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dawneternal · 6 months ago

Text

The Benevolent | Eris x Healer OC | Six

☁︎ notes: No injury this chapter hooray! But it is the last glimpse of the Autumn Court for the next few chapters 👀

☁︎ warnings: talk of past abuse, talk of past sexual assault

☁︎ word count: 4.6k

☁︎ AO3 Link / Masterlist

☁︎ tags: @cauldronblssd @teddyhoneybear @tele86 @mybestfriendmademe @imma-too-many-fandoms @allyjoe755 @milswrites @shadowdaddies @zenkindoflove @landofpetrichor @secret-third-thing @bookwormythings

Aya stood still in the center of Edana's courtyard, silently panicking. The Lady had told her what to do if she saw a stranger at the winnow spot, but what if no one was there to meet her at all?

She was certain she hadn't imagined the ring’s glow - it had earned her a disdainful look from a few of her classmates, even as she covered it with her other hand and tucked it under the work desk. The instructor, aware of Aya’s on-call job, quietly dismissed her and continued the lesson.

Now Aya peeked into the windows of Edana's rooms, but the Lady was nowhere to be found. All was still, and quiet, and eerily calm. Autumn sunshine poured over the decorated walls in the pattern of the window panes. Birds chirped carefree tunes to each other in the trees. She thought about just winnowing home, but what if Eris was lying somewhere half-dead and she was supposed to help him?

Something was pulling her, against her better judgment, to go to Eris's room and check. It was a bad idea. A terrible and potentially deadly idea. But that pull was feeling stronger by the minute, igniting the panic within her chest into a full on wildfire.

Her feet began to move on their own, clammy hands reaching out to open the glass doors to Edana's sitting room. They had been left slightly ajar, meaning she could enter without making any noise. The door to the secret hallway was not visible, the wall seemingly empty save for a couple of postcards tacked to it.

Either Aya's magic was stronger than she thought, or the door had been keyed to her touch, because one brush of her fingertips had the old door appearing before her eyes and slowly creaking open. Her feet continued to move of their own volition, beginning a silent trek down the hallway as she had done so many times now.

Heart hammering in her chest, she made her way down the hall toward Eris’s room. Fear crept up her throat with every turn of the passage, but she encountered nothing and no one. The quiet swallowed every thought in her mind. Finally, she stood before the familiar doorway, but something stopped her hand from making contact with the doorknob.

Two male voices argued back and forth on the other side of the door. She could not make out what they were saying, only the sharp rise and fall of their tones, growling back and forth. One of them sounded like Eris, and the other she did not recognize. She took a step backward, that outstretched hand reaching for her throat instead, as if it could quiet the roaring beneath her skin. This was an awful idea. But now the thought of returning to the courtyard and finding someone there kept her rooted to the spot, trapped between one terrible possibility and another.

The voices rose to a high and then stopped altogether. A slam echoed into the hallway, followed by a crash. Aya did not have the chance to decide a course of action before the door swung open and Eris stepped through into the hallway. She opened her mouth to scream out of impulse but Eris had the sense to clap a hand over her mouth before any sound could escape.

“What the hell are you doing?” He growled, face red with anger.

Aya could not answer with his hand still over mouth, pressing her firmly against the stone wall. She was too busy catching her breath to string together words anyways, trying to calm her spinning head. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep, shaky breath.

Eris released her, and when she opened her eyes, his face had softened into something more recognizable.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, the edge in his voice gone.

“No one came to the courtyard,” She said, the anxiety in her body fading away in his presence, “I came to check on you.”

“That was a very bad idea,” He said, eyes blazing though his tone remained soft. She took in his disheveled look, shirt half-unbuttoned and hair tousled and messy.

“What happened?” Aya's brows furrowed, “Who is hurt?”

“No one,” Eris shook his head, “There was a fight, and my mother summoned you by accident in the chaos. She had to leave for a brunch, and I was trying to get away to the courtyard to tell you everything was alright.”

“And?” Aya pressed.

“And my brother followed me to continue what he started,” Eris ground his teeth, muscles in his jaw shifting.

“But you're alright?” Her body felt loose and tired after holding so much tension in such a short amount of time.

“Yes,” He gave her a small smile, placing his hand on the small of her back to guide her back down the hallway, “Let's get you back home.”

She could still feel the anger rolling off his body as he led her back to the courtyard. He emanated waves of heat, golden sparks flying with every heartbeat as if his heart were molten metal being forged and hammered. An idea began to form in Aya's head as he escorted her.

They reached the middle of Edana's courtyard. Eris opened his mouth to speak but Aya cut him off.

“Come with me,” She blurted, watching his eyes widen.

“What?”

“Come back to the Dawn Court with me,” She said slower, cheeks burning from her boldness, “Just until you cool off.”

“I'll be fine,” He shook his head.

“How likely are you to punch someone or be otherwise injured if you stay here?” Aya crossed her arms.

Eris did not answer, throat bobbing as he swallowed.

“That's what I thought. As your healer, I must recommend you stay out of harm's way and you can do that by coming back to the Dawn Court with me and having a snack.”

“A snack?” The corners of his lips kicked up into a smile, eyes dancing with amusement at the authority in her voice. “I do not want to cause trouble if Thesan were to see me-”

“You'll be my guest. He'll understand.”

Eris was planning on saying yes, the idea of an afternoon in the Dawn Court with Aya much more appealing than another day of games and acting here. But a chorus of muffled giggling sounded somewhere outside of Edana's room, and he watched the panic rise in Aya's eyes. Before he could say anything else, she had reached for his hand and grasped it tightly, winnowing them away from the crisp autumn air of the courtyard.

“Sorry,” She said, breathless as the world righted again, “I panicked.”

Eris chuckled as his eyes focused, the soft blue of the sky and heaps of fluffy clouds coming into view.

“It's alright,” He chuckled, “I was going to say yes.”

“Really?” The way her eyes lit up melted his heart.

“Where are we?” He asked, glancing around at the stone balcony where they had arrived. They were high up, the sky wrapping them in roaring silence. Only chirping birds and the distant trickling of fountains cut through it. Vines of pastel flowers hung from the trellis-covered ceiling above, ornamental carvings adorning

“Thesan's private tower,” Aya answered.

“I don't think I should be here,” Eris frowned, uneasy.

“I promise it's okay,” Aya said, heading toward a set of double glass doors and beckoning him to follow, “Besides, I kind of left class to go to the Autumn Court and I don't particularly feel like going back. But if they see me in the healer's wing, they'll know I skipped class.”

Eris blinked, taken aback by her energy and how much she spoke. And he realized that this is what he had been craving. Aya, uninhibited. So against his own better judgment, he relented and followed her into the tower.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

Aya opened the door to her old room and stepped aside, watching as Eris entered and immediately began cataloging details.

“This is your room?” He asked, turning in a slow circle.

“My old room,” She said, suddenly shy. She slipped off her shoes and stood to the side, “My childhood room. Now I live in the healer's wing.”

The room held memorabilia from all seven courts, art and posters lining the walls, mobiles and figures hanging from the ceiling. Tall windows filled the room with light, glass doors leading to two separate balconies. Her bed had been built into a little nook, a faded purple canopy closing it off from the rest of the room. Eris stopped by a little tapestry of Autumn leaves and acorns, sunshine illuminating the golden threads woven through it.

“I had a lot of dreams,” Aya said, her voice equal parts grim and wistful. Eris glanced at her, the emotion aging her eyes. For the first time, she looked her age of nearly a century old.

“Had?” He asked softly, brushing a fingertip over the texture of the tapestry.

Aya looked away, plucking a stuffed manatee from its basket and rubbing her thumbs over the fabric to keep her hands busy. She smoothed down one of the button eyes threatening to come loose.

“I was still figuring out a lot of things when Amarantha’s reign began,” She said, and Eris flinched at the cursed name, “But a lot of things changed after that, as you can imagine.”

“You went under the mountain?” It was an effort to get the words out, imagining kind-hearted Aya in such a horrible place.

“I was here,” Aya murmured, clutching the stuffed manatee a little tighter, “Thesan managed to hide the fact that he had family. I hid in the healer's wing. I decided to start training so I'd have something to do. A way to help.”

The training was, in part, because her powers had emerged during that time and she had been terrified and alone. She needed the distraction, somewhere to put her energy.

A quiet settled in the room, terrible memories enveloping them both. Aya shook her head, turning her focus toward her rumbling stomach.

“Anyways,” She murmured, crossing to one of the balconies, “Make yourself at home and I'll get some food.”

Eris furrowed his brows and followed her out onto the smaller balcony. Aya flashed him a grin in response. The view was a little dizzying, the city below tiny and fuzzy, dotted with moving people.

“The kitchens are a level below. I used to fly down and beg them for snacks in between meals. I can smell everything they cook.”

Eris turned to her in alarm, realizing she meant to jump down to the level below. Mischief danced in her eyes as he looked at her, doing strange things to his heart. This Aya was utterly different - playful, talkative, vibrant.

“I can't imagine they'll appreciate that,” He swallowed.

“It'll be fine,” She chuckled, untucking her wings and shaking them out. Eris's mouth went dry at the sight. “They love me. And I haven't visited in a while. Besides, I thought you were supposed to be a rule breaker anyways.”

Eris scoffed. His brothers? Yes. But him? Eris did not lower himself to breaking the rules. He moved around them, maneuvering and conspiring until they bent to his will, parting beneath his hands as easily as stalks of wheat.

She did not give him time to respond before she leapt up onto the carved railing, loose pants billowing in the wind. She knew how to fly, and he knew that, but his heart still leapt into his throat. He swallowed the urge to reach for her and pull her back down to safety.

Wings spread and ready, Aya let herself fall into the blue sky. Eris clutched the railing, peering over the edge to watch her free fall. Her wings caught the wind halfway down, sunlight streaming through her feathers and filling them with golden light. She looked exactly like an illustration of Clementia, lovely and golden and a little terrifying.

She landed smoothly, greeting an old man in a chef's coat smoking a pipe on the balcony. Eris couldn't make out what they were saying, their words carried away on the breeze, but their easy laughter made its way to him. He wondered if this was how Aya felt in the Autumn Court. Out of place and a little overwhelmed. He was entirely out of his element here, everything lighter and breezier than he was used to, and he understood his mother's opinion of the Dawn Court a little better. But he wanted to like it here - he would like it here, he determined. He would because it was where Aya was from, and because she wanted him to like it, and because everything here seemed imbued with a bit of her.

Aya returned, her spread wings casting a shadow over the pondering Eris. She carried a basket covered in a tea towel, a bottle of pink liquid tucked under one arm. She leapt down and sat to one side of the balcony, leaning against the railing, and gestured for him to do the same. The way Eris lowered himself to the ground was a bit inelegant as he tried to keep his back from touching the railing. The gaps were too small for him to fall through, but the idea churned his stomach all the same. He found himself feeling a little envious of the comfort Aya’s wings must offer her.

Aya revealed the food tucked carefully inside the basket, buns made of sweet potato and filled with spicy meat, crackers with a spread made of herbs, cheese, and olives, and for dessert candies made of sesame and the pastel macarons that Eris's mother loved so much. Each flavored and adorned with an edible flower. The bottle was sparkling grapefruit juice.

“This seems a bit fancy for a snack,” Eris murmured, though he didn't protest as Aya handed him a bun. He didn't realize until he'd smelled the food that he was very hungry. He bit into it eagerly, ignoring the awkwardness he felt at eating with his hands. A practice that his father did not approve of.

Aya bit her bottom lip, a shy smile fighting to break through.

“I asked for something for my friend and I and Stellan insisted that it must be a date,” She avoided his eyes as she explained, the apples of her cheeks warm and rosy.

“A date?” Eris eyebrows shot upwards, his heart climbing into his throat.

“That's sort of my fault,” She said, smile revealing her dimples as it spread, “I brought home a girlfriend a long time ago and he assumed we were just friends. Apparently it was a shock to learn that we were together. So now he assumes that every friend is something more.”

Eris smiled through the twinge of jealousy. A question snaked through his mind, but he decided he would not lower himself to asking it. But it seemed that Aya had read it, because she said, “It didn't work out between us. I think she only liked me for my wings.”

It was only a joke, he knew, but it emptied his head of all the topics he'd collected to prevent a lull. Oh, the questions he had about those wings.

“Has anyone ever told you that your wings have the coloring of a field Sparrow?” He asked, instead of one of the normal things he'd planned to say.

Aya's eyebrows raised and a surprised giggle bubbled out of her.

“No,” She said, “No one's ever told me that.”

“They're very common in Autumn,” He took a big bite of bun so that he'd shut up.

Do you think of me when you see a field sparrow? The question was on the tip of her tongue, dangerously close to spilling out. So she took a bite of her own food, and a silence settled over them. If they both stretched out their legs, they'd become a tangle of limbs. And yet, knees against chests, with the basket in the way, the space between them felt a mile long.

“Can I ask you a question?” Aya asked, shaking away the lines of poetry that had begun to write themselves.

“If I get one in return.”

“What were you doing in the Winter Court?” Aya cast her gaze down to her hands and the crescent-shaped bites missing from her bun.

Her question changed the mood, all of that lightness gone in an instant. But it also dissolved some of the awkwardness. They had never met in an unserious setting, and that was what had strung the air so tightly between them.

“My mother told you?” He asked, swallowing hard. And Aya hated that he seemed more familiar with that solemnity in his features. She nodded.

“She should not have told you that,” He said, “I was escorting a pregnant maid to the Winter Court to request asylum.”

“Kallias helped you?” Aya asked, surprised. His court had been locked down tightly since the end of Amarantha's reign.

“Kallias did not know,” He spoke barely above a whisper, as if someone might still overhear. “It was Vivian who helped me. The maid is safe.”

Aya swallowed, her stomach flip flopping as she began to put pieces together. “And the fight with your brother?”

“He was bragging about her,” Eris growled, “Trying to bait me into revealing where I'd taken her. That's how I ended up getting stabbed.”

“And he doesn't…she was not his lover?”

“She was no one to him,” Eris closed his eyes, blocking out the memories, trying to wipe the disgust from his face.

After a moment, Aya cleared her throat and prompted, “What is your question for me?”

Eris kept his eyes closed a minute longer before he asked, “Where do your powers come from?”

“I don't know,” Aya said honestly, “Maybe my father? I got my wings from him.”

“They're very unique,” He opened his eyes, molten amber burning into her. The warmth was welcome in the chill breeze that swirled through the balcony. If she could wrap herself in the heat of that color, she would.

“Yes,” She sighed, thinking of the million times that someone had told her something similar. It was always said as if Aya was holding back a secret, like she had all of the answers and kept them locked inside. Aya had no more answers than anyone else.

Eris said nothing else, so she asked, “How does your mother pay all her bribes?”

Eris blinked and stared at her, “You've really thought about this, haven't you?”

“A bit,” She admitted. The layers of the Autumn Court were like a puzzle that wouldn't leave her mind, despite Thesan's warnings and her own resolve. She scooted closer to the basket and started on the crackers and spread, holding one out to Eris.

“I asked her the same thing once,” He said. He took the cracker and bit it in half, savoring the salty spread. “She wouldn't answer. But she ended up telling me later in case something happened to her. She convinced my father to set aside a dowry for their future daughter when they were first married. He forgot about it and she's been using it to pay her bribes all these years.”

Aya thought to herself that this was precisely why the Lady of Autumn both terrified and inspired her. It was unnerving to be under her thumb, bound by that ring.

“Does she have any maids or is it only the two guards on her side?”

“The guards are the only two in the palace,” Eris said, lip curling like that fact bothered him, “She can't trust any female workers because Beron pays half of them to report back to him. Because women talk.”

Eris spat the last word, rolling his eyes.

“He spies on you, too?” Aya frowned, a shiver of dread creeping down her spine. What if someone told Beron about her?

“Of course. I think he hired someone new recently, and that's how he found out about the Winter Court and why he was so ruthless in his interrogation. I was out trying to find the spy the day that Juno got hurt.”

Aya's head spun, those pieces clicking together faster than she could keep up. Eris saw the dizzy look in her eyes and changed the subject.

“Tell me about the Dawn Court traditions,” He said, voice gentle. He selected a pink macaron decorated with a pansy. Aya was quiet, choosing a cookie and shaking the Autumn Court from her mind.

“We give feathers to accept the mating bond,” She said, “And if you don't have feathers, you either have one made from metal or gemstone, or you use one saved from a relative and preserved with magic.”

“Like an heirloom ring,” He said, and Aya hummed in agreement.

From there, one question slid into the next and the topics stayed light and amiable. There were no more unnatural pauses or lulls, the conversation flowing easily. Once, Eris even laughed. It was the first time Aya heard it, and it was just as pleasant as his voice.

He seemed to grow more comfortable as time passed, slipping off his boots and socks. They passed the bottle of juice between them and somehow it felt like the most intimate thing they'd done. A wash of light pink coated his skin underneath the swaths of freckles, pretty against the sunstone balcony and cerulean sky.

Once, the breeze lifted the wayward strands of his copper hair, and Aya’s fingers twitched with a desire to comb through them. That thought startled her. None of her thoughts had come so close to such obvious markers of a crush. But running her fingers through his hair was certainly a crush sort of thought. The air between them went silent, the breeze becoming colder as the sun sank toward the horizon.

“Eris?” She asked after a while, hoping to squeeze one more answer out of their time together.

“Yes?” His voice was a little sleepy, like he’d been lost in daydreams.

“Why do you trust me? Why answer all my questions about the Autumn Court and your mother?”

“Aya, are you always honest and genuine?” He asked.

“I try to be,” Her brows drew together, eyes searching his. A soft smile spread across his face.

“That is why,” He smiled, “You wear your intentions on your sleeve.”

Aya blushed, her lips parting to protest that she was not so good and pure as all that, but she was distracted. A familiar figure ebbed into the edge of her awareness. She turned her ear to confirm her suspicion before jumping to her feet and reaching to haul Eris with her.

“You have to go,” She cried, heart hammering.

“What?” Eris scrambled to his feet. He would have liked to have put his shoes back on first but she did not give him time.

“Thesan is coming,” She hissed, gathering up his shoes and socks and shoving them into his arms.

“I thought you said it was okay if I was here,” Eris whispered, eyes widening.

“Not in my room.”

“Oh,” His face drained of color.

“You can winnow from here,” Aya tossed two macarons into a napkin and shoved them into his hand.

“Right. Thank you very much for-”

“Yes, yes,” Aya waved a hand, clamoring to put the rest of the food and napkins back in the basket. With a snap of her fingers, the basket disappeared.

“Aya?” Thesan's voice drifted from the other side of her door. With a gasp, Eris was gone.

Aya whipped around just as the door opened, looking a little wind-swept but otherwise normal.

“What are you doing up here?” Thesan furrowed his brows, eyes moving slowly through the room.

“Looking for something I left,” She swallowed hard.

“Was someone here? It smells like-”

“New perfume,” She gave a stiff laugh, padding over to her closet, “Did you need something? I should change for dinner.”

“No,” He said, eyes narrowing, “I just wanted to check on you. Helene said you never went back to class.”

“All good,” She kept her eyes on the colorful clothing in front of her as she flicked through the hangers, “Just had a busy afternoon.”

“Right,” Thesan skimmed over the room one more time before offering a tight smile and retreating, closing the door behind him.

Aya huffed a sigh and let her head fall back, savoring the lingering scent of brown sugar and whiskey.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

Eris stood still in his mother's courtyard, mind reeling as it tried to make sense of the last few moments. He blinked, and found himself meeting the gaze of his mother.

She sat at her garden table, hand stopped halfway to her embroidery hoop, needle poised between her fingers. She looked at him over the little readers perched at the end of her nose. They stared at each other for a long, awkward moment, Edana's expression unreadable and Eris's cheeks flushed pink as he held his boots and socks in his arms.

"Eris," His mother said finally. It was not exactly a greeting. And it was not very happy, whatever it was.

"Mother," He swallowed.

"Do not tell me," She began, setting the hoop and needle down on the table, "that you used my winnow spot to sneak off to another court and meet someone."

Eris opened and closed his mouth, trying to conjure an answer. Edana took a deep breath, nostrils flaring as she breathed in the scent surrounding him, and her eyes widened in anger.

"You were in the Dawn Court? You snuck off to the Dawn Court to have a clandestine meeting with your healer?"

That shook Eris from his stupor.

"Of course not," He spat, nearly dropping his boots.

"Then please do explain why you are winnowing home half dressed."

"I'm hardly half dressed, mother," He scoffed.

But he knew what she meant. That he was not often so relaxed as to go around barefooted. He did not exactly blame her for thinking he had just come from someone's bed. The look on her face told him that he had better start talking.

"It wasn't like that," He started, freeing one hand to tug through his hair in frustration, "We just talked. And...had snacks."

"Snacks?" She repeated, her mouth now spreading into a smile. Eris thought he might prefer for her to scold him again.

"Yes," He sighed, "She was worried I would fight Arlo if I stayed, so she convinced me to go back with her and cool off. And we talked and had snacks."

"So it was Aya?"

"Who else do I know in the Dawn Court, mother?"

"Perhaps you had snacks with Thesan," She shrugged innocently.

She was not exactly blind to the way Eris looked at Aya - with a reverence reserved for very few. And the tone he used with her was even rarer. She looked at her son, so careful with his heart, now walking around barefoot and saying words like snacks. It was probably good for him. Even as he looked at her with that exasperated expression, her heart swelled with love.

"Go clean up," She released him from her interrogation, "Your father wants to see you. News about the High Lord's meeting."

Eris sighed again, feeling all of the loveliness of his day disappearing as his responsibilities called once again. On his way into the house, he dropped the napkin of cookies onto the table beside the spools of thread.

“She sent these for you.”

She said nothing, but the smile that spread on Edana's face warmed Eris’s heart. In that gift, there was a truce.

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tameodesza · 6 months ago

Text

꒰ modus operandi ₊　⠀᱖⠀⠀꒱

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ Pornstar!Shawn x Director!Bret ⋆⭒˚｡⋆

♡ Summary: Bret had worked a lot of odd jobs throughout his career, but he never thought his film degree would lead him to the set of a porno.

♡ a/n: This ended up being way longer than I expected, as always. AO3 link.

NSFW 🗣️🗣️🗣️

Bret was a seasoned film director in Hollywood. He’d worked numerous gigs throughout his career – commercials, sitcoms, low-budget indie films, and a short stint as a cameraman for some obscure wrestling federation in his younger years.

He’d done it all – or so he thought.

When an industry friend called one day asking him to direct a project on short notice, he wished he hadn’t broken his rule of not answering his landline on his day off.

He’d barely gotten the phone off the hook when he heard the distressed voice over the line. “Bret! Buddy! Need a huge favor. My director backed out last minute. Can you fill in?”

“What happened to your guy?”

“Fucked off to Aruba. Something about his ex trying to serve him with child support papers. Now I’m out a director! Please, Bret. I promise it’ll be worth your while.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

Bret leaned a shoulder against his cheap wallpaper, pinching the bridge of his nose. He should’ve hung up right then. But work had been a little slow for him lately, and with his bills piling up, it was unwise to turn down any work.

Bret hid his sigh as he asked, “What’s it for?”

Bret almost backed out of the project himself once he learned the details. But he couldn’t turn down the money. It was almost three times the amount he made on his last project. So after a day of briefing and understanding his requirements, Bret pulled up to a discreet film lot second-guessing his life choices.

Now, Bret had worked a lot of odd jobs throughout his career, but he never thought his film degree would lead him to the set of a porno.

Red leather couches, neon lights, and a lingering smell of sex greeted him as soon as he walked through the doors. He looked like a deer in headlights as his eyes scanned the room. He was far from modest, but he wasn’t sure what to expect working in such a lewd environment.

Then his eyes landed on the star of this project – Shawn Michaels.

Shawn was one of the most popular adult film stars on the scene. Many dubbed him as porn’s ‘Golden Boy,’ a name he earned due to his beauty, charm, and onscreen performance that left his viewers lusting for more. He was a hot commodity, but his success hadn’t come without sacrifice.

Despite his profession, Shawn, in fact, did not bareback his way to the top. The rumor spread like wildfire early in his career when people speculated on his quick rise in the business. With the amount of people Shawn came across promising him roles for a quick fuck, the idea wasn’t farfetched. But Shawn liked to believe he still had a sprinkle of morals left and turned down every offer.

Instead, it took working on a handful of crappy deals, unsafe work environments, and sketchy underground projects that probably never saw the light of day for him to catch the eye of some important people. Through rounds of networking, he managed to get signed to one of the top agencies in adult entertainment, Heartbreak Talent.

With his agency behind him, Shawn rose from the underground and began working on high profile projects with some of the most popular porn stars in the business. No longer was he meeting up in some dude’s moldy basement, but rather an actual set with regulations. He began pumping out quality content and selling his own merch on the side to make more money. When he began getting invitations to attend events put together for the top stars in the business, he knew he’d reached the upper echelon of adult entertainment.

Shawn sat in his makeup chair dressed in nothing but a white robe. He never understood the need to powder his face when all he was going to do was sweat it off. But he’d long given up on trying to understand the things they did.

He trailed his fingers through his styled hair to fluff it up a bit but came to a stop when he spotted Bret’s unfamiliar face in the mirror. Fit, tan, pretty eyes, and curly brown hair? The man was gorgeous, Shawn mentally declared as his eyes tracked Bret’s movement across the room.

Shawn almost mistook him for an actor with those looks, but soon realized the attractive man was the director. Shawn was accustomed to working with the same few directors, so it was a rarity to see someone new. And luckily for him, the beautiful man was directing the final scene of his project – a three-part series centered on Shawn banging the pizza guy.

“Delivery!”

Shawn smiled as his eyes shifted to the deep voiced man walking up behind him wearing a cheap shirt with a pizza logo in the center. It was his favorite co-star, Big Dick Diesel. Favorite because working with him always felt easy and they made a lot of money together with their onscreen chemistry.

Shawn snickered, tilting his head back to peer at the man. “Glad to see you got your lines memorized.”

“It’s easy when it’s my only line along with ‘You ordered an extra large?’”

They laughed quietly between themselves. “Yeah, I’m not expecting to win any Oscars with these cheesy lines. No pun intended.”

The sound of skin slapping, leather squeaking, and exaggerated moans filled the air as Diesel jackhammered his dick into Shawn’s ass. Shawn rested against Diesel’s chest, allowing his body to be used like a toy while his eyes flirted with the camera. He gave another loud moan and threw his head back when Diesel wrapped a hand around his cock.

“Yes, big daddy. Fuck me, fuck me! Don’t stop. Fuck!”

Shawn was in his element, and though much of his onscreen performance was an act, Diesel was one of few co-stars able to squeeze a real moan out of him. But as seamlessly as the shoot was going, something had been bothering the blond. And the source was the man behind the camera.

Shawn was used to directors praising him throughout scenes, commenting on how hot he was, how great his ass looked, or how good he took dick. It was a huge boost to his ego and encouraged him to pull out more tricks for the camera. But between sucking off Diesel and riding the man’s dick into oblivion, Shawn couldn’t help but notice how quiet the new director was.

Instead of ogling over Shawn, Bret kept a straight face, only speaking when directing Shawn and Diesel to change angles. It was strictly professional, something that Shawn wasn’t used to. It had him second-guessing his performance, wondering if Bret was too nice to tell him if he was ruining the shot.

After a final hard thrust, Diesel abruptly stilled, filling his condom with cum as Shawn continued to ride him through his climax. The blond came soon after, and Bret never felt more like a perv as held the shot on the cum oozing down Shawn’s dick.

Shawn ended the scene with his last line, “How’s that for a tip,” a dopey smile plastered on his face as he gave Diesel a kiss.

Bret was gone as soon as he yelled ‘cut’, robbing Shawn of seeing his beautiful face once more. Shawn sank back into Diesel, letting out a slow breath as the man lazily wrapped his arms around him. He squinted when Diesel pulled out, never getting used to dismounting the larger man.

An assistant brought over a pair of robes, and after getting dressed they made plans to meet up at the bar later that night. Diesel was one of few people Shawn could fuck and go out drinking like nothing happened, something he cherish about their friendship.

Shawn was late to leave, choosing to freshen up at the studio since it was closer to the bar. Upon leaving the building, he was pleasantly surprised to find Bret standing on the curb waiting for his ride. Something told him to keep walking, especially because Bret seemed to be of few words. But that only made the blond that much more curious.

“Hey.” Shawn approached with a dazzling smile.

Bret was barely able to make eye contact. It felt odd having a normal conversation with the blond after seeing so much of him exposed. “Hey.”

There was a long pause that Bret didn’t seem likely to fill. Shawn shifted his feet in the awkward silence, pulling out a cigarette as a distraction. Before he could light it, he noticed Bret eyeing the stick. “You smoke?”

Bret averted his eyes. “Trying to kick the habit.”

“Oh.” Shawn swiftly put the cigarette back in the cartridge.

The conversation was drier than the Sahara desert, but that didn’t stop Shawn from shooting his shot. He moved closer to Bret, examining him with inquisitive eyes. He was cute, even cuter up close. “Have you acted before?”

Bret crinkled a brow. “No…why?”

“Oh, nothing. Just wondering why a pretty face like yours stays hidden behind the camera.”

Bret’s cheeks heated up, taken aback by the unexpected compliment. Shawn smirked, knowing he had Bret right where he wanted him.

But just then, Bret spotted his ride cruising up the street. He found his words, answering curtly, “I’m not interested in the spotlight.” Then he grabbed his camera bag, entering his brother’s brown Cadillac before it could come to a complete stop.

Shawn watched longingly as the car pulled off with even more interest in the mysterious director.

Bret eyed Shawn’s image in the rearview mirror with conflicting thoughts of his own. But his thoughts were interrupted when Owen asked blatantly, “So how’s the porn gig?”

Bret shifted his eyes from the mirror to Owen with a look of annoyance. “I really wish you wouldn’t call it that.”

“Pardon me. How’s the ‘adult entertainment’ gig?” Owen said with a shit-eating grin.

Bret sighed into his palm, wishing he hadn’t told Owen. He wanted to keep it under wraps, but with his car being in the shop, he had no choice but to let his nosy brother know why he suddenly needed a ride to an obscure location across town. The only comfort he had was knowing Owen would keep it to himself. Bret didn’t want to give his family another reason to clown him on his career choice. Though his parents were supportive, his siblings never believed he’d make it in Hollywood despite the success he’d had.

He answered flatly. “It’s a job.”

“Oh, it’s more than just a job-”

“Owen. Please. I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“…You’re no fun.”

“Think he’s straight?” Shawn seriously asked after slamming his shot glass on the counter.

Diesel smiled into his drink, knowing the director had caught Shawn’s eye. He shrugged. “Don’t know. Makes it a whole lot more awkward he’s shooting gay porn if so.”

“He’s so cute,” Shawn blurted. Subtlety had never been his expertise. “It wouldn’t be fair if he’s straight.”

“Talk to him and find out then.”

“I tried. Getting a conversation out of him is like trying to squeeze water out of bread. It ain’t gonna happen.”

Diesel snorted. “Well, maybe that’s a good thing. You know the number one rule in the business. Never fall for y-”

“Your co-star, yes I know.” He’d learned that the hard way with Marty. “But no one ever said anything about the director, Dies.” Shawn gave a mischievous grin and Diesel could only shake his head as he ordered another drink.

Bret was asked (begged) to work on a few more projects, many of which starred Shawn. Apparently, the previous director was still on the run, and Bret’s impressive camerawork made him the top choice for a replacement.

When Shawn realized that Bret was directing more of his films, that began his mission to find any stupid excuse to talk to Bret. He likened the man to an old car’s engine. He just needed to be warmed up before running properly. They needed to get on speaking terms and he’d woo the man in no time.

He pulled out all the stops - asking Bret which angle he looked better in, asking Bret to roll the footage back after finishing a scene, and asking Bret of his opinion on outfits he should wear, even though there were stylists on set with more qualified opinions.

The process was slow and steady. Bret remained standoffish for a while, finding Shawn’s chatty nature annoying at first. But with each attempt, it seemed that Shawn was able to get a bit more conversation out of the quiet director.

Shawn draped a robe around himself as he huddled closely to the monitor. He’d just finished up a scene with another top star, Hunter Helmsley, before making his way over to Bret. “Wow. My ass looks great.”

Bret glanced sideways at the blond, rolling his eyes with the shake of his head. He hadn’t known Shawn for long, but he was quick to learn of the blond’s self-obsession. Then he noticed Shawn’s sudden frown, his eyes laser focused on the screen. “What’s wrong?”

“Can you cut that in post?”

Bret scrunched his brows, looking back at the screen that showed Shawn on his knees blowing Hunter. “Why?”

“You don’t see that? The way my stomach folds there?” He pointed towards the bottom of the screen. “It’s unflattering.”

Bret looked closely, rewinding and pausing the video to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. Honestly, Shawn looked fine. But the look in Shawn’s eyes told Bret the blond didn’t feel the same. It was an eye-opening moment for him as he realized the confident blond struggled with the image of himself.

“Shawn, I promise you it looks fine.”

Shawn gave a doe-eyed look. “Really?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Shawn looked back at the screen, finding it hard to believe. But he believed Bret was being honest. He was too blunt not to be. “Ok. I trust your opinion. Thanks, Bret.”

Shawn’s a genius. He was sure of it when he thought of a plan to get Bret alone. His agency had asked for him to submit some updated promotional photos to use on their website, and Shawn knew just who to ask for help.

Bret grew suspicious when he pulled up to the ‘set location,’ which was nothing more than Shawn’s high-rise condo. His mind raced on the elevator ride up, clashing against the slow classical music that played around him, as he speculated over the real reason Shawn invited him to his home.

Bret first toyed with the idea of it being a setup. Maybe he was going to get robbed of his expensive camera equipment. But, no. Shawn didn’t seem like the type of person to do that. Then he wondered if he had the wrong address. But that couldn’t be when the concierge had expected his arrival and pointed him to the direction of Shawn’s suite.

Once the elevator dinged, he settled on Shawn’s request being legit. He was due for new pictures, and Bret was great with cameras. Of course the blond would ask for his help. He was psyching himself out for nothing.

But when Shawn answered the door with his signature smile and messy hair, scantily clad in a see-through white silk robe with his lingerie slightly visible beneath, Bret was unsure of the blond’s intentions.

“Don’t be shy. Come in.” Shawn opened the door wider and Bret’s nose was hit with the inviting smell of his expensive cologne.

Bret entered hesitantly, but his nerves settled upon seeing the white backdrop in Shawn’s living room. When Shawn rounded him after closing the door, Bret pointed to his attire and asked, “Is this for the photoshoot?”

Shawn smirked as he walked backwards, opening his robe to reveal the white lace thong underneath. “Of course. What else would it be for?” Bret chose not to answer.

It started out innocently enough with Bret directing Shawn to flattering poses before taking a picture. But Shawn was a natural and didn’t need much direction. He knew just what his viewers would want to see.

Things took a turn when Shawn began flirting with Bret in his not-so-subtle manner. “Hey, can you pull this down a bit?”

Bret was busy looking through the photos when he glanced up to see Shawn on his knees with backside facing him. Shawn had rid himself of his robe, leaving ass cheeks exposed in his thong. He threw his head over his shoulder, waiting for Bret to take the bait.

Bret’s breath hitched before swallowing spit down his dry throat. It was funny, really. He’d seen the blond naked so many times, and in more compromising positions than the one he was currently in. But it was something about being alone in Shawn’s home that seemed so…intimate? Inappropriate? Yeah, that was it.

Or maybe Bret was thinking on it too much. The photoshoot was for porn promotional photos. It’s nothing out of the norm given the circumstances.

Bret cleared his throat. “Sure.” He set down his camera then walked over and kneeled behind the blond, unaware of Shawn’s growing smile. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of the thin fabric. “How low?”

Shawn turned his head inches from Bret’s face. “Just below the crack. Gotta leave them wanting more, you know?”

Bret gulped audibly in their close proximity, his eyes flitting between Shawn’s eyes and his lips. He was toeing a dangerous line and needed to stop himself before crossing it. “Right.” He looked away and turned his attention back to Shawn’s thong, tugging it down to Shawn’s liking.

It was hard for Shawn to hide his disappointment when Bret walked back to his camera.

Diesel knew Shawn was down bad when the blond called him over to drink at his condo that night.

Shawn nursed a bottle of Hennessy as he moped, “I don’t think he’s gay!” You’d think someone cut off Shawn’s hair the way he was in hysterics.

Diesel chuckled, “Because he didn’t fuck you as soon as he walked in?”

“Exactly!”

“Maybe he’s a gentleman.”

“Or straight, like I said.” He took another swig.

Diesel should have been more compassionate, but he thought this was hilarious. Shawn always got whatever and whoever he wanted. Always. This was the first time Shawn was so verklempt over a man not fawning over him, and frankly, Diesel thought it was a humbling experience.

“Well, I don’t think you throwing yourself at him’s the answer. Look at how long it took for him to say more than a few words to you. You’ve gotta take it slow.”

“I’ll lose a race to a turtle if I go any slower.” He flopped on the side of his couch, whining in the cushion.

Diesel rolled his eyes at the dramatic blond.

Bret sat at his desk looking through the photos he’d taken. Shawn made it seem like he needed the photos urgently, so Bret wanted to make sure he had some good ones picked out of the batch. His finger hovered on the ‘next’ button when he came across a photo that brought a tender smile to his face. It was an off-guard photo he’d taken of Shawn as the blond pulled a piece of lint out of his hair. It was a softer image of Shawn, one that wasn’t full of the lust his company wanted, but one that spoke of an innocence behind those lustful eyes. Bret thought Shawn looked prettiest this way when he wasn’t trying to put on for the camera.

Though it wasn’t obvious to Shawn, Bret was dealing with his own conflicted feelings towards him. Bret met many beautiful people in his line of work, and none of them compared to Shawn. But he knew better than to dip his toe in the water when it came to talent. He’d seen many men and women get blackballed in Hollywood as a result of onset relationships that went wrong. Bret took his career too seriously to risk it.

But he’d be lying if he said his mood didn’t lift when Shawn spoke to him. Or that he didn’t miss Shawn’s presence when he worked on projects the blond wasn’t a part of. Even if Bret didn’t have much to say, he just liked listening to Shawn talk, the blond always having an interesting story to tell.

He’d smile whenever Shawn complimented him, even more so when Shawn would shout triumphantly at the fact that he was able to will away Bret’s signature frown. There were also the few times when Shawn brushed past him and sent a wave of butterflies in his stomach that he tried to ignore. But the butterflies would soon dissipate after yelling ‘action’ and filming Shawn fucking or getting fucked by other men.

Shawn was at the top of their business for a reason. He was a showman, putting on a performance that would leave anyone watching with envy. Bret knew himself well enough to know that a fling between them wouldn’t work. He was a jealous man, something he wasn’t proud of. And with Shawn’s line of work, it would be a tough pill to swallow watching the blond share his body with someone else.

Filming Shawn with his well-endowed screen partners, like Diesel and Hunter, didn’t make Bret feel any better when he wondered if he’d be able to please Shawn all the same.

Bret set down his camera, coming to the conclusion that he needed to keep the blond an arm’s length away for both of their sakes. But that was easier said than done.

As Bret predicted, working on set with Shawn became much more difficult once feelings got involved. No matter how much he told himself to ignore it, seeing Shawn being taken by a man, sometimes multiple men at once, was hard for Bret to stomach.

It became even tougher filming rough scenes where Bret couldn’t discern if Shawn’s pain was real or part of the act. It took a mental toll on Bret because he actually cared for the guy.

There came a point where it was too much and Bret had to intervene.

“Cut! Let’s reset, guys. The lighting’s off.” Truth was Bret needed an excuse to give Shawn a break from the abuse his body endured.

His skin raised in nasty welts across his chest from the whip his screen partner, Undertaker, had been using.

“You ok?” he asked Shawn who laid on a table, breathing heavily. He seemed out of it but gave a shaky smile.

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

But that wasn’t nearly as bad as the time Shawn struggled for air as his co-star, Razor Ramon, forced his mouth down on his cock as he came, ignoring Shawn’s frantic taps on his thigh.

Bret was close to stopping filming, but just as he moved, Razor pulled Shawn’s back head, causing the blond to cough up spit and cum that hadn’t made it down his throat. What was even more bizarre was the fact that those around him seemed unphased as if they were desensitized to the brutality of what happened to Shawn.

Bret called for someone to bring over a towel and he helped clean up Shawn’s face. “I’m fine, Bret.” His voice was rough with misuse.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He didn’t sound like it. But before Bret could further question him, Shawn grabbed a robe and left the room without another word. Bret was concerned but gave Shawn the space he clearly needed.

Bret waited for the room to clear out to address Razor. The man had just zipped up his duffle bag when Bret approached. “You nearly killed him, you know that?”

Razor turned around with a lifted brow. His accent was thick, toothpick hanging out of his mouth as he said, “Listen here, chico. I don’t tell you how to direct. So don’t tell me how to fuck. If you got a problem with it, go back to directing insurance commercials.”

He flicked his toothpick in Bret’s face before stalking out of the room.

Bret realized there was something more between him and Shawn when they began hanging out outside of work. It started as Shawn asking Bret to spot him at the gym the one time Diesel couldn’t come. Bret should’ve said no, especially with how complicated things were with Shawn. And with how left the photoshoot went, there was no telling what Shawn would pull out from his hat of tricks. But how could he turn Shawn down when begged him with those baby blues.

Surprisingly, they’d done just as Shawn asked – spotted him. Nothing more. So when Shawn began asking Bret to join him on other outings, he didn’t see any problems with it. If anything, Bret looked forward to it. It gave him a reason to get out the house and experience new things he probably wouldn’t have had it not been for Shawn, such as wine tastings and apple picking. It was something so pure about seeing Shawn get excited about finding the juiciest apple in the orchard.

Through these outings, Bret got to see a different side of Shawn that only those closest to him saw. He got to know him not as the Heartbreak agency’s sex symbol, but as Shawn the person.

Having Bret’s company meant more to Shawn than Bret could ever know. As much of a socialite as Shawn was, he had very few real friends. It could get lonely sometimes when everyone was too busy to hang out with him. But Bret always seemed to make time.

It was during a morning hike that Bret learned the most about Shawn.

They sat down at a picnic table, needing a break from their hike. Shawn chuckled as Bret tried to hide his exhaustion. He handed over his water bottle since Bret hadn’t brought his own. “Here. Drink up.” Bret cautiously eyed the bottle and Shawn said, “I promise I don’t have cooties. Scouts honor.”

Bret snorted and grabbed the bottle. He took a few sips and handed it back. “Thanks. I should’ve brought my own. Wasn’t expecting it to be so hot today.”

“Oh, please. This is nothing compared to Texas.”

“Texas?”

“The accent didn’t give it away?” Shawn snickered and took a sip of water. “I’m from Texas. Born and raised.”

“How’d you end up out here?”

“The same as most of us – the age old tale of dreaming to make it as an actor in Hollywood.” He turned his head, looking at the Hollywood sign in the distance. “Except it didn’t work out for me. Or maybe it did, depending on how you look at it. It takes a bit of acting skills to do porn, right?”

Bret had never given much thought to what Shawn did before porn, but he hadn’t expected to hear he was a struggling actor. “How’d you get into adult entertainment?”

“I was desperate for money. I’d managed to score a few commercials, but the pay didn’t even cover half of my bills. One day, I saw this ad asking for a nude male performer. I wasn’t entirely sure what the gig was for. Something about taking candid photos, but I didn’t care. I needed the 300 bucks.”

Bret’s eyes widened. “Only $300?!”

“Hey, I told you I was desperate!” Shawn laughed loudly. “If it makes it any better, they upped the pay to $500 when I agreed to have sex on camera.”

It didn’t make it any better. “And showing up to a random location for sex didn’t scare you?”

Shawn waved a flippant hand. “It was fine. The ladies were nice.”

“Ladies?”

Shawn curled a brow, entertained by Bret’s reaction. “Is that so shocking?”

“Kind of. I mean, I just thought you only did gay porn.”

“I did whatever paid the bills. It’s a shame, really.”

“There’s no shame in that.”

“You don’t think so?”

“No. You did what you needed to survive and have been fortunate enough to make a living out of it. You should be proud, Shawn.”

Bret expected that to put a smile on the blond’s face. But a somber mood came over Shawn as he looked away with a faraway look.

Shawn whispered, “If only my family thought the same.” The words left him quicker than he realized. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to get personal. Forget I said anything.”

“No, no, it’s ok.” Bret reached out a hand, breaking his arms-length rule as he placed his hand on Shawn’s shoulder. “Your family. Do they…are they not supportive?” He could relate with that.

Shawn gave a laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “Nope…They disowned me. Dad wasn’t particularly happy to learn we had a porn star in the family.” He looked down at his hands, not wanting to see Bret’s pity.

“Oh, Shawn.” Bret rubbed his hand gently on Shawn’s shoulder in comfort. “How did they find out?”

Shawn sighed. “It’s embarrassing really. My dad’s neighbor called him over after finding a gay porn magazine under his son’s bed. I was on the cover, wearing nothing but a Christmas-themed G-string.”

Shawn had fond memories of that photoshoot. It was the first time he’d met Hunter, kickstarting their decade-long friendship. It just sucked that the memory was overshadowed by the events that followed.

“Once the secret was out, he cut off all ties with me. Said I was a cancer and needed to repent for my sins. Everyone else in the family followed suit and I haven’t spoken to them in nearly ten years.”

That was a hit to Bret’s chest. He couldn’t imagine the hurt Shawn had gone through. He had his battles with his own family, and he knew they’d have a lot of questions if they ever found out he directed porn. But he also knew his parents would never even consider disowning him. It bothered him that someone as bright as Shawn went through something so dark.

Bret scooted closer and said, “I’m so sorry you went through that, Shawn. You didn’t deserve that.”

Shawn struggled to believe that. He’d spent many years wondering why he couldn’t have gone for a normal job like his siblings. Wondering why he gave up so easily on acting when the going got tough. He brought his family so much embarrassment and shame, it was hard not to believe he deserved to get thrown out of the family. But Bret’s words brought him some comfort.

“Thanks, Bret.” He let out a breath, contemplating what he’d say next. “Since I’m being so honest, can I tell you something I haven’t told anybody else?”

“Of course.”

Shawn stalled. “I’m…I’ve been thinking about leaving the industry.” Bret’s eyes bulged at the announcement. “I know it’s crazy. Porn has done me a lot of good. It’s gotten me out of a rough place in my life and I’ll always be grateful. But,” Shawn sighed heavily.

Bret could practically feel the stress radiating off Shawn. “It’s taken its toll on you,” Bret finished for him.

Shawn looked relieved. “Exactly. I feel a little guilty saying it because I’m so lucky to be as successful as I am. But time is finite. Looks fade. And I don’t know how much longer I can depend on my appearance for money.”

Bret nodded. “That’s valid. What’s stopping you from making the jump?”

“I’m scared, Bret. I tried going the traditional route, working an honest job, but this is where it landed me. This lifestyle is all I’ve ever known. What if it’s the only thing I’m good for?”

Shawn’s eyes began to water, and Bret quickly soothed, “Hey. Hey listen to me. You’re worth so much more than this, Shawn. So much more. You’re the only one holding yourself back from making that leap. No one else is, but you. If you decide to stay in the industry, that’s fine. It doesn’t lower your worth as a person. But if you really want to leave, I will be here to support you 100%. I mean it.”

Shawn was touched, his eyes watering again from Bret’s kind words. He’d never had anyone put so much faith in him. He’d been afraid to tell his industry friends about his thoughts on leaving, knowing they’d selfishly want him to stay. And part of him thought Bret would feel the same way.

But the sincerity behind Bret’s words moved Shawn so much that he couldn’t help but kiss him in gratitude. The kiss was short, and Shawn was quick to pull away realizing what he’d done. “Shit. I’m sor-”

Bret placed a hand on the back of Shawn’s neck, pulling him into another kiss before he could finish. Bret shouldn’t be doing this. He really shouldn’t. It went against every rule of caution he set for himself. But he didn’t care that he was breaking the rules of professionalism. He didn’t care if Shawn would never be his. All he cared about was sharing this moment with a guy he’d grown to care about.

They were both breathless, eyes half-lidded when he pulled away. “I’ve been wanting to do that for some time.”

Shawn gave a bright smile as he internally celebrated. He couldn’t wait to rub it in Diesel’s face. “Me too.”

They hooked up as soon as they made it back to Shawn’s condo. The door had barely closed when Bret pinned Shawn against the door, liplocking with him until they both couldn’t breathe.

A trail of clothes was left on the way to Shawn’s bedroom, and they fell onto Shawn’s California king bed in a naked heap. If Bret was nervous about his performance, it didn’t show that night.

Shawn allowed Bret to take control, the blond responding positively to every intimate touch. Bret was so tender with him, something Shawn rarely experienced in his sex life. Every part of him was sensitive and for the first time in a while, sex didn’t feel like a job. He didn’t feel the need to perform or be over the top. He wasn’t having sex for millions of people to see, but for him and Bret only.

Every kiss, every moan, every plea for Bret to fuck him harder were all genuine. It was an intense moment for both of them, and they felt even more connected to each other when they came.

“I want to be with you.”

They both uttered those words at different times in the night – Shawn when Bret pinned him against the door, and Bret when Shawn laid on his chest dozing off in post-nut clarity.

Bonus (because idk when to stop writing lol):

🥀 Shawn doesn’t leave adult entertainment 100%. After getting with Bret, he cut out pornos entirely, but still participated in some semi-nude risqué photoshoots. He’d even posed in Playgirl one time. The crew tried so hard to get him naked, but Shawn wasn’t showing his dick to anyone but Bret. It was a good compromise. He could still show off his body but wasn’t getting fucked by other men. The money wasn’t as quick as Shawn was used to, but he still made a decent living.

🥀 The adjustment was harder for his peers more than it was for Shawn. They threw a big going away party and his friend Goldust pleaded for Shawn not to rob the world of ever seeing his perfect ass.

🥀 Shawn still got asked to make random appearances in videos, mainly by Goldust. They’d filmed many threesomes together, and the payday was always worth it. But he shut down every request as he didn’t want to risk anything with Bret.

🥀 Bret still directed porn here and there whenever his industry friend asked. But he eventually stopped when he received a short call from the man: “Hey. Our guy’s back. Turns out the kid wasn’t his. So he’ll be taking over the next project. Thanks for your help, Bret!”

🥀 Bret entertains the idea of him and Shawn making their own sextape. Surprisingly, Shawn was the hesitant one as he was no longer interested in having his intimate moments caught on camera. They tried it once, and watching the tape back made Shawn realize how hot they looked together

🥀 Out of all of Shawn’s filming partners, Bret thought Hunter was the oddest by far. Their scenes usually consisted of a mix between dad jokes and comedic sketches before blowing each other.

#divider cr: @plutism #hartbreak #shawn michaels #bret hart #wwe fanfiction #wwf #bret hart x shawn michaels #bretshawn #alternate universe #kevin nash x shawn michaels #triple h #big daddy cool diesel

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wing-ed-thing · 1 year ago

Text

Foul Creature (Tobirama x Reader) Part VI

Synopsis: You would say that you grew up together. From children, to teenagers, to young leaders, you did nothing but be who you were and Tobirama would forever name his love for you as the reason he hated the Uchiha.

Word Count: 6k

Tags/Warnings: Warning for dark themes ahead, including physical child abuse, violence, and non-con elements. Fem!Uchiha!Reader. Please consult AO3 for more specific warnings.

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part XI

Notes: IT IS HERE! YES! i purposefully make it long and full of drama to make up for the amount of times I pushed the release back. I also put a lot of my own thoughts in the end author’s notes so please enjoy! I most definitely could not have written this content a year ago let me tell you—

The memory of you struck him like lightning, electrocuting him to his core with panic and disgust. He revoked his touch from you as you began to sit up on the riverbank in acute panic.

He just stared at you. Tobirama had no idea how he remembered you, yet he wondered how he hadn’t seen it before. Yes, you were older, but as he considered the shape of your face, he could see the unmistakable look from the forest back then. You had the same nose, such a familiar laugh, and your eyes… even without your sharingan.

He had thought of you as a foul creature.

That morning when he first saw you in the woods.

Tobirama had come home much earlier that day in defeat. He hadn’t wanted to stay and train after his encounter with you. He tried to continue, to find another spot to collect himself, but he ultimately couldn’t help but feel that you were still there, watching him. Knowing an Uchiha lurked around in the woods, it was probably best that he didn’t go off alone for his safety.

He remembered how his father stormed toward him when he returned to the compound. Butsuma’s jaw was clenched as tightly as ever, battle-toned arms swinging with each step of his furious gait. He swooped in on his son, grabbing Tobirama harshly by the arm. Tobirama was tugged along awkwardly, his legs too short for the angle at which Butsuma dragged him.

“Where have you been?” his father scolded lowly between gritted teeth. He paid no mind to the Senju meandering down the same dirt road, and they paid no mind to him in turn.

The question nearly made Tobirama’s heart drop in his chest, the memory of you spreading terror like wildfire across his skin. He looked into Butsuma’s gaze with wide eyes, wondering how his father could have possibly known he had made contact with an Uchiha. His fingers unconsciously rose to the space under his right eye, almost trembling. He was sure that his father could feel the tremor through his hold.

“Training, Father,” Tobirama answered earnestly. He almost crashed into Butsuma as his father stopped suddenly, the child only tripping for a moment before he was pulled into a nearby stable.

“Tobirama, where have you been?” Butsuma barked, repeating his question more harshly. He jerked Tobirama away by the grip on his arm, allowing him to stumble back into the hay. All Tobirama could do was stare, ashamed that he had disgraced the Senju name and that his father could see it painted on him. Promises piled up on his lips: if he saw you again, he would surely kill you that time! He would immediately set out and— “You better answer me now, boy, or I’ll beat you within an inch of your life.”

“I was training with Grandfather’s kunai, Father! On the east end by the mountains like you taught me!” He nodded profusely, scrambling into a deep bow. Tobirama’s eyes knitted closed.

The silence above him felt like it lasted for an eternity. Tobirama didn’t dare to look, and for a long moment, he couldn’t even meet his father’s eye. Somewhere between the seconds, he found himself mindlessly observing the small population of livestock grazing at the stable's far end. Tobirama glanced at them and their troughs.

“You were not with Hashirama?” Butsuma spoke slowly, and Tobirama’s head carefully rose with a shake.

“No, I was not.” Tobirama flinched as Butsuma’s hand came firmly down on his hair, placing just enough weight on his skull to ensure that all of Tobirama’s attention was on him. “I assure you. I was practicing my skill with the kunai.”

“Your elder brother has been acting suspiciously as of late. I want you to find him and report to me what he has been up to.” Butsuma landed a harsh pat on Tobirama’s back, ushering him away. He scrambled away as quickly as he could back into the forest, still gripping the pack of weaponry on his back.

***

It made more sense after that evening.

Hashirama knelt on a cushion beside him, the two sons before their father.

“About this boy you have been meeting up with. I looked into that young man and learned that he belongs to the Uchiha clan. Hashirama, you understand what that means, do you not?” The brothers stiffened, forcing on stoic faces so as not to let their discomfort show. Butsuma’s gaze narrowed. “If you do not want to be suspected as a spy, then you must shadow him after the next time the two of you meet. And if he should notice you… kill him.”

Tobirama eyed his brother nervously. Undoubtedly, the conflict between the Senju and the Uchiha would mean this was the only way to rectify things. Tobirama stared down at his lap, guilt weighing down on his shoulders.

There was no way for anyone to know about his encounter with you, and even if his father found out, Tobirama was different. At least he tried to kill you. That was enough, wasn’t it? Unlike Hashirama, he at least tried to do the right thing and kill the Uchiha on sight, no matter his level of success.

After a moment of preponderance, Hashirama spoke again,

“Are you completely sure he is an Uchiha?”

Tobirama gulped, bracing himself for the heavy hit that awaited Hashirama. But it didn’t come. Butsuma studied him with crossed arms, bubbling rage mounting in his chest. He gritted his teeth.

“You trust a member of the clan who killed your brother?” Butsuma simmered. Tobirama stewed, praying for the moment that he was allowed to leave. Hashirama sat confused and still deep in thought on his cushion, not appearing nearly as worried as he should, in Tobirama’s opinion. “If he has been tricking you, you are putting every single Senju in danger.”

Despite Tobirama attempting to convince him otherwise, Hashirama was reluctant to comply. But after a lengthy beating from Butsuma, Hashirama finally agreed to be followed. As they eventually left the room, Tobirama couldn’t help but avert his gaze from the deep bruises and the forlorn expression on Hashirama’s face.

***

“I am an apothecary,” you had told him.

He didn’t ask you where. With the tumultuous clan wars, Tobirama assumed you were part of a smaller, nomadic group. As the more prominent clans and clan alliances fought, non-combatants traveled to safer ground, ironically forming their own larger herds for protection.

That was Tobirama’s first mistake: assuming.

“An apothecary,” Tobirama repeated. You wore his fur, curled up against a bed of river glass and hidden between a mess of boulders. He sat on a nearby rock, the headband you had confiscated and returned to him clutched in a ball in his hand. Tobirama cocked his head. “Is that a healer?”

“A woman healer?” you asked, hardly restraining the tiny smile that graced your lips. Your eyes glowed with wonder as you leaned forward, having never heard of such a thing. “No, I am afraid I only collect herbs for medicine. Although our current apothecary is very old, he taught me how to create medicines when we used to live by the coast. A rare honor.” Tobirama’s eyebrows rose on his forehead with an impressed blink.

“That is admirable. Your work takes a keen eye and a sharp mind.” You shifted against the grass to sit with your legs crossed as you leaned forward. A patch of small river flowers grew in a cluster where the gravel of the riverbank began. The white petals grew sporadically down the length of the land. You weaved your fingers through the tiny stems, the pure light color glowing against your skin.

“You know about medicine?” you mused.

“Yes, my clan is well renowned for our knowledge of various medicines. The children are taught about these things at a young age, although, I possessed neither a keen enough eye nor a sharp enough mind for healing, to the disappointment of my mother.” You drew a bent knee toward your chest, rearranging your long robes as you gently collected the tiny flowers.

“Was she a woman healer?” You scooted forward to sit in front of him.

“No,” he said, letting you smooth back his hair. “She was a warrior like my father. Wove baskets—beautiful baskets— when she was with us. My grandmother was a master healer, though.”

“A woman master healer,” you breathed in awe to yourself, weaving the flowers into Tobirama’s hair. You couldn’t help the giddy smile that crossed your lips. “That is fascinating.”

“My grandfather used to take me fishing in the northern streams before he passed. He always brought her herbs. Perhaps I could find some of her formulas. You may find them interesting.”

“Really?” You leaned back on your ankles, admiring the little white flowers that adorned Tobirama’s crown. “I could not ask you to do such a thing.”

“If you are not allowed to learn of medicine and herbs, how else will you pursue being a great apothecary?” You blinked at him in disbelief, taken aback. “That is your dream, is it not? You speak of it often.”

“Do I?” You let out a light laugh, sheepishly averting your gaze. “I apologize. My good friend from home often tells me I speak too much.” Tobirama scoffed.

“Some friend,” he muttered, but his gaze softened as he adjusted the fur over your shoulders. “You do not speak too much. Especially when it concerns things you are passionate about. Therefore—” Tobirama plucked one of the flowers out of his hair and tucked it behind your ear. “Tell me about this flower.”

You instinctively opened your mouth but quickly closed it when you noticed Tobirama’s expression chance. He held a glint in his eye and the beginning of a smile on his thin lips. He leaned forward, brushing your hand along another patch of little petals.

“I know you know this one,” he said softly before leaning back against the boulder behind him. His bright red eyes met your own. They held softness in them. “Please, I would like to listen.”

You almost laughed, your nervousness almost causing you to forget all your knowledge as his touch left you.

“They call this purity flower. It is incredibly delicate, and they only grow this big.” You stared down to where Tobirama had placed your hand. “You can do quite a few things with them. They are wonderful for sore throats, sanitizing wounds, upset stomachs…”

You brushed through them, and a few flowers crumpled under your fingers.

He would never forget that. The way your face fell as the flowers at the center of the cluster began to shrivel.

***

He was smarter than Hashirama.

Tobirama wasn’t a traitor to the clan. Tobirama wouldn’t be caught fraternizing with an Uchiha like his foolish brother. He was stern, calculating. He was so careful.

He had carried his prized Uchiha-killing kunai with him the entire time.

It was strapped to his leg when he first chased after you.

It was with him as you adorned him with blossoms.

He held the same knife he had once held up to your neck as he screamed in your face that he would carve out your eyes the entire time.

And he had another chance.

It was right in front of him, as you blathered on about the daylight. Your lips moved, but nothing came from your mouth.

He had another opportunity to redeem himself.

The moment of his childhood that haunted him for many nights could have been corrected. Tobirama was a true warrior now. He could have killed you. He could have carved out your sharingan, sinking his kunai into your skull as you screamed and kicked under him, just as he promised long ago. No one would hear you out here.

He could do anything he wanted to you.

But he hesitated again, and now his only weapon was lost.

The time you had been sneaking around had hardly been long; the days in sum dwarfed compared to a year.

And now he watched you in the morning sun, his heart and head doing a double take as his eyes hurriedly searched for the kunai he had pushed into the river. But it was long gone.

“It is morning?!” You exclaimed, scrambling to your feet. Startled, Tobirama scurried up with you, stumbling back until one of his feet sank into the rushing water. You lurched forward instinctively to steady him.

“Do not touch me!” he barked, and the gruffness of his voice made you recoil. He faltered, sputtering with a vigorous shake of his head. Tobirama balanced himself as the cold, rushing current pushed at his knee. He looked up at you, staring into your wide, confused eyes.

Looking upon you in the daylight made him view you in a way he never had before.

Yes, he could see it now.

He could see the Uchiha in you… and it was ugly.

Every part of him burned. It was as if he had been coated in mud, leaving his skin irritated, itchy and inflamed. He wished he could scrub every inch of himself of you. Slice, scratch, and claw into himself to erase the ghost of your lingering touch.

Tobirama burned with shame.

You shifted, moving to speak, when something covered your eyes. You snatched it slowly in confusion, but as the silk ribbon slid from your hair to drape over your fingers, your eyes quickly widened even farther than they already were. Tobirama stood in the water, watching you with a pounding chest as you, too, stumbled back. Your gaze darted from the Uchiha crest to Tobirama, who, for once, did not hold any softness in his expression.

“Oh.” You held your shaking hand up to your lips. You took another step back. Tobirama didn’t move.

He looked angry, the tension of his clenched jaw just about making the entirety of his body shake. His brow furrowed in a mixture of confusion and rage. And all he could do was stare at you with fists balled up in mounting fury. Tobirama’s eyes turned glossy as he held back the burning tears that threatened to spill over his waterline.

You weren’t thinking, not as you stepped forward and spoke his name.

You wanted to go to him, tell him it was all a misunderstanding. Something. You tried to tell him something, anything.

You stepped forward, and Tobirama planted his second foot in the water.

“Do not come closer, Uchiha!” he spat. His words halted you in your stride. Tobirama stumbled back, splashing in the shallows. His clothes were drenched with dark patches which adorned his legs and sides. He held his hand up, almost as a buffer between him and you. He shook, and droplets fell back into the rushing current of the water.

His father’s words to his brother repeatedly played in his head.

Tobirama had been endangering his clan all this time. He had been reckless and naive, just like his brother. He sat as the current rushed by, stuck and frozen like a cornered animal, trying to calculate how many of his kinsmen could have been saved if he had been more sparing with his tongue.

You spoke in a meek voice,

“Tobirama—”

“Get out of here! Do not dare show your face back here, foul creature; I will kill you!” he screamed with all the weight of his guilt. Tobirama rose to his full height, hulking shoulders squared. You didn’t wait a second longer before you ran. You ran straight into the brush, and in an instant, you were deep into the forest. You could still hear Tobirama shouting behind you. “I will kill you, Uchiha! I will carve out your sharingan! I—”

He choked the moment he lost sight of you.

Tobirama dropped to his knees, splashing again down into the water. He heaved, his throat burning as he threw up into the river's current. Tobirama uttered a strangled cry, mucus dropping from his mouth and nose. Hot tears poured down his face as he gasped into the surface, nearly drowning himself in the water and his own mess.

You continued to run. You ran through the woods, paying little mind to the scrapes you collected as you rushed back toward the Uchiha colony. Your foot snagged against a fallen branch, causing you to smack face-first into a nearby log. You scrambled to your feet, heart pumping as you continued back home, your breath rasping rhythmically in your ears. Wetness streamed down your face, combining tears, snot, and blood to cake your skin.

But as you grew closer to your colony, the scent of smoke grew stronger. And as you looked up between the branches, you could see a dark cloud rising into the air.

The weeping became clearer. Agonized weeping.

You burst forth from the trees to your family’s garden.

To where the garden should have been, but the garden was gone.

Your home was gone, and a smoking pile of charcoal was left in its place.

A few structural beams shot out from the pile of char, like pleading limbs reaching up toward the heavens for a salvation that would never come. The paper walls were gone. The engawa had been reduced to rubble. The engawa that you and Madara stood on just hours before while your parents discussed your union.

…

Your parents.

You shouted for them, rushing straight for the ruins of your home. Large masses of char littered the streets, marking the resting places of other houses just like yours. Your eyes darted about in a frenzy, making eye contact with the mourning Uchiha, who littered the dirt streets for any confirmation that your parents had made it.

“Where are my parents?” You cried to people who averted their gazes. One woman covered her child’s ears, holding him close to her chest. “Have you seen my parents? Please! Someone! Did they make it? Will you not answer me?”

But no one answered you.

There was just weeping.

You didn’t see their faces or those of your family.

You raced toward the rubble, rifling through the mess with tears blurring your vision. You were howling something, letting words spill and tumble from your lips with the same liquidity as the water pouring from your face. Your fingers began to sting. Debris cut your skin, forming abrasions that filled with soot and dirt as you clawed at what used to be your home.

A muscular arm looped under your torso. You kicked your legs as you continued to wail, pounding your fists at the back of red armor. You could only watch as you were slowly carried away from the wreckage of your home, the reminisce of other ruined buildings gathering into your blurry view with every step.

You went limp about halfway down the road, hanging upside down with your cheek smushed against a bloody backplate. You cried, the compilation of mucus stuck in your nose, causing your sinuses to burn. You coughed, fist pounding a last time against armor before you were dropped back to the ground.

Your knees gave out under you, and before you stood Madara.

Tall, hulking, and imposing Madara with a somber expression on his face and a gaping wound on his side. He still held you by the hand, your fingers just barely hooked on his. His feet were stained with blood and caked with dirt, and sitting in the disturbed dirt road sat vials of herbs and a collection of your supplies from the apothecary.

Only then did you notice what he was surveying behind you, letting your hand drop from his.

Bodies of the injured were splayed out on salvaged blankets in the middle of the street. The able-bodied scurried around with what little medical supplies could be salvaged from the remains of your village, tending to warriors, women, children, and elders alike. Your head snapped back toward Madara.

“You must make medicine,” Madara said in a voice barely above a whisper, although it was by no means gentle. He held a gruffness in his voice. Frustration laced his tone. You heaved yourself up, something about being on the ground making you feel more vulnerable than you already felt in your confusion.

“Madara, I—”

“What?” Madara snapped, jerking forward at you. You recoiled, lips closing instantly. “What now, woman? Can you not see the crisis laid out in front of you? You have received exactly what you wanted and yet remain stubborn even when a man is giving you direct instructions.” You were still dazed.

“Where is Makihara?”

It wasn’t hard for Madara to wrestle you back to the ground. Your head slammed against the dirt, the vials of herbs and medicine sideways in your vision. Madara’s lips touched your ear as he spoke venom directly into your skull. His words sent a submissive chill directly into your heart.

“For the sake of the gods, make the goddam medicine and cease your difficulty. Your clan head bids it.” He released your head, which was engulfed in his wide-handed grip. You stared dizzily at his back as he walked away, his form wavering in your vision.

“Clan… head?”

***

Madara was officially deemed the head of the Uchiha clan later that night, bare except for his loin cloth as his body was painted with sacred symbols. He sat like a king on the ruins of the Uchiha village, looking pensive and severe.

The ceremony was intimate, traditional, and without frills.

Somber.

What was left of the village wasn’t made to attend, but most showed their faces in the torchlight, gazing upon their new leader as Madara was adorned with red and white paint. The population of Uchiha gathered around him, squishing together to watch the decoration of their new leader.

Madara sat amongst the ruins of what used to be your colony, looking solemn in the warm glow of the flames around him. He stared ahead. A surviving elder smeared two lines of red paint under Madara’s eyes with shaky fingers. Bandages covered the elder’s eye, wrapping all the way around his head. Another elder brushed his frail hands over Madara’s cheeks with white before anointing his forehead with his thumb.

You had made that paint. You admired it from the back of the crowd.

A few children had been sent to gather pigmented clay while you exhausted the rest of your herbal supply on medicinal remedies. Even with what you made stretch, you barely had enough to treat all the wounded. Burying the dead had taken all day.

Madara stood in front of all the Uchiha, bare-chested and painted in holy symbols as the clan revered him. He barked, the deep, powerful sound resounding from his chest. His colored abs flexed with the call, and the Uchiha chanted back, filling the surrounding forest with spirited howling.

He stood as the new leader of the Uchiha clan, yet the colors that adorned him were yours, as were the herbs that decorated his wound.

***

Your parents were dead.

It was a fact that you recalled often during the mindless time you spent crushing herbs, beseeching the weight of it to sink in. But instead, you were met with numbness, even as the mourners around you grieved their lost loved ones.

You sat under your makeshift canopy on a rug of simple woven threads. The three sides of your new apothecary were draped with fabric, acting as a buffer to the light night breeze. And there you thought, pulverizing medicine with your pestle to replenish your depleted medicinal supply. As the clan’s only apothecary, you could no longer collect herbs. In a strike of irony, this in turn meant that you were too important and no longer allowed to leave the Uchiha’s new territory.

You hadn’t noticed Madara’s presence. Only when the torchlight from outside no longer filtered into your tent did you think to even blink. He stood over you, harsh shadows cast across his face from the lone lamp that lit up your workspace. Madara’s colors had faded from his skin, but the stain from the dye remained as the faintest of hues.

You could just barely see the holy symbols.

“Does the new location please you?”

You stopped, the moment of distraction allowing the ache in your hands to set in. You nearly dropped your pestle, recoiling slightly as the tension froze your fingers. You had been working since daybreak.

“I cannot say I have been able to see much of it, Madara.”

“Come, then.”

To your surprise, Madara extended his hand to you. You looked upon him with exhaustion, almost to ask if he genuinely meant what he spoke. He waited patiently for you to place your hand in his before whisking you into the surrounding woods.

***

The Uchiha had retreated farther inland, upstream to the higher ground by the mountains. The trees were large in these parts, far larger than you were used to. They extended twice the height compared to the ones in your previous territory, towering large fans of leaves up toward the starry night sky. Even the vast constellations appeared brighter in these new parts.

Madara walked a step or two in front as you strolled across the rocky terrain. You panted as you struggled up a steep incline. Madara hadn’t bothered to help you, instead moving along onto the level above. Small stones that littered the surface of the earth slid under your sandals.

“I am—” you huffed —“I am not as agile as I used to be.”

Madara laughed somewhere above.

“You are in your prime. What is this talk of agility?”

You pulled yourself up onto the dirt with the help of an exposed root. You fanned yourself, wiping the sweat off your brow as Madara chuckled somewhere in front of you.

“I meant that I no longer climb trees every day, Madara. Perhaps that is something you do, oh great clan head, but not I.”

You turned to stand, suddenly struck by the view before you. Madara stood just ahead, holding up a branch with his forearm to expose the landscape. You hurried over, framing yourself in the window of leaves that Madara created. From up so high, you could see how the trees covered the land for miles, bisected by one of the Land of Fire’s many rivers in the distance.

“Are you able to say if the new land pleases you?” You caught Madara’s eye for a split second, quickly averting your gaze at the sight of his sentimental expression, your aloneness suddenly growing palpable. You nodded.

“Moving the clan here was clever. Having the high ground and access to fresh water will only serve to be prosperous.” You offered him a gentle smile and a nod, glancing back at the scenery. “I know you will make a great clan head, Madara.”

“We will see about that,” Madara admitted in a rare moment of self-doubt. The confession made your forehead crinkle instantly. You cocked your head, taken aback. Madara sighed, almost as if reading your thoughts before you spoke them. “The elders— the remaining elders— believe that I am still quite young to be taking up the mantle. They still hold power when it comes to making decisions on behalf of the clan. At least, until they deem I have grown into my title as clan head.”

“Why make you leader at all if they are going to make such fuss?” you scoffed, knowing very well the answer.

You sat down at the cliff's edge, watching the moon in the distance, and Madara came to sit next to you. He shifted, having more difficulty getting situated than you. The branch he had been holding up came down to smack him on the back of the head.

“I have had similar thoughts.” Madara looked off with a troubled frown. “I worry for the future of the Uchiha. Our numbers dwindle with every battle. And with this last raid, the women will be forced to join the militia.”

“Is this true?” you nearly exclaimed. You withdrew into yourself, brushing a finger across your bottom lip. The news rattled around in your ribcage. “How unorthodox!”

Madara sneered, and it hardly took his admission of “I am against such things” for you

to understand his stance on the matter. You let him grumble to himself, once again lost in a daze, as you took some of the dry dirt below between your fingers.

“Madara,” you called softly, and he perked up with a hum. Between the chaos of the last few days, you were hardly allowed to give anything proper thought. Of all the terrible things to sink in, you only had one worry on your mind. “Do you believe I might be sent to fight the Senju?”

You stared into Madara’s eyes. Tobirama’s fearsome expression flashed across your mind as you recalled his promises to take your life. They made you shiver.

“I would think not, given that you are acting as the lone apothecary of the Uchiha,” Madara answered, his voice deep and soft. “Besides, I forbid it.”

You didn’t know what to say as you let the bit of relief Madara’s words brought you to wash over your thoughts. Whether you intended it or not, you had made yourself invaluable to your clan. They weren’t about to put you on the front lines anytime soon.

Madara spoke your name.

“Do you like it?” he asked. You weren’t paying attention again. You blinked to yourself, his deep voice cutting through your thoughts.

“Do I like what?”

“The new land, does it please you?”

“It is… not home,” you admitted. “But the landscape does please me, yes. I am certain it will be home soon enough.” Madara closed the space between you before gingerly placing two fingers under your chin. He turned your face toward him.

“I am clan head now.”

“Yes, Madara, I am aware.” You tried to subtly turn your chin away, but he held firm, boring into you with vigilant eyes. Nocturnal insects chattered in the forest behind you.

“No other bachelor in the Uchiha can provide better than I.” You had no other choice than to meet his dark gaze. He spoke to you earnestly. “Will you not reconsider marrying me?” A frown tugged at his lips. Worry swirled on his face.

“We are far too young, Madara.” You took his hand, gently removing it from your skin. You folded in on yourself, backing away from the edge as you bashfully gripped the fronts of your robes to dry your sweaty hands. Madara pivoted, leaning back to keep you in his sights, the moon’s slow, enshrining him in a silver silhouette. You curled into the earth. “Besides… too much has happened for us to think about such things.”

You could feel it: the urge to fight you on the tip of Madara’s tongue. Indeed, other Uchiha have married at your age and younger. Sometimes, young girls would be considered ready for marriage after their first menstrual cycle. But to your surprise, he didn’t fight you at all. Instead, he came to sit next to you.

Madara could’ve fought you on several things. He hadn’t yet forgotten the mystery beau he was convinced was keeping your affections from him, nor was he thrilled that you had been named as the clan’s sole apothecary through a simple process of elimination.

You hadn’t forgotten his attempts to strongarm you into marriage or the terrifying outburst that caused you to run away. Although, with your parents gone, you were placed supremely in charge of your fate. Try as he must, not even Madara could force you into marriage.

But when it came down to it, with your family dead and your lover disgusted by your bloodline, you were left again with Madara. That had been how it always was. Having lost so much during the clan conflict, you were always left with each other, weren’t you?

As you began to weep, Madara scooted backward to be with you. You leaned against him, placing your head on his shoulder as you continued to cry, holding his arm to bury your face into the sleeve of his robes—dark, round spots soaked into the fabric.

Madara held you in the dimness as the surrounding clearing filled with your sobs. It had been the first time you were allowed to cry. The first time you truly had to confront the regret that haunted you from the few days prior. For his capriciousness and overall little patience for sentiment, Madara nurtured your vulnerability.

His fingers trailed lightly over your hair, rounding up stray strands behind your ear. He pressed his temple against the top of your head, caressing down your jaw to clear away the tears that slid down your cheeks with his thumb. Madara lifted your face, his second hand cupping the other side of your face as he continued to swipe away the wetness from your face.

You held his wrists in your ginger grip, as he laid a tender kiss on your forehead. He gazed into your teary eyes in the moonlight, casting away another stream of tears as he offered a gentle kiss to your right cheek, and then your left.

His nose nudged against yours, staring into your glassy eyes. You let them flutter shut, causing more droplets to splash against your face. Madara placed his lips on yours, holding the sides of your face as he kissed you with earnest.

You kissed him back for a moment, only for a moment. The shape of his face was different than Tobirama in a way you couldn’t quite place your finger on. He had rounder cheeks. A longer bridge to his nose. Madara’s hair draped over his shoulders to tickle your skin.

You pulled away, just the slightest distance between your face and Madara’s before he leaned in again. You pushed against his chest, but his movements this time were more forceful. He held you firmly in his grip, his fingers pinching against your cheeks as he lowered himself on top of you, pinning you against the earth and his larger body.

Your eyes went wide, the entirety of your body going frozen as Madara moved against yours, his once gentle motions now a gnashing of lips and teeth that made you press your head into the dirt. You tried to gasp his name in protest, but your words were muffled. His forearm rested to the right of your head, his breath hot against your skin as he smored your airways. His fingers tugged awkwardly at your hair, causing you to wince as he pulled the strands. You pushed on his chest again, kicking your legs under him, but Madara lowered more of his weight on top of you.

A line of saliva connected the two of you when he finally ceased his assault on your lips. He gazed upon you with lidded eyes before he continued, tucking his head in the crook of your neck. You screamed as he sunk his teeth into your flesh, tears pouring from your wide eyes as you stared up at the pitch black night sky. Madara’s hand swiftly came over your mouth, to muffle the shrieks that tore from your throat.

You flailed violently, limbs lashing in adrenaline-fueled terror to no avail as Madara kept you pinned to the earth with his larger, heavier frame. And then you felt a hand dip into your robes, tugged the top material from your shoulders to grope at your chest. You cried harder, squealing like a pig at the slaughter as you finally managed to squirm an arm free.

You thrashed it around in a flurry of scratches and strikes. Your hand snagged on Madara’s face as you tried to scoot out from underneath him, causing him to shoot backward. Blood dripped from his nose, forming a nasty pool of red in tandem with the jagged gash that sliced diagonally across his upper lip.

He looked at you in confusion and anger; blood streaked across his fingers. You scrambled to your feet, darting down the mountain and back to the new colony.

You would never speak of that night again.

Madara dropped all speak of marriage.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Lots of fun author’s notes: I hated the pacing of this fic. It used to have really low notes in the early days so I think I got a little sloppy with it, and now it’s exploded out of nowhere! I hope this “retcon” fixes some of the plotholes!

I would like to think the teen years were made purposefully vague and dreamy so that the transition to the dark content is more impactful. Yes, yes we’ll say that!

I don’t always imagine what Reader looks like in my stories (I usually don’t) but this one I do! I usually picture Lupita Nyong'o. Not sure if that adds or takes away for any of you. Who I picture ultimately doesn’t matter

I’d also like to think the whole scene where Tobirama scares Reader off is like any movie where a protagonist has to scare off a loyal dog. Like, “Go on, boy! Git! You’re not welcome here! Git!” while like throwing rocks or something.

Also a reminder that I am not a smut author, so please withhold any thirst comments or requests. Thank you.

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part XI

@gracefulbumblebee @norasincubi @rahatake

#Tobirama x reader #tobirama senju x reader #tobirama #Tobirama Senju #naruto x reader #naruto x you #naruto fanfic #Senju Tobirama #naruto #Hashirama Senju #x you #x reader #reader insert #x fem!reader #fem reader #foul creature #tw sex assault

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piko-power · 17 days ago

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Being a Sonamy fan is hard (and just being an Amy Rose fan in general)

*quick note, I have only seen a few leaks regarding Sonic X Shadow Generations so take this post with a grain of salt and please add in some stuff about the game that I should be aware of because I have a feeling that this post might be incorrect about a lot of things*

*contains possible Sonic X Shadow Generations spoilers*

Being in love with Sonic isn't Amy's only trait. She is something more. She's a baker, a tarot card user, she's got a strong heart of gold, and is just a passionate and cheerful cute little weird girl.

As a Sonamy fan, these "changes" are nothing special or big, it's still just Amy being Amy, but this time more than just wanting to be with Sonic. I am aware of that one edit where Amy was trying to give Sonic cupcakes. It's really cute, but it's not the same without the hand over her face. Am I complaining? Yes, and no, it's hard to describe. (I don't have the image with me atm but in the future I'll edited in on this post)

I'm not complaining because we are seeing Amy just doing more than just, loving over Sonic. She still is in that cutscene, and most of the game as far as I'm concerned (I haven't seen all of the leaks), but in a more calmer fashion.

But at the same time, I am complaining because, and I highly doubt SEGA is doing this, at least on purpose, but Amy's crush on Sonic feels like is getting buried in a way.

I kind of worry that a newer generation of Sonic fans will never find out about Amy's crush for Sonic, or just how wonderful their dynamic in general is if this keeps going on.

I know it won't, but still, we haven't been seeing that a lot. But at least if you want to introduce new fans Sonic and Amy's dynamic, platonically or romantically, make sure to not bring up Heroes or a couple of X episodes please LMAO

(But that one episode where Amy and Sam talk about her relationship with Sonic, yeah, bring that one up. OH. and the last episode of Season 2, don't forget about that one.)

Look, we're all high on Son/adow right now, and it feels good, but what about Sonamy? Sonamy and Son/adow have a lot in common and are both really good with angst potential and lots of great character interactions. At least in my opinion anyway. (Topic for another day, if I'm brave enough)

I love them both equally, so I want to see an equal amount of hedgehog dorks being together. Or better yet, Sonamyshad. 😎

But I'm getting slight off-topic...

I don't want Amy's crush to be forgotten. You don't even have to like Sonamy to understand why and how Amy's feelings for him is actually really important for her character. (Again, topic for another day)

I mean, of course, some reasons as of why relate to my personal headcanons, but there are other good in-canon reasons, too!

Hell, even Sonic and Amy's friendship is just as important. They don't have to be a couple, but that doesn't mean we have to pretend that Amy never fell in love with the hedgehog who saved her life in more ways than one.

I also don't want how much Sonic and Amy's relationship improved throughout the years to be forgotten, either. This is why I'd rather have the shot of Sonic's covering her face with his hand, because he wouldn't do this today, and that's the point of all this...

They both started off as goofy, little kids, one wanting to share her love like wildfire, and the other always running off, not understanding the concept of love, and, of course, not loving her back.

Amy was much more loud and expressive about her love, and Sonic, while he knows there is good in Amy, does not want to be part of a relationship, and doesn't know how to talk things out about it, even with Amy not taking "no" for an answer. The solution? Just run away lol

Yeah, there are times where he called her a "pain" and thought of her as "annoying," but those times he was either in a hurry, or in a bad mood. Remember: They were both younger at the time, so it's in-character for Sonic at that age.

Sonic and Amy don't have a lot of moments where they're just, together. And not just for a "date." Sonic doesn't know a lot about Amy other than her love for him. ...Okay, some things he does know, but not a lot.

Their relationship was beginning to shift after the events of Lost World and especially after Forces, which I would explain, but I'm gonna put a link here because I don't want this post to be too long.

But if you have read it, then the next couple of texts would have some context lol

Anyways, after all that, Sonic and Amy's relationship was a lot different now. Amy was more calm but still cheerful, just not showing a lot of her love for Sonic because she's fully aware that none of that is important, and Sonic was more gentle around her because he wanted to be better than how he acted towards her for a while.

They both just want to hang out and start over as proper friends, but eventually, Sonic would find out what Amy was going through mentally, and how long she kept this from him.

Perhaps after that, Sonic wouldn't mind being closer to Amy, but he still has a world to look after. But hey, maybe slowing down and letting Amy catch up with him won't be so bad. Besides, he's finally seeing her happy with just him for the first time in a while, and he never realized just how much he missed it until now.

Buuuuut, those are just my headcanons, like I mentioned earlier. We all have our reasons why we love or dislike a ship (as long as it's not gross), and I have my own.

These two, just like son/adow, hold a special place in my heart because of what I went through myself, and how much they both have grown, and I truly hope that their relationship and friendship won't be forgotten.

I know it won't happen, but I still have that feeling... Probably because no body cares about their dynamic as much anymore.

Because of the past and people misinterpreting the ship, and Amy's character as a whole, the fandom seemed to care less about it. I mean, I don't blame them, but... it's still pretty messed up.

It's fine if you don't like sonamy, but I really hope you dislike it for a genuine reason, and not just because of some fans getting some things, or worse, everything about Amy and/or the ship wrong.

Amy's character arcs through the games, and her and Sonic's dynamic through the years have been overlooked as far as I'm concerned. Not like heavily overlooked, it's just that it's been a while since I've seen people give a damn about Amy Rose, especially SEGA.

I know we got The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog, but I feel like that's not enough.

What's going on with Sonic X Shadow Generations is pretty strange, but first of all, it's not Ian's fault god dammit, and second, I don't see it as a big deal. I haven't seen most of the leaks, but as far as I'm concerned, it's not that bad.

(But I have heard about that one cutscene with Knuckles and Classic Sonic and I couldn't help but laugh my ass off over it XD)

But with how the game is handling Amy, please be aware that this isn't the first time this happened, and it's not even that bad either. I mean, yeah I did mention how I'm worried about it, but I was over it once, I'll get over it again lol

There have been discussions about this since the Fast Friends Forever bio thing that happened last year, and I'm getting kind of tired of the arguments by now.

Amy stopped chasing Sonic not because she doesn't love him anymore, but because she doesn't need too. She is part of the team and has been closer with Sonic for a long time now. She doesn't need to follow them around when she already have proven herself to be useful and a fighter.

I'm really happy Amy is being recognized as something more than having a crush on Sonic, but having a crush is the heart of Amy's character.

Looking up to Sonic and wanting to be like him is what made Amy Rose... well, Amy Rose. She pushed herself and fought hard to be the person she wanted to be, and it's all thanks to Sonic.

He inspired a lot of people around him, especially Amy, so it's no wonder why she loves him so much. Plus, her tarot cards told her that he would be the love of her life, but I feel like even if the cards are wrong (not saying they are lol), she still loves him.

I want Amy's feelings for Sonic, and their friendship and their potential relationship to be remembered for a long time. I don't want them to be pushed to the side forever.

I don't want people to believe that her crush is her only trait, even though it's so important to her character.

I don't want Amy to change too much. Friends or not, I don't want her to give up on Sonic entirely.

I don't want this fandom to forget about Amy Rose.

#piko rambles #sonic the hedgehog #amy rose #sonamy #You don't have to tag as ship if you don't want to #sonic x shadow generations #sonic x #Dumb rant I guess #I have been seeing some leaks from the new game. Please stay safe online if you want to avoid spoilers #But there was one leak that caught my attention lately. You probably might know which one it was lol #I'm not upset about the game's changes. As far as I'm concerned. But I am upset about how people treat Amy and sonamy lately.#Not dissing on anybody who dislikes sonamy. It's okay if you don't like it. This is just a rant post after all.#If you makes you feel any better I also ship son/adow LMAOOO #I'm still gonna check the game out in the future. Mainly for Shadow and nothing else lol #I made this post in a crappy mood and it's been sitting in my drafts for like days please don't hate me for this LMAO

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marble-anime · 2 years ago

Text

Music to Watch Boys to

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader

Summary: Your husband indulges you in a night of pleasure.

Disclaimer: Minors DNI

Warnings: mentions of violence, cursing, unprotected sex, creampie

Word Count: 1.4k

You sat back with a glass of wine as you watched some of the newest recruits dance and bumble about the room. Being a veteran member of the Survey Corps, you knew how rare this was. You’d traveled beyond the walls and watched your comrades die, all to accomplish nothing other than killing a few more titans. Sometimes it felt like all you were doing was going backward.

Until rumors of a titan transforming into a boy spread like wildfire through each regiment. Hours later, the hole in Wall Rose that had been kicked in by the colossal titan was plugged up by said titan boy. Or, at least, that was how the story went. Some believed it, others didn’t. It didn’t matter though. Regardless of how it happened, humanity had its first win against the titans. And that warranted a celebration.

The Scouts were most excited considering they had to face titans on a daily basis. Displaying their joy through playful roughhousing, drinking, and gossiping about their unbelievable victory.

Meanwhile, you waited impatiently for your husband to return. Since he was one of the most reliable soldiers he was tasked with helping Erwin extract information to figure out what exactly had happened today.

You finally saw him walk through the door. His hair was perfectly parted and his clothes were clean and crisp despite his grueling profession. He wore his usual deadpan expression. You stood up from your seat and made a beeline toward him. His steel blue eyes zoned in on you as you approached.

“Took you long enough,” you remarked.

“It’s been a busy day,” his answer was short, you expected as much. Whatever information he obtained about today's 'incident’ he wouldn’t be able to share with you whilst in the presence of rowdy soldiers that were itching to know what happened.

“Well, they’ve kept me entertained in your absence.” You tilted your glass, motioning to the rambunctious young scouts. Levi winced at their shouting, taking your glass from your hand as you leaned into his side. You rubbed small circles on the back of his neck while you spoke, “You must be starving.”

“Not really.” He downed the rest of your wine, setting the glass down on the nearest table. He gently grasped your hand and led you out of the mess hall. “My time would be better spent with an extraordinary woman than eating amongst a band of idiots.”

“Well aren’t you a charmer,” you teased.

You made casual conversation on the way to your shared bedroom. The anticipation bubbling within you increased tenfold once he shut the door behind you. You stared at the bed, feeling his presence behind you. You tried to break the tension, “Skipping right to desert, huh?”

His cologne filled your nostrils as he gently gripped your jaw, tilting your head to the side. “I earned it.” He littered your exposed neck with kisses. Your face heated up, and his arm snaked around your waist, holding you flush against him. His semi-hard cock rubbing against the curve of your ass.

He pulled your jacket off your shoulders and you worked on getting off the rest of your clothes. Now, completely bare, you crawled onto the bed. Comfortably resting on your back so you could observe his every move. He draped your clothes over the chair at his desk before turning back to you. You watched as he slowly undid each button of his shirt, revealing the toned body hidden beneath.

He tossed his shirt on the back of the chair and unbuckled his belt. Your breath hitched when he pulled his pants and boxers down, his cock springing free and slapping his stomach. With both of you now free of your uniforms, he bent down to kiss your ankle. Arousal seeped from your pussy as he kissed up your leg.

He climbed onto the bed, pressing a kiss to your hip and trailing his hand between your thighs. You gasped when his cold fingers made contact with your wet heat. Moans spilled from your lips as he traced circles around your clit. He continued his sequence of kisses up your body until he reaches your breasts.

He softly kneaded one of your boobs with his free hand while his mouth worked on the other. Trapping your hard nipple between his lips, flicking it with his tongue. You threw your head back, whimpering at his touch.

He released your nipple with a wet pop, bringing his wet fingers up to his mouth. He let out a satisfied hum at the taste of your essence. You spread your legs to make room for him as he settled between your thighs. He steadied himself on his forearms and leaned down to peck your lips.

“Ready?” he whispered, breath fanning your face.

You nodded, “Yeah.”

“Oh!” You felt a twinge of pain as he slipped his cock inside your pussy. Carefully rolling his hips to drown out the discomfort.

“Fuck me,” you pleaded.

The bed squeaked as he quickened his pace, his heavy balls slapping against your ass. You deeply inhaled the scent of sex that fogged the room and let out a breathless moan, skin heating up at the friction of your bodies. His hips gently rocking against yours, the feathery touch of his abs against your torso.

Craving the feel of his body, wanting to be as close to him as you could get, you arched your back pressing yourself into him. His thrusts stopped and you shuddered as you felt his hand slide under your lower back. His soft palm and long fingers held you close whilst he began to move his hips again, this time at a slower pace. Savoring the feel of your bodies and souls intertwining.

Your hands gripped at the cold but smooth silk sheets beneath you. The angel of your body allowing him to hit that sweet spot over and over and over again. That inch only he could scratch. You wanted to feel him to his core. His spirit was seemingly heartless to others, but you knew better. The person beneath the cold exterior, incredibly caring, strong, and beautiful. Oh so beautiful. You just couldn’t get enough.

“Closer,” you demanded, although you two were skin to skin, the hand holding you close pushed you into him even harder. “Closer.” And harder, his thrusting becoming somewhat difficult due to the closeness of your bodies. Still, determined to carry his love to the end, he humped into you faster.

Regardless, you were in bliss. Less of him going out, more staying inside just the way you craved it. “Closer.” The pain of his hand digging into your back was drowned out by the waves of euphoria that had hit you. Curling your toes at the shockwaves rippling through your body from head to toe.

“Levi!” Your shaky legs wrapped tightly around his waist, cutting off his movement. Eyes rolling back into your head, mouth agape, choking out a broken moan, as you felt him release into you. Souls becoming one as you listened to his gasps and the whimpers in his throat that he wouldn’t let leave his mouth.

Your fingers gently traced up and down his back, whilst he gently set you down. Coaxing him to relax on top of your body as you spoke, “Let’s stay like this for a while.” One of your hands trailed up his spine to massage his scalp. He nuzzled into your chest. “Don’t ever leave me.” You smiled at his worry for you despite him being the one risking his life with the scouts. “I think I should be the one saying that.”

Staring down at his messy head of hair, unable to read his expression as he kept his face turned away from you. A moment of silence passed before he responded, “I couldn’t handle losing you too.”

“I’ll be with you forever, if not in person then in your heart.” When he finally looked up at you his eyes were vulnerable and his face resembled that of a child who needed comfort. “But even so, life is fleeting. Love me as much as you can while you still can. And I’ll do the same for you.”

He propped up on his forearms to kiss you. “I do love you. So much.”

You tucked his bangs out of his eyes. Irises usually tired and devoid of any emotion, now full of life. “I love you more.”

#levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #attack on titan x reader #levi ackerman smut #levi smut #attack on titan smut #aot x reader #aot smut

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i-think-i-have-too-many-fandoms · 11 months ago

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Ok so first off I'm just going to say that i know next to nothing about the fancasted Slytherin boys but i have been unable to get Mattheo Riddle out of my head for the last few day so here we are now

Mattheo Riddle x Hufflepuff!reader Warnings: Use of Y/n, cussing, possible bad writing.( lmk if there's any others i should add)

The summer before your sixth year at Hogwarts was spent bettering yourself in all the ways you thought were flawed. You were tired of being the odd one out in your circle of friends. You wanted the love that they had. None of them understood when you told them you wanted the fights they got into, they'd tell you you're romanticizing it too much and that it wasnt all love and roses, but you understood that, you wanted the dark parts as well as the light parts - you wanted to learn how to fix a fight. You wanted everything, but no one else seemed to want it - actually, thats not true they wanted stuff like that just not with you. With you they wanted to use your body then get rid of you by morning. You didnt like it it but you'd decided long ago that maybe its all you deserve, all you'll ever receive from anyone. Until HE was partnered with you on a project in potions class. All was well in your little fake world until HE started flirting with you anytime you'd work on the project together.

Everything was fine until one day he got a dare from Draco. "hey mate, noticed you've been hanging around with that one hufflepuff" Draco smirks at his friend whilst sitting down at a table the others had set up for studying in the library. "care to tell rest of the class if she's really as good as everyone makes her sound?" As Draco spoke Mattheo could feel his jaw tense. "And what the hell are you on about now Malfoy?" "Oh you know just the fact that your crushing on a whore." Draco leans back folding his arms across his chest before Mattheo kicks the chair out from underneath him. "And how many girls have you used for the same thing Draco? You have no right to speak about someone when your the exact same." Mattheo raised his voice looking down his nose at the blond boy. "Oh don't believe me? Give her a month, hell she'll probably be trying to jump you after a week of being just plain nice." Draco moves to his feet while speaking. Mattheo continuing to look down upon Draco says a quiet and simple "fine." before pushing the bleach blond twat back to his seat and reclaiming his to go back to studying.

Over the week following that night Mattheo let his affections pour down on you, he'd gotten to know you and he let you see parts of his soul that no one else had been able to. After the month was up and you hadnt done anything about your feelings for him and Draco realized he was wrong he started spreading the knowledge of the dare to anyone he spoke to. Gossip wasn't much of a big thing at Hogwarts so when there was big news it tended to spread like wildfire, but often got skewed along grapevine.

You had been sitting in the library with Hermione studying for a test when you'd noticed she looked as if she'd had something she'd wanted to say. So when finally you'd grown restless of her bouncing knee you ask her the question you've been dying to know the answer too. "Merlins beard, Hermione what is it." She looked up at you with a look on her face as if she had no idea what you were talking about. "Hermione?" You said her name in a questioning tone and she looked as if she caved within her mind. "Well, Draco's been talking, about the many people you've been with - and i am in NO way shaming you for anything - but he's been saying that there was a bet, with Mattheo that involved you, and supposedly he bet Mattheo that you'd go along with anything if he had y'know with you, and that that's why you've been hanging around him so much." The red haired girl spoke cautiously as if expecting you to break down right in front of her. You opened your mouth to say something, the one person you didnt want to see walked in. You had completely forgotten about agreeing to tutor him. You looked at him, no longer with a look of happiness approaching your face but instead a look of animosity grew and without a word you stood and collected your books walking past Hermoine and Mattheo going to your dorm room to collect your thoughts.

Mattheo gave the Granger girl and questioning and concerned look to which she responded with a pointed one and told him to go find Draco before turning back to her studies. So he did, he went to the grand hall to see if he was eating lunch, he went to the quidditch field to see if the blond was gallivanting on his broom. And lastly - which honestly it should have been first - he checks the Slytherin common room and it's inevitably where he finds the blond lounging on a sofa. Mattheo bounds toward Malfoy and picks him up by the lapels of his uniform jacket and shoves him to the nearest wall. Matttheo on his search for Draco had heard the rumours that were going around and each one making him angrier and angrier. He wants to yell at the boy against the wall but he doesnt want prying ears hearing. "What have you done Malfoy?" His words dripping with acidity and the blonds name punctuated with a rough shove against the wall. "I know nothing of what you mean Riddle." Another rough shove to the wall and Mattheo asks the question again. "What. Have you. Done. Malfoy."

"Nothing, I was merely speaking with Nott in a not so private corridor about that bet we had. It is not my fault that people overheard." That sentence earned him another shove. "You'll take it back." Mattheo was trying desperately to know some sense into the otherwise senseless boy of what he'd just done without saying it outright but never the less Draco still figured it out. "You aren't in love with her are you Riddle?" Draco spoke seemingly disgusted at the fact. "You. Take. It. Back." Becoming more and more in pain, and the look on Mattheos face reminding him of a certain someone who can't be named, Draco finally surrendered, agreeing to take back what he'd said. Mattheo let go but kneeing him in the stomach before he left to make his point known. He then made his way to the Hufflepuff dorms to find you, and explain himself, and maybe grovel/beg for forgiveness.

When he gets to the to for the dorms he knocks, he has a friend in Hufflepuff that has been waiting for him. They let him in and tell him discreetly where your dorm is. He makes his way through the halls and up the stairs until he's standing in front of your door. Before he knocks he's wracking his brain trying to figure out what to say but all thoughts he had went running away when he heard your soft sobs through the door. No doubt because of him.

Instead of knocking he opens the door quietly (thank goodness it wasn't locked) and made his way inside, he closed the door behind. You looked up at the noise of the door closing and made brief eye contact with Mattheo before looking away again. "why are you here? I know about your bet so you can just forget about everything." Your words bitter as you snapped at him. "Love… there was no bet of the type that you have undoubtedly heard. Draco - called you something i don't intend on repeating to you, and I want- no- needed to prove him wrong. i am so desperately sorry for any pain he i have made you." Mattheo walks up your now standing form and kneels in front of you resting his hands on your hips. "I- I can't do this, I let you in. I- I broke MY rules for you - FOR you. Because I- I loved you." He shoots up to his feet and rests his palms on your cheeks. "Don't- don't use past tenses we can still have this, we can still do this it doesn't have to end just because of some pitiful joke i made in a fit of rage. Please, one more chance and if i fail you again i leave you alone forever, I- I promise." the look in his eyes told you he was sincere yet you still doubted it. The one person you'd let fully inside to see the darkest parts hurt you, but it was something small, and Draco has that effect on everybody. You pull his face to yours connecting your lips together, his hands move from your cheeks to the small of your back to pull you closer. When you pull away breathing uneven. "Is that a 'we can be together' type of kiss." He smiled wide when he finishes speaking. "oh shut up." You pull him in for another kiss.

#mattheo riddle #mattheoxreader #mattheo x you #mattheo x y/n #slytherin boys #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle fluff

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neoarchipelago · 1 year ago

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Madripoor High (part 6)

A/N: this was supposed to be some miniseries but i feel like it's turning into a slow burn again... also, this is an emotional rollercosater. I gave Y/N a backstory, tragic, similar to Ghost's one.

Warnings: TRAUMA ABUSE DEATH READ UNTIL (_-_-_-_) TO AVOID IT THEN START AGAIN AT (_-_-_-_) IF YOU WANT TO AVOID IT

+ SEXUAL CONTENT

You walked through the base, the warm sun barely helping with the cold wind. Two months. You were working on this contract for two months. You were more than frustrated. You were starting to think you simply couldn't find Echo because they didn't exist at all.

The obvious side eyes and murmuring made you want to chuckle. Not only word of the punishments from the Lieutenant spread like wildfire. The fact that you showered alone under his close watch also spread. You were aware of the little whispers. 'the lieutenant's temptation' , 'the lieutenant's bitch' or 'whore'. You probably heard 'the forbidden pussy' at some point. You could end all of these fuckers careers with a simple search of their background, the worst skeletons in their closet unburied but you honestly couldn't care less. It was a funny change from the usuals 'criminal' 'terrorist'.

For some reason it almost made you giddy. Of course, Ghost was entirely unaware of all of this. The cadets were way too terrified to even mumble if he was in the surrounding 20 feet. You also tried to keep it to yourself, the next punishment being way more harmful for the boys than for you. Walking up to the barracks you felt surrounded. You stopped in the middle of the hallway. Looking at the boys surrounding you.

"Well well, little ducklings away from their mommies." You smirked.

"How about we call you mommy huh?" You heard from one.

"Oh sorry. I have daddy issues, not mommy ones." You teased again.

"You got a big mouth for a little thing." Someone rang.

"Not only this little thing could end your reputation, your careers and your families in a blink of an eye. But I'm not at all worried. I walk through this base with no fear." You stated.

"Maybe that's your problem. You're FUCKING full of yourself." A man spat.

You looked at the cadet who spoke. Of course. You were perfectly prepared for such a thing. You had an excellent memory.

"Cadet Davis. 25 years old, divorced parents both remarried, two biological brothers, one half sister and a baby half brother on the way." The boy frowned slowly paling. "You enlisted because of your bad civilian behavior, last resort to get straight in life after not only dropping out of high school for misconduct but also out of interest per your therapist's notes." You smirked, the boys eyeing each other. "Now, I know that you and your squad sneak out every Thursday you're not on duty to play cards in one of the barracks near the east wall." Now the group paled. "I know about the phones on which you watch porn while you guys jerk off all together." You said again.

"I know. Everything. Ending you is almost boring." You finally spat.

"What's going on here?" You heard.

You turned to the voice smiling at Soap and Gaz as they appeared into view. The cadets stood to attention as soon as they saw them.

"We're bonding." You teased. Soap snickered as Gaz frowned. You crossed your arms, smirking towards the cadets. "They're such adorable boys."

"Alright. Yeah. No doubt." Gaz said, not believing it for one second.

"Come on, let's go. Stop giving the kids attention. They'll become soft." Soap added.

You chuckled, shaking your head before walking to them. You threw a last glare towards the squad before climbing up with the two Sergeants. Once inside you sighed, heading for the kitchen.

"Are you alright?" You heard Gaz ask from behind.

"I'm fine." You sighed.

"If they're giving you a hard time you have to tell us." Soap said.

You were going to answer when a voice rose from the couch.

"Who's giving you a hard time?"

You froze. The sergeant's heads snapped towards the couch. You didn't need to turn. The voice. That voice that made you want to simply fall to your knees sometimes and others want to fight him.

"No one!" You said, walking to the fridge.

"Soap? Gaz?" He asked, standing from the couch. The two tried to look away, one rubbing the back of his head.

"No. One." You repeated.

Soap grinned, heading for the fridge as well. He stood next to you, eyes roaming the inside.

"I think you should tell him." He whispered, hidden by the open door of the fridge.

"It's fine. I'm not in any danger. And he's annoying…" you whispered back.

He snickered, making you bite your lip. You grabbed a small juice box, turning around to sit at the counter. Soap decided he wanted juice as well, but the last one being in your hand, he closed the fridge, running behind you to steal the precious liquid.

"Hey!" You yelped.

He laughed running out of the room.

"JOHNNY!" You yelled.

Gaz smirked.

"Just get another one…" Ghost mumbled.

"It was the last one!" You told him, clear annoyance on your face.

Gaz laughed softly, shaking his head as he walked out of the kitchen. You groaned, turning back to the lieutenant who didn't take his eyes off of you.

"What?" You let out.

He simply stared intensely at you. You started to feel that little tingle in the back of the neck, that feeling of being watched by a predator. It could work. Could. If only he knew that it wasn't fear that it elicited in you. But burning fucking need.

That, had been a brand new problem to you. Since the shower incident, you felt yourself melt a tiny bit more under his gaze. Felt yourself shiver at his raspy voice. Felt the dangerous warmth in the pit of your stomach when you heard him scold a recruit. You didn't even want to remember how you felt when you saw him spare. His strength, his body, his eyes… oh god.

You looked away, walking to the couch. You wanted to avoid his gaze, the way it made you feel, but also wanted to hide it from him. Hide the way he made you feel. It didn't matter much if he knew. Two things could happen. He would like it and you'd have a wonderful night, or perhaps various ones. Or he would feel uncomfortable about it and you'd simply take a step back. No. What mattered was a certain someone could not know.

"Muñeca.."

You looked up at the voice. Her. She couldn't know. If she did, you'd never hear the end of it. You smiled at her, Price and Alejandro right behind her. You pat the couch next to you, beckoning her to sit down. Price called the rest of the squad as you let your head fall back.

Soap walked in, sending you a teasing smile as you shook your head. You pat the couch on the other side, the boy not hesitating to run and jump next to you.

"God's sake Johnny…" you chuckled.

Price had a warm smile on his face as he witnessed the scene. The room had filled up, you started to feel the obvious important news arriving.

"Alright. Here's the brief." Price started.

You let your head fall on Soap's shoulder, his hand rising to playful pat and or gently slap your cheek. You pushed his hand away, trying to listen to the captain.

"Thanks to Tracker's latest Intel, we have eyes on a cartel. Squad 141 will be heading out tomorrow for a recon mission." You frowned but didn't say anything. "It should be a few days. Until then, Laswell will be here to help you, colonel Vargas and Rudy will also remain here with the Prisoner. "

"Cabron." She spat.

You chuckled, playfully slapping her arm. Price chuckled as well, a darker tone to it as he eyed Valeria. Price continued, falling into more detailed information about their mission. You zoned out. For as much as you tried to avoid thinking of it, you couldn't stop. The skull face kept showing up again and again in your brain. You wondered how his hands would feel on your skin. How it would feel to trace his faded tattoos. Did he have more? You were sure he did. You wanted to search for them. His blond lashes flashed in your brain. Was his hair also blond? Was his happy trail-

"Tracker?!" Valeria snapped her fingers in front of your face. You snapped out of your very spicy daydream as you frowned. You looked up at her.

"Are you ok muñeca?" She asked, a little frown on her face. Soap immediately jumped as well to look at you.

"I'm… fine!" You stammered. It obviously didn't help your case, now the room was looking at you. You felt yourself blush and heat up under the scrutinizing gazes.

"Are you sure, you look a bit red…" soap added with a worried look. You wanted to scream and hide. He wasn't helping at all.

"I'm fine!" You said again.

Ghost stepped closer, your heart jumping in your chest at the sight of the object of all your nasty thoughts eyeing you again. A hand touched your cheek, Soap testing your body warmth with the back of his hand.

"Your pupils are dilated… and your heartbeat is a bit fast." He stated..

"Oh god please shut up…" you finally whined, embarrassment washing over you. "I'm fine, really, maybe got a bit sick overnight it's nothing really…" you lied.

"Perhaps you should go over to the infirmary." Price said with a little worry in his eyes too.

"No it's ok… thank you. I'll rest a bit." You finished with a smile. God if he knew it was simply you fantasizing about his Lieutenant.

You avoided eye contact with everyone for the rest of the briefing, scurrying off discreetly to your room as soon as it was over.

—

You could finally take a deep breath once the wooden door shut itself. You barely had time to take a step forward before the door opened again. You turned, falling eye to eye with deep brown orbs. You frowned, swallowing hard before turning back towards your bed.

"Yes lieutenant ?" You asked. He stared. "You have a staring problem, Ghost." You stated.

He crossed his arms leaning back against the door. The t-shirt he was wearing showed his arms perfectly. The sleeved tattoo almost plastered for everyone to see.

"Now you're the one staring."

You snapped out of the day dream. You were in fact staring. You snickered, turning back to your bed where you let yourself fall upon. You groaned into your pillow. You felt a wave of frustration splash onto a shore of exhaustion. You felt like the heavy weight you weren't aware of, finally fell on you. You turned your head to the side, staring at the wall. Should you glance at him? Was he still staring?

The sound of the lock echoed. Heavy boots stomped on the floor, the sound growing closer before it stopped next to the bed. Your body tensed. What..

Shock filled you as you felt two arms turn you around. You laid on your back, watching the man kneel on the bed, letting himself down as well, his head on your chest. Your heart was threatening to jump out of your chest.

"What… are you?" You questioned.

His body flexed as the shock in your voice. You anticipated him trying to stand back up. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, one on his head. Not a word was said. You let yourself enjoy the moment. The heaviness of his body on you was making you sleepy. He had relaxed, his body reacting to the soft caresses on his head and back.

"Who's giving you a hard time?" You heard.

"No one…" you mumbled through sleepiness.

He groaned a bit but didn't move. His hands caressed the skin of your waist under your shirt, slow circles that gave you goosebumps. You sighed in content. You felt the heat. The breaths. It was a blink of an eye. And he was on top of you, his head in your neck, biting and sucking softly at the skin, one hand over your breast underneath your clothes, pressing his hard cock against you.

The feeling of him, so close yet so far, was unbearable. He teased you, clothes keeping any real contact from each other. You wanted to rip your own pants and panties off to finally let him thrust into you.

"Simon.." you moaned.

A low chuckle answered your whines, only making you more and more desperate.

"So needy. Have you been craving this? Thinking about how my hands would feel against your soft skin? Have you been fantasizing about my mouth biting and marking you? Shit…" he chuckled darkly again. "You've been imagining my cock stretching your pretty little pussy, haven't you?"

You wanted to say no. Throw some snarky comments but you couldn't. Like some spell had hit you, making you unable to be anything but submissive.

"Of course you have… look at you. You're thinking about it right now." You frowned at his words. "You're dreaming of it…"

Your eyes flashed open, the white ceiling staring back at you. Your heart was racing, the silence and darkness of the room enveloping you, bringing you back to reality. So now, you were having wet dreams of that asshole?! You grabbed a pillow throwing it over your face to muffle an annoyed loud groan. The fluffy thing was quickly discarded with rage. What happened? What exactly made things turn out this way? The way he had looked at you in the showers while he was manhandling some perv who had been watching you?

The fury in his eyes, the way he barked his orders at the boys, anger obviously biting through the air. The way he had effortlessly grabbed you by the waist to pull you up and make you sit on top of the little wall. He had wanted to punish you. He had been nothing but correct with you yet you felt like some Victorian man who's been shown ankles.

Perhaps a warm drink would help. Some tea. You threw the covers away, standing up to escape your room towards the kitchen. You tiptoed your way through the hallway, the silence and shadows only remembering you that the team was sleeping at this hour. You flipped the light switch, blinding light burning your eyes for a split second. You decided against it, only turning on the soft lamps over the kitchen counter.

Putting some water to boil in the kettle, you browsed through the various teas the team had. One good thing about so many British men. You picked out something that sounded pretty classic with still a tint of originality. Time ticked, waiting for the water so you could make your tea, you stretched your neck, rubbing the back. Flashbacks of the night at the hotel rushed through your mind. His hand around your throat, the fear and panic in his eyes once he realized what he was doing. The flinch when you tried to pull him to you.

Something made you wonder what happened. What was it that made him, Ghost, crumble in the past? If he had even crumbled. The kettle clicked, notifying you that it was ready. You poured the hot liquid in your mug before heading to the counter and sitting in one of the high chairs.

Sexually tortured. Lots of things came to mind. Every single one of them sent a disgusting taste to the back of your brain. Madripoor wasn't a stranger to these things. Human trafficking and other things were unfortunately part of the world you lived in. You were clearly against it, refusing contracts from cartel's and bosses. Making sure to bombard their plans and send a message to the high table. At least, in Madripoor, it wasn't allowed.

But him? Curiosity made you want to peek at his file. It would be easy but… a part of you didn't want to break his trust. Or at least the tiny piece of trust if he had any towards you. It was fascinating to you how this mountain of a man, a beast, a hunter on the field, could have been so close to being broken. Obviously it hadn't fully worked, and he had built himself a reputation that the high table itself was aware of.

All of these thoughts to avoid asking yourself the real question. Why was he constantly in your mind? What was with him… that since the first encounter, when he had chased you through the warehouse and trapped you, he simply attracted you. You were worried about what this might mean, as you watched the swirl of the liquid in your cup.

"What did that mug do to you?"

You jumped, turning to the doorway.

"God sake! Please put a bell around your neck…" you scolded.

He shook his head walking to you.

"Why are you up? Not feeling good?" He asked, nodding towards the tea.

Ah yes. You were supposed to be feeling 'sick'. You smirked, looking back at your mug.

"I'm fine. Just couldn't sleep." You stated. "There's hot water if you want some tea." You offered after a heartbeat. He couldn't sleep either. It was obvious. Was it his nightmares?

He moved towards the kettle, grabbing a mug in the process. You watched his movements, his muscles flexing with his movements as he made himself a cup of tea. You kept your eyes on him as he walked back to sit on the chair next to you.

"You have a staring problem." He teased, staring back at you.

"You're the one staring at me…" you whispered.

His eyes faltered, slight twitch of his brows. You were blatantly staring at him, a little focused look on your face as if you were trying to figure out some riddle he had dropped. He had tensed again.

"Simon.." you started in a whisper.

His head tilted, questioning the reasons of his name on your lips.

"I… what happened…?" You asked.

He blinked, once, twice, before the dreadful realization fell on him.

"None of your fucking business." He snarked.

You sighed.

"I know. I'm sorry… I didn't mean to intrude. You don't have to tell me anything." You let out, turning back to your mug.

The clock on the wall ticked, filling the silence with even more tension. You sipped on your wall beverage, closing your eyes as the liquid slid down your throat.

"Why." He asked. You turned to him, confused. "Why are you asking this? Right now." He asked again, eyes boring into your very soul. "Did… did I… was I not correct towards you?"

You felt a cold shower rush through the fibers of every muscle in your body.

"What? No! No." You shook your head. "Simon. You've been… very correct with me. You haven't overstepped, or made me uncomfortable. It's fine." You reassured him.

He took a deep breath, his broad shoulders rising before slumping back.

"Why are you so worried that you'll overstep?" You asked in a low voice.

He watched you carefully. He didn't trust you enough to say that. Not enough to tell you the truth. And you understood that.

"You haven't." You caught his attention again, giving up on finding answers. "You've been a gentleman, apart from being annoying." You chuckled with a teasing smile. "And I… promise that if I ever feel uncomfortable, I'll be honest with you and give you a heads up." You finished with a soft smile.

He nodded after a second of pondering.

"You call Soap Johnny." He let out.

You rolled your eyes with a little chuckle.

"Are you jealous?" You teased.

"No. But he doesn't let just anyone call him that." He explained.

You were surprised by the revelation. Slightly taken aback by the confession that Soap had let you be a special person to him.

"He reminds me… of my little brother." You whispered, looking at the wall.

Ghost remained quiet. He sipped on his tea, waiting for you to either keep talking and explain or simply change the subject.

"You're not going to ask…?" You questioned.

"I haven't answered any of your questions. I don't deserve asking you some." He explained in a soft tone.

"You deserve to ask them. It is, however, up to me to answer them, or not, like you did." You smiled at him.

"I'm not really into… family talk." He answered honestly as he winced.

"Don't worry." You whispered, his head turning towards you. "Me neither…" you said, trying to hide the sting of pain from being too obvious.

But he noticed. Of course he did. He nodded, his hand raising to pat your head softly before turning back to his tea. It made you huff a laugh. You sipped your tea again before turning back to him.

"How did you become Ghost?" You asked. He closed his eyes, groaning. "Too close…?" You asked. He didn't answer. "Sorry. I think I'll just shut up." You chuckled.

"How did you become Tracker?"

You froze as the cup was barely inches from your lips. It hit close too. Way too close for comfort. Did you want to tell him? The amount of people who knew the truth could be counted on the fingers of a single hand.

"Too close?" He asked.

You took a deep breath, putting down the cup on the counter, eyes staring at it, as if it'd help you through the dilemma. Telling him the truth. Do you trust him? Yes. Enough to talk about it? Perhaps it would help him unravel himself to you. He had started saying something when you cut him.

(_-_-_-_)

"My father was the type of man who loved the bottle more than his kids." You started. Simon immediately remained quiet, watching you.

Deciding on avoiding his gaze, you let yourself get lost in the brown liquid of the mug as the flashbacks and memories rushed back in. "It was always hard. The abuse. I tried my best to stand in the middle of him and my mother and siblings. I mostly managed."

You snickered to yourself bittersweetly.

"But things didn't get better. I was almost 17. I was out with some friends. He had been out for two days, we had no news. I didn't know."

"Y/N-" he started. But it was as if you couldn't hear him anymore. Words overspilling.

"He had decided that he wasn't happy. And that if he couldn't be happy, no one else could. I got home, probably… twenty minutes after he did. And, he had enough time to.."

You frowned, feelings bubbling up in your throat the more you spoke. Simon scooted closer with his high chair, legs spread as your chair rested in between. You still avoided his gaze.

"He had killed them all. My mother, my sister and her husband. Their two kids. My little brother…" Your voice lowered. Tears swelling at the corner of your eyes. "He tried to kill me on sight. While I was in shock of seeing my family murdered on the living room floor. Blood everywhere. So… long story short. The neighbors had already called the cops, they arrived as we were fighting outside in the lawn. I ended up stabbing him repeatedly." You took a long sip from the tea, trying to calm the raging burn in your throat from holding back the tears.

"On that night, at the police station, the social workers arrived and talked to the cops. I overheard them talking. How I was already old and almost an adult. That no foster homes would want a kid who killed someone. That I needed psychiatric help. And families would still refuse to take me in."

You finally turned to him, trying a small smile. You felt your heart skip a beat as he eyed you intensely. It was hard to understand what his eyes conveyed.

"So, I ran off. I used the moment where the window was unattended. They were too busy. So I hopped out and ran. Managed to get into my house in the upstairs bedroom even while the cops were there. Took some stuff, my laptop mostly. And I ran." You sighed. "This story is taking forever…" you laughed a bit, trying to lie to yourself that these emotions, this trauma wasn't affecting you anymore.

(_-_-_-_ bad childhood daddy issues, family dead)

"So, I stayed in the streets for a few months, coffee shops would give me wifi and I already had some basis on hacking. Made sure to steal money from bank accounts to buy food and stuff like that. Some cartel boss eventually heard of me and offered me a deal. I accepted, became known over the years as I got better and better. The high table of Madripoor decided to bring me on their side once my… talent was widely known." You smacked your lips together, looking away.

"There it is. The story of Tracker…" you whispered in a sarcastic, tasteless voice.

He leaned forward as you turned to him, his forehead touching yours as your eyes opened wide. A little soothing gesture.

"You did good." He whispered.

It was three simple words. No special tone, no actual praise. But it made the tears fall. You tried to catch your breath as he froze. You shook your head, cracking a smile as you closed your eyes.

"I'm ok… I'm ok." You sniffled, leaning back.

You opened your eyes, brushing away the tears with your fingers.

"It's ok." He said.

You smiled even more, nodding softly. His hand had someone ended up on the small of your back, his thumb drawing slow circles. You closed your eyes at the sensation. It was reassuring. Calming. When you opened your eyes, he tilted his head, eyeing you with curiosity.

"You ok?" He asked.

"Yeah… just… your fingers-"

He stilled. Realizing his action. His hand flew off like your skin was a scorching braze.

"Shit… sorry…" he was ready to stand when you put your hand on his chest.

"Simon. It's fine. It was a soft gesture. I saw no harm in it. Breathe…" you reassured.

His eyes stuck to yours, he tried to even his breath.

"You look… so ok. With my touch." He said.

"Hmm…" you started. "Well. Your touch is nothing inappropriate. It's soothing so I don't mind." You explained. "I mean… you've had me naked in your arms" you teased.

He straightened his neck at the thought, making the heat rush to your cheeks.

"It's fine Simon…" you repeated.

"You wouldn't be fine if you knew the whole truth… you wouldn't want me to touch you." He hissed, anger biting at himself more than you.

You sighed, scooting your chair even closer, forcing him to spread his legs even wider. His eyes were fixating on you, burning through your skin, his body as stiff as stone. You let your head slowly fall to his chest, forcing him to straighten himself and hold you so you wouldn't slip and fall off your chair. You could hear his heart stammering against his rib cage.

"Maybe. But right now. After knowing you for a few months, I trust you. And I don't mind your touch at all." You whispered.

"You're insane…" he whispered back.

"Without a single doubt…" you chuckled under your breath.

You remained like this for a little while. You could feel his heart calming down. You were falling asleep at the sound of his steady heartbeat. He realized it as your body felt slightly heavier in his arms. He shifted quickly, picking you up bridal style. Your eyes snapped open at the sudden shift. Looking at him.

"You're ok." He simply said.

You sighed, letting your head against his shoulder. He walked to your door, opening it before walking in, heading to your bed. He slowly dropped you down, letting you settle in bed comfortably. The way he watched you, standing over the bed, it made you feel… surprisingly secure. You threw him a sleepy smile as he softly brushed a hair strand away from your face. After a long minute, he walked away, closing the door softly behind him.

Your eyes were closing on their own, the image of him lulling you to sleep.

—

The next morning, you woke up to silence. You opened your eyes, fighting the need to keep them close as the light shone through the window. You sighed, getting up and throwing some sweatpants and a t-shirt on before stepping out into the hallway. The eerie feeling of the empty place felt heavy on you. You walked to the kitchen, looking around. No one. You sat at the counter, noticing a small paper.

'out on mission, be back soon, Alejandro and Rudy are still on base if you need anything! -squad 141'

You smiled. It was obviously soap's handwriting, and the thought warmed your heart. You frowned. You felt… lonely. It wasn't something unusual for you. Even in Madripoor, walking through town or resting on the large couch in your living room, you felt lonely. This kind of loneliness however. You hadn't felt it in a while. The one you felt on that night. You shook your head. It was silly. Nonsense. Something however, screamed in the back of your mind, that the relationship you were creating with this team was getting concerning. Dangerous… it wouldn't end well.

Getting attached to them, it could be a terrible mistake. And you could feel it. That it was getting way too close for comfort. Lying to yourself, however, sounded like a much better solution.

You took a deep breath, looking up at the kitchen counters. Breakfast. And then. Work.

—

It was late. Around four in the morning. You rubbed your eyes as they started to get blurry from the screen light in the dark conference room. You stretched, checking the time a last time, settling your mind on packing your things and going back to the barracks to get some sleep.

The base seemed to be asleep, the few soldiers patrolling around being the only noise you could hear. You walked through the hallways, your backpack on your back, already dreaming about the warmth of your bed. The tingling feeling at the back of your neck however, warned you that someone… was clearly watching you. It was becoming even clearer that they were following you. You sighed, taking sharper turns into darker alleys. You tiptoed your way into a warehouse, jumping on some iron ladder to make your way up to the first balcony on top. You slowly made your way to a little hideout, perfect for you to see, without being seen. You waited, watching the entrance.

Three shadows made their way in, looking around. You easily recognized three of the men from squad 8. You shook your head slowly. Idiots. Observing the three as they looked for you, you let your head fall against the wall behind you. You were tired. You didn't need this right now. A part of your brain kept watch over the boys as they walked back to the entrance, the other was drowning in sleepy thoughts. Finally alone in the warehouse, you remained sitting on the ground, against the wall. You waited to make sure they were gone. But your eyelids keep closing themselves, as you battled and battled but allowed them to remain closed a little while longer each time.

—

It was the rough sound of the warehouse door being rolled open that made you jolt awake. Your heart pounding, you took in your surroundings. A team had walked in, taking their gear as they were briefing each other on the next training. You looked around, noticing how the sun was already shining through the door.

"Shit.." you mumbled.

You rose to your feet, feeling the ache in your body from the very uncomfortable sleepy spot. You groaned, making your way to the ladder. You climbed down, jumping down the last few steps, the sound of your shoes echoing. The attention of the team was brought upon you as you simply nodded their way with a 'good morning'. You walked out into the sun. The warmth of it did nothing to help the exhaustion from your body.

Unfortunately, the same thing occured again and again. You found yourself having to avoid certain spots, certain people. At some point after a few nights, you realized that they weren't afraid to enter the barracks, making your own room unsafe. You had to find a way to sleep somewhere, in different spots every night. You decided to keep it to yourself, not wanting to bother Alejandro and Rudy who probably had a lot to deal with already. Frustration was starting to grow to an impossible level. The bad sleep, it kept you on edge.

It had been almost two weeks when you decided that enough was enough. You decided that if they wanted to act like idiots, and come after you, then you'd treat them like that. You spent a full day preparing a little forgotten room, adding the perfect illegal things in it. It was used as some 'throw everything in' room. It was therefore quite easy to drop some things. Drugs, confidential files you had… found… laying around.

That night, you made sure to stay extra late, working on your laptop before making your way to the room, the boys obviously following you. You grinned, stepping into the room before quickly running to your hiding spot. As the three boys walked in behind you, you immediately texted Laswell.

You waited. Patiently, watching the three search around the various crates, boxes and old furniture, coating their hands in the various substances you had flung around the room. When Laswell arrived she was closely followed by Alejandro and a few men. You didn't exactly pay attention to what was going on as they interrogated the recruits, or when they were dragged out. You sighed, swiftly getting out of your hiding place to walk out the door. You made sure to be far enough from the big group, walking away.

It was a good start. It wouldn't make them stop. But it'd help. You let yourself lean back against a humvee, crossing your arms. You waited, until you saw his frame.

"Colonel…" you greeted.

"Tracker." He greeted back.

He looked at you, frowning. Even under the dim light of the courtyard, it was clear to see how tired you were. You had been in a worse state. But this wasn't that kind of mission.

"Everything alright princesa?"

You smiled at the nickname.

"I'm… tired." You answered honestly.

He frowned, taking a few seconds to think before he looked at you.

"This… was you?" He asked. You nodded. "Why?". You didn't have time to answer. "They bothered you? Pendejos."

You smirked to yourself. It was incredibly obvious how similar Valeria was to him.

"I'm fine. It was just slightly annoying. They've been distracting me from my work…" you said.

"Come on. You'll sleep with us tonight."

He nodded towards a building before starting to walk, leaving no room for discussion.

—

You were glad to be able to sleep near the vaqueros. Valeria was in a cell nearby. You had spent a very calm night, waking up quite late. Rudy had very kindly offered you his room. Unfortunately, you couldn't just spend the entire time in Rudy's room. You talked to them, including Laswell, offering for them to move into the squad's barracks. They were skeptical, especially towards letting Valeria into anything else than a cell. You assured them that Valeria wouldn't be a problem, warning her that if she didn't behave, you'd hunt her down yourself.

She had pouted, angrily cursing at the vaqueros. Eventually, they had moved into the barracks, and you were glad to be back to your little room. You could finally rest a bit, without constantly having to watch your six. On the other side you felt like you missed the team. You missed hearing Soap and Gaz laughing together, Price talking and the smell of his cigars. But you also missed him. All of that combined with the fact that you seemed stuck in your current search was starting to feel like too much.

You sat on the ground, the laptop on the coffee table looking at you mockingly.

"What's wrong muñeca?" Valeria asked.

"I'm… frustrated. I can't find anything about 'snake'. Obviously that guy is keeping Echo's identity secret like some kind of fucking bodyguard. I can't find anything that could identify it. Nowhere, in all of the underground, can I find a single clue on 'snake'..." You vented.

You groaned, letting your head fall into your hands. Rudy sat nearby, the poor boy on babysitting duty as Alejandro was with Laswell for the day. You heard some commotion, looking up.

"VALERIA!" You yelled.

The woman had knocked out the poor man, hovering over his unconscious body.

"Calm down… he's sleeping."

"Why did you do that?!" You scolded.

"I wanted to offer you tequila. He wouldn't have agreed." She shrugged, walking to one of the cupboards.

"You didn't even try asking him!" You angrily said.

She shrugged again, grabbing a bottle of tequila from the cupboard before walking to you. She closed the laptop, putting it aside as she opened the bottle.

"You need to breathe a bit" she teased with a wink.

You shook your head, bewildered. It was an obvious Valeria move. You watched as she stood again grabbing a chair before lifting Rudy to sit on it. She then handcuffed him, making sure that he wouldn't escape.

"Valeria…" you scolded.

"He's fine! Come on." She sat back next to you after grabbing two cups.

You watched as she poured the liquid into them. Maybe… you did need to relax a bit.

But as per habit. Every Valeria move would end up in some kind of chaos.

-----

tags:

@thychuvaluswife @emily-roberts @warrior-of-justice @gh0stedddd @ladyelissarose

@kiruoris @kaeyamain-zonglilover @salsa-reads-stuff @coacaiyne @hufflepuff-hugz

183 notes · View notes

curiositydooropened · 1 year ago

Text

Wildfire • Ignite

New evidence has been discovered among the Flayed, and it brings up terrifying memories. The tension simmers between you and your new partner as your time to return to the Ether draws near.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Chapter Wordcount: 9,800

Warnings: enemies/rivals to lovers, second chance romance, slooooowburn, unrequited love, so much pining, blood, gore, character death, best friend!disabled!Eddie Munson, character injuries, trauma, PTSD, hallucinations, drowning, concussion, hurt/comfort, fire

Fic Masterlist • Navigation • Masterlist

Chapter Two: Spark • Chapter Four: Pyre

---

NOW

September 1988

Your dormitory was muggy. The thunderstorms of August faded into early fall heat waves. You’d gone on an early morning run, and managed an ice-cold shower, but heat rose, and your dorms filled with hot air, sticking your clothes to your body. You wrapped a strained wrist with athletic tape, quelling the ache with pressure, and avoided the reflection of bags under your eyes and slumped shoulders.

Knuckles wrapped against your door, and you pulled your watch from the tabletop to look at the time. 08:25. With a resigned sigh, you buckled it over your wrapped wrist and answered the door. You startled to find Nancy Wheeler on the other side, brow crinkled and hair curled around her slender features.

“Owens wants us.” She informed you, managing the softest of smiles.

You swallowed, nodded, and went for your room key on the countertop. Wheeler moved on down the hall, the crowd of Scorchers growing around her.

You followed, hanging back, still feeling a bit left out. You and Steve had passed your trials, but you’d yet to be sent on an official Scorch mission as partners. You hadn’t seen either of your names on the call sheet. You and Harrington had both found yourselves in Hopper’s office again, arms crossed over your chests in perfect mirror images, while Hopper waved you off to take a phone call, questions left unanswered.

Maybe this was it.

You reached the far side of the dorm floor, adrenaline pumping with each addition to the group. Wheeler’s knuckles hit a rhythm, and the door opened to reveal your partner, and just over his shoulder, a messy, blonde bob.

Your heart sunk, panic laced through your veins as you stepped behind Argyle to avoid being seen. Curiosity got the best of you, and you peered around him to watch the exchange of goodbyes. Harrington’s arm slung over Robin’s shoulders, a chaste kiss pressed to her temple that she swatted away with a laugh, and a “be careful”. Her voice was as raspy as you’d remembered it, her eyes just as blue, and all things considered, she looked incredible. She looked like she’d been sleeping, like she hadn’t been wasting away, like she was living.

You saw her wandering gaze, eyes searching the small group, and in a panic, you broke off from the group and scurried down the staircase, down past the War Room, down to the labs.

The long hallway was well-lit this time of day, bustling with men and women in white lab coats. Not a soul acknowledged you, hunched over clipboards or monitoring machines with print-outs that escaped your purview. You heard the shuffle of feet behind you, a sign that the Scorch team had caught up, so you pressed yourself against a double-paned window and waited, arms crossed like you’d been there the whole time.

Wheeler and Byers blew past you, unseen, the group following.

“Hey,” Harrington sidled up beside you, soft touch to your elbow. You nodded, ignoring his gaze, watching the group meander into a nearby office, Owens voice greeting just beyond the swinging doors. “What’s going on?”

You shrugged, pushed yourself off the wall, and the two of you filed in.

Owens spoke your name as you entered, and the entire room fell silent. You felt too many eyes on you, and Harrington’s broad shoulders came into your periphery as he took a stance to shield you. “Mr. Harrington, good. I’m glad you’re both here. Could I have you make your way to the front, please?”

You didn’t look at your partner, kept your eyes instead on the wall of glass Owens was referring to, and what was just beyond.

Inside a sterile, white room, between two figures in full-body HazMat suits, was a glass box on a table. The box had holes for access, made of metal, and through the holes, you could make out the charred and puckered flesh of a man. He was restrained, although maybe it wasn’t necessary, because the paler of the man ensured you he was dead.

Your stomach dropped, the metallic taste of blood and ash filling your mouth.

“This man went out in our last round of scouts.” Owens explained, voice soft, but loud enough to the group to hear. “He’d been back for about forty-eight hours before we noticed tell-tale signs that he’d been Flayed.”

You grit your teeth and stared down at the man’s body, lifeless, pale, cold.

“His partner said he’d encountered a large flower. Said it looked similar to a nest.” Owens then placed a hand to your shoulder to captivate your attention. When you looked his direction, you shuddered under the pity in his gaze. “Does that sound familiar to you, at all?”

You swallowed the dryness on your tongue, tried to think. Your memories all blurred together, smoke and ash and maroon lightning, vines and demo dogs and moulded groceries. You shook your head.

“Well, when he was brought in for testing, we noticed these distinct marks on his body,” Owens wrapped his knuckles against the glass, and the two men in suits reached into the box to tip the body.

Across the man’s back, now exposed to you, were a handful of bumps. They were like mosquito bites, but larger, blackened, a trail of something under the skin. Someone in the back of the room puked into a trash can.

“We’ve seen these marks before, on other flayed victims.” By the extra squeeze on your shoulder, you knew he meant Vickie. You knew they’d pulled her body, covered in ash and burns, from the pockmarked pavement and examined her, found blackened bumps edging across her narrow shoulder blades.

Owens continued, releasing your arm to address the group. “Hopper and I felt it was important to share this information with those of you on the front lines.”

You tore your eyes from the black marks on the man’s back, and glanced up at Harrington. He was watching you, jaw-clenched, arms crossed tight over his broad chest. You shirked under his gaze. Did he know? Had Eddie told him?

“As many of you know, your team leaders, Ms. Wheeler and Mr. Byers will be following a team of scouts to retrieve this flower for further examination. They will be equipped with precautionary measures, but I thought it was good for all of you to know what you’ll be up against in the coming weeks.”

Harrington’s eyes widened, darting from you to the Scorch team. “Whoa, what? No. Let us go.”

You nodded, turning your back to the body beyond the glass, a chill settling over your spine. “Yeah, Harrington and I will go. No need to risk the leads on this.”

“I appreciate your concern,” Owens nodded with a half-smile. “Everyone, if you could please join me down the hall, I have a few other things to show you.”

The team filed out behind him, but you remained in the sting of rejection, told off like a couple of children who weren’t allowed to use the Big Kid Toys.

Wheeler finally stepped forward, pushing her way from the back wall. She was staring over your shoulder at the body, a grimace etched across her stern brow. Then, she made eye contact with Harrington, plastered on a smile. “We’ll be alright. Just a quick in-and-out, make sure no one else gets flayed. We’re just the flamethrowers.”

You felt something kick in your stomach again, this pervasive feeling like you were intruding on a private moment between the two of them. An unease that settled like the eyes on the back of your neck. You stepped away from them, back to the hallway, trying to shake off the itch between your shoulder blades.

“Nance,” Harrington mumbled under his breath.

“Steve,” she teased. “I promise. Besides, you know she needs you.”

You swallowed, closed your eyes, thought of the beautiful girl in her dorm room. Nancy was right. You couldn’t take him from Robin, too.

A hand at your shoulder startled you, dainty, but firm. And you spun to find Wheeler grasping you, eyes sparkling with something mischievous. “It’s really good to have you back.”

You managed a nod, mouth dry, and you stepped out of her way as she followed the group closely up ahead. You lingered in the doorway, watching the sway of her hips, the bounce of her hair, the curve of her biceps, the strength in her shoulders. If anything got to her, she didn’t let it show.

—-

The migraine came on in the Scorch course. The dull thud radiated in a cluster at your temple and spread to the scab healing on the back of your skull. The brightness of flames were blurred with aura, bright orange rimmed in blues and purples. The smell of jet fuel and burning plastic churned in your stomach.

You didn’t realize you’d missed three targets until Harrington peeled his mask from his face, crease forming around his pointed nose, and gripped your shoulder with a sweaty palm. “Alright, what the Hell?”

You winced, eyebrows unable to lift, and swallowed. “Sorry, um… headache.” You pressed the heels of your palms to your eyes and pressed, the pressure relieving your sinuses ever-so-slightly.

You expected him to yell, to tell you headaches happen, and it’s time to suck it up. So you were surprised to feel nimble fingers unbuckling your pack and lifting it off aching shoulders. You blinked your eyes open, as far as they’d go, and watched Harrington’s brow crinkle in concern.

“You seeing floaters?”

You shook your head. “More of an aura.”

His jaw clenched, and he nodded toward the doorway. “C’mon. Think we’ve torched enough decoys for today.” Then he started down the staircase, your pack swinging by its straps from his arm.

You followed him across the tarmac. The mid-afternoon sun stung, too warm and too bright, a rainbow cast over Harrington’s broad shoulders. You followed him back into the supply room. As he put your packs away, you peeled your mask from your face and slumped onto a nearby bench.

You heard the shake of a pill bottle and felt a tap against your forearm, and when you peered between your knuckles, Harrington had extended a water bottle and two white pills.

“Take these. Do you have a cold compress?”

You nodded, accepting his offer and throwing the pills back. The water was fresh, but lukewarm, and it churned in your stomach a bit more than you wanted. You weren’t sure you could keep them down.

Harrington nodded. “Put it on your neck and go to bed. If you want, I’ll wake you up before Nance and Jonathan head out.”

You blinked back at him, wondering if you were hearing the softness in his voice, or if your mind was creating that, a fuzz, glossy, rainbow-filled world. “Okay.” You managed.

Harrington grabbed his gym bag and yours, holding the door open for you to pass into the corridor. The florescents buzzed a steady beat just above your ear, somewhere behind your eye. Harrington fell into step beside you.

“Do you get migraines often?”

You shook your head, tried to take another drink. “I haven’t had one in years.”

“It was probably the concussion. I get them constantly.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, they suck.” The corner of his lip turned up at you, soft, a familiar smile that had your stomach swooping.

You’d come to the elevator doors. The button was pressed, and you waited in silence, your heart beat rhythmic in your head. When it reached your floor, you stepped in one after the other, and you closed your eyes to the buzz of lights and the whir of the machine. Harrington settled in beside you, presence warm and quiet, a wall just outside of your periphery.

—

The War Room was silent save a steady blip of the radar and the occasional fuzzy transmission from the Ops Team as they descended into the Ether and traveled Northward.

You tiptoed in, happy for the dim lighting quelling the steady pulse in your skull that hadn’t subsided. The aura had slipped from your vision, and you felt a bit groggy from your nap, but Harrington’s advice for the cold compress had seemed to help.

The only seat available was beside him, too close, biceps and thighs touching.

Eddie’s chair spun to face you, massive headphones over one ear, and he offered a two fingered wave, smile sad, tense. The tension in the room could be cut with a knife.

You nodded back to your friend, and startled when you felt a pair of lips at the shell of your ear, warm breath, the spice of deodorant and shampoo.

“How’s your head?”

You swallowed and shrugged, offering Harrington a half-hearted smile, shivers erupted down your spine.

“Scorch to Base. We’re approaching our destination now.” Byers’s voice came in, crackled.

The room sat upright. You glanced from Eddie to Hopper, Joyce wrapped in a cable knit sweater, Murray, Owens, a dozen others in front of screens and buttons, making sure the AV system stayed up-and-running.

One such familiar man flicked on a series of switches until you heard the buzz of static. The room illuminated in pale grey light, and you peered between shoulders at a television screen, now huddled around.

The Scout Team, with Wheeler and Byers on backup, were slowly approaching a covered bridge. The camerawork was shoddy, a bit all over the place, like one of the horror films Eddie delighted in forcing you to watch, but the setting was unmistakable. Thick, black vines looped themselves along the sides of the road, sprouting up from the empty river bank below and climbing into the cavern, or maybe out of it. The steps slowed, camera panning the site to give a full view of the area.

A handful of crew members stood in full hazmats. Wheeler and Byers were the smallest of them all, weighed down by massive packs. You couldn’t hear the crunch of gravel, the heavy breathing through masks, but you felt it. You could taste the ash in the air, could feel the frigid damp.

You recognized the bridge, having biked over it too many times to count. It resided over Sinner’s Creek, an off-shoot of the Roane River. Thanks to its name, there was a rumor that the Devil himself lived inside that bridge, asking residents if they’d like to make a deal. The memory sent chills down your spine.

The crew took measured steps forward, scaling the wooden ramp that would bring them up and over the creek. Torchlight was shined through the opening, and you realized it was so overgrown, blackness enveloped through to the other side. Vines tightened their grip on the siding, paint crackling and fading away.

“We have visual. Are you guys seeing this?” Byers sounded disgusted, like he was barely containing the bile that crept up alongside your own.

The camera shifted slightly to the left, and you all saw it. Gaping maw, riddled with teeth, red and blue stripes, dangling from the wall at the height of a demogorgon. Everyone jumped. You stretched impossibly closer, nearly in Harrington’s lap to get a better view.

From the looks of it, it was a demogorgon, stuck to the wall with vines, the same way your fallen comrades would be taken over by the terrain, only more was growing from this one. The hole in which you’d seen dozens of things be consumed, there grew a sack. Large, black, shimmering with puss, and at the shine of the flashlight, it dispersed a puff of spores in the air. The camera shook as the camera man fumbled backwards, out of the spray.

Your entire body went cold. You had seen this before, on the bank of the Roane River, probably two miles north of the covered bridge at Sinner’s Creek. You’d been walking alongside Vickie, packs running low, stumbling back from a particularly long Scorch, back to the meet-up coordinates.

You’d been reminiscing, laughing about something silly Robin had done, or maybe Eddie. Vickie hadn’t been watching, hadn’t been careful, nearly twisted her ankle. You caught her mid-fall, scolded her to watch where she was going.

There, in the river bed, was a dead demogorgon. It’s skin had been blackened with char, body taken over with demonic foliage. And it had something in its mouth, a pulsating black sack.

You’d scorched it again for safety and scurried home.

You leapt from your seat and rushed into the hallway, pulse matching the thing beat for beat. Your head throbbed, your stomach flipped, and you felt feverish, too warm, too claustrophobic under the buzzing static of the television, the sound of Jonathan’s voice over the walkies.

You thought of Vickie, of the look of panic on her face, of her tightening her mask, rolling her ankle back into place. You thought of her clawed grip on your arm, of the look of terror at your discovery.

Something wet and warm hit your upper lip, and you reached to wipe a nostril. Your fingertips were stained red. You wiped frantically, ignoring the near debilitating ache at the base of your skull.

“Are you okay?” Harrington’s voice was too close, towering above you while you painted the leg of your black cargo pants with the blood on your hands.

You licked iron from your upper lip, wondered what to do, what action to take. Eddie stared you down from inside the War Room, jaw clenched in worry. You blinked from him to Harrington’s pitying gaze.

“I’m fine. Thought I was going to throw up. I think I might go back to bed.” You croaked. You could taste the iron at the back of your throat, hoped it didn’t show.

Harrington nodded, clenched his fists at his side. “Okay. Do you…” He sighed. “Do you need anything?”

You shook your head, managed to grimace, and hid your nose behind your hand.

He gave one more curt nod in understanding before letting himself back into the little room.

You caught Eddie’s gaze again on the other side of the window, but his eyes weren’t the only ones you felt on you. There was someone else too, someone far away, over your left shoulder, a stare too deep, too menacing, too real.

—

You stumbled through the woods, that shock of orange just out of reach, on the horizon. You scampered after it, legs aching, calling for her to slow down, to wait up, telling her it wasn’t funny. A game of hide-and-seek, after all these years. You knew all of her hiding spots, in treehouses and behind cars in the junkyard, tucked into abandoned beaver dams. You couldn’t catch up.

You slipped, plummeting downward, too far a fall, couldn’t catch yourself on twigs or branches, can’t touch the vines, Hive mind. Your back scratched and scraped. You hit the basin.

A swimming pool lay before you, lit in soft blues, plastered, empty. You helped yourself upright, depth taller than you. You spun in circles, not recognizing your surroundings, missing the flash of orange. You cupped your hands to your mouth and called out for her, told her to come out. This wasn’t funny.

Your name was called over your left shoulder, muffled, deep. You spun.

They were caught up in vines, pinned to the walls of the pool, their charred remains. Nancy, Jonathan, Robin, the shock of red hair. You screamed, tried to release them, hacked at vines with the hatchet in your hands, scrambled, begged them to come back, this wasn’t funny.

Vickie opened her eyes, jet black, and then she opened her mouth, and you inhaled the spores. Black particles that flew from her and infected you, and there was no stopping it as they entered every orifice, as you succumbed to them, as they dug into your spine, laying eggs beneath shoulder blades.

—

You sat upright, panting, tangled in sheets. Your body convulsed in shivers, clothes and hair slick to you with sweat. Your room was dim, not dark, the lamplight pooling yellow in your periphery, dousing everything in the blur of reality. It was a dream, just a dream.

You pawed at your eyes, scrubbed your face with your hands, tried to shrug off the pervasive itch at the small of your neck. You reached under your sleep shirt to scratch and paused when you felt a bump, a ridge beneath your skin that hadn’t been there before.

You leapt from your bed and threw your shirt up, trying to look in the mirror, but the glass was a too stained, and the light was too dim, and you couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t breathe and your hands were shaking.

You threw open the door, linoleum freezing beneath bare feet. The hallway was too cold, too dark, the glow of moonlight cascading in from the common area, while the Exit sign cast a red glow on the far end. You had no choice. You needed help.

You raced down the hall as stealthily as you could, balls of your feet slapping against the floor. You tried to shut out the horrors that crawled behind you, the vines that erupted from closed doors just beyond your line of sight. You tried to stop them from crawling up your esophagus, tried to rid your mouth of the taste of ash.

Your knuckles wrapped before your brain could process it, frantic, clinging to some humanity, to memories of your past you hoped he’d cling to, to promises he’d made. “Steve,” you called, voice hoarse, hands shaking.

The heavy door opened in a split second, Harrington looking bewildered behind wire-rimmed glasses. “What’s wrong?”

You shoved him inside, two palms to the flat of his broad chest, and it wasn’t until the door closed behind you that the words spilled out. “She knew in April. She was infected in April, and she knew, and she didn’t tell me. A whole month.

“I’m getting migraines and nosebleeds, and I’m having nightmares. So many nightmares, and I can feel him, Steve. I can feel him. He’s always there, always behind me. And I see her too, sometimes, and I’m so scared. I don’t want to die, please don’t let me die.” You couldn’t focus, head gone fuzzy from hyperventilation.

You felt a strong pair of arms around you before you even realized you were pacing. Large hands at your ribcage, broad shoulders in the path your bare feet were burning into the tile.

“Stop, slow down,” he ordered.

You smacked his hands away, threw yours into your hair, turned heel to pace the opposite direction. “You don’t get it. I saw him at the pool, when I hit my head. Eddie found security footage. Someone came into the pool room. The camera didn’t catch who it was.”

“Wh - ” You could tell he was struggling to grasp what you were saying, lost in his own world.

His bedding was crumpled in the shape of him, a book lay upside down on the nightstand, lamp illuminating the room in a honeyed glow.

Steve reached beneath his glasses to rub at tired eyes. “You think he was here? Like, here here? Rightside up?”

You shrugged and scrubbed at your own face with your hands. Your body ached, and that chill that resided between your shoulder blades hadn’t left for weeks. You swallowed, peered between your knuckles at the man frowning across the room from you.

His spectacles fell back into place, hands dropped to his hips like a confused soccer dad.

“I,” your voice quaked against your will, “I think I have marks on my back.”

The way his eyes trailed your frame had you painfully aware of your state of undress, sleep shirt falling at the tops of your thighs. You shifted bare feet against the linoleum, air conditioning pebbling exposed skin. You swallowed when his eyes met yours, dark, jaw clenched.

His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he took a measured step closer. “Can I - ” He cleared his throat. “Want me to…?”

“Sure um…” You swallowed. “Y-yeah. Would you?”

He took another belabored step forward, nodding slowly, mouth falling open as his eyes trailed your middle.

You closed your eyes and turned your back to him. With a deep breath, you pulled the thin fabric over your head, gathering it at your chest with crossed arms for modesty.

Too long a moment, breaths held, static building like the clouds of an incoming storm. You failed to steady your heart rate, flames that licked at your skin, pooled at your core, a heat that coursed through you.

His hands found you, fingertips spread the expanse of your mid-back, making purchase with every bump, every groove. His touch trailed your ribcage, lithe, and you itched under it, too hot. He inched up your spine, brushing hair from the base of your neck. His thumbs massaged circles into a knot between your shoulder blades.

You released a sigh, easing into his safe hands, letting your head lull to one side.

His nimble touch trailed either side of your spine and outwards again, pushing at the plump skin under your arms, and you lifted them without thinking. He muttered a quick apology, breath warm against your neck, minty.

You hummed, allowing him to mold and model you as he needed to get a better look.

He spread his hands once more down your back, massaging circles into the dimples at the base of your spine, and before you could arch into them, they were gone, the heat of him replaced with cold air. He cleared his throat.

Your eyes blinked open, adjusting to the soft lamplight, the view of yourself in the mirror above his countertop. You looked at flustered as you felt, shoulders and clavicle exposed, eyes dark.

You could just make him out over your shoulder, eyes on you, heavy as your belabored breaths.

“Well…?” Your heart pittered behind your sternum again.

“Heat rash, I think.”

You startled forward a few paces, quick to place your t-shirt back over your head. You tugged at the hem in a vain attempt to lower it, and chewed on the inside of your cheek. You spun to look at him, your own hands diving up your back to feel the gentle bumps of your skin. They were all in a line where your sports bra would have glued itself to your skin.

You groaned and buried your face in your hands, the tension washed away with the tide.

He inched around you and busied himself at the sink, pouring a large glass of water, the red plastic cup stolen from the Mess Hall. “Did you get any sleep?”

You sighed, shrugged, accepted the cup in trembling hands. “A little. Had a nightmare.”

Steve nodded, tight-lipped, stared at the cup in your hand until you rolled your eyes, brought it to your lips.

The water was tepid, but not unwelcome, soothing your nerves.

Satisfied, he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the counter. “Jonathan and Nance made it back okay.”

The news served more relief, a loosening of your shoulders, slowing of your heart rate.

“You’ve seen that thing before?” His brows were furrowed in concern, and the way he looked at you, you knew there was no point in lying, not anymore.

You swallowed more water, nodded, mopped at the corners of your mouth with the back of your hand.

Steve reached to take the cup from you, refilling it while you explained what happened with Vickie, with the demogorgon flower, the spores, the infection. He didn’t say anything until you took a deep breath, took another drink.

He sighed, ran thick, warm fingers through his hair. “Tomorrow, we’ll go down to the office and pull all of Vickie’s logs from April, and I’ll help you go through them. We can go downstairs and see what they’ve learned that thing. And I want you to show me that video. I’ll talk to Eddie.”

You frowned and wrapped your fingernails against the textured plastic cup, a new nervous energy settling behind your sternum.

“What?” He scoffed, pushing off the counter to pull the cup from your hands once more. “You want to fight about this too?”

You laughed at that, a wet sound that ached somewhere unfamiliar, and you watched his lips dip shyly in return as he ducked his head in a snort. “Okay.”

“Okay, you want to fight? Or okay to the rest of it?”

“Both.” You delighted in the roll of his eyes, the sound of irritation that rumbled low in his chest.

He turned to fill the cup again, and you watched the curve of his spine as he hunched over the sink. In his reflection, you caught that faint, lingering smile, barely visible beneath the etched concern, the worry that had been laced across his beautiful features since the moment you met him. You wondered if his shoulders ached carrying the burdens of the world. You knew yours did.

“Steve,” you rasped.

He looked up at you first, in the reflection, before spinning to look at you properly, hands outstretched as if he was ready to catch you, always waiting.

You blinked back the emotion that blurred your vision, tightened your throat. Guilt clawed at your ribcage, echoed the spaces between your joints where his fingers had been, sunk into the marrow of your bones, filled your mouth with ash. You wanted to apologize, for abandoning him, for ruining his life, Robin’s.

With slow movements, timid, he crossed the room to meet you. His hand found your hip first, fist clinging to the gossamer fabric of your shirt to tug you centimeters closer. His other hand was hesitant, and you watched his chest rise and fall before he reached out to cup your face.

You folded, all cards shown, eyes closed, breathing in his warmth. You clung to his forearms, trying to stay glued together, to not fall apart in your need for this, for him, for safety and warmth and home again.

Your mind echoed with memories of his lips pressed to yours, bodies tangled under sheets, heavy breathing. From celebrations after serious wins, tongues painted whisky sweet, to comfort after serious losses, tear-stained cheeks and tight grips. To his arms around your waist, hauling you away from the charred remains of your best friend, laughter fading from a flash of orange, a spark in a wasteland.

Your eyes flew open, fearing you’d find a mangled mess, too many teeth, an outstretched claw cupping your face.

Seeing the anguish in your eyes, Steve released you, his features laced with worry, mouth agape.

The guilt returned, settled into every part of you save the section between your shoulder blades where He resigned, ever-present, ever-watching. You swallowed, managed a few steps back, stumbled over the leg of a chair, caught yourself on the table.

Steve reached out to catch you, a white knight.

“I should,” words felt odd in your mouth. “I should go to bed.”

He nodded, scratched at the back of his neck. “Okay, sure.”

“Yeah, thanks for the…” You gestured to his room, to the sink, to the reflection staring back at you. “Thanks.”

“Sure, yeah.”

You flung open the door, and he met you there. Your hands met on the handle. You recoiled, and squeaked a whispered goodnight. He reciprocated. You couldn’t look at him again as you made your return to your dorm room.

The red sign at the end of the hall glowed like firelight. A shadow stood beneath it, grinning back at you.

—

The steam from your post-gym shower was refreshing, rejuvenating, muscles finally looser than they’d been in months.

Vickie used to yell at you for walling things up, for winding your opinions so tight within yourself until you snapped. She used to coax emotions out of you with French toast sticks and movie nights, well-timed games of truth or dare.

There had only been two screaming matches: one when she hadn’t told you her family was moving to Hawkins until a week before they moved, and another when she thought you wouldn’t accept her sexuality. Both ended in tears and snacks and sticky maple syrup splattered against kitchen walls.

You squeegeed the moisture from your hair with a towel, and glanced at your reflection in the pockmarked mirror above your countertop.

You wondered what Vickie would say now, what screaming match would ensue about your persistent arguments with Steve, about her hiding the truth for a full month before she died, of her making Steve promise to take care of you.

Tears prickled in your eyes, and you blinked back at your blurry reflection, muscles taut, more fit than you had ever been. You were working yourself to the bone, teeth grit, fighting to avenge her death, when you could have been fighting to save her.

“Fuck, Vickie,” you coughed, the letters of her name foreign against your tongue after all this time.

You hung your towel on the back of a chair and let yourself out of your room. You halted in the doorway, a piece of paper fluttering in your periphery, folded and cell-o taped to your door.

You’d received two similar notices: one when you’d been given your final mission, and another the day after, informing you you needed to report to Quarantine.

You wiped clammy hands on the thighs of your cargos before checking either side of the hall and ripping the flyer down, unfolding it to scan, reading and rereading in case you’d missed important information in your haste.

Please report to PSYCHIATRIC for a mandatory evaluation at 10:00.

It was signed by all of the important people.

Betrayal tasted of ash, felt like a swift punch to the gut, blurred your vision like heat waves. The same heat that licked at exposed shoulders stung in your chest. You slammed the door behind you, paper crumpled in one hand, and stomped down the hall.

You hadn’t gotten far, slipping just past an open stairwell, when you saw a dark head of hair scurrying downwards and out of sight. You followed two floors down, calling his name just as he was a about to slip out near the Mess Hall.

Harrington stopped, looked up at you with knit brows as you finished your descent and shoved two fists directly into his chest. He stumbled backward, back pinned to a concrete wall.

“What the fuck?” You seethed, slapping your notice into his chest.

He didn’t even look at it, jaw clenched, eyes stoic. He knew. He knew because he’s the one who ratted you out, who spilled all of your secrets to the wrong people. He’d been waiting for you to slip up, and you’d been dumb enough to fall into his trap.

“What is your problem with me, huh?” You shoved at his shoulders again.

No response.

You shook your head, laughed dryly. “You can’t even use her as an excuse because you hated me for months before she died.”

His nostrils flared, but he just stared down at you, crossed his arms over his chest as a shield.

“Tell me what I did to deserve this,” you shook the creased notice in one hand. “I trusted you. You know that? I felt safe with you. For the first time in months, I felt safe, and you went and called Hopper on me?”

The scurry of sneakers and chatter down the hallway startled you, and you pulled back, breath heavy, face warmed in embarrassment and anger, betrayal. A few kids snuck past, muttering apologies before they giggled up the staircase. When you were sure they were out of earshot, you rounded on Harrington again.

“I thought you were supposed to ‘protect me’.” You put the words in air quotes, digging deep, throwing his words back in his face.

“Are you done?” His voice sent chills down your spine, measured, snapped, venomous.

Your jaw clenched, fists too, at your side.

He snatched the paper out of your hand and trailed his fingertips across the page as he read. Then, he pulled a slip of paper from his back pocket and unfolded it, passing it to you.

You scoffed, but felt the nausea settle the moment your eyes found the words.

Please report to PSYCHIATRIC for a mandatory evaluation at 10:00.

“Hopper told us we’d have one more psych eval before they put us back on the field. He wants a medical professional to reassure him we aren’t going to kill each other.” Harrington’s voice was nothing short of catty, the bite of a mean girl you knew he’d harbored in his past. He ran his fingers through his hair and tugged before emitting a growl that startled you a few steps backwards.

“God, you’re so fucking frustrating, you know that?” He tossed his arms in the air, voice finally cracking the soft, stoic barrier you were used to.

You read the words on the page again and again, pushing through the embarrassment to undying panic, the root of your problems, the girl with red hair that lingered at the end of the hallway, just out of sight, taking great delight in your pain. You took a deep breath, folded the paper carefully back up to hand it to Harrington, who snatched it quickly from your grasp.

You swallowed. “I haven’t told Linda about any of it.”

“What?” His jaw was clenched now, fists too, and you were burning under his gaze.

You shrugged. “I lied to her about all of it. She knows about the nightmares, but she thinks they went away. She thinks I’m going through the normal stages of grief. That’s why she told Hopper I was fit to go back on the field.”

You expected him to yell, to throw something, to abandon you here in this hallway.

Instead, he pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and sighed, shrugged. “Fucking, whatever.” Then, he gestured for you to turn and head back up the stairwell. “Let’s just get this over with.”

—

Linda’s office was musty, poor ventilation and heat wave combing with the misters she used for her plants. You were suffocated, heart racing, warm under buzzing fluorescents. Harrington’s seat was too close to yours, his bouncing knee shaking your thigh, making you seasick. Linda paced and hummed that stupid tune.

“How are you two doing?”

You glanced sideways at Harrington, who rolled his eyes and slumped further into his chair. “Fine.” You both managed in various tones of annoyance.

Linda peered at you from over her glasses, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. “Excellent. Then you’re definitely both up for some team building exercises.”

An alarming, but gruff sound escaped your partner, and he played it off as a cough into his fist.

“Yes, Steve, you’ve always done well with these,” Linda smiled, tone every bit patronizing as she wheeled her finger in a circle your direction. “Go ahead, face each other.”

“What?” You glanced sideways at Harrington and watched in horror as he turned his chair to face yours, feet scraping along linoleum. You’d nearly fallen off your own seat when a large hand met your thigh, encouraging you to do the same. “Is this really - “

You weren’t sure how to finish the question, stumbling under Harrington’s grasp as he manhandled you into an about-face.

“I can do it,” you snapped, standing with a huff to turn your chair around, and slumping back into it, knees knocking with his own. You crossed your arms over your chest and sat up straight, as to avoid any further physical contact. Your toes curled back around the chair legs while his leg continued to bounce incessantly millimeters from your own.

“Perfect,” Linda chimed, just out of periphery. “I’m sensing a bit of tension this morning, so why don’t we start with frustrations?”

You blinked at her from over your shoulder, feeling suddenly warm under Harrington’s gaze. Your entire body tensed in the proximity, confusion radiating into anger that clenched your fists tighter under your arms. “What does that even mean?”

“Steven, why don’t you start? You’ve done this before. Let’s get it out. What about this partnership is frustrating you the most in this moment?”

Harrington barked a laugh, and when you snapped your head to face him, he was grinding a wry smile back between his molars. He avoided eye contact, choosing instead to stare at your knees while his head shook, hand scrubbed against the stubble on his jaw.

You dipped your head to catch his eye, and you were torn between whether to silently plea for him to keep your secret or dare him to speak his truth.

He took one more sideways glance at your proctor before releasing an exasperated sigh, hands in the air as if throwing all caution to the wind. “I’m frustrated,” he emphasized, as though he was a good little boy who had spent hours learning I-statements in this very room, “in this moment,” he punctuated with a fingertip to his knee, “with how competitive she is.”

You fought the urge to argue, to allow the words of protest to slip from your open mouth.

Linda was thrilled. “Speak on that. In what ways does her competitiveness hinder your partnership?”

“What is this?” You stepped in, waving your arms to stop the flow of their teamed attack.

Harrington held his hand out as if you stay you were providing fine examples.

“It’s important that we foster an environment where we can all get our grievances out. Let’s listen to what he has to say, and then I promise it’ll be your turn.” Linda scolded like an elementary school teacher, scribbling unmentionables on her Godforsaken legal pad.

You recrossed your arms and glared at Harrington’s returning scowl.

“Go ahead, Steve,” she offered for him to continue. “How does her competitiveness hinder your partnership?”

He scooted upright in his chair again, halting the bob of his knee in favor of picking at a loose thread on his inseam. “I feel like we can’t get anything done. There’s always push-back, always an argument.”

“I feel the same way,” you interjected, slumped further in your own chair in defiance. “I feel like I can’t do anything without you scrutinizing it, and if I do ask for your feedback, I’m met with the silent treatment.”

“I don’t feel like I can get a word in edge-wise.” He leaned forward still, a challenge. “You won’t let me say anything without beating me to the punch.”

“Because I know what you’re going to say!” You sat upright again, tossing your hands in the air.

“Okay, alright,” Linda cut you both off with the click of her pen against her notepad.

You both shuffled back to relaxed seating positions, and she walked back to her spritzer to continue over-watering her plants. Maybe it was a nervous habit. You suddenly found yourself wishing you had a watering can handle to wring.

“Answer me this. When did you both start viewing your relationship as a competition?”

You swallowed, glanced back across the span of your knees to where they met his. His began to bob again, and you withheld that ever-present need to halt his movement. You closed your eyes, tried to shut out the gentle waver of the floor beneath your feet. There, in the darkness, humidity clinging your clothes to your chest, you felt her, just between your shoulder blades, that smiling face, mischievous.

“Last year,” your voice came before you opened your eyes.

Harrington stared back at you, crease folded between his brows.

“We were competing for Scorch Leads: him and Robin, Vickie and me.”

“That makes sense,” Linda spoke from somewhere behind you, too far away. “You were in separate teams, going after a set objective.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, swallowed back the lump forming in your throat as you dared to look him in the eye. “If I had known what would happen, I wouldn’t have tried so hard.”

“What do you mean by that?” Linda asked.

Harrington eyed you, head tilted downward, a shadow cast down the bridge of his nose.

You shrugged, your response heavy on your tongue, but part of you figured this session had to facilitate a conversation that wouldn’t be allowed outside those doors, wouldn’t be tolerated. You felt a spectral hand on your shoulder, warmth guiding you to speak. You chewed on the words before they fell from your throat a little wrong. “I mean, he’s better at this than I am. He’s strong. He’s capable. He knows what he’s doing. If he and Robin had become leads, we probably wouldn’t be in this… predicament.” You let out a shaky breath, swirling your hand around your own head to indicate what you meant. “Vickie would still be alive.”

“Or Robin or myself would be dead,” he snapped back. “This is exactly what I’m talking about,” he tossed his hand your direction again. “There’s always a competition. One of us always has to come out on top. One of us has to be better.”

“I’m conceding to you!” You scoffed. “What more do you want from me?”

“I don’t know, for you to listen to me, for once?”

Your molars slammed together at the tightness of your jaw, and the room fell to silence. Not even Linda’s spritzing continued.

Steve grit his teeth, cracked the knuckles on his right hand, still a bit scabbed over. Then, he pieced his fingers through his hair. “I feel… so much guilt… every single day.” His eyes were dark, shoulders slumped.

That feeling restrained you, asked you to hear him out.

“Because I couldn’t save her, for Robin.” He licked his lips, met your gaze. “For you. Because I couldn’t protect you.”

The loom of something darker lingered in your periphery, an ice-cold chill down your spine.

“And I feel so guilty because of how,” he shuffled in his seat, broke eye-contact, “relieved I feel that it wasn’t me and Robin.”

It struck like he’d doused a full glass of water in your face, a gasped breath, the wash away of any comforting warmth that had been replaced with a cold chill. You shifted in your seat, knocked your knees across his as you turned away from him.

“You get everything you need, doc?” You snapped.

Linda reached for her notes, scribbling a few more things down with a pinched expression, but you had already stood to leave, taking the handful of strides to the doorway to release yourself back into a less-stuffy hallway.

“No, shit, that’s not -” Harrington’s words were cut-off as the door slammed behind you.

He was relieved. He said he was relieved that you had been the one to murder Vickie. He was relieved that it hadn’t been him, hadn’t been Robin, a sentiment you’re sure you would have understood from his position, but from where you sat, in an endless swirl of chaos and panic and agony, it felt like a stab to the back, to the gut, like char and ash and smoke.

You made it halfway up the next flight of stairs before he caught up with you, a sturdy hand catching your wrist and wheeling you to face him.

You yanked yourself out of his grasp and shoved at his chest hard enough to have him tumbling downward. “Go fuck yourself, Harrington.”

—

Eddie’s room smelled of stale weed and peanut butter. His government issue bed was far squishier than yours, but it didn’t matter because you weren’t going to sleep anyway.

“After that shitshow, she still told Hopper you were good to go out on the field? As a team?” He guffawed, lips stuck together with peanut butter from the spoon in his hand.

You shrugged, squeezing two Saltine crackers around a chocolate bar, the spread squishing out on either side, and you licked around it before crunching into the sandwich.

“She needs a fucking psych evaluation.” Eddie’s joke had the corners of your lips turning up, and he elbowed at your side until you swatted him away.

He laughed, mouth full and hearty, before you sank back into the comfort of each other’s shoulders again, a closeness you’d missed with everyone else, thankful for his surrogacy.

“Really though, how are you feeling?” He asked after a moment, breath evening, sticky midnight snacks swallowed.

You shrugged, licked melted chocolate from your hand. “Well, I’m in your room at quarter to one in the morning. How’re you feeling, Eds?”

“Terrified,” he answered, and you expected more humor in his tone.

You felt his eyes boring holes into your skull as you respun the lid to the jar and tightened it, wiping any residue on your pant leg. “Don’t be. Everything’ll be fine.”

“She says with Evil Incarnate looming over her.”

Eddie’s words sent an increasingly familiar chill down your spine, the reason you’d been evading sleep, a presence you hardly wanted to stir mere hours from setting foot in the Ether.

“Could we change the subject?” You pushed off from the bed, crumbs rolling off your chest and onto the floor beneath your socks.

“Have you seen him again?”

Your temple began to twitch, the first sign of a headache, and you squeezed your eyes to dull the throb. “Eddie,” you warned.

“I’m not kidding. If this is serious, I’ll call Hopper right now.” Despite his words, you didn’t sense truth in his tone, and when you met his gaze, there was a softness to his dark eyes, a fear that radiated through you both.

“I haven’t seen him,” you shook your head, began rinsing his spoon in the sink. As the particulars of food and suds circled the drain, your vision blurred from exhaustion, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

In two hours, you’d be wrestling gravity downward. You’d be strapped to Harrington, oxygen mask on, carrying a heavy pack of jet fuel. You’d be back in that cold, dark, damp place that held nothing but agony. And somehow, this is what you wanted? What you’d been working toward?

“What’s it like?” You asked, blinking your eyes open to stare at your own reflection in the smoke-stained mirror. Your features looked gaunt, unrecognizable. The muscles of your right eye began to twitch.

Eddie spoke your name, soft, uncertain.

You turned to face him. “What’s it like to be Flayed? For real. Don’t give me any of the ‘I didn’t feel a thing’ bullshit. I know you lied to me when she died. I don’t need to feel better, I need to know.” Your hands were trembling, and you clenched your fists at your side to steady them.

Your friend, your only real friend, emitted a sound of distress, pulling spindling fingers through his curls. Seeing your stance hadn’t changed from between his knuckles, he sighed and patted the spot next to him for you to return to your place.

With careful steps, you crawled back onto his mattress, choosing a spot near the foot to face him. When you were finally seated, and he’d torn the rest of his thumb cuticle off with his teeth, he spoke, that Midwestern drawl so specific to Eddie Munson.

“It’s not like anything I’ve ever experience before. It’s cold. Like teeth-chattering cold, and your muscles want to react, but it’s like something else is calming them. It’s a bit like dreaming, like that weird in-between when you’re laying in bed but your leg’s asleep so you can’t get up and go to the bathroom.

“You know that pit in your stomach when something horrible is about to happen?”

You swallowed, nodded, shifted in your spot to quell the chill growing at the base of your spine.

“I felt it the day my Mom died. The whole day. I just knew it was going to happen. With Chrissy, too, when I found her standing there, I got it.”

He grimaced, ran his hands down his face again. “Well, when he’s got you, it’s like that all of the time. Like you’re aware of how wrong it is, how unnatural. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

You closed your eyes, pushing back the ache that had spread into your jaw, settled behind your eye socket. “How do you know?”

“I don’t really know. For me, I was attacked. Bats got me. I lost most of my blood, my leg was dangling by a fucking thread. When I woke up, he’d already had ahold of me. I hate that I feel like I owe him my life.”

You reached across the sheets to tangle your knuckles in his. His were bonier, long, spindly. He’d been through so much, and although you didn’t know him before all of this, you were sure he’d been a healthy young man, prime of his life. You all were. Now, alongside the world, the Ether was sucking you dry.

“Just promise me something, okay?” Eddie squeezed your hand until your knuckles whitened with his, and you looked up into those big, sad brown eyes. “The minute you feel him, the very microsecond, I need you to tell Steve, and I need you two to get the Hell out of there.”

“Eddie,” you muttered. You’d thought about this since before Vickie, since before the screams burned at your lungs, since before Harrington had hoisted you away from her burning corpse. All of you made peace with it, knew what had to happen if any of you were Flayed, for the betterment of the group.

“I came out on the other side,” he growled. “And so will you. You come back, and you Quarantine, and we figure out how to burn him out of you.”

—

The Gate’s pull made you sick. The topsy-turvy gravitational change that had your stomach churning but never righted. You were hyper-aware of Eddie’s warning, feeling wholly not-right, like everything in your body knew you weren’t meant to be here, that this was unnatural. Although it’d been so long, you couldn’t remember if this was how you always felt.

Everything was cast in greyscale, a lack of sunlight providing a lack of color, but nothing had changed from when you’d seen it last. Vines blanketed the world in intricate weaves, keeping from areas already charred black. The tear hung skyward, pressed into the roof of a cart port somewhere near downtown, though downtown down here somehow felt more alive.

Melvald’s denoted an autumn sale. The Hawk was showing All the Right Moves. Times were simpler, and somehow that made everything more sinister.

You walked in step with Harrington, your pack heavy against your shoulders, sweat beading there turned ice-cold. Your breath fanned from your face in a cloud that went nowhere, atmosphere stagnant, wet.

“Alright, you two,” Wheeler rounded on you at a fork in the road. “Just a routine burn, we’re torching houses surrounding the area. You know the drill. Burn what you can, and meet us back at the Gate at 700.”

You glanced at the numbers of your watch, the red softened. 4:00. “Copy that.”

“And guys?” She tucked her fingers into Harrington’s oversized hand. “Be careful?”

“We will, Nance,” he offered a weak smile, tight-lipped. “You guys, too. Jonathan.” He nodded to the other boy.

Byers nodded, solemn, and the eyes he made at you were nothing short of worrisome, judgmental.

“Ready?” You hoisted your pack higher and broke off from them, heading down Indiana toward Elm, Maple, Hemlock. You heard the scuttle of boots as Harrington trudged to keep up.

You didn’t grow up in this town. You had no attachment to the Tigers. Hell, you had no real attachment to your own mascot, the Roane County Ravens. Your only real memories of Hawkins were tied to the Fair, smoking in parked cars, hooking up with boys along the banks of Lovers Lake.

But you could remember the first few times you’d stepped foot in the Ether, the chill up your spine at the memories consumed by black ichor and vines. That was before the Spread, before it had seeped so deeply into the roots of the real world that bits and pieces of your home had been swallowed, sink holes and pits dured to gaping mouths, full of brambles and teeth and aching, throbbing pain.

Harrington pulled you by the elbow to the first house. A massive oak sat out front, charred to devastation. Red pockmarked it, a wide crack down the center that had split the wood and caused half to crash to the ground, blocking street access. Vines had grown over it, decaying the underbrush, painting everything slimy and black.

“Are you good?” He adjusted his pack, pulling the hose and trigger from its holster.

“Fine,” you grit your teeth. Your headache had thrived in the handful of hours since you’d seen Eddie, that piercing ache in your eye socket that blurred everything in an aura of technicolor. You’d taken more pills, closed your eyes on the drive over, thankful for cloudy skies and the darkness of night.

Harrington muttered something unintelligible over your shoulder, and with a deep breath, you took simultaneous steps inside a half-eaten garage.

Everything was charred beyond recognition. The roof was caved in. A skittering sound had you walking faster, nimble feet to an unlocked doorway, and not until you were inside did you stop to settle your racing heartbeat.

“Kitchen,” Harrington spoke, voice muffled under a plastic mask.

You nodded, took a few steps forward to let him through. You wanted to follow, to crunch your way onto charred linoleum tiles, but something compelled you the opposite direction, around a large brick fireplace. You left Harrington his devices, sidestepping onto polyester shagged carpet, the color and smell of burned plastic long since faded.

A wide window, smashed and cracked, exposed the ruins of the oak tree. A field of despair lay westward, a place where cattle once grazed, now scorched Earth, scorched Ether. This little sitting room, with replicated antique furniture and copies of classics on broad bookshelves, seemed mostly untouched, unmarred save a few pockmarked walls, peeled paint and wallpaper, a broken window. Just a bit moth-eaten, but otherwise, a safe-haven.

You closed your eyes and breathed in the damp air inside your mask, felt the relief of an ache dispelled.

Then you heard her voice, soft, a whisper on the wind. Your neck snapped with the force of your head turn, glancing toward a rickety staircase. Harrington climbed, pack strapped, and your eyes honed in on the heel of his heavy boot, where it met blackened staircase.

“Steve!” You called out, leaping his direction, but it was too late, the stairs were collapsing, upper floor with them, scorched and broken, a mess of ash and wood, and Steve Harrington was lost in the rubble before your eyes.

---

A/N: This chapter contains the inception moment of the idea for this entire fic! I love the little moments between them, the push and pull, no matter how exhausting and competitive they are. Please come yell at me about it. Thanks. Love you! Thanks, as always, for reading xo xo xo

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#stranger things #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington enemies to lovers #steve harrington angst #wildfire fic #steve harrington #stranger things fic

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