#which means minimal talking and interacting | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rosie-writings · 2 months

Text

You’ve Got my Body, Flesh, and Bone Part One

Summary: You didn’t think you would let it go this far, but alcohol always gives you the bite to challenge Colby until you’re both faced with the things that keep you from being together.

Warnings: Colby x Reader smut, Angst, Slow Burn, Dom/Sub dynamic, Best Friends to Lovers, slight Predator/Prey kink, Overstimulation, Bondage, Overstimulation, slight Subspace

Words: 23.4k

No Y/N Used

Title is from ‘The Summoning’ by Sleep Token

Part Two

Don’t get me wrong, I loved my friends to death and back and then some, but they could be real fucking idiots sometimes.

Most of the time.

Perhaps I simply had a more conservative outlook on the dating culture in LA, or maybe I was traumatized enough where my hopeless romantic naive middle school girl heart turned into an all or nothing brittle young adult woman heart. Nothing was wrong with that, I didn’t think, until I moved to LA to live closer to my new friends.

I met them after my YouTube and Instagram exploded, which I know I said I would never do, but they truly were the most amazing people I met.

My friendship with Sam and Colby didn’t end after they invited me and one of my friends to film a video with them. I knew who they were; we interacted on social media plenty of times but never communicated privately. I also was keen on truly finding out more about the spiritual realm, so when I followed them into that haunted mansion, there was no room for bullshit.

I guess they respected that because not even 24 hours later, Colby was asking for my number.

Maybe I was an idiot and gave it to him.

I genuinely thought it was purely so we could have an easier time than clogged dm’s to collaborate again. And it was. We strictly talked about spirituality and paranormal activity for six months. I always asked about their investigations and he always enthusiastically responded.

I enjoyed it. I really enjoyed it.

The messages developed into something else, something with seemingly less purpose, in the autumn. I remember it being mid October when Colby sent a photo of himself. It looked like any other Snapchat or Instagram story he would post, but then I looked on his social media and realized that this photo was taken just for me.

Which was fine; I didn’t think twice about it. In fact, I felt excited because he trusted me enough to ask about the new merch sample they received. Of course it looked good and there were now flaws to pick out. I picked out a couple to make sure he stayed humble. Of course they were lies.

I learned a month before that they had private socials for their friends only. And, oh. The amount of tomfoolery that went on behind that firewall was better than the latest show I binged. For one, I didn’t realize that Colby saw a different girl basically every night. At least I think they were different girls.

At heart, I’m 100 percent a girl’s girl and I will always see the value in every girl but goddamn; I didn’t realize how easy it was to make yourself look exactly like someone else. I mean, down to the exact shade of brunette hair, body type, and sometimes eye color? It felt like I was the delusional one and tripping out on his new girlfriend. That wasn’t what it was though. A different girl was tagged everytime.

The boys weren’t unfamiliar with posting edgier photos whether it be in the middle of an abandoned place that could crumble and kill them before they thought to react, or it be them posing with minimal clothing or some kind of flirtatious caption in the description. Those weren’t bad things, but they were new to me, and honestly, it kind of melted down the anxiety I built in my head about posting new photos on Instagram. Suddenly it didn’t feel like I had to be perfect and get the perfect shot anymore; a lot of it was shock factor.

Which the boys did exceptionally well.

My friends bulldozed their way through the beginning of 2024. It was entertaining, to say the least, but when I saw photos of their New Year’s party, I was taken back by how minimal they turned out. I came across four photos. A girl kissed Sam at midnight, Colby’s arm was around a girl’s waist, the two of them with probably nine other people in a cute group shot, and the last one was them outside the club the party was at—darkened city streets and palm trees that glistened with New Year’s sparkles and confetti were behind them—and I loved those photos. All of them.

But they weren’t the full picture. Definitely not the full picture.

I vividly remember turning the corner with friends into one of the secluded cut outs of lounge space. My best friend and I tried to find more friends and, well, we found them. Firstly, I would admit that the music was so loud I felt the bass in my bones, so maybe that had something to play. I also was in the double digits of how many combined drinks and shots I had, so there was that as well.

But when we turned the corner, I remember the same girl who kissed Sam at midnight was on his lap kissing him again, only this time she fully grinded on him and he didn’t even raise a hand to stop.

Which, okay, to be fair, whatever I don’t care. What caught me off guard was the complete lack of care from everyone else as well. I’m not sure if I have the confidence to practically have sex in a semi-public space with all my friends around me, but whatever.

What bothered me more, somehow, was the way Colby’s hands wouldn’t leave that girl’s skin—the same one he kissed at midnight—and I didn’t know why. Maybe I did, but it was more of a complete annoyance than anything. Maybe some disapproval as well.

He was with someone different just the night before—it was on his Instagram story—and he hooked up with the same girl multiple times during the trip we all took during Christmas. At least he was with her for an entire week rather than one day.

It wasn’t my business though, so naturally, I didn’t give a fuck nor did I say a word. It was so easy to behave like it didn’t affect me in any way or leave a bad taste in my mouth, because it didn’t.

”Hey!” I instantly broke into a smile when Tara met us halfway from the couches and drinks and friends and confetti and the making out— “Where have you guys been?”

”We had drinks and kind of got lost dancing with people,” I laughed. It was the truth and considering the flush in our cheeks and the more unkempt pieces of hair down our backs, Tara didn’t question it. Her hand linked with mine and she dragged us to the left side of the room; black leather couches lined in a semicircle.

And that was when the night truly began.

It also finished there when one of us passed out; I don’t remember who but I swear it wasn’t me.

My night finished when I emptied my guts on the street outside. I think Tara’s hands were in my hair and Colby’s voice was quiet and close to me. I’m pretty sure the sun was rising when we stepped foot in that Uber.

So that was as far as my friendship with Sam and Colby had gone. They were fantastic at their jobs, cared deeply about their work, and cared even more about the supernatural and what’s beyond, and they partied hard.

It was true. I scanned over the last few messages between us. I didn’t mean to leave Colby on read. Something sprouted in me from that moment. I couldn’t fully comprehend what it was. Maybe it was the abrasiveness of the photo, or maybe it was because I didn’t anticipate Colby ever crossing that imaginary boundary. This photo didn’t just cross it, he shot a hundred yards past and then some.

That look in his eyes—the subtle desperation in his text—something, somewhere, did it for me.

It was completely unsolicited as well. Well, unwarranted at least. Once I saw the photo it was solicited in every way imaginable. I didn’t understand where those intense feelings came from. It was intangible.

My stomach soured inside of me. It had me spiraling. Every look, every touch; Colby hardcore gave himself away. It wasn’t that I couldn’t handle it. It wasn’t that I didn’t want it, no, not even that.

It was the fact that I loved it.

That caught me off guard. That nearly scared me.

It was no secret that a while ago, before we even interacted on social media, Colby drunkenly uncovered some too-personal details on the internet. And of course the internet ran wild with them. It kind of became part of his persona which he bravely embraced—which I admired because if I were in his situation, I would coil up and die—and it surpassed the internet’s perception of him as well.

But the underlying tone of his photo, of his text, completely betrayed that persona I was familiar with.

So I waited.

And waited.

I didn’t mean to leave him on read before the photo, but after he sent it, I left him on read with purpose in order to see what came of it. If he was willing to send that one desperate photo after an accidental ignoring, what would he do if it was deliberate?

It wasn’t very dominant of him to lace his photos and matching words with yearning like that.

I groaned as I rolled over in my chilling duvet. My arms stretched above me and my vision darkened. Damn right it was 6am, and I innocently woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep so I checked my phone. It still lodged in my stretched hand.

It buzzed again.

Unfortunately, he and I both knew that he was right.

I rolled out of bed and my legs tangled in the slick white sheets.

I haphazardly made my way into my en suite and flicked on the light. The eye bags were out to say hello this morning, which checked out. I was nearly 27; why the hell did I allow a grown man to get me out of bed to go outside before my body willed.

”Jesus Christ,” I gasped at his behavior. So, naturally, I snapped a photo of myself in the mirror.

‘Better?’ I typed and hit send with trembling hands. He didn’t respond.

My heart pounded.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have sent that.

If he spits out his own medicine then he shouldn’t have offered it to me.

With shaking hands, I got myself ready as requested.

It hadn’t always been like this even though it felt so.

Our relationship evolved and with every text, it dramatically developed into something more than a professional one. Like a friendship, at the very least, and now here I was finding myself lacing my shoes for this man before seven am to go to some… place.

Eight days ago we came back from a long trip of filming content for their channel.

Five days ago Sam asked us to go pick up shit for this party that was forgotten in transit or something. It was the first time we were alone together, and while the task was simple and mundane, it was fun.

Fun enough for me to say yes to him all the time apparently, because four days ago, Colby asked me to come to a photo shoot for their next merch launch.

Three days ago, Sam, Colby and I went out with Tara, Jake and Johnnie and took photos afterward.

Two days ago we partied hard with the gang again.

And yesterday, well, yesterday I went to Sam and Colby’s house for no reason.

We had breakfast, relaxed for once, and did nothing.

Nothing was so entirely great.

Now when I left my apartment that morning, he was already there waiting for me. We didn’t live close enough to walk, but maybe two exits at most from each other.

“Wow you look so happy to see the sun,” Colby remarked. My squinted eyes glared back at him. I forgot to change my hair from its bed head state in any way. A piece of it dangled in front of my eye bags. He only laughed back at me.

“I’m here. I didn’t say I would be happy about it.”

”Don’t worry, you will be soon.” I didn’t respond because I didn’t want to get too snappy. I knew I was joking, but the lack of caffeine and over abundance of morning light did not fare well in me.

”Here is this,” he said before he even gave me a thick enough pause to reply. I looked over and he pulled an energy drink from behind my chair. It was cold. “Palatable offering, I hope.”

”It is,” I laughed and snapped it open.

For an early morning, it was fairly a quick drive on the freeway to this mystery location.

”We’re flying to Australia soon.”

”Oh really?” I gasped and looked over at him. The sun brightened this side of his face. ”Damn.”

”Yeah, we’ve put it off for so long and it’s finally happening. We’re so excited.”

”I bet. Wait, when are you leaving?”

”Six days.”

”That is really soon.” His eyes widened with a sigh.

”Yeah.”

”What, unprepared?”

”As much as we should be prepared already considering how long we’ve wanted to go, yes. Very much so unprepared. We’ve been running around like crazy trying to get things in order at any time we can.”

”So this morning?” He shook his head. I hadn’t looked away from him for a second as we spoke. He kept his eyes on the road.

”How dare I take a tiny break for myself.”

”Naturally you invite me then?”

”I suppose.” By the quiet tone of his voice, I didn’t push. I didn’t prod or step across a line.

I don’t think I even stepped on it. I ran away from it.

”DId Tara mention that we’re going to New York and staying there until Tana and Brooke get there while on tour?”

”Oh shit, no she didn’t. Wait, she did go on their podcast recently.”

”Yeah. Two weeks ago she did. I went with her and we talked for so long. We literally canceled our next plans and decided that we would catch up again in New York when they got there. I think they have a good five days off or something to stay there a week.”

”Oh sweet, when are you leaving?”

”March second.”

”Oh shit, that’s the day we get back from Australia.”

”Oh really?”

There was silence.

“And when do you get back?”

”The plan is to be back by March 12th but we’ll see if that happens.” For the first time since he gave me the drink, he stole a glance from me.

”You’ll see?”

”Tara was talking about going to uh—God I forgot, a specific place, though, for spring break with some other girls too. I think we may be back to re-pack and then head there.”

”Oh okay, okay.” My stomach swarmed with butterflies. I couldn’t pinpoint why. I was overly excited for our trips; it had been a while since I went anywhere for a break and to spend time with myself and the girls, and myself and the girls only.

We parked.

It was a bit farther than I anticipated, but there were less people and mainly lone hikers who risked more of a challenge in the early morning. I didn’t mind. I was simply here for the ride and grateful that I could keep up with Colby.

”Sam and I came here a while ago because we saw it and were curious. It’s a really nice place for photos and to walk in silence.”

”Oh silence. I love that.”

”Yeah,” he laughed. “I know.”

So we walked in silence.

The hills rolled and seemed to touch the skies in some places. Even in the winter chill, the sun warmed my face and within ten minutes both of our hoodies came off. Dust emitted from the ground but stayed. It was dry as hell and not as windy as usual so we were covered in it.

“This way,” he said and we veered to the left up a steeper route of white rock. Thistles of cacti and various plants I was afraid to touch nipped at our ankles as we calculated our steps on the small jut outs lodged in the hill.

Then, near the top and to the right, Colby reached a eight to twelve foot—I wasn’t quite sure—plateau. It wasn’t a long drop to our ground, per say, but the sun’s light was cut from where I stood. I basked in the shade as Colby climbed up with his long ass nimble legs.

”Here,” he said and his hand reached to mine. I climbed the first few feet of rocks before taking his hand.

Maybe I should not have been as enthusiastic to hold his rough dirty hand if even for a few split moments.

Once on top, there was another few yards of elevation until we reached the peak that I supposed he and Sam found before. They weren’t wrong. This portion of the hill was fairly tall compared to the rest, and while we stood in the dusty rocks of the peak, the other side was a grassy downslope that fell straight towards the valley from which we came. Morning light streaked across the city in pinks and oranges while the tips of buildings and hills on the other side of the city reflected mature midday sun.

Maybe getting out of bed this morning wasn’t all that bad.

“Oh my god, you were right. This is a fantastic place.”

”See?” He replied happily. “And there’s really no one who comes out this far.”

”I know. Maybe we should come back for photos since you left me out the first time.”

”Well when we do come back for photos, you will have been here the same amount we have so it’s like we didn’t leave you out.”

”What are you talking about? You’re here now.”

”Well… It’s fine. We’ll still come back.”

More silence.

I sat down first. Colby sat next to me and leaned back on his hands.

“Right that way,” Colby started as he pointed quite to the right of us; east. “Sam and I filmed this one video. I don’t think we can see the plateau very well from here, but it was the one where this guy in a cloak threw a cross over us and into the valley.”

”Oh shit, wait,” I gasped. “I remember that.”

”Yeah,” he scoffed. “Sometimes I think about all the weird stuff that happens at night only for the morning to feel so peaceful.”

“It’s almost as if your mind plays tricks on you.” He gave me a look.

”Wow, I guess Sam and I and also the camera hallucinated that damn cross.”

”Oh my god,” I laughed. “No but, he threw that thing damn far.”

”I know! It was even crazier in person because it wasn’t light when we picked it up.” I looked back to the valley. The white rocks descended into purples and blues where a few highways entered and exited.

”Do you think he’s the reason you got all scratched up?”

”Oh god, I have no idea.”

”Or do you think whatever it is just stays here?” Colby shrugged but kept his gaze across the sea of hills. I could tell; he tried to identify the property they were on but couldn’t.

”I don’t know. If it does, it sure isn’t in charge of the morning, is it?”

”No.” My voice was quiet.

My heart pounded.

When would it get a rest?

I opened my mouth before I thought about it.

”Why didn’t you bring Sam?” My seriousness was probably enough to tell him that I meant bringing him in this moment instead. He shook his head before he spoke.

”I didn’t—It’s not that I didn’t bring him. I just wanted you to come.”

”Oh. I see.”

“You said yes,” he laughed.

”Maybe I just like doing nothing with you. All we do it work and run around like crazy all the time.”

”That’s true.”

Another pause.

”This weekend was really nice though,” I admitted. He looked at me. I didn’t look back.

”It was, I think.”

”Because yeah we probably got too fucked up on Friday and Saturday nights, but just relaxing and not doing anything with you guys is actually nice.”

”You say that as if you expected it to be awful.” I smiled and shot him a look.

“No I don’t. I just mean that it’s nice to see you—all of you—not stressed until you want to drink yourself to death.” Colby sighed.

”No, you’re right.”

”I know I’m right.”

”Yeah, and humble.”

“Shut up,” I laughed and shoved his arm slightly. It gave out and he caught himself.

When we straightened ourselves and leaned back like we were, his hand accidentally landed close to mine. It didn’t touch me, but I felt the warmth between us.

This silence was still. Brutally, peacefully, still.

My tongue clamped to the roof of my mouth. I heard my heartbeat in my ears. As I tried to find something within the horizon to take interest in, the corner of my eye caught the expression on his face. He too looked forward, eyebrows pressed serious, and lips parted.

I would think he was lost in thought and had been for a while now.

As I looked at him slowly, his finger ever so slightly lifted and came over mine. I don’t think it covered but half of my finger, and I wasn’t sure if he touched it all that much. But it was there and I waited for the weight of it.

”Let’s get up. You haven’t posted on Instagram in, what? Three months? Why should we wait to take pictures later?”

”Bitch,” I gasped and sat forward. He looked at me. His eyes were still thoughtful and dark. But his mouth lifted to a smile. “I look like shit.”

”No you don’t.”

I left it at that.

A handful of photos—for both of our feeds—later, and we coasted down the hill twice as fast as we came up. My ankles were almost too weak to handle it from the photo session. I tensed my entire body to shake the thoughts away. My hands were so slick by the time it was my turn to snap photos of him that I thought I would drop his phone. I held my breath the second his shirt came up and off his body. I only really stared at the screen.

There was something about that moment that seemed too close, too serious, for me to look at him not through a screen.

It wasn’t that I hadn’t seen him half dressed before; it was basically his everyday wear. For some reason though, out by ourselves alone in the valley made it seem ten times more intimate. I’ve been alone with him in his bedroom when he hardly wore clothes, I’ve fallen asleep next to him on flights, in beds, on sofas.

It wasn’t like this. My eyes couldn’t retreat from the areas the sun reflected on his skin.

When we got in the car, suddenly it was stuffy and hot, and we tossed our clothes to the backseat before Colby turned the A/C on high.

”Jesus Christ, it’s February!” He shouted. I laughed and held onto my drink. Of course it was flat and not cold anymore but it was something for my aching throat.

I forced myself to look forward even as his hand subconsciously met the back of my chair when he began to back from the parking space. Even with the over abundance of cameras on this damn car, he still never used them.

“Aw shit,” Colby laughed as he looked at his phone.

”What?”

”Sam asked where the fuck I was.”

”Oh my god—“

”And then just asked to grab food on the way back.”

”Let’s get food then.”

I spent the rest of the day with them.

When I walked into their spare bathroom downstairs, I paused as I turned on the lights.

My hair was a mess, my tan popped against the dark sports bra that caked with dust, and in the reflection were sun dazed eyes. Then I looked to the counter and the room spun.

Half of my make up and products I used to get ready sprawled across the granite counter. I forgot that on Saturday night I got ready here before we went out, and Tara sat in the bathtub eating her dinner and entertained me while I did so. My shampoo, conditioner, and body wash were in the shower. I looked back at myself in the mirror.

My towel hung behind me.

”Come on!”

“I’m hurrying!”

”Let’s go!”

”Fucking trying, bitch!”

”You’re walking!”

The door slammed.

”Impatient animals, Jesus fuck,” Tara sighed. She turned back to me. I backed away from the mirror.

“Wait we look hot let me—“ And Tara grabbed her phone and snapped mirrors selfies with the both of us before we exited the bathroom.

”Just put your shoes on in the car or else Sam will leave us here,” I told Tara. My shoes were also in my hand.

”Right, right,” she grumbled. “Coming.” I stood at the front door and waited for her. I scowled at the raging black clouds in the sky. There was no way we would make it into the studio before the storm began. “Surprisingly my ex-boyfriend would never treat me like this,” she grumbled as she hopped past me. I scoffed a laugh.

”Yeah because he knew he’d get his ass beat.”

”I mean you’re not wrong.”

We hopped in the back seats of Sam’s car, and that was how we started the last night we all had together before over a month of separate travels.

To be fair, we were running over 30 minutes behind to get the photoshoot we should have been ultra prepared for. We planned it nearly six days ago after Sam complained about not being a part of our morning photoshoot in the hills. Tara came along because, obviously.

Bickering was the only way for us to relieve the stress of not getting into the car as soon as we needed.

”If I find another one of these in the car, I’m fucking throwing it away,” Colby spat and chunked whatever tube of makeup into the bag Sam held.

”Excuse me, that was mine—“

”Was,” Colby cut me off with a little too much emphasis.

”I’m pretty sure they stopped making those—“

”God fucking thank you then. Now I don’t have to throw one away everytime I climb back here to get shit.”

”You throw them away?” I cried. Colby glared at me from where he leaned inside the trunk of his car.

“Yeah? They would end up crawling back over here anyway.” I rolled my eyes at the muted pitch of his voice.

We stood at the back of the car for all but ten seconds while we each grabbed different things for the photoshoot and the podcast we were about to film and within those ten seconds, the angry clouds decided it was a good time to rain down on us.

As Colby slammed the back shut, I followed Tara straight for the door to the back of the studio. She already was safe under the patio cover.

The tension in the air wasn’t funny or a joke anymore.

I repeated the expression I saw on Sam’s face in my head when I whirled around and followed Tara. He wasn’t messing around anymore. He didn’t look at me and only stared at Colby waiting for his next command.

Needless to say, it never came.

Colby didn’t say another word until we were on the set.

It had been a few minutes. We caught our breaths while our hair and makeup were freshened. Tara and I gossiped between ourselves to calm down and keep ourselves occupied.

And then it was time for photos.

This morning we woke up late. We went out last night and didn’t set alarms. With two podcasts and a photoshoot scheduled, the day started off high stress. We scrambled to get ourselves to the podcast. We surprisingly were only ten minutes late.

This time, however, we somehow were not as lucky.

Between getting food, driving across the city, and changing, we didn’t get enough time in between the first podcast and the photoshoot. Of course this used up the last of Colby’s patience. He was snappy and unapproachable because it was supposed to work, and now, other people had been waiting for us and the podcast was pushed back as well.

Sam and I were wholeheartedly fine with taking the brunt of it too.

But by the time I walked on set, my own frustration pooled in my stomach. Colby’s eyes still flared angry and spiteful even as I looked at them. He blinked a few times before he looked away.

We posed and were posed by the photographers for such a long time, I was tired of pretending to smile and, honestly, I was simply tired of being perceived in such a vulnerable way. Sure, the other three were more used to it, especially Sam and Colby, but damn. I was fatigued and dizzied with alternating emotions.

Tara and I posed alone together next which was alleviating.

My brain turned off.

Then it was Sam and Colby’s turn alone.

My brain turned on when Sam gestured me over.

I wanted to coil up and rot in my bed. I was tired, Colby stressed me out, Sam was snappy with me, and Tara just wanted to sleep. We were falling apart, but when I came back to them, they were somehow brighter. They talked to and cooperated with the photographer more, and the three of us got shots that I was actually excited about.

What numbed me and gave me a second wind was the feeling of Colby’s hands on my waist, him against my side, and our backs to each other. He grabbed my arm during a pose set up and I swore my skin melted to the bone. I felt it through the rest of the day.

Then, we changed and did it all over again.

An hour later, we were leaving the studio when Colby got the call.

The last podcast was canceled.

No one talked when we piled in the car. It was pure silence, and I looked in the rear view mirror slowly. I watched Colby. He looked down at his phone and texted for a little while until he started music. Then he looked up. His eyes locked on mine.

No one spoke. Neither of us looked away. He didn’t look happy, to say the least.

”What are we going to do?” Sam sighed. The only one brave enough to speak to Colby was him obviously; he was the only one Colby wouldn’t kick out of the car. Probably.

”I don’t know,” he sighed and looked away from me and adjusted how he sat. His head hit the head rest. “I’m fucking tired and done with today.”

”Let’s just go out.”

”Again?” I gasped. The burning in my throat from last night returned.

“It’s Saturday night and I know a group’s about to get dinner before hitting a couple clubs,” Tara said as her eyes still locked on her phone. I looked back at Colby. He was already looking at me. I looked back at Tara.

”I mean, we have to be at the airport at five in the morning.”

”We’ll sleep on the plane.”

”Being hungover on a plane doesn’t seem like a fun way to fly.”

”You’re flying regardless,” Colby intervened. I looked back at him. His eyes were thinner, darker. “Let’s just go.”

”Fine.”

And that’s how we ended up drunker than we ever had.

I was hungover before I finished my umpteenth shot, Tara was on the table, and Sam found the girl he had been talking to. Of course she was a part of our group now; the group Tara texted.

The haze in Colby’s eyes calmed me down. He spoke enthusiastically and smiled more than not. Finally, it felt like we wound down to our regular selves again.

“Come on!”

“I really can’t—“

”Please! It’s our last time here for a while, let’s just have fun!”

”Tara, I can’t even walk straight without running into things. What makes you think I can dance?”

”Everyone’s so close anyway, you don’t have to hold yourself up.” Her arms yanked me out of the sofa before another protest had the time to settle. I was followed.

I didn’t know by who, but I felt the presence behind me as we made our way across the dark club. Finally, Tara led me across the threshold of the dance floor. Then she spun around and didn’t let go of my hand.

Her eyes lifted behind me. An evil smile pulled at her mouth.

”What’s wrong—“

”Nothing,” she cut me off, and pulled me from looking behind me. “Come on.”

She didn’t have to tell me twice. I felt the music reverberating through me like a vessel already. If I was going to be in pain all day tomorrow, I might as well make the most of it tonight.

It didn’t take long, but I felt a hand on my arm, a pressure on my body, and I turned around wildly. A face I couldn’t recognize, and Tara yanked me away, closer to her.

I watched her mouth but I couldn’t hear her words. I nodded and smiled in agreement anyway, and danced with her.

And again, hands found my waist, but this time more pressure in places that I definitely didn’t ask for it to be, so I gasped a breath and whipped myself around, but the hands were off of me before I got the chance to see who it was.

I looked up to Colby who shoved someone—the pressure I supposed—behind him. He looked back to the man who grabbed me. Violently, he spoke and shoved again. I didn’t understand what he said but I agreed. Wholeheartedly.

”Colby,” I gasped as if he could hear me.

With the shaking of his head, he stepped into my personal space.

”How did you know I didn’t want to dance with someone?” He scoffed.

“I don’t care if you wanted to or not, clearly you didn’t ask for that.”

”I could have taken care of it.”

”And? That was gross. I was right there.”

Right, Colby followed us to the dance floor. That’s right. I felt his eyes on me the entire time.

”Why were you watching us?”

”Because you’re drunk as hell and both of you are half the size as the majority of people here.” Why did I like the hostility on his tongue? I almost tasted the alcohol that intoxicated him.

”Yeah, that’s all it is, isn’t it?”

”What else would it be?” There it was. That flirty flick up of his eyebrow. We were the only three paused in the sea of dancing bodies.

”Just—Come on,” Tara grumbled and gripped both of our elbows. “Can’t have any fun with you when Colby’s around, can I?”

”What the fuck does that mean?”

Tara didn’t respond.

She went back to friends, but Colby grabbed me and held me back.

Again, his grip was heaven itself there in that hell hole. I spun back to him. I didn’t miss the way his eyes flickered across my full face before settling on my eyes. Drunken mistakes.

”No, tell me,” he said. Lowly.

”Tell you what?” I scoffed. He rolled his eyes.

”What else would I defend you like that for?” My gaze fell from his eyes, his nose, lips, chest, the floor.

I shook my head.

”I’m drunk as hell.”

”Yeah same,” he sighed. He took a step back. His eyes didn’t leave me though.

”Why do you look at me like that?” He shook his head. Don’t ask the things you don’t want to know about. “Stop looking at—Talk to me,” I demanded.

”You’re so—“ He gritted his teeth and his voice caught in his throat when his hands found my face and held me still. My lips parted fairly widely as shock rose my eyebrows. His eyes looked at me. With intention.

My body caught ablaze, and I didn’t like it. Not this time. This kind of wildfire was destructive; non rebuildable.

”Colby—“

He just looked at me. Even closer. I almost felt the sweetness of his mouth on mine.

”I’m more of an all or nothing kind of girl, Colby, not—not a one and done like you,” I said. My calmest words laced with a poison that furrowed his eyebrows. “I don’t do those smash and dashes like you do, so if that’s what you’re looking for, you can go back to those models you fuck every other day because that’s not the kind of body you’ll find here.”

Hurt spread across his face. His hands slowly fell from me, and for the first time, I wanted to take the words back.

“Really?” He gasped. It cut deeper; his hurt. I didn’t mean it.

Maybe I got it all wrong.

”That—Really? That’s what you have to say to me?”

”Colby,” I spat his name through teeth weakened by grit. “Don’t ruin our new friendship, I was liking it way too much.”

”I’m not ruining anything. You don’t know what I want.”

”Then you’re confusing. Too complicated for me.” I stepped away from him. He took a step towards me. “I don’t appreciate my best friends using me.”

”Good. I don’t either.”

”So what’s this?” I gesture to his hands. “Why do you touch me like that? And why does it look like you could kiss me at any moment?”

”Are you projecting or something? Because my wanting to kiss you doesn’t equate to using you.”

A laugh burst from me.

”So when you kissed all those other girls in front of me even after we texted the way we do and after you fucked them, you didn’t use them?” My head cocked to the side in defiance.

Fire blazed in his eyes.

”You’re ridiculous.”

”I am?” I shouted.

”You don’t know anything.”

”Right,” I scoffed. “Not like you’ve made advancements in helping me know something—Colby.”

He grabbed my face like he did and shoved himself back into my space. This time, I felt his front collide into mine. My hands grabbed his wrists.

I froze.

My lips parted the moment his grazed mine.

He caught me. His eyes lifted to mine with a smirk slowly pulled at his dark lips.

“So you talk your shit but you’d still kiss me back?”

”Fuck you,” I spat. He smiled evilly.

”You’d love to, wouldn’t you?” He molded his words over my bottom lip, and I opened my mouth for more.

“Mm, maybe,” I mumbled. His eyes blew wide when I bit down on his bottom lip. “But I would love it more if you didn’t fuck me over after.”

He shook his head quickly.

”I wouldn’t,” I think he gasped so quietly that only by the breath on my skin could I discern his words.

I retracted my teeth and replaced them with my lips.

That was when one of his hands traveled to my messy pulled back hair and he kissed me with such intensity that I’m sure I fell to the ground. A noise escaped my throat but I didn’t back down. I couldn’t when his hands were firm on my body like he knew it already.

So of course I kissed him back like he was mine.

He always was, wasn’t he? I licked into his mouth first, and I think it caught him off guard because a deep moan pressed against my tongue and his thumb jutted under my chin as if to hold me in place. The taste of our drinks mixed in our mouths, and I breathed him in like I needed the hit.

I think he moaned my name; all this time he took a step and then another step into me as if he aimlessly tried to find a stable surface to pin me but couldn’t. He was too drunk to remember that we were in the middle of a bustling club. I ran into someone. I didn’t care.

I took advantage of his leap of shock and my lips wrapped around his tongue. That was when his eyes opened and he slowly looked down at me in surprise when we ever so slowly retract from each other.

”Holy shit,” I thought I heard, and we must have both heard since we both looked over in the direction of our friends.

Sam stared back at us and Tara’s pouty smirk fired directly at me.

Colby took three big steps away from me. Looked at me.

”Colby,” I said but he left me and walked towards Sam.

Sam and Colby walked towards the back door of the club with a dictionary of words between them. Tara stood in front of me.

”It’s 2:30, we gotta go and get ready for our flight.”

”But—But Colby—“

”I know, but we gotta go. Sam was going to be sick.”

I took her hand as she took mine and her friend dropped us off at my house.

The taste of Colby’s lips was the only thing that kept the vomit in the back of my throat.

That sunrise was not kind.

I vomited while packing. I vomited while in the Uber. And again while waiting at the terminal.

At least we got through TSA without a vomit session.

I wanted those hands on me again. To numb the pain. I typically didn’t hurt this bad with a hangover.

I plopped in my seat and Tara already cuddled up into me with her neck pillow and blanket. I checked my phone.

New message from my best friend, but that was it.

I couldn't blame them—to be fair—it was still the night for them, and if Sam had to be sick while at the club, I knew he would be drunk until the late morning and hungover by sundown. Colby on the other hand was drunk, but I couldn’t tell if he was drunk enough to be hungover. I couldn’t read him at all tonight—last night. I understood his mouth perfectly well though, and unfortunately I wanted to communicate more.

Or fortunately? I couldn’t decide quite yet.

I fell asleep before we took off.

When I woke up, the sun blared into the cabin like a lightning rod. I moaned and squinted my eyes, and stretched in my sleep.

”Oh good, you’re up,” Tara said. I looked over at her. Her AirPods were in, a roller was in her hair, and she watched Netflix on her laptop as she filed her nails. “I was getting bored.”

”Jesus Christ, Tara. I’m going to be sick.”

”Ha! No you’re not. Take this.” She handed me a pill and what looked to be an antibacterial wipe. “I don’t give a fuck if you gotta stick that wipe up your nose; you won’t be vomiting on this plane. That’s so embarrassing.”

”Tara,” I moaned and sat up more. The nausea sickened me. I dry swallowed the pill. The alcohol from the wipe did, in fact, aid my hangover bile. ”What time is it?”

”Ten. We’ve been on the flight for like four hours.” I sighed and sat upright in my seat with my eyes clamped shut. My thoughts battled to ward off the nausea. “So, Sam and I walked in on you making out with Colby last night.”

”Oh my god, don’t remind me.”

“What the fuck was that about, huh?”

”God, I have no idea”

”And you didn’t even do anything after as well.” I shot her a glare.

“The fuck you mean ‘do anything?’ Obviously we weren’t going to fuck if that’s what you’re saying.” I rolled my head away from her and leaned it on my hand. It needed physical support too not just emotional.

“What are you talking about?” She laughed. “The tension has been making me sick. I thought you guys were finally going to get it over with.”

That annihilated my ability to ward off nausea.

”I’m going to throw up.”

”Fucking don’t, bitch,” she threatened me with her nail file. “We have to get our nails done in New York because I feel like a dirty girl when we’re going to nice clubs or whatever.”

”We can get them done.” The thought of a nail salon scent quenched the nausea.

”Anyway, about Colby—“

”I do not want to hear that name right now.”

Tara looked at me with concern. A frightening silent concern. The concern was only heavily serious when Tara was quiet.

”He didn’t look happy after he kissed you. What happened?” And how could I lie to that hushed worrisome voice.

”I told him that—oh god what did I say?” I tried to remember as I rubbed my eyes. Thank god Tara convinced me to take off—and also partially helped me—take off my makeup last night. “I said something like I’m not into hooking up like he is—Oh, I’m not a one and done kind of girl. I told him I wanted all of him or nothing.”

”Shit,” Tara gasped. “That’s kind of a lot, isn’t it?”

”I mean he tried to kiss me, Tara! Before we even talked about it.”

”Okay? What’s the problem with that?”

”I really enjoyed our friendship,” I sighed. “I don’t want it bursting into flames. Hanging out with them and working with them is amazing, and once it does inevitably fuck up after we actually date, then I can’t lose them.”

”I know it doesn’t work for everyone, but you could still be friends with them.” I sighed heavily. Tara’s eyes still examined me.

”There’s no way I could feel for Colby the way you do for Jake right now.”

”How come?” I opened my mouth to speak but no words found me. “You—You’re really serious about Colby, aren’t you?”

”Yes, but-but not to say you weren’t serious about—“

”No, I know,” Tara quickly said. “I get it. We’re a lot less unserious after our relationship. We just tried it and it was fun be we aren’t meant to be together romantically.”

”That’s the thing, Tara,” I grumbled and finally looked at her. “How do you not get attached? I’m already scarily attached to him. Fuck; I hate him for it too.” She lips curled in a smirk. “Stop fucking looking at me like that.”

”You are so down bad for that man it’s hilarious.”

”What would be hilarious is if you shut the fuck up.”

”Just admit that you love him so much that you would rather never see him again than not be romantic with him.”

”You’re literally putting words in—Do you not hear the words coming out of my mouth?” Tara rolled her eyes at me and I sighed. I settled in my chair.

“I know. I get it, I do.”

”I just don’t know what I’m going to do, Tara. I already fucked up a lot between us whether we pursue each other or not.”

”How come?”

“I basically called him a slut too.”

”You-You what?” She gasped. She choked back a laugh before it burst out of her. “That is the most diabolical thing—“

”I know it was so wrong of me, but I was drunk and terrified.”

”I know.”

”Tara!” I gasped. “He fucks everything that breathes!” The anger stung my gritted teeth and she parted her lips with surprise. “Do you not fucking see it?” I shout in a whisper. “He has a new fucking partner every damn week which-which whatever, that’s fine, but then he texts me the way he does and it’s like he wants to get in my pants too, just for the sake of it!”

”Whoa, how do you text? Give me your phone.”

”No way.”

”You sent him nudes?”

”What? No!” My blush flared hot. She rolled her eyes.

”I’ve known Colby for so long, it’s nothing I haven’t seen.”

”We haven’t fucking—Wait what the fuck does that mean?”

”Jesus Christ, no need to get wound up. I haven’t fucked him; remember Jake used to live with them. I stayed there weeks at a time.” I nodded and handed her my phone. We really didn’t have anything important to hide.

As she read the texts, my heart quickened. Her silence scared me.

”Oh my god,” she gasped. “The damn tension is even worse in text.”

”Give It back,” I spat and stole it from her. “What tension? We’re just friends.”

”Pf, yeah; friends that are able to make any conversation dirty talk. Now stop being a pussy and-and suck his dick or something.“

”Tara!” I cried. I shoved my phone back in my bag. “There’s no way—No! I-I can’t do that.”

”Oh right, you’re so in love with him you want to have sex with him and let him kiss you all gentle—“ Her silly baby voice physically ignited the fiery anger inside of me.

”Seriously,” I spat and held my hand up. “It’s not like that.”

”Oh,” she gasped. “Right, it’s Colby I forgot. He might not like gentle sex.”

”Nor relationships, so let’s stop speaking about something I can’t have.” Tara looked at me as seconds ticked by.

”You do really like him.” I nodded slowly. “If you liked him enough, then what could come of it would be worth risking ever speaking to him the same way again.”

I stared at her wide eyed.

Where did that wisdom come from?

”Potentially.”

“Then talk to him like an adult. And don’t do it when you’re drunk; you disrespect him like that again and he’ll cut you off without you even getting about to suck his—“

”If you’re so obsessed with his dick, why don’t you suck it yourself?” I spat.

”Damn, alright. He’s yours.”

”He’s not mine,” I spat. “If last night was anything to go by.”

”No no,” Tara exasperated. “You literally have it all wrong. He looked so-so enthralled by you, that you’re already his. That’s why it pissed him off so much.”

”He wouldn’t be pissed off if he talked to me like an adult and didn’t fuck other women.”

”Talk to him.”

”You’re acting like you know something.”

”Obviously neither of them talk to me and I supposed neither of them talk to Johnnie or Jake because those two boneheads are clueless as always.” I smiled. “Talk to him. Both of you attitudes are starting to piss me off. I just want to have fun with my best friends without stepping on eggshells.” She sipped her drink.

”I fucking need one of those.”

”It’s a mimosa.”

”I know.”

”You literally were about to throw up.” I rolled my eyes and kicked back in my seat.

”I need to be drunk again.”

“Ma’am, yes ma’am,” she sighed as she eyed down a flight attendant. “Oh, you’re fucking hot by the way.”

”Exuse me?” I choked on nothing.

”Your tattoos are great, and I can’t believe you sent him and underwear pic.” My face burned.

”That was on accident. I was delusional and got out of bed before I was awake at 6am.”

”Yeah, uh-hu. Keep telling yourself that.” And Tara caught the attendant as she passed us.

Between us and the hangovers, it was easy sailing until touchdown.

When we stepped into the airport, my phone rang off the hook with late messages. Of which, Colby was missed. My stomach did that familiar flip at the sight of his name in my messages.

I stared at my phone wide eyed and breathless, and it must have taken me far too long to get going, because Tara peered over my shoulder.

”Damn, see I told you. He set the stage for you, now speak like an adult.” I looked at her sunglasses covered face. I judged her for looking like a freak wearing Jake’s inappropriately too large hoodie with the hood over the roller in her hair as she wore sunglasses on her face that were big enough to cover a horse’s eyes.

Not like I could judge; I might have been wearing Sam’s hoodie and Colby’s sweatpants with my own sunglasses covering my hangover but that’s neither here nor there.

“Let’s go,” I told her and we bulldozed our way through the airport and towards whichever fancy hotel Tara picked the month prior.

And the hotel was very nice.

It was large enough for an entire group to crash in after a night out. The window showed the evening city as night fell, and I wanted nothing more than to curl up in the bed that could easily hold four people. I stared out the window for sometime as Tara got settled in. I could have been thinking about our plans for the morning, where we were going to get—most likely—brunch and where we would go thrifting after, but there I stood in the nicest hotel room in New York City I’ve ever been in thinking about Colby.

I thought to text him now.

I will.

Maybe.

My eyes fell heavy, and it took effort to pull myself from the window.

“Thinking about room service. Forgot to get food before.”

”I know, I was just dreaming about this bed,” I moaned as I collapsed into it.

I fell asleep before Tara got off call with room service.

I woke up when the food came.

”Get up or else I’m eating all this pizza.” I slugged over to sit hip to hip with her as the food sprawled ahead of us.

“I’m beat.”

”And once we eat, we can sleep so long and happy once our bellies are full.” She logged into her Netflix on the TV as I scrolled on my phone.

“Okay can we eat now, like damn.”

”Sorry,” I laughed as I read the last word he sent, and my phone was tossed to the bedding.

“How much will you text him? This is supposed to be our chilled out work week; emphasis on boyless work week.”

”Yeah I know, I was going to call him after we eat so we can talk about whatever the fuck happened last night.”

”Okay,” she said as she took a bite.

“Then we will be boyless.”

”Good.”

And she was right. My eyes rolled back even more so as the pizza settled in our systems. She got ready for bed as I slid out onto the balcony to talk to Colby. The chilly air was certainly more than enough to prevent me from falling asleep.

”Hi.”

”Hi,” he said back. “How are you feeling?”

”I’m good, better,” I sighed. “It was kind of the worst flight of my life though.”

”That’s what I was worried about. Good thing you made it through.”

”Yeah, hardly though. Tara threatened me and stuffed alcohol wipes in my nose every time I moved.”

”Oh my god,” he laughed. “I felt really bad last night. You were so sick and then Sam was sick—god, he still is—and I was just like, ‘shit, maybe this was a bad idea’ especially after—everything.”

”Yeah, I know. But-But it’s fine; it was fine. I had a good night. Just won’t do it before a five am flight ever again.”

Silence.

”I wanted to talk about last night though, like what happened between us.”

”I know,” I sighed and released the energy. “First I wanted to say sorry for what I said to you; I didn’t mean it and it was really disrespectful. I was so drunk and should have closed my mouth especially since that’s your business anyway. I feel really bad and didn’t mean it.”

”I-I know,” he said not too convincingly. “It—I mean, I get where you’re coming from and alcohol amplified everything.” My eyebrow twinged with question.

”What do you mean ‘where I’m coming from?’”

”I mean—“ He took his time and I bit through the first layer of skin on my lip. “I-I guess it’s no secret I’m not with anyone and don’t—didn’t have any plan to be. I—oh my god—I was going to say I wanted to just have fun, but I’m such a mess it isn’t fun anymore.”

”Why are you such a mess?” My voice was low as if it knew the answer.

”I guess I’m not wanting to be alone but I’m also just not-not wanting to commit or anything.”

”Oh.” I didn’t mean to be so short, and he took a breath to say something quick but I interjected. “Why did you kiss me then? You heard what I said and I did—and still do—mean it. So why did you kiss me like-like you meant it or something?”

”I’m just as confused as you are about it.” I didn’t appreciate the frustration in his tone.

”Oh yeah? What’s so confusing about it, then? I’m not confused.”

“What?” He gasped. I could tell I picked and picked at the seams until he couldn’t keep it back anymore. “You told me I was confusing to you last night. I’m confused as well.”

”I’m not confused about the situation but I’m confused about the damn choices you’re making.”

”Oh yeah? And what choices are those?”

”How every time you look at me I’m trying to decipher whether you want to kiss me but then you don’t and go kiss another girl like usual. I’m not into this whole—this whole yearning thing. I don’t do situationships or adjacent dysfunction, okay? So if you want to kiss me like you did last night, then I’m the only one you’re kissing and that’s what I’m not confused about.”

”You think I don’t want to kiss you like that?” He gasped. My throat clamped together. “If last night was anything to go by, you’d know that I’ve only ever wanted to kiss you like that. But it’s so much more real.”

”How is it so real?” I scoffed. The bitterness flowed from me, and I didn’t hold it back. How could I? There was so much unknowingly built in my chest and it needed to be relieved. “If it were real, you would kiss me. You wouldn’t fuck any other thing that breathes; you would come to me.”

”Jesus fucking—I don’t fuck anyone! Why do you keep saying that?”

Speechless choked me.

”You-You what?”

”I’ve slept with two people all through last year and no one this year, alright? Just because I might have fun or take photos with people doesn’t mean shit. I’ve only slept with—“

”You don’t have to tell me. I’m-I’m not—I trust you.” I didn’t like the way my voice shook, but I sat still in disbelief. Those nasty things I told him—

“Please,” he sighed. “I’m not—I don’t like to fuck around like that. I mean yeah maybe I do, but not like that. Not the amount you think I have. Do you really think so poorly of me?”

”I don’t-I don’t think poorly of anyone who does that, Colby. Especially not you. The thing that ticked me off was how you treated me. I could only think of those girls; did they know that you talked to me like that? Did they like to hook up meaninglessly like that? I didn’t want to be responsible for any messy situation that came of it.”

”And you wouldn’t have,” he said all too sweetly. “It’s my responsibility and I wouldn’t throw you under the bus like that. I mean; if there even were a bus. Every time I would ‘take someone home’ they would just leave in their own Uber and I’d go back with Sam. Or if I went to their house, honestly I would just crash at Jake and Johnnie’s for the night so that Sam could have the house for the night.” I never thought about those things. Unfairly too; I always believed the worst.

I took a lengthy pause. I was still upset. Unsatisfied. So I yanked harder.

”Then why do you loop me into all of this? Why play with me and kiss me just to go back to how we were?”

”Who said I would ever do it?”

”I don’t know!” I burst out. “Maybe it’s because I saw with my own eyes the amount of girls you were with and didn’t know the details. It’s like you wanted me but kept me on edge for fun.”

”That’s not-That’s definitely not what happened or what I was thinking at all.”

”Then what is, Colby? What the fuck are you thinking about me then, because I’m getting fed up and—“

”I’m thinking that if I just got my shit together and-and got over things I was scared of, I could have you and talk to you about how I feel about you.”

”Which is how?”

”God fucking damnit, you’re really making me spell it out, hm?” I shrugged.

”Obviously. I’m not here to fuck around anymore. I like having fun with my friends and I do not like being used and thrown away. I have more self respect than to be fucked over again and again.”

”I wouldn’t do that.”

”And you’ve given me no reason that you wouldn’t or proof that you would do any better.” The phone etched into my palms from the amount of force I used to hold it.

”God fucking—“ He paused and I heard a breath. “You’re so fucking difficult.”

”I’m difficult? You’re putting my through the ringer because you can’t communicate.”

”I can’t communicate? When did you ever tell me that you didn’t like it when I was with other girls?”

”I don’t know maybe because it’s not my fucking place? Jesus Christ, you think I have the audacity to nose my way into your business?”

”Well you’ve fucking nosed your way into every other area of my life.” I dragged in a deep breath.

I saw red. I finally understood what it felt like when people said that.

”Oh yeah? And whose fault is that exactly?”

”It sure as hell isn’t mine.”

”I swear to god! Ugh! You’re so fucking annoying!”

”I’m annoying?” His voice finally raised. “You’re the one who flirts with me and I get the message that you want something but then you tell me ‘oh, no my expectations are so much higher than what you could reach’ and then get mad when I can’t reach them?”

“You haven’t fucking tried!” I finally yelled. “And you’re projecting! I have never given you my expectations for a relationship and yet you still think you can’t reach them, what am I just some selfish bitch to you or something? You haven’t asked or talked to me about anything serious at all! The only thing you know about my personal needs in a relationship is that I’d like for it to be exclusive and serious. I didn’t realize that was just so fucking hard for anyone to give me.”

”Becase you’re looking in the fucking wrong direction!”

I paused for a moment. I licked my dry lips.

”Oh so then you think the problem is you? Because I know having standards—and low ones, might I add—isn’t typically an issue for people.”

”You are—oh my fucking god.” I heard the way his voice grew quieter as he pulled the phone from his ear in frustration. “Maybe—listen to me—Maybe I think you’re looking in the wrong direction because you need someone who can fit your expectations. Not because you’re too much but because I care about you enough to make sure you’re taken care of and not at risk for it blowing up in your face since clearly that’s all I’m good at.”

”Colby,” I gasped.

This was never about my behavior. This wasn’t even about our lack of communication, then.

“When did I ever say I didn’t want you.”

”What?” He spat. “I never said—“

”No, but clearly you think you’re not good enough for me. You don’t know what I want outside of a stable relationship, and that I know you can give me if you try.”

”How do you know that?” His spite was thicker than the words he said.

”I mean-I mean I don’t but you’re smart and clearly you fucking care enough so I supposed you’d figure it out.”

”But that puts you at risk.”

”Fuck!” I yelled. “For as often as you put your physical body at risk with Sam you certainly are against it emotionally. Maybe I know that it’s a risk liking you as much as I do, but maybe it’s one I’m willing to take.”

”But you want—“

”Fucking hell, Colby. I just wanted you!” God it felt so good to say. “I just wanted you without having to worry that one day I wouldn’t be able to see you again because-because if it does blow up, I’m not sure I’ll be able to be friends with you after. That’s how much I care about you and need you.”

He was silent and my own anxiety took the wheel again.

”I-I really liked our friendship and don’t take that lightly; I hope you feel the same way about it—“

”I really do,” he reassured me.

”Then that’s why I didn’t want to be the one to start something more with you. I didn’t want it to blow up—“

”Oh so you wanted me to start it so that whenever it does inevitably blow up, you can blame me?”

”That’s not what I fucking said now, is it Colby? I said—“

”No.” It was so incredibly final that it took center in my stomach like a knife. “I’m not—We’re not doing this.”

”So then that’s it?”

”How much more do you want to lose?” It hit me. He wouldn't be able to go back after that kiss.

”If you think we’ve already lost something, then how bad could it be?”

”I can’t fucking do this right now.”

”Oh come on,” I laughed. “That’s so—That’s such a tap out.”

”No, I’m serious. You’re literally asking me to solidify a relationship with you so that when we break up, it can be my fault.”

”That is not what I’m asking you to do. Like, at all.”

”Yeah? Then what is?”

”I’m asking you to stop being so fucking scared of everything.”

Silence.

”I want you to stop trying to control everything around you all the time. You can’t control how I feel. Stop blaming yourself for things you haven’t even done! I’d never blame you if things didn’t work out between us. But I am blaming you if you keep yourself from me just because you’re scared.”

“I’ve never been so scared of anyone like I’m scared of you.”

”Colby—“

”The way you make me feel is too much. I can’t-I can’t fuck us up. I’d rather you at a safe distance for forever than nowhere near me at all.”

”And if it all blows up, what are we going to do?”

”I can't think about that—“

”No, tell me.”

”I swear,” he laughed.

”Colby, tell me now.”

”I—We’re going to stop speaking. I know that much. I won’t be okay for a long time—“

”What if it all blows up but we just stay together anyway?” He was quiet again as if it was the most confusing thing in the world.

”What-What are you talking about?”

”Things go wrong in relationships all the time. That's why only the people who choose to stay together and work on themselves for the other person last more than 20 years. I don’t understand why a disagreement or argument can derail an entire companionship if they actually care deeply about each other.”

The way he said my name made me forget all the other times my name had been said.

”It’s that much?”

”What?” I asked.

”You actually want me that much?”

”I could.” It was the truth. I did want him—badly—and with time, maybe he could be the only one I would want.

”I think I could let myself want you that much too.”

”Colby, stop saying you’ll ‘let’ yourself. Not everything has to be controlled; literally chill out and let things happen.”

”Okay, okay,” he sighed. I, too, was tired of arguing, and with that sweet tone on his tongue, I wished to sleep cuddled into his side. What a way to begin a month apart from each other. “I trust you.”

”Good. I trust you too.”

It felt like the end of the conversation. I didn’t know where it left us, but we were farther than where we started.

I also trusted the fact that we had much time to think about things before we saw each other again.

”By the way,” he said with that goofy tone that I knew meant something outrageous was brewing in that head. “‘Smash and dash was so fucking funny. If you didn’t literally break my heart in that sentence, I would have cried laughing.”

”Oh my god, shut the fuck up. I have no idea where that came from—“

”It was so good.”

The night was brutal. It took me a second to register the fact that I shivered like my life depended on it.

“Colby,” I mumbled. “I care about you a lot, and maybe that’s why I’m so-so protective, or something, of what—or of how I feel. I didn’t want to stress you into something you didn’t want, and I didn’t—I don’t know—I don’t want to see you scared or in pain.”

“I know, I know. I care about you as well which is why I tried to get rid of my confusion and frustration in some way because I didn’t want to hurt you or not be enough for you. It—All of this is a lot, and I’m not ready for it.”

”Maybe we won’t be,” I sighed. My breath piled in front of me. “We can wait.”

”Yeah,” he agreed.

”I’m so sorry but I’m literally—I’m outside because Tara’s in there and it’s so fucking cold so I was going—”

”Oh my god, yeah go inside.”

”Okay.” I stood up. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

”Okay, also, thanks for talking. You can be—god—you’re so fucking pushy and you never back down.”

“And you’re so damn combative it’s hard to not fight with you.”

”No one usually fights me, they leave or, I don’t fucking know, listen to what I say.”

”Ha!” I burst out laughing. “That’s so funny. I only listen to myself. I like you a lot, okay? So I’m going to fight back if you sound like an idiot.”

”And you sound like a spoiled bitch who always gets her way.”

”No,” I dragged out. “I just do this thing called thorough communication, and I never sacrifice the things I value just because some boy wants to fuck me.”

”Whoa,” Colby gasped. “I never expected you to sacrifice anything.” I laughed as my face heated up.

”Oh okay maybe so, but you want to fuck me then?”

“We are not talking about that right now.”

“Oh come on, you could have just said no.”

”And now you sound like the idiot.”

”Whatever, I’m going inside so I don’t have to freeze my ass off anymore.”

”You do that. I’m getting food then sleeping another ten hours.”

”Okay good,” I smiled. “Bye.”

”Bye.”

Even when I curled up in my bed happy and content and warm as I could be, I still shook to my core.

And it wasn’t from the winter air.

I woke up to the sound of an alarm, and Tara sitting up to turn it off.

”Why?” I complained. “Why so early?”

”It’s literally nine am. Let’s get up and get ready.”

”Fine,” I grumbled. I stretched so hard that I nearly missed what she said.

”I was asleep by the time you came in last night, what did you and Colby talk about for so long?”

”Honestly? We just argued the entire time but we’re fine now.”

”What?” She laughed. “What did you fight about?”

”Colby’s personal bullshit. Also, we may or may not date; we aren’t sure.”

”That is literally the most you and Colby thing I’ve ever heard,” Tara laughed as she got up. ”You guys are so exclusively not exclusive.”

”And you are so already breaking your rule for having a boyless trip.” She smiled at me as she pulled her glasses on.

”You’re right. Now get ready; we have bagels to eat and thrift stores to infiltrate.”

The day ended as fast as it came, and when we woke up the next morning, we decided to stay in and have a self care day instead of walking because our legs cramped.

I don’t remember another time my mind emptied of stress and worries about work, scheduling, and recording. Maybe we filmed a few videos, and maybe we vlogged, and maybe we met up with friends for a video, but it was a week of my life that my job melted into a privileged everyday life rather than a literal job.

After Tana and Brooke showed up, it was time for a little less self care to say the least.

He didn't respond.

“You’re breaking the law.” I looked up to Tara who sat on the edge of the bed talking to Brooke. I leaned against the head board and dropped my phone to the sheets.

”What are you talking about?”

“See, I didn’t know if you were or not but you just gave yourself away.”

”What law do we have this week?” Brooke asked.

”No speaking about or texting or calling males this week.” Brooke’s eyes rounded and snapped to mine.

”Who were you texting?”

”N—“

”Colby,” Tara sighed.

”Okay, that’s great. Thank you so much for letting that cat out of the bag.” Then Brooke’s eyes widened.

”Am I not supposed to know?”

”No,” I sighed and scooted closer to them. I stole a gummy worm from the bag in between them. “It’s a situationship I fear.”

”Oh I see,” Brooke laughed as a smirk pulled on her rosy lips.

“And it’s becoming a situation for all of us because you keep texting him.”

”You should be glad we aren’t at each other’s throats anymore.”

”I don’t know if you two being at each other’s throats is as bad as being down them anymore—“

”Oh my god, Tara, no. That’s-That’s too far.”

”Yeah, mhm,” she sighed with raised eyebrows. Tana came from the bathroom. “It’s almost like you were the one who went too far with him first.”

”Who’s him?”

”Colby,” Brooke replied to Tana faster than anyone could think.

”Oh,” Tana said as she looked at me up and down. “Honestly that checks out. Is this new?”

”As of three days ago,” I sighed. My head met my hand as if I massaged a headache.

”It’s actually been a nine month long languished yearning slow burn from both of them but apparently Colby has trust issues and she’s just too cut throat for him.”

”Tara,” I spat. “You are just full of it today aren’t you?”

”Yes, now I understand how everyone else felt when Jake and I first started dating and I’m getting flashbacks so I’m snappy.”

”Clearly.”

”You both are breaking your own law,” Brooke intervened.

”That’s true,” I said to Tara with eyebrows raised.

”What law?”

”No speaking about men on this trip,” Brooke told Tana to which Tana laughed, of course.

”I am a felon.”

✧˖*°࿐

Taglist (Comment to be added):

@a-random-google-user

#colby brock #sam and colby #sam golbach #18+ only #minors dni #colby brock smut #colby brock x reader #rosie writings

289 notes · View notes

inkorganic · 5 months

Text

The Way Things Are

Summary

Featuring: Tomura Shigaraki x female reader cw: 18+ minors do not interact, smut, unprotected sex, reader has a quirk, messy, loss of virginity Word count: 4.5 k AO3

∘₊✧─────────────✧₊∘

The days unfolded more as they passed. Blending like watercolors, transforming into a jumble of warm mornings, hazy afternoons, and cold nights A month passed, and it was hard to believe; however, the calendar on your phone couldn’t be lying, or maybe it could. After all, you didn’t have a recollection of ever using your quirk in this exhausting way.

Maybe it could mess with the internal clocks of phones too. Concealing your presence was an easy job—a hum that surrounded your life, making you almost indestructible and undetectable.

A cozy blanket that kept you safe well into your early adulthood Concealing others was a different story, though, having to synchronize with their heartbeats and breaths. The unwelcome familiarity of discovering the patterns of the league. You were the newest member; a few weeks didn’t make a significant difference, but facts are facts.

They already had a well-established dynamic; it’s not that they didn’t attempt to incorporate you. Making friends was simply not on your list of reasons for joining this organization in the first place. Allies were required to accomplish your end goal; the plan was to keep them safe with your quirk, and they would assist you in exacting your revenge.

You have to stay inside the tiny cabin. No , you thought this was hardly a cabin. It’s a shed not meant for staying for more than a night or to be used as temporary shelter, but the times were rough and the money was cut off many weeks ago. Getting used to the pungent smell of rotting wood was still an active project.

The wood panels that acted as walls provided minimal protection from the weather; if it rained, you knew because the water formed poodles on the already-molding hardwood flooring.

This was better than staying outside , you told yourself as you checked your ratty sleeping bag for ticks and other unwanted companions. Getting a bug bite-transmitted disease would be the cherry on top of this disadvantageous situation.

That night, it was only you and Tomura in the room; the other members decided to flee for liberty. The only night the leader decided to take a real break and not only a few hours to rest

Even Spinner excused himself; you didn’t have anywhere else to go, and your head pounded painfully behind your eyes like a second heartbeat with the uninterrupted use of your quirk. You might as well take the chance and turn it off for once.

Being a loner, even in a group of other outcasts, was funny in a way. The night was setting, and soon Tomura would enter the room, nod at you, and ignore you for the rest of the night until the sun rose again.

The only change in the routine was that tonight he would sleep in, which made you nervous. You were used to the others being here, coming and going, murmuring greetings, and asking if suddenly food decided to manifest itself in the pantry.

You didn’t realize you had fallen asleep until the soft noises of Tomura setting his sleeping bag woke you up. You didn’t mean to pry into his nightly routine, but you couldn’t help it. The dim lighting provided by the sad portable light cast shadows on his face, making his dark undereyes more noticeable and deeper. The crazy rhythm he set for himself was starting to wear him down. Suddenly, he looked five years older in the span of a few weeks.

He was down to his t-shirt, but the night was so cold , you thought. Maybe it was your people-pleasing personality or the fact that you wanted to talk to someone about anything. You left the warm cocoon of your sleeping bag to go look into your things for a spare hoodie, sweater, or anything warm.

He lifted his eyes and did the usual thing he did: he nodded at you, and you nodded back in silent acknowledgment. This time, though, you offered him a hoodie.

“It’s cold” You haven’t used your voice in hours, so it came like a hoarse whisper. His gaze went from your face to the hand offering the garment.

“It doesn’t bother me.”

“Your hands are shaking.” You were talking in whispers, the same tone you would use when talking to a feral cat. “I’ll leave it here.” You crouched slowly. Again, he looked tired and easy to piss off, and he was already easy to provoke when he was in a good mood, so it was better not to poke at him.

“Whatever,” he sighed.

You stayed there a little. Listening to the sounds from outside the walls. Letting your hands grow colder so you can warm them up later inside your sack. Watching your nails turn purple with poor blood circulation and then returning to a healthy pink. Pretending you were on a camping excursion with friends and not on a terrorist mission with people you barely spoke to, your thoughts made you giggle. The absurdity of it all

“What’s so funny?” He sounded more annoyed than tired, so maybe he did want to talk.

“I’ve never been camping.” And with that, you got up and crawled back to your small personal space.

“Me neither,” he said after a long pause.

Just above a whisper from his mouth, it felt like a small win to get him to speak about other things that weren’t his plans for the league or video games. You let the moment go too far; the opportunity to converse was halted. Soon, his steady breathing told you he was asleep. Good for him; you knew he needed the sleep.

You couldn’t make yourself sleep tossing and turning for what you felt were hours. The cold claimed your body, and your breath was visible in front of you in wisps of steam. How much did the temperature drop? It was hard to know for sure, but the bites from the bitter cold were eating your fingers, leaving flushed cheeks, stiff toes, and clattering teeth behind for you to endure.

It never crossed your mind that you could miss having all the members of the league around to provide human heat, but here you were shivering inside a thin sleeping bag in the middle of nowhere.

You wondered if Tomura was doing better, so you tuned in to check on him. To see his half-lidded eyes already staring at you. You noticed he was wearing your hoodie—another win for your small record. No, like you were keeping a record.

“Y/n” He broke the silence, his voice husky and tired.

“Yeah?”

“Can you turn on your quirk?”

You were not expecting that at all. You sat slowly, warming your hands with your breath.

“The buzz sound—I got used to hearing it.”

You could accept his petition, but you could also get something from him—a mutual favor: he wanted the side effect of your quirk, and you wanted a source of heat.

“Sure, but can I move closer to you?” The words left your mouth, and they turned into ribbons wrapping themselves around your neck, too accustomed to never asking for anything from anyone. To want was to desire, and desire was why you ended up as a stray on the edges of society.

“You don’t need to be close.” He replied, stating the knowledge he had of the way your quirk worked. It tasted too much like rejection—the oily, sour aftertaste setting in the back of your throat.

“That is true.” You shrugged, letting your quirk wrap around him. His heartbeat joined the sounds inside your head, along with the palpitation of your headache. He was upset; probably his pulse was faster than it should be considering he was lying down.

“Is it easier to use if you’re close?”

“No.” You sighed, shaking your head. “I’m cold, that’s all.”

He kept his eyes on you, actually taking notice of your presence for the first time since you joined the league. You wanted to be out of this situation. A wave of stress settled on your shoulders, and the tightness of your chest made it harder to breathe. You didn’t like being noticed; it was easier to be in the background, taking little space.

“I smell!" Tomura snorted, almost chuckling. Almost. It's another win for the record.

“We all do.” You let a chunk of your stress be dissolved by a short laugh. “We all should bathe and soak there for a few hours”.

He chuckled this time. You joined him. It felt delicious. You felt normal for once in a while.

“You can move closer.” He whispered reluctantly, his rapid heartbeat hammering the back of your head. Maybe it was invasive to get a glimpse of a clue to how he felt without disclosing it, but no one asked, and you were not about to go. Hey, just letting you know that I can hear and feel your heartbeats inside my head. Sorry about that.

You rose, your steps muffled by your socks. He was already making space for you. You lay beside him on your side, facing him. The sleeping bag was slightly bigger than yours, but still, your knees were touching, and suddenly you gained awareness of all your limbs and their positions. The way you bent at uncomfortable angles to avoid touching him more than what was inevitably necessary. It was warmer and nicer too, even if you were never going to voice such a thought; your fingers were finally allowed to regain blood flow.

You wanted more. You wanted to take more; the ache for human contact was tingling at your fingertips, so close to another human yet so far. You longed to be the one who takes, not the one who stays empty-handed, and god, you were as empty as you could be; nothing belonged to you.

So in a moment of impulsivity, with his heartbeat driving you insane and his knees touching yours, you decided to press your mouth on his closed lips—a peck. You waited for him to push you away to try and turn you into dust for the audacity of daring to kiss him. But he didn’t; he remained still. A muffled sound coming from his throat was the only acknowledgment you got.

You pushed it more; it was addicting—the heat from his body and the way he tasted the musky smell from him—making you wish you could get inside his clothes. You parted your lips, trying to deepen the kiss. His hands found their way to your upper arms, squeezing them in a fourth-finger grip, not pushing you away, not pulling you in either, just keeping you there. The guilt made you draw back.

Your mind was racing as your stomach tangled into tight knots. But then you saw his face, eyes closed, and brows furrowed together.

“I can’t touch you.” He murmured, his breath tickling your mouth. Letting go of your arms, he set his hands into fists on his sides.

Now his gaze was on your eyes, his pupils engulfing the red of his irises. He wanted to give in to physical pleasure; he never really let himself explore before. His life had always been about controlling decay, and he didn’t particularly like the fact that your quirk could potentially make you immune to his.

He used to indulge in fantasies where he met someone who he could touch and who would not squirm away from him in fear or disgust. Then he met you, gentle-faced and not quite made for a villain’s life but with a useful quirk he was not going to turn down.

He decided later on that not having the power to get rid of you if needed was not something he was fond of, contrary to what he initially thought. Still, he wanted to dig his fingers into the plumpness of your hips, knowing that you would stay whole. He could not afford the distraction though, so keeping you at arm’s length was necessary.

Tomura didn’t imagine you were going to be the one to close the distance he so carefully crafted. Even more so, he would let you effortlessly do it too, giving in so easily to a gentle gesture, a tender kiss, and a kind caress.

“I don’t want to.” He ran his hand through his hair, the pale locks stealing highlights from the faint portable light. “I should not want to.” He spoke to himself, attempting to assure himself that he had no special interest in you.

One of his hands moved to your nape, drawing you closer. He didn’t allow you the chance to flee and hide in your sack; the hand on your neck brought you back to his mouth. This time, he was the one who started it. Too quick, too eager, too hungry—his kiss was clumsy and inexperienced. You bit him softly, trying not to break his chapped lips any further, just enough to make him stop for a second.

He was perplexed.

“I thought you wanted”— I thought you wanted me , left unsaid. He whispered, tilting his head to get a better view of yours. “You kissed me first.”

“I do,” you said, attempting but failing to conceal your hesitation. “I did”

You fell into an awkward silence, peering into one another’s eyes but not daring to break it again.

“Why? He inquired. His glance flew to your lips, then up to your eyes, expecting to find the answer he was seeking.

“I felt like it.”

That was not what he was expecting, yet again. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to hear; for months, he had prevented his attention from wandering to you and your ridiculous quirk.

He was aware that he was not in love with you. That was not something he believed himself capable of; not even lust was something he frequently indulged in; usually, it concerned physical sensations, the twitch in his lower abdomen, and the slight relaxation that followed. That was a checkbox on the pyramid of needs that humans had to meet.

“Do it again?” He whispered, giving in. He could swear the buzzing of your quirk started to have a rapid heartbeat-like pattern.

The previous uncomfortable silence was preferable to this conversation. The consequences of your actions didn’t make themselves wait; they showed up barely minutes after kissing him.

“Do it again?” You echoed his words with an unsure voice.

“Don’t act like that now. I’m not the one who started this with the excuse of being cold.”

“It was not an excuse; I was cold,” you replied.

“Yeah, well. You certainly aren’t anymore." He trailed off, his gaze fixed on you. A frown formed on his brow.

“Should we talk about it?” You inquired shyly.

��What? Now you want to talk. You never say anything and have never actively participated in our missions! Now suddenly, you’re interested in discussing things? Acting like a damn NPC,” he retorted, his tone laced with skepticism.

“You never complained before.” You mumbled.

Successfully, you annoyed him in record time. He laughed wryly.

“Is this a fucking joke? Is this how you entertain yourself?” He leaned forward, his mouth close to your ear. The breath hitting your skin made you shiver. “You think that because I can’t use my quirk on you, you can just do anything you want to me without consequences?”

“Of course not. Look, I apologize for what I did. I’m leaving” You said to walk away like you often do when things become too difficult to handle. “Let’s pretend it never happened.”

You crawled out of his sleeping bag with all the dignity you could muster, shuddering when your calf accidentally brushed against his forearm. You didn’t get far; well, Tomura didn’t let you get far. He grabbed you by the ankle.

“You don’t get to just walk away from this.” He stated. “Not when we work together every day. And not after you just kissed me out of nowhere.”

The chill from the floor pierced your bare foot as your sock turned to dust. Your quirk buzzed around your body, repelling his.

“You thought you could get away with it? Just do whatever you want to me. It doesn’t work like that.”

“Then what do you want? I offered to talk, and you said no, but you also said no to me, leaving you alone. Yes, I shouldn’t have kissed you, but you kissed me back.” You huffed. “Just let it go.”

You were purposefully ignoring the fact that he did ask you to kiss him again, and you rejected him. It was terrifying to understand that the very first kiss was more than simply impulsiveness; perhaps you wished for a warm body to exchange body heat with, but not anyone you wanted his.

“You shouldn’t play with people’s feelings like that.” He definitely didn’t take it well. He yanked on your ankle, sending pain through your leg and forcing you to step forward. Your hands broke your fall; kicking him instinctively, your foot connected with his shoulder, causing him to hiss.

“What’s the matter with you? You yelled. He had already sat down when you turned your body to face him. “Why do you act like that over something as insignificant as a kiss?”

“It’s not about the kiss,” he said, sighing. Tiredness framed his face, and his skin was as irritated as ever. The faint sounds of nature outside flowed through the room as he sat there. This situation was entirely your own creation.

“Don’t kiss me and then reject me.” He mumbled. You knew that saying that cost him. “That’s cruel”

You gulped, drooling like an animal in captivity who had just been thrown a piece of meat after long weeks of starvation. Slowly, your finger brushed the shoulder that you were pretty sure you’d kicked.

He lifted his gaze, doubt written all over his face.

“So?”

He hesitated to answer. Licking his chapped lips before talking.

“Kiss me or leave.”

The bluntness of his statement left you frozen, but you couldn’t deny the pit of desire ignited in your body. The hand that was on his shoulder moved up to his face, cupping his cheek. His breath hitched, and you launched yourself forward, pressing your mouth to his lips.

Your tongue traced the outline of his scar. Tomura opened his mouth, capturing your tongue and licking it. He didn’t know where to put his hands; maybe you would not decay, but your clothes were another story. He settled for burying his hands in your hair.

Starting to feel lightheaded, you dropped your hand to his chest, not that you needed it to feel his heartbeat. You never retrieved your quirk effect from him; his pulse was hammering rapidly in your head, making you wonder where all that blood was traveling.

He quietly gasped, breaking the kiss. He glanced into your eyes, and that’s when he knew you were into this as much as he was. He kissed you on the neck, his breath caressing your sensitive skin and causing you to jolt when he nibbled the spot where your neck meets your shoulder, forcing a moan out of your mouth.

He stiffened; he could never have thought a little sound like that coming from your mouth could have such an effect on him as electricity rushing down to his groin, feeling himself grow harder. Self-conscious about the possibility of you noticing his erection, he pulled aside a little.

“What?” You muttered.

“Nothing,” he lied.

“Do you want to stop?” You asked.

“No”

“Can I touch you?” Your desire was palpable in your speech.

He nodded. And you ran away with the confirmation. You reached out to touch the rough lines that composed him, and as your hand went to his lap, he quickly wrapped his hand around your wrist, not with any real force.

“We can stop." You started, but he interrupted you.

“I already told you I don’t want to stop,” Tomura snarled. “I just need a moment.”

You chuckled under your breath.

“Why are you acting like a virgin? We are just making out!”

He looked dumbstruck, and his saliva-coated lips parted in an expression you didn’t think he was capable of. He coughed, wiping his face. The realization hit you like a fist to the nose. Of course, he didn’t have any experience in this department. It wasn’t even hard to guess.

You pushed the virgin too far. With a vice grip, he yanked your hair; the pain was registered later on by your nerves when he was already pushing you to the sleeping bag. He pinned your hands above your head, brutally stretching your shoulders, making you trash under him.

His narrowed eyes met yours. His lips were tugged down so deeply that you could see the specks of blood blooming from his chapped lips. Tomura was mad, tired, and aroused.

You inhaled deeply, allowing the air to fill your lungs. Hopefully, the newfound oxygen in your bloodstream could help you find a way out. Suddenly, he let go of your wrists, choosing to nuzzle your neck instead.

“I’m tired,” Tomura mumbled, sounding muffled and defeated.

On the other hand, you were restless. His hair was brushing your cheek, and his breath condensed on the skin of your neck, leaving a moist, warm feeling behind. You ran your hand through his hair; it was softer than you imagined, curling around your fingers.

He sighed, rolling off you to sit beside you, making the old wood flooring crack under him. The cold indignantly filtered through your body again, missing his body heat. Like a moth to a flame, you wrapped your arms around him and turned to bury your face in the crook of his neck. You could get used to his smell and the way his pulse quickens beneath your lips.

“Sorry.” He whispered.

“Just hug me back,” you replied.

He took advantage of the situation by slipping his hands under your sweater. Tomura's hands were warm, which was ironic given the destructive nature of his quirk. No one else was going to love the texture of his fingertips tracing lines on their backs except you.

There was no lust in his touch at the beginning, but that didn’t last long, with his contact growing hungry and desperate. You straddled him, his finger digging into the small of your waist and bringing you closer, encouraging you in. Tomura lifted his head to meet your eyes and opened his mouth, hesitating to speak.

There’s no need to speak, you thought. Kissing the corner of his mouth and licking the dry blood from his lips, the faint coppery taste only served to feed your desire for him. Your arousal would already be coating his lap if it weren't for the thick sweatpants you were wearing. You needed him to stop being so shy.

“Decay my clothes." Your speech was muffled against his mouth, but he heard every syllable, replaying it in his mind over and over.

“You’re insane,” he whispered back.

“Undress me then."

"Huh? I'm not going to strip you." For a split second, you assumed that meant he didn't want to go any further with you. You were gloriously incorrect. He gently pushed you on your back again, this time placing his palm on the back of your head to ensure you would not get hurt. “Not fully. You’re cold, remember?”

“Right”

A hasty hand slid down your pants, his thumb hooked in the waistband. You arched your back to help him undress you with the combination of his warm hands and the cold room. He mostly kept his word, only setting one leg free from your pants and underwear.

As eager as he was, you battled with the button of his jeans. Pulling it until his erection sprang free, you wish the room were thoughtfully illuminated so you could see all of him. This time, he didn't wrap his hand around your wrist to stop you.

Instead, he sank his finger into the swell of your hip, stealing a gasp from your mouth, encouraging him to touch you more as he pleased. Without losing any more time, you stroke his cock, slowly caressing his flushed tip with your thumb, smearing the precum down his length.

He jerked forward, biting down a whiny moan.

Your mouth was on his neck, kissing and licking him, down to his collarbones, tasting his salty skin. Tomura was on cloud nine; your hand was warm and soft around him, and you were doing this willingly.

“Please Y/n” He was not used to asking for permission; he was raised with the encouragement to take whatever he desired when he wanted. For some reason, he wanted you to give yourself to him without having to force you.

“Let me help you." You whispered Tomura jolted when you guided his cock to your entrance, wrapping your legs around his bony hips. Tomura grabbed you by the waist, burying himself in the inviting wetness of your cunt.

You heard yourself cry out a moan at the sudden stretch. Just like the first kiss, he was sloppy and rhythmless. No, that he cared at that very moment. You felt so good clenching around his cock.

"Tomura." You breathed out his name.

He grabbed your plushy thighs, parting your legs further. He wanted to be inside you so deeply that you would feel like something was missing when he pulled out.

You pulled his hair, sending delicious tingles down his neck. Tomura pressed his mouth to yours forcing his tongue inside your mouth as he began to set a pace sending waves of pleasure with each thrust

“I want you to cum with me. What should I do?” He asked, panting in a hoarse whisper.

“Touch my clit while you fuck me."

His thumb found the bundle of nerves, and a wave of pleasure invaded your body, making you breathless and gasping for air. You knew he was close when he started to moan in your ear. His hips rocked intensely. Tomura felt his abdomen clenching, and he gave in to your grip. The world stopped for a moment, and it was only him and you. Putting your hand behind his nape, you draw him closer, kissing him while you reach your peak.

Tomura plopped on top of you, still to the hilt inside you. The spasms, remnants of your orgasm, emptying him further inside you. Kissing your sweaty temple, he rolled off you.

You didn’t want to think you’d regret this so soon after it was over, occupying your mind with cleaning the mess before it dried in a sticky nightmare instead. You used your remaining sock to clean his cum that slid down your thighs.

After you fixed your clothes, you turned to see Tomura, who was already sleeping on his side, giving his back to you. Odd. Well, he did say he was tired. In one of many kind gestures, he wasn’t sure he hated or loved; you fixed his clothes by pulling his jeans back on.

He looked content with his usual scowl, relaxing to a neutral expression. Finally, you settled for letting him sleep alone in his sleeping bag; eventually, you’d have to talk with him; he owed you a pair of socks after all.

When you were seeking a shield from the cold in your sleeping bag, exhaustion had already claimed your body. You were drifting to dreamless sleep.

You will regret this.

∘₊✧─────────────✧₊∘

Chap 2.

#shigaraki smut #shigaraki x reader #tomura x reader #shigaraki x y/n #shigaraki x you #tomura shigiraki x reader #bnha smut #bnha x reader

208 notes · View notes

alexblue29 · 8 months

Note

Foolish x Fem reader pls

Foolish talks about fem reader a lot to Leo randomly. So Leo decides to play matchmaker with the other eggs and the assistance from some of the parents

Imagine Bad is like the waiter or Jaiden is help preparing a meal

(This is way before the angst of the egg disappearance)

Y'all are creative with those asks and I am loving every single one of them!

If I remember correctly Leo's genderfluid but please correct me if I'm wrong!!

Cc!Foolish Gamers x Fem!Reader

Matchmakers

You were extremely loved by the community and the entire QSMP. This was well-known, they were an amazing, open community. A place where everyone could place their worries away and just have fun, like children, for a few hours.

You absolutely loved logging in to the server. You were always warmly greeted, whether you logged in later during the day when multiple people were already on, or when you logged in early in the morning before anyone else.

You made a cutesy little house with a big farm under it. During your solo early morning sessions, Foolish would be the second to log in, after a few times of you both being the only early ones on, he began finding you claiming he needed an excuse to take a break from his builds.

You were rarely a nighttime player, you would when you were needed for lore and from time to time when you had a planned gaming session with someone from the group but you mostly stuck to the early day.

Meaning, the interactions you had with the eggs were minimal. You had a few here and there and during lore but you were rarely online at the same time as them.

So, when Leo would join Foolish in the evening when they'd do Leo's tasks, he would talk a lot about what you were up to and what you both did that morning which meant they got to know you by the little interaction you had and the stories her pa would tell her.

Once Vegetta began showing up less and less, leaving Foolish alone to take care of their child, he began seeking you out more and more. Inviting you to play later in the evening to get to know everyone else better and get the know the eggs.

Needless to say, they loved you. The first time Tallulah met you she gave you a poppy, which you've cherished ever since. The pixeled eggs have wormed their way deep into your heart.

Leo was annoyed. Don't get them wrong, they love their pa, they really do! But he was ALWAYS talking about the new girl this, the new girl that. The man had a crush and it was painfully obvious to everyone but the both of them.

One time, when the parents were too busy quarreling with each other, the eggs (admins) got together and formed a plan to get you two to finally admit your feelings for each other.

They closed the server from the players during the night and built a beautiful restaurant in the QSMP and hired the help of Jaden (as you two had gotten pretty close) and Bad as well. They asked the both of you to log on at a specific time and prayed.

You logged on before Foolish and were ushered by a very insistent Chayanne into the beautiful build. You showered the group with praises. You tried asking questions as you waited for something unknown but they refused to answer any of them.

A few minutes later, Leo walked in with a very confused Foolish. His character froze as he saw you,

"Oh hi!"

You laughed, "Do you know what's going on?"

"No clue," you could hear the smile in his voice.

Foolish knew what they were up to the second he walked into the restaurant, which appeared overnight and saw you sitting in a chair placed by a table for two. He wanted to chastise Leo for trying to set you two up but he wasn't exactly opposed to it either.

So, the both of you chatted, sitting face to face at a table. After a few minutes, you could faintly hear Jaden and Bad talking further away. A second later, Bad walked out from a door that you guessed was leading to a kitchen area.

You both began asking him a dozen questions that he refused to answer. He gave you both some food and left you both alone again after. You could see the eggs, Bad and Jaden had left the building but still stayed within listening distance.

"So, this might be a stretch but didn't this seem like a child trying to set her dad up, with her friends helping?"

You heard Foolish choking on his water behind his mic. He coughed a few times, "Ye-Yeah. Yeah, I guess it looks like that."

You smiled as you laughed lightly, "That's what's going on, isn't it?"

His lack of answer was enough for you. You smiled behind your mic as you thought for a minute, "You know, I saw you saying you were going to the next Twitchcon."

He hummed, agreeing. "I was thinking about going as well-"

"YES!" He exclaimed, cutting you off, "Yes! Please do! We could finally meet up!"

You laughed, "Alright, well it's a date then."

He stayed silent a minute before silently adding, "Okay, it's a date."

Unknown to you both, the admins were in a call with each other and broke out in cheers when they heard you.

#foolish gamers #foolish gamers x reader #foolish x reader #qsmp x reader #qsmp #qsmp foolish #Foolish Gamers x female reader #Cc!Foolish x Reader #Cc!Foolish x Fem!Reader #alexblue's fics

235 notes · View notes

candlewaxandp0lar0ids · 1 year

Text

jealousy, jealousy || Han x Reader

Summary: You and Han have been dancing around your feelings for each other for… a while, if you're being honest. It doesn't help that your self-doubt makes it hard to make any move, that you're mean enough to scare most people away and oh, yeah, that his ex hates your guts. So when the three of you are at a party together and there are drinking games involved, what could possibly go wrong?

Word count: 4.2k

Genres: college AU, friends to lovers

Warnings & Tags: implied past bullying/ostracizing of the reader, jealousy (duh), kissing (rating T on the verge of rating M, so it remains fairly tame), mentioned alcohol, drinking games, self-deprecating narrator, language.

series masterlist

A/N: this took forever because I was almost done with it when I realized what I'd written didn't work with the theme, so I had to start all over again. This is also my first time writing Han, so I hope you'll enjoy it!

As usual, you hear Jisung before you see him. It's not all that surprising, the boy’s pretty loud, and, if you didn’t have a misanthropic reputation to uphold, you might even admit that you like hearing his laugh when you walk across campus, or when you catch him mid rant as you walk into the cafeteria.

Thing is, it also means that he’s around people, and you don’t… do… people. So, even though seeing him is invariably a highlight in your day, when you hear his voice, you find yourself debating whether you should head in another direction. If you don’t, you’ll have to talk to him, and as a result, them, whoever they are, because it would be weird not to, right, and you’re just not sure you have the energy for that right now.

Or ever.

Today, as isn’t uncommon, you freeze for a second, take a step back, then decide to push on. If anyone noticed that, you probably just looked extremely weird, but it’s likely that no one was paying attention, and so you keep going with a minimal amount of mortification, for now anyway. You might ruminate over it later today, like you will if there’s any hitch in the conversation that's coming, but that’s a problem for 2 a.m. you.

You’re somewhat relieved to find that Jisung’s chatting with Chan and Changbin. You’re not close with them, but you kinda get along with Changbin, and though you find Chan intimidating, your interactions with him so far have been fine, which is high enough of a bar to clear as far as you’re concerned.

Jisung notices you almost immediately, which fills you with pleasant warmth, and he waves at you with a bright smile. You choose to take that as an invitation to come closer and an indication that you wouldn’t be interrupting anything — if it’s not, that’s on him because it was unclear — and make your way over to them.

“On your way to an exam?” Jisung asks you once you’ve reached them.

“Do you think I would make myself late to talk to you?” you reply with a frown.

It makes him laugh. Sometimes it worries you, how funny Jisung seems to find you when you’re being mean. If it was when you’re being a dick to someone else, why not, but to him too? Is he okay?

“I can’t tell if this is you being a good influence on him or not,” Chan says, tilting his head. There’s an amused glint in his eyes too. Okay, that means you’re not doing too bad.

“Are you guys done with classes?” you ask. “Were you heading to the studio?”

“No,” Jisung is quick — maybe a little too quick — to answer. “We were just talking about a track we’re working on.”

Four eyes narrow on him, and Changbin grins.

“Yeah, ‘cause Jisung here’s been feeling all romantic lately, right?”

Jisung throws him a horrified look.

“You’ve been turning in very sappy lyrics lately, hm?” Chan keeps going.

“I’m the draught, you’re rain, I’m paper, you’re a poem, wasn’t it?” Changbin quotes from memory, a wide, shit-eating grin on his face.

“Do you want to die?” Jisung asks, eyes so wide they look like marbles.

The two guys exchange a knowing look, both grinning. It’s not that often they get the drop on Jisung and can tease him, for a change. They obviously find that to be a nice change of pace, but you’re not sure where that leaves you.

Because, okay, you’re not completely clueless. The lyrics could be about you. Jisung’s expressed interest in you before. He’s kissed you. Remains the question of whether that interest was romantic or just sexual.

But the thought that the lyrics are not about you? That he feels that way about another person? It fills your stomach with stones and makes it sink to the bottom of the ocean. Just thinking about it make tears spring to your eyes and you glance to the side to will them to go away.

This is bad. You’re way too far gone. What a fucking dumbass you can be, for someone who’s as academically gifted as you are.

“At least it’s not about cheating, hm?” Jisung says, staring at Chan who seems to find the ground very interesting all of a sudden.

“That’s an uncharitable interpretation of the lyrics,” he mumbles, but he appears quite eager to drop the subject after that. You find that a bit suspicious and you’d kinda like to find out what the golden boy on campus might be trying to hide, but Jisung seems relieved to be able to drop the subject as well.

“Hey,” Jisung says the second the topic’s been let go of, attention snapping to another idea so fast it sometimes makes your head spin, “I’ve been meaning to ask—”

“Oh right,” Changbin says, glancing at his phone, “there’s Sana’s party tonight. You guys coming?”

Jisung pulls a face, but you’re not sure why. It’s not like he doesn’t get regularly interrupted — and it’s not malicious either, it’s just that he, uh, talks a lot. Sometimes people end up cutting him off. In Changbin’s case, you suspect he didn’t even notice.

“I already told her we would,” Chan says, and Jisung’s face gets longer. You suspect he’d completely forgotten about it.

“Are you coming too?” he asks you, a hint of pleading in his voice.

See, even this is a dilemma. Going to a party means you’ll be forced to be in the presence of people who dislike you and who you find fundamentally uninteresting, especially since Seungmin’s been a no-show to most of these now that he’s dating. Even if you go only to see Jisung, you know people will be trying to get his attention all night, and you’ll be lucky if you get to spend ten minutes alone with him before midnight — maybe you’ll get him to yourself for a whole half-hour at around four am though. On top of that, there’s a significant risk that people will talk to him while he’s standing next to you and completely ignore you, and you’ll spend the whole time praying for a hole to open under your feet.

On the other hand, you can’t refuse him anything, and it would be far more devastating to pass on the chance to spend some more time with him.

So you just say “Sure”.

After spending more time on your outfit than you feel comfortable admitting — this isn’t a date, dammit — you show up at the sorority Sana’s a part of. Though your dress feels too short, you’re relieved to feel self-assured on your high heels. Yes, it took practicing walking in them, but it’s paying off in confidence, and it’s a price you’re willing to pay.

People are already there when you arrive, gathered on the porch, filling the house, spilling out on the balconies. You get a few looks, but it’s not like you’re not used to them. At least you’re not pretending that you don’t give a fuck. Many of them don’t like you, and you don’t like them either.

Walking in, you find yourself hesitating. Would it be weird if you just tried to find Jisung right away? Should you try to socialize, spend a few minutes talking to the rare people you know and get along here?

You may not particularly care about what people think, most of the time, but you do care about what he thinks. And the thing is, you know people talk, especially about him, especially since 3racha’s popularity blew up last year. The last thing you want is for him to think that you’re some desperate, embarrassing idiot who’s been misreading—

Enough with the line of thinking. If he’s not interested, he shouldn’t have kissed you. And, okay, the first time was a week after the break-up with his girlfriend, and he was crying, and you don’t think it meant anything to him, but the second time, this summer? It had to have meant something. He wasn’t cruel like that— You didn’t think.

You’re still grateful to make eye contact with Changbin, because it makes things a little easier. You go up to him, exchange a few words, he introduces you to some of the people who’ve flocked to him, they pretend to be interested, and once you decide that you’ve made enough of an impression, you leave them with a polite, though forced, smile.

Finding Jisung isn’t all that hard, you just have to follow the laughter.

You know that he likes his peace and quiet, too, but on a night like that, he’ll be prepared to entertain. Someone else might think that it comes naturally to him, the jokes, the antics, the comedy, but you know better. You know that there’s a surprising amount of work that goes into how good he is at this, how easy he makes it look. You know that, when he’s around you, he’s actually fairly quiet, that he sometimes hangs out on your couch, on his phone, while you’re reading, but pouts if you leave the room.

When you find him, it seems him and the group he’s with are in the middle of some drinking games. You hesitate, again. You recognize some of the girls there as part of the girls’ swimming team, the one whose captain is Jisung’s ex. Who’d hated your guts since first year, independently from Jisung, and then, uh, dependently from Jisung, you’re pretty sure. She was single-handedly responsible for half of campus thinking you were a bitch, a feat that even you find somewhat impressive.

You’d almost respect it, if, you know. It hadn’t made your life hell until you managed to stop giving a fuck.

But Jisung spots you. He always does. You don’t know how he does it, half suspect that he’s on some Spiderman shit, but he finds you in the crowd, and his eyes widen, and his smile brightens, and God, it’s not fair, how he makes you feel when he’s not even yours.

Having Jisung’s undivided attention is— one of the best feelings in the world. Genuinely. He just has a way of making you feel like you matter. It’s a bunch of things he does, one of them being the way he makes people laugh. He always— caters his jokes to the person around him. That means he pays attention, means he remembers, means he cares. That’s already a lot.

“You made it,” he says, a soft edge to his tone, when you reach him. His hand reaches for your arm, pulling you into the circle, then hovers at your elbow, sometimes brushing against your skin. This is another one of the changes that have happened since the summer. He’s more— tactile, and it does all sorts of things to you.

You don’t mind. You don’t mind at all.

“You look good,” he adds, voice low enough that you’re the only one to hear it. You do your best to repress the shiver it sends down your spine.

“Thanks,” you reply, your usually sharp tongue unable to find something to reply.

“Jisung!” some voice calls, and you manage at the last second not to roll your eyes — thank God, ‘cause there’d be hell to pay if you had.

Because it’s Jihyun. Because of course it is. If there’s one thing you can’t take away from her, it’s that she always has impeccable timing. Not for you, naturally, for herself.

If it was just you, you’d be out the door in seconds, leaving the scene before risking any kind of confrontation. Being with Jisung right now means that she won’t directly be a bitch to you, she’s never done it upfront in front of him. She instead goes the passive-agressive route which, bless his precious heart, he basically never picks up on.

You also never spoke about it with him. At first because she was his fucking girlfriend and he clearly adored her, even if there was so much that set them apart, and since then because, well, you’re still afraid you’ll come off as some jealous bitch or he won’t believe you or, worse, take her side. Tell you that you were every bit the bitch she says you are, and that she was right for the shit she put you through.

You only have seconds to brace for impact. But as you compose yourself, not bothering to smile, Jisung’s hand settles on the small of your back.

Which, hmmm, you’d be happy about in pretty much any other circumstances, but right now? Right now it might not be the best thing for you.

“It’s been a while,” she tells Jisung with a stunning smile. “How have you been doing?”

Jisung smiles too, though somewhat tighter. They’re on good terms, from what you’ve heard, but that’s not really something you’ve discussed with him. You force yourself to tune them out quickly, letting your eyes wander in the room. Just being around her makes your chest tighten. You feel on edge, feel the need to watch all of your gestures and anything that leaves your mouth in fear that it will be used against you.

Fuck, you were supposed to be over that.

Whatever Jisung answers, it makes her laugh. She leans forward, puts her hand on his arm. She makes it looks so easy, so natural. Same with how she pushes her hair behind her ear, keeps her voice at the right pitch, even laughs the right way, light and airy. If you tried to flirt the way she does, you’d only embarrass yourself. You'd look delusional. There’d be nothing sexy or attractive about it.

You’re just bad at making people like you.

It’s impossible not to be reminded of the fact that this is who Jisung went for. You don't know if you can go as far as to say she’s his type, but he did choose to date her, and you know how much he cared for her.

With her around right now, it’s really fucking hard to think that he would go for someone like you and that you haven’t been letting yourself get carried away.

On a related note, are you going to have an emotional break down in the middle of the room?

“…and things are looking pretty good for the team, we think we’ll get to the nationals this year,” Jihyun concludes cheerfully.

Wow, that’s impressive! Shouldn’t she be training for that then?

Maybe she has a point. You are a bitch.

“That’s cool,” Jisung says. “Well, it was nice running into you again.”

Her smile falters, just barely, but you don't miss it. She’s good at hiding things, but you’re better at noticing them. Know your enemy and all that.

You’d almost feel bad for her. If you’d had Jisung’s undivided time and attention, and you lost it? Yeah. You don’t know how you’d cope.

But then her eyes light up again, and again, she’s really fucking good at that shit.

“What are you guys playing?” she asks. “I’d love to join.”

You’re not unaware of the way Jisung’s hand closes slightly on your back. As he turns around, he ends up pulling you a little closer to him and your stomach tightens. Less because of his proximity, though obviously that affects you too, and more because you have the sinking feeling that this is about her. Is he— using you to make her jealous?

No. There’s no way. He would never do that.

Right?

“Just some never have I ever for now,” Sana chirps in answer. She gives the three of you a warm smile, and you think she means it. You’ve never gotten shit from her, and that says a lot. Normally you’d argue that people shouldn’t be neutral or anything, but in your case, neutral seems to be too much to ask for, in most cases.

“Alright!” Jihyun grins, lifting her cup as if to signal that she’s ready to enter the game. “Never have I ever… had sex with someone at a party.”

She drinks almost immediately, a cute giggle slipping past her lips, and so do a bunch of other people.

“None of you get close to my room,” Sana warns sternly, and several people laugh.

It’s not until you feel Jisung moving to drink from his cup and catch a glance of his burning red ears that you realize what Jihyun’s point was. With someone else, it might be self-centered to assume you were the intended target. With her, you don’t doubt it a second. Just a little reminder that he used to be hers.

There are a few whistles at Jisung’s attention, but he keeps his eyes down. It doesn’t surprise you that it would make him uncomfortable. It kinda surprises you that she wouldn’t care, though. She’s evil incarnate, but she seemed to care about him, in her own way.

“Aw,” she says, staring straight at you with her sweetest smile, “don’t worry, we’ll find you someone.”

There was a time where that might have upset you, but right now you won’t give her the satisfaction. You let your gaze flicker over her, face-shoes-face, and then glance away with a scoff. It makes you look like a haughty bitch, but, well, you’re already known for being a haughty bitch, so who cares.

Jisung chuckles discreetly next to you. That makes it worth it.

The game goes on without catching much of your interest after that. Jihyun’s sentences remain pointed — either towards Jisung or you, you’re pretty sure, though you doubt anyone notices. At least Jisung doesn’t move away from you for most of it, chin sometimes coming to rest on your shoulder, fingers running gently over your arms, the occasional whispered comment in your ear.

Heat pools in your stomach the whole time, and you’re unable to focus on anything but him. His firm body’s pressed against your back, his proximity overwhelming. You feel that you should drag him away and finally talk about what’s going on between the two of you, but you’re afraid you’ll break the spell if you do.

Eventually, he’s the one who does, peeling himself away from you when Chan shouts from downstairs to get his attention.

It feels cold when he’s gone.

It feels colder when Jihyun’s eyes zero in on you.

Hm. Maybe flight would be the better option right now.

You’re not sure how it happens, but the game shifts not long after Jisung’s left. A bottle appears on the floor, and you tilt your head. Aren’t you all too old for that?

Apparently not, or at least not when so many people are that drunk and giggling at the idea. Soon, some are making out. Others excuse themselves and find a more private spot — Sana reminds everyone that her room should not be that spot, but you’re not sure how efficient that is.

You’re thinking about retreating when you hear someone call your name and again, of course, it’s Jihyun. She gives you a warm smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“It’s your turn!”

There’s tension in the air as you just stare. You don’t want to—

“C’mon, it will be fun!”

You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care about what she makes you out to be. But in that moment, you’re back to your first-year self who was still trying to fit and figure out how to make people like you.

So you lean forward and spin the bottle.

It takes you less than a second to realize that that was some dumb fucking decision making. You don’t want to kiss anyone here. The idea vaguely nauseates you, actually, but less than the uncomfortable realization that no one here wants to kiss you. You might be seconds away from facing a harsh, unpleasant rejection. That was probably her point, actually. You fold your arms over your chest, but you still feel your shoulders sink. You know you’re unwanted. You don’t need—

The bottle’s grinding to a stop when a hand shoots out to grab it.

You frown, glance up.

And it’s Jisung. He flashes you a bright smile, then winks.

“Wanna make out?”

Jihyun laughs lightly, tells you to ‘go get it’. But even you can see her heart breaking in her eyes.

None of it matters when Jisung strides over to you and takes your hand in his to pull you away. More people than you’d have expected cheer.

He pulls you into some random room, closes it behind him, and then hesitation appears in his eyes when he looks at you.

“We don’t have to— I mean, I wasn’t trying to make you— If you want to go kiss someone else—”

It sounds like he is down to kiss you, and even if you hadn’t wanted to kiss him before that, you think that little knight in a rock band t-shirt moment would have gotten you going anyway. So you shut your brain up, grab him by his t-shirt, and in the stunned silence that follows, an extremely rare occurence with Jisung, you pull him down towards you.

His lips crash against yours, warm and soft, and after the first few seconds of surprise, during which you see him blinking at you with impossibly wide eyes, he kisses you back like he’s been waiting for this moment his whole life. One of his hands comes up to cup your face while the other’s at your waist, squeezing and bringing you closer, not quite daring to make the move to your ass. Yet, anyway.

There’s urgency in the way he tilts his head to get better access to your mouth. Your hands trail from his shirt to his arm, feeling his toned biceps underneath you fingers, and you feel him grin against you.

“Find something you like?” he teases, before kissing you again.

This time his tongue brushes against yours, and a moan escapes you. You could feel self-conscious about it, but you don’t, not with him. If anything, it only seems to spur him on further, and he gets closer, his toned thigh pushing between yours. You feel hot all over, anywhere he touches you set ablaze, and oh, do you want this. One of his hands slides up your leg, hitching your dress higher.

“Have I told you I really like this dress?” he asks, because apparently he can’t shut up even in moments like that.

He doesn’t let you answer though, and again he’s kissing you, making your head spin. You can’t figure out what to focus on. The softness of his lips, the warmth of his mouth, how his hand is slowly making its way higher up your thigh, setting your skin ablaze, probably intentionally teasing you. Whatever it is, you’re melting under his hands. You want more, undeniably so.

He pulls away for just a second, catching his breath. His chest is heaving quickly, his lips swollen, and you can’t help but think that this is your doing, a thought that somehow turns you on even further. Dark, dilated pupils meet yours, and you think you see a desire that mirrors your own. He licks his lips briefly, glances at the bed in the room. Then his eyes meet yours again. He swallows.

“Do you—”

You jump away when someone tries to open the door.

“Is someone in there?”

Shit. Shit.

It’s Sana.

“No one better be in there,” she says threateningly.

You exchange a panicked look. She’s the sweetest person in the world, but you don’t want to cross her.

In a second, Jisung steps away from you and he’s at the window. He opens it, looks out, and then he throws one leg over the edge.

“What are you doing?” you hiss.

“Saving our lives,” he replies very seriously, stepping out fully on what you assume is the roof over the porch. “Come on,” he adds, “I’ll help you out.“

You roll your eyes, walk over to him and close the window, shooing him away with a gesture of the hand. Then you open the door, and though Saya eyes you suspiciously, you think she believes your story about being tired and wanting a rest and not having realized you’d locked the door.

Then you walk downstairs and let yourself fall on a couch, right next to Jisung, who seems to be all pouty that you refused to escape with him. His thigh brushes against yours, and your stomach does a somersault, but neither of you says anything about— well. About the thing you should be talking about. The moment’s passed, and self-doubt is assaulting you all over again.

Still, right now, you’re the person who gets to let your head fall on Jisung’s shoulder, and it’s your hand he intertwines his fingers with.

In that moment, you’re sure that the two of you will be alright eventually. It’s probably going to take a while, ‘cause you’re too much of a coward and Jisung’s— well, you’re not quite sure what his deal is, but there’s definitely something there.

But, eventually, you’ll be alright.

And there is no space in your brain, at that moment, to spare a single thought for Jihyun, because she’s lost him a long time ago.

Even if neither of you seem to be able to admit it, in all the ways that matter, he’s already yours.

okayyy, again, there's kinda Lore there. i don't know if i'll end up writing it, but in case you're wondering, OC was paired with Jihyun for a class during their first year. essentially, Jihyun was pretty busy due to being on the swimming team and other personal stuff. OC ended up constantly doing all the work for the both of them, and sometimes Jihyun would say she'd do stuff and not do it. eventually, after OC was forced to complete stuff in one night and abandoned for a group presentation, there was a nasty altercation with Jihyun and the teacher became aware of the situation, resulting in a bad outcome for Jihyun. lots of people felt that OC was unfair and should have been more understanding, and OC still doesn't know if that was the right thing, but felt used and upset during the situation. Jihyun also vilifies OC when talking about it, a lot, and OC ended up being kinda ostracized after that. so yeah.

if you read all this, uh, thank you, i hope you enjoyed this, it's my first time writing Han and I love him dearly and I hope this works. it would mean the world if you could reblog this, leave a comment or anything like that! as an author, this is really the only way we get to see that our work is appreciated and it's trully what keeps me writing so it's super important :) thank you for reading and i'll see you later for Hyunjin!

#stray kids #han #han jisung #han x reader #han jisung x reader #jisung x reader #stray kids imagine #han imagine #skz imagine #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #han fanfic #han jisung fanfic #candywrites

501 notes · View notes

farfromharry · 2 years

Text

The angel and the devil | Eddie Munson fic

Summary: The two of you met at a halloween costume in polar opposite outfits. What started as Eddie being a gentleman and helping out a drunk girl, turned into a rapidly blooming crush. He believed it to be one sided after he thought you were avoiding him, but you were falling hard too, just too shy to admit to the guy you nearly puked on that he was kind of cute.

Word count - 9463

Warnings - lots of mentions of throwing up, language, talks of drinking

a/n i dont really like how i ended this but it was the best i could come up with. this man has had me a chokehold for nearly two weeks now 😭

━━━━━━━━━♡♥♡━━━━━━━━━

Eddie wasn’t one to usually go to parties, let alone parties thrown by people on a different level of social popularity than him, which was most; almost all, but when he was invited to a Halloween party by none other than Steve Harrington, he felt obligated. After all the shit that went down in Hawkins with Vecna just a short while ago, he and Steve had gotten to know each other pretty well. They saved each other’s lives more than once, and had become, he might even say, friends. That was part of the reason he didn’t feel like he could turn down the invitation to the party.

Regardless of his concerns he showed up anyway, in a poorly thrown together devil costume that people probably expected him to show up in. A dark red button up, black jeans and some plastic horns? That was good enough for him. What else would Eddie Munson be for Halloween? If anything he was only reinforcing the belief he was actually part of a cult, but that was part of his charm around Hawkins. If he could terrorize the insufferable members of the basketball team with one simple look, then what was the harm in the rumour, really?

He hadn’t been there long when he swore he fell in love. The first time he saw you that night, you were halfway across the room with some friends, dressed in the cutest little angel costume he had ever seen. He thought it was quite ironic, he dressed as the devil, you as an angel. You looked like an angel in your own right though, the way you laughed at someone’s joke, the smile that was almost permanently planted on your face. God he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

He probably looked creepy, standing in the kitchen, looking through the crowd of people right at you; but he couldn’t help himself. All those people and he felt as though you were the only one he could see. He just felt drawn to you, but you probably didn’t even know his name. If you were friends with Steve then he could pretty much guarantee it, hell Harrington only knew his name because he had to learn it in a life or death situation. And on the off chance that you did know him, you probably knew him as the freak.

He wished he had the courage to go over there and talk to you. From the minimal, and he means very minimal, interactions you had had with each other over the years, you seemed like a really sweet girl. But the fact you were surrounded by so many of your friends just made the idea all the more terrifying. That isn’t to say he’d have the balls to ask you out if you were alone either.

In retrospect, if he wanted to ask you out tonight, or maybe ask you to dance, he should have done it sooner rather than later, because now you were stumbling into the kitchen after one too many drinks, looking for something to sober you up. Not that there were any drinks in the entire kitchen that weren’t filled with alcohol.

That was when you found Eddie, leaning against the counter, not so subtly watching you over the rim of his solo cup. After you caught him you apparently just couldn’t keep your mouth shut. He was cute, even cuter when his cheeks flushed after realising he had been caught staring. He didn’t think you would approach, he thought maybe after the glance his way you would rush off or just ignore him, but that didn’t happen.

You stumbled over your own feet when you made your way over to him, slipping past a few people who were getting themselves drinks. “You were staring,” you muttered, stating the obvious. He laughed nervously, nodding his head as he made a short routine out of looking to the ground bashfully, then back up to your face, and back to the ground again. On the spot he tried to come up with something he could say as an excuse. He didn’t have the kind of confidence a lot of Hawkin’s students did to just come out and say he was mesmerised by you. “I, uh– I like your halo,” he stuttered, motioning to the shitty, makeshift halo that sat on your head. It had been thrown together last minute with a random headband and some glue you found, simple yet effective for your costume. Which is why you didn’t really believe that was his reasoning, but you let it slide, you didn’t care all that much.

You reciprocated the compliment. “I like these,” you said, raising your hand to his head to mess with the plastic that sat, now tangled, in his curly mane. When you took in his full costume it actually made you giggle, you fucking giggled. Eddie preached it was the sweetest noise he had ever heard, and if he wasn’t falling head over heels before then he was now. He was falling hard. “Oh cool, a devil. And ‘m an angel, s’like we were meant to be, huh?”

He didn’t say anything, fuck, he didn’t know what to say, staring at you like a fish out of water. He knew you didn’t mean that in the way he would have liked you to, but his heart didn’t know that. “You’re Eddie,” you muttered, lightly jabbing your finger into the middle of his chest as though you were proving a point, also bringing him back from his thoughts. He nodded, a little taken off guard that you actually knew his name.

He couldn’t help it though, a small grin split on his face at how cute you were. “That I am. And you’re drunk.”

You chuckled, nodding your head. “That. I. am,” you teased, slinging your arms around his neck. It was more so a balance thing than anything else. You couldn’t seem to stop your body from swaying and you didn’t want to fall on your face right in the middle of a party; that would have been painfully embarrassing. And if Eddie minded your touch he didn’t complain. “I never see you at parties,” you observed, a small crease appearing between your eyebrows as they furrowed.

He was so close to your face that he could actually see each crease and tiny detail of your skin, his breath hitching in his throat after he consciously realised the proximity. His hands lifted to settle on your waist after a few seconds of contemplating it, seeing it the most efficient way to help you keep your balance. “‘M never usually invited,” he answered.

You seemed to study him closely for a few minutes before you spoke again, having changed the subject entirely. “Are you really in a cult?” you slurred, glazed eyes staring up at him wide, full of curiosity. He chuckled, thankful you probably wouldn’t remember the flush on his cheeks after tonight. “No, I’m not.” He may have enjoyed that rumour when it came to teasing the basketball goonies, but with you he felt like he could be honest; plus he didn’t think you were going to remember much of this interaction anyway by tomorrow.

There was a sudden twist in your features that had concern bubbling in his chest, his head ducking a little bit to catch your gaze that had fallen to some place over his shoulder. “Y’okay?”

You shook your head, pulling back from him a little bit as your stomach churned. “Think ‘m gonna be sick,” you muttered, forcing his eyes to widen. He certainly couldn’t let you throw up where you were in the middle of the kitchen surrounded by people. He jumped into action quickly, as calmly yet hastily as he could, he guided you to the nearest bathroom, assuring you you would make it in time and be okay.

Thankfully he was right, and within minutes he was holding your hair back out of your face as you threw up from all the alcohol you had ingested during the night. At some point when you started to sober up a little, you became more conscious of the hand stroking your back and the presence behind you. A groan slipped past your lips as you sat back on your feet, under the belief that you were finally done.

“Feel any better?” he asked.

The two of you shuffled until you were sitting across from each other on the bathroom floor, knees brushing every now and then from the closeness. The more you thought about it the more mortified you were to think you just spewed your guts in front of Eddie Munson. “No,” you whined, clutching your stomach for dear life. “I’m sorry you had to see that, that must have been so unattractive.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, you don’t feel good. The least important thing right now is looking attractive.” Your eyes locked with his wide puppy ones and you felt something turn in your stomach that wasn’t the alcohol this time. Sweetheart. Oh.

Never once had you thought about the boy that way, in all the years you had known of him, but apparently one single night was changing all of that. You never realised quite how charming he could be. He would say he wasn’t, he didn’t have a way with ladies at all. He was a huge nerd and ‘the town freak’, and neither of those things are exactly considered chick magnets. But maybe he didn’t need any flirting ability or a special way with women to press the right buttons, him being his sweet self was doing that for him.

The bliss of your thoughts didn’t last long before the uncomfortable feeling was back in your stomach, your nose scrunching from the discomfort. “What’s wrong?” Eddie questioned, reaching forward to place a hand on your knee. The simple touch was like the catalyst, your body spinning as you barely made it back over the toilet again. Even with your discomfort, one of the thoughts that was now plaguing your mind was that you nearly threw up on Eddie, how were you supposed to live that down? You could’ve even sworn you saw the fear in his eyes where he thought you were going to. How you wished the ground would open and swallow you whole.

You were very surprised he was still sitting in the bathroom with you when you were done for the second time. “You don’t have to stay. I’ll be fine.”

If you thought he was sweet before, he was certainly continuing to rack up the brownie points with you now. “No. I want to make sure you’re okay.” Your heart fluttered, but you didn’t get long to think on it before you were bracing yourself again.

Coming into the party tonight you certainly never would have expected to be spending a lot of your night in Steve Harrington’s bathroom with Eddie Munson, especially while you were throwing up. Heck you wouldn’t have even expected to be in the same room as Eddie at all; but now you wouldn’t have had it any other way. You actually would have liked to have spent more time with him afterwards, not in a bathroom puking of course, but that was only if you could muster up the courage to face him again after almost spewing your guts all over his attempt at a devil costume.

»»——⍟——««

Having to head to work the day after a booming Halloween party felt like some sort of penance for an evil deed you didn’t commit. Your head was pounding, stomach occasionally still churning and every possible light was too bright. The issue was that you couldn’t just wear sunglasses inside all day while you did your job, but there were too many lights in the store to stop your head from throbbing for more than thirty seconds.

When you walked through the door of the video store, Steve spotted you, grinning like a maniac at the state of you. Usually you were pretty well put together, but today your hair was a mess, face dull, sunglasses on and you were much more delayed in your movements. Oh yeah he could tell you had a bad hangover, but just because you were friends didn’t mean he had to approach you with caution for the day. “Good morning, my favourite co-worker!” he called loudly, relishing in the way you winced at the volume of his voice.

There was a cough that could be heard from behind him, and when he turned his head he saw a very unimpressed Robin watching him. He realised his mistake, but he actually jumped at the opportunity to torment you again. “Sorry,” he muttered to the girl. “Good morning, to one half of my joint favourite co-workers!”

This time around you let out a loud groan as you reached the counter, crouching down so you could rest your head against the cool surface. “Steve, shut up.” You heard him laughing at your misery, leaving you to blindly swing your arms until they collided with his body, silently punishing him for being an asshole.

“Shouldn’t have gotten so drunk the night before a work day,” he teased, shrugging his shoulders as though he was entirely innocent in this situation. Like he wasn’t the one who threw the party in the first place, and actually supplied you with all the drinks. “It was your party, dickwad. And I swear you had more drinks than I did, how are you not dead?”

You finally raised your head from the counter and the cocky look on his face made you want to hit him before he even spoke. “You see, I have this thing called a tolerance. Which is where–” You scoffed, rolling your eyes before you walked away, leaving him to finish his sentence without an audience. Even though you did sneak into the back room to get away from Steve, it was also to soak up the last few minutes of silence and a calm atmosphere before you officially opened for the day and were met with a wave of noisy customers.

It really was no time at all to get yourself together before Robin was forcing you back out to the front with a fake smile planted on your face. You had to at least look a tiny bit alive to greet and help customers, even if that felt impossible at the moment.

To your luck, there weren't many people filtering in and out of the store, meaning it was pretty chill. Robin was manning the counter in case anyone did come up wanting to rent, and you and Steve were stacking the shelves with new releases, making light conversation as you did so. Occasionally Robin would contribute, but for the most part she was stuck watching some random movie she decided to put on. One of the perks of working at a video store you supposed.

“So, where did you disappear to last night? One minute you were there, then you were gone. No one knew where you were,” he said, bringing up the memories of your time with Eddie. The ones you had been trying to suppress for various reasons. You considered not telling him, or making something up, but you weren’t a brilliant liar and the man knew you too well to not suspect you.

“Please don’t make me talk about it,” you whined, your face scrunching up in distaste at the embarrassment you still felt. It only intrigued Steve more though.

“What could have happened that has you so mortified?” he asked, placing a hand on his hip sassily as he turned his full attention to you, leaving the videos unattended and unfinished on the shelf. If you had an embarrassing story to share then he definitely wanted to hear it. He also would never let you hear the end of it, and you knew that, but he also wouldn’t let this go until he got the story. It was a lose/lose situation for you really.

You groaned, a groan that was meant to be in your head but just so happened to be out loud instead. “I nearly threw up on a guy in the bathroom,” you said simply. You didn’t particularly want to relive the memory, but it was obvious Steve was going to make you do exactly that because he believed your story was much too vague. He was a sucker for details.

“What guy?”

Your whisper of the culprit’s name was too quiet for your friend to hear, so he made an obnoxious ‘huh’ sound in true Steve fashion and basically forced you to speak up. “It was Eddie Munson,” you stated, keeping your voice low just in case anyone was around and eavesdropping. Steve’s teasing you could deal with it, but if anyone else found out, especially one of the kids he was friends with? Oh you truly would not be able to handle it.

He seemed shocked, wide eyed as a thousand thoughts swam in his head. “Eddie?” he questioned. You nodded your head, hiding your features behind your hands as embarrassment racked your body. “Eddie Munson? Really?”

“Yes, really, Steve.”

“Well, tell me everything.”

You rolled your eyes, setting down the video that was in your hand so you could turn to face him. Now neither of you were doing the jobs you were supposed to be doing. It probably wouldn’t be a very good look to your boss but thankfully he was rarely ever here to see it anyway. You internally decided it would be easier to tell Steve the most basic rendition of the events of the prior night. He didn’t need to know about the pet name Eddie threw out there, and he certainly didn’t need to know how it made you feel– or rethink every thought you ever had about the metal head. “I was heading to sober up, found him in your kitchen, we got to talking about our matching costumes– He was a devil, I was an angel,” you clarified for him. “And then I ran to the bathroom, and, viola.”

“So, he went with you? To watch you throw up?” he checked.

You huffed at the weird implications he was trying to imply. “Just because you wouldn’t help a drunk girl who needed to throw up, doesn’t mean everyone wouldn’t. Some people are gentlemen, Steve.”

His eyebrows raised and his face split into a grin, the warning sign that what was about to follow was not going to be very pleasant for you. “Oh, so you think Munson’s a gentleman now?” He had never once in his entire time of knowing you heard you mention Eddie for any reason, not even to jump on the bandwagon of making fun of him like most of Steve’s buddies had done over the years. So he thought it was ironic that the first time you did, it was only a few short weeks after he had befriended him. If that wasn’t the universe telling him to meddle then he didn’t know what was.

“Shut up,” you muttered, swatting his arm. You had been hitting him a lot today it felt like, but he earned it. “H-He’s sweet.” That was the safest compliment you could throw out there, not wanting your friend to catch on to the feeling of butterflies in your stomach that appeared when you thought about Eddie for too long. Specifically thinking about his kind smile. But the flustered aroma surrounding you might have given that away without words. “Now can we move on, maybe do our jobs?”

He studied your face for a few more seconds until you turned your head away from him, not liking the harsh stare he was imposing on you. It felt like he was trying to look into your soul and you hated it. Eventually he gave in, raising both his hands in defeat. “Alright, alright. Whatever you want.” But deep down he was already plotting.

»»——⍟——««

When Steve planned to meddle, he planned hard. You were none the wiser of what he was doing, but the sneaky bastard kept inviting both you and Eddie to the same place; telling neither of you he was doing so, to try and get you to talk. Though his plan was severely failing on the you-side. Eddie, who knew part of the plan as he was often persuaded to go places with the promise you’d be there, was actually eager to talk to you again.

It had been days since the Halloween party, and you had seen Eddie on a handful of occasions. Had you spoken to him once though? Nope. You were definitely avoiding him, and the hurt look on his face every time you saw him and dashed from somewhere, told you he knew as well. You felt bad, you did, but you couldn’t stand to face him if he were to bring up the events of the party.

One day you knew you would have no choice but to talk to him again, you couldn’t avoid him forever. In such a small town that would have been physically impossible. But you didn’t think the day in question would have been today. When he showed up at your work there was literally anywhere for you to escape to.

The bell above the door was what indicated your arrival, your eyes jumping in the direction to see who entered. “Oh, shit,” you cursed, whipping your body around so your back was to the door, silently praying that Eddie didn’t recognise you. Upon hearing your curse Steve’s interest was piqued, his eyes following every inch of the scene. “What’s wrong?” the brunette teased, biting back a smile as he watched you freak. Oh he knew full well what was wrong, he was the one who went out of his way to drop by the Munson’s trailer this morning to tell him you would be working all day. “Eddie’s here,” you whined.

Steve faked a gasp, the over exaggeration bringing you to roll your eyes as you tried to busy yourself. But to your dismay there was nothing for you to do. At least until Steve spoke up and you thought you might have had a shot at escaping a highly awkward encounter with Eddie.

“I think our customers need a little assistance,” he said, glancing between Eddie and the elderly woman who looked to be struggling to even read the movie titles on the video cases.

“You take him, I take the old lady?” you suggested, already heading in her general direction. Steve chuckled, shaking his head before setting his hands on your shoulders. He turned you around, pushing you in the opposing direction with some force. At times like this you really wished you were a thousand times stronger than him, or maybe just a lot more stubborn. If you knew how to properly stand your ground then you would be well on your way to assisting the old woman by now.

As you moved to head away from Eddie, you noted Steve was walking backwards towards your other customer, amusement sparkling in his eyes. You glared. “Steve, don’t you dare,” you whisper-yelled, shaking your head as you watched him come close enough to the woman that she noticed his presence. Within seconds she was asking him a hundred questions, the man’s bright grin never leaving his face as his scheme was set into motion. You threw your head back with a quiet groan before getting yourself together to go and talk to Eddie.

When you turned on your heel to face him you caught him staring, the boy’s eyes widening as he quickly turned his head to face the other direction. Even from that angle you could see the blush that had fallen on his cheeks at the fact he’d been caught; just like the night of the party all over again. You got yourself together, giving yourself a quick pep talk before heading over to him; he was conveniently in the romance section.

“Hi,” you greeted, simply.

He turned to look at you and something you couldn’t make out flashed behind his eyes. “Hi. I was just, uh, looking for a movie to watch.” He pointed to the stack of shelves he was standing in front of, as well as the random VHS that was in his hands which he had just picked up on a limb as he saw you approach. He didn’t want you to yet again think he was some creep, though he really needed to get better at lying if he was going to continue to do it.

You held back a laugh, nodding your head. “Yeah that’s what people usually do at video stores.” You wished you could have taken a picture of the look on his face when the realisation hit him. His mouth had been working a thousand times faster than his brain, so he didn’t know what he was saying before he said it. Thankfully you saved him from the pain of trying to dig himself out of that deeply embarrassing hole. “Didn’t take you for a romance kind of guy though.”

“You’d be surprised. G-Given the chance I could woo your pants off like one of these romance guys.” He watched your features contort, his heart sinking into his stomach now he realised how dumb that sounded.

“Oh, that was terrible,” you cringed. “Did you get that from Steve?” You were sure that had worked for Harrington before, but it wasn’t the line itself that usually did it for him and the ladies. The women under this town were under some sort of spell with him, and his overconfidence really helped sell the show too. But Eddie had neither of those, stuttering through a pick up line meant it really didn’t have the same effect.

Eddie looked like he’d seen a ghost, a wave of humiliation hitting him full force at the thought of having ruined his shot with you by being a douche. You saw his eyes flicker over your shoulder in a nervous glance, nothing but a noise coming out of his mouth as his brain tried to come up with something to tell you. When you followed his gaze you watched as Steve’s hands dropped to his sides, the man trying to act natural and like he wasn’t saying something to the poor boy in front of you.

“W-Was it really that bad?” he asked.

You laughed, nodding your head. “It was so bad.” The sound of your sweet laughter gave him hope that he hadn’t completely messed up though. To him it sounded like amused laughter, not patronising laughter. He’d heard enough of that in his years to know the difference. The atmosphere quickly grew uncomfortable, and there was a clear shift in the conversation.

“I’m sorry, I just—“ he paused, inhaling sharply as he decided to lay it all out for you. “I really wanted to impress you. At the party I thought you looked so beautiful, a-and I think I got a bit of a crush,” he admitted. “But every time I’ve tried to talk to you since… you just walk away.” It was clear that what you had been doing was wounding him, and part of you knew that all along, but now it was presented to you right from the source, you felt guilty.

This was your chance to finally get yourself an answer. To find out if he’d been thinking about your near miss accident as much as you had. “I was embarrassed,” you muttered. The furrow in his brow felt like a good sign.

“About what?”

Your eyes bulged. “I nearly threw up on you.”

“When?”

You scoffed. All that worrying you had been doing and the boy didn’t even remember. Or if he did, he didn’t care. “You really don’t remember?” you questioned. He shook his head, lifting a metaphorical weight off of your shoulders. It felt like you could relax for the first time in days when you thought about him. It was actually a pleasant feeling. “Well that makes me feel so much better actually.”

The obvious tension that surrounded you both seemed to subside, the two of you gazing at each other with soft smiles. “So I didn’t completely mess up?” he asked. You shook your head. “Not at all. I actually really enjoyed talking with you the other night, even though we were in a bathroom.”

It looked like something clicked in him from that moment, his features lighting up and his posture straightening out, although it seemed he was looking anywhere but you. “Well, in that case, I was wondering–” When his eyes met yours he was ready to chicken out. Eddie Munson had never asked a girl out in his life, and he never even considered asking one out that was as enchanting as he found you. To say he was scared shitless right now would be an understatement.

You got the gist of what he was probably going to ask, but the longer it took for him to spit out the words, the more worried you got that he’d changed his mind halfway through speaking. So, you did it yourself, removing the pressure from him. “Would you like to go out with me sometime, Eddie?”

You watched him let out a breath of relief, shoulders sagging again and a grateful grin splitting on his face. “I’d love to.”

»»——⍟——««

The night of your date had finally arrived and you were so nervous. You had spent the entire day stressing over every tiny detail, even the ones you couldn’t control. Both Robin and Steve had been driven crazy the whole time after you invited them over for their help and reassuring words. To be fair, you were driving them crazy too though.

You must have shown them six different outfits you could wear at this point, each one pretty much the same as the last. You had messed with your hair, whining to Robin about how it just didn’t look right, even though she assured you it was perfect. Then came the issue of makeup, all of which Steve seemed to complain he didn’t understand. He never cared about any of these things when he was going on dates with girls. But maybe that was just him.

“Y/N, he likes you, he isn’t going to care,” Steve said, believing he was making the situation better. That only made you feel worse, throwing yourself face first down onto your bed, groaning about how nothing was going to go right and you had made such an effort only to have one of your good friends throw it right back in your face like it was nothing. Robin scolded him, slapping his arm as the two whisper-yelled to each other in the hopes you wouldn’t hear them; but you did.

“Steve’s a dick, don’t listen to him. You look good, and Eddie’s gonna think you look good too,” she said, hand rubbing over the expanse of your back in a comforting gesture.

You lifted your head from where you’d buried it, glancing at your friend with a hopeful expression in your eyes. “Really?” you asked, earning a nod from her. “You look smokin’, he’s lucky to be getting this time with you,” she said.

As you moved to thank her your eyes caught the clock on your night stand, eyes growing wide at the fact he’d be showing up in no less than half an hour and you still didn’t have an outfit selected. Your friends saw the way your face contorted into fear, ushering you up from your bed so they could get you together and ready in enough time. And although Steve’s previous attempt at a pep talk had gone horribly, this time around he was calming you down just fine.

It felt like almost no time had passed when you heard the expected knock on the door. Robin had picked the perfect thing for you to wear, your hair looked good, and you felt beautiful. Part of you wouldn’t ever admit you were dressing to try and impress some boy, so the fact you felt so pretty was good enough for you.

With one last reminder that you could do this, you pulled open the door. “Hi,” you said, standing shyly on your doorstep. At first he just looked at you blankly, and you weren’t sure what you were supposed to do. You shifted a little awkwardly on your feet before turning to send a glance to Nancy and Steve. They didn’t help, just offered you a thumb’s up as it looked like Eddie finally came back to reality. “W-Wow, hi. You look beautiful.”

Your skin burned hot at the compliment, and you took in how he looked standing there. The jeans had no rips on them for a change, though he still had his tell tale chain dangling from the material. His shirt wasn’t any familiar band tee that he usually wore, but instead replaced with a white button up that showcased the effort he had put into looking good for this date. Not that he needed to put much effort in to look good. His many rings still adorned his fingers, and his hair looked a little more tamed, though it was clear he had been messing with it. “You clean up well, Munson.”

You saw his cheeks flush and it was the cutest thing, unable to bite back the smile that crept upon your face. “Shall we head out?” he asked. You tried to hide your excitement as you nodded, but you probably looked incredibly eager anyway. As you tugged the door closed you heard Steve and Robin muttering about ‘how they grow up so fast’ leaving you to sneak your hand through the gap to flash them a middle finger before you really left.

Even though the walk from your front door to where his car was parked at the end of your driveway was short, that didn’t stop him from shyly lacing your fingers together to lead the way, the feeling of his warm palm sliding across yours making your heart race. How did a guy you only really noticed for the first time, maybe a week ago, have such a hold on your heart already? He was magical.

You were snapped from your gaze when you felt his touch leave you, a little sad if you were being honest, but that was replaced with yet another flurry of butterflies at his next actions. “M’lady,” he said, pulling open the passenger door for you. You climbed in with a grin, thanking him for the gesture. “Thank you, kind sir.”

He swore he fell even more in love right then.

You had exactly two seconds to gather your thoughts before he was climbing in the driver’s side, and then your eyes were on him. This could have been the only chance you got to really study his features; when he literally couldn’t remove his eyes from the road. The more you looked at him, the more handsome he seemed to become. Though a lot of people hated the hair, it suited him well, you couldn’t imagine him without it; it was just so him. The way each strand curled perfectly, how it framed his face. You noticed every so often it’d get caught in his eyes, but he must have been so used to it that it didn’t bother him. With a quick shake of his head it’d be fixed.

His eyes, oh they were so enchanting. They had been one of the main things that sent you haywire when you looked at him. They were like a void, just a space you could so easily get lost in if you looked long enough. But they were dangerous, one glance from those puppy eyes would have you bending at his will in seconds.

You didn’t get to look at him for as long as you would have liked. He’d realised you weren’t saying anything, and when he glanced over you were just staring, in some sort of trance. But the expression on your face was too blank, too unreadable. “You ready, sweetheart?” he asked, softly, wondering if the silence was you changing your mind. There was that nickname again. The one that made you feel all fuzzy inside in a way you didn’t think you could describe with words. “So ready.”

The ride to your mystery location was pleasant. It was filled with chatter between the two of you and the sound of music through the tape in the player. It was some metal band that you weren’t really too fond of, but whatever made him happy. Conversation seemed so easy with him, so effortless, and you found yourself not wanting the night to end already and you hadn’t even left the van yet.

At first you didn’t know where he was going, driving down unfamiliar roads and heading in a direction you didn’t recognise. “Where are we going?” you eventually asked. You partially trusted him, but it was dawning on you how little you actually knew him. Going to an unfamiliar place with a man you didn’t know all that well probably wasn’t the best idea, but it was a bit late for second thoughts now. He glanced over briefly at the sound of your voice. “It’s a surprise. Trust me, I know a place.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but settled back into the surprisingly comfortable passenger seat of the van. Another ten or so minutes passed by before the roads got darker, shrouded with trees and away from almost any civilization. It was like that for a little until the engine cut off, your eyes scoured your surroundings seeing he’d brought you to a clearing in the woods. Given the secluded location you felt like you had to ask the question plaguing your mind. “You aren’t about to murder me, right?” you asked, half-joking, half-actually-serious.

He laughed, shaking his head. “No, I’m not. I thought you believed me when I told you I wasn’t in a cult.”

You rolled your eyes. “‘S pretty easy to deny. ‘Oh are you in a cult?’ No.” You shrugged to emphasise your little show, hearing him chuckling to himself as he stepped out of the van. “See, easy. How do you know I’m not in a cult?” you questioned him as he pulled open your door for you again.

The grin on his face was positively precious, and the easy banter between you must have eased up his anxieties a little bit. His hand raised to lightly brush his thumb and pointer finger against your chin. “You’re too cute to be in a cult.”

You scoffed, eyes trailing his figure as he headed over to the sliding door on his van. “And you’re not? Munson you, so, aren’t the badass everyone thinks you are.” His eyes flickered over to you, his head cocking and the corner of his mouth curling up as if he was amused with what you were saying. “Oh really?” he queried. You nodded your head. “What am I then?”

“Deep down, you’re a big softie.” He didn’t protest what you were saying at all. He wasn’t like one of these egotistical freaks that felt they had to keep up a reputation. If you thought he was a softie it was because he was a huge softie for you, and he didn’t care who knew it. “Only for you, sweetheart.”

The look of utter adoration on your face was hard for him to ignore, he desperately wanted to let it go to his ego, but he couldn’t.

You cleared your throat when the initial flood of cloudiness subsided. “So, what’s in store for us?”

The smile on his face didn’t give anything away, other than the fact that whatever it was he was proud of. Your eyes followed his movements as he tugged open the sliding door, holding his arms out to showcase the inside of the van. It wasn’t at all what you expected. You were met with an adorable sight. He’d set the inside up like a bed, a mattress crammed in, some pillows and a couple blankets for you both. He’d even gone as far to add some fairy lights to brighten the place up, and you had to admit it did make it feel more romantic. “I, uh, I thought we could watch the stars. No one ever comes out here so—“ He trailed off when it looked like he remembered something else. You watched him lean into the van, doing who knows what before the soft sound of music started to play inside the vehicle. “And there’s music, and some food.”

When he turned to look at you he noted the frown on your lips, taking it as a sign he had gone way too over the top or maybe let your expectations down. He felt the need to suddenly apologise. “I know it’s probably not what you expected, but I—“ You cut him off with the touch of your fingertips on his cheek, turning his head to face you. Those puppy eyes of his seemed to widen when they realised how close you both had gotten, he wasn’t expecting to almost brush noses with you when he looked in your direction. “It’s perfect, Eddie. No one’s ever done anything like this for me before.”

For a moment his eyes flickered between your gaze and your lips, weighing out the pros and cons of leaning in and kissing you right now. But once again at the last minute he chickened out, leaving you a little disappointed if you were being completely honest. You didn’t say anything though, putting it down to the poor man’s nerves. “‘M glad,” he muttered.

He offered out his hand to help you climb into the back. Truly he didn’t need to, it wasn’t difficult to get into, but he felt like that was what guys should do on dates. You took a seat on the shockingly soft mattress, crossing your legs over one another as you waited for him to join you. When he finally did he let out a sigh, offering you a grin.

“So, what’s on the menu, chef?”

He stretched his arm behind him, bringing to your view a familiar looking box. It was from the pizza place that you were practically obsessed with. You would basically force Steve and Robin to order from there every time you hung out at your house. “Pizza for the lovely lady.” It was like he knew you were suspicious of him the second you saw the box, your eyes narrowing in his direction as you lifted the lid to find exactly what kind you expected.

“Who told you?”

He shrugged shyly. He had never put this much effort into anything, not even D&D or his band, especially not a person. So he didn’t really know how to act nonchalant about the reaction he was getting. He was quickly realising he loved the tiny twinkles of joy in your eyes every time he did something that made you weak in the knees. “I may have had a little talk with Harrington.”

“You sneaky bastard.”

He reached back behind him a second time, this time drinks were dangling from the grip of his fingers. “And I got beer.”

It didn’t take either of you long to dig in, especially seeing as you couldn’t shut up about how good the pizza was for at least five minutes before you started eating. Eventually he had taken to basically shoving a piece into your hand and then up to your mouth, laughing about how if you love it so much you should actually eat some. Once again conversation flowed smoothly between you, talking about your friends and how Eddie had managed to become friends. He left out the obvious crazy monsters bit, you were on a need to know basis, so it was pretty much all a lie.

You hadn’t been on that many dates in your time, the boys in Hawkins were grade-a-assholes ninety-percent of the time, but you could say wholeheartedly that this was the greatest one you had ever had. It might have been the only one you truly enjoyed. Eddie just had this thing about him that you couldn’t pinpoint, but it made him so easily likeable. You understand how Steve, a rather judgemental friend actually, could come to befriend him so fast. He was nothing like his reputation stated.

After you ate the boy shifted his position, taking to lying on his back with his head practically hanging out of the van. It actually gave him a perfect view of the stars. He patted the space beside him as he motioned for you to do the same. You didn’t hesitate, following his lead and realising that in fact the view was beautiful. “Wow.”

“Wow, indeed,” he muttered. His stare basically burned holes into your cheek, and with an eye roll you turned your head to the side to face him. You caught his eye and his smile only grew.

“Is this one of the ‘romance guy’ clichés you know?” you teased.

He could’ve died right there on the spot thinking about that moment in the video store again. It certainly hadn’t been one of his best moments, and he wanted to move on from this topic very very quickly. “Just shut up and look at the stars.”

You must have spent hours gazing up at the sky, having Eddie point out what he said were various constellations, only to later come clean that he was lying out of his ass. It made you laugh nearly hysterically, the beer getting to your head a little. But all he’d been doing in his lies was trying to get that kind of reaction out of you. He’d found that in such a short time he’d quickly come to adore the sound of your laughter.

“Do you actually know any constellations?” you asked, grinning from ear to ear as you turned your head to look at him. The smile on his face was unmatched, and you’d argue that his eyes twinkled more than every star in the sky did.

His confession came with a slightly scrunched nose and red-twinged cheeks. “Nope. I’m repeating my senior for the third time, d’you really think I paid enough attention in school to learn about the stars?” he laughed.

“Fair play.” The words died on your tongue as your eyes locked, feeling like the biggest movie cliché was playing out in front of you. It would have been funny to point out how painfully ironic it was if you weren’t stuck in some lovesick trance. You tried to make it obvious that you were eyeing his lips, and you thought you had, but he didn’t seem to be making any first move.

Again, like back in the store, you felt you needed to make the first move or it would never happen. “Eddie,” you whispered, gaze unfaltering as you stared into those large doe eyes. You could and certainly had gotten lost in them, they were just so mesmerising. They held so much emotion in them, so many unsaid things that you were desperate to hear. He didn’t say anything, didn’t want to ruin the perfect little bubble you had found yourselves in, instead he just hummed as quietly as he could. “Please, kiss me.”

Now that he knew you wanted him to, he didn’t waste another second, leaning forward to finally meet your lips for the first time. He couldn’t help but note you tasted like beer and the coconut chapstick he watched you apply earlier, his new favourite combination he thought to himself. You were thinking the same, though he tasted like beer and a faint taste of weed. A strange two things to enjoy the taste of, but it was just so him.

As your lip-lock grew more intense he shifted again, rolling onto his side so he could get a better hold of you. He rested on his elbow, his other hand, the one with the chunky rings on, cradling your cheek gently, like you were made out of porcelain or something.

Your arms had found themselves snaking around his neck, wanting to desperately pull him closer to you. However, with that brought the tickling sensation of his hair hitting your skin, forcing you to part from him to let out the laughter that was building up. At first he didn’t know what was going on, a smile growing on his face nonetheless at the joy written all over your face. But you could tell he was confused. “Your hair… it’s tickling me,” you managed to get out through laughs.

To hear more of the angelic sound, he shook his hair against you, laughing with you as you called for him to knock it off.

When the laughter died down the two of you were left laying side by side, grinning like idiots at the ceiling of his van. The joy of just a few minutes ago was very much still present, neither of you spoke for a bit, just enjoyed the happy aura that engulfed you in your silence. That was until Eddie spoke up to break the silence, saying the four words you had been dreading all night. “We should head back.”

He heard you whine but unfortunately you couldn’t stay. “Steve’ll have my head if I don’t bring you back tonight. Or I would say we stay in a heartbeat.” The knowledge that he wanted to stay with you longer made your heart happy, and made you more willing to agree to heading home. He was right when he said Steve would be on him, because you knew if you had a phone with you right now he probably would have been blowing it up like your mom.

“Yeah, you’re right. We should do this again though some time.” You barely got your sentence out when he was leaning in to steal another quick kiss from your lips. For the first time since the party, when you looked at him he didn’t look nervous to have done something so bold. “Absolutely.”

»»——⍟——««

The drive home, though just as pleasant as the drive there, held a different atmosphere than it had before. Your hands were locked over the console, stealing glances at each other when you didn’t think the other was looking. It all felt so… blissful; natural. It was a feeling you hadn’t felt with any other boy you knew. You didn’t even need to communicate to know you both felt the exact same way.

When he turned the corner to your street you felt your heart sink a little bit, you really weren’t ready to leave him just yet. But you didn’t have much of a choice when the vehicle came to a stop at the end of your driveway. Eddie watched you pout, thinking it was the cutest thing. “Walk me to my door?” you asked, trying to grasp any extra time you could spend with him. He agreed instantly.

He caught you off guard when you got out of the van, where he was sweeping you into his arms, his lips capturing yours. It made your head swirl, giving you a sort of drunken sensation from just his kiss. “If you keep doing that, I dunno how you expect me to leave you.” His lips curled into a smile against yours, teeth clashing for a second which forced the two of you to pull away. “Maybe that’s my plan.”

You rolled your eyes, he was the one that wanted to take you home so he didn’t have to deal with Steve’s wrath, now he was proposing other ideas. “Thank you for tonight. I had a lot of fun,” you told him genuinely, twirling a strand of his curly hair around your fingers. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Me too. You’re not as bad as I thought you’d be, Y/L/N.”

“Asshole,” you chuckled, hitting his shoulder with the heel of your hand. You heard him laugh as you stepped past him, eyes set on the entrance of your home. You had barely made it a few steps closer to your front door before he was spinning you back around, his hands firmly planted on your waist. He too didn’t want this night to end, and if he had to stall you at your doorstep until the sun rose, he absolutely would.

“Okay, okay. But jus’ think, this all started because you make a really beautiful angel,” he murmured, brushing the tip of his nose against yours affectionately. He watched the smile bloom on your face, his heart fluttering. “You make a pretty hot devil, too.”

His lips were once again on yours, a feeling you had started to really enjoy since the first time it happened. You hoped it would have been happening a lot more from this point too. He pulled back at the feeling of a stare burning into him, his brow furrowing as he searched for the culprit. You saw his gaze flicker behind you, focusing on something for a second before he looked back to you. “Y’know they’re watching us through the window right?” he muttered. You audibly groaned, rolling your eyes as you leaned your head forward to dick it into his chest. “They’re insufferable.”

It was mere seconds before you heard the click of the door, followed by hasty, heavy footsteps that could only be from Steve. You pulled away from Eddie to stand beside him, still keeping close proximity, but just so you could see your friend. “Dude, what the hell? I told you to have her home by ten. It’s nearly three am!” he yelled. Robin sent you a sorry look over his shoulder. It looked like she had tried to keep him inside when they had heard the van pull up, but obviously wasn't very successful. And he clearly had no regard for your poor neighbours.

“You didn’t specify, I thought you meant ten am,” he teased, twisting his wrist so the clock face of the watch that decorated it was facing up towards him. “And in that case I actually brought her back early.” He looked over to you and flashed you a wink. You had to stifle a laugh so Steve didn’t turn to yell at you too.

The Harrington boy’s anger could be felt even from the distance you were at, and despite the lack of light you were sure you could see a vein popping out of his face too. “Don’t get smart with me Munson, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

With a sigh you took a step in front of Eddie, acting sort of as a human shield if your friend decided to take his little charade as far as that. “Okay, momma bear, calm down.” He looked almost offended that you weren’t taking his side. “Let’s not forget you lose every fight you participate in. Please don’t embarrass yourself more.”

Steve scoffed, his mouth gaping at you. You could hear Eddie laughing behind you, as well as Robin giggling behind her hand so your friend didn’t hear her. “I beat Billy the other year,” he tried. You pursed your lips, cocking your head as if to ask really? Surely he didn’t believe that. The look made him give in. “Okay, fine. I didn’t beat Hargove. I could take Eddie though.”

You took the time to size them both up, looking at Steve’s build compared to your dates. They were both pretty similar, but Eddie had a make believe hard exterior, and chunky rings donning his fingers, Steve didn’t have any of that advantage. He was pretty much all talk. “Yeah… no. Sorry, Stevie.”

“Y’know what?” he said, resting his hands on his hips as the infamous motherly side of the man appeared to your eyes. “Inside.” He pointed to the front door with his finger, forcing you to bite back a laugh as he tried to treat you like one of the kids he was always babysitting. “Now, missy.”

“Yes, mom,” you sighed, turning over your shoulder to glance at Eddie as you started stepping closer to Steve. You blew him a teasing kiss, holding your hand up to your ear in an imitation of a phone. “Call me, Munson.” With the promise that he would, you scurried inside with Robin, leaving the two males to sort their issues out together, as you recounted the entire night to your best friend starting with one word to sum it all up. Magical.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things fic

3K notes · View notes

moonsgemini · 10 months

Text

american heartbreak - i

summary: all June Summers wants is to be Rafe Cameron’s date to the county fair dance. Everyone from town would be there and she was tired of going alone. She was tired of watching him dance with other women, tired of waiting around for him.

warnings: cowboy!rafe x oc (minimal to no oc description, mutual pining, angst, fluff

wc: 2.7k

an: I hope you guys enjoy! I love cowboy rafe. I also just love writing au’s there’s so much more room for creative freedom. I basically just use rafe as a face claim bc drew starkey is a literal greek god.

series masterlist

The sound of June’s boots as she paced back and forth behind the counter were beginning to drive Amber crazy. She was trimming tulips to make a new bouquet but she could barely concentrate when the her coworker was an anxious mess. The soft sound of music wasn’t enough to drown out the clacking of boots against wood. June bit her fingernails anxiously, her stare not leaving the floor as she was lost in thought.

“June I swear I’m going to kill you if you don’t relax,” She scolded the girl who stopped abruptly.

She smiled sheepishly, “I’m sorry, I just am really nervous. What if he like laughs at me or something?”

Amber rolled her eyes, “That boy would never laugh at you.”

“You never know. What if he like thinks I’m crazy or worse never speaks to me again after he rejects me because he feels so bad!” She exclaimed dramatically.

“How do you even sleep at night with all this worrying?”

“I don’t get much of it.”

All week June had been practicing over and over in her head how she would ask her lifelong crush, Rafe, to the county fair. At the end of the night there would be a dance that the whole town went to. It was a big deal around here, and going with a date was a big deal. Every year there would be some new surprising couple that would be the talk of the town for the next few weeks before some new gossip spread. June had been pining over Rafe Cameron like a love sick puppy since they were eleven years old when boys started becoming cute and not gross anymore.

She had planned on asking him when he came in this afternoon. Rafe always came in on thursday evenings after practice to buy a fresh bouquet of flowers to take to his mom’s grave. A tradition he started in high school, the day before the rodeo, he’d go visit his mom. To this day he swore she was his goodluck charm. When June started working at the flower shop at sixteen she was ecstatic to have another excuse to see Rafe.

She glanced at the clock on the wall and her palms started sweating, it was six now which meant he was out of practice by now. June decided to make herself busy in the mean time to occupy her jittery fingers.

Rafe parked outside the small flower shop and let out a sigh of relief. Being at the flower shop on meant it was the end of his practice week and now he just had to worry about riding. It also meant he got to visit his favorite girl, and he wasn’t talking about his mom.

He looked into his rearview mirror of his old pick up truck and adjusted his hat. Checking himself to make sure he didn’t have any dirt or muck on his face. He got out of his truck making long strides towards the door. As he entered that all too familiar bell jingled alerting June and Amber or his presence. The smell of fresh flowers over took his senses, as well as the presence of his favorite flower girl.

June looked up from where she was picking the leaves off of the carnation stems. Her eyes widening for a second, her face beginning to feel hot as she smiled shyly at him. Suddenly any ounce of confidence she had to ask him about the dance left her body. That smirk he always wore turning her into a pile of mush. She’s surprised her legs were still holding her up as he walked over to the counter.

“Hi Rafe,” She said softly. Amber smiled to herself as she watched them interact. She sneakily walked into the back room to give them some privacy. It was a little routine she did whenever Rafe came in.

“Hi sweetheart, whatcha got today for me?” He asked resting his palms against the counter supporting his weight as he leaned towards her.

He was such a natural flirt. She could barely look him in the eyes most of the time, “we just got a bunch of beautiful tulips in so I made you a bouquet of purple ones with some baby’s breath,” June walked over to the one of the bucked holding an abundance of bouquets, “I also put a few daisy’s to add a bit more to it.”

She showed him the bouquet proudly. A wide smile spreading across his face, “That is beautiful. You’re so good. Mom will love them.”

June knew Rafe’s mom. She cared for everyone in town like they were all her family. Whenever June would be over at their house hanging out with Sarah she would make them food, always let them ride horses. When they were really young she’d let them play in the rain and get all muddy, when other mom’s in town would scold her for letting the kids look like a mess. She was the sweetest woman.

“Always the best for her,” She fidgeted with her hands nervously. If he knew the effect he had on her he’d be too powerful.

He pulled out his wallet and handed her a twenty. Since he was their best customer she never charged him more than that. Clueless Rafe just thought that was how much each bouquet was, “Am I seeing you tomorrow at the rodeo?”

She nodded, “Of course. I might help out Mrs.Mayfield sell raffle tickets.”

“Always the helpful one. I better see you at the Rooster after,” He pointed at her scolding playfully. Roosters was one of the local bars everyone went out to.

June laughed softly, “Maybe, I doubt you’d even notice if I wasn’t there.”

“Darlin I always notice when you’re not around,” He smirked, “I better get going to see mom.”

“Goodluck tomorrow Rafe,” She smiled with a small wave as he began walking out.

He tipped his hat at her with that cute lopsided smile on his lips, “I’ll see you tomorrow Ms.Summers.”

June watched him walk out to his truck, a dumb love struck smile on her face. That crush she’s had on him since second grade was never going away.

“You chicken.”

She jumped and reached to clutch her chest, “Oh my god you scared me.” She scolded her friend.

Amber had her arms crossed leaning against the doorway to the back, “You didn’t ask him!”

“I couldn’t! My brain got all blurry. I-I just can’t handle the thought of rejection. Especially not from him.”

“Did you not hear everything he said to you?” She walked over standing in front of June, “He practically was begging you to go tomorrow. Verbatim said ‘I always notice when you’re not around’ um hello?”

June shrugged, “He’s just being nice, that’s just Rafe.”

Amber stared at her with a deadpan expression, “I wish I could put you in a choke hold right now.”

She rolled her eyes, “I’ll try to ask him tomorrow after the rodeo.”

“I’m sure you will. But we’re definitely going out after,” She smiled.

June and Amber had been friends since they were in diapers. Their moms being best friends themselves it was almost a given that their two daughters would be just as close. After they graduated high school they took all the money they had saved up and rented a cute little house in town. Now they were working on buying out Mr.Robertson for his flower shop. They had been working in it since they were fifteen and they wanted it to be their’s. Mr.Roberston kindly offered to sell it to them since he was getting too old to take care of it himself and once he sold it he’d move to Florida with his daughter.

The girls were close to buying it, needing a few more months to get the rest of the money. Most people wanted to move out of the small town they were born in but that wasn’t June or Amber. June liked it there, she liked the familiarity and the comfort it brought. She liked her life here, she liked living with her best friend and working with her too. She liked being five minutes away from her parents. June felt lucky to be where she was and have the people she had in her life.

After closing they had stopped by the grocery store to pick up stuff for dinner. Now headed home in June’s dad’s old mustang they enjoyed the cool summer afternoon breeze and listened to their favorite artist, Taylor Swift. June felt like she had the perfect life. The only thing she longed for was someone to be by her side. Of course she had Amber but she wanted a romantic relationship. She wanted someone who could hold her at night and take her out on dates.

It’s not like she hadn’t tried to get a boyfriend. June had gone on a few dates but they never ended well. She was seeing Liam, a local mechanic, for a month but then she saw him flirting and kiss another girl at Rooster’s. After that she went on a date with a local bull rider, one of Rafe’s teammates, but he never called her after the night was over. June thought it was because she didn’t put out on the first date. She doesn’t know that it was because Rafe cornered the guy and threatened him. Told him if he ever went out with you again he’d tie him to his truck and drag him across town.

Amber had her own boyfriend, James, who was friends with Rafe. They worked together on the Cameron farm and occasionally helped coach Rafe. June has refused his attempts to set her up with Rafe more times than she could count. James moved to town a few years ago after he heard that the Cameron’s were looking for another ranch hand.

“Wanna invite Sarah for dinner?” Amber asked as they carried the groceries into the house.

June shrugged, “Sure, we haven’t seen her since she left for Charleston.”

“I’ll call her, can you get started on the potatoes please,” Amber said as she started dialing Sarah.

“yeah yeah,” June rolled her eyes playfully as she unpacked the grocery bags.

The three girls were all friends in school and Sarah ended up moving to North Carolina for college once they graduated. They managed to stay as close as possible with the distance. Sarah is Rafe’s sister and of course she knew of June’s infatuation with her older brother. Sarah wanted them to end up together, always talked about how perfect it would be to have her as a sister in law.

When they were younger and June would go to Sarah’s house she always prayed she’d run into Rafe. Occasionally she would but he was the same old Rafe back then. Would make slightly flirty comments towards her making her flustered and making her crush on him grow.

The girls sat around the dining table laughing at old stories from their childhood. Every time they got together it felt like they were fifteen again sneaking alcohol from Ward’s liquor cabinet and turning into a fit of tipsy giggles.

“And then Rafe came out from the barn and June practically jumped on him she was so excited to see him,” Sarah laughed tilting her head back.

June covered her embarrassed face at the memory, “Oh god! I forgot about that.”

“That was the closest you’ve gotten to him like ever,” Amber added, “You need to drink tequila again.”

“That will probably be the closest I get to him ever,” She said a hint of sadness in her voice.

“June you should just ask him out yourself. Forget all that old fashioned stuff. My brother would never be mean to you.”

June took a sip of her wine, “I know he wouldn’t be mean but it’s the rejection that turns me away. He could have anyone why would he want me. He also is always out with some other girl. She’s usually a lot prettier than me.”

“June Summers you know I don’t tolerate that negative talk in our house,” Amber scolded, “You are beautiful and he would be lucky to have someone like you. I also highly doubt he’d reject you.”

She smiled at her, “And how do you know that?”

Sarah rolled her eyes, “Because he’s like practically in love with you! He doesn’t great other girls the way he treats you. He also looks at you different.”

“Then why has he never asked me out! It just doesn’t make sense. I’d rather keep him as a friend than lose him completely.”

“I wish he didn’t have such a thick skull then maybe he’d have some sense,” Sarah stood grabbing the girls empty plates to take to the sink.

“Fallin off too many bulls in his life,” Amber giggled.

June stood to grab the bottle or wine to refill their glasses, “Oh I’m gonna head out soon. Rafe is picking me up on his way home from James’ and he texted me he’s on his way,” Sarah said beginning to wash the dishes.

“Come on so early?” Amber gave her puppy eyes.

She laughed, “Yes, I have an exam online in the morning I still need to study for. That masters won’t get itself ladies.”

“Speaking of James has Amber told you that she thinks he’s going to propose soon,” June smirked trying to forget about the fact that Rafe was coming to her house soon.

“Shut up!” Sarah exclaimed.

“I know! He’s been so suspicious lately! He’s been working a lot and he’s not so subtly asked me for my ring size last month. Then he went to the city last week but he didn’t want me to come because he said he was doing some boring errands for Ward,” Amber’s cheeks began hurting from smiling so much at the thought of her boyfriend, “But I don’t believe that for a second. I think he went to buy a ring.”

“Oh please get married soon! I want to be a bridesmaid,” Sarah said excitedly as she dried her hands. There was a knock on the door as she finished, “That’s me, go get the door June while I get my things together.” She smirked at her friend.

“I hate you guys,” She whisper shouted in case he could hear them. Amber practically pushed June to the door.

She took a deep breath fixing her hair a bit before opening the door. He stood looking the same as he did earlier that day, still just as handsome as before. He smiled as soon as he saw her, he was really hoping it’d be June answering the door.

“Hi Rafe,” She said softly. Her timid demeanor returning whenever she was around him, he made all her confidence vanish always.

“Hi sweetheart, how are you tonight?” He asked with that cute smile he always wore around her. For a second she pretended he was picking her up for their first date.

“I’m good, and you?” She asked politely still stuck in her daydream.

“Better now, is Sarah ready?” He asked breaking her from her fantasy. Truthfully Rafe didn’t want the conversation to end but he knew he was there for a reason.

“Uh yeah she’s just getting her things,” As if on cue Sarah showed up next to June.

“I’m ready,” She hugged June tightly, “I’ll see you tomorrow Juney.”

“Does that mean you’re going out tomorrow with everyone?” Rafe asked with a smirk, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

“I guess so, can’t say no to this one,” She smiled nodding her head towards Sarah.

“I’m her favorite what can I say,” Sarah shrugged smirking, “Come on Rafe I gotta study.” She walked towards the truck leaving Rafe behind.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then June bug,” He tipped his hat at her like he always did before walking down the porch steps.

“Bye Rafe,” She waved and waved towards Sarah who was smiling at the pair from inside the truck.

June spent the night praying that the words Sarah said earlier that night were true. That Rafe somehow was in love with her. But she couldn’t help that voice that was always in the back of her head telling her how that could never be possible.

Maybe tomorrow she’d have some tequila.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron series #rafe cameron x reader #rafe fic #rafe cameron au #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron fic #rafe obx #rafe cameron smut #rafe outer banks

211 notes · View notes

eternally-tired-muffin · 10 months

Text

au: life was kinder to them (sabito, tsutako and kanae don't die)

rambling under the cut!

Both Shinobu's and Tomioka's personalities changed a lot after their loved ones' deaths, so if that never happened, I think they would act quite different (on top of having different haori). They would also both still become as strong as hashiras but don't achieve the rank due to already having nine hashira.

Sabito would become the water hashira instead as he improves faster than Tomioka so reaches the level first. I can't imagine Tomioka with a different breath style as he was so well suited to water breathing that he managed to create an eleventh form. For Tomioka to achieve the promotion to hashira, they would need to have multiple water pillars, unless Sabito uses a different breath style (I've seen people use ice for him which I think fits really well). This doesn't solve the numbers issue, though.

Tomioka would instead simply not get promoted but be informally known to be as capable as a hashira by those who go on missions with him. I think this could work well as it would lead to his canon self esteem issues as he thinks of himself as lesser than the others because he is literally not of their rank (rather than thinking lesser of himself because of how final selection went). I figure he and Sabito argue about this but make minimal progress. Tsutako doesn't know he feels this way because she and Tomioka don't talk about demon slaying things at all. She disaproves of his choice to join in the first place and wishes he picked up a "normal life" like her (who is happily married to her fiance) but doesn't stop him.

Meanwhile, Shinobu would become Kanae's tsuguko when Kanae is promoted. As Shinbou isn't a hashira, she would be on fewer missions and have more time at the butterfly manshion so she could focus more on poison production. I think she would develop a larger variety of weapons. For example, inspired after meeting Genya, she could make poison filled bullets or other projectiles that give her long range attacks. Maybe she would create long term attacks too but I'm not sure how yet. She would also train Kanao and other demon slayers in poisons. This means that there can be many poison users in the corps which enables lower ranked slayers to defeat stronger demons. This makes her really valuable despite not being a hashira.

With no reason to hide her emotions behind a smile, Shinobu is loud about thinking the "nine hashira only" rule is stupid. It's gotten her on the bad side of a couple of the existing hashiras (Uzui, Sanemi, Iguro), who consider this an insult to Ubuyahsiki. On the other hand, this makes Sabito respect her a lot. He also hates the rule and wants Tomioka to be promoted.

Shinobu and Tomioka would probably first meet in the butterfly mansion when Tomioka gets injured. They also interact quite a lot through mutual friends, such as waiting for a hashira meeting to finish. This sort-of-but-not-really-hashira thing would be something they have in common. There's rumours in the corps about both of them. Tomioka has no idea. Shinobu knows this and thinks it's hilarious.

Tomioka is still very introverted but doesn't avoid others like in canon. I think he would respond to Shinobu's teasing, even if only to complain, so they would become good friends over time (but won't admit it).

Masterpost

Updated Shinobu design

First comic

175 notes · View notes

transmutationisms · 4 months

Note

is it unfair for me to hold anger at individuals, or criticize individuals, if covid minimization is not the result of individualized choices but mass messaging and systems at work? im not really sure what to say to leftists who ive spoonfed information who have still decided to “move on” from it, including in their activism. on one hand i understand how they got here, on the other it feels like theyre enacting violence, in the same vein as like misgendering or supporting “blue lives matter” but with the added bonus of them maybe also harming someone directly by refusal to do infection control. i really need to shift my perspective away from a heavily trauma-informed one and start living in the real world where i cant expect anyone to advocate for me, and have to find more systems-based ways to advocate for myself, and releasing some of that anger might need to be a part of moving on from that pov, but a lot of that trauma *is* individualized and resulted from the way people have responded to me, which varies from lukewarm apathy to actively telling me my life isnt worth anything to them. at the same time, it’s impossible for me to feel like i’m not the one in the wrong, when it’s very few people left who care about any of this. sorry for dumping this on *you*, im aware you’re some guy online, but the only ppl i see who still talk about covid are ppl in the same situation as me and are too close to it to assess, or think about it purely on an individual level

i don't think there's anything wrong, bad, or unfair about feeling this type of anger or betrayal. i just also think that this is one of those situations where a (completely understandable) emotional reaction does not form the basis of an effective political platform. both of these things can be true at once; your ethical considerations when navigating interpersonal relationships are not the same as the ethical considerations for someone who wants to style themselves a public health communicator. in an epidemiological sense, a person who reluctantly masks because orgs and public spaces have mask mandates is accomplishing the same thing, materially, as a person who happily masks because they care about their disabled comrades. in that sense there's no need for a public health strategy to focus on 'changing minds' and doing so often just makes people dig in their heels more. but, on a personal level, of course it matters to you whether someone actually cares for you and protects you voluntarily! figuring out how to interact with people in your own life is just not the same as figuring out the most effective mass communication and public policy strategies; what irritates me about many of the twitter-sphere covid communicators is the elision between these two things. having said that, if i can just soapbox for a second:

i try to give these people the benefit of the doubt; i do think many of them mean well and think they are doing what's right. however, the strategy that many of them have coalesced around seems to go something like this: assume that others are not covid-cautious because they are insufficiently frightened; assume this is a failure of individual intelligence-slash-awareness; using the same datasets as the applicable public health agency, interpret all data with any number of assumptions, predictions, and modelling heuristics built in; generate very terrifying infographic, post it, and wring hands when doing so doesn't change anyone's behaviour or state policy.

even in the best of cases i simply think this is ineffective; i would say public attitudes about the seriousness of covid are much more a result of state and public health inaction, ambivalence, and denialism than they are a cause. additionally, interpreting data and making predictions based on them is woolly, and a lack of transparency about their methodology, plus the overconfident desire to present themselves as authorities on the internet, means that this strategy can and does end up producing its own distortions. see, for example, recent 'med twitter' claims that "covid is airborne aids", an attempt to scare people into taking it more seriously that relies on poor and overconfident interpretations of current immunological knowledge; that ends up distorting what we do actually know about covid and the immune system (which is already fucking scary! no lies needed!); and which, as far as i can tell, actually started picking up steam in early 2020 as a right-wing conspiracy theory centred around the claims of dr (not an md) leonard g. horowitz, who argues that covid is a laboratory-engineered virus and uses it in his efforts to sell "resonating silver hydrosol" supplements to you (and your pets!) as "an effective alternative to risky vaccinations and deadly antibiotics".

getting into bed with these people is patently dangerous for obvious reasons. i really do not blame people who are trying to find reliable covid information, and are rightfully wary of state and official sources that have been downplaying this virus for its entire existence, for getting sucked in by twitter doctors when those people are often the only ones who seem to be both posting statistics and taking the virus seriously. however, what i have observed leads me to believe that, firstly, many of these people are motivated by a desire for renown and fame as much as by altruism (welcome to social media). secondly, virtually all of them are fundamentally very liberal in their politics, and this shows in the way they interpret the current state of affairs as a result of individual actions and psychological failures, rather than capitalist policy. this is absurd and leads to absolutely pointless (if not often counterproductive) narrativisation of political action as some kind of magical field where everybody just needs to change their minds and believe in the correct things really hard and then things will change: it's the liberal democratic fantasy that aggregated attitudes create policy out of thin air, no organisation or class analysis or principled communism necessary.

thirdly, a multitude of factors (incl. the paywalling and gatekeeping of knowledge) means that, although state and official interpretations of their datasets are often misleading or outright dishonest because they want to minimise risk, too often the self-styled 'covid communicators' online are not a solution to this and are prone to their own fallacious assumptions, conspiratorial thinking (see again: understanding politics as the product of many individuals believing something really hard, with no analysis of structural factors), poor data analysis, issues with comprehensive data collection in the first place (same as state sources. because they are usually using the same datasets), and a particular rhetorical emphasis on "listening to the science" that often manifests practically as a failure to actually engage with scientific methodology or to questionor improve it where it is lacking, incomplete, or bias-reproducing.

so. these are my issues with the state of covid communication; to me the question of how to navigate interpersonal relationships with people who don't value your life enough to protect it is just very different and the emotional engagement there is also quite different.

#covid

87 notes · View notes

bestworstcase · 5 months

Text

@tumblingxelian tag from here

#OK I'd legit love to hear your take on her interactions with Oscar

oh i think about the interrogation scene a normal amount

something i want to underline before diving in is the conspicuous discrepancy between the eloquence and spoken delivery of salem's soliloquies in V1/V3 (internal monologue) versus her dialogue (verbal speech). it's especially noticeable in juxtaposition with ozma's V7 soliloquy versus ozpin's dialogue, where no such discrepancy exists; oz talks the way he thinks, he's an excellent orator and even in casual conversation he's well-spoken and charismatic.

whereas salem... thinks eloquently and often poetically ("nature's wrath in hand, man lit their way through the darkness..." or "it's true that a simple spark can ignite hope, breathe fire into the hearts of the weary..."), but speaks with minimal rhetorical flair. her speech is also sometimes a little stilted or just very, very deliberate in a way that does not sound natural; and there's times—her conversation with cinder in V5 is a particularly noticeable example—where what she says circles around what she means.

"working with bandits? keeping ruby alive? what's the point? we're strong enough to take what we want by force!" / "never underestimate the usefulness of others; take leonardo. he was one of ozpin's most trusted, but now... hm. you will have the power i promised you when the time is right, but remember that it comes with a cost. if ruby rose has learned to harness her gift, you must take care to protect yours. there's only so much i can do to aid you."

<- its like. instead of just saying it, salem says examples supporting the idea she's trying to articulate. if a conversation were a math problem, salem shows all of her work but doesn't give the answer. and she does this A LOT.

none of the other characters in the story are like this—which means it isn't, like, a problem with the writers failing to write cogent dialogue. it's a deliberate character choice for salem specifically.

anyway, prior to the interrogation scene, salem only appears in contexts where she is either addressing her subordinates or—in V7—giving ironwood the terms of her siege. on two of these occasions, she get interrupted with unexpected new information (ozpin is back, ruby rose used the lamp) and in both cases, salem abruptly ends the conversation and either kicks everyone else out (V6) or leaves (V7).

and i think that's worth noting in relation to this scene, because the interrogation veers off script very fast and we get to see salem, um, Trying Her Best.

so!

as far as salem knows, oscar is gone. she expects—prepares for—a hostile and painful confrontation with ozma. when oscar wakes up, she's huddled against a pillar in a shadowy corner with an arm curled around herself and her head low, staring fixedly at conjured shadows of her dead children. she is Not Okay.

but when she speaks, her tone is conversational. almost cordial, once she's past the withering sarcasm in "my long lost ozma... found at last." it's affected! it's not real! she's reciting words she planned and probably rehearsed beforehand—which i think is likely the case for most of her little speeches. she's a poor speaker.

except... it's oscar. salem twigs that he isn't ozma the instant he talks, stares at him for a couple seconds without no visible reaction except that her mocking little smile fades, and:

snarls and grabs his face and yanks him down to get a better look at him—the mask just shatters. there's lots of ways to interpret this, but i'm inclined to take it as salem recognizing that this isn't ozma and then second-guessing that instinct and grabbing him because she needs to be absolutely sure.

"you can pretend, boy... but you're not fully him. not yet, at least." her tone shifts on every clause, from almost a growl to relieved to just sort of resigned. and then she drops him, exhales, steps back:

and just... stands there gazing into the middle distance for a couple seconds. like—oscar being here was not a possibility she even considered until it happened and upon finding herself in this situation her reaction is basically, "...um."

and then she's like

well... :)

perhaps you and i can have a better working reLaTiOnShiP.

...

oscar, >:[

was it? :\

laying aside the dire understatement of referring to what happened between her and ozma as a bad "working relationship," you can like. hear. the crash box crashing in her head as she says this. her tone swings from sweet and gentle to sardonic to coldly indifferent—and then she follows this by swerving right back into cordial neutrality. hrgkhsj her affect just goes haywire

and i think that happens because this is just so far out of expected bounds that she can't figure out how to say what she needs to say to get herself back on track. her speech smooths out again as soon as she segues into her questions, because she knows what she planned to ask ozma and she can tailor that to oscar instead.

but getting there? dial-up noises.

the hysterical part though is that it's really obvious this awkward verbal jumble isn't indicative of internal confusion or uncertainty, in that salem knows what she's going to do—her chosen tactics are clear and entirely coherent. she:

calms herself down and backs off.

states her intention to play nice if he cooperates.

both implicitly and explicitly differentiates him from ozma to indicate she understands he's his own person and can and will set her rage and bitterness with ozma aside to treat oscar fairly.

which is precisely what i meant in the OP, about salem having the necessary grasp of human nature to be—in theory—a formidable manipulator but lacking the social dexterity and charisma required to put it into effective practice. like, tactically this line of attack is very shrewd, but her awkward, erratic delivery cuts the legs out from under it because she sounds utterly insincere.

⭐️ she tried.

continuing on—salem first explains the context regarding what she needs to know about "the beacon relic" (sidebar, does... salem even know what it is? this is the only one she refers to this way. the lamp, the staff, the sword, and "the beacon relic"), all in a fairly amicable tone except for:

"if i know my ozma" <- she's implicitly positioning herself and oscar on the same 'side' against ozma. this follows from her deliberate rhetorical separation of oscar from ozma and also the basis of her strategy in coaxing this information out of oscar. the reason she's taking the time for this little prologue is not to help oscar understand why she captured him necessarily. she's (trying to) set out the rules of the game she is playing. trying to, because she's doing her showing-her-work-but-not-giving-the-answer thing again.

here's what she means:

"perhaps you and i can have a better working relationship. oscar, was it?" -> i can work with you because i know you're not him. "if i know my ozma, he has used some means of deception to hide [the relic's] location differently from the others." -> ozma lies. i despise him for lying to me. i expect you to prove to me that you're not like him in this specific way. "i need to know where it is." -> i want an honest answer.

salem knows he isn't going to tell her where ozma hid the relic, if oscar even knows that information; she doesn't expect or even want him to tell her that yet, necessarily. rather, this is a test. she wants to see if oscar will try to deceive her.

"that's not something i know about." he passes.

immediately, salem rewards him for being honest. "of course." she removes her hand from the hound's shoulder and moves away.

"he would keep that one guarded as long as possible." she also takes the opportunity to reinforce that she sees oscar as a separate individual and insinuates that ozma is actively keeping secrets from both of them.

and again, this is a cunning approach because:

oscar is scared and uncomfortable. he quite clearly anticipates that salem is going to get angry and hurt him as he says he doesn't know the answer. so when she accepts "i don't know" without hesitation and physically moves out of his personal space, it creates these feelings of surprise and relief.

that emotional reaction is the key to salem's strategy here. first she tells oscar that she will be reasonable if he cooperates, then she clarifies her expectations ("don't lie.") she asks a question knowing full well that he either can't or won't answer it. he says "i don't know" and braces for retaliation, but instead salem goes "okay" and turns down the heat. she's demonstrating through her actions that she's going to play fair.

"how about something easier, then? the password for the lamp."

she doesn't expect him to tell her this one either. not yet. it's another test that builds from the first. she's established that "i don't know" is a safe answer (as long as it's true). what salem's fishing for him to say now is "i'm not going to tell you that."

why? when she walked away, she left oscar hanging from the hound's jaws. salem lowered the heat—she didn't turn it all the way off. the point of all this is to teach oscar how to play her game, and the last rule he needs to know is that "i won't say" is also a safe answer. had he given her that answer, the hound would have set him down and withdrawn to lay down in the entryway.

only then would the game truly begin. the idea is to draw oscar into something like a real conversation and gradually get him comfortable saying things like "i don't know" and "i won't answer that question" by cultivating trust. once that rapport exists, it becomes really easy to turn the discussion around by asking oscar why? why not take the risk of trusting her with this or that information? after all, she's been nothing but polite and reasonable. does he truly still believe she's the evil monster ozma made her out to be? she gave him the benefit of the doubt... can't he do the same for her?

salem wins by convincing him she's a person he can negotiate with. that pulling this off would be the ultimate fuck-you to ozma only makes it more satisfying.

of course, that's not what actually happens. (partly because salem talked a circle about the "don't lie" rule and oscar—who hasn't spent the last four volumes seeing that his woman yells and flips tables when she's lied to—didn't pick up the hint.) instead, he tries to deceive her again and salem lashes out.

<- the physical violence gets all the attention from the fandom, and i do understand why, it's nasty and protracted and made to be viscerally unpleasant to watch, but. it's only a placeholder, something salem does while she considers what she's going to do—and say—to hurt him in a way that will never heal.

ok.

salem gets that oscar isn't ozma, didn't ask to become him, and feels desperate to retain his own identity distinct and separate from for as long as possible. she knows how ozma's reincarnation works, what this curse does to his hosts. it's not hard to figure out that it is a horrifying, traumatizing ordeal for the souls he's "paired" with. this is why she makes such a particular point of differentiating between oscar and ozma.

"the lies come out of you so easily." ("if i know my ozma, he has used some means of deception...")

why does she caress his face like this? to make him remember her like ozma does. "like-minded souls, indeed." you can pretend, boy, but so much of you is him that you remember even this.

the torture is just the preshow. this is the cruelest, most devastating thing she could possibly do to him, and salem knows it. she gave him a pass on pretending to be ozma, and he threw the second chance back in her face by lying to her again; she's furious and upset and she wants to HURT him.

this is how porous the boundaries between you and him have become. this is how close you are to being him. this is how little of you there is left to lose. like-minded souls, indeed.

like.

she does this to fuck with his head and it horrifies him so much that oscar spends the remainder of this arc actively choosing to endure being hazel's literal punching bag rather than let ozma take over or try to escape using ozma's magic. in 8.6:

OZMA: I’d like to express again that this is my burden to bear, not yours. His grudge is with me. OSCAR: No, it’ll be even worse. He’s holding back with me, I can tell. OZMA: I understand. I do. But you’ve done so much already. The least I can do is give you a break and try to get us out of here. OSCAR: We can’t leave yet.

they go back and forth, oscar proposes trying to flip hazel, ozma agrees it's worth a try. when hazel comes in, ozpin goes "oscar, please"—and because oscar doesn't respond, it's ambiguous whether he gives ozma control or if ozma shunts him aside again as he did at haven academy.

either way, the next we see of oscar after the interrogation scene is ozma entreating oscar to let him take over and oscar going no no no, that'll make it worse, no i don't need a break, i've got a plan, no no we have to stay here. and while his reasoning is cogent... this is a fifteen year old boy who's spent the whole day getting beaten up by a guy three times his size, and he actively wants to stay and be tortured more rather than let ozma front for a while.

and then in 8.9:

OZMA: I think this plan to divide may have run its course. It’s time we start thinking about a way out; not having our cane certainly limits our options, so… OSCAR: No! I don’t like what happens when we use magic. Every time we use it, I can feel us merging faster. I'm not ready for that.

the deeper truth gets spoken aloud.

this is not a new thing with oscar—his emotional core has always been existential dread—but framing it in this way, set against hours and hours of brutal torture that oscar insists is the less bad option, represents a massive spike in the intensity of his horror.

because salem Did That.

anyway the interrogation scene is great. 10/10.

#can't wait for her to have more Conversations in V10

83 notes · View notes

inkykeiji · 1 year

Text

i love it when i hear you breathing, i hope to god you’re never leaving

characters: dabi | todoroki touya, takami keigo | hawks

genre: smut and angst

notes: aaaah oh my gosh!!! i can’t believe this series is finally finished! this is the third and final part of my tag you’re it series. thank you so much to everyone who stuck with me and this series throughout these two years; you all mean the world to me and i hope you enjoy this final piece! as always, please heed the warnings below and stay safe!! | title credit: tag you’re it by melanie martinez

part one | part two | part three

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, toxic relationships, drug use and abuse, overdosing, hospitals, blood, verbal fights, daddy kink, minimal prep, size kink/size difference, degradation/dumbification with a dose of praise, rough sex, biting/marking, dacryphilia, a hint of mindbreak

words: 14.9k

synopsis:

What is real? What is right? Does it exist in concrete terms, or is it some sort of continuum? Is it easily sorted and separated, like pans of paint on a palette, or is it all muddled and bleeding together, like strands of paint in a glass jar, irrevocably intertwined as they dissipate in the water and impossible to separate in any way, colour of the tainted water morphing depending on the angle the light hits it at?

Does it even matter at all, when your brother is in the hospital and your boyfriend, no matter how implicitly or explicitly, had a hand in putting him there?

It’s been three weeks since yours and Keigo’s accidental meeting on the track, three weeks since you’ve been meeting privately, behind Dabi’s back, three weeks that you’ve gotten absolutely nowhere in terms of any sort of ‘plan’.

It isn’t either of your faults, you think. Your time spent together is incredibly limited, which makes it incredibly precious, and neither of you particularly want to spend it discussing the difficult stuff—your brother’s addiction, and how to deal with it.

“I can buy my own food, you know,” Keigo jokes as you sit down across from him, crosslegged, knees bumping against his own.

“I know you can,” you say as you hand him a small bento, stuffed to the brim with rice and yakitori. “But you don’t.”

“Well—”

“And you don’t make your lunches, either,” you continue dryly. “I bet you haven’t made a single lunch for yourself since I moved out.”

“I mean—”

“Buying lunches from the convenience store doesn’t count,” you add, and Keigo has the decency to look sheepish, huffing out a soft chuckle as he regards you wearily through his lashes, a hand scrubbing at the back of his neck.

“You know me too well, songbird.”

“I’d hope so, I’ve only known you my entire life.”

Another laugh tickles his throat, this time sweeter, gentler, and his gaze softens a little, fondness melting his ire, a dirty finger reaching out to caress your cheek. Your head tilts instinctively, nuzzling into his touch, and his smile spreads, eyes crinkling at the corners.

You know you must talk about all of that difficult stuff eventually, can feel it all piling up at the back of your consciousness, growing larger and larger, heavier and heavier, as it slowly encroaches on the future, but it’s been so long since you’ve just been able to sit together.

It’s been so long since you’ve been afforded the luxury of just basking in each other’s presence, of just enjoying each other’s company, of just existing together that it now feels as though you must cherish every single moment, unwilling to waste even a second on something so unpleasant, so complicated and full of pain.

What used to be so regular, so routine for the both of you has now become something to be coveted and protected, each of you reluctant to break the delicate peace thinly glazing something hard.

“Thank you for this,” Keigo says as he looks down at the box in his palms. “It looks delicious.”

“It’s not much,” you shrug as you tug open your own lunch box, eyes focused on your actions and avoiding his own. “But it’s better than nothing.”

“It’s perfect, and I love it,” Keigo says warmly, his hand on your thigh prompting your gaze to his. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you murmur as you place a hand over his, a small grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. “I’m glad you like it. I mean, it is your favourite, after all.”

“It is,” Keigo nods before craning his neck a little, peering into your lap. “And, uh, what’s in yours?”

You can’t help the fond little snort that barrels up your throat as you look down at your own lunch, a crude version of one of those picturesque bento boxes you’d find on Pinterest, the seaweed faces all muffed up, the heart-shaped rice balls lumpy and uneven, the small medley of vegetables messy and overflowing.

“Dabi made it,” you respond softly, still smiling down at the food, index finger tracing the plastic edge of the container. “They always look ugly, but they taste surprisingly good. He tries his best to make them look cute, but…”

“He’s too rough.”

“He doesn’t know how,” you correct. “But it doesn’t matter, I love them all the same.”

Keigo hums to himself, chopsticks clicking together before they dive into rice. “And he makes those for you every day?”

“Every single day. Even when he’s running late.”

“That’s…Uh, that’s really thoughtful of him,” Keigo chuckles a little, the sound drenched in incredulity, head tilting slightly. “Honestly, I’m surprised.”

“You don’t give him enough credit,” you say lightly, attempting to keep accusation from seeping into your voice.

Keigo scoffs at that, eyes rolling with a shake of his head. Yeah, sure, he doesn’t give the guy who emotionally manipulates his baby sister and dangles drugs in front of his face like he’s some sort of fucking dog ‘enough credit’.

“I’m serious,” you continue, an edge sharpening your voice. “He does a lot for me, Keigo.”

“I’m not saying he doesn’t.”

“Really? Because that look in your eyes is telling me otherwise.”

“Look,” Keigo sighs, eyes closing briefly with the slow exhale of breath. “I don’t want to fight with you. Not here, not now. Let’s just…Can we talk about something else?”

Silence rings in the air, dense as it weights the atmosphere, and Keigo’s tongue sucks on his teeth as he waits, a desperate attempt to keep his criticisms safe in his throat.

It isn’t like he doesn’t recognize all that Dabi does for you; he does. He sees it, even it if makes his chest burn and his eyes sting and his heart ache, even if he wishes he didn’t. He can’t exactly deny that Dabi takes good care of you—in some respects, at least.

But that doesn’t negate all of the bad Dabi commits, too.

That doesn’t negate the fact that he’s a criminal, that doesn’t negate the fact that he’s highly and convincingly conniving, that doesn’t negate the fact that, while Dabi may take good care of you, Keigo takes great care of you.

“Yeah,” you say quietly, after a few moments of tense contemplation, chopsticks poking idly at your meal. “Yeah, sure.”

Reticence saturates your features, eyes forlorn and despondent as they watch your motions with idle disinterest, and guilt unfurls deep in the pit of Keigo’s stomach, thick and sticky like tar as it seeps through his tissues, encasing the surrounding organs in its suffocating embrace.

Swallowing thickly, Keigo pushes forward.

“Uh, so. How are your classes going? Are you sure you can be skipping class like this every week?”

“Oh, sure,” you shrug, eyes still downcast. “I’m ahead in this class. Actually, I’m ahead in all of my classes. Um, I’m doing better than I ever have been before.”

“You are?” Keigo asks, eyes wide, and it’s hard for him to stifle the notes of surprise ringing high in his voice.

“Uh-huh,” you nod. “Dabi really keeps on top of my schoolwork. I study every single night, all of my readings are done on time, I start all of my assignments early…” you trail off, chewing on the end of one of your chopsticks. “There isn’t really much else to do while—”

A frown laced with concern tugs at Keigo’s lips, his forehead wrinkling as he observes you carefully. “While what?”

“I—While Dabi works.”

“Works,” Keigo repeats slowly, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “And what exactly does that entail?”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about him.”

“Well now I do.”

“Keigo, please—”

“Does he take you out with him?”

“No!” you shake your head vehemently, voice glassy and thin. “He leaves me with Jin most of the time,” you say, defensive. “Jin is a friend—he owns the convenience store at the base of Dabi’s building, and, uh…”

“Go on.”

“And he takes me to The League a lot.”

“The diner?”

“Yeah, they…I mean, they have meetings there, and stuff,” you say slowly, unsure of how much you should reveal to Keigo, of how much you’re allowed to reveal to Keigo. “And so I—I just do my work while they do all that.”

“They?”

“His friends.”

“And what about your friends? Do you ever hang out with them anymore?”

“His friends are my friends,” you respond dutifully, though there’s genuine warmth in your tone, a sweet little smile cracking through the hard dejection coating your face.

“Songbird…” he begins slowly, eyebrows pushed together and forehead creased with concern, and you can hear it, can hear him gearing up to deliver one of his signature Big Brother Lectures, one of his I’m-Older-and-I-Know-Better speeches, piercing stare overflowing with worry dipped in disapproval.

“Look, it’s fine,” you say dismissively, a distinct note of protection ringing clear in your voice. “It isn’t like I really had any friends before anyway, not when I was too busy—”

Too busy taking care of you.

You kill the rest of the sentence before it can reach your tongue, but it doesn’t matter. He already knows exactly what you were going to say.

And he already knows you’re exactly right.

✰ ✰ ✰

The time to broach the topic finally comes during the next week, after the two of you have cleaned out your simple bentos for the day, when you can no longer keep it locked up anymore, can no longer continue with this pretty facade no matter how nice it is, the winter wind whistling down the desolate subway tunnel, long forgotten beneath the grounds of the university.

“Let me check you into a program, or something,” you beg, beseeching eyes rapidly scanning his features, little fingers digging into his biceps, flexing in your fervour. “Let me help make you better! I want nothing more, Kei-nii, I swear.”

“I can’t go into treatment, songbird,” he responds, desperately trying to rid his voice of that frustrated tremor, to keep his voice even and calm. “You know I can’t. The moment they catch wind of my addiction, my scholarship is gone—”

“So!”

“—Along with all of the opportunities that had come with it,” he continues, eyes hard.

“Well I mean, can’t they cover it up or something?” You cry, distraught. “Your coaches, or the crooked sponsors who already know, the ones who keep this secret for you?”

Dryly, Keigo shoots you a glare. “It’ll be very difficult to cover up a sudden prolonged absence.”

Begrudgingly, he has a point.

“Well what, then?” you ask, whole body deflating, leaning against him in your defeat. “What’s our plan? You said we’d make one—to beat this, to make it all better, to make it all right again, but—”

“I’ll do it on my own,” he says resolutely, and his voice is so strong, so sure that you can’t help but believe him. “Okay? I’ll take a week—next week—and I’ll throw it all away. Flush it, pour it down the sink, do whatever I can to get rid of it for good, and then I’ll weather the withdrawal.”

“Really?” you gasp out, both hands clutching his arm in their excitement, wide eyes shining with potent hope as they search his face. “You—You’ll be okay doing it alone?”

“Yeah, songbird, really,” a thumb swipes across your cheek, eyes liquid amber as they gaze at you. “I can do it. For you.”

“For you, too,” you remind gently, Dabi’s words ringing out clearly against the walls of your skull. He has to want to get better for himself, baby, or it’ll never work. No one else can do it for him.

“Yeah, for me, too.”

And, for a moment, it appears as though he has done it. Two weeks later, he looks better, sounds better, feels better, curls shimmering bright and gold, cheeks rosy and full of health, muscles beginning to swell as they regain strength, twining themselves protectively around his sharp bones.

You’re so elated by his apparent success, so in awe of it all, that you insist the two of you tell Dabi right away, desperate to share the good news with your boyfriend.

But it isn’t a good idea, Keigo tells you. Not now, not yet.

“Dabi has to see it for himself—Dabi needs proof. Telling him prematurely not only outs our little meetings here, but I can almost guarantee it’ll be met with a hefty dose of doubt.”

Eyes lidded with carelessness, Keigo mimics Dabi, doing a surprisingly good job, his voice flat and apathetic, his stare bored and jaded.

“Yeah, sure, he’s clean for now. But will he be clean in a week from now? A month from now? A year from now?” Keigo shakes his head. “Dabi needs to see that I’m truly doing this, that I’m dedicated to doing this.”

You suppose that makes sense. And you don’t ever want to do anything to put your niisan in danger.

But you, God, you’re so proud of him, so proud of the progress you think he’s made, so proud of the commitment he’s displaying.

Maybe Dabi will finally allow the two of you to start meeting again, as soon as he sees the dedication Keigo has to getting better, you’re chattering on animatedly one afternoon, head resting dreamily on your big brother’s shoulder.

Maybe, Keigo shrugs.

Maybe not.

Because while Keigo is getting better, and slow progress is better than no progress, he isn’t exactly as clean as you think he is, and Dabi knows it all the same.

He masks it well, he thinks. The plan you had concocted together had been to choose a week where Keigo would finally quit, cold turkey, no assistance at all (because he adamantly refused it), and stay home ‘sick’ as the withdrawal took it’s vicious toll on his body.

And he did, for the most part. He did go through withdrawal, he did stay clean for a moment or two, but he didn’t stop shooting, hasn’t stopped shooting; not technically, not entirely.

He’s just shooting way less now, the dosage only a smidge of what his body was accustomed to. It barely gets him high, barely makes him feel anything at all—nothing more than a tingling, wispy warmth reminiscent of that unparalleled bliss he loved so much—but it’s better than nothing at all.

Dabi had been intrigued, impressed, it had seemed, by Keigo’s sudden urge to cut down drastically.

“What’s up with you?” he finally asks, the third time they meet after Keigo’s so-called ‘purge’, the reduced dosage held securely in his rough hand.

“What d’ya mean?” Keigo murmurs distractedly as he cards through the money in his wallet, counting it under his breath.

“You know exactly what I mean,” Dabi snorts, shuffling the small packets in his palm, accentuating his words.

“Oh,” Keigo glances up, fingers stilling. “Uh, just trying to quit, that’s all.”

“Quit?” Dabi blinks in shock or surprise, Keigo can’t be sure which. Sapphire rakes over his body, slow and methodical, a smile slithering across his face as his gaze drifts back to Keigo’s. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Keigo swallows, desperate to keep his voice calm. “I—I’m trying to do it slowly. Lower the dosage until my body doesn’t need it anymore.”

“You know, that’s not really how it works,” Dabi begins, suspicion bleeding into his voice, eyes narrowing as he regards Keigo with a sweeping gaze, fingers curling into a protective fist over the drugs. “Besides, that’s a slippery fucking slope, Keigo. Sure, you’re doing it now, but what happens when something triggers you, huh? What happens when you suddenly need a higher dose, just today, just this once, because you’re stressed, or sad, or whatever the fuck it is. Hmm? You need to have self-restraint made of platinum to quit in this fashion.”

Shrugging, Keigo looks away. “Yeah, well, I’m trying this first. If this doesn’t work, I’ll try something else.”

And he hates the way his words quiver slightly, hates the way his voice rings tinny and high with lies, with terror.

Tilting his head, Dabi hums, eyes performing another full-body scan of Keigo. “And why the sudden change of heart?”

“What?”

“Why now? Why are you unexpectedly deciding to quit now, instead of after all those instances of your sister begging you to quit; after I told you to quit how many times? What changed?”

Keigo’s palms prickle with sweat, and his hands ball into tight fists, a desperate attempt to halt the tingling, fingers flexing as they unfurl again.

“I—I miss her,” he manages to stutter out, blowing the confession from his mouth in a gust of breath. “And I, uh, I want to do this for her. Your combined pleads took a little while to set in, I guess,” he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, nibbling at the thin skin, feigning contemplation. “But I hear what you’ve both been saying now, loud and clear, and I’ve decided you’re right.”

“Really?” And although the question sounds genuine, something sharp and dangerous glints in Dabi’s gaze; piercing, penetrative. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

He can tell Dabi doesn’t buy it for a fucking second, eyes attempting to dissect Keigo’s mind, to pry apart the tangle of tissue and neurons and synapses and peer inside for the truth.

But he can’t.

“Alright,” he says slowly, the word soaked in incredulity, as he exchanges powder for paper. “Good luck, then.

“Thanks,” Keigo says flatly, already beginning to back away, inching towards his car. “And uh, hey, don’t tell my sister.”

Dabi’s eyebrows push together, forehead wrinkled with confusion. “The fuck? Why not?”

“Because I want it to be a surprise, you know, when I’m fully clean. I don’t want her to know anything until I’ve made it.”

Dabi stares at him for a moment, another one of those invasive, assessing looks where he attempts to decipher Keigo through his expressions alone,

It’s only after Dabi’s car is long gone that Keigo can breathe normally again, heart abandoning its venture to shatter his ribs and flatten his lungs. His head drops in relief as the tension in his neck ebbs, his forehead pressed tight to the steering wheel.

He’s safe; for now, at least. He knows Dabi isn’t at risk of discovering yours and Keigo’s secret meetings, because you wouldn’t dare tell him and risk upsetting him—or, worse, getting yourself and your brother into some serious trouble—and he knows Dabi won’t tell you about Keigo continuing to purchase drugs from him, because you don’t ask—won’t ask, have no reason to ask, have no reason not to trust in your big brother’s truths—and Keigo trusts, for some inexplicable reason, that Dabi will not tell you about their questionable conversation today, not until he figures out what’s really going on, anyway.

And, sure, Keigo feels guilty lying to you, misleading you in such a manner, but it isn’t like he plans to keep this up forever. Besides, he’s nearly clean anyway, isn’t he? He may not be there in it’s entirety yet, but he is doing better and progress is progress, even if it isn’t as much progress as you’re giving him credit for. He will quit eventually, he swears it. He will kick the habit, permanently, he knows it.

He just needs a little more time.

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s always the most inconspicuous things that do it, that set something off, that give something away, that indicate that something isn’t quite right.

The question comes late one night, after you’ve both finished cleaning up the small kitchenette, as Dabi’s putting away Tupperware containers.

It’s asked innocuously enough, imbued with a touch of genuine curiosity, voice muffled by the cabinet his head is currently buried in.

“Where the hell are all our bento boxes disappearing off to?”

“Uh,” you blink, mind taking a moment to register the question, the shock—and stupidity—of you’re failing to realize that this might be a red flag numbing your brain. “What?”

“Our bento boxes?” Dabi repeats as he stands, turning to face you, eyes performing a singular sweep across your face. “We’ve gotta be missing like, half of them now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Dabi scoffs. “I bought them specially for you. They weren’t fuckin’ cheap, and I know how many I bought.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly, chest beginning to tingle with adrenaline. “I—I don’t know, Daddy, I didn’t even realize we had any missing. Maybe I left some in your car?”

“Pretty sure I would’ve noticed dirty containers in my car if there were any,” he retorts dryly.

“Um,” you hum, desperate to keep your expression from giving you away—to keep your mouth from trembling and eyes from widening—features scrunching in mock thought. “Well, then maybe I left some at school! I’ll check with each of my profs throughout the week and see if they remember finding any.”

Skepticism shines bright and blue in his narrowed eyes, stare steadily holding your own. It feels as though he’s trying to dissect you with his eyes as his sole tool, to tear the skin from your face and split your skull and peer inside, searching for the answer he’s looking for, searching for the truth.

“This isn’t like you, princess,” he says slowly, each word a deliberate thought, handpicked. “You aren’t usually forgetful. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you respond instantly, the word barely more than a huff of breath. “Nothing, I just—Maybe I’m just stressed, you know? Midterms are coming up and all that, so…”

“There’s been a lot of maybes peppered throughout your sentences today. Is there anything you know for certain?”

You know he can tell, can see it shimmering in your eyes, gaping and alert; can see it wavering in your smile, artificial and stretched too tight across your cheeks.

A lie.

“Hmm?” he presses.

Shoulders raising in a defeated shrug, you shake your head, sucking on your tongue. He scrutinizes you for another moment more, sapphire performing one final sweep across your features, slow and thorough, before he nods to himself—just once, a sharp and short motion—and turns away.

If there’s anything he knows for certain, it’s that you’re hiding something. The only question is what.

✰ ✰ ✰

“Are you sure this is really necessary?” Tomura’s asking as he exhales steady streams of smoke from his nostrils, regarding Dabi blankly through the haze, crimson eyes watching through lidded lashes while Dabi paces the length of his car—back and forth, back and forth, a restless panther waiting and ready to strike—in the dimly lit diner parking lot.

“Yes,” Dabi snaps. “They’re both acting too weird; it’s too much of a coincidence.”

“It’s missing bento containers and a guy who’s cutting down on his drug use, actually. It’s entirely plausible the two have absolutely no connection to each other whatsoever.”

“You don’t get it,” Dabi nearly snarls, stride halted to whip around and face his friend. “Alright? You didn’t see the two of them, their eyes…There was something odd, wrong, in their eyes. And their voices, too. They sounded, I dunno, fake.” False. Off. Tinny and artificial and quivering ever-so-slightly with the restraint of hiding something.

“Are you…Did you take something?”

“You know I don’t do that anymore,” Dabi seethes.

“Yeah, yeah, right, but I just thought…” Tomura trails off, shrugging, the cashmere of his sweater catching on the brick wall behind him. “Dunno. Thought the stress might be getting to you, or something. Thought a few lines might take the edge off, maybe, but you know how coke can make you paranoid—”

“I’m not high, Tomura. I haven’t been high since—”

“Yeah, I know,” Tomura rolls his eyes. “But you’re acting a little weird, that’s all. Agitated. Jumpy. Could’ve been a possibility, whatever.” Flicking at the cigarette resting on his knuckle, Tomura disregards the idea, tendrils of smoke curling delicately in the air between them. “I still don’t see the correlation between these events, though.”

“You don’t need to see the correlation, for fuck’s sake,” Dabi finally explodes, throwing his arms in the air. “You only need to help me.”

“Don’t tell me what I need to do,” Tomura warns, something sharp slashing through ruby irises. “You may be my best friend and all, but I’m still technically your fucking boss.”

“Your dad is my fucking boss, actually,” Dabi corrects, smugness temporarily melting his frustration, an eyebrow raised in playful challenge. “But details don’t matter, this has nothing to do with work. This is simply one friend asking another friend for a favour.”

Running his tongue along the front of his teeth, Tomura stares at the man in front of him, contemplating. After a moment, he pushes himself up from his slouching position, a resigned sigh heavy on his chest.

“Alright, fine. But when this turns out to be nothing, I get to tease you for being a fucking lunatic.”

It won’t be nothing. Dabi can feel it in his soul.

And, as always, he was right.

“That fucking bitch!” Dabi screams when Tomura delivers the news outside of one of his father’s warehouses, features screwing into a wince as his best friend’s fist collides with the closest car window, glass shattering upon impact. “I knew it! I knew she was hiding something from me!”

Dabi’s had enlisted in Tomura to tail you for roughly five days now, documenting every single thing you do from the moment you arrive on campus to the moment Dabi—or one of Dabi’s friends—picks you up.

And on the following Tuesday, this Tuesday, he hit the fucking jackpot.

“How dare she! After all I’ve done for her, you know? After everything I’ve done for her and that good-for-nothing pathetic brother of hers…” Dabi shakes his head, tufts of ink bouncing violently with the motion before sharp teeth pull a cigarette free from a weathered cardboard carton, the corners worn and fraying. “And this is how they repay me? By sneaking around behind my back and fucking lying to my face about it? By disobeying the most important rule I’ve set?”

Scarlet oozes from his knuckles, gleaming in the late afternoon sun. His skin sparkles as unsteady hands pat his body in search of an opening, microscopic shards of glass still embedded in his skin. Trembling fingers pull a silver Zippo free from his pocket and whip it open, thumb missing the flint wheel twice, a growled curse rumbling in his throat.

“I can’t fucking believe it,” Tomura says as he sits perched on the hood of his parked Maybach, a burger in his lap and grease shining on his fingers. A nod of his head motions for Dabi to come closer, soft palms cupping Dabi’s blood streaked hand and igniting the Zippo with ease, steadying the flame as Dabi leans in to torch his cigarette. “You were right. I can’t fucking believe it.”

“Of course I was fucking right!” Dabi roars through a dense shroud of smoke.

“So, now what?” Tomura asks as he nibbles on his burger bun. “What do we do?”

“Oh, it’s a we now, is it?”

“Would you rather it not be a we?”

“No,” Dabi responds through a begrudging frown. “Your help is valuable.”

“Thank you.”

“Honestly, I should fucking kill him for everything he’s done, for such disrespect,” Dabi seethes, nostrils flaring, that tense fury unable to hide the distinct crack at the end of his words. “I should bash his fucking skull against a brick wall.”

“Sure,” Tomura says easily, examining a piece of wavy lettuce before pulling it free and throwing it to the dirt floor. “He deserves to be dead. But what would she think? How would she react?”

“She’d be better off if he just wasn’t in her life anymore.”

“Maybe,” Tomura agrees. “But that doesn’t change the fact that she’ll never forgive you if you kill her big brother.”

“I could make it look like an accident,” Dabi says.

“You could try,” Tomura corrects. “But you know just as well as I do that staging accidental deaths is no easy feat.”

“He’s a fucking junkie,” Dabi says, as if this is obviously the answer to all of his problems. “Slip some fentanyl in his smack and bam! Dead within minutes.”

“She’d know it was you.”

“How?”

Tomura sighs, index finger rubbing at one of his eyes.

“Dabi, for as well as you know her, she knows you, too. Do you really think you could look her straight in the eye at her brother’s funeral and tell her you didn’t have a hand in it? While she’s sobbing over the man you despise so much, the man who has caused her so much suffering—who still causes her so much suffering—do you honestly believe your eyes or your voice won’t betray you?”

A growl rattles his ribs, facial features crunched together in a tight glower. Holding his blazing stare with ease, Tomura raises an eyebrow in question, smugness tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Fine, fuck,” Dabi finally erupts with an exasperated gasp, viciously turning away from his best friend and raking both hands through his hair, nails audibly scraping against his scalp as his fingers curl, tugging at the roots.

“Well then, what, huh?” he’s asking as he spins back around, voice straining under desperation, sapphire frantic as it searches Tomura’s face for an answer. “What? Because I’m all out of fucking ideas.”

“Threatening him might work.”

Dabi shakes his head. “I’ve tried that. I even took away his most precious possession. Nothing seems to get through this motherfucker’s head.”

“Well, not quite.”

“What?”

“Not quite. You haven’t truly taken away his most precious possession, have you?”

“Heroin?”

“Yeah, cut him off or something. He told you he was trying to quit, didn’t he? That he was on the way, or whatever. Why don’t you help give him an extra push?”

“And if he goes to find it somewhere else?” Dabi questions.

“My father will know,” Tomura’s lips curl up into a sinister smile, crimson eyes practically glowing. “And so will we.”

✰ ✰ ✰

Dabi doesn’t go home. Dabi can’t go home; not like this, not with the way his heart rages against his ribs and singes his chest, not without losing his entire fucking mind on you and spoiling his whole plan.

Instead, he pays Keigo a much-needed visit.

The terror-tinged surprise that saturates Keigo’s features when Dabi turns up on the other side of his front door is almost laughable—in fact, Dabi’s sure he would laugh if his insides weren’t boiling in his own rage—Keigo’s body gone loose and pliant in its shock, making it exceptionally easy for Dabi to wrap a hand around his bicep and yank him through the doorway of that godforsaken house.

“Get in the car,” he’s saying as he shoves Keigo towards the Eldorado, buckles of his boots jingling daintily as his heels collide with concrete.

“What?” Keigo asks as he stumbles to a stop, the question nothing more than an incredulous huff of breath.

“Get in the car,” Dabi repeats, slow, calm, cold, stare holding Keigo’s over the roof of the car. “Or I will put you in the fucking car.”

The drive isn’t long—maybe a mere twenty minutes or so—but it’s to an area of the city that Keigo has never visited before; an area with cracked asphalt and orange caps littering the dead grass, an areas with sun-washed plastic slides and rusted swing chains; untended, uncared for, and forgotten.

Rocks pop beneath the tires of the Eldorado as Dabi pulls into what might have been, once upon a time, a park, the lot full of faded concrete with peeling white paint and thorny weeds sprouting up through the fragmented cement, the field an unruly tangle of jade with a chain link fence that leads to nowhere.

“Get out,” Dabi instructs. “Let’s go for a walk.”

Using his teeth to pull a cigarette free from a veiny cardboard box, Dabi begins to stroll along the warped fence, Keigo starting a little in his haste to catch up to him. The sharp twinge of metal slicing against metal as Dabi whips his Zippo open makes Keigo cringe, the harsh sound piercing the thick atmosphere.

“So,” Dabi finally says, puffing the word out with a heavy cloud of smoke. “I know what you’ve been doing.”

Frowning, Keigo blinks at him, eyebrows furrowing slightly in confusion. “What are you—”

“Don’t play fucking dumb with me, Keigo. Not today. I don’t have the patience.”

The sentence, while flat, has an edge of warning to it, complemented by Dabi’s look of caution, thrown at Keigo through the side of his eye.

Chest deflating, Keigo slumps forward, head hung shamefully between his shoulders. “How’d you find out?”

“Does it matter?” Dabi stops suddenly, turning to face him. His tone is bored, almost indifferent in a way, but Keigo can see it: that restrained anger, wavering sapphire flames burning bright in his eyes.

Lips pressed together, Keigo holds his blazing stare, waiting for him to continue.

“Surely you must’ve known I’d find out eventually,” Dabi laughs a little, and it’s cruel, mean, mocking. “Surely you knew you wouldn’t be able to keep such a secret from me for very long.”

Maybe Keigo did. Maybe, on some deeply subconscious level, Keigo knew this would happen, knew this would be the end result no matter which way they tried to spin it, because it’s the only result it could’ve ever ended with.

Maybe not. Maybe Keigo was foolish—he has always had a streak of dreamer in him, after all—maybe Keigo was hopeful, desperate, that this would all somehow work out in the end, that the power of your love and your hope and your sheer, steadfast belief in him would enable him to magically quit, to kick the habit forever without any assistance or hard work at all—and everything would go back to normal.

He answers with a shrug, expression saturated in a sort of ambivalent confusion, and Dabi’s nostrils twitch.

“Fucking look at me.”

With a flexing jaw, Keigo’s head lifts slowly, his stare nearly dead, exhausted, but there are cinders of anger, frustration, maybe even hatred smoldering in those golden eyes, flaring as they meet the flames licking along Dabi’s pupils.

They’re extinguished almost as quickly as they’re ignited, though, weak flickers snuffed out by the smug smirk on Dabi’s face, and his features sag under the weight of dismal weariness.

“Just...Whatever you do, don’t hurt her, alright? It wasn’t her fault.”

His voice is quiet, resigned, though it isn’t enough to mask the delicate tremor sewn into his words—something full of defeated fury, of disquieted frustration as Dabi comes stomping through his life with his big black boots and crushes it all to dust, burns it all to ash, breaks it all again, because that’s what he’s best at.

“Hurt her?” Dabi’s voice raises in sincere surprise. “You know I’d never.”

“I don’t mean physically,” Keigo clarifies, topaz solidifying in his eyes; hard, gleaming.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Dabi dismisses with a nonchalant wave of his hand. “Because she isn’t going to know about this at all.”

“What?” Keigo spits, eyes narrowing with sharp suspicion. “What are you—”

“Because you and I,” Dabi continues, speaking over Keigo, voice clear and strong. “Are going to make a deal.”

Blood turns to ice in his veins, frost lacquering his bones, and Keigo’s body freezes, the hinges of his jaw creaking as he forces the word from his tongue.

“A-A deal?” Keigo pants out, breath trembling slightly.

“That’s right.”

Something vicious glints in Dabi’s eye—something sharp and dangerous, half-submerged in sapphire—and his mouth stretches into an abnormally large smile, spread so deep and tight across his face it looks as though it’s been carved into his cheeks.

A gust of wind tangles in the bare branches of a nearby tree, bark knocking together, and Keigo shudders, the breeze like a million little pinpricks piercing his clammy skin.

“You want to get clean, right? I mean, you’re trying to get clean, aren’t you? On the way to being completely sober and all that; that’s what you told me, is it not?”

“Yes,” Keigo says slowly, cautiously, as if the letters are navigating a field of landmines, one wrong intonation and he could trigger a fucking explosion.

“I’m going to help you.”

Dabi’s voice has suddenly turned amicable, as if it’s been shocked back to life from the indifferent, bland anger it contained only moments ago, now vibrant with this control, gleeful with this power.

“Help me?”

“I’ll allow you to keep seeing your sister on one condition,” Dabi pauses, and Keigo’s too petrified to ask, rooted in place, breath held stagnant in his lungs. “From this day forward, you will never take another drug for as long as you live.”

And, just like that, Keigo’s whole world, teetering precariously on the point of a needle, comes toppling down.

“One single slip-up, one teeny, tiny mistake—one shot, one snort, one swallow and I can promise you, you will never see your baby sister again.”

Frantic topaz flies across Dabi’s face, rapid as it searches his expression for any indication that this isn’t real, isn’t true, isn’t happening. His thoughts flow in hasty conjunction with his gaze, frenzied brain working desperately to figure out an immediate loophole.

His breath is coming faster now, short, sharp, uneven huffs shoved from his mouth as panic claws up his throat. No. No. This can’t be happening right now—there’s no way this is happening right now, because he’s not ready yet. He’s not ready to give it up yet, not ready to face reality without it yet, the thought of his addiction being prematurely ripped from his palms inspiring another bout of thick dread to course through his veins, drenching any remaining flickers of anger.

Keigo tries to tell Dabi this, to explain that this is all happening too quickly, too suddenly, that he needs more time, just a little more time, he swears—but his voice whimpers in his throat, sentiments rendered nothing more than pathetic squeaks of breath.

“If I find out you’ve purchased even one tenth of a fucking milligram of any narcotic I swear to the good Lord himself, I will take your sister so fucking far from this country that she won’t even know where the fuck she is. Do I make myself clear?” Dabi pauses, allowing Keigo a moment to respond with a mechanical nod.

“And I will find out, Keigo,” blue eyes shimmer with mirth, that sharp glint practically glowing now, so strikingly brilliant Keigo has to look away, a malicious laugh rattling around in Dabi’s mouth. “I own this fucking city now.”

✰ ✰ ✰

The front door swings open with a vigorous flourish, the fork between your fingers slipping from your grasp and clattering against the warped hardwood floor.

“Gosh, Daddy,” you breathe, a palm pressed to your racing heart, a hesitant smile tugging at your lips. “You scared me!”

He says nothing as he stalks towards you, a large grin stretched tightly across his face, sapphire eyes shimmering in the low light, irises seeming to swirl with something akin to delight, darkened with delirium.

“What’re you—”

Calloused hands seize your face the moment they’re close enough, slim fingers hooked behind the hinges of your jaw as they drag you toward their owner. Sharp teeth suck your bottom lip between their edges, sinking into your soft flesh and keeping it captive as Dabi’s tongue caresses it in slow, fat strokes.

Copper floods your mouth, the strength of the bite forcing a squeal from your throat into his, Dabi’s tongue dipping into the warm heat to soak up your blood—to stain his own flesh with it, to suck it in and swallow it down, to keep it inside of him; a small piece of you, infused in thick sticky crimson that seeps through his tissues and into his soul.

“Hi, princess,” he breathes as his forehead presses tightly to your own, eyes so brilliant and bright with exhilaration it’s almost as if they’re glowing.

“Hi,” you can’t help but laugh a little around the greeting, your gaze searching his face in happy confusion as your arms twine around his neck, pulling your body closer to his.

Breathy little giggles laced with mania waft across your face as his palms find your ass, fingers flexing against the supple flesh before he’s hefting you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, ankles hooked and heels digging into the dips at the base of his spine.

And then, he begins.

It’s almost elegant, the way he twirls your clinging bodies around the tiny kitchen to whatever invisible, silent tune is playing within the walls of his skull—something that you are not privy to, something that has him feeling elated—narrowly missing the corners of cabinets and the edges of counters as he goes, movements fluid and effortless.

But it doesn’t matter that you can’t hear the melody, the song in his head supplemented by your intertwined laughter, the sweetest music either of you could ever ask for, notes full of amusement and affection as it encases your conjoined forms, blanketing the atmosphere and filling it with the warmth of love.

The front door is still hanging open, dull yellow light from the hallway spilling into Dabi’s small apartment and alighting it with a hazy glow.

“Dabi, Dabi, the door!” you’re laughing out as he whirls toward it, skillfully using the ball of his foot to kick it shut as he ends his performance with a graceful spin and slots you up against the surface, trapping you between the cool metal and his body.

“What has gotten into you?” you’re asking as your chests heave together, eyes searching his face for any indication of an answer, residual amusement still tinging your words.

“I love you, that’s all,” he responds simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “I love you, and I’m happy you’re mine.”

“I am happy to be yours,” you say softly, a hand moving to brush a strand of ink out of his eye.

“Good,” he whispers, nose nudging yours slightly. “That’s exactly how it should be.”

The claim is sealed with his lips, over and over as they stamp their claim across your flesh using broken blood vessels and thick saliva.

His teeth are ruthless as they mar your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, leaving superficial splices across your soft skin, little slashes that weep blood. His lips are gentle as they kiss the blood away, murmuring affirmations of love into the wounds, strokes of scarlet staining his flesh.

Calloused hands explore the curves and contours of your body—the notches of your spine and the ridges of your shoulders, the swell of your breasts and the bends of your tummy, rough fingers dipping between your dress and your skin to tug at the material.

Daddy can’t wait but it seems, neither can you.

“I need you, baby,” he nearly whines, pet name cracking in desperation. “I need you, I need you right now.”

“Take me,” you’re gasping, little hands pawing at his clothing, trying to pull him closer. “Take me, take me, I’m yours!”

“Get my cock out,” he’s demanding, your hands moving to obey before the order has fully left his lips.

It’s difficult, in the position that you’re in, to wiggle your hands down to his belt and pick away at the buckle, flakes of cracked white leather collecting under your nails as you claw at it.

But you succeed, of course, because you will always succeed when it’s him who’s asking, silver buckle clanking heavily as it hangs open and limp. A hiss of air rushes down your throat as one of your nails chips on the brass button of his jeans, but the injury doesn’t hinder you in the slightest, avid to please.

“Good girl,” Dabi’s purring as your dainty hand wraps around the base of his cock and finally pulls it free from the confines of his clothing. The simple praise inspires a dreamy little giggle, and you gaze at him, eyes lidded with lust and love, giving his cock a gentle squeeze before pumping it twice.

“Ah, fuck,” he hisses, cobalt fading to navy as he crushes his lips to yours again.

It’s like he can’t get enough of you, like he’s been starved for you—your tongue and your attention and your cunt—for an eternity, calloused hands graceless as they ruck up your dress, fabric bunching around your hips. Removing your panties is deemed too time consuming, as is his usual method of tearing them to pieces, deft fingers shoving their way between your tightly pressed bodies to push the soaked lace aside, revealing your cute little hole.

It’s all so much, his tongue on your neck and his teeth in your flesh and his cock bumping against your ill-prepared hole, the whimpers spilling from his lips as his hips nudge forward with pathetic precursory mini-thrusts, the smoky sweet scent of smoldering hickory and spicy nicotine that’s invading your nose and mouth and lungs and brain like some sort of parasitic addiction: a haze that consumes your mind and body and soul, a haze you endlessly crave more of.

Everything aches as his cock splits you open, sensitive skin ripping while his cock carves itself into you.

“Da-Daddy,” you wail, head falling forward to bury your face in his shoulder, little fingers twisting in the tufts of hair at the base of his skull. “It’s—It’s so big!”

“Shh, shh,” he hushes you, but you can hear it, the sadistic smile in his voice, laced with a sick kind of pride. “Daddy’s almost in, you can take it for him, can’t you?”

You can, of course you can, he knows you can.

Usually, he shoves the whole thing in with one single thrust, hard and fast. But today he chooses to take his time, all of his previous urgency seemingly pacified the moment the head of his cock is inside of you, Dabi opting to savour every fucking inch as he pushes into your cunt, slow and steady.

It only prolongs the pain, fissured flesh tearing itself open more and more with each leisurely second that passes, and your head falls forward, face smushed tightly into his neck, the sweetest little whimpers spilling from your throat.

Tears burn your eyes as he finally bottoms out, heavy balls pressed flush to your bottom, your raw hole fluttering a little in pain, sending tiny stinging spears shooting through your gut.

“Look at that, huh? Such a good little whore for her Daddy, aren’t you?” he practically purrs, breath sweltering against your damp skin. “Crying like a little baby and acting like she can’t take it, when she fucking loves to take it,” he tsks, almost as if he’s admonishing you for such behaviour.

“Daddy,” you whine, the world garbled with spit, tears clinging to your lashes. A dull throb roots itself deep at the core of your body, beating in erratic rhythm with your heart.

“Go on,” he breathes as his hips begin to draw back torturously slow, tender cunt aching with the motion as his shaft grinds against the micro-cuts, velvet feeling as rough as sandpaper. “Tell me. Be honest, and tell me how much you love to take my cock.”

And despite how much it fucking hurts, his words inspire a small, dim spark in the pit of your stomach, veins beginning to tingle gently.

“I—I love to take your cock,”

“How much?”

The question is growled out through clenched teeth as he rams back into you with such force that it sends your body skidding up the door, head bouncing against the surface with the motion.

“So much!” you cry out instantly, eyes shut tight and face screwed up in pain. “So much, so so so much, Da-Daddy, I—”

“Open your eyes, princess,” he orders softly, your lids lifting to reveal brilliant sapphire gazing back at you, tremoring with excitement, with the power coursing through his veins, your Daddy already high and heady on the control he holds over you as you instantly obey. “Daddy wants you to look at him when you tell him how much you love taking his cock.”

Crystal teardrops roll down your cheeks, thick trails of salt water sparkling in their wake. Your nose twitches in your effort to calm down, to stop crying, a hitched affirmative stuttering in your throat.

His hips are pulling back again, unhurried in their movement as his bright gaze sears into your face, eyes unblinking and alight with twisted excitement.

“I love—I love taking your cock so much, Daddy, it—Ah!” you manage to hiccup out just as his hips slam forward again. With gritted teeth, your eyes close briefly and breathe out, slow and controlled, your throat stinging as you stubbornly swallow the tremble in your voice, a steely breathiness replacing it. “It’s my favourite thing to do, Daddy, wanna take your cock every day for the rest of my life, Daddy.”

“Christ,” he exhales, the curse infused with an airy chuckle, lips spreading into a grin, and you feel his cock twitch inside of you. “You’re so perfect, baby,”

Something warm and bright blossoms in your chest, ribs swelling with it.

“Jus’ wanna be good for you, Daddy,”

He laughs again, eyes darkening, something sinister glinting in his smile. “We both know that’s a lie,” he grunts as his hips rock again. “But that’s okay, because Daddy loves his perfect little brat so much. Besides,” he whispers, voice dropped to a smooth murmur as his lips caress your ear. “Brats are a helluva lot more fun than good girls, anyway.”

You aren’t given a moment to respond as his hips begin to piston, hard and fast and sudden, any answer to his remark morphing into a loud whine in your chest.

The pain has mostly faded now, any residual shocks promptly chased by flares of pleasure, cunt growing wetter and wetter with each drag of his cock.

Your chins slide against one another, slicked with thick saliva, and his front tooth catches on your bottom lip, hard enough to nick the flesh. Blood oozes from the wound instantly, but Dabi is sure not to waste a single drop, the tip of his tongue running along the fine line of scarlet and lapping it up.

Your mouth, licked raw and sliced up, doesn’t even hurt anymore, small cuts and bruised flesh buzzing as Dabi crushes his mouth to yours again, exhaling copper-tinged breath onto your tongue.

It’s all so potent, so intoxicating, so desperate as you gasp, viciously sucking air from his lungs into your own, gulping down his essence and holding it against your heart—bright and burning and blue, full of him—protected by a cage of ivory.

Your nails rip into his flesh through the thin cotton of his shirt, starved for him as they gorge on his shoulders, fingers digging deeper and deeper into the muscles with each ruthless piston of his hips.

He loves it, too, that thin, almost delicate streak of masochism that runs through his soul shimmering in the dim light as your vying hands force a deep groan from his chest, the sound vibrating in your mouth, rattling your teeth.

It’s so good, he’s so good, and you want more, because too much is never, and will never, be enough.

“More, Daddy, more, more!”

“My greedy fucking girl,” he pants, pupils cavernous and carnivorous as they devour your precious little expressions; the way your nose scrunches and eyes roll white and mouth hangs open, emitting sugary sweet sounds in hot little huffs of air. “So needy, huh? So fucking desperate for Daddy’s cock and Daddy’s cum, aren’t you?”

“S’all I want, Daddy,” you nearly sob, head nodding stupidly to accentuate your point. “S’all I ever want,”

“That’s all, yeah? That’s all that’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, isn’t it?”

“Jus’ wanna be your perfect lil slut, Da-Daddy!”

“Cum on my cock, then,” he demands, pace never slowing. “Show Daddy how good you are and cum on his cock.”

Each pump of his hips, each brush of his cockhead against that spot sends more sparks coursing through your body, little flares of ecstasy collecting in the crevices of your body and igniting a satisfying inferno that spreads through your veins, blood fizzing as it rushes through your body, alighting every nerve until it reaches the apex of your thighs, and then you’re obeying his order, cunt convulsing as you gush heat all over his thick cock, his title shattering on your tongue, shards melting into gasps of air.

The blaze has spread to your brain now, tissues melting to goo as the flames lick the walls of your skull, extreme pleasure the most potent shot of novocaine to your brain, everything gone numb, dumb, under its influence.

“Tell me,” he nearly whimpers, breathy voice fading into growl as it cuts through the thick haze. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You!” you cry instantly, the word fragmenting as he pounds into you. “You, you, Daddy, I belong to you, wouldn’t want to be anyone else’s, ever.”

“Mine,” he snarls, the word imbued with such brutal possessiveness it stings your skin, his eyes shining bright with the elation of owning something so special, with the comforting knowledge that it is yours and yours only. “Forever.”

“For eternity,” you mewl out, head nodding in quick little motions.

“You’re goddamn right,“ he rasps, hips starting to stutter. “Your cunt, your tits, your entire fucking body, it’s all—ah, Christ—it’s all mine. You belong to me.”

The proclamation is spit into your mouth just as his cock throbs, pumping you full of thick cum. Your thighs tighten around his waist, squeezing him closer, as if you’re trying to wring every last drop from his body, and he chuckles, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

A soft whimper vibrates in your throat the moment he begins to pull out of you, and Dabi laughs again, murmuring out pacifying remarks doused with condescension as he pushes back into your sopping cunt, carrying you toward the bed.

With grace and fluidity, he manages to maneuver your knotted bodies under the fluffy comforter, keeping his cock from slipping out of you even an inch. A sweet little hum of contentment spills from your lips as you snuggle into his neck, riding on the tails of a giggle, the precious sound seeping into his skin.

It sends a shock of warmth through his system, your intoxicating happiness like bubbles of sunshine in his blood, and he emits his own hum, deep and vibrating against your temple as he allows the clutches of unconsciousness close in around him, because you’re his, you’re his, you’re his.

Forever.

✰ ✰ ✰

The early evening wind is cold but gentle as it plays with the hem of his shirt and the ends of his hair, softly caressing his bare skin as it passes. A shiver slithers up his spine, chills erupting across his flesh, and Keigo hugs his arms tighter, desperate to retain as much body heat as physically possible.

I’ll be surprised if you can keep up with this for more than a week or so, Dabi had hollered out the open window of his car as he backed out of the parking lot, voice overlaying the growling of the Eldorado. Go ahead, prove me wrong! Show me your pathetically weak self-restraint isn’t as pathetic as I think it is.

And then he was gone, leaving Keigo standing alone in the steadily setting sun, strokes of fuchsia tingeing his gold curls.

The walk home should’ve been sobering, Dabi’s threats and promises bouncing off the walls of his skull, their direness reverberating in Keigo’s very bones. The walk home should’ve scared him enough to quit for good, forever, used needles bestrewn across the dry, sickly yellow grass like some sort of cliché omen, men with bruised eyes and scabbed skin staring as he passed them, unbeknownst to the fact that he’s exactly like them, that he could be them, one day.

And it did. It did scare him.

But not enough. Not in the right way.

It starts with a small, almost tender tingle beneath his skin, something birthed in his chest, in his soul, maybe, complemented by the anxious fluttering of his heart and the haphazard racing of his thoughts.

It grows as they do, becomes bigger, stronger, fiercer, almost voracious in it’s need to be sated as it eats through the blood in his veins, as the tingles turn to itches turn to pricks—sharp, desperate, painful.

By the time he arrives home it’s bigger than he is; a dark, suffocating cloud that enshrouds his form, zaps of lightning striking his skin, urging him to act, to soothe the sting they leave behind.

He knows it’s dumb, even as he’s doing it. He knows Dabi will find out, knows Dabi’s words were not merely empty threats, knows Dabi can and will follow through on his promises.

He knows this threatens everything. He knows.

And there’s not a damn thing he can do about it.

Because this has grown out of control. This has engulfed him in its sickly sweet embrace, has invaded every single nook and dip and crevice in his body and filled it with an insatiable longing for poison, has overridden all of his thoughts and all of his feelings, all of his judgements and all of his impulses and corrupted his very sense of right and wrong, of permanent consequence; eaten through it like some sort of toxic acid and left emptiness in it’s place.

Emptiness that needs to be filled.

Just once more.

Just once more, he promises himself, fingers trembling as they scroll through his contacts, looking fruitlessly for someone Dabi might not know. Just once more, and then that’s it, he swears to it. Just once more, and then he’ll kick the habit for good, he promises.

He just needs it just once more; needs to feel that comforting rush of warmth embrace his veins and twine through his blood, his nerves, his tissues and bones and organs until he’s drowning in it, a sick, sweet paradise that’s all for him, that’s all his.

Just once more he needs to feel the safety of his lover as it bursts through his system, a feeling of euphoria, of pure bliss that saturates every bit of him until it’s all he is, until it’s all that matters.

It takes too long, whole body quivering with desire by the time Keigo secures a reliable supplier after fishing through a chain of people, the sun long gone below the horizon, his only source of light leaking from one sad lamp in the corner of his living room, pooling around the base in a greyish-yellow puddle.

Chisaki is the guy’s name, a friend had informed Keigo. He’s got good shit, but it’s gonna cost you.

Keigo’s never heard of him before, and in his hunger fuelled haze of addiction he can only hope this means Dabi hasn’t heard of him either. He knows he’s wrong, knows Dabi knows everyone in this fucking city by now, but he continues to hope anyway, as if the very act itself will somehow change the outcome.

In the moment, though, it doesn’t really matter. It doesn’t matter that Dabi will inevitably find out, probably sooner rather than later. It doesn’t matter that this next fix may cost him you, permanently snatched form his grasp and whisked away to a secret land. It doesn’t matter that this could be the singular most fucked up mistake he’ll ever make in his life.

It doesn’t matter, because his true love is on it’s way, and it’s going to make everything alright again, even if only for a few hours.

✰ ✰ ✰

Tomura would be lying if he said the call that comes a mere few hours after Dabi’s supposed meeting with Keigo is surprising.

In a way, Tomura wishes it was.

It isn’t from him directly, and Tomura’s sure Keigo truly has no idea just how far reaching his—and now Dabi’s—drug empire reaches.

Tomura’s also sure Dabi warned Keigo of doing this exact thing and, just as they had predicted, Keigo hadn’t heeded that warning nearly as seriously as he should have.

It’s a request from one of their men stationed all the way on the other side of the city, a man Keigo must’ve played a torturous game of broken telephone to contact, a man reporting an order of two grams of China white to the good part of the city, the safe part of the city, the rich part of the city.

“This isn’t within my jurisdiction; I don’t even know how this guy got my number,” he says nervously, and Tomura can almost hear him fidgeting. “So I was wondering—I mean, should I do the delivery myself? Or do you have some other guy who’s a little closer? Not that I mind,” the man rushes to assure, and Tomura chuckles.

“Don’t worry about delivery. I’ve got just the person in mind,” he promises the man before hanging up.

Normally, Tomura would never handle a delivery himself, but this is a special case.

“Dabi, he broke,” Tomura’s saying as he climbs into his Maybach, phone held tightly between his ear and his shoulder, keys jingling in his palm. “Two grams of China white.”

“Fucking pathetic,” Dabi spits, though Tomura can hear the faint notes of disappointment cracking in his voice.

“We knew it would happen,” Tomura shrugs. “We knew he wasn’t strong enough.”

“You’re doing the delivery yourself?” Dabi asks, voice high with surprise.

“Yeah, I…” Tomura trails off, chewing on his cheek. “I have a bad feeling.”

Dabi snorts. “A bad feeling? Since when are you superstitious? Since when do you give a fuck about any of our junkies—no, sorry, clients—at all?”

“Shut up,” Tomura snaps, and Dabi snickers. “Just have the shit ready, and don’t let her see.”

“Hit a nerve, did I? You goin’ soft for my girl?”

Tomura hangs up in response.

He can’t exactly explain it—or maybe he just doesn’t want to admit it—but something thick and ominous has been sinking in his stomach since he first received that call; something heavy and toxic and full of sticky ink, something that feels very, very wrong.

Tomura isn’t stupid, and Dabi isn’t, either. Two grams is way too much smack for an addict that’s been cutting back as drastically as Keigo has been.

He hopes Keigo isn’t dumb enough to shoot it all at once, but he knows the way addiction roots itself in the mind, warping the brain into something illogical, something incomprehensible, something that craves only one thing and nothing else, no matter the cost.

He knows the way addicts work, the way addicts think, and the way these thought patterns are amplified by emotional triggers.

And as much as he’d never admit it, there is a tiny part of him buried deep within his soul that wished Dabi had refused the offer; that hoped that Dabi would go back on his word, decide this wasn’t worth it, that they’d get through to Keigo in a different, less dangerous way.

But he couldn’t have been more wrong.

✰ ✰ ✰

Despite the fact that it’s where every ounce of his smack has come from, Keigo Takami doesn’t know the name Shigaraki.

He’s heard you mention a man named Tomura in passing every once in a while—nothing more than a sentence or two, about how he picks you up on the days Dabi can’t, about how he shares your penchant for sugar—but he has no idea what the man looks like, or what his last name is, or the legacy said last name carries.

So when Tomura Shigaraki shows up on his front doorstep with a palm full of pure China white, Keigo is none the wiser.

It doesn’t seem to matter that this man is very clearly not the man he spoke to on the phone, not the man he nearly lost his mind attempting to chase down.

All that matters is that he’s got drugs, and he’s here.

Finally.

A smooth palm trembles as it shoves money into Tomura’s waiting hands, fingers eager and vying to have that powdery ecstasy between them.

Keigo doesn’t even care that Tomura doesn’t leave immediately after receiving payment—barely notices the man standing near his front door, watching with soured disgust as Keigo frantically readies his paraphernalia.

And that sinking feeling, full of heavy ink and acid, finally takes root in Tomura’s stomach as he watches Keigo pile a tiny mountain of heroin on his blackened, warped spoon, trembling hands careful not to spill even a single granule on his denim-clad thigh.

“Uh,” Tomura begins, unsure how to proceed, voice painfully flat. “Don’t you think that’s a bit much?”

“Nah,” Keigo mumbles past the rubber held between his tightly clenched teeth, not even bothering to spare Tomura a glance, hyper-focused on his actions. “This is what I always shoot.”

Tomura’s tongue is too slow, words fading to ghosts on his tongue, unable to trigger Keigo’s rational memory at all. Because then that brownish liquid is sinking into his veins, and his head is falling backwards, mouth hung open in pure bliss, and he’s gone.

✰ ✰ ✰

It would be a lie if Dabi said that he didn’t expect some sort of update call within the next few hours.

It would also be a lie if Dabi said he expected it to be from the Goddamn hospital.

It isn’t exactly surprising that Keigo had chosen to put you down as his next of kin instead of your adoptive parents—his own flesh and blood, his only flesh and blood, his precious baby sister.

Vibrations quiver gently though the mattress, a low whine of protest slipping from your lips as you grope around with halfhearted interest for your phone, buried within the ridges of Dabi’s comforter.

The bright light of the screen outshines the small flickering television a few feet away and your lids squint in retaliation, vision temporarily blurred and face scrunched with concentration as you attempt to make out the bleary letters written across the top.

The hospital.

The words give you a jolt of pure adrenaline, whole body shooting up suddenly despite your sore muscles aching in protest, tingling adrenaline eating through the fatigue like an urgent corrosive, alighting your limbs, alerting your mind.

“Who is it?” Dabi asks with sleepy disinterest, gaze never leaving the television, slim fingers still tracing mindless patterns on your bare skin.

“The hospital,” you breathe, voice sounding faint and far away even though you can feel it distinctly vibrating within your chest.

Your mouth has gone dry, like your tongue is a thick swab of cotton, soaking up all the saliva from the corners and crevices of your mouth.

“What?” Dabi says, but you don’t respond, everything feeling numb, muted, muffled as your thumb taps the ANSWER button.

And then, everything goes blank.

You barely remember saying hello. You barely remember responding to any of the nurses questions—about your brother, your relation to him, your identity. You only remember a single sentence with startling clarity, something that rings loud and lucid throughout your skull, bouncing off the thick walls of bone and reverberating endlessly.

“Your brother has overdosed on heroin.”

It’s so simple, so straightforward, and yet your mind can’t seem to comprehend it, can’t seem to deconstruct and absorb those six simple words.

And then, everything goes blank again, brainwaves flatlining, rushing blood a strong, steady ringing in your ears. You can feel your body going through the appropriate motions, can feel the expected questions bubbling up your throat and past your lips, frantic, urgent, leaving an unpleasant buzz on your tongue—Is he alive? Is he stable? Can you come see him?—but you have no control over them, consciousness curling in on itself as it attempts to create sense from the situation.

How could this be possible? Keigo had stopped, hadn’t he? At least, that’s what he had told you, what he had promised you…And you had been stupid enough to believe him.

Because you had wanted to believe him.

You had wanted it to be easy and effortless, clean and concise, void of all the pain and intricacies and work that usually comes with achieving such a feat.

You had wanted, so desperately, for it to be the truth, for everything to go back to normal, just like that, in a mere instant.

A block of disappointment, filled with shame and glazed with guilt, sinks heavy and sharp in your stomach. It cracks as it hits the pit, contents leaking into the bubbly acid and causing it to roil.

He lied to you.

But he isn’t fully to blame, either. You should’ve known better, a tickle at the back of your mind chides gently. You shouldn’t have taken it at face value. You should’ve pushed harder, done a shred of investigation yourself to verify his claims, asked for more concrete proof than the sheen in his hair and the glow in his cheeks.

But you hadn’t wanted to.

Because you had wanted it to all be better instantaneously. You had wanted Keigo to prove all of Dabi’s words wrong, had wanted Keigo to show Dabi how incredible your big brother is, how vivacious your big brother is, how he can always do what he sets his mind to, no matter what.

How utterly, devastatingly stupid you were.

“Hey!” Dabi’s voice, full of concern and garnished with a touch of fear, finally slices through the thick mist that has encrusted your brain. “What’s going on? Baby, please, talk to me, tell Daddy what’s wrong.”

“Did you know?”

The question is small, frail, nothing more than a wisp of breath, so fragile it’s as if a tone any louder would simply smash it to bits.

“What?” Dabi frowns, eyebrows drawn in confusion, sapphire rapidly searching your face as you stare dead over his shoulder, unblinking eyes focused on the drywall, those lithe fingers wrapped around your biceps flexing, blunt nails biting your flesh nothing more than a faint pressure, flesh gone numb.

“Did you know?”

The question is stronger now, harder now, firm with resolution and conviction. Finally, your gaze meet his, eyes blazing with a shield of watery glass, so fierce that he flinches a little, features crunching in irritation at his own surprised reaction a second later.

“Did I know what?”

“Did you know Keigo was still using?”

For a moment, it falls silent, the gears in Dabi’s head turning, whirring, clicking into place, his gaze methodically scanning your face, blazing in his scrutiny as his mind cards through all of his options, potential scenarios and possible outcomes, categorizing them in terms of likeliness.

Then he’s cold, hands dropping from your body, features hardened into that carefully crafted mask of incomprehensible passivity.

“Since when? Since you began meeting with him secretly, behind my back?” Dabi pauses, but your expression does not falter, stare solid as stone. “Yeah, I knew. Of course I fucking knew.”

Sapphire burns into your face and your molars grind together, glaring back at him just as fiercely. Viciousness brews in your chest, boiling as it singes your ribs.

“You know, I could’ve helped you,” Dabi continues, notes of accusation in his voice, “had you just told me what was going on instead of sneaking around like that.”

“Oh, don’t start. Don’t try to make this about you and how you feel left out. Don’t try to make me the bad guy.”

“And, so, what?” he shrugs, raising an eyebrow in mock question. “I’m the bad guy because I continued to supply your brother with exactly what he asked for without having even an inkling of the lies he had been feeding you? If you had just told me, we could’ve tag-teamed him. We could’ve beat him at his own game. We could’ve won! And then, maybe, none of this would’ve ever happened!”

“I couldn’t have told you, and you know it!” you cry, voice burning veraciously in your chest, words blistering your tongue. “You—You wouldn’t have helped, you would’ve put an end to everything straight away and locked me up like some sort of—some sort of prize, never letting me out of your sight for a fucking second ever again!”

“No, you are just assuming that,” he seethes, eyes narrowed sharply. “All I’ve ever wanted to do is help you—help you both. Do you—Do you really think I’d have reacted that way instead of offering to help?”

“Yeah! I do! I’m not the villain here!”

“Neither am I!” he roars, eyes alight with blue fire, surging forward to grasp your shoulders.

A surprised yelp hiccups past your lips and Dabi tugs you toward him roughly, your chest pressed to his as he leans over your face, so close your noses nearly bump together.

“Y’know, it isn’t my fault your brother’s a fucking junkie, alright?” His grip tightens, painting his fingertips into your flesh in splashes of blue and violet. “It isn’t my fault he lied to you, just like they always do, because it’s more important to him to keep heroin in his life than it is to keep you in his life. It isn’t my fault you just assumed the worst of me instead of being honest with me, coming to me, asking for help!”

“What else was I supposed to assume, Dabi?” your nose twitches with the threat of a sniffle, the ghost of a sob, and you exhale harshly, a feeble attempt to halt it. “How was I supposed to know any different, when this is the way you’ve been treating me?”

“Everything I’ve done—every single fucking thing—was done to protect you, I can promise you that. I love you more than anything in this world, can’t you see that?”

His voice fissures on the last word, breaking under the weight of authenticity, but you do not yield, holding steadfast as you force your next question from your mouth, slight tremors running through your words as your body trembles in his hands.

“If you love me more than anything then answer me honestly. Did you supply him with drugs tonight?” The sentence tapers off into a whisper, those tears that you had held so stubbornly behind your lashes finally spilling over, strolling down your cheeks in pairs.

The silence is stifling, your breath held stagnant in your lungs as you wait, vying eyes searching his face for any shreds of clues and finding nothing but truth.

“No,” he finally responds, but his voice is kinder, softer. “How could I, when I’ve been with you all night?”

“But they were your drugs, yes?”

“Sweetheart, every drug in this city is my drug,” he chuckles a little at your naivety. “All I can tell you is that I didn’t give them to him tonight. Besides, the amount he’d need to OD is more than what I’ve been selling him.”

“But…But you…”

Agony cracks your words into sharp shards that pierce your organs, and you cough around the pain, both palms pressed flat to your chest as you try and hold your body together.

What is the truth? Is there even a truth? One correct, indisputable answer?

“I don’t—I’m—I can’t—”

A dense blend of anguish and confusion drapes across your brain, burning holes through your thoughts and rendering them incomplete, incomprehensible, a tangle of half finished sentences.

Because none of this makes any sense anymore, trust and truth shattered to pieces, scattered among skepticism and deceit.

Does it even matter at all, when your brother is in the hospital and your boyfriend, no matter how implicitly or explicitly, had a hand in putting him there?

It seems as though you can’t inhale enough air into your lungs, organs shrivelling up and rejecting the oxygen your broken, uneven gasps send rushing down your throat. Your body crumples in a heap on Dabi’s lap, and the air around him changes instantly, its suffocating heaviness eradicated as love dipped in guilt devours it.

Ferocious sobs slash through your chest, ribs creaking beneath their force as your whole form stutters, heavy sorrow weighting your heart. It aches, each dull pulse procuring another wave of spiked anguish, and you suck a hiss through your teeth, furling in further on yourself in a desperate attempt to quell the pain.

Gathering your limp body in his arms, Dabi hushes you gently, your tears seeming to have melted his hard exterior, dousing the flames raging in his eyes.

“Shh,” he murmurs, a palm rhythmically smoothing over your hair as you weep into his chest, little fingers scrabbling against his bare skin. “Shh, it’s alright, I’m here.”

His soothing voice calms the turmoil in your chest, his tender touches dimming the chaos in your skull, and you snuggle into him, seeking more of his solace.

“Listen to me,” he pulls back, taking your salt-sticky face between his palms. “I love you, you hear me? I love you, and all I want to do is protect you. From everything. I’m sorry that this has happened. Everything I’ve done, I’ve done to keep you safe, I promise.”

A pause, a moment for his words to brand themselves into the tissues of your brain, steady sapphire boring into your face, bright with sincerity.

“Maybe I didn’t do the best job, or make the best choices, but they were all with your—with our—best intentions and interests in mind,” he continues, the edges of his voice rough, eroded by emotion. “I’m trying with all my might. I love you more than anything. We’re a team, right? Let’s solve this together. No more secrets, no more lies, from either of us. You don’t have to do this alone, not anymore.”

“Neither do you,” you mumble, words knotted in strings of spit.

He laughs, and it sounds wet, large hands cradling your head to his body again. “You’re right. Neither do I. So let’s make it better, together, okay? You and me, always.”

“You and me, always,” you repeat.

“Always, baby,” calloused fingers brush back strands of sweat-soaked hair from your forehead, lidded eyes watching his actions with fondness. “Now,” he whispers, a sad little smile on his face. “I think we have a hospital to visit.”

✰ ✰ ✰

The scent of Clorox burns your nose as you hurry down the dull white corridors, frantic eyes flying across each of the silver nameplates bolted to the wall outside each door until finally, you find the corresponding number the nurse had given you.

And although you knew the sight you were to be greeted with would hurt, you didn’t expect it to be quite so heart-wrenchingly gruesome.

Lilac encompasses his closed eyes, the tiny spider veins knotted across his eyelids a deep, sickening purple. Dried blood, well on it’s way to forming thick scabs, has pooled and oxidized in the lines of his lips, cracked open from dehydration.

Dim curls, matted with sweat and salt, stick to his forehead and his temples, their usual lively gold now dulled and void of their sheen. Sallow skin stretches across all his sharp edges—his knuckles and his wrists and his elbows and his collarbones—lacking that healthy, radiant glow Keigo had always seemed to emit before.

It’s hard to look at him like this, veins and nostrils hooked up to a tangle of clear tubes and whirring machines, the steady beep of his heart in direct juxtaposition to the erratic thumping of your own.

Nausea swells in your stomach, acidic bile burning up, up, up your esophagus, but you swallow against it, teeth clenched as your force a deep, calm breath out your nose.

“Is this the all-time-low you kept talking about?”

You don’t look at him as you speak, gaze still captivated by your feeble big brother, the question trembling with muted anger.

“Yeah,” Dabi says quietly. “This is it.“

This is it. This has to be it; there’s no where else for him to go from here, except into the ground—and that’s forever.

Your voice rouses Keigo, golden eyelashes fluttering open to reveal bloodshot topaz, filmy gaze taking a moment to clear before it focuses on you, recognition shocking clarity into his brain.

He exhales your name in a small, weak huff, fingers twitching against the threadbare bedspread, as if he yearns to reach out for you, to grab you and pull you towards him and never let go.

For a moment, you’re frozen in place, feet bolted to the floor, veins filled with something colder, sharper, than ice.

It’s Dabi who gives you the nudge you need, his gentle touch torching the frost coating your body and jumpstarting your limbs, finally allowing that familiar presence of your big brother draw you in, as it’s done so many times before.

And then you’re running to him, crossing the sterile room in a mere few strides and flinging yourself down on his hospital bed, arms latched tightly around his neck, face buried against his chest.

He’s saying something, you can feel his words vibrating against your cheek as his frail arms wrap around your waist, but it all sounds muffled to you, nothing more than a steady, hazy stream of his voice, sentiments drowning in your own ragged breaths and vicious sobs.

Those large hands skim across your form, patting and grabbing and kneading as if they can’t believe you’re here, as if they can’t believe you’re real, as if you’ll disappear from their grasp the moment they aren’t on you anymore.

His touch causes something to break, cracking wide open at the core of your soul, so deep, so dark you’re terrified it might swallow you whole. Your body crumples under the strain, curling into the warmth and comfort your big brother provides—that only your big brother can provide, that your big brother will always provide, no matter the circumstances.

Everything hurts, and you cling tighter to him, fingers twisting in his thin hospital gown as claws of despair shred your lungs and tear at your stomach, desperate to be felt, acknowledged, known.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Keigo croaks, his voice dense with spit. “It’s okay, it’s okay, niisan’s here, it’s okay.”

Those roaming hands clutch you tighter, pressing you close to his heart and promising to keep you together, to keep you whole as those talons threaten to rip you apart. Nothing can hurt you anymore—not here, not now, not with Keigo wrapped around you.

You aren’t sure how long you stay like this, cuddled up in your big brother’s arms as silent tears leak from your eyes, his lips pressing routine kisses to the crown of your head as you cry, but it’s long enough for Dabi to leave, smoke, and then return, the scent of nicotine twined around his body, his reentrance bringing a whiff of it with him.

Finally, you lift your head, swollen eyes blinking slow and sticky, Keigo rendered as nothing more than a wavering blur through through the thick tears coating your vision.

“You can’t...” you begin, words fading to ghosts in your throat, weighing heavy and bitter on your tongue. “This has to stop, Keigo. We can’t just...We can’t just sit around waiting and hope it gets better on it’s own. We need help. You need help.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice grating on his throat. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” you’re murmuring out, pacifying palms rhythmically running over his matted curls, a fresh bout of tears shining in your eyes. “I’m just happy you’re alive, Keigo.”

“I should’ve never lied to you,” he whimpers, face screwed up as if the words are painful, barbed on his tongue. “I just—I wanted you—”

And, really, that’s it. He wanted you. He didn’t just want you to be proud of him, nor did he just want you to stop worrying so much. He wanted you, all of you, to himself again. He wanted you, safe and sound and at home, where you should’ve been all along, where you’ll always belong.

As it turns out, he’s just as selfish as Dabi.

“I know,” you whisper. “And I want you; I want you to get better, I want my big brother back.”

And it hurts to hear that, your voice so raw, so honest, cut open with a sharp razor as emotion spills out and washes over him in burning waves, his eyes glazing over as his bottom lip twitches.

“I miss you, Keigo. I miss all the things we used to do together, before this—this monster that you’re grappling with took root. I miss getting ice cream from that mom and pop shop a few streets over; I miss going for bike rides as the sun set, and I miss stargazing at the park after it sunk; I miss it all. Don’t you?”

The question cracks on your tongue, more tears dripping down your cheeks as your eyes search his face, begging him to see your sincerity, begging him to say yes, genuity written into the creases of your forehead.

His own tears, caught so artfully by his long lashes, finally break free from their confines, streaming in pairs across his hollowed face. Because, yeah, he does, he misses those moments more than anything in the world—because, really, nothing else matters more than those sweet little memories made with the one person he loves most, the one person he loves more than anything or anyone else.

Not even heroin.

“You can do it, Keigo. I know you can. You’re so—” A hiccup cuts you off but you swallow past it, powering on, voice thick with love, care, belief. “You’re so strong, niisan; you’re the strongest person I know, and you’re a hell of a long stronger than this addition, I’m absolutely sure of it.”

Both of his hands grip one of yours with such force it’s a marvel his sharp knuckles don’t slice right through the thin skin stretched tight and taut across them. You place your other hand atop his, dainty and gentle, thumb running across his flesh in soothing motions.

“I don’t want to watch you kill yourself slowly,” you tell him, resolution firm in your voice. “And I won’t. I won’t do it, niisan. Not anymore.”

Blood drains from his face at your statement, skin gone from sickly to ashen, and his body goes rigid, hands still as stone in your palms.

“Is this goodbye?”

“No,” Dabi cuts in before you can question him about what the heck that’s supposed to mean, coming to perch on the parallel edge of Keigo’s bed. “This is we’re here to help.”

That sentence should bring a rush of much-needed relief gushing through Keigo’s veins, loosening his tight muscles and unclenching his jaw and relieving the stress that has snuggled into his very soul. It should make him feel revitalized. It should make him feel elated.

But it doesn’t.

Because Dabi’s eyes are hard, and while his gaze is fiery, it holds no warmth, the flames of contempt blazing in his irises contradicting his flat words. A rough palm clamps itself over Keigo’s collarbone, a poor imitation of friendly, and Dabi leans forward.

“Make no mistake,” he murmurs in Keigo’s ear, just loud enough for him to hear, the force of his grip tightening to bone crushing. “I’m not doing this for you, I’m doing this for her. Don’t you ever fucking forget that.”

Keigo’s shock must be evident on his face, shining in his eyes and trembling on his lips, because Dabi smirks—a small quirk up of his lips, arrogant and self-satisfied—before he pulls back completely.

This is the second time Dabi has surprised him, in all of Keigo’s years of knowing him. This is the second time Dabi has proven to him that he is, in come capacity, capable of thinking about people other than himself—even if Keigo’s sure this decision isn’t entirely separate from Dabi’s own agenda.

And while Keigo still can’t convince himself that Dabi has your best interests in mind, it’s abundantly clear that he has some of your interests in mind, this singular action speaking volumes.

Because Dabi rarely, if ever, goes back on his word; it’s a well known fact at this point that his threats are never empty threats, always containing some sort of meaning, some sort of promise, and that thought sends spikes of ice shooting up Keigo’s spine.

If you notice the odd interaction between the two of them, you don’t say anything, a gentle squeeze bringing Keigo’s dumbfounded attention back to you.

“I have some news,” you begin softly, a small, sad smile on your lips. “I’m coming back home.”

That belated elation finally floods his veins, warm and tingling as it rushes through his body and eradicates all of the desolation Dabi had just instilled in him, a genuine smile breaking through the hard trepidation coating his face.

“And Dabi’s coming with me.”

The bright happiness that had blossomed in his blood dries up instantly, veins shrivelled and parched, panic and despair bolting through his body like sharp spears of lightning, and Keigo’s expression withers, face screwed up with a certain sourness before it droops, giving in, giving up, features weighted and grim as he nods his understanding.

“Compromise,” Dabi says, and while his voice is amicable enough, something sharp glints in his eyes, something sinister tugging at his lips.

Still, it’s something. It’s a start. And Keigo will take anything he can get.

Compromise. Compromise.

Keigo supposes he can live with that.

#dabi x reader #dabi smut #bnha smut #mha smut #todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya smut #takami keigo x reader #tw:toxic relationship #tw:minimal prep #tw:drugs

503 notes · View notes