected sex (be smart kids!), multiple orgasms (f and m), cumshot, cum play, size kink, light spanks, yearning, mentions of food, fluff, feelings, no use of Y/N

Word count: 11.5k (it's only fitting that we break the word count record on the last chapter!)

Note: October 2013. That was the last time I finished a WIP, and that one took me 6.5 years. Years, I kid you not. So please forgive me for being extremely melodramatic and emotional about finishing Consent in just over 5 months.

I thought I was done with fanfiction and writing, and I've never been happier to be proven wrong. I wouldn't have believed it if you told me the next series I'd complete would be about a man called Dieter Bravo. You've all been the most incredibly supportive readers, and I'm so lucky to count many of you as friends. I don't know what I've done to deserve you. Thank you, thank you, thank you - this is for all of my fellow Dieter Bravo hoes (affectionate) ❤️

I had a lot of help for this chapter. To avoid any spoilers, I will be thanking everyone at the end of this chapter.

There’s always a jarring sense of disconnect when you land in a country you’ve never been to before. Even more so after a red-eye, a connecting flight you almost missed and a long drive from the airport to the little seaside town you’ve seen so much of in Ana’s stories.

It doesn’t help that you’ve been wide-eyed the entire journey, your head too loud to switch off.

The sleep deprivation makes it doubly surreal to see the mountains, the Tyrrhenian Sea and picture-perfect towns zoom past the car window. To feel the sunshine on your face as your taxi eases around hairpin turns on the coastal roads, then down narrow streets - barely squeezing past the summer crowds - as your destination draws close.

The car purrs to a halt in front of a charming pink-orange house that looks like something straight out of Under The Tuscan Sun, where Ana is waiting impatiently. She nearly rips off the door handle and throws her arms around you as soon as you clamber out of the car.

‘I missed you!’ you mumble into her hair.

‘You too, bitch!’ she squeals, dragging your suitcase off the sidewalk. ‘Let’s get you unpacked and showered. We’re going on a cast and crew sunset cruise in a couple of hours, so you can finally meet Richard Linklater. I hope you brought something pretty to wear!’

You didn’t pack much summer attire with you to Calgary, but you did bring your trusty yellow dress from that night, which feels like a lifetime ago - if not from another one entirely. The shower perks you up somewhat - at least you don’t smell like an economy plane cabin anymore. You’re putting on your makeup in a futile attempt to cover up the dark circles under your eyes when Ana comes back to the apartment.

She hands you an espresso and a cannoli, which you take gratefully. ‘Thank you so much. My biological clock is so confused, I don’t know when I last ate.’

‘Don’t worry, hon, there will be plenty of food and drink on the boat,’ says Ana. Eyeing you over critically, she runs a makeup brush or two over your cheekbones, and dabs some colour onto your lips. ‘You look great. Shall we?’

The town is absolutely darling, and you have to pinch yourself to make sure you’re not actually dreaming this. The weathered cobblestones are slippery beneath your leather sandals as you trail behind Ana. Your tummy rumbles at the smell of sweet tomatoes and baking bread, and you can’t help but run a hand over beautiful summer fruits as you walk by stalls on street corners, brimming with produce. Exuberant Italian conversation surrounds you, and you lose yourself in words that you don’t understand.

Your breath catches when you round a corner and the blue sea comes into view, the fresh scent of salt and summer in the air. With her arm hooked through yours, Ana leads you across the water front, pointing out her favourite restaurants and watering holes, clearly having settled well into her workplace these past months. You’re distracted when you spot a familiar low wall, recognising it as where Dieter and Constance posed for one of their many Instagram stories.

Distracted, you nearly walk into Ana when she stops abruptly in front of an extravagant-looking yacht, spread over two levels, her arms outstretched in a flourish. ‘Ta-da! The perks of the movie being financed by a rich local guy - free boat trip every weekend!’

‘Fancy,’ you remark, suddenly nervous that you’re underdressed for the occasion.

‘He’s newly divorced too,’ she adds with a wink. ‘And stop fussing, you look fantastic. Come on, I see Richard - I’ll introduce you!’

The boat is fairly full, people bustling about with drinks and canapes in hand. Despite being jetlagged and incredibly starstruck, you manage to somewhat hold it together when Ana introduces you to your favourite director. She offers to get you a cold drink and leaves you to chatter with him. You talk about your favourite movies of his, his career, and a bit of yours, before someone shows up at his elbow to whisk him away. You shake his hand and thank him for his time, and he gives you his business card before he takes his leave.

The boat pulled away from the port while you weren’t looking, sailing smoothly towards the calm, open sea. You glance about, trying to look nonchalant and to keep your breathing under control. Now that you’ve met your hero, you have to contend with the fact that you came to Italy for something else.

Someone else.

A voice catches your ear. Familiar and gruff, drawling in a bored monotone.

There’s no dramatic swell of music in your ears, or the fading of the world until it’s just the two of you and no one else. It’s almost anti-climatic, really.

You tilt your face towards the upper deck - and there he is.

One of his signature earth-tone t-shirts (you know he has more than one) hangs comfortably off his broad shoulders, sunglasses hooked at the neck, dragging the ragged neckline low. The sea breeze ruffles his curls, longer than they were on Resurgence, the sun bringing out undertones of gold. He’s chatting to a man - or rather, being chatted at - leaning his weight on his elbows on the bannister, scratching at his beard, wearing his usual air of indifference.

One look and the clocks turn. It takes you right back. You remember exactly what it’s like to be that close to him, to be wrapped up in the broadness of him - the feeling of his body warmth, how soft his t-shirt is when you rest your cheek on his chest.

You haven’t moved a muscle, but somehow, his head turns just a fraction, and he finds you.

If not for the physical distance between you, you’d be convinced that he’s reached inside you and squeezed your heart with the whole of his hand until it stopped pumping, blood roaring inside your ears with nowhere to go. His stare - bewilderment and awe and hunger - pins you to the spot.

And you know. You just do.

They are the same eyes you woke up to so many mornings. First thing when consciousness seeps in and you blink away the last remnants of the night before, his arms around you or yours around him. Through thick lashes and peeking from under heavy eyelids, syrupy-slow with sleep as they sweep over the contours of your profile, lips curling into a warm smile.

Yours.

He’s long stopped listening to the man, and even from where you are, you see him grip the wooden railing tight, disturbing his rings, the same ones he always wears.

Then she appears.

An Aperol Spritz in each hand and a small plate of canapes balanced awkwardly on the sides of her wrists, she nudges his side hurriedly with her elbow, her platonic tone carrying despite the rush of the sea. ‘Oi! Grab your drink, dude. Come on - it’s slipping!’

The naked panic on his face only reaffirms what your intuition tells you.

Ana finally returns to you with chilled champagne, grumbling about the crowds at the bar. Taking a glass, you turn to her and nod towards the upper deck. ‘So - Dieter and Constance.’

‘What about them?’ she asks innocently, taking a big gulp of bubbly.

You watch as Dieter furiously whispers into Constance’s ear. Her eyes widen in obvious excitement, darting everywhere until they settle on you for the briefest second before she schools in her features. You hear Dieter hiss, ‘Don’t be so freaking obvious, Jesus Christ.’

You fight the urge to giggle - and you never giggle. An Oscar winner and an Olivier nominee walk into a china shop and they’re about as subtle as two bulls after a red flag.

You turn to Ana and ask conversationally, ‘They’re not really together, are they?’

She shrugs, poker face firmly on. ‘Don’t know what you mean, hon.’

‘Ana,’ you put on a serious tone.

Never one to stand her ground under pressure, she surrenders far too easily. ‘Fine, they’re not! Before you yell at me, it was all Dieter’s idea. And I’m sorry it upset you, but I’m not sorry that it worked! I’m not going to apologise for helping him get you back.’

The words tumble out of your mouth before your head catches up. ‘He wants me back?’

It’s beyond strange to acknowledge aloud what’s between you and him for the first time. You’ve never even articulated it to yourself.

Ana beams, bumping shoulders with you. ‘You better believe it, hon.’

Your head feels like it’s filling up with helium and any second, you’ll be lifted off the wooden deck. You’re so fucking confused - should you be angry that he basically tricked you into coming here? Should you be elated that he went to such lengths to get you here?

There are no answers, but there’s booze. Lots of it.

So you bring the glass of champagne to your lips and tip your head back, draining the flute until there’s nothing left.

‘Whoa! What are you doing?’ squeaks Ana as you plant the empty glass on a cocktail table nailed to the deck.

Crossing your arms, you say, ‘You’re right, his little ploy worked. But if he thinks he can mess with me without paying for it, he’s got another thing coming.’

‘For fuck’s sake, can’t you two just talk to each other like normal people for once?’

‘Ana, I was miserable! For weeks!’

‘Girl, I’m gonna give it to you straight. Even if he didn’t pull this Constance bullshit, you would’ve been miserable anyway because you broke up with him!’ She clasps her palms together in a desperate prayer. ‘I’m begging you, can you two please just make up!’

You hold out stubbornly. ‘Not until I’ve messed with his head at least a little bit.’

‘This is not what I signed up for,’ Ana grumbles.

You laugh and drape an arm over her shoulder, giving her a squeeze. ‘It’ll be fun. I promise. I flew all the way here, I deserve a little restitution.’

She whines. ‘Hon, come on, what am I going to tell Dieter?’

You hold up a stern finger. ‘Nothing. You can’t tell him that I know, you owe me as much. I also need you to distract him while I talk to Constance.’

She frowns. ‘Constance? What are you planning?’

You wink and turn to leave without giving her an answer.

Ana watches you go with a long-suffering sigh. She’s taking a deep glug of champagne when Dieter ambushes her, startling her into a coughing fit.

His usual air of chaos has intensified exponentially, she can almost feel it physically vibrate off of him. He spills Aperol everywhere when he asks with his hands. ‘What the fuck, Ana?’

‘What?’ she shoots back defensively.

‘Why didn’t you tell me she was coming? Are you double crossing me?’

‘Double cross - what does that even mean in this context?’

Dieter’s not interested in her answer though. His eyes are darting about, looking for you. ‘What’s she doing here? Did our plan work or did you tell her?’

Technically, you found out on your own, so Ana is comfortable lying through her teeth. ‘I didn’t! She said she came to see me and to meet Richard, that’s it.’

He’s talking to himself now more than anything. ‘She must suspect something, but I don’t think she knows about the whole set-up.’ Pausing, he pokes her in the side in a warning. ‘You can’t tell her that you know I think she knows.’

Ana’s eyes nearly roll behind her skull in exasperation. ‘Couldn’t if I wanted to. Here’s a bright idea - why don’t you go talk to her?’

Dieter’s frown deepens as his determination hardens. ‘No, fuck that. She broke up with me. I’m not going to be the one giving in.’

Ana waves in a frenzy to get someone’s attention to refill her empty glass, letting out a cry of relief when a server starts making their way over. ‘What do you mean by not giving in?’

Dieter swigs his glass clean and sticks it out to the server to fill it up. ‘Keep doing what Constance and I were doing. Until she cracks.’

‘Just so we’re on the same page, this entire weekend, you’re going to keep pretending to date Constance and throw it in her face, instead of just making up? What could possibly go wrong?’

‘Way to be supportive, Ana.’

She gives him dead eyes in response. If only Pete was here to back her up. Speaking of whom - he’s really missing out big time. She’ll have to call him to fill him in tonight.

Dieter half-turns to leave, but something catches his attention out of the corner of his eye. He does a double take, craning his whole body forward and squinting dramatically to take a better look.

‘Ana, why the fuck is my girlfriend talking to my fake girlfriend?’

Constance is not hard to find, with her willowy figure and luscious curls billowing in the wind. She seems to have recovered her composure from when she first spotted you, and when your gazes meet on your approach, they give nothing away.

‘Hi Constance,’ you say casually in greeting.

She plays it cool with a polite smile. ‘Hi there. Have we met?’

‘I know you know who I am, Constance.’

She blinks her doe eyes. ‘I’m so sorry, I really don’t think I do.’

You shuffle in closer and say under your breath, just in case someone overhears. ‘I know you were in it with Dieter - his little plan to get me jealous. Ana told me.’

The mask melts so quickly that you can’t help but find it endearing. Dragging you by the elbow into the privacy of the cabin, a sincere crease in her brow, she confesses, ‘About that, I’m really, really sorry. I didn’t want to do it at first, I swear. But he’s so smitten with you and he was just about ready to try anything to get you back -’

You shush her and grab her free hand. Both of you have just enough alcohol in your systems to feel the pull of the universal, sisterly bond between drunk women, despite having only met thirty seconds ago. You reassure her, ‘No, please don’t apologise. I’m not angry - well, a tiny bit mad at him for messing with me, but not at you.’

‘But I feel so bad,’ insists Constance. ‘You must have felt strongly enough to have flown all this way. Please, if there’s anything I can do.’

‘Listen, if you want to make it up to me - you could do me a favour.’

Constance nods solemnly. ‘Anything.’

You grin mischievously. ‘Will you help me get back at Dieter?’

Dieter mopes in his corner on the upper deck, growling and hissing at anyone who dares approach, drowning himself in Aperol Spritz. He doesn’t particularly like that stuff, but when in Rome and all that shit.

From his perch, he can see and hear you laughing loudly at something Constance says to you, champagne in hand, having a whale of a time.

There’s no two ways around it. His plan failed. Ana’s right. You came to see your friend, not him. If you did and knowing you, you’d be doing something to get his attention. You’d be trying to make him jealous. You’d be mad, spitting flame and venom.

You’re giving him nothing. You haven’t even deigned to glance his way after you locked eyes for that brief moment.

But… you’re wearing that dress. Surely you haven’t forgotten what happened the last time you showed up in his trailer wearing that -

Another peal of laughter pulls him from his thoughts. He slurps on the straw until it gurgles at the empty bottom of his glass.

You didn’t expect to like Constance. It turns out she grew up in the same county as you, just a few towns over, you even share a few distant mutual acquaintances. You chit-chat about everything - your schools, the local beaches, working with Dieter.

The boat has anchored in the middle of the sea for the sunset, and you’re sitting on the deck at the back with your feet dangling in the cool water, sandals by your side. You marvel at the view - the beauty of this place is unreal. Village houses hug the rugged shoreline, stacked one on top of the other in gravity-defying fashion up the steep cliffside, dramatic mountains rising above behind the town. The setting sun throws a rose gold tint over the valley, the sky burning orange.

Even if you don’t go away with what you came for, this could be enough.

Constance giggles drunkenly, looking over your shoulder. ‘He’s watching you again. You’ve really riled him up.’

You resist the very great temptation to take a peek. But you know Dieter - the longer you hold out, the better the payoff later.

There’s a scrape of footsteps and Ana appears with her phone out. ‘Selfie time, bitches!’

‘How’s Dieter?’ asks Constance, shuffling over to make space for Ana.

She sighs. ‘So confused. When will you put him out of his misery, hon?’

You shrug. ‘He can hold out a little longer. Constance, remember, you have to keep up the whole charade for maximum effect, ok?’

She wrinkles her nose. ‘It would be weird doing it in front of you though.’

‘Are you a working actress or not?’ you tease.

Ana chortles, and Constance raises her glass. ‘Alright, alright, I’ll do it - for you. To new friends.’

The three of you clink glasses clumsily, bumping shoulders and cackling at everything and nothing at all.

You’ll drink to that.

When the yacht docks, spontaneous dinner plans are made, with those wanting to prolong the evening revelry wandering down the cobblestone streets to a trattoria frequented by the cast and crew.

The dozen or so of you sit at a long, rickety table under fairy lights, the plentiful food and drink illuminated by candles dripping wax as they burn low. Easy conversation, a mix of English and Italian, ebb and flow over the course of the slow dinner.

You’re sitting in the middle of the table, flanked by Ana and directly opposite Dieter, with Constance to his immediate left.

The actress keeps her promise to you, practically dousing Dieter in PDA. She’s feeding him pasta, handing you her phone to take photos of them kissing and practically sitting in his lap. He’s unresponsive, staring at you openly throughout dinner.

It takes all of your resolve to not give in to meet his eyes.

The street gets rowdier by the hour, and the group thins after dessert and limoncello is served. When an impromptu band shows up and starts playing music right next to your table, Constance tries to pull Dieter to his feet for a dance, but he’s like dead weight, pouting and somehow burrows himself deeper into his wooden chair. Unperturbed, Constance grabs Ana instead, joining the raucous crowd gathering on the sidewalk.

It’s just the two of you left at the table.

You finally let yourself look at him, finding his gaze already trained on you. You took it easy on the wine over dinner, allowing the rich food to soak up all the alcohol you had on the boat. But you still feel buzzed enough to do something bold.

Scooping a generous helping of tiramisu and bringing it to your lips, you lick the underside of the spoon, collecting the cream on your tongue, before pushing it into your mouth. Your eyes flutter close as you moan around the spoonful of smooth mascarpone and coffee-soaked biscuit.

Dieter’s jaw goes slack, and you spot the pink tip of his tongue between his parted lips, his chest rising and falling quickly. Leaning forward, you reach out and trace your index finger up the back of his hand until you reach his ring with the black gemstone. He doesn’t try to hide the shudder that runs like a current through his body.

The power you so easily wield over him is both sweet and heady. You decide to push him further, leaning your elbows on the table and drawing your shoulders together, making the neckline of your dress gape and your cleavage pop.

The way he stares is gasoline to the fire under your skin.

When you speak, he demonstrates that he still remains somewhat in possession over his faculties as he drags his gaze up, with considerable difficulty, to your face.

You wear a bright smile, and your tone is syrupy sweet. ‘You’re one lucky guy - Constance is amazing. Honestly, I think you’re perfect for each other. I’m so happy for you, Dieter.’

He echoes your words, slowly. ‘You’re… you’re happy for me?’

You blink, butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth as you answer, ‘Yes, I am. So happy for you.’

He stutters, before his words peter out. ‘But - but you were meant to be -’

‘Meant to be what?’ you prompt.

When he doesn’t reply, you give him a pat on his hand. ‘Take care of yourself, Dieter.’

He’s so stunned that he doesn’t react as he watches you go.

Dieter thinks for a second, the pasta and pizza and bread having absorbed enough alcohol from his bloodstream for him to dig deep for some clarity within himself. He re-runs your words in his head, a deep frown on his brow.

Hold the fucking phone.

He scrambles onto his feet so hard that his chair hits the pavement, and he runs after you.

He crashes through the crowds half-blind, angry Italian cursing thrown his way, until he leaves the ruckus behind. He doesn’t even know where he’s going, but by some miracle he spots yellow, and with one last push, he throws himself in front of you, wheezing and leaning heavily on one hand against the wall to block your path.

You’re staring at him in genuine concern. ‘What are you doing? Are you ok?’

Finding his voice, he opens with an apparent non-sequitur. ‘You do impulsive things when you’re mad. You know that, sweetheart?’

You brows knit in confusion. ‘What?’

‘You heard me.’

You humour him, arms crossed. He knows that you probably think he’s just drunk. ‘Ok. Like what?’

‘Like flying 6,000 miles to see me.’

‘I’m here to see Ana.’

Dieter shakes his head slowly, a smile unfolding as he begins to find his footing for the first time since you appeared out of thin air and turned his day upside down. ‘She sold me out, didn’t she? Constance too. I should’ve known they’d be on your side.’

You snort. ‘You’re talking crazy, Bravo.’

He crowds you against the wall, meeting no resistance as your back hits the stone, and he coaxes. ‘Admit it, sweetheart, and I’ll give you everything you came for. I just need to hear it from your pretty little mouth.’

You hold your tongue stubbornly, but he sees your pupils dilate and senses a shift in the crisp evening air.

He grins, finally establishing control over the situation, which sobers him up like nothing else. You’ve tortured him all day - it’s time he has some fun.

Leaning down to your ear, he growls in a register that he knows will get you wet for him. ‘Tell me you came for me, sweetheart. And then maybe - I’ll make you cum for me.’

You just about lunge at him, but he holds you in place with hands around your upper arms, crowding you, drunk on the power now that the tables have turned. He wags a condescending finger at you, tapping the tip of your nose. ‘Uh-uh-uh. You heard me, sweetheart. C’mon, four little words. You can do it.’

That does it. You bare your teeth at him, panting as you struggle in his grasp. ‘You’re such an asshole.’

Dieter makes a buzzer noise. ‘That’s four words, but not the right ones.’

‘Over my dead body,’ you spit at him.

He tuts. ‘Sorry, sweetheart, no deal. Well, I guess I better go -’

He lets go of you and spins on his heels, but he doesn’t even get to take two steps when he feels your hand wrap around his wrist and haul him around with surprising force.

He deliberately knocks into your body, hands landing on your waist and his weight holding you in place. You all but snarl at him, ‘Don’t you fucking dare walk out on me again.’

There she is, he thinks to himself, chest swelling with pride at the fire in your eyes.

He runs a finger down the side of your cheek, the gentle touch in direct conflict with the words that come out more affectionately than he intends. ‘You never make things easy, do you? You get off on making my life hell, hmm?’

Your eyes soften, but you still run your mouth brash. ‘You don’t like it easy, Bravo. You’d get bored.’

He chuckles, and leaning in to brush the tip of his nose along yours, he tries again. ‘Did you come all this way to see me, sweetheart?’

He isn’t gloating, or trying to trip you up.

You cup the side of his stubbled cheek, and you decide to let him in. ‘Of course I did, you fucking idiot -’

And then he’s kissing you.

Your hand is tightly wrapped in his as he leads you through a maze of alleyways, as if he’s worried that you would bolt. You won’t though - you’re done running.

The strain in your calves begins to make its presence felt after several flights of stone steps, the long journey earlier today kicking in as the adrenaline fades. You yawn and Dieter notices, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

‘Almost there, sweetheart,’ he promises you, dragging you against his side with a hand on your hip, taking some of your weight.

You watch from under drooping eyelids as he turns the key and opens the door to a two-storey house. A lone lamp glows in the corner of what appears like a comfortable sitting room, but you’re too tired to be curious to look around.

Dieter steers you up cool tiled steps, having helped you out of your sandals. He all but pushes you up to the bedroom, hands firm on your waist so you can focus on just putting one foot in front of the other.

The mattress is soft and welcoming as you flop down nose first, muffling your groan as you give in to the exhaustion that you’ve been putting off all day. He chuckles, rolling you onto one side of the bed.

‘Let’s get this dress off, shall we, sweetheart?’

Even in your prone state, you attempt to put on a coy smile, pushing the straps off your shoulders. ‘You know you want to.’

He chuckles, turning you over to find the zip and pulling it down. He mock admonishes you, ‘Keep it in your pants, woman.’

Dieter feels almost bashful peeling your dress off, baring skin that he hasn’t touched for too long - he has to wait a little longer for that. You never sleep in your bra, so he unhooks that too, averting his gaze, and grabs a comfortable t-shirt from the dresser.

‘Arms up, sweetheart,’ he cajoles, and you comply despite grumbling sleepily. The t-shirt slips easily over your head.

It’s a warm night, so he lets you stretch out above the duvet as he strips down to his boxers. He opens the window to let in a cool breeze to bring down the temperature in the room. It’s been baking in the sun all day.

Dieter shuffles onto the mattress behind you, no hesitation when he tucks your body under the crook of his arm. He breathes you in, nose in your hair, a deep calm settling into his bones as he feels your steady breathing. He tightens his grip on you and lets sleep claim him.

You’re not sure if it’s the church bells or the light streaming through the patio doors, but it’s a clean awakening, your eyes snapping wide open as you take in the bedroom you barely saw last night before passing out.

It’s strangely comforting to see he’s brought with him across the Atlantic the same mess that you became so used to. Inside-out t-shirts and shorts draped on chairs and flung carelessly onto random spots on the floor, where they’ve stayed. A glass of water half empty on his bedside table, his reading glasses and a couple of rings next to it. One slipper at the foot of the bed, the other nowhere to be seen.

You look down at the t-shirt you’re wearing. It’s one that you often borrowed from him for bed, and it makes you smile.

Following the smell of fresh coffee and bread, you pad quietly downstairs, admiring the rustic living space flooded in morning light, the open patio doors leading to a lush garden, letting in a soothing draft.

Dieter is perched on a bar stool at the counter in the open kitchen, already dressed for the day. He looks up from his phone when you approach, the corners of his eyes crinkling when he beams at you, and he breathes out something like relief when you slot into the V of his thighs without any trepidation.

‘What’s this? Dieter Bravo out of bed and dressed before,’ you pause and squint at the clock. ‘Ten in the morning?’

‘Not just that,’ he gestures at the breakfast spread on the table with a proud puff of his chest. ‘I provided.’

You smirk and rest your palms on the top of his thighs. ‘No Deliveroo around here, huh?’

‘It’s sink or swim, baby. Got pretty hairy for a while.’ He grabs a paper cup and pushes it into your hand. ‘Got you a cappuccino from my favourite barista. Try it.’

‘You have a favourite barista? Not just a favourite cafe?’

‘Of course. I have a favourite barista for cappuccino and another one for espresso.’

‘That might be the most obnoxious thing I’ve ever heard.’

He gives you a wink. ‘I’ve put down roots here, baby.’

‘Dieter Bravo has roots?’ you quip. ‘Do you even speak the language yet?’

He replies in an exaggerated Italian accent, complete with hand gestures. ‘A leetle beet, bella signorita.’

You laugh and take a sip of the cappuccino, sighing deeply at the rich, roasted flavour. ‘Thank you, this is delicious.’

Rough palms rest on the small of your back, pulling you flush against his chest. His eyes are warm and open as he confides in you, ‘This job’s been really good for me.’

You run your fingers through his curls. ‘I know. I can tell.’

‘And Calgary’s been good for you too?’

You nod, and you hesitate for just a moment before you answer, ‘They’re going to offer me a contract for the second season.’

It’s not that you’re trying to catch him out, but you watch his reaction closely. You see nothing other than excitement before he presses his lips to yours in a chaste kiss. ‘That’s my girl.’

Suddenly quiet, you go still, and your change in demeanour doesn’t escape him. He pats you playfully on the bottom to get your attention. ‘What’s wrong, sweetheart?’

It’s hard to meet his stare when you’re trying to find it within yourself to get the words out. You fixate on a small stain on his shirt instead, rubbing your finger over it.

He waits patiently, and to give you an out, replies lightly, ‘Couldn’t get the stain out. It’s ragu from my favourite place in town - I can take you there if you want.’

‘I’d like that,’ you smile gratefully.

But the thing is - you don’t want out. You want in.

You take a deep breath and take the plunge. ‘Dieter - should I sign that contract?’

It’s the longest five seconds of silence, and it takes all of your self-control to not twist around in his grasp and run up the stairs. Finally, he leans in to kiss you deeply, and you’re glad he’s holding you up when your knees give.

He pulls back and runs his thumb over your cheekbone. ‘Can you hold out for another two weeks?’

You wish you didn’t answer so quickly, but you can’t help the breathless yes that slips out. Of course you fucking would.

Dieter holds your gaze. ‘Just so we’re clear - I want to be in the same place as you, sweetheart. Or at least close enough to commute to you. Is that ok?’

You nod, a stupid grin breaking across your features. ‘Yeah, that’s ok.’

‘Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way,’ Dieter winks at you and grabs a paper bag from the kitchen counter. ‘You’ve got to try this.’

You peek inside and ask skeptically, ‘Is that… a doughnut?’

‘No, it’s a bombolone.’

‘Out of all the Italian things I haven’t tried, you picked the most American -’

He shoves the sugar-covered pastry into your mouth to shut you up, laughing as an indignant squeal catches in your throat. You bite into the pillowy doughnut, a thick smear of the chocolate filling spilling out and painting your lips, sugar crystals sticking to the mess.

Dieter wrinkles his nose jokingly. ‘You look so hot like this, sweetheart.’

Swiping at the chocolate from the corner of your mouth with your index finger, you push it between his lips. His eyes darken immediately as he sucks on it, the mood in the room swinging instantly into familiar territory.

Running your tongue across your lips, you put the rest of the doughnut in its bag and lick the sugar from your fingers. ‘I hope you haven’t had breakfast yet.’

His big hands dip underneath your shirt again to cup your bottom. He raises an eyebrow at you inquiringly. ‘Oh? Why not?’

Your back arcs and you rub your ass into his touch. ‘Because this pussy hasn’t been eaten in a very long time.’

His eyes snap shut at your words as if they physically pain him, impatient hands now sliding up your front to cup your bare breasts. ‘Fuck, baby. Is this the first thing you think about in the morning, you filthy girl?’

You kiss him sloppily, more tongue and teeth than anything, and Dieter pushes you away to hop off the stool, pulling off your shirt in the one smooth motion. He runs two fingers along the seam of your panties, smirking at the wet spot he finds. ‘Did no one else take care of this pussy while I was away?’

‘You know there’s no one else,’ you whine, letting him walk you into the living room, until the back of your knees hit the sofa.

‘Good,’ he growls into your ear, spinning you around and pushing you onto your knees into the cushions, hands on the spine of the sofa. Possessiveness clouds his mind as he runs his gaze over you every inch of you. ‘All mine.’

Slowly, he drags your panties down your legs, kissing the back of your thighs. You writhe under his touch, the scrape of his beard on your sensitive skin making you shudder. You moan, ‘Dieter. Please.’

Spreading you open, he tells you through clenched teeth, ‘I can see how wet you are, sweetheart. So pretty.’

‘Don’t tease,’ you beg, feeling your pussy flutter around nothing, your ass in the air as you grip the sofa tightly. ‘I need -’

You break off in a moan when Dieter closes his lips around your clit in a wet suckle, dragging the broad of his tongue through your core messily. His nails dig into the swell of your hips to hold you in place as you writhe, dipping into your pussy to taste you. Too long. It’s been too fucking long since he’s had you.

He traces his tongue along your contours patiently. He’s waited so many months, he can hold off the want to fucking devour you just a little bit longer. The tip of his tongue draws insistent circles on your clit, your hips undulating while you chase your pleasure. He feels a tremour run through your body before you bury your head into the sofa, muffling your cries.

Oh no, that won’t do.

He brings his palm down in sharp clap on your pillowy cheek, making it jiggle. You gasp, head snapping up and around to glare at him. ‘What was that for?’

He shoots you a dirty grin, chin already shiny with you. ‘Wanna hear you scream, baby.’

You pin him with an audacious stare. ‘Make me, then, Bravo.’

As if he isn’t already rock hard, he has to bite down on his bottom lip to wrangle himself under control. He groans, ‘Can’t just go around saying shit like that, baby.’

You smirk, knowing exactly what it does to him, enjoying his desperate little whimper. You shift to widen your stance, knees sinking deeper into the sofa, teasing him, ‘What was that about the screaming again?’

For one second, you think you’ve pushed too far when Dieter draws clear from you completely. Before you can protest, there’s a scrape of wood on stone as he pushes away the coffee table clumsily. Leaning on the sofa, his long legs splayed in front of him, you can see the clear outline of his erection through his shorts. He lays the back of his head on the edge of the seat, meeting your panicked eyes when you look down at him between your legs.

You squeak. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

He grins, reaching up to nip your inner thigh with his teeth. ‘You want me to make you scream, right? Come sit on my face, baby.’

Holy fuck. You hear the metallic zing of a zipper being pulled down. Dieter’s eyes squeeze shut, his neck muscles pop, and you feel his hands move, out of sight. ‘I’m so fucking hard for you, baby. Please, ride my face while I stroke myself -’

‘Oh god,’ you grit out when you lower yourself onto his tongue, hips jerking when he grips one of your thighs almost painfully, grunting as you slide wetly on his tongue. Looking down, your lips part when you catch him watching you with a frown of quiet concentration as you grind down on him, too keyed up to find any sort of rhythm. It’s messy and crass, desperate above all else.

You know you’re drenched. Almost embarrassingly so. One of your hands drops to tangle in his hair, curls sticking to his forehead as his hairline beads with sweat.

‘Baby -’ You’re out of breath as you feel your orgasm building. ‘I’m close - oh god, Dieter -’

His fingers close around the plump flesh of your ass, and with a violent shudder, you’re thrown over the edge into a heaving, knee-shattering high, your slick and his spit dribbling down the inside of your thighs as you scrabble for air. Collapsing bonelessly onto the spine of the sofa, you feel Dieter wipe his saturated chin on your skin, leaving a cool trail, and you jump as if it burns you.

His whispers tickle the shell of your ear as he climbs onto the sofa behind you, cradling your smaller frame with his. ‘You came so hard, sweetheart. Such a good girl.’

You groan indulgently as he wraps himself around you. One hand finds your breast, and the other dips between your legs, a growl rattling in his chest when his fingers slip uselessly over your sodden pussy, unable to find any purchase.

‘All this cum for me,’ he hums, crooking two fingers to gather your slick before bringing them onto his cock, which nudges you just above your ass, stroking it languidly. ‘I missed you so much, baby.’

You nearly stumble over your words, too highly strung. ‘I missed you too. So fucking much.’

One hand turning your cheek, he claims your mouth possessively, sliding his tongue in to mark you with your own taste. Heat spreads across your skin as he caresses your lips sensually slow, his hand sliding down to hold your throat gently. He feels rather than hear your breath catch before you swallow thickly, the movement intimately pressed up against the tips of his fingers.

Sliding his cock through your wet folds, he pushes two fingers into your mouth to wet them. He fucking loves the feel of your tongue on him - anywhere on him. Mindful of how sensitive you are after you came, he runs the lightest path from your clit to your entrance, then up again.

‘Have you been touching yourself while I was gone?’ he asks gruffly.

‘Yes,’ you admit without putting up any resistance.

‘Stretch that tight pussy with your fingers?’

At your frantic nod, he retorts with a feral edge to his voice. ‘You pretend it was my cock instead?’

Gasping when you feel him notched at the mouth of your pussy, you cry out, ‘Yes!’

‘Well, you must have one hell of an imagination. How could these little fingers -’ he grabs you by the wrist and sucks on them, one by one, leaving them spit-soaked, before wrapping them around his throbbing cock. ‘- stretch you even a fraction of how my dick does?’

You flush at the filth tumbling out of his mouth, and you’ll be damned if you don’t give as good as you got. You smirk, ‘Why don’t you find out?’

‘Don’t have to ask me twice, baby,’ he grins into your shoulder, and one thick finger slides into you.

You feel his smile falter and his teeth dig into your skin instead. He groans into your ear, ‘Sorry to break it to you sweetheart, but you’ve been doing a pathetic job.’

You squeeze your hand around his cock and he lurches against you, grabbing you in a silent warning. You blink sweetly at him. ‘Stop gloating and do something about it then.’

Your smile falters when he pulls out of you, only to reenter with two fingers, and your chin drops to your chest at the fullness as he fills you. His ribcage vibrates with a satisfied hum against your back, sweat building up where your bodies meet.

‘Relax, sweetheart,’ he says, mouthing sweet kisses down your spine. ‘You’re doing so well for me. Good girl.’

Taking a deep breath, you do, and he eases in even further, eliciting a sharp gasp when he hits a particularly sensitive spot inside you. He works into you at a steady pace, sometimes shallow, sometimes knuckle deep, until you start to pant, your hips twisting in pursuit when he draws out of your wet heat.

‘Harder,’ you demand, and he tightens the arm wrapped around your waist, pumping in earnest, teeth bared as he draws increasingly loud squelches from your cunt. He hisses when he feels you begin to clench around him, whimpering, ‘Fuck - fuck I’m gonna come again -’

Dieter wraps his whole body around you as you thrash in his arms, desperate sobs racking your frame as he rambles in your ear. ‘That’s it, let go, baby - this beautiful pussy’s getting my fingers so wet - gonna make you feel even better with my cock -’

Suddenly, the room spins and you’re lying on your back, Dieter’s weight pinning you to the soft cushions. You arch up lazily to kiss him, enjoying the heft of him on your body.

‘You ok?’ he asks almost sheepishly, nuzzling your neck. ‘Too much?’

You don’t skip a beat when you retort with a flippant shrug. ‘Honestly? Not enough cock.’

You grin at his splutter to your response. With a low growl, he grinds the underside of his erection against your folds. ‘That fucking mouth is gonna get you into trouble some day.’

You reply cheekily, ‘Sometime this morning would be preferable.’

Dieter reaches down to wrap your legs around his waist, lips on yours. ‘I haven’t slept with anyone else, but I can wear a condom if you want me to.’

You shake your head adamantly. ‘I want to feel all of you.’

Pushing your legs open wide, Dieter positions himself over you, teasing the head of his cock at your entrance, teeth sinking into his bottom lip.

‘Look at me, sweetheart,’ he whispers, and pushes in.

Your noses knock together as he bites out a harsh fuck, rocking into you inch by inch with patient strokes.

‘So big,’ you moan, burying your nose in his shoulder. You feel his arms tremble as he holds himself over you. ‘You feel so good inside me.’

He grunts as he bottoms out, taking a second for you to adjust around him. ‘Are you still on birth control? ‘Cause there’s a very real possibility I’ll blow my load any fucking second -’

You take him by surprise when you bring a palm down onto his ass cheek in a sound slap. ‘Don’t you dare, Dieter Bravo.’

He grits his teeth at the sting that lingers on his skin and goes straight to his cock. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

He doubles down and fucks you hard, dipping his head to draw wet circles around your nipples with his tongue before biting down on the underside of your breasts, making your back arch, allowing him to fuck into you even deeper. You can only take him, hands around his neck, your lips clashing together in a wet tangle of tongue and teeth. You moan when he slides his hands under your ass, lifting your hips to change the angle. He plants his knees and thrusts into you feverishly, making your tits bounce to the rhythm.

Looking up at him, backlit by the soft morning light, you scrape your nails on his scalp, pulling at his curls until his eyes shut with a groan. His beard is scratchy on your fingertips when they draw a line down his strong jaw. You watch the endearing lines on his face crease as he watches you back, a small smile breaking through the intensity for just a moment before it gets too much again.

His knuckles on your hips turn white and the vein in his neck throbs. ‘I can’t hold on. Where do you my cum, sweetheart?’

‘Inside me, please,’ you plead, wrapping your legs tightly around his hips as he ruts recklessly into you.

His last thrusts shove you up the length of the sofa, and you watch as Dieter throws his head back when he comes. His hips crush against yours as he chokes on broken moans, spilling into you. But instead of winding down, he keeps pumping into you even when you feel his cum leak - hot and sticky - out of your cunt.

You look up at him, confused. ‘What - what are you doing?’

‘I’m still hard,’ he pants, eyes screwing shut from overstimulation, his body wound up painfully tight. ‘Oh god, fuck, I think I’m gonna cum again, baby -’

‘My tits - cum on my tits,’ you demand hurriedly.

He pulls out of you, and you feel his spend dribble and pool onto the sofa below. Cock in hand, Dieter clambers upwards, knees on either side of your hips as he strokes himself frantically, his tanned skin flushed with a sheen of sweat.

‘Ready, baby?’ he pants as he braces above you.

You nod and push your tits together, the visual sending him over the edge. He cries out your name, and you watch with your lips wantonly open as lewd, white lashes spurt over your nipples, the swell of your breasts, dripping into the valley of your cleavage.

With one last, strangled whine, Dieter collapses half onto you and half onto the couch, and you beam proudly at how absolutely wrecked he looks. You did that. You stretch languorously, and his gaze follows intently as beads of cum drip from your breasts and down your sides in thick streaks.

‘Look at you and your multiple orgasms,’ you tease, shuffling closer to peck him on the lips.

He grunts. ‘Didn’t wanna get upstaged by you, sweetheart.’

You shiver when he brushes a finger through the mess he made on your tits with a deep groan of satisfaction before pushing himself up with great effort, and settling himself between your thighs. Pinching your folds together gently, he groans as a pearly bead of his cum oozes out of you, feral eyes meeting yours. ‘I love seeing my cum all over you and inside you, baby.’

Glancing down at the wet patches on the cream-coloured sofa, you quip, ‘I don’t think you’re gonna get your rental deposit back, though.’

Sidling up to you, he kisses you and grins. ‘Totally worth it.’

The next time you wake up, it’s definitely the church bells ringing for the evening service that rouse you.

‘C’mon sweetheart, it’s dinner time.’

You turn to Dieter’s voice and pout sleepily. ‘What?’

‘You passed out after we took a shower, and I didn’t want to wake you for lunch,’ he recounts the missing hours to you. ‘Ana brought your suitcase around, by the way.’

You swing your legs off the side of the bed and stretch with a yawn. ‘She’s the best. We need to buy her dinner or something. Constance too.’

Dieter pulls you onto your feet to nuzzle the side of your neck. ‘Nope, sorry - you’re mine this weekend. Especially since you’ve already spent about half of it passed out cold.’

You roll your eyes and wriggle out of his grasp to unzip your suitcase, bending over to rummage through it for something to wear. ‘Hardly my fault that I find jetlag more compelling than your company, Bravo.’

He grins when you yelp at the smack that lands on your ass. ‘Hurry up, sweetheart. I’ll take you around the neighbourhood, and we can get pizza from my favourite place for dinner.’

Your stomach answers for you with a comically loud rumble. ‘Yes please, I’m starving.’

The streets look different in the dying daylight. You bask in the twilight sunshine, senses in overdrive as you take in the surroundings.

Dieter lets you drag him into a gelato shop to get a refreshing frutti di bosco in a cone, which you both take turns licking and biting into as you stroll through the neighbourhood. Then he ducks into a tiny deli to get some burrata and prosciutto in case you get midnight munchies later. As you get closer to town, the crowds start to thicken, and Dieter feels you shrink into yourself.

Brushing a kiss to your temple, he reassures you, ‘There’s no paparazzi here, sweetheart. I’ve been here for three months and no one has recognised me even once.’

Your shoulders relax. ‘And your fragile Hollywood ego lived to tell the tale?’

He pulls a squeal from you when he dives in for the last bite of the cone without warning, sucking melted purple gelato off your hand.

The pizzeria is tucked away on a side street, tiny tables and stools lining either side of the entrance, and there is no sign above the door. Stepping inside the dark interior, it’s piping hot with three men behind the counter, rolling out dough and cooking pizza in a wood fire oven, trading rapid-fire Italian.

A man with grey hair and an impressive handlebar moustache exclaims when his eyes land on the two of you, stepping from behind the counter. ‘Dieter! Amico mio, vieni qui!’ || ‘Dieter! My friend, come here!’

They embrace like life-long friends, the older man babbling Italian at him while he babbles back in English. You’re absolutely certain neither of them knows what the other is going on about.

Dieter gestures at you. ‘Lorenzo, I want you to meet my girl.’

He makes a delighted noise and kisses you flamboyantly on both cheeks. ‘Questa è tua moglie, vero? Buonasera, signora Bravo! Che bella coppia!’ || ‘This is your wife, yes? Good evening, Mrs. Bravo! What a beautiful couple!’

Dieter winds an arm around your waist and tells you proudly, ‘This place makes the best pizza in town, and they don’t even have a name! I found it one night when I was drunk off my ass. The best margherita I’ve ever had. Am I right, Lorenzo?’

The Italian smacks his lips in a chef’s kiss as if in agreement. ‘Voi avrete i bambini bellissimi! Te lo giuro!’ || ‘You two would have the most beautiful babies! I swear!’

‘Lorenzo says it’s something about the flour they use in the dough. Or was it the yeast?’

A wistfulness creeps into the Italian’s tone, and he suddenly leans forward to grip your chin between his thumb and index finger. You suspect he’s not exactly on the same topic of yeast. ‘L'amore è bello. Voi mi ricordate me e mia moglie defunta, pace all’anima sua!’ || ‘Love is beautiful. You remind me of my deceased wife and I, God rest her soul!’

Dieter claps his hands together to wrap up the unilateral, bilingual conversation. ‘Anyway - can we order the margherita and artichoke? Takeaway, please.’

Lorenzo lets your chin go and presses a kiss to his hand, then dispatches it heavenwards. ‘In onore della mia amata moglie, Maria, Includo gratuitamente un regalo speciale! I miei colombini preferiti!!’ || ‘In honour of my beloved Maria, I will include a special treat for free! My favourite lovebirds!’

Dieter pays for the order and a couple of limonata from the fridge, and you retreat outside to wait for your dinner. Sitting down on a low stone wall opposite the shop, you take a sip of the fizzy lemonade and remark, ‘Now, that’s what I call a character.’

He beams and laces his fingers through yours. ‘Isn’t he great? I want to move here someday.’

Your eyebrows reach for your hairline. ‘Really? Dieter Bravo living la dolce vita? Leaving behind the lights and vices of Hollywood?’

Before he can answer you, a piercing screech sends your heads spinning around to see Ana running down the street towards you, shouting and waving, ‘Hey, lovers!’

You laugh as she smothers you in a hug while simultaneously fiddling with her phone. ‘Oh my god, you guys are fucking adorable. One second, one second -’

You shriek when she brings up her phone to show you who’s on the screen. ‘Oh my god, Pete! We miss you!’

He waves at you through Facetime. ‘Babe, I cannot believe I’m not there to witness this first hand. It’s not fair! Let me see you two together!’

Ana grabs the phone and angles it so you and Dieter are both in the shot, and sing-songs, ‘Kiss cam, lovebirds!’

You roll your eyes. ‘Ana, we’re not just going to -’

You’re cut short when Dieter ambushes you with a full-mouthed kiss, and you hear both Pete and Ana squealing excitedly.

‘What are you doing? These two don’t need any more encouragement!’ you chide halfheartedly when he finally draws back, releasing your lips with a wet pop.

Dieter points at Pete through the screen then at Ana. ‘We’re keeping it under the radar for now, okay? No leaks to the papers or any of that shit.’

Ana nods solemnly. ‘Lips are sealed.’

‘I’m totally not screen recording this right now.’

You narrow your eyes at the phone. ‘Pete - ’

‘I’m joking, I swear!’ he protests. ‘Totally not crossing my fingers behind my back.’

Lorenzo appears with three pizza boxes even though you’re sure Dieter only ordered two, and he shepherds you on your way while speaking Italian, presumably saying something to the effect of eat it while it’s hot.

Ana waves, heading in the opposite direction. ‘I’d invite you for drinks with Constance and I later, but I doubt Dieter would let you out of your sight for even a second.’

‘She’s staying in my bed till Monday morning. Naked.’

‘Dieter!’ you admonish.

Ana laughs and winks at you as he impatiently drags you away. ‘Have fun, lovebirds. I’ll see you back stateside!’

And Pete gets the last laugh. ‘Don’t you forget - I called best man!’

A spiral staircase winds up to the rooftop you didn’t know existed, and you gape at the view from the top. The sea laps in the distance, blue and orange, waves rippling as if in slow motion. The rest of the town sitting on lower ground is laid out below your feet like a chaotic streetmap, the dinner-time ruckus a muted buzz in the distance.

The terracotta tiles are sunwarm beneath your bare soles as you set the rustic dinner table under the canopy. Dieter appears at the doorway with a bottle of wine and two wine glasses.

‘I forgot the water. Do you want some?’ he asks.

You step around him and peck him on the cheek. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get it.’

You hum to yourself as you traipse your way back upstairs with a jug of water and two glasses full of ice from the kitchen. Dieter lines up the three takeaway boxes side by side, and rubs his hands in anticipation for the big reveal. ‘Alright, ready for the best pizza of your life, sweetheart?’

‘Go on, then,’ you grin.

He’s barely cracked open the first box a sliver - you catch a glimpse of a perfectly baked crust - before he snaps it shut with a panicked, ‘What the fuck?’

You frown. ‘What’s wrong?’

He pinches the bridge of his nose, the other hand on his hip. ‘Lorenzo - he pulled a prank on us.’

You reach for the box to see for yourself, but he snatches you by the wrist. You sigh, ‘C’mon, Dieter, I don’t care as long as I can still eat the pizza without getting food poisoning. I’m actually going to faint from hunger.’

He lets you go cautiously, holding his hands up soothingly like he’s trying to talk you off a ledge. ‘Just - promise me you won’t freak out, okay?’

You cross your arms. ‘You’re actually scaring me now.’

‘It’s not a declaration or anything. I didn’t ask them to do it.’

You’re about this close to stamping your foot like a child, but you take a deep breath and reply, ‘Dieter, seriously. I promise I won’t freak out, just -’

You trail off when he opens the box and you stare down at the contents.

It’s a heart-shaped pizza.

Any and all apprehension bleeds out of you as your shoulders quake with laughter. You open the other two boxes, which are identical in shape, with different toppings. Turning to Dieter, you pull him in by the scruff of his shirt to plant a kiss on his lips. ‘I love it.’

The relief is clear in his features. ‘Really? You’re not gonna flip and run off in the middle of the night?’

‘Unless there’s a diamond ring baked into the cheese - no, I won’t,’ you give him your word.

Dieter winks and kisses the centre of your palm. ‘Oh, you should be so lucky, sweetheart.’

Making yourself comfortable on the cushioned bench, you pat the space next to you. Reaching out for a slice of what smells like the best margherita you’re about to have, you sniff, ‘Be quiet and eat your pizza, Bravo.’

Pouring red wine into your glass, Dieter rambles on conversationally, ‘So… since you like heart-shaped pizza, does that mean I can get you heart-shaped cookies? Heart-shaped donuts? Heart-shaped marshmallows -’

Using his own trick on him, you shove the slice that was destined for your plate into his mouth instead to shush him. He spills wine everywhere in his haste to put the bottle down, and you laugh as he sputters.

His mouth full, he shakes a finger at you as he chews and swallows. ‘I’ll get back at you for that, just you wait.’

You smile sweetly and grab another slice. ‘I’d like to see you try, Bravo.’

Pulling you flush against him, he looks down at you playfully, but his eyes are soft. ‘I will always try, sweetheart.’

And you know he will.

Rebecca is enjoying a rare evening alone. Coco is over at a friend’s pool party and won’t be home until after dinner, and Hank is still at the office. She flops heavily onto the outrageously expensive sofa she so rarely gets to enjoy, kicking off her high heels, when her phone buzzes. She arches an eyebrow when she sees the name on the screen.

‘Hello, darling. Long time no speak.’

‘Hey Becks. Listen, do you have any TV roles for me?’

‘Not even a hello, how are you, dear agent?’

She shakes her head fondly as he parrots back word by word, ‘Hello, how are you, dear agent?’

‘TV, you say?’

‘Something that will stick for at least a couple of seasons, in LA. And make sure it’s something edgy.’

‘By edgy, do you mean something that might have an intimacy coordinator role that needs filling?

‘Yes.’

‘And does that mean you want me to take your name out of the hat for the next Spielberg movie?’

There is no trace of doubt in his reply. ‘Yes.’

‘Alright then. I’ll have a scout around and send you some options in the next few days.’

‘Thanks, Becks.’

She smiles into the phone. ‘I’m happy for you, darling. Send her my love, please, and we’ll have you both around for dinner soon.’

‘Yes, ma’am. Will do.’

Two weeks later, a package arrives at your flat in Calgary, and you hand in your one-month notice the next day.

A covering letter to the contract directs you to an address in Sherman Oaks to drop off the documents in person the next weekend. You’re not aware of any studio offices in that particular part of town, but you need to go back Stateside to sort out something at your bank anyway, so it’s not particularly out of the way.

You slow your car down to the crawl when your phone announces that you’ve reached your destination. It’s clearly a residential area, and you double check the address - you’re definitely at the right place. Maybe it’s the HR director’s home address. You’ve been to far stranger places in your career, so you shake it off and walk up to the modern, white-washed house that sits on two floors, with a minimalist garden in the front.

You glance about at the tidy hedges after you press the doorbell, and you hear footsteps approach at a leisurely pace. You put on a professional smile in anticipation.

The door opens, and your jaw drops.

‘Hello, sweetheart.’

Before you can make heads or tails of the situation, the envelope in your hand slips out of your grasp and you launch yourself at him. Dieter staggers backwards with a laugh, his hands full of you and his lips on yours. It’s been three weeks since you said your goodbyes at the airport in Italy, with promises to see each other when filming wraps for the both of you in another month or so.

You can’t resist slapping him on the chest in rebuke for showing up unannounced. ‘What are you doing here?’

He shrugs nonchalantly. ‘Thought you’d appreciate a house tour now that you’ve signed up to the project.’

You look around, taking in the dark wooden floors and high ceilings painted white as he scoops up your abandoned papers and closes the front door. ‘What house tour?’

‘I told the studio you’ll be living with me. It’s the only reason they hired you, by the way, because we’ll be saving them accommodation costs.’

You know he’s trying to get a rise out of you, so you don’t give him the satisfaction of a quick-tempered answer. Instead, you cock your head to one side, and purse your lips. ‘How did you know I want to live with you?’

His answer is unexpectedly forthright, and it hits you right in the stomach. ‘I don’t, but I hoped you would. I want to live with you.’

Rocking onto your tippy toes, you reach for him, but before your lips meet, he stops you, brandishing a piece of paper in your nose. ‘One minute, sweetheart. Since we’re now both employees of this show, we should really sign this Relationship Consent Form for HR before we do anything else.’

You blink and take a mental step back, suddenly alert. His smile is perfectly benevolent, which is suspicious in itself. He’s trying to pull something, you just know it.

But you go along with it. ‘Sounds like the responsible thing to do. You got a pen?’

Right on cue, Dieter pulls out a fancy-looking fountain pen and his glasses from his shirt pocket. ‘Voila. This way, sweetheart, we’ll do this in the kitchen.’

The foyer opens up into a large and modern kitchen space, with a marble counter separating it from the dining room. You like it - it’s not as coldly sleek as the apartment you shared while filming on Resurgence. It looks homey and lived-in despite knowing for a fact that the most Dieter’s ever used it for is pouring milk into a bowl of cereal.

He pulls out a chair for you at the dining table, even pushing your seat in before settling opposite you. You keep a watchful eye on him at this show of gallantry. Pointedly ignoring you, he smooths a hand over the consent form sitting in front of him, uncapping his fountain pen dramatically and putting on his reading glasses.

With a clap of his hands, he announces. ‘Ok, here we go. Fill in the name of Party A.’ He spells out yours letter by letter as he scribbles. ‘And Party B: Dieter Bravo.’

From where you’re sitting, his handwriting is barely legible and absolutely not contained to the pre-drawn lines.

‘I can do the writing, if you want,’ you offer, eye twitching at the mess.

Dieter smiles at you. ‘I got it, sweetheart, thanks.’ Clearing his throat, he reads the first question out loud. ‘Are Party A and Party B engaged or intend to engage in sexual intercourse?’

He looks up at you, as if expecting an answer. You frown. ‘What?’

‘You have to say the answers out loud.’

‘What?’

He taps somewhere on the piece of paper. ‘To consent, you have to say the answers out loud. Says right here.’

You sigh heavily and reply, ‘Yes.’

Dieter scrawls the answer with a flourish, and moves on to the next question. ‘Is the frequency or intended frequency of said intercourse between Party A and Party B expected to be equal to or exceed once a week?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are Party A and Party B engaged in or intend to engage in an exclusive sexual relationship?’

Your answer comes out sharper than you intend as your patience wears thin. ‘I fucking hope so.’

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t look up. ‘That’s a yes, then. Are Party A and Party B engaged in or intend to engage in an exclusive romantic relationship?’

You cross your arms suspiciously. ‘An exclusive romantic relationship? That’s an actual question in the form?’

He points somewhere in the middle of the page. ‘Yes, it says right here.’

‘I’m sorry, why does the studio need to know that?’

He sighs. ‘Sweetheart, it’s a simple question - yes or no?’

You shift in your seat, feeling vulnerable, but you answer in the affirmative. ‘Well, I mean, if I’m going to be living with you - yes.’

The smile he gives you nearly reaches his ears, and you smile back, before he looks down at the form and continues, ‘Now, this is an interesting one. Is Party B’s genitalia the most substantial Party A has ever had in terms of length and girth?’

Not even Dieter can keep a straight face.

You growl, reaching across the table to rip the piece of paper from his hands while he howls with laughter, reading glasses coming off. ‘Ugh, Dieter Bravo! You’re so fucking juvenile!’

He’s literally wiping tears from his eyes. ‘You should’ve seen your face, sweetheart. You were taking it so seriously.’

You run a critical eye over the form. It was obviously done in Word and printed out at home since the margins are all off. ‘You used Comic Sans? Comic Sans? You might as well have written this in purple crayon!’

‘Hey! Don’t judge a consent form by its font, sweetheart.’ He rounds the table and grabs it from you, pinning it onto the kitchen counter with his pen.

‘I forgot one last question, it’s an important one,’ he says, and you squeak when he lifts you up onto the cold marble surface of the kitchen counter by the back of your thighs. Close enough to bump noses, his breath hot on your lips, he asks, ‘Does Party A consent to being thoroughly railed on this kitchen counter by Party B right about now?’

Grabbing the pen sitting next to you, you scribble carelessly over the sheet, before tossing it somewhere behind you without looking. It floats languidly, landing feather-light on the kitchen floor, soon joined by hastily half-unbuttoned, half-unzipped clothing and underwear.

Your answer to Dieter’s question - all his questions - is scrawled across the page in a clear, emphatic hand.

Fuck yeah.

[ the end ]

Very long note: This wasn't the easiest chapter to write, but then, I guess finales never are easy! Having said that, I already knew what the last scene was going to be when I decided to make this a series, and it was surreal to finally see it typed out in black and white.

I also made sure the supporting cast - Pete, Ana and Rebecca - each made a cameo in this last part. They've been so important to the plot, and your reaction to these OCs makes me so warm and fuzzy inside. I'm very happy with the way this chapter turned out eventually - I hope you are too!

I've left things fairly open in this finale. I don't feel like Dieter and Reader have to make any grand declarations to each other, or to put a label on anything, for this stage of their story to be complete. This also gives me the space to explore their relationship in further instalments. While I don't see another full-fledged series in this universe, there will definitely be drabbles and one-shots in the future.

Before I lose my shit and start crying up a storm, I need to give credit to these lovely people who helped me with this chapter.

❤️ First, I want to thank Cristina @pedropascalsx for making the gif set for the last ever sneak peek. It really set the tone for the finale, and I will cherish it forever.

❤️ Second, thank you Kat @katareyoudrilling for helping me with the Italian translations. Your notes were so detailed, I loved learning about the language from your explanations.

❤️ Third, the heart-shaped pizza idea came from a reblog @hquinzelle left for a previous chapter, and it's been stuck in my head since! Thank you for letting me use this idea for this chapter.

Lastly, thank you to every single one of you who have interacted with this fic in any way. I have been blown away by your love and support every step of the way. Thank you for taking a chance on this story, which started off as a horny one-shot (and my first time ever writing smut), and ended up a short series that I'm so proud to have written for this beautiful mess of a man and - most importantly - for all of you❤️

Ok I'm going to go bawl my eyes out now.

#dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo fanfic #the bubble fanfiction #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo self insert #cliff beasts 6 #dieter bravo x fem!reader #dieter bravo x f!reader

933 notes · View notes

velocitytimes2 · 9 months

Text

Synergist (come. over.)

Rating: E Word Count: 8.7k. Pairing: Steddie

Read on ao3!

The line doesn’t flip to static, but stays on and lets Steve hear the clack of Eddie’s rings as his fingers jostle his hair and Steve wonders when he learned to discern that one specific sound. Then, oh but then. Then every noise that has ever been and will ever be is tramped out of Steve’s brain and all he knows, all he ever wants to hear again in his goddamn life is the soft groan that sounds like it’s been yanked from Eddie’s gut. “You’ll be the death of me.” - Or: the misuse of radios by teenagers in the 80's to get their rocks off.

The nightmares never really followed a discernable pattern.

And it fucking sucked.

It would be one thing if they were just replays of the events Steve had gone through the past two years. Those memories Steve had lived.

He’d fought and used his fists, and a bat, and cunning, and a jaw that ached when it got cold, all to get out of the sticky moments. The flashes of memories he had from every moment of the last three years were tamed with the knowledge that he had lived.

He’d gotten to the other side.

In all theorem he should come out victorious in his dreams and his nightmares. He’d seen the worst of it and at the end had been okay. He’d lived. He should be able to come out on top in the battles that raged in his head just like he had in reality. He should win.

The fucking issue is, he never did.

It was never that easy. It was never a simple replay.

It was new monsters every time; a different animal bastardized and remorphed. Mountain lions with loose maws stalking him from between cars in the parking lot of Hawkins High. Sharks jumping out of Lover’s Lake and wriggling their bodies until they grew the legs of alligators to chase and chase and chase. Monkeys without eyes raining from the trees in the woods behind his house, diving into his pool after him and tearing into flesh with fleshy, razor-fanged mouths.

Never Steve’s flesh, though. Always the person running or swimming just a step behind him, his shouts of warning never coming in time.

And damn if that wasn’t the worst part.

Always rows of teeth and claws striking out; blood oozing from a different person each night. Their screams the most haunting thing, the thing that kept Steve up when he heard them reverberate in his skull like they were right there. It wasn’t the blood or gore or wriggling tentacles that kept him up, shocked him back awake. It was the fucking screams.

Dustin.

Robin and Nancy.

Max.

Max and Billy combined as the Mind Flayer strikes true.

Mike and Will.

Lucas.

El as she holds both hands in front of her, their only hope.

Eddie.

Eddie’s heart stopping.

Steve screaming when he found them.

Steve’s hands clawing it back to life.

Eddie not breathing even as Steve begged.

The silence that followed.

It was the screams that haunted Steve.

They’d won, they were okay. Mostly. But he still heard their screams.

It usually happened every few nights. The nightmares pressing deeper and deeper until he’s suffocating with lungs ripped out of his body as he slams into the offending thing. Fully ready to sacrifice himself in the place of someone he loves so deeply he can’t fucking breathe. It’s Steve’s purpose in the part; it’s something he’s come to complete terms with. He isn’t smart like the younger boys, doesn’t have the uptake of Robin or Nancy, doesn’t have powers like El and isn’t willing to flay himself for the greater good like Max and Billy. He was Steve. He was strong and a bit stupid and would always – always and forever – put his body in between danger and someone he loved.

So, every few nights the him in his subconscious would try to die in a new and spectacular way, the sacrificial lamb for the good of the people who he loved.

It was an inevitability Steve was okay with. It had been something he’d accepted as he walked down train tracks with Dustin Henderson for the first time. That if something jumped out of the woods and screeched at them, Steve would be in between the kid and the beast. He would die there if the gods looked down and deemed that he should.

It was an odd place to exist, the one between scrambling to survive and being willing to go belly up if it meant a friend would live to fight another day.

It was the reality Steve survived in, somehow found himself constantly enduring perils to shield the ones who were truly important.

So he lets the nightmares be a thing, lets them shock him awake, tries to dull them with weed and booze and cigarettes but that only ramps his mind up for worse, so he really doesn’t do that much anymore either.

They’d been a plague since the Demogorgon had first burst in at Jonathan’s in fall of eighty-three. Back then they’d been vague things that Steve could wake up and chase away with a few gulping pulls from his father’s whiskey.

Three years and too many gasping breaths later it was an expected reality.

The sun rose in the east.

The tides follow the moon.

Steve Harrington can’t sleep, because any time he gets more than three hours he wakes gasping and sweat-drenched.

It’s one of those nights; the ones where Steve can feel the terror itching to get out from under his skin as he throws his body from side to side, twisting in his sheets until the panic pulls him under completely to choke him out to the point of waking up gasping. It’s one of those nights when the walkie-talkie the kids had bullied him into keeping close to his bed snaps to life and shocks his half-asleep brain into consciousness. It’s Mike’s voice, pitched low and shaking that comes first.

“Sound off. Over.”

Steve feels himself groan as he yanks the duvet over his head at the sound, almost asleep and chasing the calm that comes for a few moments prior to the terror taking the reins.

“Buckley over and out.”

“Max. Safe. Over.”

“Lucas. Over.”

Steve can distantly hear thunder rolling. The rain’s been tapping its nails against his window since noon. Storms always seemed to set Mike off. Probably something about Will talking about thunder for so long.

“El and Hopper. Safe and over.”

“Dustin. Over.”

Steve knows he should answer the call, it is the right thing to do, the thing he’s always done. But. But, this night, a storm brewing in the woods and his brain heavy with the fears of what’s hiding within, he feels overwhelmed. So close to the possibility of a few moments of rest prior to the fear gripping his chest. Just another minute. Five more in the quiet. That’s all he needs.

“Will. Over.” Will’s voice is the most sleep heavy, consonants dragging and slurred together.

“Jonathan and Nancy.” The exhausted and rough sound of Jonathan’s voice seizes something in Steve’s chest still, all this time later. Steve isn’t sure why. He'd gotten over his romantic feelings for Nancy a year prior but it still gave his heart a tug when she and Jonathan so easily fit into the box of a couple.

Least of his worries, romance. Shove it aside for later.

“Munson, over.”

It was sometimes still a shock, hearing Eddie’s voice. It’s the one that haunted Steve the most, when the nightmares came. Dustin screaming, begging, Eddie’s blood gurgling.

But.

He was alive. Everyone was alive. Steve hadn’t let anyone with him die during spring break. The sirens and the hospital and the government doctors had kept them all alive - after. Steve had got the heart started again. Cracked sternum, blood on lips. Eddie’s breathing a crackle but there.

He was close to sleep, so close to a few soft moments of reprieve. He was chasing it, head heavy.

Safe. They were all safe, confirmed so.

His eyelids are so heavy.

It’s his turn. He knows it’s his turn. ‘Steve, over.’ It’d be so easy, but something stops his hand, his mouth, his entire being. He’s frozen and exhausted, caught between sleep and awake and maybe he’s dreaming this, hopefully the coming silence meant he was dreaming this. Could sink deeper into bed.

“Steve?” Dustin’s voice cutting the night air, “Do you copy? Over.” Three beats. Let it g- “Steve. Do you copy? Over.” Steve counts them this time. One, two, three. “Steve!” Dustin’s voice has pitched up, worry coating it. “Do you copy?! Over!” One. Tw-

“He’s probably gettin’ all cozy with a pretty gi-“

“Ew, Eddie!”

“What the fuck man!” “Nope, nope, nope.”

“Look dweebs, I’m just saying, there’s reasons guys don’t answer late at night and it’s usually because of-“

“I’m not having sex, Eddie.” Steve feels like he’s suffocating, so fucking done with all of this and he’s heavy with the sleepiness of insomnia that won’t fucking leave his head. “Over.”

“Steve! What the hell! We called a sound off, are you okay? Over.” Dustin’s voice has a panicked quality and part of Steve feels bad, feels guilty. Part of him wants to scream. Just because.

“I was trying to sleep, Henderson,” Steve sighs, throwing an arm over his face, “Something you all should be doing, too.”

The line’s static fills the silence, radio silence. Maybe Steve will actually start screaming. It’d be cathartic.

“You gotta say over, sweetheart,” Eddie jeers, and Steve can see the smile on his face like a burn on his retinas, Cheshire-wide and goading, framed by black hair haloed across a pillow. “Over.” It made Steve’s sleep rattled brain trip on itself, the ease at which he could picture Eddie splayed out summer warm in bed.

“Yeah Steve,” it’s Robin’s voice now, “at least use proper radio protocol, come on. Over.”

“None of you did when Eddie was talking about-“

“No! No Steve!” Dustin’s voice had the pitchy height it got any time Robin or Eddie brought up Steve’s dating life. “No talk about fornication on this line! Over!”

“Just this line that’s banned?” Eddie’s voice dripped with mirth, even in low quality and volume from across town.

“Eddie, I swear, you saved the world and-“

“How about this,” Steve cuts in and rolls over to prop himself on an elbow, feeling like it’s more of the right positioning to take his frustration out in, “everyone goes to sleep now. Over.”

He flops down, face smashed into his pillow, listens as the kids all trickle off, El then Mike because he’d follow her lead to hell – fucking literally – then Lucas and Max, reluctantly Dustin. Robin, wishing everyone ‘sweet dreams loud-ass motherfuckers’, until it was just Eddie who hadn’t signed off properly. And himself.

“Hey Stevie, switch channels for me, over.”

“No. Over.” He knows that tomorrow, in the daylight, he’ll probably regret the blunt push off of his friends, but now it was taking everything in him to just choke words out.

“Steve,” Eddie draws his name out, a whine tinging it. Ever since the recovery, ever since getting everything back to Not-Upside-Down, Eddie had been plastered to Steve’s side. An incessant little thing. Steve hadn’t minded, because an Eddie in his line of sight meant consistent confirmation that Eddie was alive. What Steve had been taught his first-year lifeguarding had worked. Stayin’ Alive, thirty pumps, copper taste of blood on his lips, chest inflate, chest deflate, a coughing body in his arms, not a corpse.

Their friendship had started with Eddie sitting in Family Video with Robin and Steve as they worked. Because apparently saving the world or some shit from an evil superpowered thing didn’t mean you could just… not work. Well, financially it did, actually. The stipend for keeping your mouth shut was astronomical.

Spending it was an astronomical task.

Leaving Hawkins was an astronomical task.

Sitting at home, doing nothing, was an astronomical issue.

So. Job.

Eddie had infiltrated it, then got a job at the music and record shop that opened down the road as the town rebuilt.

Spent his lunch with Steve, watching a half hour of whatever he was watching that day.

Steve had started to bring the movies home each night, so Eddie could watch the end with him when he came over with a six pack, a rolled joint, and two pizzas.

That turned into talking through shit movies.

It turned into Steve telling Eddie about the dreams, about why he didn’t want to sleep alone at his own home.

It turned into Eddie telling Steve he sometimes still felt like his sides were wet, like they were still bleeding even though the scars had healed.

Had continued with Eddie crying, a little drunk, pressed into Steve’s side, thanking him for getting his heart restarted and dragging his body through the gate.

Had continued with Steve telling him he would have done anything but leave Eddie’s body in the fucking Upside Down.

It ended with Steve seeing Eddie every day. Spending their days off driving around or lazed in Steve’s pool or with Steve cooking dinner while the Hellfire Club met in his dining room.

It ended with Eddie in Steve’s life, orbiting him as he orbited Eddie.

It, apparently, ended with Eddie annoying the fuck out of him over a walkie-talkie at two in the goddamned morning.

“Pretty please, Steven? I’ll never ask you for anything ever again ever and ever and-“

“For fucks sake! Will you shut him up, please!” Mike Wheeler’s screech comes through and Steve screams a groan at his ceiling, “Over!”

Steve grapples with his walkie blindly and presses the stupid little button. “Fine. Fine! Munson. What fucking channel? Over.”

“Twenty-seven-point-two-seven-five,” Eddie’s voice is much too smug, Steve is too much of a pushover. Steve can see a clear image in his mind of Eddie curling over his radio, the smile he used in Steve’s dining room when he was DM’ing a campaign showing all his teeth.

Steve changes the channel.

“Yes, Edward?” He asks, pinching the bridge of his nose. A beat of silence.

A beat longer.

Steve screams.

“I’m not doing that nerd fucking shit, Eddie, I swear, I’m not playing this game tonight, okay? D1. I’m fucking dead, or something.”

“Did you… just make a reference to-“

“Please, Eddie.” Steve’s exhausted, his skin on too tight and he cannot. Deal. With. This.

“Bad night?” Eddie asks next, instantly knowing, voice snapping into something caring, softer. The edges are blurring. “You sounded awful.”

So, yeah, Eddie knew. Eddie knew Steve and Eddie knew about the nightmares. Eddie orbited Steve. He’d known since he found Steve screaming on his uncle’s bed, Steve unwilling to drive home in the dark because something had been prickling the back of his neck and he was scared. Didn’t want to be alone. Eddie had sat up with Steve that night, pulling out a stash he had Argyle bring from Colorado that worked quick, and let Steve suck down the entire joint himself while Eddie told him about all the nights he woke up, shaking but unable to sit up, scared he’d actually died and was stuck laying down and alone for eternity.

They’d forged something then, some kind of comradery that only came when you’re found with tears in your eyes and holding a pillow tight to your chest. It had taken three weeks after they’d both been discharged from the hospital before Steve had tried sleeping in his own damn house again.

“Yeah, man.” Steve scrubs a hand over his face, letting it fall to his chest with a thunk, letting his lingering animosity fall away with it. “The fucking wasp one.” Tiny bugs swarming the kids and crawling down their throats in the tunnel system, stinging their eyes and crawling between their teeth when they screamed. Rearing tiny teeth-rowed mouths back and taking chunk and chunk until blood made Steve’s feet slide on the floor. By the end of it he’s surrounded only by corpses filled with holes as the wasps turn to him in unison.

“When’s the last time you got some real sleep?” Eddie sounds tired, too, his words loose and open, voice pitched low as he sheds the persona that always got all shined up for the kids and becoming the lazy thing he spoke with when no one but Steve was in the room.

“You first,” Steve goads, rubbing his sternum in a circle, something feeling stuck in his chest easing talking to Eddie. Eddie got it. Eddie saw him, saw it all. Eddie didn’t hide from it. Steve orbited Eddie.

“Tuesday morning.”

“Shit, Munson.” Steve admonishes. It was early in the Saturday morning hours. It really never got that bad often, not to the point of almost a week of sleepless nights. It had been months and it was getting better but not whole. In the beginning it had been bad, Eddie’s record just three hours over Steve’s when they had finally drunk themselves into oblivion on Steve’s couch, waking up slumped together, hungover but at least somewhat rested.

“Yeah Stevie,” Eddie sighs and Steve can hear it because he keeps his finger pressed on the button through the pause, “C’mon, I showed you mine. How long?”

“Slept most of Thursday, but since then it’s been spotty.” It’s easy to be candid with Eddie, he’d seen it first-hand. Seen the broken shards of Steve shattered in the aftermath of the apocalypse. He’d been there. Robin had an idea but everyone else just didn’t talk about it the way Eddie did with him.

“You think you’re going to sleep tonight?” Eddie asks.

“Not now that I know the kids are still scared,” Steve admits, already feeling the fitful feeling of constant vigilance scratch behind his eyes, slowly understanding that Eddie wasn’t really here to annoy him. He wanted Steve the way Steve wanted Eddie right now. Someone there in the alone, in the wakefulness. Someone there to keep you warm while shaking to death under the weight of monsters and smoke and bats and red lightening.

Two suns, orbiting, chasing, on a collision course.

“Me either. Still got some of the last shit I gave ya?” Eddie asks, and as he talks the radio rustles with his movement.

“Yeah, Eds.”

“Roll one, smoke with me.” And Steve isn’t sure why, if it’s the need to be Very Much Not Alone Right Now, if it’s Eddie’s tone – the silent beg Steve knows is hidden there, if it’ll even help but not above fucking trying to stave off the demons, he agrees. He lets the walkie list to the side as he opens the bedside table, sitting up and starting to grind the flowers. “Stevie?”

“Yeah man,” Steve mumbles as he licks the paper to seal it, “I’m fuckin’ rolling, Eds. Hold your horses.”

“You are the slowest fucking grinder, I swear.” It’s said with a snigger, and Steve flicks his lighter to take the first long lungful before responding as he blows it out.

“The fucking mouth on you around the kids, dude.” He doesn’t let his button go as he takes another long, slow pull, knowing Eddie will wait for him if the static doesn’t come back. “Stop making the kids think about sex, Eddie.”

“Oh, mom,” Eddie laughs when Steve finally allows the rumble of static to return, his voice taking on revelry even when tired, “you don’t think their little brains are just chugging along with pure and wholesome thoughts twenty-four-seven, do ya?” There’s a breathless laugh and then Eddie’s choking and coughing and Steve knows it’s from laughing as he inhaled, having seen it happen on the edge of his pool too many times to hear the sound and think of anything else. “Have you seen the way Wheeler looks at El? Or how Byers looks at Wheeler? Kid’s probably-“

“Eddie come on man!” Steve groans, throwing his head back. Eddie’s cackling on his end when Steve chokes on his own pull.

“Come on, Steve, you don’t remember being a fifteen-year-old kid? Creaming your pants when you saw boobs for the first time?” Eddie can barely get the words out through his laughter at Steve’s disgusted noise, a hint of sleepless hysteria lacing it all.

“That’s fucking disgusting, Munson, what the fuck?” But Steve’s laughing anyway because Eddie’s laugh is an infectious thing, you catch it and the symptoms take over within seconds.

“Where’d you see your first pair of titties, Steve Harrintgon?” Eddie’s giggling, and Steve has an uncensored, weed-addled urge to reach through time and space to be able to touch Eddie then, feeling the giggles shake his body.

Collision course, creeping closer.

“Oh shit,” Steve says, holding the joint up and watching the smoke curl from the end of it lazily in the moonlight. “Fuck probably a movie? I dunno.” He thinks maybe Jaws, when Tommy had stolen it from his older brother and they’d watched it at twelve. “Maybe a Playboy I stole from my dad? Fuck, I was, I did that for years.” He’s laughing, the weight of the weed starting to press him down into the mattress on his back.

Eddie tsks as Steve giggles, “Oh Stevie, what a naughty little rich boy.”

“Oh fuck off, what was yours?”

The static crackles for a few moments and Steve’s worried he’s said something wrong, the anxiety that bubbled under his skin every moment of every day after that night in the Byers’ house years ago flaring up to a boil.

“Found one of my old man’s VHS’s when I was fourteen.” Steve closes his eyes to look at his mental image of Eddie, seeing him scrunching his nose up as his hands fidget. “That was an interesting damn day.” He sounds a bit short of breath when he adds, “Definitely learned that I was into one over the other pretty fucking quick.”

Steve’s not dumb, this time, he thinks. He gets it in a second, gets it because it makes things slot together in his brain in a way that hadn’t been there before. It’s the opposite feeling of when Robin had said just as little to him. He’s not sure how or why it feels that way, now.

“Yeah?” He probes, tries for as gentle and soft he can, even with his heart rate stuttering heavier in his ribs.

“Yeah, Steve.” Eddie in Steve’s mind curls in on himself and Steve can’t have that, doesn’t want that. “Robin told me she told you and you didn’t yell.”

“I was blindsided by that one.” Steve says simply, pulls again, joint half gone.

“And not this?” Eddie’s laugh has turned sour and Steve feels pushed off kilter by that.

“I mean, I’m not saying I expected it? But it… I dunno man it makes sense?” It feels right, is something he doesn’t say, unsure of how to even quantify it in any way except his stomach feeling settled by it all. “I’m cool with it, Eddie, if that’s what you’re fuckin’ chewing your nails over right now.”

“How did you?” But there’s a little laugh coming back, Eddie’s voice softening back down into warmth again.

“You do it when you're stressed.” Steve says simply, taking a deep breath, because it was that simple to him. Just part of Eddie that everyone had noticed at this point, they had to have had. Steve had. Knew the way Eddie’s teeth tore at cuticles as he watched a room he wasn’t comfortable in, always feeling like the outsider, always in motion. Knee jumping, head shaking, fingers twitching.

“Fuckin’ Christ, Harrington,” Eddie’s breathless as he laughs at Steve from the other side of town. “Full of goddamn surprises.”

“I contain multitudes or some shit.” Steve rolls his eyes, parroting Nancy’s words from some time junior year when things were easy and he was happy and the world hadn’t ended and he could sleep through the night and look at his pool without imagining Barb or see a blue car and not feel terror tug on his gut.

“That you do, Stevie.”

“I mean,” Steve feels loose, too loose because Eddie’s always giving him the good shit, and his mind is unlocking and picking up pieces he’d tossed aside haphazardly to look at later, “I get it, you know?”

“You… get it?”

“Yeah man, I mean, dudes, right?” It makes sense to Steve, so it has to make sense to Eddie, who was smoking the same shit. “Like, yeah. Guys can be hot.” The aerobics instructor comes to mind, arms that bulged out from a ripped shirt. “Girls are hot, too. But not to you. Guys are hot, but not to Robin.” It makes sense, Steve thinks. Total sense. Something he’d toyed with and rolled around in his brain for months and months now. Tried the taste of it when his parents had drug him to some party in the city and he’d immediately left after, found a bar that was dark, and hidden, and didn’t card him. It had been eye opening, not shocking when the man had kissed him. Not really. “I guess for some people it’s both.”

“O-kay,” Eddie drawls the word, stretching it longer than Steve really thought necessary as he sucks in a breath of smoke. “How about we resume this train of thought sometime else, Steve?” And there’s a shake in his voice, something that Steve hasn’t ever heard lately, in the Rightside Up. It sounds like uncertainty. Steve doesn’t like it, doesn’t like an Eddie who isn’t sure footed, isn’t commanding the room.

“Sure.” Steve rocks from side to side gently, feeling the mattress shift under his body. “Tell me what’s got you so worked up tonight.”

“Well I just came out to you,” Eddie laughs and Steve doesn’t like that it feels more forced than their previous giggles, “so there’s fucking that.”

“You didn’t die, Eddie.” Steve says, jumps three steps forward, knows that’s where they’re going to end up.

They always ended up there. With Eddie shaking and scared and with Steve holding his hair back as he pukes out the demons all while telling Steve the entire time he’d been gone, heart stopped, body ripped apart in an alternate dimension.

“Stop doing that, Steve.” Eddie’s voice is smaller, and Steve hates it, hates when Eddie isn’t laughing or smiling or full of levity and confidence.

“No.” Steve smiles small as he says it, feels a little less hollow because he’s needed, he’s here, Eddie’s here. Two suns on a collision course. Creeping closer. Impending doom. “You’re alive, Eddie.”

“I don’t particularly feel like it right now,” Eddie whispers, voice almost too low for Steve to hear over the walkie, his ears having to strain some to catch all eight words.

“’s okay,” Steve’s words are starting to slur just a bit, the weed finally washing over him in the big waves, full strength. Boom, crash, heartbeat slow. “What makes you feel alive, Munson?”

“I don’t-“

Steve cuts him off, knows what to say because he’s said it so many times. “Music. Eddie, music. D and D with your friends,” he starts listing things, “what else?”

“Playing with the band,” Eddie starts, voice already more even keeled. “Watching horror movies with Robin?” Steve laughs and he feels his own flame of life flicker at that.

“That’d make anyone feel alive, shit,” Steve responds, hoping the smile is coming to Eddie’s face, loves how it looks when it cracks his face open, like the sun finally bursting from behind the trees at sunrise.

“Good booze,” Eddie’s got some of the old him back, clawing a bit back to normal. It had gotten easier as the time had moved forward, to get themselves back when the Upside Down tried to drag them under. “Shit, this shit? Weed and music and booze and sex.” The last word is a groan and Steve feels a flash of heat all over.

They’d never discussed it, probably because of the elephant in the room Eddie had just shot with coming out, but now… now Steve wants to. Steve wants. It’s a terrifying realization to have with a head swimming with weed and insomnia. He has no other word for it, no clarity, but he wants.

“Have you…. Have you slept with anyone since everything?” he asks, feeling almost wild. Because the weed’s made his tongue loose and the radio static keeps the conversation just far enough past his grip to scare him.

Boom. Sudden impact.

Eddie’s voice has changed when it comes back through, sounding lower and headier and Steve’s lost in it. Fucking drugs. “Nah Cassanova, I haven’t. Have you?”

It would normally be so easy, so simple to turn on the typical Harrington charm to the point of casual deception. Of course, he had, of course one of the many, many dates had turned into something that sparked enough life in him for Steve to bring them back to his house where only ghosts of happiness followed him down the halls.

But, they hadn’t. The candle that had heated his heart up, had made him want in that way had been snuffed out two years prior, something final had fractured with the bullshit and left him drafty, hollow.

“Nah, Munson, you’re the only one to see the gifts those bats left me up close and personal.” He answers, head sinking further into his pillow as he sucks on the end of the blunt, the smoke warm as it traps itself in the recesses of Steve’s lungs. He holds it there, tries to remember what falling into bed with someone felt like. Tries to imagine hips, curves, tiny waists.

It really, for some reason he can’t find, can’t name, can’t finger, doesn’t work.

But when Eddie’s voice comes back, fills his ears and his mind and his ribcage, Steve catches a spark trying so very hard to flicker in his chest.

“Oh Stevie, you’re a damn flatterer.”

The breath whooshes out of Steve’s chest, smoke billowing from his lips and his nose at the same time as a laugh is dragged out from the place below his sternum.

“How’s it feel to be on the receiving end of some of then infamous Harrington Charm?” Steve asks, giggling, loving the way the static on the other end of the line doesn’t feel like an empty space, but a comfort. Like if he tried hard enough he could feel the weight of Eddie dipping the bed beside him, warming the sheets with his skin, thigh pressed into Steve’s.

It wouldn’t be like they hadn’t been in that position before, hadn’t been high and wrapped up with one another. Save the world, see a guy die, snap his breastbone with chest compressions in a hellscape while their other friends try to convince him to drag the body – the fucking body because that’s all Eddie had been for too many fucking seconds that drug and drug and drug – out, finally get his heart and lungs back online long enough to hoist the limp weight through a portal… well. The idea is there.

Steve had started the spring break with no interactions with Eddie Munson.

Now the lack of him next to Steve leaves something twisting raw and ragged in his stomach.

“I’m swooning,” and Steve thinks he hears Eddie’s voice catch on the end of the word, imagines smoke of his own trailing out from between Eddie’s lips.

It is a thought that shouldn’t trip Steve’s brain up so much. Yet.

“Well, you’re the first in…” Steve’s own voice trails and a giggle scratches his throat as the absurdity of it well and truly hits him. “Since Nancy. You’re the first one to swoon since- since Nancy.” It’s there, out in the open between them now, radio waves drifting through Hawkins, over roofs and between the clouds. Or however the fuck radios worked, he didn’t have a clue. Didn’t need to when Eddie’s voice is back, worming its way into every sliver of open space in Steve’s head.

“Then you must’ve only been dating blind broads, no idea what they’re truly missing.” Eddie’s voice comes with a tsking sound, the rustle of something in the background causing Steve’s brain to pop an image of Eddie lying in bed, a hand behind his head, all long lean muscle, tattoos crossing paths with scars, smoke hanging low in the air.

Steve’s heart jumps, because his brain had omitted a shirt on Eddie’s chest, had put the other boy in just boxers and socks because Steve had seen him like that. Sleepy eyes and ruffled one morning when Dustin hadn’t been able to get Eddie to answer on the walkies and Mike had pleaded Steve to drive. To make sure the gate was closed still, even though the old trailer had been gone, burned, the ashes watched over in a secure facility. The government had supplied the new one Eddie and Wayne lived in now.

Wayne had thrown a fit when the feds had offered a house closer to the size of Steve’s, saying they could take their hush money and double it, put it in an account so Eddie could have the best doctors in the world as he healed. His nephew had tried to die for them, it was the least the fuckers could do. Wayne’s words, not Steve’s.

Steve, however, had been inclined to agree.

Owens had a furnished trailer on the lot five days later as Eddie still lay prone in the ICU.

His guitar had been the only thing that had gotten out of his home before the feds had hauled it off to scorch and torch the big bad evil gate. Dustin had made sure, had delivered it like a trophy to the hospital and Eddie had made the most delighted noise around the breathing tube the doctors had refused to remove until the blood and fluid had completely drained from Eddie’s lungs.

Steve had also slept next to Eddie in that outfit. Two arched backs curling towards each other when the world got to be too much, too loud, when the backfire of a motorcycle down the road had Steve’s hands shaking. When the flapping of birds nesting outside the window had Eddie’s head whipping around.

Bare chest, curling tattoos sliced with scars, black hair across a pillow, long fingers-

“Stevie?” Eddie’s voice shocks Steve out of the drugged train wreck his brain was hurtling towards, imaging Eddie without all his clothes. Alone. In bed. “You there, babe?”

“Sorry,” Steve’s voice has changed and thickened and he really has nothing else to say, nothing he can say. Luckily, Eddie’s good at filling silence, pulling Steve’s brain from the sand it traps itself in on nights like this.

“Don’t be,” Eddie’s tone is still low and soft, scratched over by static, a buzz that Steve can feel vibrating under his skin. “You never got anything to apologize for, Steve.” He listens to the words Eddie gives him freely, kindly, woven in the hush of too late night or early morning, Steve’s lost the time in the haze the joint has put him under. He lifts it to his lips again, just for something to do. “Wanna know what I think?”

Steve’s brows crease together and he forces the smoke out of his lungs to answer, “Think about what?”

“Your dry spell.”

The laugh that is pulled from Steve is genuine this time. Eddie Munson had never met a topic that felt off limits. It had grated on Steve for a day, maybe two. Then they had had bigger shit to deal with and now… well now it felt like it was safe. Nothing flapped Eddie. He just said the thing he wanted to say, didn’t fuck with the thought of consequences. A stark contrast to how Steve had been raised.

“Fuck’s sake, fine, sure,” Steve’s still laughing when he answers, stubbing out the rest of the joint on an ashtray and turning on his side, “because even if I say no, you’ll tell me anyway.”

Eddie’s laughing again too, when Steve releases the button and the radio is able to pick up his voice again. It’s warmer than any high Steve’s felt and he doesn’t really even try to fight that thought off too hard, tonight.

“I think,” Eddie starts, and Steve shuffles in his sheets, shoulder popping as he pulls the blanket up closer to his ears, like if he covers his face and the walkie this conversation can keep existing in the floating place Steve feels his head is in right now. He can almost hear the lick Eddie gives his teeth as he’s getting ready to dive into something he feels will crawl under someone’s skin, “I think you just know none of those girls will touch you as good as you deserve.”

Steve’s breath hitches, high in his throat and he’s so so glad Eddie can’t hear it. Glad that Eddie doesn’t wait for a reply as he trucks right the fuck along.

“Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington, now that’s a man who deserves to be savored.” Steve isn’t sure if it’s the connection or the weed, but Eddie’s voice is getting strung out, pulling on the syllables, making the blood coursing through Steve’s heart heat up, warmth filling his ribs. He knows, in some logical corner of his brain that isn’t high, that it’s the feeling he got when Nancy had kissed him that first night they had in his bedroom. Desire, unfurling in his muscles, flush squirming its way over his skin. “You aren’t a quick fuck, pretty boy, are you? Need it nice and slow, hm? Seems like you, to want every touch savored so you can really feel it.”

It takes Steve almost too long of a moment to realize his fingers have drifted down to trail over the strip of stomach left naked from his shirt, fingertips skating over heated skin. “Christ, Eddie,” he’s able to choke out of his throat, words too tight to hide the shock in them. “You can’t just say that.” His heart had taken to speeding itself up of its own accord, blood thrumming deep in the veins.

“Mmmm,” Eddie drawls, “I did though.” It’s coy, so fucking coy and so fucking Eddie that Steve’s lungs are punched out because yeah. He did. “Should I stop?” And there it is, the easy out, the one Steve usually throws at a girl when she pulls back for air while kissing her on his couch, more than usually praying she says yes. They all have so far.

Steve though, Steve doesn’t want this to stop. His fingertips have tucked themselves, resting, in his waistband. His other hand is gripping the walkie-talkie like a lifeline, a preserver in the tide of Eddie Munson’s voice.

“Should I stop, Stevie?” Eddie asks again, sounding breathless, just as gutted as Steve is, and he isn’t sure, can’t think of a moment when this switch had flipped in the conversation. It’s sudden and feels like whiplash and it’s so incredibly hot that Steve’s dizzy with need and want and a high. He wonders if the weed’s been laced, but knows Eddie’s better than that. Wouldn’t, not unless Steve asked. Wouldn’t do anything unless Steve asks because he’s Eddie and Eddie is good and all-encompassing and here, alive. He was dead and he came back to life under Steve’s hands and maybe his voice will revive something deep and dormant in Steve.

So, Steve clicks the button on the side of the walkie and the word rushes forth. “No.” He squeezes his eyes shut and his hand presses a hot brand against the lower half of his abdomen. “You shouldn’t stop.”

“Fuck, Steve,” Eddie’s words are a breath as soon as Steve’s finger releases, then the line doesn’t flip to static, but stays on and lets Steve hear the clack of Eddie’s rings as his fingers jostle his hair and Steve wonders when he learned to discern that one specific sound.

Then, oh but then.

Then every noise that has ever been and will ever be is tramped out of Steve’s brain and all he knows, all he ever wants to hear again in his goddamn life is the soft groan that sounds like it’s been yanked from Eddie’s gut. “You’ll be the death of me.”

The static is back now, and so Steve chases after Eddie in the ether, chases the noise, prays it comes back. “You started it, Eddie.” And he should leave it there. Absolutely should. He doesn’t. “Don’t tell me you can’t finish it.”

Steve counts to five before the crackle of the line shifts, letting him know to anticipate Eddie’s voice. “Baby, I play to win. Always.” There’s a giggle there, something in the high that Steve’s body echoes without permission just because it feels good, it feels right, and that’s terrifying, dizzying; Steve leans into the feeling.

“Didn’t know this was a contest,” Steve butts in, thumb brushing the hair that scatters down his stomach and into his pants, wets his lips. “What’s the prize?” He isn’t even sure what the game here is, just knows that his skin is too hot in the greatest way possible and his cock is a thick weight below the hem of sweats and it’s all due to Eddie’s fucking voice.

None of that even touches the fact that it feels normal, feels like an extension of something they’d been circling for months, since Eddie’d gotten home and they’d taken to spending days in Steve’s pool or in a boat in the lake or on the top of the hill outside of Hawkins, joints and cigarettes and brushing fingers.

“Interesting question,” Eddie muses, and Steve closes his eyes again so maybe he can hear Eddie’s voice better, trap it in the space between his ears. He can hear Eddie click his tongue, and the sound jolts across Steve’s nerves like a shock. “The prize for me,” he draws it out, makes Steve hold his breath and he doesn’t even know why, “would be hearing you fall apart, hear the pretty little noises Steve Harrington makes when he finally reaches the breaking point.”

“And for me?” Steve asks, should hate the way his voice goes up and breathless and how his hand is inching down further into his pants.

“Well, I’d think, darling, that you’d like much of the same.” Eddie pauses, doesn’t let the static come, doesn’t let go of the button, Steve waiting like he’s about to leap from the ledge of the quarry. “Is that what you want?” And there’s a touch of uncertainty there, like Eddie is coming to and Steve’s fast to jump in.

“Yes, Eddie.” It’s a plea, a reassurance, it’s a little too close to everything, but Steve will worry about that in the sober light of morning, when his head isn’t being enveloped in the sound of Eddie’s voice and the hot rise of want in his veins. When his hand finally stretches down and he takes his dick in his fist, Steve goes completely taut, a moan ripped from his lungs.

“Holy fuck,” Eddie’s voice grounds Steve as he strokes down for the first time, thumbing the slit and catching the slick of precum that had beaded there. “That sound has to be illegal.”

“Your voice,” Steve tells him, shaking his head and squeezing himself on the next downstroke, “is a weapon.”

“Do you like the way I talk to you, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, doesn’t wait a second for Steve to answer as he groans and Steve echoes it, mind racing with snapshot images of Eddie in the same position as he is, splayed out in bed, sweaty and restless from nightmares and no sex, listening to Steve’s voice. “Want me to tell you how I’d take care of you?” Steve’s nodding until he realizes that Eddie isn’t here, Eddie’s hands aren’t on him, Eddie isn’t whispering in his ear.

“Ye-yeah. I. Yeah.”

“Oh my god, shit, this is-“s Eddie cuts himself off and Steve feels heavy, limbs unable to move when Eddie’s voice isn’t there. “I don’t think you know how much I want to devour you fucking whole, Steve,” he admits and Steve is breathless and never wants this moment to end. “I want to take you apart with my fucking hands and tongue and-“ he cuts himself off again and Steve whines, knows how the sentence ends but isn’t willing to fill the blanks in on his own.

“Thought you played to win,” Steve pants, his pace picking up, toes curling when Eddie comes back on and it isn’t words but a moan that Steve gets in response. He wants to swallow the sounds Eddie is making, wants to feel them against his tongue. He hasn’t been this keyed up in months, in years, maybe ever. Christ.

“God, I want to shut you up with my cock.” And that. Well that’s something entirely. It’s debauched and crude and Steve is so into it that he has to bite his hand to keep from coming undone right then, backing off from his strokes so he doesn’t have to stop hearing the things Eddie’s telling him. “The mouth on you, I fucking swear, gorgeous. Those lips were made for it, all pretty and pink?” Steve’s breaths are getting caught in his throat now, panting little things that he can’t control as he squeezes his cock at the base, tip leaking a puddle on his stomach. “Mess up that damn hair, shit I’ve wanted to pull on it since junior history. So fucking pretty, Steve.”

Steve can picture it, can feel the weight of Eddie on his tongue and the press of hardwood under his knees. They’re in his foyer, Eddie not being able to wait to get upstairs and Steve just sinking down to his knees because who says no to Eddie? Why would they? When he sounds like this? They’d be fucking crazy.

“Don’t-“ Steve grits out when the silence stretches too long and his squeeze on himself too hard and the whole thing too much, “holy fuck don’t stop?” He asks, unsure if he’s allowed, if he’s broken this thing between them but he hasn’t, thank fuck he hasn’t, when Eddie starts speaking again.

“You, fuck, Steve, god you’d be stunning. You are stunning, but god, fuck, I can’t, the way you’d look on my-on a bed.” Eddie’s voice pitches up and Steve can feel it, can feel the energy in his veins, can hear the energy sparking through Eddie’s, something deep in him unlocked and spilling its contents between the two of them and Steve finds himself chasing the little pieces, any little bit of Eddie he can find in the words as they static their way between houses, between worlds.

“Do you want to fuck me in your bed, Munson?” Steve asks as he starts stroking himself again, unable to stave off the need to touch and feel and chase the heat of Eddie’s words with his movements. He means it as a joke, as a little bit of a poke into Eddie’s side, but it comes out wanting and high pitched and needier than Steve’s ever heard himself sound in his life. He can’t take it back, but he doesn’t want to and that’s a problem but it’s a problem for morning because right now Steve is on the edge of and orgasm and something that feels a whole heap bigger and he’s gripping it, clutching it, chasing it down with gritted teeth and loose lips and holy shit. Eddie Munson is going to kill him and he’ll probably say thank you at the end of it all.

“Oh my holy fuck, baby,” Eddie’s tone is so close to sending Steve over the edge and he moans to the ceiling of his room, the blades of his fan spinning around the raw edge to it. “God yes, in my bed. On the fucking couch. The back of your car. Anywhere. Steve, anywhere.” And Steve’s imagination is working overtime, popping images in his brain of every scenario and he hasn’t gone there, hasn’t done that (yet, his brain goads, yet), but he wants so deeply his balls ache and his fingers tremble. Eddie bending him over, Eddie with one of Steve’s legs over his shoulders, Eddie sprawled on a pool chair with Steve on top, hips grinding down, cock spurting spunk across Eddie’s chest-

“Holy fuck, Eddie, shit, I’m going to-“

“Yes, baby,” Eddie’s voice cradles him as Steve’s hand speeds up, breathy moans punctuated by each stroke of his thumb over the head, “just like that. Lemme hear you, please, fuck, let me hear.”

And so Steve does. The line crackles for less than a second before he’s pressing his button down, panting into the receiver and then moaning throatily, head thrown back, hips fucking his fist as cum soaks the inside of his sweats. He thinks Eddie’s name is on his lips, thinks he sobs it, the weed enough of a dampener that he isn’t sure. He sees white, toes curl into the bed as his hips chase his fingers, oversensitive and pulsing in his fist.

“Holy shit.” Is what he gets when his body calms down enough for his hips to settle, for his breathing to fill the open space and his finger to relax, letting the static fill the room before Eddie’s back. “Holy fucking shit, Steve.” He’s high enough to soften the blow of it all, the realization that Steve just came from Eddie’s voice and nothing else something that he’ll have to deal with - of course he’ll have to deal with it sometime but not now because Eddie’s pants are matching his own and Steve feels like he could float away without Eddie’s voice anchoring him - rooting him to his bed.

“Guess I lose?” is what he finally is able to say after the line crackles for a second, his chest still heaving and hand rubbing off the cum on his sweats.

“I think we both did,” Eddie’s still breathless, and some part of Steve is so fucking proud that he did that, but also panicking that he did that, “I, um, well, yeah. When you did.”

He doesn’t let Eddie hear the absolute heady moan he lets out at that, cock twitching heavy in the crease of his hip and thigh. Holy shit. He’d cum to Eddie’s voice and Eddie had cum to him cumming. Steve was in heaven, this was too good.

“Fuck,” is all he gets out in response, because really nothing real had rebooted yet and his nerves were still pulsing from orgasming harder than he had in years.

“Yeah. Fuck, Steve.” Steve is shocked when he realizes he wants to chase those words with a kiss. Wants to kiss that tone from Eddie’s lips to see how it tastes.

So. Okay. It didn’t go away with the orgasm, the warmth in his chest and ribs and stomach. Noted.

“You good?” He asks instead of acknowledging it all because acknowledging it didn’t feel good with the wash of weed pressing in on him.

“Better than,” Eddie mumbles and Steve feels it too, feels his body lax enough to crave getting pulled under; to maybe close his eyes. He does.

“That was…” Steve trails off, grips at his hair before realizing how gross that was and shaking his hand away from his face.

“Hot as shit.” Eddie responds, and Steve can still see him, behind his eyelids, sprawled long limbs with tattoos, sheets kicked to the base of the bed, orgasm flush.

Oh god. This was going to be an actual problem.

“Yeah,” he agrees, feels the word thick in his throat.

“Yeah.” Eddie echoes, voice thick, maple syrup in winter, a worn soft quilt, the most comforting thing Steve can think of when it sounds like this. “Feel better?” Eddie asks, voice almost sheepish.

“Kinda, yeah,” Steve whispers back, head swaying gently. “You know, who knew weed and cumming would relax me?” He jokes, huffing a laugh.

“Real fuckin’ bewildering shit, huh?” Eddie asks, some of the swagger coming back to his voice, coaxing another laugh from Steve. He laughed so much around Eddie.

“Yeah man, yeah.” It’s all his brain can say, all it feels safe to say because if he starts talking he’s not sure what else will come out of his mouth. He’s high, and pumped full with endorphins and he thinks he’s a little bit in love.

Well, huh.

He must let the silence stretch on for long enough that Eddie thinks he’s fallen asleep, because as he blinks into the dark, hoping that each time he opens his eyes Eddie will actually materialize next to him for him to reach out and get to touch (he really, really wants to touch right now), Eddie says quietly, “Night Stevie. Sweet dreams only, ‘kay?” And then static. Nothing but a long, crackling line of it between him and Eddie.

He drifts in and out of sleep, starting awake any time Eddie talks in his dreams, thinking maybe he’d shown up in Steve’s bed after all.

Collision course.

Implosion.

Carnage.

No survivors.

Steve wakes up alone.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fic #lexi writes #stranger things #stranger things s4 #fix it fic #pwp #smut #steddie smut #Steve x eddie #walkie talkie sex #you know at least one of them misused the thing come on #stranger things fanfiction

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jfouler · 11 months

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sc / @gunactii for daniel :]

"how long did you say you've been here? do you remember?" he hates the way his voice seems to echo back to him in this labyrinthian place ripped straight out of his nightmares. maybe that's an overreaction, but his mind races with thoughts of home and escape and how he's found himself pathetically running back to this only other person he's come across.

"you're messing with me, aren't you?" he lets out a dry laugh and with a wry smile kicks the water that's up to his ankles, hoping something will falter and prove it's just a dream. but the water is real, very real, and splashes onto the plain white tiles right in front of his... companion.

"you've gotta know a way out of here." his expression hardens. "spill it."

#angy....#✖ ic.#jamie in tha backrooms 2023 letsgoo #✖ queue.

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slow-button-off · 2 years

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I find it funny that people are saying that Charles deciding to spend this week at home to reflect on his own is a sign of weakness. What are they expecting him to do? People always think they know what’s best for others. Charles is an adult who has been driving in f1 for 5 years, he knows what’s best for him and people should respect that. He has a strong support system and Mattia’s latest comments make me believe the team has genuinely embraced him and are ready to support him however they can. Charles was at the team debriefing yesterday and apparently he and Carlos both motivated the team about Hungary. He knows that this weekend is important, not only for his confidence but for keeping any hopes of the championship alive. I agree with the previous anon that Ferrari going into the race with a “we have everything to gain” mentality will be of their benefit. Charles just can’t seem to do anything right, people always have something to criticize. And this is honestly the case for most of the drivers and it really ruins the sport to have “fans” like that.

Hiya!

Charles can't do anything right atm! It doesn't matter what he does there will always be someone that doesn't agree.

Some say Charles isn't assertive enough, when Charles is assertive about needing time for himself then it's a weakness.

Some say Charles needs to demand number 1 status, when Charles goes home and Mattia comes to him for a dinner it's him thinking he is better than he is.

Some say Charles should blame the team more, but when he does softly criticise the team he is slandered for it.

Some say Charles needs to be louder over the team radio and tell the team to fuck off more often, yet when he does he is too emotional and does it wrong.

Some say Charles isn't a leader because he doesn't lift up the team enough, yet when he does after he engine does in the lead it doesn't matter and he should rip the team a new one.

Some say Charles can't make his own strategic decisions, because for some reason when he makes the same calls as Carlos and the team decides differently for him it's his fault.

Some say Charles needs to make more of his own calls, yet when he does like in Austria under the SC it's never mentioned.

Charles at the same time doesn't have enough introspection for some and too much for others.

They want drivers to admit their mistakes, but when Charles does it's too much and not the sign of a champion.

Charles isn't enough of a team leader even if he is the only one keeping the dream alive.

It doesn't matter what he does it'll always be wrong in some way.

#📨

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cultleaderyoongi · 2 years

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Opposites Attract – pt.1 | myg

☆ pairing: Yoongi x f. reader, (Namjoon x f. reader)

☆ genre: s2f2l, hints of e2f2l at first if you squint (one-sided sentiment though), love triangle • angst, fluff, eventual smut

☆ word count: 12.7k

☆ warnings: bro-code violations (it's up for debate if reader is fair game); mature language; mentions of alcohol; virgin shaming to some extent; the word wh*re being mentioned

☆ synopsis: You're Namjoon's girl – kind of. So why does Yoongi, who has never been too fond of people in the first place, get that weird feeling in the pit of his stomach around you? And most importantly, why can't he seem to stop himself from falling for you when you're supposed to be off-limits anyway?

☆ navigation: pt.1 | pt.2

☆ a/n: Hi there! I'm back after an almost 6-month hiatus, and this was supposed to be out for Yoongi's birthday, but I guess this is my gift to you in celebration of my birthday now as well lol though also a week too late to that lmao And since it's gotten kinda long, I spontaneously decided to divide it into two parts which also gives me more time to finish up the last few lines oops As always, I hope you enjoy reading. If you do – thank you! Lmk how you like it, I love feedback ♡

(P.S. special shout-out to whoever can guess which album they're talking about in the record shop scene!)

(also P.S. I'm part of a fun, little Discord server created by the dearest @kooala where we share our favorite fics, simp over our biases, etc. and we'd love for it to grow. If you're looking for a cool place to connect with people and discuss anything K-pop, feel free to join here ♡)

☆ taglist: @bangtansjonas

There aren't a lot of things in the world that catch Yoongi's attention. He's most interested in music, creating his own little world as the beat becomes one with that of his heart. Basketball is another interest of his, the satisfying swish of the rubber globe falling through the hoop like music to his ears.

One thing is for sure though, and that is people aren't at the top of his list – meeting new people, that is. There's only a handful of people he actively cares about in his own aloof kind of way. Human interaction isn't his forté, so he's more than thankful that the people he does hold dear to his heart understand his weird antics. He would have a hard time admitting it, but losing even one of them would tear him apart. Breaking his hand-signed vinyl copy of Kendrick Lamar's DAMN. in half would hurt less, he concludes.

Having his set group of friends also means that the idea of adding another person fills him with frustration. For as long as he can remember, it has always been him, Namjoon, Hoseok, and Seokjin. No one else but him and his three best friends since childhood days. He convinces himself it's already too late to add another person into the mix anyway, almost two decades of friendship making it impossible for anyone to feel remotely comfortable among the four of them. But not everyone shares the same belief from the looks of it.

"I hope that's okay," Namjoon probes, hands buried in the front pockets of his chino pants as he leans against the red-brick façade of the faculty building behind him.

"More than fine by me," Hoseok drawls while running a hand through his chestnut hair. "Maybe you should worry about Grumpy Cat over here." His lips pull into a half-smirk.

At the mention of the all-too-familiar nickname, Yoongi peels his gaze from the concrete steps he's sitting on, turning towards his friends. "Why? Think I'm gonna rip someone's head off with my sharp fangs?"

"The risk is minimal, but never zero," Seokjin states in amusement, the hand curled around his iced coffee lifting into the air in emphasis.

The eldest's comment draws a scoff out of the man in question. Yoongi has grown used to the light punches at his reserved persona and granted, he would feel weird if the teasing stopped at some point. No matter how old the jokes have gotten.

"What am I? The mom in the group that tells you no all the time and grounds you for no good reason?" he grumbles, fixing the snapback covering his platinum-blond tresses.

"No," Hoseok retorts, "you're more like the uncle with the shotgun that everyone's secretly afraid of."

The group exchanges words in agreement leaving Yoongi with nothing but an annoyed glare. As the commotion dies down, he sighs in defeat. "It's fine or whatever. You already invited them anyway."

Namjoon nods, his face lighting up ever so slightly. "Okay, cool. You won't even notice she's there."

"She? You invited a girl?" Yoongi exclaims in confusion, loud enough to catch the attention of other students lingering around.

"Ah, Yoongi... You weren't paying attention again, were you?" Seokjin playfully nudges his friend in the elbow with the tip of his suede shoe. "Namjoon invited this girl to hang out tonight because he has a thing for her but is too afraid to ask her out on a proper date."

"Hey! That's not what it is," Namjoon grumbles, adjusting the black-rimmed glasses sliding down the slope of his nose.

"But you think she's hot?" Hoseok probes with a raised eyebrow.

The youngest barely responds, a breathy chuckle and a hand scratching at the nape of his neck enough of an indicator.

"That answers that."

Yoongi absentmindedly toys with a pebble, creating white marks as he scrapes it across the concrete surface. Who in the world invites a random girl to hang out with a bunch of strange dudes? he thinks to himself, the scratches becoming harsher until there's nothing but wild scribbles.

"Can you stop fussing around already?"

Namjoon mumbles out a quick apology to Hoseok beside him, immediately halting the shaky movement of his leg.

It hasn't even been five minutes since the quartet arrived at the movie theater, awaiting the arrival of the youngest's secret date.

"It's not a date," he fends when Seokjin teases him again, a hand running through his short – notably freshly cut – hair. "She's a friend, and I invited her out because– Oh! She's here." As he practically jumps up from his seat on the black leather couch, Namjoon storms towards the entrance.

"Not a date my ass," Hoseok comments, earning an affirmative chuckle from the eldest.

With the rest of the group rising from their seats, Yoongi reluctantly follows lead, hands immediately finding harbor in the pockets of his jeans.

"Oh, she's pretty," Seokjin muses to which Hoseok hums out in confirmation.

As Yoongi's focus finally shifts from the dark blue carpeted floor to his friend and the stranger standing next to him, he raises a brow. Yeah, she's pretty, he thinks to himself. At first glance. Yoongi isn't one to be easily swayed by looks though, so he mindlessly trails behind the other two.

"Guys," Namjoon turns towards the others, "this is _____. _____, these are my friends."

You beam a friendly smile at Seokjin who is the first one to extend his hand out to you, shaking it lightly before letting you move on to Hoseok.

Yoongi is slightly taken aback when your eyes land on him, nothing but warmth emitting from them. Usually, no one ever even dares any attempts at approaching his cold exterior. When he gives you his name, he swears your grin grows impossibly wider. Who in the world has the energy to be this friendly?

"Alright," Hoseok starts, "why don't you guys"–he nods towards you and Namjoon–"go get some snacks while we buy the tickets?"

The group separates as suggested with you and Namjoon heading towards the snack bar while Yoongi follows Hoseok and Seokjin to the ticket booth. Stealing a glance at his friend, he silently scoffs at the sight. You're deep in conversation, head lolling back in laughter at something Namjoon says. He finds your reaction so over the top. Sure, Namjoon can crack some jokes from time to time, but it almost looks like you're losing it. It's such a weird sight, and your clashing outfits underline that. You stand out in your yellow, ruffled top and cherry-red Vans against the beige and white hues of Namjoon's ensemble, the same shade of red showing up on your nail beds and the tint on your lips. This is definitely a date, he concludes. And now we have to play wingman. Great.

When the group gathers again to exchange tickets and snacks, Yoongi slightly flinches in surprise as someone thrusts a bag of popcorn in his face.

"Another salty popcorn enthusiast, I heard?" You smile up at him, the telltale rustling noise of popped kernels sounding as you lightly shake the bag.

Taking it with hesitant hands, Yoongi manages to muster up a nod, murmuring out a quick Thank you.

"Salty popcorn is barbaric," Hoseok's voice blares, breaking the unknown tension. "All it does is make you thirsty."

"Oh, allow me to prove you wrong," you counter with a wicked grin, eliciting a laugh from the man.

Throughout your discussion on why salty popcorn is superior, Yoongi doesn't realize he's been behind you this entire time until the five of you are looking for your respective seats in your assigned row. Now he has no other choice but to sit in the middle with you to his right. Fantastic.

Once the movie commences, the entire room falls silent lest the occasional rustling and crunching noises surrounding Yoongi. Absentmindedly taking a big gulp from his blueberry slushy, he proceeds to put it into the cup holder compartment of his chair when suddenly his hand comes into contact with another one.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!"

As he retracts his hand in a flash, he turns his head towards the source of the voice, the outlines of your facial features becoming visible via the blue flashes reflecting off of the screen. "Ah, you're fine," he manages out, the hold on his plastic cup tightening.

His focus is back on the opening sequence when someone invades his space once again.

"Do you want some?"

With furrowed brows, Yoongi's vision steers to the side, your hand holding a package of strawberry flavored Pockys coming into sight. "Uh..." Hesitantly, his eyes flicker from your hand to your face, then back to your hand. "Y-yeah, sure." He takes two of the chocolate sticks, mumbling out a stunned Thank you while he munches on them.

It's an unusual scene – not once has Yoongi come across someone this unhinged and outgoing without inhibition towards him as a stranger with what people call a resting bitch face. Usually, people don't even dare an attempt at building some sort of a connection with him. This leaves him wondering about you: are you always like this or is this all an act in order to stay in Namjoon's good books?

The setting sun outside serves enough light to guide the group through town, yet not enough to cause any discomfort after having spent the last two hours in complete darkness. Namjoon with his sensitive eyes in particular is thankful for that.

"Anybody else hungry?" Seokjin inquires, craning his neck as he takes a look at everyone individually.

"How can you be hungry again?" Hoseok blurts. "You had part of my half of the popcorn after annihilating yours – and then an entire pack of...what was it? Skittles? M&Ms?"

"Both," Seokjin announces proudly. "These were to tend to my sweet tooth though. Now it's time to satiate my savory needs."

Hoseok rolls his eyes at the eldest's response. "Can you believe this guy?" He turns to the rest before a sigh passes his lips. "Alright, I could go for something."

As everyone else hums out affirmative answers, the group settles on their go-to diner for classic burgers and fries.

"So, _____," Hoseok starts, a hefty sandwich haphazardly lodged in between his hands, "how come you know this guy over here?" With a tilt of his head, he gestures towards Namjoon.

You hum as you take a bite of your portion of fries. "Oh, we have the same major. We're also tutoring a class together this semester."

"Someone who matches his intellect, I see," Hoseok answers, a hint of a smirk hidden behind the large patty.

You don't get a chance to chime in when Seokjin continues, "Do you have a boyfriend?"

How subtle. It comes like second nature to Yoongi, a roll of his eyes a common reaction in a situation like this. It's when your eyes meet for a second, the corners of your lips curling upwards in an amused manner that he realizes his rather obvious slip-up.

"No," you chuckle with a shake of your head.

"Girlfriend?" the eldest follows up shortly, several expressions going around the table ranging from awkward laughter to annoyed sighs, the latter most notably sounding from Namjoon and Yoongi.

"Also no," you simply reply.

Seokjin shrugs his shoulders. "Can't hurt to ask."

"Why? Are you interested?"

Yoongi can't help but cackle at how the words leave your lips in such a deadpan yet entertained way, and for a second he's worried the others notice his change in demeanor. Your counter has the eldest choking on his drink though as he erupts into his characteristic windshield-wiper laugh, catching everyone's attention as Seokjin furiously wipes the bottom of his chin covered in soda.

"What happened to the standard ice breakers like What do you like to do in your free time or What's your take on mint chocolate ice cream?" you probe further, lips curling around the straw of your drink.

"Mint choco? Not a fan," Hoseok retorts, his face contorting into a disgusted grimace.

"Also hate it," Seokjin chimes in now with Namjoon following suit, the youngest going as far as mimicking puking noises.

As Yoongi makes no move of joining in on the conversation, you carry on, "Am I the odd one out here again? Guys, this could determine the future of our entire friendship if there's ever gonna be one."

The group erupts into laughter at that until Yoongi decides to come to the rescue. "I like it," he mumbles out nonchalantly with his arms crossed in front of him on the table.

"Thank you!" You turn to him, eyes sparkling in surprise at his sudden contribution. "At least someone with taste."

For the rest of the night, Yoongi can't help but steal glances at you and his best friend across the table, studying your interactions. They look cute together, he thinks to himself. As far as I can tell. And from what he can see it's easy for you to engage in conversation with the other guys as well, effortlessly exchanging quips and revealing facts about yourself. Yet, Yoongi can't seem to figure you out. Namjoon invited you out to hang out with his friends. Of course, you're going to be nice to everyone including him. Nothing to worry about, and as far as he's concerned if you happen to fake it he doesn't care. He never cared.

When you catch sight of him inspecting you, your lips curl into a small smile causing him to avert his eyes as fast as humanly possible. Awkward.

After everyone finishes their meal, you step back outside to say your goodbyes, the cold breeze of the night air brushing past.

"You sure you don't want me to walk you home?" Namjoon inquires, his stare set on you.

"Nah, it's fine," you decline, shaking your head as a shiver runs through you. "My friends are around in the area. They said they can pick me up."

He solemnly nods at your words, pulling you into a half-hug before stepping aside.

"It was really nice meeting you, _____. And hopefully, we'll get to see you again soon," Seokjin notes.

You send the eldest a pleasant smile, waving him off before doing the same to the other two.

When your eyes land on Yoongi, the man in question musters up a meek smirk and when you practically outshine him with a bright beam, he catches himself almost cursing. How are you so fucking friendly?

"So," Namjoon turns to the group once your silhouette disappears into the backseat of a black car pulling up at the curb, uncertainty clear in his features, "what do you think?"

"I like her," Hoseok is the first one to answer.

"Yeah, me too," Seokjin joins in.

It's quiet for an instance before everyone's eyes turn to Yoongi in anticipation.

"What?" the man grumbles, hands burying into his front pockets. "You need my blessing or something? She's alright, I guess."

Hoseok huffs, patting the youngest on the shoulder. "That's the most you're gonna get."

The mellow sounds of some lo-fi hip-hop song paint the perfect atmosphere while Yoongi scours around the store. It's like a safe haven for him, a place where he can replenish his power after a straining week of classes and assignments, unbothered and undisturbed. With swift fingers, he browses through the plethora of record sleeves in search for –

"Oh, hey!"

A somewhat familiar but also not-so-familiar voice startles him. Lifting his eyes from the rows of vinyls before him, you come into sight, cheeks risen into globes as you send him a bright smile. "H-hi," he croaks out, slightly confused. For some reason, the record shop is the spot he least expects to run into you. He's not sure why, but you don't strike him as a person to enjoy these things – though he knows little to nothing about you.

"Any good finds?" you inquire, head tilted to the side as you roam through the selection on your side.

"Uh..." he trails, "yeah, actually." Eyeing you for an instance, he ponders whether to elaborate or not. But why would you ask if you weren't interested? "I was looking for"–pulling out the record in question, he holds it up for you to see–"this one."

"Oh my God!" you exclaim as your eyes land on the colorful cover, splotches of pink and orange mingling with blue and purple hues. "It's such a good album. I waited ten years for this, but it's so worth it."

Stunned, Yoongi sends you a look he's sure he's never given anyone before. "You know it?"

"Yeah," you answer nonchalantly, "track number seven and eight are my favorites. Oh, and also–"

Yoongi flinches slightly when you lean forward until he catches onto your action, flipping the record around to let you check the tracklist on the back of the sleeve.

"–track number four. I'm a sucker for movie sound clips." You beam him a bright smile before continuing, "I'm a fan of Act I and II especially, and the features are expertly chosen." Retreating to your initial position, you finish, "Overall, one hour of excellence I can only recommend."

Yoongi regards you as if you just found the solution for world peace. He didn't expect you to be so enthusiastic about music – let alone hip-hop. You don't strike him as a person to enjoy this type of genre, but who is he to judge a book by its cover? "More of a reason to check it out then," he finally replies with a light chuckle after listening to your rambles. When you grant him another smile of yours just to return to your own business, he continues, "What have you got there?" A little small talk shouldn't hurt, right? After all, you're being exceptionally nice to him, so he should reciprocate.

Your eyes dart down to the vinyls lodged in between your folded arm. "Oh, just a random mix. Some rock, some pop, some R&B." Pulling your shoulders up into a shrug, you finish, "All kinds of things."

He nods in understanding. It's such a superficial thought, but he never imagined you to be so enthusiastic and versatile with your music taste. Not that he ever wondered in the first place, but he knows essentially nothing about you. Hearing about your interest in music piques his interest in you in turn though – on a friendly level, of course.

It comes naturally, falling into conversation about your favorite artists and albums, giving each other recommendations, and it's not long before you step out of the store together after paying for your purchases.

"Which way are you going?" you ask with a hand shielding your eyes from the midday sun, the light adorning your face in a yellow glow.

Yoongi hums out in thought. "I gotta stop by Namjoon's and Hoseok's, so this way." With an outstretched thumb, he points to his right.

"Oh, okay," you answer, cracking a small smile. "Is it fine if I walk with you part of the way? I'm supposed to meet up with Namjoon for a project tomorrow, and I need some books from the library."

"Uh..." The male studies your features, your eyes set on him expectantly, lips slightly pursed yet not losing their curved shape. Despite your outgoing and to him somewhat outlandish nature, you seem to make sure not to overstep any boundaries. He grows fond of the thought, letting out a light chuckle at that. "Yeah, sure."

Throughout the entire way to the library, the two of you converse mostly about music. Yoongi is specifically interested in the fact that you own vinyls as well.

"My brother got me into them," you explain, fingers carding through some strands of your hair being swayed by the breeze. "He has this huge collection he's been accumulating since he was like sixteen."

He listens attentively to your words, soaking them up like a sponge. It doesn't dawn on him at first, but there isn't a single moment of silence – and he doesn't hate it. Usually, it takes him a great amount of effort to stay energized during social interaction, to not feel like he's either faking or half-assing it, or even the need to take flight. As soon as you arrive at the library though, he figures the contrary is the case here, a huge power drain suddenly coursing through every crevice of Yoongi's body.

"I guess I'll see you around?" You turn to him, hand curled around the iron door handle of the entrance.

Yoongi nods leisurely, a small smile forming on his face.

You mirror his mimic though tenfold in vivacity, offering him a wave of your hand in addition. "Tell them hi for me."

Lifting his own hand into the air, he answers, "I will."

And with that, you're gone and an indescribable feeling follows Yoongi to his friends he can't seem to shake off.

"Dude, that was whack!" Hoseok's shrill voice blares across the court, harvesting the attention of several onlookers.

"Yeah, okay. I know," Namjoon fends, watching the basketball bounce off the backboard onto the ground. "Everyone and their dog knows. Fuck!"

The group grows silent as they watch the youngest strut over to the bleachers, rummaging in his backpack.

Seokjin scoops up the ball from the gravel, shuffling over to the remaining boys gathered in the middle of the court. "What's up with him?"

Hoseok sends the eldest a simple shrug of his shoulders.

"What's up with you?" Seokjin shouts across the place but receives no response from Namjoon as he plops down on the bench, swallowing his water in big gulps.

"Okay, water break," Hoseok huffs out, trudging over to his friend followed by Yoongi and Seokjin.

As they reach Namjoon, said man simply shoves his water bottle back into his backpack before springing back into a standing position.

"So, are you gonna tell us what your problem is?" Seokjin tries again, locking eyes with the taller man.

Namjoon sighs in defeat, running a hand through his sweaty strands. "I'm a little on edge, I guess."

"You don't say," the eldest retorts, taking a swig of his water bottle. "But what's the reason?"

It's quiet for an instance before Namjoon continues, "I'm not sure how to go about things with _____."

"What do you mean?" Hoseok takes over this time, drying off the droplets of sweat on his forehead with a towel.

"We've been meeting up here and there. Sometimes for school, sometimes to hang out. But..." He stalls, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"It's not going anywhere?"

The youngest nods, his jaw set and tongue pushed into the inside of his cheek.

Yoongi zones out halfway through the conversation. Over the course of time, get-togethers with you and either Namjoon or the whole group have become a frequent occurrence. Whether that be in between classes to have lunch or hang out later that day for a drink or two – Namjoon has been making an effort of incorporating you into the clique. And from the looks of it, you and the guys are getting along well.

In addition to that, Yoongi ran into you at the record shop again once or twice. He wouldn't necessarily deem it a notable fact as you parted ways to go on with your days every time, but the moments spent in there remain valuable nonetheless as both of you walked out with new discoveries each visit.

"Have you made any moves on her?" Seokjin questions now, leaning back onto the row of benches behind him.

The man in question tilts his head to the side. "Not per se, but I give her signals."

"What kinda signals?"

This entire time Yoongi remains silent, watching the scene unfold in front of him like an outsider. It's somewhat of a familiar sight, a memory of Namjoon trying to confess to his high school crush coming to the forefront of Yoongi's mind. The boys practically had to push the poor guy into her arms before he could chicken out for the umpteenth time. And though the course of their relationship neared its end sooner or later, Namjoon has at least gained the experience instead of giving in to his doubts. What a shitshow that was, Yoongi thinks to himself.

"I compliment her whenever she's wearing something nice or did her hair and make-up differently, and I bring her coffee and snacks." Namjoon's voice pulls Yoongi out of his daydream.

Hoseok musters his friend with furrowed brows. "You're doing the bare minimum, man."

Seokjin agrees with the former, adding, "You could spare all the second-guessing and straight-up tell her."

At that, Namjoon exhales loudly through his nose. "But she's not showing any signs, you know? At first she did, but now not so much."

Yoongi can see the disappointment in his friend's eyes, and if he could help him he would. But the others are only right – Namjoon has to stop playing around and come clean about his feelings. Yoongi knows he would if he were in Namjoon's shoes. Even with the nearly non-existent experience and abysmal enthusiasm for romantic relationships he has.

"We're not sixteen, seventeen anymore," the eldest blurts out. "If you wanna get the girl, you gotta tell her."

"I know, I know. But..." Namjoon trails, his hooded eyes darting towards the distance. "I dunno. It's obvious something's off. Maybe I came on too strong? Just gimme some time to figure it out, and – oh shit! She's coming."

All heads follow Namjoon's line of sight, a familiar figure coming into vision.

"Hey!" You greet them with a wave of your hand and your signature bright smile. "Heard you guys were here, so I thought I'd come with refreshments." As you pull out a cup carrier from behind your back, the boys let out sounds of surprise. You hand out the drinks to each individually. "I hope I did okay. I got the usual for Joonie,–"

The man in question accepts the beverage from you, a wide grin splayed across his face at the gesture – and most likely the nickname as well – as if the conversation from mere minutes ago is already forgotten.

"–watermelon for Hoseok, pink lemonade for Seokjin, and–"

As your hand curls around the last cup, Yoongi blinks up at you with wondrous eyes.

"–I remember you mentioned Iced Americanos once, so here you go."

Yoongi's lips part, closing and opening again before he mutters out a small Thank you. His hands shake slightly as he takes the cold drink from you. He remembers pointing out his go-to order about a week ago when you joined the clique for a quick coffee break after morning class. You wore your hair up in a bun, minimal make-up yet your face looked as bright as ever, and an oversized–

Hold up. Why does he remember all of this and why does it matter? What the fuck? Yoongi mentally slaps himself on the back of the head.

"So, who's winning?" You plop down onto the bench in between Yoongi and Seokjin, the former going rigid when your arm shortly comes into contact with his.

Everyone's eyes go around the group before landing on Namjoon.

"Last time I checked, we were on a losing streak," he sighs, nodding towards himself and Hoseok.

The remaining boys raise their eyebrows in confusion, not expecting the youngest to paint himself in a bad light in front of his crush.

"I'm the problem though," his teammate follows up quickly, defusing the situation. "I pull him down like a rock. Today's just not my day."

Your lips pull into a pout before curling upwards again, giving him an understanding nod.

"But hey," Hoseok continues, snapping his fingers as if he came up with the perfect idea, "how about you two play together? I could use a break, to be honest."

You lean in further at the proposition, your elbows propped up on your knees with a mischievous smile creeping up on your face. "I'll tell you what – you two go 1v1 and I'll play with whoever wins against these two." With outstretched thumbs, you point to Yoongi on your left and Seokjin on your right.

Hoseok's eyes widen ever so slightly and his lips curl into the shape of a circle.

"Please? I just wanna see you play, Joonie," you add with a slight lilt to your voice, gaze lingering on the tall man.

Yoongi almost spits out his drink, splurting a little as he sucks the caffeinated liquid through the straw. That's not showing any signs? My ass.

"Okay then," Namjoon states cooly though a hint of a smile can be spotted on his features. Retrieving the abandoned ball from the floor, he tosses it into Hoseok's hands. "First one to score ten points."

The two exchange looks with each other before jumping into action, jogging back to the court.

"Oh, thank God," Seokjin sighs loudly from beside you, head slumping sideways onto his shoulder. "I needed to catch a breath. My legs are killing me." He stretches out his limbs as a means of demonstrating his fatigue.

"How can you be tired? I did almost all the work, old man," Yoongi suddenly chimes in, a hint of annoyance yet amusement laced in his tone.

"Yah! I'm only three months older than you," the older male retorts, hoisting himself into an upright position. "I'm exhausted because you're hopping around the place like a rabbit on steroids. You always play like your life depends on it." Seokjin lets out several other humorous remarks that have Yoongi chuckling when a muffled vibrating sound interrupts him. Reaching into one of the pockets of his backpack, he pulls out his phone. "I gotta answer that real fast. It's my mom."

"Tell her I said hi," the blonde comments nonchalantly, adjusting the headband holding back his bangs.

Seokjin gives him a confirming nod before standing up with a groan, finger hovering above the screen ready to accept the call.

It's silent for a few seconds once Seokjin disappears down the line when suddenly a low cackle leaves you.

"What?" Yoongi asks, eyes shifting from Namjoon dribbling past Hoseok and landing a lay-up to you.

You shake your head slowly. "Your friendship dynamic is kinda weird but cute."

"Cute?" he blurts out in disbelief, repeating the word in his thoughts like an echo. Cute... Not in a million years would Yoongi have thought anything remotely in regards to him could be described as cute. "Care to elaborate?"

A shrug of your shoulders serves as part of your answer. "I dunno. I just find it interesting how different you are around each other, but all fuse so well." You rest your head in the palm of your hand. "You and Seokjin, for example, are the bickering type yet you treat each other with so much respect."

Yoongi laughs at your analysis. "Yeah, I guess so."

"It's kinda endearing to see," you add with a small smile.

He reciprocates it with an equally shy smirk. Wow. No one has ever made the effort to look beyond his quote-unquote stone-cold persona. People usually write him off as rude and aloof, and most of the time it doesn't bother him – but hearing someone point out the opposite fuels him with pride.

"Hoseok matches your coolness, but he's more of a happy-go-lucky type compared to you which is a good balance."

Yoongi just smiles to himself at this point, listening to your ramblings. Cool. You called him cool.

"And then you and Namjoon–"

He clears his throat, unsure of what to expect next.

"–are more on the same wavelength intellectually. Like you talk about this and that on an equal level, but he looks up to you like an older brother."

The man regards you with utmost attention, rendered speechless. He's unsure what it is about you as he would usually brush it off, pass the words off as bullshit, but looking into your eyes he can see the honesty, the truth behind them. A mix of emotions comes crashing in like a storm, settling in the core of his stomach, nestling there and leaving him nauseous. What is this feeling?

Before Yoongi can make sense of things, you speak up again. "I can't give you a full breakdown of our friendship yet."

His eyes widen as he lets your words sink in. "Our f-friendship?"

"Yeah." You lean back on the bench behind you. "I'd like to think we're friends." When he doesn't answer, you probe further, "Don't you?"

It doesn't go unnoticed, the barely significant change in volume and pitch of your voice, and it has Yoongi in silent panic. "Yeah n-no, of course we're friends," he stammers, his hand shooting up to brush through some damp strands of his hair.

At that, your signature smile returns, serving as a stark opponent to the orange light of the late afternoon sun. "Okay," you simply reply, licking your lips as you drop your gaze to a patch of grass on the ground. Yoongi does the same when your voice grabs his attention again. "How'd you like that Bryson Tiller I recommended, by the way?"

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, he muses, "It was really good. R&B isn't usually on my radar, but I really liked it."

You beam him a grin that grows wider by the second. "For real?"

Yoongi hums out in confirmation, accompanied by a nod of his head. "I can see why he's one of your favorites."

It's apparent you're trying to form words to speak when a loud roar sounds from across the place, followed by Namjoon sprinting towards the two of you. Hoseok trudges behind him defeatedly, seemingly out of breath.

"I did it," Namjoon announces proudly, pectorals on full display through his sweat-soaked shirt.

You spring up from your seat, cheering and clapping for the male before you engulf him in a tight hug.

The sensation in the pit of Yoongi's stomach intensifies, growing into unbearable stages when he watches Namjoon wrap his strong arms around you. This is unfamiliar territory for him, the force of this inidentifiable feeling brewing inside of him, the unexplicable longing for an answer to something he has never experienced before. Is it possible that he's... No, he can't be. This can't be, Yoongi tells himself. No.

Then he realizes that he hasn't spared one single glance at the game – and neither have you.

"Why the fuck would you do that?" Seokjin utters, his torso pressing further into the backrest of the sofa with each passing second, tightly clutching a pillow in comfort. "Don't look back! Run for your fucking life!"

Everyone's attention is on the lead actress of the movie, her struggle to escape the creature chasing her leaving the group on the edge of their seats.

For tonight, the boys decided on drinks and movies at Yoongi's and Seokjin's place, and despite a democratic vote against a horror movie, you managed to convince the opposition – most notably Seokjin and Hoseok – otherwise.

In his peripheral view, Yoongi can spot the latter grabbing onto his hair in tension the longer the chase continues, mouth falling agape when the main character barely dodges falling into the hands of death.

"_____, why would you make us watch this?" Hoseok whimpers, leaning closer to Seokjin beside him, the elder clawing onto the other as they both cower in fear.

With a lifted pointer finger to your lips, you signal him to shut up when suddenly a loud screech sounds from the speakers, causing you and everyone else to flinch.

Yoongi's hands clench around the armrests of his recliner in shock, a low chuckle leaving his lips once the aftereffect of the jumpscare subsides. When he turns his head to the side though, his expression falls just as fast as it came.

Your hands are clutched around Namjoon's biceps, your forehead resting on his shoulder before you look back up, sharing a laugh with the man seemingly embarrassed at the frightening scene.

Throughout the remainder of the movie, Yoongi's mind wanders elsewhere, the horrifying acts happening on screen serving as mere background noise for his thoughts. Why does he feel so hollow witnessing you together with his friend? He shouldn't care about any sort of physical touch between the two of you. He should be cheering for him now that he's becoming closer with his crush instead. So why is Yoongi internally conjuring up an image where he's the one sitting beside you in Namjoon's place? Why does he wish it was him that you're looking at so sweetly with that sparkle in your eyes? Why– No, stop, he mentally slaps himself. Stop it – now.

The ending credits roll when Seokjin springs up from his seat, a slight wobble apparent in his legs. "That was...something. I'm gonna need another beer. Anyone else?"

Hoseok is the first to give an affirmative answer, followed by you and Namjoon which forces Yoongi to opt for one as well.

"Let's watch something more lighthearted next?" Hoseok pleads as he scrolls through the plethora of movies, and once everyone is equipped with another cold beer, you agree on a comedic drama this time.

Yoongi has a gradually harder time trying to ignore the soft whispers and the glances stolen at each other, so he accepts sleep with open arms once he senses his eyelids growing heavy – the last thing he sees being your eyes facing him.

About an hour passes when Yoongi wakes up from the flickering lights of the TV screen as it shows recommendations after being inactive for so long.

Rubbing his eyes, he looks around the room. Everyone is dead asleep with Seokjin having settled for a makeshift bed on the floor, leaving an entire couch spare for Hoseok. Namjoon occupies one half of the other couch, legs resting on the coffee table – and then there's you next to him, hugging a pillow almost as big as your body in your curled-up state. Yoongi can make out the folded fashion of your legs covered under the throw blanket. You can't possibly be comfortable in this position, he concludes, but yet you look so peaceful, so tranquil – so beautiful.

He barely registers your eyelids fluttering open, deep in thought yet no thoughts at all, so he finds himself flinching once your focus sets on him.

Confusion seeps through every crevice of his being when all you do is stare at him, eyelids still heavy from sleep, wispy eyelashes brushing your skin with every blink. Yoongi should feel uncomfortable locking eyes with you so intently, so intensely, but all he feels is a meaning behind it.

Neither of you break eye contact, the tension growing palpable in the silence of this room, only the ticking of the clock on the wall and the light breathing of your sleeping friends to be heard. It's like only you and him matter at this moment, and when your lips curl into a small smile, he reciprocates the same, watching your eyelids fall shut again.

Yoongi wakes up once more to the now black mirror of the TV screen an hour later – and a light fabric draped atop of him. Running his fingers across the knitted pattern, he realizes it's the blanket you were wrapped up in from before. As his head whips around to the spot to his right, you're nowhere to be seen.

She might've gone to the bathroom, he tells himself, running a hand through his tousled hair. As his throat feels somewhat dry, he rises from his seat in the recliner, trudging over to the kitchen to find the lights on.

You're sitting facing the door, so when Yoongi enters, you're quick to greet him, surprise evident in your features. "Oh, hey."

"Hey," he replies, voice still thick from slumber. "You're up?"

"Mhm," you mumble. "Couldn't fall back asleep."

With shaky hands, he pours himself some water before settling down onto the chair adjacent to you. It's quiet for a while – not the same kind of quiet as back in the living room though. This time, the buzzing sound from the ceiling light and the droplets of water from the tap render Yoongi queasy, the scene transpiring just an hour ago playing on a loop in the forefront of his mind. To break some of the tension, he says the first best thing he can think of at the moment. "Thanks, by the way." When you look at him in confusion, he clarifies, "For the blanket."

"Oh." A light chuckle escapes your lips. "Yeah, I figured you might need it." Fiddling with the cup you're cradling in your hands, you continue, "I don't get why you always walk around in short sleeves."

Yoongi lets out a low hum. "It's not like I'm immune to the cold, but I'm less prone to it."

"Really?" you question him with interest. "I feel like I'm freezing all the time. Here, look."

"Ah–" Yoongi winces in surprise when one of your hands curls around his, the surface of your palm frigid against his skin. Like hypnotized, his eyes are fixated on your fingers laying loosely atop of his, the delicate flesh of your digits brushing against his calloused ones, your meticulously manicured nails a shocking juxtaposition to the rough edges of his. He's taking in the soft pink of your nail polish, a similar shade to the tint on your lips and a stark contrast to the prominent purple veins raking across his knuckles like vines.

Despite the clear collision of different worlds, all Yoongi can think about is how this looks right and how this feels right. Your hand might be freezing cold, yet he's fighting the urge to intertwine fingers with you until the temperature of your limb matches his – but then he remembers who you are. "Yeah..." Slowly retracting his hand from yours, Yoongi's vision steers to a cracked tile on the floor, the memory of a clumsy Namjoon in drunken stupor coming to the forefront of his mind. "You're really cold," he murmurs.

As if some sort of spell was lifted, you empty the remnants of your water in one go before slowly rising from your seat. "I should probably get going."

"W-what?" Yoongi stammers with a slight delay, processing your words. "It's like"–he squints at the clock on the wall–"two in the morning."

"Yeah, well..." Placing your used cup in the sink, you turn back around to face him. "I have some things to do tomorrow, so I should probably get some good rest in my own bed instead of breaking my neck sleeping on your couch." You finish your explanation with a hint of a smile.

Yoongi watches you with caution, searching for any sign that might give away your innermost thoughts. He doesn't remember you talking about any plans earlier today. "Let me walk you home then."

"Oh no, it's fine. You don't have to." Vigorously waving your hands in front of you, you politely deny his proposal. Why are you so adamant about it?

"I think I do." He's unsure where his assertiveness is coming from, but the thought of you returning home in the dark all alone renders him with discomfort.

"Really, it's not the first time. I'll be fine."

The male scoffs at that. Even more of a reason now, he thinks to himself. Who in their right mind ever made you walk home by yourself? "I don't think so."

"It's really not that far and I have–"

"_____, I'm not letting you walk home alone at this hour. Over my dead body." Pushing his tongue into his cheek, Yoongi declares, "It's either that or I'm waking up one of the guys to take you instead."

When you look up at him with wide eyes, he's concerned he might have overstepped a boundary – but he's merely being sensible. What if something happened to you? The thought alone sends shivers down his spine. He would never be able to forgive himself.

Your small voice softly rings in his ears, barely noticeable but enough for him to be able to finally breathe again. "Okay."

The walk to your apartment is dead-silent most of the way except for when you mumble out directions. Once you arrive at your apartment complex, you send him a small smile, thanking him before turning on your heel without wasting another breath.

"_____!" Yoongi calls after you.

You halt in your steps, facing him again.

"Did I do something wrong?" He knows he didn't, but something must have happened that caused your change in attitude. There's no way you can be angry with him for wanting you to arrive home safe and sound.

When you walk back towards him, a weak smirk stretches across your face before you shake your head. "It's nothing," you reassure him. "It's not you."

The space in between his eyebrows furrows at your words. What do you mean by that? He's trying to study your face under the dim streetlight though all he can see is the faint outlines of your features.

"Thank you for walking me home."

The action catches Yoongi off-guard, but when you wrap your arms around his waist, cheek coming to a rest on his collarbone, he acts as if on autopilot, leisurely draping his limbs across your back. Man, despite you laying it down on him so strongly that you're cold all the time the hug feels pretty damn warm and cozy. He can sense your heartbeat through the layers of fabric, the swell of your breasts pressed against his chest –

Oh God.

Unfurling his arms, he releases you from his hold, stumbling a step backward before things can escalate any further. He's not supposed to have these thoughts – not about you.

You take the hint, your own limbs dropping to your sides as you send him one last look, the corners of your lips tugging upwards ever so slightly. And then you turn on your heel, leaving for good.

He waits until you've entered your apartment, a light igniting on the fifth floor an indicator that you have, but even then he can't seem to set foot until several minutes have passed.

It's still pitch-dark inside when Yoongi returns, the slivers of moonlight shining through the windows serving as his sole guide. Silently hanging his set of keys onto the keychain holder, he shuffles his way back into the living room.

In the meantime, Seokjin must have moved to his bedroom as no traces of him or the pillows and blankets on the floor are to be seen. He usually does that when the boys are over and they end up falling asleep with not enough space for everyone.

Steering his gaze to the left, he witnesses Namjoon's tall stature splayed out on the now entirely vacant couch, back turned towards him.

Realizing there's no need for him to retreat to the recliner, Yoongi stealthily moves past the sleeping bodies of his friends in search of his bedroom.

"Thank you, hyung," the deep timbre of Namjoon's voice suddenly sounds, just above a whisper but enough to startle him.

"What for?" he inquires, confused at his friend's words and the fact that he's still awake.

"For taking care of _____."

Clubs aren't Yoongi's terrain. He avoids them like a disease, the sole thought of being surrounded by sweaty strangers grinding on each other to shitty, repetitive music so loud it almost bursts your eardrums forcing him to gag. Yet here he is, sulky though dressed to impress – in his eyes – as he patiently waits for the rest of the group to finish up. He's well aware that he could have declined, but at the same time he didn't want to. She's gonna be there.

It's minutes later when the front door finally opens, revealing Hoseok first, followed closely by Namjoon – and then there's you.

This has to be some sort of fever dream. He's at high risk of being caught, but Yoongi can't take his eyes off of you. Your pearl-white dress paired with the matching heels sends his head reeling, the hemline of your skirt stopping about mid-thigh causing a blush to creep up on his cheeks. But he can't lose his cool in front of everyone. That would be stupid and weird – and not to mention outright treacherous.

"Ready to go?" Seokjin questions, clutching his car keys as the designated driver of the night.

Everyone quickly assembles at the front door except for Yoongi who takes a second to gather his thoughts.

"Are you coming?"

Yoongi lifts his head at the inquiry. When he realizes it's you who posed the question with your frame turned towards him, his heart starts pounding in his chest like a pump gun. If only you understood the insinuation behind those words... "Y-yeah, sure," he chokes out before clambering off the couch, and so the group steps outside to Seokjin's car.

"Hyung." Hoseok puts a hand on Yoongi's shoulder. "We already pre-gamed a little. You gotta sit in the back, or I get car sick."

Yoongi peers behind Hoseok's form, eyes landing on you. They're gonna make you sit in the middle because Namjoon would block the view through the rear window. He's fucked.

Without posing any further questions, he climbs into the right backseat. When you settle down next to him not even a second after, it's like all signs of lifeform leave him – his breathing becomes shallow, his heartbeat flatlines. Not even a single muscle moves.

Your bare thigh comes into contact with his when you squirm around in search of the buckle. "Oops, sorry." A small smile flashes across your face when you notice. "I think it's on your side."

Yoongi tries his hardest to avoid eye contact with you. He wouldn't survive it in this close proximity. "A-ah, yeah..." he mumbles, maneuvering his legs closer to the door, giving you enough space to fumble.

The entire ride to the club he remains silent, his racing thoughts drowning out the chatter in the background. He's so unbelievably fucked.

The majority of the time Yoongi spends at the bar, downing beer after beer to wash away the chaos inside his mind – though what he deemed his remedy at first turns out to be his poison instead. After the third beer, it's impossible to ignore the way your hair sways along with your movements, how well your snug dress hugs your silhouette, and how smooth your bare arms and legs look.

"Alright," you pipe over the loud music after swallowing your shot of tequila, "I'll be back on the dancefloor again." Sliding down the bar stool, you shoot a look at the boys, both Hoseok and Namjoon tagging along with you.

Seokjin sends an affirmative nod your way before turning back to the bartender, engaging in their current conversation.

Even among the crowd it's easy to spot you, the satin fabric of your garment causing you to stand out like a sore thumb. In Yoongi's eyes you easily lighten up this sleazy place though, this pit of hell where everyone devours each other with indecent looks. You're like an angel among demons, wearing that sweet smile of yours like a halo, glowing with understanding and genuine interest – only it isn't directed at him but Namjoon in this scenario instead.

He watches your face turn into something darker though when his friend leans in closer towards you, whispering something in your ear.

Oh... Fuck.

He can't do this right now. Not now, not like this.

Without giving it much thought, Yoongi gets up from his seat. "I'm gonna step out for a second," he informs Seokjin before trudging towards the backdoor.

Once he sets foot onto the asphalt of the back alley and the door shuts behind him with a loud thud, an exasperated sigh escapes him. The air is cold and crisp with a hint of humidity from a prior rain shower. "Fuck..." The curse comes out audibly this time. Walking around in circles, his hands come up multiple times to run through his tousled locks. Why does he feel so strongly about this situation? You're just a girl, some random girl, that one of his closest friends since childhood happens to have a crush on. Yeah, you're kind and you're smart, beautiful and funny... But why does all of that matter to him? Why does it bother him so much seeing you with him that his insides churn at the sole thought of it?

He fell for you. He actually fell for you.

The realization has Yoongi forcing out a laugh in disbelief.

"There you are."

A familiar voice brings him back from his manic trip.

"I found you."

Looking over to the side, he almost regrets his decision. Even underneath the dim streetlights and the red hue of the neon sign plastered on the concrete wall you look stunning. Pull your fucking shit together, he tells himself. So he musters up the faintest of smiles at the source of the voice.

Your heels click on the asphalt as you make your way over to him, the surface still wet from the rain as it emits a splashing sound with each step. When you lean next to him against the wall, you let out a soft whine along with a chuckle before retracting from the surface in lightning speed. "Ah, it's cold."

Yoongi can't help but react with a soft chortle. "And wet," he adds, shrugging off his leather jacket in an attempt to throw it over your shoulders though you don't comply.

"Oh no," you fend. "I'll just go back inside where it's warm. I only wanted to cool off for a bit."

For some reason, your words render him even more eager in his proposition. "Don't be ridiculous. Put it on, please."

"Really, I came out for a breather, and that's what I got. Besides," you gesture towards him, "you're wearing short sleeves again–"

"And you're practically half-naked, so don't try to argue with me." It takes him a second to register what came out of his mouth, so when you look up at him with a dumbfounded expression, he immediately backtracks from his statement. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I'm just–"

"You're just trying to be nice. I know," you finish for him.

Even though he would usually word it this way, there's more to it that he refrains from revealing. The alcohol coursing through his veins serves as a strong opponent though, clouding his senses.

With outstretched arms and pouty lips, you let him drape the heavy clothing over your torso, carefully looping your limbs through the sleeves. The sight of you standing there like a sulky child has him suppressing laughter.

"What?" You eye him, a glint evident in your glare before it softens again.

A small smile stretches across the man's lips, hinting at a confusing blend of endearment and disappointment. "Nothing," he simply states. He's in it – deep in it – with no way out. God, he wants to tell you that you're the most beautiful thing he's ever laid eyes on even though it would be wrong to admit.

"Can I ask you a question?" you finally break the palpable silence.

He gulps, unsure of your possible inquiry, but ultimately nods his head yes.

"It's two questions actually." Licking your lips, you shift your focus to a nearby puddle, the reflection of the light coming from the neon sign gifting it with more depth than it probably possesses. "Does Namjoon happen to have a crush on me?"

You come in straight with the facts, so Yoongi is taken aback, confused over how to go about it. "Uh..." he stammers, hand shooting up to scratch at the nape of his neck.

There are so many possible outcomes to this conversation. If he tells you the truth, things end right here, right now. Do not pass Go, do not collect 200 dollars. Does he think Namjoon should've confessed a long time ago? Yes, absolutely. Does he have it in his heart to shorten the process and do it himself instead? Absolutely not. First of all, it's Namjoon's wish to keep it a secret until he musters up enough courage to do so (which Yoongi can only so much as scoff at but still respect), and second and most important of all, there's this lingering fear of you reciprocating his friend's feelings – which isn't too far off of reality from the looks of it.

Realizing he hasn't given you a proper reply yet, Yoongi continues, "Well–"

"So it's true then." You cross your arms in front of your chest, your eyes finding his again boring into them with intent.

"I didn't say that," Yoongi counters, his glare holding yours in an attempt to ignore that glimpse of your cleavage framed by his jacket. It's not an easy feat as your folded arms give it an extra push, the pendant of your necklace sitting neatly atop of it.

"Yoongi, it's not like any of you are exactly subtle about it."

The words leave your lips in such a deadpan way, that trace of indifference within your answer shocking Yoongi as if you don't share the same sentiment. "Then why do you ask if you're so sure about it?" he fends in retaliation, finding no energy in himself to fight against your rebuttal. There's no reason to backtrack now. "Why do you ask me and not Namjoon?"

"I guess I..." The space in between your eyebrows creases. "I don't wanna have to break his heart."

Now it's Yoongi's turn to look at you in confusion. "W-what do you mean?"

He doesn't miss the way you roll your bottom lip in between your teeth, your eyes once dead set on him now avoiding the intensity of his. "Don't get me wrong. I like Namjoon, I really do – just not in that way."

For a second the world seems to stand still, your words slowly sinking into Yoongi's mind. He had it all wrong this entire time since you were dead convincing. Were you just playing some sick, twisted mind game all along?

You continue, "He's a great guy and everything, and I'm probably stupid for not seeing something that could potentially be there. But it's not him I'm interested in." Running a hand through your hair, you let out a loud huff. "I know I'm gonna have to tell him eventually. The thought already stresses me out."

"Namjoon appreciates honesty. Just right out tell him how you feel," Yoongi explains calmly despite the chaos raging inside of him. Honesty. His and Namjoon's friendship has never been of the complicated type, built on nothing but trust. Now he's committing the biggest crime in their twenty years of brotherhood, his eyes lingering on the sparkly sheen of your lips for a second too long wondering what they would taste like contradicting every principle he's trying to uphold. But wait – what do you mean it's not him I'm interested in?

"Yeah, you're right." Your words pull him out of his trance. "I'll talk to him as soon as I can."

Yoongi mirrors that weak smirk spreading across your face. "What's the other question?"

"Huh?"

"You said you had two questions," he recalls.

"Oh, yeah..."

It's quiet for an instance as he watches you deep in thought, struggling with whatever occupies your mind before you shake your head.

"Nevermind."

"Come on." His brows furrow at your curt reply. "Tell me."

"No, it's stupid," you counter, an embarrassed expression taking over your features.

"Nothing you say could ever be stupid." He doesn't think twice about the words leaving his lips, ignoring this weird mixture of regret and shame surging through him. "You brought it up, so just–"

"Do you have a crush on me, too?" you blurt out, eyes set on Yoongi's like your life depends on it.

It's almost as if all sense of being leaves him, his limbs growing rigid and his breath being knocked out of his lungs. How the fuck is he going to go about this? "What?" he merely responds, still in shock.

You blink up at him a couple of times, lips trembling as if you're about to elaborate – though you retract instead. "Forget it." Still facing him, you take a step backward before turning on your heel.

It can't be more than a split second, but within that time frame a million thoughts cross through Yoongi's mind. You have to suspect him for you to ask this question in the first place which poses several questions: how obvious has he been this entire time and why would you want to know the answer? Is it to ridicule him? Is it something entirely else? Whatever the answer may be, Yoongi needs to know – no matter the cost. "Don't," he croaks out, almost unconvincing in the way his voice wavers. "Don't go."

You watch him with wistful eyes as you turn around again, arms still crossed in front of your chest.

"What would you do if I said yes?" Usually, he would set the record straight right away, but this is unlike any other situation Yoongi has ever experienced before. Your presence alone renders him insecure yet the alcohol coursing through his veins causes him to come up with somewhat courageous statements like these.

Taking another step closer towards him, you lean against the wall beside you, one leg leisurely resting in front of the other. "I guess you're gonna find out."

With an incredulous chuckle, he mirrors your movements though his hands bury into the pockets of his jeans instead. You're not even two feet apart from each other, enough for him to feel the heat radiating off of your body. "What makes you so sure about that?"

Despite the shake of your head, the man can still make out the smirk stretching across your face. "Two things: one, you're stalling. If you wanted to say no, you already would've said so. And two," you lick your lips before drawing them into a thin line, "simple intuition."

"Intuition?" he repeats.

"Mhm," you hum out. "Maybe."

Another chortle escapes him. How has this turned into a cat and mouse game? And who is who?

"Or maybe you're just insanely obvious," you fend, a mischievous grin finding its way onto your features.

"Me?" He scoffs. "Obvious?"

A sole nod of your head seals your answer, and maybe his mind is playing tricks on him, but Yoongi swears he can sense some sort of chemistry brewing in between the both of you. But then again, why would you show any signs of interest in him? He's him and you're...you. Perfect, stellar _____ whom his best friend is pining for. He's stuck between a rock and a hard place, unable to deny his feelings yet the idea of Namjoon's heart being crushed comes to the forefront of his mind. Although the sheer thought of losing you tears him apart equally as bad as hypothetically losing his closest companion since childhood.

In hindsight, he wonders if things would've turned out different, if things could've been avoided, had Namjoon confessed to you and had you reciprocated. Yoongi wouldn't have developed feelings for you – at least he believes so. Now he's so deep in shit he doesn't see any way out of it without someone getting the short end of the stick. Either way someone's going to get hurt, and he decides it rather be him instead.

"Cat got your tongue?"

Yoongi comes back to life at the sound of your voice, the soft lilt alluding to your ignorance.

"Would it make things easier for you if–"

His brows furrow in surprise when you step closer to him, so close that you're almost chest to chest.

"–I said I liked you back?"

Did he hear you right? Did you just imply that you– There's no way. This can't be real. "What kinda sick joke is this?" The words leave his lips without much thought.

Now it's your turn to look at him in confusion, eyebrows creased with a deep-set frown. "What?"

Huffing out in frustration, Yoongi declares more deadpan than he prefers, "You're right – I like you, _____. And you say you like me, but..." He stalls, the residue of alcohol complicating the process of keeping his emotions in check. He can't have an outburst happen in front of you. The situation is already complicated enough as is. "Why do you act like that around Namjoon? I don't understand."

You look like you're about to reply with the way your bottom lip quivers, a hint of tears forming in the corners of your eyes, but a rusty creak along with a loud slam of metal and an all-too-familiar deep voice have you both turning your heads towards the door.

Shit.

"Namjoon," you two mumble in unison before rushing back inside.

Yoongi can already hear the commotion when you enter the hallway connecting the back entrance with the main room.

"Dude, calm down. What's going on?" Hoseok holds the younger man by the arm to stop him from storming past the crowd.

Namjoon looks back at the two of you. His nostrils are flared and his jaw set – Yoongi is scared he might pounce on him any second.

When his friend finally releases himself from Hoseok's hold and stalks over to you, he instinctively pulls you behind him. He knows Namjoon would never hurt anybody, but the thought of you being in this mess in your vulnerable state sends him into protector mode.

"I should've known," he starts. "It was crystal clear this entire time, but I didn't wanna accept it. Well," running a hand through his dirty blonde strands, he continues, "now I have proof."

"Joon, let me explain." Yoongi tries to defuse the situation. "It's not–"

"It's not what it looks like? Is that what you're trying to say?" Letting out a scoff, his stare shoots even more daggers at the shorter male now. "So I didn't see you confessing your feelings to the girl I like just seconds ago? This was all in my imagination then?"

Yoongi's mouth turns dry, a lump forming in his throat. "Joon, just hear me out–"

"Oh, I think I've heard more than enough." Clasping his head in his hands, he continues, "I didn't think you would stab me in the fucking back like that."

"Namjoon!" It's Hoseok's voice now calling the male's name in warning.

Another curse escapes him before he leans in closer towards you.

He might be mistaken, but Yoongi's hand suddenly feels heavier, another set of fingers weaving their way through his in search of comfort.

"Good luck with the virgin," Namjoon snarls, his eyes traveling from you to the male beside you.

"Kim Namjoon!" Seokjin steps in this time, fury evident in his face before said man can make his way to the exit, leaving everyone in shock.

Yoongi's ears fall deaf after that, a pit opening in the depths of his stomach, every fiber of his being becoming numb. He's neither particularly ashamed nor proud of this fact, but the way the words came out of Namjoon's mouth has him almost toppling over in disbelief.

He doesn't understand what's happening around him, but when what he believes to be your head drops onto his shoulder, he comes back to his senses. The contact is fleeting though as you detangle yourself from his grip.

"I'm sorry," you murmur, and without taking a look back, you disappear within the crowd, someone calling your name over and over again without an answer.

It's then that Yoongi realizes he and Seokjin are the only ones left.

"Stay here," the elder signalizes him, following your trail through the club.

Fuck. Fuck! How could things have gotten so uncontrollably out of hand? There's an uncomfortable tightness forming in Yoongi's chest, wrapping around him like a rope. Is this going to be the end of his and Namjoon's two-decade-old friendship? Is he going to lose one of his closest confidants because of a girl? The thought leaves a bitter taste on his tongue. You're not just some random girl – you're far more than that. He despises himself for even thinking of diminishing your worth, his heart clenching in disgust, yet there's no way this can be the end of things. He should've never fallen for you.

Your mind must be racing as well though, Yoongi concludes. You basically confirmed that you have feelings for him as well – if what you said was the truth because, after all, you have been heavily flirting with Namjoon in front of Yoongi. If so, how are they going to hold up after this mess? And – the idea has him swallowing down hard – are you turned off by the fact that he's a virgin?

His priorities are all over the place right now. Is he going to have to make a choice between you and his friend? Or are you both going to abandon him maybe? Fuck...

"Yoongi!" The familiar sound of Seokjin's voice appears at the perfect time, catching him before he can fall deeper into despair. "Let's go home."

"What about _____?" he inquires, not realizing your name slipping off his tongue first instead of Namjoon's.

"She's in the car," the elder explains. "Hoseok and Namjoon are taking an Uber home."

There's nothing much Yoongi can offer besides a solemn nod before following Seokjin outside to the parking lot.

The dusty green of his roommate's old Honda Civic comes into view, and for a second Yoongi considers taking the seat next to you when he catches a glimpse of you through the window, head hung low and hair falling in front of your face. The sight has him opting for the passenger seat instead.

Most of the car ride remains calm, not even the radio playing any sort of music. An incoming call from Hoseok informs everyone that he and Namjoon arrived at home safely and that the man – though still somewhat in distress – will be alright and won't do anything stupid in his drunken state. Yoongi is more than thankful for the eldest's sobriety and clear mind in this situation though it only does so much easing the nervous shaking of his leg and the incessant picking of his cuticles.

It's not long before you arrive at your apartment complex, once the car comes to a halt your fragile voice filling the silence. "Thanks for the ride. Goodnight." And without sparing one single glance, you climb out of the vehicle, shutting the door with a loud thud.

Silence settles again, no one daring to speak until Seokjin moves to ignite the engine again. It comes to life with a spluttering roar when suddenly the door to the passenger seat opens.

"Yoongi!" Seokjin calls out for the younger male only to be answered by the door slamming shut again.

You're already rummaging around for your house keys when his voice stops you in your tracks.

"_____, wait." He breathes out, a cloud of mist forming in the air. It's only then that he realizes how cold it has actually become – and that he's still without his jacket.

You slowly turn around, your arms wrapped around you for comfort.

The look you send Yoongi hits him straight in the chest. It's dim under the light of the entrance to your apartment complex, yet he can spot the streaks of runny mascara around your eyes. "Are you okay?" he asks, his voice small and unsure.

Your arms fall to your sides lethargically. It's quiet for a long time before you speak up. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I'm sorry, I messed everything up."

Yoongi vehemently shakes his head at your apology. "You have nothing to apologize for. It's not your fault."

At that, you mimic his gesture, a small whimper resonating from you as fresh tears start to form again. "Earlier, you asked me why I act that way when I'm with Namjoon..." You stall, visibly swallowing down a lump in your throat. "At first it was because I wanted to give it a serious shot. I could tell he liked me, and I was actually considering it. But my heart just wasn't in the right place."

The first tears trickle down your cheeks. "So I thought if I ended things early I wouldn't have a reason to stick around anymore."

The space in between Yoongi's brows furrows at your explanation, but he lets you continue without interjecting.

"I was scared I wasn't gonna be able to be around you anymore, so instead I led Namjoon on and then this whole mess happened." In between heavy sniffles, the tears flow uncontrollably now.

Never in his life has Yoongi been so dumbfounded, so struck to silence by a hurtful truth. Words don't even come close to describing what he's experiencing in this moment, a mixture of frustration and disappointment concentrated in the core of his body, but something tugs on his heartstrings at the sight of you. Your presence comes across as frail, that damn black leather jacket almost swallowing you up entirely, engulfing you in darkness. It's kind of ironic, this comparison of images: Yoongi in his initial head-to-toe black attire if it wasn't for the white, slim-fit t-shirt on his torso, and you in your skimpy, white dress as your centerpiece though it's now being dominated by that foreign black piece of clothing. It's as if you traded pieces of each other, innocence and corruption cohabitating within the two of you – no one entirely good, no one entirely evil.

"God, I feel like such a whore!" you suddenly exclaim, your whines becoming louder. Burying your face in your hands, you cry with reckless abandon.

Yoongi is stunned at your response – and heartbroken that you would call yourself names like that. It wasn't an ideal approach, but at the end of the day everyone had their wrong-doings. He should've never given in to your advances, and Namjoon should've confessed to you.

It takes you a while to regain composure, and Yoongi feels compelled to console you though he refrains from it when you strut over to him, shrugging off the jacket in the process. "I'm not sure what kinda outcome I was expecting, but I didn't think it would tear you two apart like this." A huge question mark appears in Yoongi's head when you elaborate, your fist thrusting the heavy leather towards him which he takes with a slight delay. "I don't wanna take part in this if it means your friendship's on the line."

His soul leaves him in an instant, that unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach tightening, tenfold in severity now. The worst-case scenario has come to life – he lost his best friend and he lost you.

"I'm so sorry," you murmur for the umpteenth time this night, and with that you turn around, unlocking the front door and leaving Yoongi alone in the dark as it clicks shut behind you.

Seconds upon seconds pass by as Yoongi tries to come to terms with what happened, a lightheaded sensation creeping up on him, causing him to collapse at the knees. Now he's in a crouched position on the concrete platform, dismissing the freezing cold nipping at his exposed skin. His elbows come to a rest on his bent joints, his hands clasping around his head as if to shield himself from the outside world. Fuck... Fuck! There's no way things are going to go back to the way they were. Everything's fucked.

"Hey, man." Yoongi discerns Seokjin's voice beside him. "Come on, let's get you home."

The elder hoists him up by the shoulders, retrieving the leather garment that lifelessly lies on the ground to throw it over his shivering form.

"Hyung..." Yoongi mumbles out. "I fucked up."

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cosmicjoke · 3 years

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Alright, on to chapter 126 of AoT!

I’ve been waiting to get to this chapter and talk about it a bit!

It’s, in a lot of ways, kind of the climax of the development we’ve seen between Levi’s and Hange’s character’s since the start of the time skip, and really since Hange took over as Commander of the SC.

One thing I want to talk about is Hange’s reaction at the start of the chapter, after they shoot that one soldier dead. They’re crying, and while obviously this is in part because of the pain of having to turn against one of their own, the pain of having to choose, and pick one life over the other, this being Levi’s life over the soldiers pursuing them, when I first read this chapter some months back, my initial impression was that Hange was crying, also, because of the tragedy of the entire situation, in which both they and Levi, two veteran members of the SC, who had dedicated everything they had, from the beginning, to the salvation of humanity, were now being hunted by the very people they’d tried so hard to protect. It’s an incredibly powerful image of Hange, their expression one of hardened determination, while a tear slides down their cheek, and it’s the next two panels, Hange going back to Levi, and telling him “There’s no one after us now. Levi...” which really gave me the impression that their tears were for him too, for the helpless, vulnerable state Levi is in, for him being at deaths door, for the tragedy of their being betrayed by their own people, and how it’s led to this. It strikes me as particularly heartbreaking, that Levi and Hange both were the most dedicated and selfless of soldiers for the Survey Corps, the two that in many ways most embodied the ideals of that group, to fight for and protect humanity, no matter the sacrifice to themselves. Levi especially never expressed or conveyed any desire for himself, not even something as simple as curiosity, but fought only for the hope of one day giving humanity back it’s freedom. I think Hange’s tears are shed here because of that, because they have to look at Levi like this now, broken, almost dead, ravaged and betrayed by the very people he fought and risked his life for again and again and again, unable to fight back as those same people now come to kill him. That Hange had to kill two of those very people in order to protect Levi’s life is what, I think, is so tragic to them, what brings them to tears.

Hange’s entire dialog in the forest, when they think Levi is unconscious still, reveals a lot too, I think. They talk about how they’ll be on the run for the rest of their lives in the Yaegerist’s take control of the island, how they’ve now become “enemies of the state”, and that reflects, again, the tragedy I think Hange feels over their situation. How it’s them specifically, them and Levi, who are now being hunted, all their previous contributions and dedication to humanity’s cause forgotten and thrown in the trash. It’s reflected too in how we see the Yaegerist’s take up the chant of “Dedicate your hearts” twisting it to fit their own, deluded views and beliefs, perverting it until it loses all of his previous meaning. “Dedicate your hearts” was what the members of the Survery Corps cried out in service to humanity, in service to humanity’s survival, it’s hope and freedom. And now, the Yaegerist’s are using it as a cry for the destruction of humanity, for the eradication of everyone but themselves. What Levi and Hange both fought for in their military service was to save humanity, they both represented that ideal in pureness and conviction, never wavering or straying from it, and so the Yaegerist’s specific persecution of them really highlights just how corrupted and perverted their own driving philosophy is. That they wish to destroy the two soldiers who most encompassed in themselves the genuine ideal of the Survey Corps, the salvation of humanity, the desire to make a better world, a better future, a hopeful future, for the most people possible. The Yeagerist’s want to stamp that out, and Levi and Hange are like the last, real bastions of that ideal in living, tangible form.

I think that’s only emphasized in how neither Hange nor Levi ever consider for even a moment the possibility of giving up and letting Eren have his way. Every other member of the SC, Armin, Mikasa, Jean, Connie, at some point, contemplated and even for a brief moment, accepted, that there was nothing they could do, and were going to stay on the island and just let the Rumbling happen. They give up, even if only for a moment, and try to logically excuse that decision. But Levi asks Hange in that forest, “If we keep running and hiding, what will that get us?”, and reminds Hange that he knows them too well to buy that they were ever genuinely thinking of staying there and doing nothing. It isn’t an option, for either of them. Inaction has never been something either of them could abide. Levi specifically was drawn to Erwin because of his refusal to do nothing, to have the guts to make a decision, no matter the outcome, and Levi himself has always strived to act, to do the same and make a choice, and to commit to that choice fully, and accept the consequences. So neither of them were ever going to give up, were ever going to just sit there and let the Rumbling happen. Both Levi and Hange really affirm beyond doubt in this moment how deeply they embody the ideals and goals of the Survey Corps, to dedicate your heart, body and soul, for the sake of humanity. To sacrifice your own hopes and dreams, even your very life, for that ideal. It’s never even a question for them. And them being the last two surviving members of the SC veterans, it only feels appropriate. They were there before everything changed, when it really was just a pure and simple attempt to defeat the Titans and win humanity back their freedom, and there they remain, even after everything has changed, the circumstances, the stakes, the enemy, still fighting for that same goal, to save humanity.

I also just want to point out the look of total despair on Levi’s face when Hange asks him what happened with Zeke, and later on in the chapter, when they’re talking to Pieck and Magath. I think Levi is burdened by a deep sense of regret here, which is something he always tries his best not to be, and it’s because he allowed Zeke to escape, which led to him making contact with Eren and setting this entire disaster off. Levi chastises himself, saying “I screwed up. I wasn’t able to figure out if he was truly ready to die... I let him get away again.”. I think Levi is blaming himself for what’s happening, even though it’s really not his fault, it’s Zeke’s and Eren’s. But Levi’s almost obsession with making choices without regret is born from, I think, a deep struggle to hold to that philosophy. He tries so hard to believe in it, to live it, But I think Levi struggles with believing in it, with making a firm and unyielding choice, and pushing past whatever the consequences are to keep moving forward. He’s someone who’s experienced so much pain and loss in his life, and because of that, because of those experiences and that grief, just over and over again having everything he’s ever loved and cared for ripped away from him, its made it only more of a struggle for him to carry on and not regret. For all of Levi’s seemingly stoic, harsh exterior, it’s plain, I think, that inside, he’s in actuality the most deeply feeling, sensitive and compassionate character in SnK, and the most deeply affected character when it comes to the suffering and pain of others. He understands it, and empathizes with it, more than anyone. In some ways, Levi strikes me as almost brittle inside, so easily hurt, so easily moved to compassion and understanding. He has a terribly soft and vulnerable heart. It’s why he’s so non-judgmental, too, I think, when he sees someone else struggling with their own choices, why he refuses to ever try and force others to agree with him, or convince them that he’s right and they’re wrong. Why he tries, in his awkward but kind way, to comfort them. Why he says again and again that he doesn’t know what is or isn’t the right choice. Because he knows how hard it is. Because for Levi, despite refusing inaction, and despite striving to always act and not regret his choices, he still has to live with and carry the weight of those actions consequences, the outcomes of his decisions, and he isn’t ever able to divorce himself from that, from the feelings of pain and sadness and heartbreak that comes with each loss, each defeat, each failure. He feels too much, and too deeply, and he’ll always struggle to continue on, even as he refuses not to, even as he dedicates himself to it. It’s precisely BECAUSE it’s hard for Levi to not regret, to keep fighting and acting, and push through his pain, that makes him so heroic. He never succumbs to what I think are obviously real, probably at times overwhelming feelings of depression and despair. He always keeps fighting, even as he’s drowning. I think Levi is drowning all throughout this final arc, the waves of his sadness and struggle against feelings of hopelessness always threatening to drag him under. But he never lets them. He never stops swimming, never stops pushing towards the shore. And that’s Levi’s true strength. That refusal to give up, even when he’s filled with despair and regret.

One last thing. I’ve never seen anyone else mention how Levi saved himself from dying when Zeke detonated the thunder spear by shielding himself with his own blade. Levi tucked himself up against it and braced for the impact of the explosion. If he hadn’t thought and acted quickly enough to do that, he probably would have died. Well, just another example of Levi’s refusal to give in to hopelessness. Anyone else probably would have.

#shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #Levi Ackerman #hange zöe #snk 126 #meta #thoughts

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acircusfullofdemons · 2 years

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Storybook City sounds so cool!! I know you're focusing on the Wonderland paras right now, but have you thought about the others yet? Is there anything in particular about the world they're living in?? Sorry, if these seem like weird questions, I'm just enthralled right now by the concept!!

YES OH MY GOD!!!!!

This paracosm actually started a WHILE ago, when I re-entered my Jekyll & Hyde phase. So, the only other "section" SC has rn (with semi-fleshed out paras) is called "Victorian Gothic", which has, well, characters from books that fall into the "Victorian Gothic Era". Characters like Henry Jekyll/Edward Hyde, Victor Frankenstein, essentially all the Iconic mad scientists are there! (...and those from Dracula....)

The VG Characters, when I first made them, lived in this college dorm/large school? Because, well, most of them are scientists (or, trying to be, anyway).

NOW, however, with the addition of Wonderland, I'm thinking of having a sort of "hub" all the characters can visit, mainly because Wonderland is....another dimension, or something. Idk.

There's also Sleepy Hollow (from The Legend of Sleepy Hollow), which is just Halloween Town from The Nightmare Before Christmas ngl. They love Ghost Stories. The only one from there thats appeared is Ichabod Crane (who might be a ghost idk yet) & Katrina's descendant, who doesn't have a name atm. But! Ichabod is a salty old man & doesn't like her.

And the most recent location/section is "Ever After", which is where all the Disney Princess live. So, so many kingdoms like WHAT.

This is also lowkey ripping off Ever After High (rip 😔) BUT instead of the descendants having to follow their parents/ancestors paths, they sort of have to....make new fairytales/stories. Like, keeping the cycle going, in a sense?? After they graduate, they have to choose which dimension they wish to live in, be approved, and then HOPEFULLY take part in a new Story. Fun!

OH!!! I'm sorry this is already long BUT! Each dimension/section has a "spokesperson", someone who makes the overall decisions for their dimension. The way its determined is sort of funky, but its usually who's the most "popular"/who gets the most recognition from readers. So, Snow White is Ever Afters spokesperson since she was the first Disney princess to get a movie. Phineas/Mad Hatter is Wonderland's spokesperson & Rosa/Queen of Hearts is SO SALTY about it lmao. The Brothers Grimm (Alder & Beltop) are the....I'm not sure how to say it. They're the spokespeople for SC as a whole? Like. They're the leaders of everyone else, keeping track of which dimensions do what, that sort of thing. Its like if they were the principals & the spokespeople were....assistant principals??

(The Brothers also knew some characters before they became, well, characters. Phineas & Beltop were actually best friends. I think Cinderella & Phineas knew each other before their respective stories, too).

Anyway, I will leave you off with an explanation of how their adventures get turned into Stories. I'll use LIW as an example bc yeah. So. When Alice came back from her first two adventures in both Wonderland & LookingGlassland, she told lots of people (who...didn't believe her, because she was an 8yo Victorian Child who had a very active imagination, probably wrote it off as some vivid dream). But!! One person did believe her, that being Lewis Carroll. Everything she told him, he wrote down into a book, which of course became the one we're all familiar with today. Essentially, A Protagonist must find a Narrator to write down their story for them. Characters have varying opinions on the book events vs irl events (Phineas claims that the tea party scene went on much longer than in the book), but overall they agree that their books/original adaptations are the best adaptations provided.

I hope that satisfies some of your curiosity!! I really didn't know what to write so....I kinda jumped everywhere lmao 😅

#paraportal #player: dremieblur #luka answers #console: fractured fables #forgot to put in but neverland also exists. doesnt matter much yet but phineas & hook are buddies & i think thats beautiful.

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 3 years

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holy cow that sc old guard au is so good!! 😍 pls continue it if ever you'd be so inclined,,, I like the idea of lena finding family with the old guard and navigating her relationship with kara and the superfriends in canon 😊

Okay, then how about we think about the fact that when Lena and Kara finally exchange secrets, Kara is eloquent and apologetic and hopeful, giving a beautiful speech that ends with "I'm Supergirl."

And Lena's response is "I'm dead."

Cue season finale break.

But then we immediately pick back up with "Except I'm not. I mean, I'm alive by any measure known to science, I've checked. But that doesn't change the fact that the night before I moved to National City I woke up in a warehouse in Metropolis and spat two bullets out of my skull."

Kara just stares at her like whaaaaat is happening.

"And those people, the ones in the lobby the other day, I think they're like me, because I've been having dreams about them ever since it happened and I think they're old. Like older than time old and honestly I've been trying not to think about it because the idea of living that long terrifies me and--"

Lena cuts off when Kara wraps her in a hug, squeezing her tight. After her momentary shock, Lena relaxes, abandoning her train of thought in favor of melting into Kara's embrace.

"It's okay," Kara promises. "We'll figure it out. Together."

Lena gladly accepts the fact that she doesn't have to go through her journey of immortality alone. And it's not just the superfriends she has to lean on, but also her new family of fellow immortals who have gone through the exact same thing she has.

She doesn't have to go into hiding like Nile did. So far, no one but Corben knows her secret, so the risk of being identified and studied by the government is minimal. So the focus of everyone's work becomes keeping it that way.

Andy and the rest of the old guard set themselves up as Lena's new ace security team. Andy is the brains and occasional sniper, but stays out of the direct line of fire. Nicky and Joe are the public facing bodyguards who go with her everywhere, while Nile is the last line of defense, posing as Lena's assistant.

The two groups don't really mesh at first, despite the superfriends' curiosities. The old guard has been too long alone and too long with death to know what to do with the superfriends' youthful exuberance. But eventually their mutual attachment to Lena brings them into each others orbits.

Joe and Nicky adapt first. They come to love game nights, and Nia adores their blatant love for each other. Nile is the closest to them in age, but game nights and giggly girl parties isn't exactly her scene. She and Lena share plenty of scotch though, on the nights when they're alone in the office and have nothing to do but talk.

Andy remains an enigma. To her, the people around them are all children, and she can't truly connect with them the way she does with the old guard. The only member of the superfriends she can connect with is Supergirl.

There's something about being the last of her world that makes Supergirl relatable, something about being earth's mightiest hero that creates the same invisible wall between her and her closest friends that Andy recognizes.

And Lena. Lena suddenly finds herself in a drastically changing landscape. Her apartment fills first with bodies and go bags, as the old guard camps in her living room and spare bedroom. Then slowly Nicky's drawings find their way to the walls, and knick knacks come to rest on every available surface. Weapons fill every nook and cranny, a fact Lena grows more accustomed to as Nile starts training her.

She's familiar with guns and can hold her own in hand to hand combat under normal circumstances, but it doesn't flow through her muscles like it does with the old guard. Each of them but Andy teaches them their own specialty, relentlessly, until Lena feels her body change, her muscles coiled and ready to explode into motion using nothing but reflexive memory.

When Lena asks about training with Andy, the others laugh.

"Give it another century," Joe says, smiling warmly, "then ask."

But Lena picks up fighting as quickly as she does everything else. Sparring with Nicky and Joe is the most fun for Lena-- she surprises them with her skill in bladed weapons, courtesy of her near-olympic level proficiency in fencing. But even with them Lena can barely hold a candle at first. She's good, better than good, but Joe and Nicky don't fight to earn points. They fight to kill. They move with their whole bodies, with power and momentum behind every strike.

Lena does all she can to catch up. She loves a challenge, and this is a matter of keeping her life the way it is-- something she'll cling to until it's ripped out of her warm, undying fingers. She wants to keep L-Corp, she wants to keep game nights, and movie nights, and... she wants to keep Kara.

And Kara.... Kara supports Lena through it all, but the truth of Lena's new reality doesn't really sink in until one day she and the old guard don't move fast enough. They're lucky, in the sense there's no one else to see the bullet that rips through Lena's sternum and blasts out of her back, taking chunks of flesh and bone with it.

Kara's heart stops, barely hears the gasping wheeze as Andy puts a knife through the shooters windpipe. All she can see is Lena, unmistakably dead.

But then Lena blinks into a grimace, a curse rising to her pinkening lips.

"Fuck."

Then, "Ow. Motherfucker."

Nile pulls Lena to her feet, putting her gun back in Lena's palm. Lena deftly checks the chamber and nods the okay, and Nile moves on. Only then does Lena see Kara standing stock still, eyes wide and chest locked against a burgeoning panic attack.

"Hey," Lena says softly. She takes Kara's hand in hers, letting Kara feel the warmth of her skin, the pulse of her veins. She even pulls her blouse aside so Kara can see the flesh knitting itself back together. "I'm okay. See?"

There's a word for what Lena is, but Kara's pretty sure it isn't okay. Still, its enough to get Kara's legs to move again. With a nod, she bounces on the balls of her feet then launches into the air, speeding through the remaining gunmen and piling them aside unconscious for the police to deal with later.

"Still gotta get used to that," Andy mutters under her breath, coming to check on Lena. "You good?"

Lena nods again. "You were supposed to stay in the van."

"Fuck off with that garbage." Andy glares at her. "One of my team goes down, I'm going to make sure they get back up."

Lena smiles. It feels different, to be so readily accepted into the guard. Even with the Superfriends, she's had to work to earn their trust, and slowly eased her way into becoming one of the group. With Andy and her people, from the moment they saw each other there's never been any other thought. Lena was theirs, and they were hers.

"Let's get going."

#old guard au #supercorp #lena is an immortal

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sapphic-loser16 · 3 years

Text

I just realized I never explained what Chiaroscuro is. (Or even posted the first chapter lol) For those of you who get wildly confused when I drop random chapters of a story I never talk about otherwise

This is my baby, Chiaroscuro. This story has been rattling around in my head for the past six months, and it is a coagulation of my maladaptive daydreams and headcanons that I spew onto the page. It follows the next hero in the reincarnation cycle, as well as a host of other original characters. Since I’m getting into the habit of being more active for my followers I thought I should drop this here. Please go give it a read, I’ve worked really hard on it!

(Chapter one below the cut )

The rain feels like fire on his back. He runs, faster, faster, faster. They can’t catch him, Hyrule will fall if doesn’t get away. His mind is blurry, the world is blurry. The only thing that registers is the pain that courses through his body like lightning and the golden light thats pours from his left hand. He tries his best to push through the pain and mental fog. One thing is clear though; whispered words spoken to him only hours ago, as a guard unlocked his bloody chains

Run.

Run as fast you can.

Hope is not lost.

The resistance has a base in the Lost Woods.

They will help you.

Now run, and save us all.

The rain pours down even harder. Lightning flashes as he skids to a stop. The magical woods loom in front of him. Mist swirls around the branches, beckoning him into their safe embrace. He hesitates. The legends say that any who dare step into the sacred forest shall be lost to time. A sharp stab of pain interrupts his musings. The scars on his back have split open. Blood cascades down his back. If he doesn’t make his choice soon he will die steps away from freedom. The woods whisper to him, call him into the trees. The golden light on his hand pulls him foreword ever so slightly. His choice is made, then. He breathes a quick prayer, and limps into the fog.

___

A cheerful voice rings in his ear.

“Get up ya lazy bones!”

Not now, Wind, Sky thought, rolling over. It’s too early for this.

He jammed his sailcloth into the side of his head to try to block out the youngest Link’s chipper voice. A kick on the the back of his knees sent a jolt through his body.

“Up an ‘attem bird boy.” The sailcloth was ripped away by Legend’s blurry hands blinding Sky in the morning sun.

“Pinky’s right,” called Warriors from his side. “You slept through an entire switch.”

Wait, what?

Sky bolted up into a sitting position just in time to see Warriors receive a sound slap to the back of the head courtesy of Legend. He slept through a whole switch? He rubbed his eyes to clear some of the morning fog. He could see the others packing up their things and Twilight dousing a campfire.

“How you do that is beyond me, and I slept for a hundred years,” smirked Wild, throwing him a bun, apparently the leftovers of breakfast.

“Who’s Hyrule are we in?” Sky asked.

Wild responded with a shrug.

“Don’t know. It’s not any of ours.”

“And that means new people, new Zelda, and new hero,” Hyrule said.

He stopped packing his bag and turned to face Sky.

“Are you ok? He asked softly. “You seem a bit dazed.”

Sky rubbed his face again. That dream was like something he had felt only once before. If history was any indication, the group needed to know.

“I think I had a dream.”

“So?” Legend scoffed. “We all dream, bird brain, nothing new here.”

“Hush,” Twilight said, pushing him away. “It must have been bad if its bothering you this much. What was it about?”

Sky pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to force the details back.

I-I don’t know, its all a bit hazy. I don’t even know if I could call it a dream, more like vague impressions. It was raining hard. I couldn’t even see any They were running…away from someone, I think. They were injured badly.” He looked up. “I could hear their thoughts, something about a Resistance.”

Twilight’s eyes went stormy.

“A Resistance?” He asked in a hard voice.

“Yeah, they were told the Resistance would help them,” Sky said, intrigued by Twilight’s sudden intensity. One last detail swam through his mental fog.

“They had the Triforce,” he said quietly. “Hyrule would fall if they didn’t get away, I think.”

The quiet rustle of the camp stopped. The Links shared looks with each other. That clearly wasn’t a good sign. The Triforce could only mean one thing.

“A new hero,” Time mused.

“Did you see where they were going?” Four asked from the far aside of the camp.

Sky thought hard. As he was the first in the timeline, his Hyrule lacked most if not all of the landmarks that made some of the others stand out. Heck, he hadn’t even known there was land below the clouds until a year and a half ago.

“Some sort of forest,” he started, trying to call back the details of the fast fading dream. “There was magical mist, if that helps.”

Wild thought for a second, then snapped his fingers.

“Lost Woods is what they were running to, no doubt. Magical mist keeps people with ill intent out. In my time, the Master Sword rests there. They could have been going to pull the sword.”

“That could be why the Resistance has a base there,” Warriors spoke up. “The Lost Woods offer protection, and they are able to protect Hyrule’s most powerful weapon.”

“But that still doesn’t explain the need for a resistance,” Twilight said, a bit on edge.

“Either way we’ll find out eventually,” Four said. Our best move would be to go to the nearest village and get a map.”

Time nodded, and motioned for the rest to pack up the remnants of the camp. Legend adjusted the last of his things and started to walk out of the woods they had landed in.

“Lets go before Hylia smites Sky with anymore visions.”

—

Wild had to admit, the land was beautiful. They had dropped into a forest at the top of a huge valley. As they walked down, he could see villages clumped together. A river ran through the valley, and the afternoon sun bathed the whole valley in a golden light. In the far distance beyond the valley, a castle loomed. His fingers jumped and twitched at the thought of exploring a whole new land. He bounced up to Hyrule, who was practically vibrating. They made excited eye contact. Twilight caught sight of the exchange and sighed loudly.

“No, you cannot go wandering off,” he admonished to the two wanderers. “I am not taking the chance of loosing y’all in a land as big as this.”

Wild stuck his tongue out in Twilights direction.

“You’re no fun,” Hyrule huffed playfully.

In truth, Twilight was a bit on edge. The last time he had encountered a resistance things had not gone well. He leaned over to Time, who had been quiet amongst the chatter.

“Do you think it’s…” Twilight didn’t dare finish his sentence, as if the very name could summon him.

Time closed his eye, and nodded,

“We have to be prepared for every possibility,” he said quietly.

It shouldn’t be possible, Twilight thought. He had killed him. He remembered every detail of that awful day. How could he forget? Twilight hated admitting it, but every now and again he would wake up screaming, reliving every single agonizing second of the last battle.

“Pup?” A soft voice pulled him out of his thoughts. They had arrived at a bustling town. Time’s eye softened.

“Are you ok?”

Twilight considered it for a second.

“I think I’m ok. Just a bit overwhelmed.”

Time nodded sagely.

“Cub,” he called to Wild

Wild looked up from the intense conversation he was having with Hyrule.

“How’s our supplies?”

Wild’s head dipped down for a second to take inventory on his Sheikah Slate.

“Food wise we’re all set, but we need more potions,” he called back.

Time touched his protégé’s back.

“Go with him, and clear your head. It will do you some good. The rest of us can get for directions.”

Twilight huffed.

“You just want me to make sure he doesn’t burn down the town.”

A sly look passed across Time’s sharp features for a moment as he herded the rest of his boys to a bar to find someone to tell them where the Woods were.

Twilight sighed and let Wild drag him to the nearest potion booth halfway across the square. It was a good think they were stocking up now, Twilight thought. The last monster battle had completely blown through all of their medical supplies, with Hyrule having to resort to his magic.

“Excuse me, could we buy some of your potions?” Wild asked the shopkeeper, who’s back was turned.

“Just a moment sir,” the shop keeper said, tidying up in the corner of the booth. She dusted her hands on her apron.

“What can I get for y-“ she stopped abruptly, eyes wide.

Twilight shared a confused look with Wild. Wild, just as confused, stared back. He turned to look at the shopkeeper. The woman was opening and closing her mouth, like she wanted to say something but couldn’t get the words out.

“Ma’am?” He asked softly, reaching out to touch her. “Are you okay?”

She flinched at Twilight’s attempted contact. Her hands shook as she pointed to Wild’s weapon.

“Y-you’re Yiga.” She gasped.

Wild flinched. Him, a Yiga? There were Yiga here? Admittedly that probably should have been his first thought. They should have been in the future, right? This couldn’t have been the era of the hero before him, there were no Divine Beasts. He killed Kohga, the Clan should have died out. This couldn’t be the future, right? Wild’s hand absentmindedly went to the handle of his Windcleaver.

The woman’s frantic voice yanked him out of his thoughts.

“Please, please sir,” she whimpered, eyes downcast. “ I-I didn’t know, I never would have put you off like that. It wont happen again, I swear it.”

Wild’s eyes went wide. He quickly dropped his hand back to his side. What in the name of Hylia was she talking about?

“Ma’am,” he tried, reaching for her again.

The shopkeeper gave a small scream and stepped back so quickly Wild thought she would fall. Tears were running down her cheeks. Wild could feel small ones prick at the sides of his vision.

A small touch on his shoulder. “We need to go,” Twilight murmured in his ear

Wild stood rooted to the spot. He couldn’t just leave, the poor woman was terrified of them. Plus, they were still in desperate need of medical supplies. Something was definitely wrong here, and Wild was going to try to fix it.

A puff of smoke appeared behind him. He could feel Twilight stiffen. From behind him walked a Blademaster.

Twilight’s eyes went wide. The woman whimpered even louder. The Blademaster strode between them and leaned over the counter ever so slightly, hands planted on its rough-hewn surface.

“This filth bothering you?”

It took a minute for Wild to realize the cult member was talking to him. How did they get here so fast? What in the world was happening? He could feel his hands shaking and his breath getting quicker. He didn’t dare look over the Blademaster to Twilight. The Yiga apparently took his silence as a positive answer. He tutted and shook his head back and forth.

“Oh, Maira,” he said, faux sadness dripping from his voice. “What a poor decision you have made today.”

The shopkeeper, Maira, was shaking now, tears pouring from her eyes. Her hands were clutched close to her chest.

“I-I’m so sorry,” she sobbed. “I didn’t know.”

The Blademaster shook his head again. It had occurred to Wild that the village had gone completely silent. He could feel the eyes of the villagers bore into the back of his head. Where were Time and the others?

The Blademaster leaned even closer to Maira, their foreheads almost touching.

“You know the punishment for detaining a soldier of the crown,” he growled. Quick as lightning, he grabbed her wrist and slammed it down on the counter. She screamed and tried to pull away, but the Blademaster was to strong for her. Using his other hand, he drew a wickedly sharp Windcleaver and set it at her wrist. He lifted it high, the blade glinting in the sun.

The blade never made it down.

The soldier was thrown back with a clash of metal on metal. Twilight lowered his weapon down to his waist . He took slow, deliberate steps and planted himself in front of the stand and Wild, never breaking eye contact with the soldier. From the corner of his eyes, he could see the rest of his friends exit a bar. He caught Time’s horrified eye as his gaze went from Twilight to the Blademaster. Twilight claimed a fighting stance, daring the soldier to make a move.

The Blademaster considered Twilight for a second, then disappeared in a puff of smoke. Twilights tense shoulders sagged.

“Lets go,” he whispered with gritted teeth. Wild didn’t need to be asked twice. Twilight started towards the rest of the group.

A cloud of smoke bloomed in the corner of his vision.

Someone screamed Twilight’s name. (Was it him, or Time?)

Twilight wasn’t fast enough. The Yiga drew his sword, and thrust it through Twilight’s torso. A wet gasping noise escaped his lips as he fell to the ground. A scream ripped through the silence. Time, sword drawn, charged at the Yiga. Their swords clashed, and all silence was shattered. Screams filled the air as more Yiga materialized in puffs of smoke. The rest of the group drew their weapons and plunged into battle. Wild snapped out of his own stupor. He made a beeline to where Twilight laid crumpled on the ground, blood pooling below him.

“Twilight,“ he gasped, voice barely audible above the din of battle.

Blood trickled out of the side of his mouth as he tried to speak. Wild put a hand to his mouth.

“You need to save your energy.”

Twilight could only nod weakly. Wild screamed for Time, who was currently fighting off tow foot soldiers at once. He was loosing blood too fast, they would never be able to save him at this rate.

“Wild!”

Wild turned to see Warriors behind him, parrying a soldier with his shield.

“You need to get Twilight out of here,” he commanded. “Go back to the place where we started. Four and I can cover you. We’ll meet you there.”

Four, who was fighting at Warrior’s back, gave a firm nod, violet eyes locking with Wild’s blue.

Wild could only nod numbly. He wormed one arm under Twilight’s and pulled him up. A small scream escaped his bloody lips as his wound was stretched. His head lolled against Wild’s neck. He half dragged, half carried Twilight to the entrance of the town. To Four and Warrior’s credit, not a single Yiga engaged them on their way out. We’re almost there. Wild thought. Just a few more feet Twi. You have to stay with me. The going was slow considering Twilight was a good six inches and seventy pounds heavier than he was. Finally, finally, Wild was able to drag Twilight into the woods. He threw a quick look behind them to make sure they weren’t followed. He laid Twilight down on the dirt, trying to make him as comfortable as possible.

‘Cub,” Twilight coughed wetly, forcing his eyes open. “I-if I don’t make it, could y-.“

If Twilight wasn’t so close to death Wild would have slapped him across the face.

“Shut up,” he said through gritted teeth. “You are going to be fine.”

He gave a weak laugh, then fell silent.

Wild set to scouring his slate for something, anything, to help him. To his horror, he only had one fairy and a few bandages in his entire slate.

Stupid stupid stupid. This is all your fault. Thats all you’re good at, killing your friends. If you hadn’t equipped that Windcleaver like an idiot Twi wouldn’t be on death’s door in a foreign forest.

Tears gathered in Wild’s eyes. He would not be responsible for any more deaths. He had already caused enough to last a lifetime. With grim determination he set to work tending his brother’s wounds. The fairy from his slate tinkled with healing magic. Wild surveyed the damage after the fairy worked her magic. The wound was no longer immediately life threatening, but without proper medical equipment he would succumb to his wounds. All he could do now was wrap his wounds and pray for the best.

“Wild.”

He whipped around, hastily wiping tears from the corner of his eyes. Time, Sky, and Legend stumbled into the clearing.

“How bad is it?” Shy whispered, holding his shoulder.

Time ran a critical eye over his protégé’s still body.

“He’s alive. Barely.” Time murmured.

The bushes rustled again, this time producing Wind, who was lugging a very unconscious Hyrule.

‘He used too much of his magic,” gasped Wind, blood trickling from a cut near his hairline.

Sky moved to take Hyrule from the sailor, who promptly collapsed.

“Where’s the captain and smithy?” Time asked while looking Wind over.

“They were right behind me,” Legend said, trying to hide the obvious concern in his voice. “They should have made it out, right?”

A tense silence filled the clearing. No one wanted to acknowledge the possibility that two of their comrades hadn’t made it out alive.

“I’m sure they’re fine. Warriors and Four are both capable swords men who can hold their own.” Sky reassured. “For now, we need to focus on Twi. Does anyone have any more healing items?”

To the group’s collective horror, the only thing they could produce was half of a red potion, courtesy of Legend. Wild took it and held it to Twilight’s lips. He drank all of it in one gulp and a sigh, and closed his eyes. A hand touched his shoulder.

“Let him rest, cub.” Time said, voice soft. “He’s going to be fine.”

Wild tried to ignore the blatant lie and let his shoulders slump. There was nothing more anyone could do now. The others were trying to busy themselves with menial tasks, like resetting the camp and gathering wood, anything to distract them from Twi’s shallow breathing. Legend had taken to pacing around the camp, mumbling to himself. No one had the heart to stop him. Almost an hour had passed before the bushed rustled again. A very dusty Warriors limped into camp with a bloody Four in tow.

“It’s just a surface wound, don’t worry,” Four said, trying to reassure the group. “It looks a lot worse than it is, trust me.”

Warriors let out a sigh as he plopped down in front of the fire Wild had started. Legend stopped dead in his tracks and whipped around so violently it gave Wild whiplash just watching it.

“You aren’t going to say anything, Pretty Boy?” He screeched. “You were gone for an hour, and thats all you have? Damn it I thought you had died, you cant do that!” He stomped. “Where were you and Four?”

He looked up, eyes blazing. “What do you want me to say?” He bit back. “Four and I were fighting those bastards so you could get away. We let Twi get run through by an insane cult member. He’s on the verge of death, and you’re suddenly concerned about me?”

Legend’s eyes went wide. “Well fuck me for being concerned about you,” he sputtered. He turned to Wild. “I though the Yiga were supposed to be gone,” he yelled. “You killed their leader. Why are they here?”

“I don’t know!” Wild exploded back jumping up from his sitting position. “I don’t know. I just stood there and watched like an idiot. All I could do was watch, Legend!” He screamed. Legend flinched. “All I could do was watch and now he might die. Because of me. All I can do is kill people.” Wild took a shuddering breath and hid his face in his hands, tears flowing.

Silence once again settled on the group like a thick fog. The only things they could hear were Wild’s muffled sobs and Twilight’s shallow breaths.

“Excuse me?”

Wild’s head snapped up, hands flying to his sword. The rest of the group followed suit, forming a circle around Twilight and Hyrule, who was still unconscious.

‘’Who’s there?” Four called out. If Wild didn’t know any better, he could have sworn the trees themselves were speaking. Given that he only knew one talking tree, that seemed highly improbable. The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

“Oh gods, I’m sorry,” the voice said. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I just thought that given your situation you could use some help.”

Well that was unexpected. Wild and Four shared a confused look.

“Why would you want to help us?” Legend called.

“Isn’t it obvious?” The trees answered back. “Your friend isn’t looking so hot. By my estimate he’s got a good thirty minutes before he and Hylia have a face to face. And besides, I think you could help me.”

“Why would you want us to help you?” Time scoured the trees for some kind of indication of a speaker.

“Well given all the shit that just went down at the village I think you guys are pretty capable fighters.” The voice laughed. “And your friend Wild claimed to have killed the Yiga leader. Which, by the way, is completely incorrect. But still, that claim has to have some merit, and I’ve never seen a normal person have the courage to impersonate a Yiga, much less stand up to one. That takes guts. Stupid guts, but guts nonetheless.”

How did the tree voice know his name?

“You were there?”

The voice laughed again.

“Of course I was there, how would I know about it if I wasn’t?”

“Are you a healer?”

This prompted a laugh so loud the trees shook.

“Oh sweet Hylia if I was a healer, I would kill someone. How ironic would that be? A healer killing someone? I’m not a healer, but I know a really good one. 150 percent care garunteed. If I’m going to help you though, I’m going to have to ask you to put away the swords” the voice almost sounded apologetic.

Wild weighed the options in his head. On one hand, they could let the crazy tree voice who somehow knew his name help them. On the other hand, they could watch Twilight die. Putting it like that, the answer was more than obvious. He looked over to Time. He gave a slight nod, motioning to the others to put their weapons away.

“Excellent.”

With a rustle of leaves, a green-clad hooded figure dropped out of the trees in front of them. A mask covered the lower half of his face, accenting blue eyes that sparkled in the twilight. He took quick steps to where Twilight laid. Gloved hands rummaged in a bag at his hips, producing a vial of a pale looking liquid, bandages, and red potion.

“See, the first mistake you made was not carrying antidote with you.” He said. “A Blademaster always coats their sword with poison before a fight. Thats why your fairy didn’t really work.”

The implications of those three sentences worried Wild. Firstly, it meant Twilight had been poisoned. Second, it meant that the tree voice had been around when he used that fairy almost three hours ago.

The figure uncorked the bottle and tipped Twilight’s chin up slightly, pouring the contents of the vial into his mouth. Twilight gulped the unknown substance, apparently unaware a complete stranger had fed him it. The tree boy then went soaking the bandages in red potion, rewrapping Twilight’s wounds. Satisfied, he stood back and admired his handiwork.

“And there you go,” he said cheerily. “Now he wont die of poison.”

“You mean he might die of something else?” Legend practically screamed.

“Well, I mean yeah. Do you know how many things out here could kill you?” He started listing things off his fingers. “He lost a lot of blood, he might die of exhaustion, and spontaneous combustion is always on the table. Do you know how terrifying that would be? One minute you’re here, the next your body gets relocated to the Sacred Realm via a fiery demise. Honestly, how are more people not worried about it?”

That was an unexpected tangent, but Wild had to admit, he could see Twilight breathing quite a lot easier. He turned to the tree boy.

“Do you have a name?”

He laughed merrily, blue eyes dancing.

“I sure hope so. I’m Link.”

Shit.

Shit shit shit.

Legend honestly didn’t know what he had expected. Hylia just loved throwing them curveballs, and a crazy tree person who happened to have a whole infirmary’s worth of medical supplies at the exact time they needed it could have only been a Link.

They were all sitting around the campfire now, crazy tree Link included. He was wiry, but small, barely grazing Time’s shoulder. Wild golden curls tumbled down his back, secured with a band. Some ringlets escaped to frame a face containing the most freckles Legend had ever seen on a living person. Link had explained to Wild that he had followed him out of the village because he wanted to help. He stayed in the trees because he couldn’t figure out if they were hostile or not. Thats how he was able to figure out his name. Satisfied with that answer, Wild hade made them all soup, and he was happily slurping it down. Hyrule had woken up a while ago, and was wildly confused at the sight of another person who definitely hadn’t been there when he passed out. Time had explained the whole strange situation. Twilight had also woken up thanks to the pale potion and bandages, and was sipping soup slowly with the help of Sky.

Warriors cleared his throat.

“So, Link,” he said, putting emphasis on the name. “ Can you explain to us what the hell happened back at the town?”

“Well there’s not much to say there. You guys pissed off the Yiga and they retaliated. Honestly, you guys need to be more careful.”

Warriors sighed.

“Thats not what I meant. I mean why were they there.”

“Thats also pretty self explanatory. You waltzed into a Yiga occupied village. Are you guys ok? How do you not know any of this?”

“He means why are they here. In Hyrule. Now. How long have they been here? And why hasn’t anyone done anything about it? Shouldn’t the princess know about this?” Wild leveled an intense stare at Link.

He set his spoon down, staring down into his bowl.

“Wow, you guys are really far behind,” he said quietly. “The Yiga have been here for almost twenty five years.”

“Twenty five years?” Wild gasped.

Link nodded. “They took over when my parents were kids. From what I can piece together, a powerful warlock invaded Hyrule and all the major settlements with the help of the Yiga Clan. A lot of people were killed, including most of the people who were in the castle,” he finished quietly. “They’ve been here ever since.”

Ganon. Legend thought. That bastard pig was at it again. It was becoming clearer by the minute why they had been called here.

Wild started hyperventilating.

“No, that cant be right. They were supposed to be gone.”

“What about the hero?” Sky asked. “Surely they should have done something.”

Link’s eyes went stormy. “You think the ‘hero’ could possibly help?” He said with an edge to his voice.

“The hero, if they exist, was probably killed twenty five years ago. And if they are alive, they’re a coward. I’ve been in this fight since I was practically born, and they haven’t even made their supposed existence known. The hero is only a bedtime story for people who have lost hope.” Link finished with a growl.

That did not bode well. Where was the hero? Could he be dead? That wasn’t possible. They’re had to be a hero, right? Maybe the kid in front of them was just a Link by coincidence. Hell, he didn’t even believe in the hero. Legend started to wonder how many of the people in this Hyrule shared the same sentiment.

Now Sky was hyperventilating along with Wild.

“But someone should have taken up the mantle. What about the Master Sword? Surely someone should have pulled it by now.” Sky’s voice trembled.

Link finally looked up, eyes dark.

“Wow.” He whispered to himself. “You guys must live in a hole.”

“What do you mean?” Time said, voice grave.

Link locked eyes with Time, eyes just as serious.

“The Master Sword doesn’t exist. It was shattered twenty years ago.”

#linked universe #chiaroscuro fic #sapphie writes

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caffernnn · 3 years

Note

How different do you think Rin would be if his father hasn’t passed away? I imagine that he might still love swimming, because he just seems like a determined little go getter. But I think he might have been more susceptible to other dreams and career paths without feeling like he had the follow his father’s on top of becoming the “man of the house” at such a young age. Obviously we wouldn’t have free either if Rin never moved to Iwatobi sc. Quite the butterfly effect that had 🧐🧐. I think everyone’s lives would be vastly different.

There are definitely big aspects of Rin’s character that are shaped by his grief (even if he’d never realize to admit to it) and it’s interesting to wonder who he’d be without that huge change in his life. I’ve talked in the past about how I see Rin as someone who hangs onto his visions of the future and his goals with a stubborn grip, and I think a lot of that grit stems from how he tried to cope with and adapt to the loss of his dad. He was already a romantic visionary who loved swimming, loved trying on his dad’s own dreams like a well-worn hand-me-down pair of shoes, but there’s a shift when Toraichi is suddenly ripped from the picture. He clings to his visions of the future even more because he can’t be sure anything in the present is here to stay. His dad’s dream and goals are no longer just fond stories he used to tell his kids about, but these tethers Rin feels like he inherited and has to nurture. Rin is still very much his own person, and I’m not saying his dreams to hit the world stage and be the best are ill-fitting, but there is a sense in every big race he wins, every training session he pushes himself to the limits, that this is beyond just meeting his own standards. Sometimes I think about middle school Rin, wrecked after his race with Haru and feeling like he isn’t good enough to keep swimming, and how feeling that distraught had to be tied back to his grief. “Am I not good enough to fulfill his dream? Am I allowed to find a new dream? Am I giving up on swimming, or am I giving up on him? Would he even be proud of me?” It’s this spiral of questions that forms his tunnel vision, making him a lost beast who forgets about how his friends made him love swimming, or how his dad’s dreams were always about holding the people he loved close. He chose his family over the grueling path to a pro career and hoped that whatever grand dreams his spitfire children chased that they’d know they’re not alone. I’d love to talk more about how Rin’s own complex relationship with his goals/dreams influences how he reacts to the journeys others take with their own goals and dreams. Thinking about how strongly he reacts to Haru’s lack of a dream and Sousuke’s journey with his swimming career... he takes both instances personally. He’s stuck in this place where he wants his friends to covet their dreams just as strongly, but also choose a path that keeps them in his sphere. He’s learned through the Free! storyline how important his friends and teammates are to him, and now it scares him to keep moving forward on his race to the top without his best friends or his rivals by his side. It’s interesting.

#I love rinrin and how much he’s grown #also sending him and anyone else who’s lost a parent/guardian lord of love bc that can be such a huge and complicated loss #imagine if the story centered more on Rin instead of Haru and we saw more of how the Matsuokas learned to cope with their grief #don’t even get me started on Kou #rin matsuoka #meta #thanks for sending!!#anonymous

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adragonhoardingstories · 4 years

Text

Of Blood and Bonds - Chapter 5

"Father you know I respect you." Damian said and everyone at the dining table stilled as they were about to get up and leave. "But I must admit, as my brothers would say, you've majorly fucked up."

Bruce sighed. He had thought about that - had Alfred scold him for having benched Damian - for doing as Damian had said and taking out his anger about his own failures on his other children. But that didn't make this any easier.

"Damian I know you're mad I didn't tell you about your sister-"

"Oh this is not about that. Well not entirely. They are connected but this is not about Marinette alone." When no one spoke, he took it as his cue to continue.

"You saw in her files that there were some vague details about her being possessed by an akuma. Did you figure out what they are? Because I have an its not pretty. Actually, it's bad enough to warrant an intervention of the Justice League as a whole but my sister tells me that they were told not to waste the JL's time."

His youngest's face was worryingly blank. It reminded him of all the times he was set upon something and right now it seemed that his new focus was his older sister. Bruce supposed, he should be thankful that Damian's attention towards her was not of the murderous kind.

"What do you mean?" He made sure to keep his voice free from emotions.

"From what she told me, they asked for help several times until someone from the JL dismissed their problems as a prank, a joke without any investigation or anything about their claims."

Someone was going to be hearing from Batman soon.

"And what about the akumas?"

"It's enough to need more than one member of the JL. I've see a video of one of the attacks, it's...horrifying and according to Marinette it was one of the tamer ones."

"Do you have them?" His sons all looked annoyed and he knew they were probably thinking that he was letting superhero work take precedence over his family again. But that was how he worked. He didn't know what to do about the situation with Marinette but this - this could find a solution to.

"There are videos of them online."

Damian seemed to take that as his cue to get up and walk away.

"I'll play the videos in the cave."

Marinette hadn't necessarily had the best time in the last years but one thing he had definitely learned was who were her real friends and who weren't.

It was before the worst month of her life but things had already started taking a turn for the worse for her at that point.

Her so called friends all started to believe Lila over her, started to - as she now knew - emotionally blackmail her, only gave her the time of the day whenever she did something for them or to scold her for whatever she apparently did for poor Lila.

She was oh so tired and every second she wasted made her feel more guilty.

Hawkmoth had come back more enraged than ever after the Miracle Queen incident and she had done the mistake of lending the more Miraculous out.

She had given Kagami and Luka both different Miraculous for them to fight alongside her because they both have strong spirits and a good resonance with several kwamis but... let's just say that she would never forgive herself for what they had to experience because of her.

In desperation, she tried to find other holders that she hadn't used before who resonated but that...that had been a huge mistake. She almost lost more than one Miraculous that day.

She was their Guardian. And that day she vowed that she would die first before letting something happen to the Kwamis.

She was fighting alone now. Chat Noir...Chat Noir was even more pushy about revealing themselves after the the chaos that had occured. He hindered more than he helped, never showing up on time.

Things had come to head one day as she walked into class. The whole incident had involved a bunch of sheep and a ripped sketchbook - hers to be precise.

It proved to actually be a relief to let go if them. She had never realized how much their 'friendship' had been dragging her down.

I got permission to use this fic as a reference for her backstory so check it out. Thanks for that btw.

That experience proved to be helpful later when she felt like there was no one she could trust.

Apprenticeship with Master Fu had since long taught her that it was better to feel than to see. She had learnt to recognise auras rather than faces and in the end that might have been her saving grace - or well at least the start of her path back to sanity.

She had learnt to see and remember the auras of her friends rather than anything else because afterall the soul didn't lie.

After everything, well her reliance on auras had only increased.

Meeting her brothers had been amazing and even more so now that it seemed that they wanted to have a relationship with her.

But one things that bothered her were their auras.

It wasn't that they were bad - it was that they were scarred, hardened and she could basically see that they had suffered in the past.

The worst of them were probably Jason and Damian. Their auras made it very clear that they had been dipped in the Lazarus pits.

Jason...Jason's soul had been corrupted at such a point that she doubted that the pits had been used for anything less than bringing him back from the dead.

And Damian - Damian's soul seemed to have some of the pits as a foundation. She gathered that he had been dunked into the pools more than once when he was a child. There was something else in his aura too that showed that he had died not long ago too.

There was also another aura that seemed to have to have linked with both of them which made her sure of their last fates and Marinette shuddered to think what had happened to them.

She had to remind herself that the past was in the past and while she couldn't change that, she could at least help them have a better future.

So, one could say, that she was nervous for this upcoming dinner.

The dinner didn't go as expected - at all.

Firstly, they were late. All of her brothers and sister were late, very very late. Marinette was not impressed, especially give that Damian wasn't answering his phone.

But this was Gotham, the few kwamis she had brought with her reasoned, there was probably a problem and wasn't it better that were safe inside than stuck outside and hurt?

Just as she was about to say screw it and transform using the fox Miraculous to see if she could help the bats, she felt the magic around the house shift.

Marinette focused in the disturbance and closed her eyes reaching out for their auras. She soon snapped her eyes open and let a smile come on her face - she knew those auras. But why were they entering from the window?

Marinette shrugged it off and signalled the kwamis to hide while she went to greet them.

She was not ready for the sight that she came upon. Her siblings were all in a state of disarray and it looked like they were trying to be silent.

They were of course failing miserably given what seemed to be a bullet wound in Jason and a stab would in Dick and the rest of them all seemed to have been beat up to at least some degree.

"What the fuck?" Marinette felt like the situation called for her language to be excused.

They all froze in place before slowly turning to look at her.

"Uh hey." Dick or should she say Nightwing because apparently she wasn't stressed enough gave her a short wave.

She cursed and buried her face in her hands. "Of course I can't have normal siblings."

"Siblings?" Black Bat seemed suprised. She couldn't recognize her aura, Marinette decided that she must have been Cassandra.

"You must be confused ma'am." Red Robin jumped in and Marinette rolled her eyes. "I'm not stupid Timothy." And then just to prove her point she point at each one of them in turn. "Jason, Dick, Damian and who I'm guessing is Cassandra."

"What makes you say that?" Tim seemed to be ever the player of words.

She sighed, knowing they wouldn't budge until she proved that she truely believed her words.

"Well, why else would you be here?"

"Uh because it was the nearest place we found to nurse our wounds and last time we checked this place was abandoned?"

"Let's say that's true. Wouldn't it make more sense for you to go a place where you could actually have access to supplies to treat your wounds? Not to mention the fact that that-" she pointed at the hole in Jason's shoulder. "-is a bullet wound and I heard no gunshot. And lastly, what a coincidence it is that Black Bat who is known to work in Hong Kong comes back to Gotham at the same time as my sister Cassandra who from what I've heard also is currently living in Hong Kong too."

No one replied.

"So do you want to continue arguing or are you idiots going to let me help you before you bleed all over my floor."

Unsurprisingly it was Damian who moved the first - it made sense, he was the one who had spent most time with her and at least had a modicum of trust in her.

He removed his mask and met her eyes. "Do you have a first-aid kit?"

She nodded. "Get in the bathroom and get those two in the tub." She nodded towards Dick and Jason. I'll bring it to you."

Marinette hurried to her bed room to find her probably over-packed first aid kit. She had brought it for herself so that in case of a bad akuma attack she could take care of her wounds - after all her cure took care of everyone else before her, she had enough scars to prove that not that she could distinguish them from those the cat had given her.

She was glad to see that they had followed her instructions. Jason and Dick were seated in her honestly huge tub and they along with the rest had made themselves comfortable, having discarded their armor.

She placed the first-aid kit down and kneeled next to Dick. She felt that the stove would in the stomach took more precedence.

Jason reached out for the kit but Marinette batted his hand away.

"You're injured, sit down quietly." She snapped and to everyone's surprise, he did as he was told.

Marinette started treating their wounds, thanking the kwamis that she had done a medical course as soon as she had realised that her wounds could not heal from the cure.

She had finally taken care of the more dangerous wounds and Marinette had enough of them squirming so she broke the silence "So, why in the world did you come here instead of going to your hyper-tech batcave with most certainly more medical facilities than my humble abode?"

She had to supress a smile as the boys looked among themselves. Finally it was Cassandra that replied.

"Did not want to miss dinner. You."

"Well you were already two hours late, you could just have sent me a text that you'd be a little more late."

"Didn't want to take chance."

Marinette smiled up at her. "Well I'm done, come on, I'll get you some clothes to change into."

"I don't think you'll have anything that will fit us."

"I'm a designer." She called over her shoulder. "I always have spares. Anyways, Cassandra-"

"Cass."

"Right, well Cass come with me, we're about the same size, you can take something of mine."

She led Cass to her bedroom and guided her to her wardrobe while she picked something for the boys.

She totally hadn't hoped to see her siblings during this trip and had this made something for them. Nope. Absolutely not.

She handed each of them their clothes. "Choose a room if you want, I have more than enough of them, then come down, I'm re-heating the food."

She smiled at Damian as he came down the stairs. "I tried my hand at some Arabic food. I hope you like it."

The boy looked awed. He walked to her and gave her a hug. "You're my new favourite sibling." Marinette laughed and pressed a kiss in his hair. "I love you too little brother."

She heard the disbelieving whisper of Demon Spawn? And looked up to see the rest.

She squeezed Damian's shoulder one last time before she pulled away, guiding him to sit down.

"Well dig in. You must be famished after your fight."

They did exactly that and soon were making their appreciation known.

"It's the first time I've attempted Arabic food, I don't know if I got the spices right.*

"It's delicious Pixie Pop. Don't worry.*

"Todd's right Mari. I haven't eaten anything this good since I came to Gotham."

"Really? Alfred didn't immediately dote on you and cook you all the food you wanted. "

He looked uncomfortable. "I was a difficult child back then."

"Was?" Jason snorted while Dick elbowed him.

Casssandra intervened. "You good at cleaning wounds. Hands stable."

"Yes well unfortunately it's not the first time I've had to do this."

"How come?"

"Did Damian tell you about the akuma attacks?" They nodded. "Well, Paris had since adapted to handle the akuma attacks. A lot of people have taken medical courses for extensive first aid to be able to help the unfortunate victims of an akuma."

"I thought that your superhero reversed all the damage."

"Well yeah. But Ladybug was insistent to make it clear that they couldn't bank everything on her. If she's taken down, everything's lost."

"This has been going for how many years. How do you still trust that hero?"

"And for how many years have the Joker been spreading his terror?" She asked drily and saw several of them recoil - Jason and Tim especially.

"Ladybug is doing all that she can only get so far with Chat Noir around."

"Chat Noir? I thought that he was her partner?"

"He's supposed to be but we'll these days he causes more trouble than he stops. People hope he doesn't show up because the battles are always over quicker when he's not there." She could see that they wanted to ask more but number one she didn't want to talk about Chat Noir and number two she felt like if she continued talking, she would slip up and say something she shouldn't know and the risk of them catching it was greater since they were themselves heroes.

"And anyways, Hawkmoth only comes out in a blue moon and that's only when he has a lot of faith in his plans."

"So there are a lot of these akuma attacks?"

"I guess it's kind of become a daily event by this point. People plan stuff taking it into consideration and if we're unlucky, there will be more than one in a day."

"So what type of akumas are there?"

"It depends really over what you've been akumatized. We've had a Pharaon, a Mime, Mr Pigeon and Mr Rat as well as Syren in the first year."

"Those seem like... interesting characters." Jason said.

"Wait until you hear this." Marinette snorted. "We had a Batman knock-off once, Owlman - he had his own electronic butler and everything."

The bats shared a look before they all bursted out laughing at once.

How could they not, imagining Bruce's face upon learning of this?

"You need to tell us this story."

Marinette was more than eager to comply.

It's too long so I'm gonna reblog the rest

#MLB X DC #torture #mentions of rape #lila salt #adrien salt #maribat #platonic daminette

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catargott · 3 years

Text

when you speedrun evermore looking for taylor swift lyrics that reminds you of supercorp :)

this is in no particular order btw because speedrunning means idek how many songs there are and i have definitely not looked at the tracklist

oh and i know there are some people who don’t particularly like her music and that’s okay! you can just ignore this haha (or read about her lyricism, either way works for me <3)

happiness

there'll be happiness after you but there was happiness because of you both of these things can be true there is happiness

starting out angsty as i always do :)

but basically for this one i really see both of them kind of thinking it over and wanting to move on but also not wanting to move on and it’s really just so s5 i can’t think of it any other way

haunted by the look in my eyes that would've loved you for a lifetime leave it all behind and there is happiness

i would say this is lena talking because kara probably could tell and it probably really set in after lena left so once again s5 vibes from this and “it was never meant to be” aesthetic

tell me, when did your winning smile begin to look like a smirk? when did all our lessons start to look like weapons pointed at my deepest hurt? i hope she'll be your beautiful fool who takes my spot next to you no, i didn't mean that sorry, i can't see facts through all of my fury you haven't met the new me yet

so i took this as both a little bit of lena and lex at the beginning but also a little bit of season 5 lena at the end especially because it seems her anger was kind of blinding her to everything else

after giving you the best i had tell me what to give after that all you want from me now is the green light of forgiveness you haven't met the new me yet and i think she'll give you that

this is also lena but closer to the end of season 5, when she realizes and begins to forgive kara

cowboy like me

you're a bandit like me eyes full of stars hustling for the good life never thought i'd meet you here it could be love we could be the way forward and i know i'll pay for it

so in the previous verse, it references the rich people paying for it literally, but i don’t think that’s all it means in this verse, and it kind of reminded me of lena and kara because they really did pay for loving each other

now you hang from my lips like the Gardens of Babylon with your boots beneath my bed forever is the sweetest con

honestly this isn’t even for a specific reason, i just felt it screaming supercorp at me haha. i mean that last line is so in character and cynical and it really echoes the idea of them wanting forever together but knowing they can’t have it

and i'm never gonna love again i'm never gonna love again i'm never gonna love again

this is mostly self-explanatory and applies to both of them because we all know they would never be able to move on if one or the other left in any way and we also know that the one left behind would stop at nothing to get them back (as we’ve seen in season 5)

‘tis the damn season

it's the kind of cold, fogs up windshield glass but i felt it when i passed you there's an ache in you, put there by the ache in me but if it's all the same to you it's the same to me

this makes me think of both of them. it makes me think of lena after she apologized and kara was still cold to her but it also makes me think of kara after the big reveal and then the fortress scene and how she would see lena afterwards and realize just how much she’d hurt her. anyway here’s me overthinking and adding angst lol

tolerate it

okay so i don’t have any specific verses for this but something about it really just echoes the sadness in both of them during season 5 so i highly recommend going to listen to it and then you can see what you think of it (i recommend listening to all of them because wow the album is phenomenal but yeah this one for sure because it’s got /something/ about it)

dorothea

it's never too late to come back to my side the stars in your eyes shined brighter in Tupelo and if you're ever tired of bеing known for who you know you know, you'll always know me, Dorothea

this really makes me think of kara talking to lena or just kara at lena during season 5. the first line and then basically this entire verse is just all kara at lena during s5

gold rush

everybody wants you everybody wonders what it would be like to love you walk past, quick brush i don't like slow motion, double vision in rose blush i don't like that falling feels like flying 'til the bone crush everybody wants you but i don't like a gold rush

this really makes me think of either of them kind of falling for each other but either ignoring it or remaining in denial because it would be difficult and it would never work and the reasons go on and on and on

i can't dare to dream about you anymore at dinner parties i won't call you out on your contrarian shit and the coastal town we never found will never see a love as pure as it 'cause it fades into the gray of my day-old tea 'cause it will never be once again the idea of it never being possible is present and then there’s an added side of denial at the beginning, too. i wouldn’t say this is entirely canon but i can’t really say it isn’t either

ivy

oh, goddamn my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand taking mine, but it's been promised to another oh, i can't stop you putting roots in my dreamland my house of stone, your ivy grows and now i'm covered in you

this really makes me think of them and i can’t tell who it is because it really blurs and it could really be both of them. they definitely both are very deeply entangled and season 5 caused some things to rip out and just the covered in you bit is so supercorp-esque because they really can’t separate without leaving scars. and their separation always causes a wave that crashes on all the people around them.

and the pain thing is also so supercorp-esque because lena is always cold (this might just be a headcanon i can’t tell the difference at this point haha) and so it could be kara talking but it could also be alluding to when kara was trapped in the fortress and the fortress is literally made of ice so it could also be lena talking.

anyway yeah ivy is basically just entirely supercorp and you should also really go listen to it.

long story short

'cause i fell from the pedestal right down the rabbit hole long story short, it was a bad time pushed from the precipice clung to the nearest lips long story short, it was the wrong guy now i'm all about you

...

climbed right back up the cliff long story short, i survived now i'm all about you

(same verse but different ending)

this really makes me think of either of them tbh. it’s all about falling from where they were, falling apart after the separation, and they went to the wrong people (or at least lena did) and then she apologized at the end of s5.

no more tug of war now i just know there's more (know there's more) no more keepin' score now i just keep you warm (keep you warm) and my waves meet your shore ever and evermore

this is also how they come back together because they stop trying to get even and it’s about healing and coming back together again.

past me i wanna tell you not to get lost in these petty things your nemeses will defeat themselves before you get the chance to swing and he's passing by rare as the glimmer of a comet in the sky and he feels like home if the shoe fits, walk in it everywhere you go

this could also fit for both of them, but it really fits for lena in my opinion. there’s the thing about the shoe fitting and it makes me think of katie not liking heels haha. but more important there’s the past me, don’t get lost in the petty things, probably referring to her want to get revenge, to get even. and then, i might be overthinking/over-analyzing a bit, but the comet in the sky thing makes me think of how kara crashed to earth and how she really is just as rare, if not more, as a comet.

anyway yeah that’s all the analysis i had basically so this is just out there now haha but yeah i kinda felt the need to do this since i didn’t really with folklore and that album was absolutely loaded with sc lyrics and songs so here i am for evermore :)

#taylor swift #analysis #mine #evermore #supercorp #lyrics

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lokispettigerr · 4 years

Text

To Summon A Witcher: Geralt x Reader Chapter 1 (NSFW) Smut

Summary: Reader lives and works in one of the most romantic cities in the US, Charleston, SC. However, because of the city's colored past, romance isn’t the only thing that can be found there– it is said that ghosts, goblins, ghouls and the like make the city their home. When Reader meets one of these creatures she has to get the help of someone not quite so human in order to be free, but he frees her from much more than she ever expected.

Taglist: In reblog

Word Count: 1769

Warnings: This shit spooky, fam. Graveyard, and corpse mention.

A/N: This is the first-ever Geralt fic I have written. I hope you enjoy it! Leave me your thoughts in the comments or in an ask!

“Yeah, it’s this huge guy with stark-white hair, golden eyes, and seriously, a body that could pick me up and snap me like a twig,” I told my best friend, Genny.

“Sounds hot. I’m not sure I understand where this is a problem?” She swirled the coffee mug around, stirring up the settled liquid in her latte. “I mean, unless you are waking up to find that these dreams with the ‘Daddy-white-haired-tree-man’ are really wet dreams that soak your covers through… I could see that as being a problem.” She laughed a musical beautiful laugh. I danced around her comment, not wanting her to know how I felt when I woke up from the dreams of the mysterious man or the nature of some of the dreams which truly did feature bare skin, hard muscle, and moans that rang out in unison.

“Genny, I have never seen this man before in my life, yet he has been in every dream I have had for months now. I just don’t know what it means.”

“Sure, but you’ve had to have seen him somewhere.” She looked around us now, glancing all about the outside patio of the coffee shop that was nestled between a bakery and a uniquities store. People were milling about, their arms full of shopping bags or clutching briefcases or talking on their cell phones. “Honestly, I want to see this guy.” Genny licked her lips. “Maybe he is nearby right now,” she whispered, “Either that or he was the main stud on some porn. Yeah, that’s likely it.”

I stared at her blankly. Why did everything have to come back to sex? I mean, to be fair things always came back to sex for the both of us and this was likely one of the reasons why we enjoyed each other's company so much, but this was serious. Dreams mean something, or so my mother taught me to believe. And I couldn’t help but think that the man in my dreams had something to do with my current predicament. After all, they had started shortly after things took a turn for the worse.

I’d felt it on more than one occasion, and lately with the way things were going whatever beasty was following me seemed to only be growing stronger.

It had first started on a cold, wet day. The rain had been steadily falling for more than a week, but that day the wind was stirring maddeningly and there had been a tornado warning.

When the storm began I was at work and after the numerous alerts and warnings, me and my coworkers were all told it would be best if we left. In my rush, I dashed out of the door with only my keys.

I had forgotten my bag and my phone and all the contents that I had slowly collected over the years and kept in a satchel as a sort of talisman to ward off evil spirits and the like that seemed to want to attach themselves to me.

The satchel contained an odd assortment of things: a small vial of salt, a clay statue with its own strikingly unusual appearance, a stone of jet, a globe of labradorite, and the tooth of a black cat that all helped me to feel safe, to be protected and to walk unnoticed throughout the world-- at least in the realm of those things not living.

From childhood, I noticed shadows, without shape or form. Most of the time they were harmless. As I grew older, I became more aware of other creatures and entities. The shadows would go from playful to predatorial.

I quickly grew scared and when my mother found out she took me to see a children’s therapist. The apparitions did not stop, they poured forth latching onto my fears, my desperation and hopelessness. It was as if I had become a house for them to dwell within.

I became haunted.

I passed through the hands of multiple therapists, too many to even count. None of them could help me. I was a child becoming a teen that was out of their depth. They either pitied me, despised me, or feared me.

Eventually, my mother heard tell of a spiritual healer, who was no more than a witch, yet she was the only one who could help.

Instead of claiming that I was delusional or sick, the healer praised me for my abilities and told my mother I was gifted, however, the healer sensed the dark energies threatening to consume me and crafted the satchel that had been blessed and enchanted with wards to keep me safe.

And from then on, I carried it with me wherever I went.

That is, until the day the tornado hit.

I’d left work feeling hopeful that I would make it home before the storm became dangerous. But the further I went, the harder the storm raged. I lived in an aged and historic town and was lucky enough to be within walking distance from my work. A few blocks and I would have been home.

I dashed through the rain, taking care not to slip and hurt myself. My keys jangled loudly against my hip.

Rainwater was pelting my eyes and I had trouble seeing. I was soaked. Lightning flashed while thunder rumbled threateningly.

If I would have left a few minutes earlier from my work maybe things would have been different.

If I would have not forgotten my purse with the enchanted satchel within maybe things would be better for me.

Being a human means making human mistakes and mistakes breed consequences that are not often too kind.

I’d rounded a corner at the French district, splashing through puddles when I came to the wrought iron, overgrown with ivy and tangled weeds, entrance of the graveyard.

People often said the graveyard was haunted, cursed.

There were ghost walks and spirit tours that brought groups of people to this very cemetery so they could “Oooo” and “Aahhh” and romanticize about all the horrific deeds that had taken place here. They would return home or to their inns or their taverns and tell the stories they had heard over a beer with a friend, or sitting in front of their fireplace, or tucked into a cool bed on a winter night.

The locals all knew this cemetery was bad news, nothing good ever came of it except for the endless revenue of the ghost tours that the cemetery enticed.

I planned to continue on down the block, straight past the graveyard, but a harsh streak of lightning cut through the sky overhead and thunder cracked so loudly I could feel it deep within my very bones.

Though I cringed at the thought, I knew that if I cut through the graveyard I would be home in half the time.

I gulped and with a look of harsh determination on my face, I ran into the graveyard, pushing my body through the gate.

It closed behind me with a harsh clang, but I continued.

I wasn’t interested in taking my time like some of the tourists do when they come here to meander and ponder while they look at the ancient graves, too old to even have names or dates on them, or too overgrown with tangled foliage for anything to be made out.

There was a worn path beneath my feet, and the rainwater had caused it to be treacherously slick with red clay mud. It threatened to be surpassed and covered in its entirety by tall and leggy green weeds. They slapped relentlessly at my calves and thighs as I ran through.

The weeds made me run blindly. I thought if I stayed on the path it was safest, but I was wrong.

My foot caught on a thick, twisting root that lay horizontally before me. It snaked from one set of graves to another, likely gaining nourishment from the rotting corpses underneath the ground.

I fell, catching myself on the heels of my hands. My pants leg was ripped open and a sharp, sudden pain could be felt above my knee.

I sat up, thoroughly covered in mud and grime from the cemetery, my hair completely soaked through, my clothes stuck against my skin and inspected the gaping wound above my knee. It wouldn’t need stitches, but as soon as I got home I would have to place some butterfly bandages on the wound, or it was sure to leave an ugly scar.

A wet warmth spread along the skin of my knee as my pants soaked up the blood that was pouring forth.

Just then the wind gushed maddeningly, causing the trees in the graveyard to sway and the grey Spanish moss to dance. The trees creaked and groaned with their movement.

Nearby I heard a clicking noise and I couldn’t place it to anything natural. I shifted, sitting up straight, remaining still so I could hear whatever the noise belonged to.

A shadow crossed my periphery and I turned my head towards the movement.

Whatever it was, was using the headstones to hide and shifting between them, manipulating the shadows of the graves to appear “natural”.

But the feeling of dread I had that I often associated with the shadow beings from my past was all too familiar.

My hands fumbled around for my purse. I would grab the enchanted draw-string satchel and would put an end to this shadow thing coming after me.

It was then, I realized my mistake. I had left my purse at work.

“Shit!”

The clicking grew louder and before me, the shadow began to take form.

I knew I couldn’t turn around. All I could do now was keep moving forward, towards home-- towards safety.

The shadow-being before me darkened, swirling and shifting menacingly, and I rose to my feet charging through it.

When I passed through its still collecting form, I felt a cold that seeped into my bones and gripped with a deadly claw around the deepest parts of my being. It was as if, in doing that it knew me. Everything about me.

My darkest desires, my deepest fears, my hopes and my failures.

I ran from the storm.

I ran from the graveyard.

I ran from the shadow that threatened to abolish me.

Things have been a nightmare since and the depression I was treated for long ago with the help of the spiritual healer is slowly lurking back.

I am certain the shadow beast followed me home, and what I am most uncertain of is how to get rid of it.

**** Hope you all enjoyed chapter 1! Please get this fic out into the tumblr verse by reblogging, commenting, and even sending asks if you feel like it! If you would like to support me head on over to my Patreon where you will get access to my fics before anywhere else and much more! Or fuel me with Ko-fi! Until next time! Peace, Loki’s Pet Tiger

#geralt fanfic #geralt #geralt of rivia #the witcher #geralt x you #geralt x reader #geralt lemons #geralt smut #lpt #geralt fanfiction #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x you #henry cavill geralt #henry cavill fanfiction

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sweetlangdon · 4 years

Text

Reckoning: Part Five (Michael Langdon x Reader)

Notes: AU of the Outpost plot of Apocalypse. A Gray accidentally finds Michael while he’s performing the ritual. Things take an interesting turn.

Warnings: Blood, violence, murder, all the usual stuff you’ve come to expect from this fic.

Word Count: 5.0k

You can find the previous parts here.

Her dreams were filled with Hellfire and devils and a world ravaged by the darkness. She heard it whispering to her as she slept, voices that seemed so much closer, so much clearer once she’d taken Langdon’s knife in that blood-soaked room. In her dreams, the sky was scarlet, a fire left burning. Everything else had drowned in ash and smoke except for the heap of bodies. They were pale, nearly withered away to bones. Left in twisted, macabre shapes with blood running from the corners of their mouths.

But she knew their faces. Every single one.

The Outpost, a hulking, black shape, loomed over them, awash in gold and orange from the fires. And then there was Langdon—impossibly, frustratingly perfect, dark and immaculate all at once. Not a drop of blood on him, not a speck of dirt on his clothes. She’d been distracted by the way the wind stirred his hair. His eyes were two deep pools of obsidian, an unforgiving black. And then he was moving toward her, dust and sand and ash swirling around his shoes, every movement more graceful than the last.

And he was grinning at her. That slow, arrogant crooked grin that took a while to curve his lips, the one that she tried to tell herself she hated. His molten black gaze drifted from her eyes to her hand as he closed the distance between. She hadn’t noticed it, the knife clutched in her fist, the crimson dripping from her fingers that didn’t belong to her.

But he did. Of course he did, because Langdon knew everything. Knew whatever darkness was locked away deep inside her soul. Knew what it took to coax it out and set it free.

And it was beginning to scare her, how much she wanted it.

His long fingers wrapped around hers still gripping the knife. His knife. Her breath hitched as his knuckles brushed her hair. He took her face in his hand, his thumb tracing the swell of her cheek. Langdon’s grin widened, and she decided that the abyss in his eyes wasn’t so horrifying anymore.

But he could keep the fucking snakes.

“Chaos becomes you,” Langdon whispered. A low growl that rumbled through her bones like thunder. Cataclysmic.

She’d been afraid the first time he told her that—terrified and angry and attracted, which seemed to be a package deal when it came to the fucking Antichrist. And now, once she heard the words echo through her thoughts, filling up her dreams, whispered against her skin in the blazing red light of the apocalypse, she believed it. She felt it, as real as she felt him.

And damn, if it didn’t feel good.

The knife slipped from her fingers when he kissed her. She barely heard the metallic thud of the blade dropping into the dirt, so lost in his touch. Langdon drew her to him, holding her face in the searing warmth of his hands, his rings lightly grazing her skin. He held her with a needy desperation that she didn’t expect. She forgot about the blood coating her hands, too eager to taste the chaos on his tongue.

There was scarlet where she traced the sharp lines of his jaw up to his cheekbones, wherever her fingers tangled into his silken hair. When he parted from her, she brushed her thumb along his lower lip before his head dipped toward her throat. And then she couldn’t hear anything else, nothing but his ragged, panting breath against her neck and the moan that echoed when he left a trail of kisses down to her collarbone. His lips were soft, but every time they swept across her skin, it felt like an inferno. He’d set her soul alight and now she needed him to stoke the flames, to keep that wildfire burning. Langdon smelled of smoke and darker things she couldn’t name—some kind of ancient power that tinged the air around them.

She didn’t care what the hell it was. She wanted it.

And if Langdon wanted chaos, she’d give it to him.

***

She was unceremoniously awoken by someone jostling her shoulder.

It wasn’t pleasant. It was actually so goddamn irritating that she tried to shove them away while still holding tight to sleep. Even after she’d groaned and swore loudly, rolling over on her paltry cot to escape, her fellow Gray shoved nearly her entire body weight into her shoulder. The Gray was lucky she wasn’t awake yet, otherwise she would’ve found herself sprawled on the floor. Her reflexes used to be quicker; it hadn’t mattered back then if she was half-asleep. For whatever reason, some of those survival instincts had worn off while they’d been trapped in this miserable pit.

“Fuck off.”

“You have to wake up.” Her roommate—whose name she always forgot despite the two of them spending eighteen months together in servitude—sounded completely done with her shit. “You can’t oversleep. I mean, it’s your business if you want Venable to starve you again, but I wouldn’t try her patience.”

“She can fuck off, too.” The long-suffering groan was muffled into her pillow until her fingers closed around the knife resting under it. Her muscles tensed. She’d almost forgotten about Langdon’s knife. “All right…I’m getting up. Stop hovering.”

If she had to guess, she’d gotten a few hours of sleep, but it didn’t feel like it.

Letting go of the knife’s sleek hilt, she made sure it was still safely hidden. There wasn’t any way to carry it around without her roommate noticing, so she pulled the blanket up over her pillow and hoped that the Gray didn’t get nosy while she was off doing the day’s chores. Her roommate eyed her, a mix of suspicion with a noticeable smugness that she didn’t really care for. She dressed quickly in a new, clean uniform without saying a word, trying to shake the last of the stubborn grogginess from her limbs.

Her heart slammed against her ribs when she saw Langdon’s coat tucked away in her wardrobe, the black striking among the drab shades of gray and white. She took a fistful of the fabric, gently, almost reverently, fingertips settling against the red silk lining. Something had been left in one of the inside pockets. Her thumb caught the edge of it, and with a little careful, discreet maneuvering, she found the clear vial of white pills Langdon had shown to the Outpost. The pills, he’d said, that would cause a painful but quick death.

Careless wasn’t his style. They’d been acquainted for about twenty-four hours if she had to guess, but after seeing him up close, she realized he never did anything without a reason.

Damn it, Langdon. What kind of fucked up nonsense is this? She stashed them in one of the extra pairs of shoes at the bottom of her wardrobe as she heard the approach of her roommate’s footsteps.

The weak, golden light from their fireplace tossed strange shadows onto both of them. She listened to the drumming of her pulse in her ears. It wouldn’t quiet down.

“You talk in your sleep, you know.” The Gray folded her arms over her chest. She hated the smug grin that pulled at one corner of her roommate’s mouth. That amount of arrogance wasn’t attractive on anyone—except, maybe, for Langdon. With the population of the world blown to hell, he practically had it trademarked.

It had been too late to hide the coat.

Well, now I’m completely fucked.

She squeezed her eyes shut. “No.”

“Well, you do.”

She was positive her fellow Gray had seen the coat before she tried to tuck it back between her uniforms and sparse personal belongings. More than enough time for her to catch the scent of something to throw into the Outpost’s rumor mill. It was the only form of cheap entertainment the Grays had to pass the time. Part of the reason why things spread so fast around here was her hawkish gaze and penchant for eavesdropping. Her interests usually involved tearing apart the Purples—and after catering to their every goddamn need, she had to admit it was cathartic—but if her roommate figured out that was Langdon’s coat…

She’d be the first casualty of the Grays. They’d rip her to fucking shreds.

…But would their jealousy be such a bad thing? She’d never been on the receiving end of anyone else’s envy. Maybe it was petty as fuck, but she had to admit that maybe it would be fun for once.

“Sounds like you and Langdon—”

She looked up sharply, eyebrows knit together. “Sounds like it’s none of your business.”

“You don’t have to get defensive,” her roommate answered. But the smugness was still there, and fuck, it annoyed her. “I doubt you’re the only person who’s fantasized about Langdon since he got here. I mean, have you seen the way Gallant looks at him?”

Actually, she’d forgotten about Gallant. But her roommate had a point. Langdon liked to sow chaos, liked to play with people’s minds. She had proof of that now. What would stop him from fucking with all of them? Was she just another pawn to him, a complete dumbass charmed by a pretty face and the allure of doing whatever the hell she wanted without consequence?

How could she trust any interest he’d shown in her as genuine?

“Whatever,” she replied. “It was just a dream.”

An omen or a prophecy? Hell if she knew.

“Oh, I don’t think it was just anything,” her roommate persisted. “Care to share? Come on, I thought you would’ve been dying to spill the details—”

She scowled. Yeah, like your bloody corpse thrown in a pile of bodies.

“I’m really not.”

The creak of the door’s hinges saved her from her roommate’s interrogation. Neither of them had heard the tap of Venable’s cane until she appeared at the threshold of their shared room. She wore a frown as severe as her hair, the cloud of perpetual disappointment following in her wake along with a sense of impending doom. Her mere presence could suck the life out of anything that was still breathing around her. She’d met a lot of uptight authority figures in her life, had a couple sets of foster parents who were stricter than the nuns at the Catholic school she’d once attended. Somehow, Venable put every single one of them to shame in their eighteen months together.

“Ladies.” Venable’s tone was even but firm, carrying a hint of exasperation. “Have I not been clear about the schedule? I’m sorry you don’t have the luxury of late mornings, but that’s not how things run around here.” Venable’s dark gaze fixed on her, and it felt like the woman had slapped her across the face. She caught herself before she rolled her eyes. Mornings, as a concept, were a thing of the past, another lifetime entirely. “You were warned about this, were you not? If I have to tell you again, there will be harsher consequences.”

That was Venable Speak for I’ll throw your ass out of here faster than you can blink. She would be left to the radiation poisoning if the desperate cannibals didn’t get to her first. She’d thought about it a lot while doing her chores, all the ways it could happen, while counting the minutes until curfew. She often debated which was worse, weighed her options. Of all the shit she’d been through in her life, nothing had made her feel more pathetic and hopeless than this. Venable had been lecturing her with the same warning for about two months, if she’d counted right. She suspected they couldn’t spare any more Grays or her own corpse would’ve been rotting in the wasteland outside by now.

She held her tongue, even though it nearly killed her. This was about survival, after all. “Yes, ma’am.”

***

Doing laundry for the Purples was the most thankless, mind-numbing job on this ruined planet, so of course the second she’d been put on Venable’s shitlist, it was the task she’d been assigned. It wasn’t that she hated being invisible, because she had been used to that before the bombs dropped. The Purples, as a specific tax bracket that could actually afford survival, were extremely high maintenance. And the fact that life as everyone knew it had ended did not change that. Venable’s weird ass Victorian Gothic aesthetic seemed to make it worse. Somehow, she never thought surviving the apocalypse would involve a future—or lack thereof—washing rich people’s dirty clothes.

But, survival was survival. She was lucky to be here, even if people like Venable and Mead made her constantly question her worth. If she was such a goddamn nobody, then why would she ever catch the interest of the Antichrist himself?

Her thoughts were traitorous bastards. Every time her mind wandered off throughout her monotonous work day, she always found herself thinking of Langdon. Whatever she’d felt when he gave her that knife and asked her to wound him—and the power she’d had, even though it had been fleeting, when she thought she’d mortally stabbed him. The intensity of his gaze, the preternatural heat of his body. She actually fucking missed that pretentious asshole, which was wild and ridiculous and maybe a little bit pathetic.

She was the only one in this miserable place who knew his secret. That had to be worth something.

After she dropped off the last of the clean towels in Coco’s room, narrowly avoiding some kind of argument between her and the Gray, Mallory, who was attached to her hip, she slipped away to Langdon’s suite. She told herself it was because of the bloodstained towels she’d left all over his bathroom floor last night. Anything else would’ve been pitiful.

When a knock on the door didn’t elicit any kind of response, she found it unlocked.

“Langdon?”

The door shut with a soft click behind her once she’d slipped inside. She didn’t have his coat with her—she’d have to return it after curfew, the only time that was relatively safe—so it was pointless to be here without him. The bathroom door was open this time, the room empty. Nothing but the flicker of candlelight, splashing like gold on the walls. Unlike a lot of the Purple suites, this one was kept tidy, the bed made as if it hadn’t even been slept in. Like she’d noticed last night, there were no personal touches to the room except for the laptop on the desk, which wasn’t even there anymore.

The room was so much colder without him in it.

She ached to know more about him. Any sort of hint about who he was outside this place before the world fell apart. Before he made it this way. What kind of life led to bringing about the apocalypse? She wondered if he had a family. A spouse. Parents. Her only frame of reference for the Antichrist was The Omen, and she doubted that was any help whatsoever in this situation.

Her life was so fucking bizarre.

“All right, Langdon,” she said to the vacant room. “Let’s see…”

Her fingers trailed across the top of the desk. Sitting in the chair, she pulled open the drawers, only to find every single one of them empty. No Cooperative files like she’d seen in Venable’s office. No letters. Not even a worn photograph of his family. She lingered there a moment longer, drumming her fingers on the glossy wood, wondering if Langdon would know she’d been in here without him. Maybe he would; he seemed to have eyes everywhere, an eerie omniscience. A satisfied grin tugged at the corner of her lips, knowing he was probably somewhere in the Outpost conducting interviews while she had the run of his private suite.

A soft gasp broke the quiet when she pulled the armoire open and discovered it overflowing with his clothes. “You are a fancy bastard.”

It was mostly a sea of endless black, a few pieces of dark or bright red lost in between. Her fingers skirted over silk and satin and velvet, neatly pressed pants, waistcoats, and jackets kept in impeccable order. A row of dress shoes and ankle length boots sat on the bottom shelf, all of them polished. The scent of him, dark and cloying, drifted into her senses the longer she stayed there snooping through his personal wardrobe.

And the absence of him was downright maddening.

She could almost imagine him here with her, silent as a phantom. Keeping watch.

A small drawer held his silk cravats, but that wasn’t what caught her attention. Next to the tangle of expensive silk sat a crystal bottle, the cap gilded with a decorative flourish and a serpent winding around it. She took it out, eyebrow inching upward. Two tiny rubies flashed in the candlelight, the serpent’s intense, angry gaze fixed in the middle distance. It was nothing more than a cologne bottle, except it happened to be so vague and yet so elegant that she wondered where the hell it had come from. Whatever scent it held turned amber in the light.

“Pretentious,” she muttered. “Hedonistic. I can’t say I’m surprised…but if I had access to anything I could ever want, I’d flaunt it, too. Being Satan’s son must have its perks.”

Once she uncapped the bottle, the scent hit her immediately. Rich and warm and earthy with a hint of bergamot and citrus. There were some darker notes hidden in there, some things she couldn’t place. Alluring. Decadent. She closed her eyes and breathed in deep, letting it fill up her senses as if Langdon had been hovering right behind her, knuckles grazing the back of her neck, his chest flush against her spine. She was lucky the room wasn’t occupied because the sound that it provoked was probably the definition of unholy.

She sprayed it on her wrists and the hollow of her throat, the scent blossoming on her skin, following her even when she left the bottle where she’d found it. With the armoire shut, she went to the dresser. The top drawer had an orderly pile of black dress shirts; to her shock—because she thought he would’ve burned them along with the bloodied towels that had gone missing—she saw his ruined shirt tucked into the corner. The only thing in this room that wasn’t perfectly arranged. She pushed the drawer closed once she wrenched it out of its hiding spot.

It took her a minute to find the tear in the shirt, the place where the blade of his knife had pierced him. But it was still there, the only reminder that it hadn’t been some feverish nightmare. Her fingers worried at the ripped fabric, stumbling over where she could feel the dried blood. She stared at it for a long time, remembering how odd it had felt when the blade sunk into him, how easily she could do it again. There was the absence of him, but the absence of that power, too; she felt it fading and wondered if she’d ever be able to summon it again.

Maybe she was better off being a nobody. A shitty worker ant under Venable’s shoe.

“Sorry, Langdon.” She rolled up the shirt and shoved it into the pocket of her apron. “Old habits and all that. Though, I don’t think you’ll be missing this much.”

The door closed softly again behind her, and she stayed for just a moment more, her forehead resting against it as the scent of him drifted into the hallway with her. When she spun around, she caught the edge of a shadow darting around the corner. Her heart leapt straight into her throat, thinking it was Langdon. But it was so much worse than that.

Her roommate locked eyes with her from across the hallway, the two of them separated by the wide expanse of one of the main staircases. The Gray had captured her gaze long enough for her to know that this time, she was completely and utterly fucked. There were no lies to tell now, no excuses to explain this away. Her fellow Gray didn’t say anything, just lifted her chin in a sort of childish, condescending manner before she disappeared down the stairs.

Shit.

***

She awoke sometime past curfew, a feeling weaseling into her subconscious to wrench her out of a dreamless sleep. It felt more like a warning than her internal alarm clock, now set to the formless passage of time down here. Wrestling her way out of the fatigue that threatened to drag her back into the blissful dark, she sat up and blinked against whatever still blurred her vision.

Her roommate was awake. Wide awake. The doors to her own wardrobe had been thrown open, her fellow Gray, dressed in one of those horrible vintage nightgowns, stood there rifling through her personal shit. She’d found what she was looking for, though, because Langdon’s coat was in her hands and she recognized the pool of black fabric at her roommate’s bare feet as the shirt she’d stolen from his room earlier. Now she knew why her roommate had been asleep already when she went to bed, why her gossipy ass hadn’t said a word about what she’d seen. The Gray had been waiting instead. Biding her time for the right opportunity.

She swung her legs over the side of her cot. The floor was chilly under her toes. “What the fuck are you doing?”

The Gray’s smile was slow and rather triumphant. “I should be asking you that. Is this Langdon’s coat? How did you get this?” She took a few steps forward, trampling over the shirt she’d left on the floor. It made her irrationally angry, the way she kicked it to the side.

“I think he would say that’s classified.” She couldn’t help the smart comeback, despite the anger in her blood. “Why are you going through my shit? Who gave you the right?”

Her roommate’s grin dissolved into a deep frown. “I saw you,” she accused. “In Langdon’s room earlier. And I saw you hiding this.”

“I know you did.” Without thinking about it, her hand slid beneath her pillow, fingers curling around the handle of Langdon’s knife. “Now put that back where you found it.”

The Gray’s eyes narrowed. “So, what’s the story between you and him, then?” Her roommate threw the coat at her chest and she caught it with one hand, letting it drape across the cot where her blanket had been left in a tangle. “The secret visits, his clothes in our room—Mead said you were a thief. For the record, I never believed her.”

Well, maybe you should have.

“He asked me to do his laundry.”

“Right.” Her roommate scoffed. “Do you expect me to believe that?”

“Not really.” Her fist tightened around the knife.

“Are you fucking him?” the Gray asked. “Is that what this little arrangement is about? You give him everything he wants, and he’ll let you into the Sanctuary?”

“If I was,” she slipped the knife out from under her pillow, the blade flashing silver, “would that make you jealous?”

The Gray let out a trembling breath. “What are you doing?” She stumbled back a few steps, her eyes horrifyingly wide as she rose off her cot.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

She advanced on her roommate, the knife clutched in her fist. The Gray wilted into a corner, a frightened whimper springing free from her throat. She wanted another taste of that power so badly, wanted the feeling of chasing after the chaos Langdon had unleashed inside her. It disappointed her a little that the Gray didn’t fight back, didn’t so much as scratch her or make a desperate grab for the blade. Once her roommate sunk into the wall, recoiling, silent tears dripping down her face, she leaned over the Gray with one hand splayed above her head.

“Would you be jealous,” she asked again, “if he wanted me?”

“Stop,” the Gray yelled. “I’ll tell Venable what you’ve been doing. And she’ll tell Mead, and they’ll throw you out and shoot you—”

It was quick. Not a second thought spared, just a swift, violent motion and the blade of the knife disappeared into the soft flesh of her roommate’s upper torso, slipping between her ribs. The Gray went slack with terrified shock, eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights, one last pained whimper left to give. Another violent tug and the blade sliced upwards, a rush of blood spurting down the Gray’s white nightgown. Scarlet dribbled from her roommate’s chin, and she felt the splatter of her choking cough hit the side of her face. The Gray’s blood was warm, running down between them, her own nightgown stained from the aftermath. She pulled the blade out and watched the Gray crumple to the floor, the pool of blood growing bigger and darker around them. It was sticky and familiar between her toes.

She was panting heavily from the adrenaline, her exhales shaky. She dragged her sleeve across her forehead. “Shit.”

The blade had turned red, the air in the room tinged with the familiar scent of iron. She lowered into a crouch, eyes fixed on the Gray’s still body. Her sightless eyes. Rising to her full height, she gathered up Michael’s shirt from the heap on the floor and stowed it away in her wardrobe. She’d still have to return the coat to him, once she figured out how to deal with this mess. On the bright side, maybe he’d let her borrow his shower again.

The fire in the hearth behind her flickered wildly and then almost extinguished as if it had been smothered by a strong wind. The change in the air around her was immediate; the sharp rise temperature caused the hair on the back of her neck to stand up, a bead of sweat to trickle down the side of her face. She heard herself exhale, but it was more than that—the tension in her muscles dissipated, and she could take a deep breath. The ache lessened.

When she turned around, Langdon had his arms folded calmly behind his back, dark amusement on his lips. He cut a tall, lithe figure in tailored pants and a waistcoat, and the casual way he’d rolled up the sleeves of his shirt caught her off guard.

“This is becoming a habit between us.”

She listened to the measured cadence of his footsteps. He moved past her to have a look at the body growing cold at her feet, his arm brushing against hers, his skin searing hot through the sleeve of her nightgown. Hearing the low rumble of his voice again made her stomach do another embarrassing somersault. His head turned toward her again, icy gaze drifting to the knife still clutched in her hand.

“You stole my knife.”

She threw him a pointed look. “Bullshit, Langdon. You let me take it.”

The slight rise of his chin, the mischievous, barely perceptible tilt of his head told her that she’d been right.

“I knew the temptation would be too much.” Langdon stepped closer, all languid elegance, that arrogant grin overtaking his face. “I knew the moment you turned the blade on me you wouldn’t be able to let it go.” His fingers closed around hers, wrapped around the hilt of the knife and smeared the blood. When she tried to let go and push the knife into his hand, he held tight to her fingers, his thumb tracing her knuckles.

“No,” he whispered, nudging her forehead with his, so close that the warmth she’d missed seeped through the thin fabric of her bloodstained nightgown. “I think you’ve earned the right to keep it.”

The knife slipped from her fingers and buried itself into the floorboards. Langdon hadn’t let go of her hand; instead, he brought it between them like he had last night, except now the blood was still warm and new on her skin. She watched, her breath catching a little in her throat, as he flipped her hand over to inspect the inside of her wrist. The pad of his thumb was soft, curious, as it followed the veins there. He ducked his head, nose skirting the delicate bone where the blood started to congeal. A flutter of his long eyelashes, the sharp intake of his breath told her that Langdon had discovered the remnants of his cologne on her.

He didn’t say anything, just pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist. The touch was gentle, so fleeting that she could’ve imagined it. But it was enough to ignite the fire in her veins, enough to make the room spin just a little. She wanted to reach out and tangle her fingers in his hair like her dream, but she stopped herself. Fucking hell.

She struggled to speak. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.” Her voice shook more than she would’ve liked. “How am I going to explain this? Venable’s going to notice one of us is missing and I don’t—”

“You won’t have to,” he assured, voice dropping to a whisper. When he looked up, his smirk had returned. Langdon let go of her wrist and she hated him for it. “Leave that to me.” He searched her gaze and held onto it with an intensity that made her cheeks flush. “Anyone willing to kill to protect their secrets—and mine—is worthy of my trust. Do I have yours?”

She crouched to wrench the knife from the floor. “If you clean up the mess first.”

Langdon reached out a hand, fingers curled, his rings catching the weak light from the fireplace. The blood that had been spilled on the floor started to leach back into her corpse, not a trace of it left behind except for the red she’d managed to, yet again, get all over her clothes and hands. And then the Gray’s body ignited, the flames summoned from nowhere and producing little smoke. Together, they watched the body burn until there was nothing left except a few singed floorboards.

She supposed there were perks to earning the Antichrist’s trust, too.

***

Tagging my usual list, but if you want to (or don’t want to) be tagged, just let me know!

@lastregasolitaria @mylippo @zeciex @lvngdvns @langdonsdemon @wvntersldr @sojournmichael @gabnelson98 @antichristlangdxn @keavysmithxoxo @batgirlbride @dead-witch-boy @boofy1998 @gentianea @cryptid-coalition @kinlovecody @yuriohoe04 @electricurie @marvel-rpdr-and-ahs @gallxntdean @jcshadowkiss-blog @frozenhuntress67 @sebastianshoe @dixmond-taurus @bookobssesed99 @sassylangdon @queenie435 @holylangdon @angsty-otters-blog @denaexr @mr-langdonn @micheallangdons @lostin-fern @crazedcatcuddler @michaelsapostle @wroteclassicaly @monsucre @ritualmichael @queencocoakimmie @bluelancesredswords @theharvestgirloffire @punkysouls @sevenwondr @prettykitten123 @zoebensvn @kylosbabe @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @readsalot73 @americanhorrorstudies @tiny-ruby-seeds @confettucini @xavierplympton @kaetastic @blakewaterxx @marvel-imagines-yes-please @forever1313 @anacerta @imagines-oneshots-blog @tothetardissterek @vixi3303

#michael langdon x you #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x fem!reader #michael langdon x oc #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon fanfiction #fic: reckoning

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thatmultifandomhoe · 5 years

Text

Strawberry Cream and BBQ - 25 (Final)

Pairing: Hybrid Hoseok and Human Reader

Overview: Your best friend knows she can count on you for anything, so when she asks you to watch her hybrid while she’s gone for a study abroad trip for four months, you can’t say no. But when these four months are over, things have changed in a way no one expected.

Word Count: 6,716k

Genre: Hybrid AU, Fluff, Future smut, Angst, Best friends to Lovers

Warning: It’s the end

A/N: I hope y’all enjoy this final conclusion of Strawberry Cream and BBQ! Thank you everyone for sticking around and reading this, much longer than anticipated, fic lol.

Master List

Sneak Peak - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15 - Part 16 - Part 17 - Part 18 - Part 19 - Part 20 - Part 21 - Part 22 - Part 23 - Part 24 - Part 25 (Final) - Move in Day: A SC&BBQ Drabble

It was with a groan that you set your backpack on the seat next to you, propping your legs up on the basic white coffee table that was placed in front of the couches in their lounges. Classes were officially over and you were free for the next four months until the fall semester. You could do whatever your heart desired.

Instead of hoping into the car and taking the first exit to the beach, you comfortably settled yourself onto the couch and slipped in a pair of blue earbuds. The chatter of college students relieved to be done with the semester and the squeaking of sneakers against the tile floor was silenced by the music playing. More specifically, it was the song that Hoseok had chosen for his solo dance in The Dance Studio’s May show.

“Things are, improving,” Hoseok said. The camera moved on his end and he was briefly out of focus as he adjusted on his bed. It was late and while the two of you should have been sleeping, you wanted to see him one last time.

You forced yourself to smile, running a hand through your hair and wishing that he was playing with it instead. “Enough that we’ll be able to see each other again?” You asked.

Time had been passing slowly since Sue removed Hoseok from your life, and every day that went by felt like a piece of your soul was being ripped to itty bitty pieces. The hope of Hoseok one day walking back through the front door and healing you back together felt more like a dream the longer you were apart. You didn’t want to be dramatic, but that’s how it felt.

The small smile that had been on his face slipped, and you had your answer before he even spoke. “We’re going to be together baby; I promise.”

Hoseok wasn’t the type to feed you empty promises, he always kept his word, but it felt like he wasn’t even sure this time. Whether or not he wanted to admit it out loud, the idea of being together again seemed only possible in dreams.

The conversation always shifted to a new topic that you, or him, quickly came up with until your eyes became too heavy to keep open, and it was only with his coaxing that you got under the blankets and went to bed. He usually ended up promising to not end the video call until you were asleep.

He was trying so hard and you understood why he wasn’t pushing things, but you missed him so much. Which is why you weren’t going home just yet. With school out, there were no more tests and papers to focus your attention on, allowing your mind to wander to these last few months.

Your life had been completely flipped upside down, and yet despite all the worry and trouble, you didn’t regret a single moment. The only thing you wished for was more time. If Hoseok had discovered the truth earlier, there would have been plenty of time to tell Sue, to be together, and to not worry about whether or not there was a future instore for the two of you.

With earbuds in, you didn’t hear Johnny call your name or see him wave his hands to catch your attention. For a good moment, he stood across the room and watched, wondering if you were purposely ignoring him, but when he only sensed your lingering emptiness, he figured that you hadn’t seen him at all.

He sighed, ears twitching underneath the beanie he wore on his head. Unlike a month ago, your emotions were no longer suffocating to the hybrids that attended the college, and more specifically, the ones who shared classes with you.

Johnny remembered the first day you came back after the fight. After skipping classes for two days, you came back on the third. The instant you entered the classroom, him and the few other hybrids in the class had to fight back against their natural instincts to whine and whimper in empathy. Lori, a gentle bunny hybrid, had to leave with her belongings and tears in her eyes because your emotions were so overwhelming.

While the humans in the class barely gave you a second glance, the hybrids were squirming in their seats, their own hearts breaking alongside with yours. Every hybrid learned about mates when they were around fifteen years old – in some rare cases even when they were children if kids found their mates by accident – allowing them to comprehend what having a mate meant. Every hybrid’s worst fear was either having their mate removed from them, and losing their mate to death. And even though Hoseok never died, you were grieving the loss of him no longer being by your side.

It made every hybrid long for their mates whether or not they had met them, simply so they could hug them tight and make sure they were safe.

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Johnny headed back to the ice cream vending machine he had passed on the way to the lobby. Luckily, it had been restocked the other day and he knew that you loved a classic ice cream sandwich. The one with the two chocolate chip cookies. He was waiting for the machine to drop the dessert into the pickup slot when a purple sign caught his eye.

It was tacked up on the board among a dozen other posters advertising events on the campus, but this one stood out. In black bold letters, it announced the Dance Studio’s annual May show. It listed some of the groups that were going to be performing as well as some of their well-known soloists. Hoseok’s name was the third one printed out, and with a glance at the date, he grabbed the flyer along with the ice cream for you.

“Hey!” Johnny shouted, ignoring the strange looks he received as he made his way back to you.

With the music playing loudly, you were startled to suddenly hear shouting. Only when you looked up, you weren’t surprised upon seeing that it was Johnny. He didn’t have a filter all the time.

“Why are you shouting?” You slowly asked, zipping the earbuds back into your bag for safe keeping. He didn’t answer you. Instead, once you looked back up at him, he tossed the ice cream sandwich at you, forcing you to react so it wouldn’t hit the wall behind you and break. “Don’t you know it’s rude to throw things?” The packaging crinkled as you tore it open, happily taking out the dessert to munch on.

“And don’t you know it’s rude to not say thank you when friends buy you things?” He settled in the seat next to you, putting your bag on the floor as he mimicked the position you sat in.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, taking a bite out of the ice cream.

Satisfied, Johnny gave you a moment to enjoy the treat before placing the flyer on your leg.

The ice cream was in your mouth when he did that. At first, it looked like another advertisement for Disney Trivia that the student council regularly put on. It was one of the more popular events, especially when they went all out for the prizes. One time, there had been a Michael Kors hand bag as a first place winning.

All it took was reading Hoseok’s name however, for you to realize this wasn’t an on-campus event. Butterflies erupted in your belly as you stared at his name. The Dance Studio usually only listed the names of their most popular dance groups and soloists. To see that Hoseok was the third one to have his name on the flyer, said so much about his dancing abilities.

Johnny silently watched as your thumb absentmindedly ran against the letters spelling out Hoseok’s name, a soft smile appearing. “Why don’t we go?” He gently asked, nudging your shoulder when you didn’t look up. “It starts at seven, plus…I think it’ll do you some good to see him.”

“Sue might be there,” you automatically replied.

His insides cramped up at the mention of Sue. He never had any beef with her before, and it wasn’t like him to automatically dislike someone before meeting and getting to know them, but knowing what she did to you and Hoseok, he couldn’t help but dislike her. As a hybrid himself, what she did was vile and the worst possible thing in the world.

“You can’t let that stop you,” Johnny argued. “He’s your mate, you have the right to be there and to support him for when he goes up on stage. Plus, she doesn’t have to know you’re there. She’s human. She won’t be able to smell your scent like we can.”

He made a decent argument.

Hell, Johnny made an honest argument.

You didn’t have to tell her that you were going to be there. She couldn’t stop you. The Dance Studio was always open to the public and with the show, they encouraged everyone to come out and watch as the dancers performed. Not only to see how hard they’ve been working on the choreography, but because it also helped to raise funds for the building and other miscellaneous things.

Taking another bite of the softened ice cream, you continued to look at the flyer, your heart absorbing the fact that you were seeing his name written out. Jung Hoseok. Your sweet, precious, loving mate, was going to have his chance to show everyone what you already knew he was capable of being: an amazing and incredibly talented dancer.

Were you really going to let your life be dictated by Sue and her anger?

You crumpled up the empty wrapper as you swallowed the remaining ice cream, tossing the wrapper in the trash. It wasn’t until you were back at the couch that you spoke.

Johnny – who was casually taking a deep breath – could smell a difference in your emotions. They weren’t heavy with sadness and fear. For once, they were lifting up with hope.

“Let’s go,” you decided, smiling when you made eye contact with him. He was already grinning from ear to ear. “This is Hoseok’s big night, and we’re going to be there.”

* * *

Hoseok took a deep breath as he stared at himself in the mirror. It was the big night that he’s been waiting months for, and it was finally here. The outfit he had decided to wear was simple: black skinny jeans that were ripped at the knees, black sneakers, and an untuck white button up dress shirt with the cuffs unbutton. It was basic and not at all glittery or sparkling under the lights, but that’s exactly what he wanted. He wanted the music and his dancing to speak a thousand words.

Simple, but on purpose.

He was standing backstage waiting his turn. The soloists and groups were alternating their appearances, that way the audience’s attention would remain captive throughout the show. Rocking back and forth on his heels, he smiled when a group of girls in sparkly dresses ran by barefoot, quickly throwing a wave to him over their shoulders. They were regulars at the Dance Studio and usually would have stopped to shout his name, but they were on after his performance, so he understood the rush.

Stepping away from the corner, he neared the edge of the stage and stood next to the stage manager, watching the performance. It was a contemporary dance with students ranging from sixteen to twenty years of age, and while it was beautifully done, his mind continued to wander.

Sue was sitting somewhere in the audience. After arriving, he had gone backstage to get ready and she had gone to get a seat before they were all taken. There had been one year where there was only standing room left.

Even if he closed his eyes and inhaled, he wouldn’t be able to find her in the crowd. There were too many different scents, perfumes, makeup, and snacks floating around in the air, that hers was lost. He could only hope that she hadn’t left.

Then he wondered if you were there. Craning his neck so he could look out into the audience, without being seen of course, he tried to spot you before settling back into the shadows. He had heard once that when a couple was mated, their scents were easily detected even in large crowds like this.

The temptation to try and seek you out was so strong that he contemplated sneaking out to the sidelines to try and find you, but he held himself back. He knew, that you knew how much this meant to him. At the same time, with Sue being here, he hoped that you stayed home. He hated not seeing you, hell, his entire wellbeing needed you by his side, but he couldn’t risk you getting hurt.

The memory of you crying in bed as Sue yelled at the two of you, and then again when you stood at the doorway as he left with her was forever seared into his mind. He had physically been right there and still; he couldn’t protect you. If keeping you away from Sue for the time being meant that you’d be safe, then he was willing to keep you at an arm’s distance even as it killed him.

As the violins came to a sudden finish, Hoseok blinked as he rolled his neck. It was only a few minutes now. Once the kids ran off to the other side of the stage, it was all on him. He had no idea how anyone would respond to his performance. It was darker, and with the exception of a few lines, the song wasn’t even in English. He knew that you had liked the song because of the heart emojis you sent after listening to it, so your response had reassured him a little. Now he was about to find out the truth.

“Just pe-performance jitters,” he murmured to himself.

Shaking his head, he closed his eyes as the audience’s clapping filled the room along with their cheers. The thumping of feet hurrying off the stage reached his ears first before the sudden gasps as the room went dark and the curtains closed. He couldn’t help the little grin when he reopened his eyes and saw the backdrop getting wheeled in place. It was a brick background with cement blocks positioned around the stage meant to look like the underground.

He walked out to the middle of stage and positioned himself on his knees, the squeaking of the curtains recapturing everyone’s attention. With the lights still off, a soothing voice rang out over the speakers.

“My scene, was not specifically this or that, but consisted of having shaken hands with the devil. The devil held me in his clutches. The enemy, was behind me.”

A purple stage light focused on him as the music started to play, light magenta and purple fog entering from both sides of the stage. In that moment, he forgot about everything as he danced. He had been preparing for this for months, each move coming with well-practiced ease that it was second nature. This is what he lived for.

When he did his flip and the audience gasped as the stage was no longer dark, but red and green black light paint suddenly appearing against the floor and background as his white shirt glowed. He wanted to break character and smile like no tomorrow, but he refrained from doing so, especially when he saw fingers pointing at the image of angel wings being reflected behind him for a brief moment, before they too disappeared.

Landing on his knees once more, his chest heaved as the room went black again, ending his performance. It was only dark for a second before the lights turned back on and he was standing up for the cheering of the audience. When he had come out, everyone had been sitting in their seats. This time however, they were all standing.

It was only now that he grinned, waving and bowing while wiping away the sweat that dripped down the sides of his face. The performance was only two, maybe three minutes long, but it felt like a lifetime to him. From coming up with choreography and spending all those extra hours practicing, for those two minutes, it was worth it all the long nights and aching pains he pushed himself through.

Straightening up, he smiled as he took a deep breath to even out his breathing, when his heart suddenly stopped. No. That couldn’t be...he had to be imagining things. Keeping the smile on his face, he slowly made his way to the side of the stage as he inhaled once more, focusing on a single scent.

He hadn’t smelt that scent in a while, but he recognized the smell of strawberry cream as it enveloped his senses.

* * *

As soon as the lights were down for the second time signaling the end of Hoseok’s performance, you were up and wildly clapping for him. There was no way he could see you. The only spots that you and Johnny were able to snag weren’t even seats at all. The two of you were standing against the side wall, but up until Hoseok’s performance, you had been sitting on the floor.

You had been late to arriving and thought you had missed it, but when you were given a program of the performances, you sighed with relief when you saw that Hoseok was going up sixth. It was a little disappointing to miss the opening performances, but as you took the bouquet of roses back from Johnny, it was all worth it.

“He knows,” Johnny spoke, stealing your attention away from Hoseok who was now exiting the stage.

Turning to face your friend, who had forgone the beanie tonight and allowing the tips of his ferret ears to appear, you frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Johnny shook his head as he placed a hand on the middle of your back, guiding you away from the wall. “Hoseok knows you’re here.”

“How?” Despite not knowing the answer, you followed Johnny as he maneuvered his way through the crowed.

Johnny glanced at you before leading you up the stairs to the side of the stage, ducking out of sight of the crowd. “I saw it on his face. It was when he exiting and he stood still for that split second. Because you’re his mate, he can smell your scent in the crowd. He’ll always be able to find you.”

It took a second for what he was saying to make sense, but when it did, it made your heart flutter. No matter what happened, he was always going to find you.

“Do you think we can find him?” You eagerly asked, looking around Johnny’s body in an attempt to find your Hoseok. Just knowing that you were in the same building as him had your body feeling more alive than it has in these last few weeks.

“I can try,” Johnny answered, guiding your backstage. He was already a step ahead of you and had been planning on leading you to Hoseok after his performance. You didn’t know it, but with Hoseok’s scent intertwined with yours, he was able to pick up the faintest scent of Hoseok backstage, and it was growing stronger.

Taking a deep breath, Johnny hurried as the scent led him out to a hallway that was away from the auditorium that the show was being held in. Your footsteps echoed against the tile floor, a vast contrast to the pulsating hip hop music that was currently being played as another group took to the stage.

You stopped moving when Johnny stood still, not entirely sure if the two of you were going in the right direction or not since he didn’t come here often. You knew where you were though. This was the hallway that led to the dance room that Hoseok used to teach his classes. It was the same room that he spent countless hours practicing in, and was the same room that the two of you shared multiple dinner dates in.

Without saying a word, you handed the bouquet to Johnny to hold, and walked to the room. The light was already on as you entered, your eyes watering up as you looked at the mirrored wall.

Standing there like he knew you were going to come, Hoseok smiled as he pushed off the mirror wall.

“Hoseok?” You whispered.

Hoseok nodded, stretching his arms out for a hug as you hurried into his embrace. Hugging you tightly to his chest, he buried his face in your hair as he felt your hands clutch onto the back of his shirt. You were here, you saw him perform, and he was holding you again.

Against his own will, tears slipped out of his eyes as he straightened up, whines escaping immediately at the small distance that only ceased when he picked you up. Your legs wrapped around his waist and without hesitation, he was kissing you like there was no tomorrow.

He was covered in sweat but you didn’t care. All you could think about was how right this, how at home it was to be in his arms, and to kiss him again. Sliding your arms across his shoulders, you held tightly to the man you called your other half, your mate, shivering when he pulled back to kiss your mate mark.

“Oh God you’re here,” Hoseok murmured, his lips still kissing the mark as his arms tightened around you. “I can’t believe you came Strawberry; I’ve missed you so much baby.”

Burying your face in his neck, you hummed in agreement. You were afraid that if you tried speaking that instead of words, tears would be flowing out. Somehow sensing your predicament, Hoseok gently kissed the side of your jaw as he rubbed your back.

He was here and this time, he wasn’t letting anyone split the two of you up again. A soft rumble escaped his chest the longer he held you, the familiarity of your body and scent truly relaxing him for the first time since he was separated from you.

This time, you lifted your head, slowly smiling as looked at Hoseok. His brown eyes warmed your heart as the fire ignited in your veins.

“Um guys, I hate to interrupt but…”

You knew that Johnny wouldn’t have spoken unless it was extremely important, but even though logically you should have listened to him, your heart denied logic as you leaned down to kiss Hoseok once more. It had been too long since you went without his kisses and his touch and right now, you wanted to be selfish and take what he was giving.

Hoseok growled against your lips, tilting his head for the perfect angle. He knew who was there with Johnny, and despite having the heart to heart moment with her, his instincts were still upset that she had split him from his mate. It was his instincts that were enhancing his emotions to take what was his and prove to everyone that you belonged to him and no one else. As barbaric as it sounded, in a way, it was true. You were his mate, and he was yours. Your souls were meant for each other the day you were both born. You weren’t meant to be separated like you had been.

“Don’t worry Johnny,” Sue spoke, her heels echoing as she entered the room. “Let them have their time together.”

In contradiction to her words, your body froze. You hadn’t expected it to be her that Johnny was warning you about, you thought maybe it was a staff member or a wandering performer.

Fear washed over Hoseok, forcing him to break the kiss as he looked up at you. It wasn’t him who was afraid though. Seeing the tears form in your eyes, your bottom lip trembling, he shook his head immediately as his arms tightened even more around you as he felt your legs grip his waist.

“No Strawberry,” he murmured, kissing your mark to reassure you. “I’m not leaving you again baby. I don’t care what happens, but I’m staying with you no matter what. Just relax for me hun. Take a deep breath, it’s going to be okay.”

As you did what he said, he glanced over your shoulder to see Johnny and Sue standing at the entrance. He nodded at Johnny, who based off of his scent, was the same Johnny that he smelled at your apartment all those months ago.

Johnny apologetically smiled as he gestured towards Sue with a small nod of his head, but Hoseok didn’t blame him. It wasn’t his fault that everything had happened. He was just grateful that you had a friend like him around. With the exception of that one time, but that was in the past.

Focusing back on you, Hoseok gently kissed you once you were calmed down, carefully lowering you back on the ground. Like he figured, you pressed against his side as he slid his arm around your shoulders, keeping you close.

Sue, sensing that it was better to approach you now, made her way over. The entire interaction between you and Hoseok hadn’t fallen on blind eyes. Considering everything that she’s done, it was almost surprising that she hadn’t interrupted the second she entered the room.

You watched as Sue stopped in front of you, her hands holding onto the large purse she had sitting on her shoulder. Figuring she wanted Hoseok, you wrapped your other arm across his stomach, gripping on to the fabric of his shirt. It was a pitiful attempt, but if it came down to it, you weren’t letting him go without standing up for yourself.

“Look, I’m just going to get straight to the point here,” Sue said. Releasing on hand, she ran it through her hair as she looked at Hoseok. “You two are mates, and I shouldn’t have separated you from each other. It was wrong of me, and I can see that now.”

Licking her lips, she glanced at you, her eyes softening for the briefest moment before hardening once more. “I hurt you in more ways than I expected, and because of that, I lost two of the most important friendships that I ever had because I couldn’t see past my own pain.

“You don’t know it, but a lot happened in Hong Kong besides the breakup with Colin, and in all honesty, being on my own was actually good. I made a lot of friends there, and I think I had started to find out who I am as a person. Which is why, I’m planning on moving. To Hong Kong.”

The room was silent as her declaration settled in everyone’s mind. Sue was moving, half way across the world. Your mouth dropped open and if it weren’t for Hoseok holding you, you would have fallen on your ass. If she was moving, then was she taking Hobi with her?

As if she knew where you mind was heading, Sue opened her bag and after some ruffling, she pulled out a packet. “While in Hong Kong, I got to start my life over. I wasn’t the girl whose parents died in that car accident. Nobody knew who I was or that I was loaded. Instead, they just knew me as Sue, the girl who was studying abroad in a foreign country. Right now, that’s what I need…because I’m not the same person I was when I adopted Hoseok, nor am I the same person I was before I left. And I need to figure out who I am before doing anything else. So, this is for you.”

Waiting until you removed an arm from Hoseok, she handed the packet to you and took a step backwards. She wasn’t surprised when you gasped, the corner of her lips twitching upwards for a brief moment.

“You’ll see that my signature is in every spot that it’s required for. All you have to do is sign it yourselves and bring it to the courthouse. I already checked, I don’t have to be there when you bring it and they’ll mail the official documents to your address within a period of time after it’s been approved.”

You tightly held on to the paperwork for the Mate Act, leaning into Hoseok’s side even more. With shaky fingers, you flipped through the papers to see that she was telling the truth. Every line that required Sue’s signature was already filled out.

This is what you’ve been wanting for weeks. Ever since Hoseok told you about the Mate Act, really. Blinking, you slowly looked back up at Sue. You didn’t understand where this was coming from. After everything, why was she now changing her mind?

Sue held onto her elbow, looking at the wall behind you as she avoided eye contact with either of you. All the years that you’ve known her, Sue wasn’t usually sentimental. The last time you actually saw her cry had been that day when her parents died. After that, it was like a wall had been built that not even she had been able to break down.

Hoseok carefully took the packet out of your hands, scanning through it himself or otherwise he would think this was simply a dream. He didn’t know what to think. While yes, he wanted to be with you and wanted Sue to sign, it was the sudden decision of her moving to Hong Kong that had him hesitating.

“Where is this coming from?” He asked, feeling your gaze on him as he focused on Sue. “Moving to Hong Kong. You…you never even mentioned permanently moving there, let alone a vacation.”

“I know,” Sue answered. “But I’ve been thinking about it a lot. Ever since I came back actually.” Running a hand through her hair, her face softening as she shrugged. “All I know is that it’s time I focused on myself, and this really is the best way for me to do that.”

Taking a shaky breath, you tried to wrap your mind around what Sue was saying, but it all kept coming back to the fact that she was leaving. “When?” You finally asked.

“Before the start of the new semester. Mid-August. I’ll be putting the house up on the market in June.”

That meant that there were only three more months until she was gone.

“Are, are you sure about this Sue?”

She raised an eyebrow at you. That was a question she had been expecting to come from Hoseok, but the more she thought about it, it made sense that you would want to make sure she was positive about this. Even though she had emotionally detached from your friendship, you always made sure that she was doing okay. Whether it was by bringing her favorite snack and stopping by her house, or a simple phone call and text to check on her. It wasn’t like you to ignore someone else when they weren’t okay.

For the first time, Sue smiled. It was small and a little awkward, but she did it. “Yes. I’m absolutely positive about this. You did an amazing job out there Hoseok, and I really am proud of how far you’ve come with your dancing. Go home with Strawberry tonight, you earned it. I’m going to head back home.”

She had started to step away once more, but before she could make it far, Hoseok moved to her side and wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. It shocked her so she didn’t return the gesture right away, but she slowly hugged him back.

“You gave me a whole new life,” Hoseok murmured in her ear, knowing that she was going to take this to heart. “If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be the person I am today. This last month hasn’t been easy but, I’m gonna miss you. We’re, going to miss you.”

Biting down on the inside of her cheek, Sue kept her tears out of sight as she squeezed Hoseok. The decision to fill out the paperwork hadn’t been easy, but then she remembered how to easily she reminded him that he was just another hybrid, and it made her feel sick inside. He wasn’t less of a person because of his genetics, and she never used to think that way.

Adopting Hoseok had been a major change in her life. So wasn’t moving to Hong Kong. It wasn’t only necessary, but something that she wanted. Besides, he didn’t belong in Hong Kong with her. He had a life, a job, and his friends were all right here in this town. Most importantly, he had you here. She had already tried splitting the two of you up once, and that was a lesson she never wanted to learn the hard way again.

“I’ll miss you too,” Sue whispered back. “But I need to do this for me.”

Hoseok leaned back, sadly smiling as he squeezed her shoulders. “I know. You need to take care of yourself, and that’s all that matters.”

Letting go of Sue, Hoseok made his way back to you. Your emotions were all over the place: One second they were happy, the next they were sad, but ultimately, they were conflicted. On one hand, your best friend was moving away. On the other, she had been the one to hurt you.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. Cupping the back of your head, he gently kissed your temple. “Do what you need to do. I’ll be waiting outside with Johnny by the car.”

You lifted your head, catching his smile before he turned and went to Johnny and walking out into the hallway. Their footsteps and voices carried out in the silence before a door slammed shut, leaving only the two of you in the dance room.

The silence was awkward. Neither of you knew what to say to the other. What was there left to say, after everything that’s happened? Sue was right, she wasn’t the same person she used to be, and neither were you. In these last few months, it wasn’t just the small things that changed. Everything had changed.

“Sue I…” You paused to lick your lips. This was the first real conversation you’ve had with her in a long time, and you wanted to make it right. “I really, really do appreciate this. It means a lot to us. It couldn’t have been easy.”

Sue nodded in agreement; her lips pressed together in thought. With Hoseok, she knew what to say and where they stood, but with you…it was like walking blind. She didn’t want to hurt you anymore than she already did.

“And I’m sorry, that you found out like that. We should have called and told you when we found out.”

“Thank you,” Sue spoke, her voice wobbling for only a second before she regained control of her emotions. “I know I haven’t made things easy for anyone. I just wanted to do something right before I leave. These next few months are going to be busy with preparing to move, finding a place to live in Hong Kong and everything else.”

That makes sense, you thought. “Well, good luck in Hong Kong. Although, I know you’ll do great. You always liked going on adventures.”

It was a weak attempt at an old inside joke the two of you once shared. Sue had always been the more adventurous between the two of you, while you preferred staying in with a close group of friends. The joke resulted in a small chuckle from Sue and that made you smile. There was still a part of her that you knew after all.

Saying goodbye didn’t last much longer after that. Sue left shortly after, leaving you alone in the practice room. With only your thoughts and the paperwork, you took your time walking out to the parking lot. The sound of your heels clicking against the tile floor were comforting as your feet led you out, the path automatically ingrained in your memory.

The interaction with Sue had gone a lot smoother than the last, and you were grateful that it wasn’t anything like last time. Her decision to move away made sense, and speaking from the heart, you were happy she was going. The Sue that had stood there wasn’t the same woman you’ve called your best friend for years now. Instead of seeing her standing in front of you, it was someone who resembled her and had similar interests, but she was someone you didn’t really know anymore. And you were willing to bet she felt the exact same way about you.

For some reason, that was okay with you.

As the breeze met your skin, your body shivered and your heels weren’t loud anymore, but a thoughtful click against the pavement. It didn’t hurt to think about Sue anymore, and you weren’t sad or angry. A nostalgic feeling settled in your heart as your memories with Sue came to mind, and you decided you liked that better.

“That’s not your car Strawberry.”

Glancing up, you were surprised to see that your feet had led you to a pickup truck. You shook your head in amusement and went to your car, which was parked only two spots over.

Hoseok grinned as he leaned against the trunk, his arms crossed over his chest. “I saw Sue come out, how’d everything go?”

“It went good,” you answered.

He uncrossed his arms as you neared, wrapping them around you to bring you against his chest. With a glance through the back windshield, you saw the bouquet of roses carefully placed on the passenger seat.

“Johnny already headed out,” he explained. “Said he figured that you’d want to head on home and that he didn’t live far from here.”

“Ah.” With the paper work still in hand, you carefully hugged Hoseok once more. After weeks of not being in his embrace, it felt like you were overdosing on all the affection you were receiving from him. “You know, you were amazing on stage. Correction, you’re always amazing when you’re dancing.”

He laughed at your compliments but was quick to rapidly kiss your cheek when you pouted up at him, making you giggle in his hold. “I’m just happy that you came. That’s the only thing that matters to me baby.”

If he didn’t already have it, he should add professional at melting hearts on his resume. You tilted your head and stood on your toes, capturing his lips into a sweet kiss. It was like heaven was brought down to Earth, all just for you.

“Ready to go home?” You whispered, leaning back only a smidge so that you could gently run your nose against his.

Hoseok smiled, his lips curling up into a heart as his hands gave your sides a sweet squeeze. He has been wanting nothing more than to go home with you for so long now. Tomorrow, the two of you could finish signing the paperwork and bring it to the courthouse. Or maybe even the next day. All he wanted was to sleep in bed and hold you in his arms for the next twenty-four hours.

“Strawberry, you are my home.”

You giggled at his cheesy words, but you treasured them anyway. As you got in the car, the flowers now sitting in Hoseok’s lap, you drove with one hand as he held your other, and you were smiling the entire time.

People were like books. There were twists and turns that caught you off guard, and sometimes you were blind to obvious hints that had been purposely placed to surprise you later on. Then you reached that last page, and it was all over.

With real people, it wasn’t the end of the story, but simply just the end of a chapter. There were more pages than you could see, and so the story, and life, continues on.

And having Hoseok by your side, you were ready for that new chapter.

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