#Crescendo Swing

[regalrain]

Powers!Au Yancy (Yance)

Name: Crescendo Swing

Outfit:

Underneath (In Silver/black/white)

Finally, atop all that, he wears black sunglasses shaped like vinyl records.

[koolaidoverliving]

i've never written an "x reader" fic before, so i wanted to experiment. take this as you will.

NSFW UNDER CUT. MINORS DNI

A FAMILIAR FACE

✦ Jeff the Killer / Reader ✦

CW: Explicit Sexual Content, Dub-Con Elements, But The Sex Is Consensual, Knife Threat, Degradation, No Plot, Like Seriously It's Just Jeff Fucking You Into A Mattress, Gender Neutral Reader

Words: 2.5k

You're waiting for a close friend at a dingy motel out of state. But instead of your friend, you're met with the town's most infamous serial killer.

Your hands fidget restlessly between your thighs. It's been five hours since you arrived at your room — five hours and your best friend is still not here. Of course, they left later than you did, and you can't expect them to be a fast driver. But any sort of notice would do a great deal of help to you right now. You're growing impatient, tapping your foot on the ground and repeatedly checking your phone.

The motel room, with its queen–sized bed and single box TV, provides you no comfort. Without a proper job, this room is all you could afford to get. You're paranoid; you can hear it in the way your heart thumps faster than the ticking of the analogue clock; and the inconsistent buzzing of the fan doesn't do anything to tranquilise your anxiety. The walls, cheaply painted and stained, seem as if they're closing in on you. And they might just be. To make it worse, there's stray dogs outside, and they're barking at the crescendo of police sirens.

With a groan, you fall back onto the bed. You stare up at the ceiling, the pattern of spirals reminiscent of your spiraling thoughts. Did your best friend ditch you? Leave you for someone else again? While you're miles away from home? The questions run through your head and you're unable to stop them. You need someone — anyone by your side to hold your hand and tell you you're not alone.

But all you get is ticking.

Buzzing.

Barking.

And wailing.

...Until there's a knock.

A loud knock — no, a set of desperate knocks at the door. Your heart beats at a million miles per hour, a positive rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

They're here.

"Finally," you say with a smile of relief. You spring up from the bed and hurry to the door. Your sweaty hands fumble with the doorknob. Once it's unlocked, you open it without a second thought.

However, as soon as the door swings open, your face plummets. What stands at the door looks nothing like your best friend. It's a broad man, hooded and stained with what you can only assume is blood.

Before you're able to say something, the stranger brushes past you and enters the room. He closes the door — gently to not make any noise. You open your mouth to shout, but he grabs your body and pulls you back against his chest. His hand clamps over your mouth.

You desperately thrash your arms, your cries of rebuttal muffled behind his hand. But he only tightens his grip on you. "Shhh, shhh..." the man whispers. He reaches out to lock the door. "Stay quiet for just a fucking second."

Though reluctant, you obey him, because you didn't know what he'd do if you didn't. Your muscles tense up. You're pressed so firmly against this man's chest, it almost hurts.

There's indistinguishable chatter outside the room. A cacophony of loud voices. You can't tell what's happening. Not until loud footsteps approach your room. The doorknob rattles. Your body jolts, and you almost yelp, but the stranger's palm is pushing hard against your mouth. You hear another man's voice soon after, much clearer since they're right at the door: "No one's here either."

What — were these men on some weird cat and mouse chase? You can't believe you're being roped into their shenanigans.

Before you know it, the footsteps fade into the distance. The stranger's grip on your body loosens and you use that opportunity to push away from him. "Who the hell are you?" you say breathlessly. "You can't just — You can't just come into someone's room like that — Ugh!" You stop to catch your breath.

"Calm down. I just needed somewhere to hide. You're not special," the man replies. "This room is ugly as fuck too. What are you? Poor?"

"I'm not..." you trail off. No longer in his grasp, you're able to look at him. When you opened the door, his stained hoodie was all you could make out in the dim light, but now that he's in your room, you spot all his grisly features.

Pale leathery skin; blue eyes, wide open; dark shaggy hair, tangled underneath his hood; and worst of all — two grotesque lines carved into either side of his cheeks.

You let out a gasp. The man cocks his head to the side, surveying your reaction. You saw him when you got here. That same face was plastered on the news. And that knife, that knife in his hand —

"You're —" you swallow, "You're Jeffrey Woods..."

A crooked smile forms on the man's face. He gives a subtle nod, affirming your deduction. "Who else could be me?" he says with a boastful tone. "Don't freak out now. If you scream, I'll fucking kill you. This knife isn't just for show — got that?"

"...Yes."

"Good..." Jeff mumbles. "You know. Looking at you closer, you're a pretty little thing." The comment leaves your eyes widened. Your lips slightly part as Jeff leans down and places a hand on your cheek. He grabs your face rather harshly. "I was gonna leave — no, I was gonna kill you and then leave. But now," he laughs, "now I just wanna fuck you."

You aren't able to protest Jeff's advancements when his lips meet with yours in a chaste kiss. He's particularly chapped; there's a metallic taste where his skin is peeling. Yet, he's warm, and his tongue feels oddly nice wandering in your mouth.

Jeff pulls away, leaving your mouth terribly empty. "Yeah, yeah. Definitely a pretty one," he exhales. His breath is warm against your skin.

"Wh–What are you doing?" you stammer, eyebrows scrunching. Jeff rolls his eyes at your question.

"Are you stupid? I'm tasting what's mine now, idiot," Jeff replies.

"'Mine'? But I don't belong to you — I don't even know you."

"Pfsh, everyone knows me."

A cold, prickling metal grazes up your torso. Your skin shivers at the contact. You suck in your stomach, as if that gets you away from the feeling. It takes one downward glance to realise that Jeff is lifting up your shirt with his knife.

"Come on." Jeff's gaze meets yours — his dull eyes stare you down; his knife is still ghosting over your skin. "You want this?" he asks.

The question is abrupt. The sudden change of his tone causes you to shudder — or maybe it's the blade at your skin. You don't know how to respond. He's a serial killer. No, not just any serial killer — he's one of the most infamous in town. You've seen him on several news sites since you arrived, running from one street to the next. And now he's here asking you if you want him.

But you're alone. You're so alone, and that kiss you shared made you feel warm for the first time in ages. He's being kind to you, isn't he? He could kill you — choke you underneath him and plunge a knife into you. But he isn't doing that. He's asking you... if you want him.

It might be the fear, or maybe you're genuinely attracted to him... But either way, you give him a small nod.

"...Yeah. That's what I thought. You get all this, and I'm not even making you pay," Jeff chuckles. "Go on. Take off your clothes."

You're hesitant for a second, but you listen and pull your shirt over your head. You do the same with your shorts, pulling them down and over your feet. You fidget with your hands, staring up at him with a bashful look. Jeff eyes you up and down, that twisted smile permanent on his face. You grit your teeth. You're exposing your body to a serial killer. But it isn't that bad.

"Do — Do you want my name?" you ask. Your body flushes a deep red. You can feel the stickiness of sweat between your thighs.

Jeff scoffs. "No. Why would I want your name? You really think you're more than a random slut to me?" He steps closer to you; you step back in tandem. Your heel hits the frame of the bed. "I said I wanna fuck you, not date you."

He pushes you onto the bed. You watch as he unzips his jeans and discards his clothing the same as you did. Now it's your turn to look him up and down. He has a lean frame. You're shocked by how built it is — but now it makes sense why his chest felt like bricks. You can't avoid looking at his cock either. Jeff's cock is at your face level. It twitches in his hand, and it's one of the biggest you've seen. You're nervous now, more than ever, but it's a good kind of nervousness. Isn't it?

Your eyes flicker back to Jeff's face. He's grinning, revelling in how you check out his body. "You wanna take my dick, huh?" Jeff asks. He grabs a fistful of your hair, bringing your mouth close to the head of his cock. "I know sluts like you love sucking dick. So come on, suck me off."

His ego has no limits... You open your mouth and take in the head of his dick.

"There you fucking go," Jeff says with a satisfied groan.

He's warm and salty. You struggle to shimmy down the thickness of his cock, but you eventually build a good pace for yourself.

"Fuck..." Jeff mumbles. "It's too rare to find a nasty bitch like you out here." He thrusts his hips, pushing his cock in deeper. "Can't be too big for you, yeah? You've got a dirty little mouth, don't you?" His hand is firm in your hair and his grip only tightens when his cock reaches the back of your throat. You gag, still not adjusted to his size. But the vibrations of your gags and coughs only make Jeff hornier.

Your hands grab the bed sheets as Jeff takes control. He relentlessly thrusts into your mouth. You slobber over his length, drool now dripping from the sides of your mouth. You're nothing more than a cocksleeve to him. And god does it feel better than you expected. Your vision is blurry; your own wetness starts to overwhelm you.

Finally, Jeff pulls you off his cock. You gasp for air. "Mmh — J–Jeff —" you struggle to say. You pathetically pant like a wild dog.

"Awh, speak clearly, bitch. You're a fucking mess," Jeff taunts. "You liked that? You liked my cock in your mouth?"

The heat is rising to your cheeks. Your eyes are teary. You're so fucking shameless when you reply, "Yes... Yes, I did."

"Of course you fucking did." Jeff pushes you down on the bed. He hooks his fingers under the waistband of your underwear. You hold in a breath; he grins. Jeff pulls the garment off your legs, leaving you bare and exposed. "Wet just from sucking my dick. Holy shit, you're more of a whore than I thought."

You bite the inside of your cheek. His words burn into you.

Jeff crawls over your body. He's much larger than you; it makes you question if he'll even fit. He spits in his hand and gives his dick a few pumps before lining it up with your entrance. You brace yourself and spread your legs farther, giving him the room to inch closer. But before he pushes inside, he gives you another look, no longer smiling. Your eyes meeting his, you see a shift in the blue pools. "Tell me you want this," he says.

His serious tone sets you back to reality.

You don't even know him.

You shouldn't want this. You shouldn't let him inside you, or allow him to treat you like this, but your body is twitching with desire, and his skin feels so warm against yours. You haven't felt this way in so long. He's a serial killer, but he spared you...

"...I do. I want this," you reply, voice sounding more needy than you intended. "Please. I want this, J–Jeff."

He doesn't say anything.

But then you feel it: his entire length slams into you. You cry out a quivering moan; your back arches against his hips. Jeff pins your wrists against the mattress. "God damn..." he groans. "You're so tight. Like a fucking virgin..."

Jeff leans down and presses wet kisses against your neck. The sloppiness makes you want to cringe, but his unrelenting thrusts send jolts of pleasure surging through your body.

"Dirty slut, letting a complete — f–ffuck...! — letting a complete str–stranger use you like this," Jeff growls. He bites down on your neck; you can't suppress your humiliating moans.

He's covering you with marks and bruises, growing harder each time you wince and tense up. You can't complain as his cock hits all the right spots.

"I could kill y–you so fucking easily." He gives a harsh thrust. "But I bet you'd like that."

"Nnh — Y–Yes...!" you reply, not sure if you're agreeing with him, or referencing the sex. "Mmore — fuck me more!"

"What's it look like I'm doing, dumbass..." He lets go of your small wrists — which are now red from his tight grip — and grabs onto your shoulders.

His nails dig into your skin. He pulls you into him as he fucks you in sync. Jeff's aggressive and lacks any rhythm. He's cursing under his breath with almost every thrust.

"Fuck... Damn whore...! Fucking shit, you're tight —!" His words are there, but they go unregistered by you. You're too overcome with stupid bliss.

"Uuugh! Jeff!" you moan. Jeff's cock is buried deep inside you, stretching you out, making you feel so fucking fulfilled. A wave of ecstasy rushes through you like never before. "Jeff... Jeff..! Th–This is good — Mm'more...!"

Your entire body is trembling. Your moist walls clench around his dick. Legs giving out, your thick arousal gushes out from you and stains the sheets. But Jeff isn't done yet. He rams into you — harder, faster, mercilessly.

You're practically limp. Your head thumps against the mattress with each thrust. You lose the ability to talk, only able to whimper and moan; but the sounds of your voices are drowning out as you're intoxicated by the pleasure.

"Fuck... Fuck!" Jeff moans a final time. With a shudder of his hips, Jeff pulls out. Loads of warm, white liquid shoot out onto your stomach. You feel yourself sinking into the bed.

Jeff holds his flaccid dick in his hand, come still leaking out from the tip. He's staring down at you, both of you breathing heavily. There's a moment of silence, a mutual understanding that you need to regain your composure. But it doesn't last long.

"Ha... Hah, what a fucking night..." he mutters. Jeff gets off the bed before you do, already beginning to throw on his clothes.

"...Jeff?" you say, sitting up. "Are you leaving?" You don't know why you're asking, especially with such a soft tone.

"No shit," Jeff replies. "But," he pulls his hoodie down, "I might have to tell old man Slender about you." Again, he grins.

"Old man who?"

"Nothing, nothing."

Jeff heads to the window. Your heart sinks as he fiddles with the locks. This stranger — local serial killer — is leaving you... and you, for some sick fucking reason, don't want him to. You want him to stay. Maybe you wish you could feel his warmth for longer. But you can't control his actions. You couldn't even get your friend here — so why would this man stay for you? Jeff's already crawling over the windowsill, and you're achingly empty.

But before he leaves, he turns to look at you. And he says, in a hushed tone that makes your heart flutter —

"Just know you'll be seeing me again."

[kitaylo]

Possessive James, kind of smutty

James was never one to lay claim to things. From a very young age, Euphemia and Fleamont instilled in him the importance of sharing, a thing that led him to be selfless at times, relinquishing his treasures to others.

However, at this moment, years of conditioning dissolved into dust. His eyes were following Regulus all around the dance floor, dancing his heart out looking absolutely delectable. He was wearing a black tank top that stopped midriff, leaving a wisp of hair  for fantasies to feed on. His waist was hugged by low fitting jeans that only accented the sway of his hips. Arms thrown in the air swinging with the crescendo of the beat, his hair sticking to some parts of his face, and when he threw his head back relishing the sweetness of the beat drop, James almost stifled a moan as the column of his neck sparkled in the flashing light. James' eyes weren't the only ones savoring the sight in front of them. This knowledge only tugged at something deep inside his chest, a desire he long repressed, but the more he registered people eying Regulus, the more that desire slithered its way through James' assurance.

James was never a man of many desires, but now his grandest one was to make his way through the crowd and lap the sweat on Regulus' neck with his tongue, until it found his mouth and claimed his lips for himself. James felt heat washing over him. He really needed something to quench his thirst as he ordered another drink. He swirled the glass, and as he brought it to his lips, eyes wandering to his boyfriend, he was met with silver eyes looking at him languidly, full of desire. Regulus beckoned him with his head, and James, like a snake enchanted by the flute's notes, made his way to him.

Dazed and drunk on the sight of him, his hands clenched around Regulus' hips and brought him closer. He nosed his neck, dragging his teeth on the column of his neck, and when he found Regulus' sweet spot he sunk his teeth in, gnawing on the flesh slightly until violet bloomed on the porcelain skin and a moan filled his ears.

[bishopsbeloved]

crystal clear

kate bishop x fem reader

there’s something about kate bishop that you can’t get enough of. you need to be close to her, always, but you’ll take whatever you can get — even if that means you’re just her fuckbuddy.

fwb to lovers, fluff and angst (happy ending), mentions of sex, god i love kate bishop, 3.3k words

read this fic on ao3!

Kate Bishop doesn’t swing by your borough very often.

When she does, it’s for either superheroing or sex. Her being in the area for the former will inevitably lead to her calling you for the latter.

You met through a mutual friend in college. You got on really well as friends at first, but you were undeniably attracted to her (who wouldn’t be?), and at a drunken New Year’s party she proved that attraction mutual when you were her New Year’s kiss. You ended up doing a lot more than kissing that night, and when you woke up in her bed the next morning she ever-so-casually suggested that the two of you “do this again sometime”.

“It’ll be good for both of us,” she shrugged. “You’re stressed with school, I’m stressed with… this,” she nodded over at her suit and bow, haphazardly discarded in the corner of her room.

You knew it wasn’t a good idea. You knew somewhere deep within you that you wouldn’t be satisfied with just sex. Kate Bishop is the kind of person that it’s difficult to get enough of, and you wanted all of her. But you’d take whatever you could get.

The two of you laid out ground rules, of course. Neither of you would sleep with anyone else (Kate didn’t have the time to find anyone else, and you didn’t have the interest). You wouldn’t tell any of your other friends (“America will never let me hear the end of it,” Kate said, nose wrinkling), and, most importantly, rule number one, you wouldn’t let it ruin the friendship.

“It’s just sex,” Kate insisted. “We can’t— I don’t do relationships.”

It’s not like it was news to you. Kate Bishop doesn’t do relationships, ever. Everyone knows it. You bit your lip and nodded, stomach already sinking a little. In retrospect, that should’ve been your first warning sign.

You hadn’t meant to break rule number one, though. Honest. If anything, it’s Kate’s fault, for being so… Kate. And it’s didn’t happen all at once, either. In an effort to maintain your pre-existing friendship, you both continued your routine of coffees every Wednesday morning, and walks with Pizza Dog in Central Park. Everything was as it always was on the surface, but within you could feel a shift begin, no matter how badly you wanted things to stay the same. Every time you caught yourself staring at her too long or laughing too hard at something dumb she said or your heart doing that stupid fluttering thing, you did everything in your power to put a stop to it. But you were helpless. Kate Bishop is a beacon, a lighthouse, and you’re drawn in to her against your will, no matter what you’re doing — whether it’s movie night or a coffee not-date or those late-night talks after sex or, yes, the sex itself. The sex is great. Just like everything else with her.

Fuck.

It happens gradually, so gradually, but everything comes to a crescendo when you roll over one morning and she’s already awake, staring at you with such depth and warmth in her big blue eyes. You blink back at her for a moment and know with frightening clarity that you’re in love with her. It’s crystal clear. You can taste your love for her on your lips when she kisses you good morning, and it terrifies you.

You don’t know what to do. You can’t tell her, that’ll ruin everything. It’s the number one condition of this arrangement — don’t jeopardise the friendship. This will do more than just jeopardise it. She’ll never want to talk to you again. And now that you’ve gotten used to Kate Bishop’s presence in your life, you never want to let it go. She makes your days brighter, she’s a joy to be around no matter what you’re doing, and you want to be around her in whatever capacity is achievable. Even if that capacity is friends who fuck sometimes.

So even though it’s a bad, awful idea, even though you’re already breaking the most important rule of the agreement, you carry on with it. You respond to every you up? text and then try to ignore the way your chest hurts the next morning when she walks out the door. Sometimes she’s gone before you even wake up. You think you prefer that, in some ways. At least you don’t have to watch her go.

Kate’s visits to your part of the city are sporadic, and mainly motivated by you, to be honest. There’ll be times when she doesn’t call in on you for a week, and then the next she’ll be at your place for three nights in a row. (She always makes an effort to maintain your Wednesday morning meets, though — a gesture you’d be touched by if you knew no better.)

This week has been one of those in which you haven’t seen her at all. Your life is a little less bright when she’s not around, although you do your best to distract yourself with college things and coursework, and your attempts are generally semi-successful. You’re just getting ready to turn in for the night when your phone chirps out the little notification tone reserved exclusively for Kate, and her name flashes on your lockscreen.

kate bishop <3: you awake? i’m abt five mins away

Your heart is in your throat, but you of course tell her yes.

kate bishop <3: ok omw

you: do i need to have the bandaids ready?

Your teasing, of course, refers to all of the times she’s shown up on your doorstep a little worse for wear. You’re sure you’re a qualified nurse by this point.

kate bishop <3: no

kate bishop <3: …yes

you: see you soon

You place your phone down, grinning stupidly to yourself.

(You are very, very stupid.)

In barely any time at all she is sat on your kitchen counter with you stood between her legs, gently dabbing at the most recent gash on her forehead.

“It’s just a flesh wound,” you reassure her exasperatedly.

“There was a lot of blood,” she pouts. You laugh softly.

“That’s what flesh wounds do. Even small ones. You should know that by now,” you tease, carefully extracting a Band-Aid from the packaging.

She sighs. “No, I think I’m seriously injured, and I need a pretty girl to kiss it better.”

If literally anybody else had said that you would not be smiling dopily back at them with a stomach full of butterflies. But it’s Kate Bishop, so you place the Band-Aid over her forehead cut before dropping a kiss on top of it. “Better?”

“Maybe if we kissed in… some other places.” The latter half is said against your skin as she wraps her arms around your waist to draw you in closer. You can’t help but melt into her arms as she begins to trail kisses down your neck, and the lower she gets the more open-mouthed they become. She grins wickedly when you start to make those little noises at the back of your throat that she loves to draw out of you.

“So sensitive,” she murmurs, her hands beginning to slide lower. Her eyes meet yours and they’re dark and stormy in the way that sets your stomach alight.

“Katie,” you pant, and she pauses to look up at you. “Maybe we shouldn’t— if you’re so seriously injured,” you try breathlessly, and she laughs. (The sound sends a little shiver up your spine. You adore her laugh.)

“You know I’ll eat pussy no matter what’s wrong with me,” she retorts, and you feel your face heat up. Yes, you do know that. You know it from experience. There was a time she had a broken nose, and — well — the activities she roped you into didn’t help that broken nose.

So you let yourself succumb to her touch, as you do every other night she wants you, and try your best to quash the bad, bad feeling that’s been threatening to surface the last few months.

Part of it is guilt, you think. You’re pretty much lying to her — or lying by omission, anyway — when you continue to pretend you’re not breaking the most important rule. You kind of feel like you’re violating her. She didn’t sign up for her dumb fuckbuddy hopelessly pining after her.

But also, you’re beginning to feel that maybe you deserve happiness. Maybe you deserve better than being the dumb fuckbuddy who hopelessly pines. You want to love, and be loved. You can’t stomach meaningless sex anymore, and you can’t stomach being meaningless to Kate.

Maybe if this ends now, you and Kate can still salvage your friendship.

You know ending things won’t be easy. That’s why you’ve been putting it off for this long. But you have to stop giving yourself false hope. It’s getting pathetic.

Even as you’re coming on her tongue you tell yourself resolutely this is the last time you’ll sleep with Kate Bishop.

When the act in question is over, she lays her head on your bare chest, humming softly. Your love for her hits you all at once; it sets you alight and sickens you all over again. You can’t do this anymore. This ends now.

“Kate,” you say quietly. “I’ve been thinking.”

The way that you say it makes her shoulders tense, she can tell something’s not right. She moves to sit up so she can see your face and take your hand between hers. You gently retract your hand, you don’t meet her eyes, and the cleft between her brows only deepens. “What? What is it?”

“I think,” you say shakily, “I think this… should end now.” You swallow, still not really looking at her.

“Why?” She says it quietly, and you can’t glean much else from her one-word response.

“I don’t really wanna be someone’s fuckbuddy anymore. I want to be someone’s girlfriend,” you admit.

Kate is silent for a few moments. “You know that I— I don’t —”

“Do relationships? Yeah,” you exhale. You tilt back your head, looking at the ceiling, anywhere but her. “So that’s why I’m saying we should— maybe we stop.”

“Okay,” she says eventually, and despite yourself you feel your shoulders sag a little as she confirms your beliefs. She doesn’t reciprocate your feelings. This is what it’s always been — just sex.

You feel her eyes on you and you’re careful to keep your gaze averted. You’re certain that if you look at her you’ll cry. Because you’re not looking at her, though, you miss the way she opens her mouth to say something else before thinking better and closing it again. You don’t see the way her bottom lip trembles as she turns away from you and begins to gather her various belongings, scattered across your room. You grab your phone from the nightstand and scroll through it mindlessly while Kate fixes her messy sex hair in the mirror. You only look up when she moves to open the door.

“I’ll… I’ll text you when I’m in the neighbourhood,” she says half-heartedly.

You press your lips together and nod. “See you around, Katie.”

“Bye, Y/N/N,” she murmurs, and closes the door behind her. You finally allow the tears to spill from your eyes.

You didn’t expect her to actually follow through. There’s radio silence between the two of you for a good while. You chicken out of breaking it to ask if Wednesday mornings are still on, and she certainly doesn’t initiate conversation, so you don’t see or hear from Kate Bishop for almost a fortnight (which is probably for the best, you’ll admit, since she’s left you in a right state). When she finally does text you, you almost fall out of your bed reading it, and have to double check that you’re not seeing things.

Sure enough, though:

kate bishop <3 (now):

can i come over?

You hastily type out a reply.

sure, when?

kate bishop <3: now lol?

kate bishop <3: i’m already omw

This makes you shoot out of bed. You’ve taken the definitely-not-breakup hard, and pretty much haven’t left your bed in the two weeks since you last saw Kate, much less your apartment. You’ve kinda just spent your time crying, eating ice cream and ignoring America’s threatening texts that come through when you miss another game night. You’re just not ready to face Kate in a social setting. One on one, though, is probably manageable. At least if it goes downhill no one else will see you cry. You’ll need to clean yourself up, though.

You spend the few extra minutes you know you’ll have, because Kate says hi to every dog she sees on the sidewalk, shovelling clothes from the floor into your closet in a vain attempt to make your place look a little more presentable, and questioning why you said yes to her coming over at all. When you hear a knock on the door, the silly little pattern only she does (“how else will you know it’s me?” she always says), you feel sick to your stomach.

You answer the door, and the two of you blink at each other for a few moments. Sure, it’s only been two weeks, but it also feels like there’s been a lifetime of change between you. The Band-Aid you put on her forehead when you last saw her is gone, and the cut beneath it is almost healed. A few others have replaced it on various different parts of her face, though. Her hair is loose, her cheeks are a little flushed from the journey to you and god, she’s so pretty.

“Hi,” you squeak out, and before you can do anything else she’s rushed forward and her arms are wrapping around you, tightly. It takes you a minute to process but then you return the hug, just as hard, breathing her in like it’s the last time you’ll ever see her.

“Hi,” you say again, but it’s much quieter this time, a whisper in her ear. She hums a greeting back into yours.

“I really missed you,” she murmurs quietly, and your breath hitches. You weren’t expecting any of this. She holds you close to her for a moment longer before finally letting you go. You don’t really know what to do with yourself, so you just step aside and let her into your apartment, closing the door behind her.

She wanders into the middle of your room, intently taking in everything like it’s her first visit. It’s not — far from it — and not much has changed since she was last here. There’s a moment of silence, and you can see the cogs turning in her brain. She’s building herself up to something. You don’t know what exactly, you don’t know what’s about to happen, but she’s got that faraway look in her eye.

“Kate,” you say tentatively, “what—”

She spins around to look at you, like you saying her name has grounded her, and she earnestly reaches for your hands. You give them to her uncertainly.

“Y/N,” she says, and her voice is thick with emotion in a way you’ve never heard it before. “I—”

She studies you intensely for a long, long moment before pulling you flush against her and pressing her lips to yours.

You can’t help it. Your eyes flutter shut at the familiar sensation, at the way she tastes, and your hands slide through her hair. The way she feels against you makes your head spin, and you’re gasping into her mouth and she’s whining, backing up towards the couch, and then suddenly she’s sat on it and you’re on her lap and Kate’s tongue is beginning to slide against yours, and it’s so good. You groan, your brain beginning to catch up with your body, and it takes every shred of willpower you possess to gently push her back.

“Katie,” you say weakly. She leans up desperately to reconnect the kiss, and when you shift from her lap to the empty seat on the couch next to her she makes a quiet noise of protest, her hands reaching out for you. “Kate. I told you I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Her face falls. She looks like a kicked puppy, and your heart clenches, but then she presses her lips together and looks up at you with determination.

“Y/N,” she says, reaching again for your hand. She’s not deterred when you don’t let her take it. She takes a deep breath, and you know as she opens her mouth you’re in for one of her trademark Kate Bishop rambles. “I am a fucking idiot. Think of the stupidest person you‘ve ever met and times it by twelve and that’s me. I literally—” She buries her face in her hands for a moment before continuing. “I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have let you end things. That was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. Which is seriously saying something, you literally watched me shoot down a priceless historical bell last year. You are— you’re— it wasn’t just sex to me, Y/N,” she says desperately, and this time when she reaches for your hand you let her. “I don’t think it ever was. I don’t know. I said I don’t do relationships, because it’s true usually I don’t, and that’s what you agreed to when we started this so I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, and also I didn’t know how to tell you that I’m maybe a tiny bit obsessed with you, like I’m always thinking about you, how do you say that to someone? That’s not a normal thing to say, and then I didn’t want to freak you out and then you wanted to end things so I thought maybe that would be easier for you, I thought maybe you didn’t want me like that so I just let it happen which why did I do that, but then it was too late because I’m an idiot so I was trying to let it go, but I can’t sleep, Y/N, all I can think about is you, and I’m sorry I didn’t know what to do, but I do. I do want a relationship with you, I want it so bad I want everything with you, and if you don’t then you can forget this ever happened because I don’t want to make anything weird and America will kill me if I ruin her perfect Wii Sports game night team, but I just— I really had to tell you. I want a relationship with you, I want to be your girlfriend. I want— yeah. Yeah,” she says breathlessly, her eyes bright, and when she finishes her spiel her shoulders drop in the way they always do, like a physical weight has been lifted from her body. You stare up at her adoringly, and take her face between both of your hands.

“Kate Bishop,” you say sincerely, “you are such an idiot.”

“Wh—” she manages, before your lips meet with hers again.

This kiss is different. For the first time, the two of you are on the same page. Kate Bishop is yours, she wants you, and the thought makes you want to sing. On her lips now you taste something beautiful blossoming between you. You kiss her until you’re breathless, until the air that’s in your lungs is hers, and then you rest your head in the crook of her neck while she holds you as close to her as she can, clutching you like she can’t believe this is real, her chest heaving and hands shaky.

“I— I really do want to be your girlfriend,” she whispers again, and this time it’s so gentle and vulnerable. Your heart bursts at the way she’s so earnestly giving herself to you, no matter how much she swore she wouldn’t.

“Okay,” you tell her, and when your eyes meet hers are full of hope. “Okay.”

[stevie-petey]

episode nine: the good

Soon it’s just you and Steve. You work around one another, anticipating each other’s next move, never getting in the way. Soft music plays from the record player that sits in the den. Steve puts on one of his father’s old records, gentle rock and delicate jazz. You hum to yourself, he hums with you, and it’s a peaceful morning. Until Richard and May Harrington walk in. Neither of you notice them at first. Steve is too busy spinning you around, playfully dipping you as the music comes to a grand crescendo. You’re laughing breathlessly, but soon your laughter turns into a yelp when Steve sees his parents standing in the doorway and drops you.

Summary: the party battles the horrors of high school and leave you stranded, tw: applying for college is harder than fighting literal demons (you would know, youve done it), jonathan joins your nightmare blunt rotation, max worries you, and steve solidifies his position of Best Boyfriend in the World as you slowly fall apart (though is anyone really surprised ??).

Rating: general, some swearing

Warnings: cursing, allusions to previous character death

Words: 11.2k idk how or why i needed to say so much

Before you swing in: we're here !!! FINALLY at the end of season 3 <3333 im so so so excited to present to you the groundwork for what i have planned for season 4 ;) it will be ... a lot. the season is huge, its difficult and scary, and i did my best to try and capture its dread and ominous sense of doom in this chapter. please enjoy and bear with me as i prepare for season 4. unsure when i will be done planning her, but i PROMISE itll be worth it !!

-

“Are you sure Ms. Bote is nice?”

“Yes.”

“And that Mr. Cune won’t question the hat?”

“Yes, Dustin.”

“And you’re absolutely sure we have lunch together?”

“Yes.” You tighten the straps on your mary janes and give your brother an exasperated look. All morning he’s been freaking out about his first day of high school. You understand his fear, it’s scary starting at a new school, but you’ve answered all his questions a million times by now and Steve is supposed to be here any second. “We need to go, buddy.”

Dustin shoves a pancake into his mouth, wiping his face with the back of his hand in a disgusting manner. “Wait, but what about my backpack–”

“I have it, Dusty!” Your mother walks into the kitchen and hands it to him. She kisses his mess of curls and strokes your cheek. “Are my darlings ready for their first day of school?”

“No.” You and Dustin say at the same time, which your mother frowns at. 

Dustin adjusts his backpack and gives you an odd look. “Why are you nervous? It’s not like you’re being blindly thrown into a den of hormonal creatures out for blood. You’re old now, they’ll leave you alone!” 

“Trust me, the college admissions process is a worse monster than school bullies.” You grab your own backpack and start heading towards the front door. “I have to start planning what to write, I–I need more clubs, and projects, and–”

The anxiety overwhelms you. It always starts like this: talk about college, you fall down a hole of uncertainty and dread and fear. It’s been like this ever since Jonathan moved away. The minute the Byers moved, you threw yourself into preparing for college. Rationally, you know it’s your poor way of coping with all the sudden change in your life. You don’t need a psychological research journal to tell you that. In a futile attempt to control your future, you’ve become obsessed with college. 

New York University, specifically. 

Jonathan has always dreamed of attending, and when you met him, it became your dream, too. 

“Okay, dear. Settle down, now.” Your mother places a hand on your shoulder and laughs nervously. She has about five seconds before you collapse into a mess of college admissions rambling and despair. “Let’s go outside and find that wonderful Stevie!”

Your body is shoved out the front door alongside Dustin’s. Steve’s car is parked, he stands outside it, arms crossed and a grin on his face. Your body relaxes when you see him, the buzz of anxiety dims. He’s wearing his Family Video vest, the green makes his tanned skin glow.

“She’s doing it again.” Dustin tells him, tossing his backpack into the backseat.

Steve winces. He knows exactly what your brother is referring to. He’s been at the other end of far too many anxious phone calls at three in the morning. “College?”

“Yeah, she almost had a meltdown in the kitchen.”

“I can hear you both, you know.” Though you try to seem fine, keep up the annoyance, you stand next to Steve and rest your head on his shoulder anyways. He wraps an arm around you and kisses your forehead. 

Steve rubs your arm and makes a sympathetic noise. Your mother, seeing how he holds you, squeals. “Oh, stay just like that, hold on!”

“Mom, what–” But your mother ignores you and runs back inside the house. You look at Dustin, terrified. “She’s not…”

He shakes his head at you. He leans against the car next to you and crosses his arms, mimicking Steve’s earlier stance.  “She’s mom. Of course she is.”

“What are you guys talking about–” A flash of light momentarily blinds Steve, and he flinches. “Woah, alright.”

“Smile, kids!” Another camera flash, and your mother coos as you, Steve, and Dustin awkwardly shuffle into frame. It’s not that the three of you dislike being near the other, it’s the fact that it’s seven in the morning and neither you nor Dustin are ready for the day ahead. Steve smiles, though. “That’s it! Everyone say, ‘happy first day of school’!”

A mess of incoherent mumbling follows your mothers command, but she doesn’t let it bother her. She takes a million pictures, preens when she sees Steve smile even wider, and she has to hold back tears. Her babies are all grown up. Dustin is a freshman now, and you’re a senior.

“Alright, Mrs. Henderson,” Steve has to quickly blink, trying to regain his eyesight. He adores the woman, he knows he’s become her favorite, but he really needs to get you to school before his shift at Family Video starts. “I have no doubt you’ve already taken the best picture ever.”

“Aw, just one more–”

“Mom.” Dustin clears his throat, urging her to stop, and she sighs. 

Your mother kisses Dustin’s head, then yours, and wishes you a good first day before getting into her own car to drive to work. “Bye, kids!”

You all wave at her, and Steve opens the car door for you. Once you’re seated, he goes to the driver’s side and tells Dustin to get in the back. The engine starts, soft music plays from Steve’s radio, and soon the three of you are driving towards Hawkins high. 

“No Robin?” You ask Steve after a few minutes of silence. He’s grown rather close to the girl, working together all summer, so you had expected her to drive with you guys to school. When you and him officially got together, Robin made the two of you promise that you wouldn’t abandon her. It was an irrational fear, you love Robin dearly, but you made sure to spend time with her and Steve equally anyways. 

“She has band practice this morning,” Steve responds. “So it’s just me and the Hendersons today.”

Dustin shoves his head in between the two of you. His seatbelt strains against his chest, but he doesn’t care. He’s on a mission to get as much information as he possibly can. He refuses to go into high school blind and pathetic. “Steve, you were once popular.”

“Why the past tense? I mean, I’d consider myself still pretty well liked–”

“I need you to tell me what you did that led to your demise so I can avoid doing the same.”

You snort and Steve sighs. The kid really keeps him humble. He stops at a light, looks at Dustin through the rearview mirror, and shakes his head. “What makes you think it was anything I did?”

“Kid’s got a point,” you say from the passenger seat. Steve gives you an offended look and you raise your hands in surrender. “Hey, all I’m saying is that I also don’t really know what happened. You’ve got a track record of pissing off the wrong people. One minute you were King Steve, the next you were shunned.”

Steve groans. “You people have no faith in me.” He can feel you and Dustin staring at him, unbelieving. He hates when the two of you team up against him; it makes it harder for him to lie. Truthfully, he doesn’t want to tell you what happened. Not because he’s embarrassed, or ashamed, even. 

He knows it will only upset you. Reopen wounds. 

But you and Dustin keep staring at Steve and there’s still at least ten minutes left of the drive. Weighing his options, Steve figures it’s best if he just tells the truth. Like ripping off a bandaid, knowing the pain will be there regardless of how long you stall. “Okay, fine.” He scratches his nose, clears his throat. “It was, uh. Because of Billy.”

The temperature in the car drops. It’s suddenly ice cold. 

Dustin slowly leans back against his seat. Steve faces ahead, eyes on the road, but he watches you from his periphery. No one has mentioned Billy since his death, at least not in front of you or Max. 

Especially Max. 

They wait for you to react. To tense up, ball your hands into fists and wipe away tears. They expect the guilt you’ve barely kept hidden to resurface, but you don’t do any of that. Instead, you surprise them. “Can’t believe you let a mullet defeat you.”

Steve isn’t sure if he’s allowed to laugh at first, worried it’s some bizarre test of yours. But he sees the smile on your face, albeit forced and terse, but he knows you’re trying. So he plays along, relieved that you’re doing what you can. “I don’t know, I thought the mullet looked pretty good.”

“Get a mullet and see how fast I leave you.”

Dustin nods in agreement, Steve shakes his head with a laugh, and the temperature in the car returns. There’s still a slight chill in the air, there will always be a slight chill, but you pull your jacket tighter around you and ignore it. 

When you get to the school, Dustin stares at the hounds of teens all walking through the parking lot. He gulps, tightens his hands around his backpack, and you try to ease his apprehension. 

“Hey, look at me.” He does, and you extend your arm, offering a handshake. Dustin eyes you wearily, but reluctantly he shakes your hand. You nod at him, hand firm around his. “It’s just you and me. And Lucas. Max, too. Unfortunately, possibly Mike. Copy?”

“Copy.” Dustin releases your hand and salutes you. He pushes his hat down, takes a deep breath, and unbuckles his seatbelt. “Let’s go.”

“Good luck, little Henderson.” Steve salutes him as well before turning to you. He presses his lips to yours, hums, a soft smile on his face. “And good luck, angel.”

Ignoring Dustin’s dramatic gagging in the back, you squeeze Steve’s hand and smile back at him. “Thanks, honey. Have a good day at work.”

Dustin nearly falls out of the car with how fast he scrambles out of it. He’s about to ban all forms of physical affection between you and Steve. It’s disgusting. No one wants to see any of that. You follow after your brother and exit the car.

You only make it a few feet before Steve rolls down the car window and shouts, “I love you!”

A few students in the parking lot turn, and their faces contort into shock when they see none other than Steve Harrington. He waves at them, cocky as always, and you’re both mortified and so in love. He may have lost his crown, but he will always be the king. While Dustin ducks his head down in embarrassment, you wink at Steve. “I love you, too!”

“You’re going to be the reason I end up getting thrown into a dumpster on my first day.”

“Aw, is Dusty-bun jealous?”

“Go die.”

–

The entire day it feels like you’re missing something. 

When you get to homeroom, there isn’t a seat saved for you at the front. When the physics teacher drops his chalk five times within the first five minutes, there isn’t anyone to tease you for your poorly contained snicker. In the library, you’re forced to sit in a corner because there’s no one to share the plush sofa with. 

There’s no one who whispers answers to you during calculus. No one who hooks their foot around your desk’s leg. No one who doodles in your notebook just to get you to laugh. 

Jonathan’s absence is palpable. 

You knew it would feel weird, starting senior year without him, but you didn’t think it’d feel so lonely, either. Empty. Unfinished. 

By the time lunch comes, you’re slowly losing your mind. You need someone to talk to. Robin and Nancy don’t share any classes with you, Jonathan had been your only real friend at Hawkins, and now you’re paying the price. 

You’re the first one at the lunch table, which you figure is a good thing. Earlier in the week you and the party had all agreed to sit together at lunch, you’d been excited to finally share the same school building as them. However, you hadn’t wanted to hover over them. You wanted them to branch out, meet new people, so lunch was your agreed upon time with them. 

The lunch room fills with students and you wait anxiously for the rest of the party. You’re excited to see them, ask how their days are going, maybe even gossip about the freshmen, but when they arrive it’s almost as if a tornado rips right through you. 

“There you are!” Dustin finds you first and slides into the seat next to you, nearly causing you to face plant into the ground. “Look, we gotta talk.”

You frown. “Okay, is everything–”

“We can’t stay and eat.” Mike cuts to the chase, not even bothering to sit down. Lucas stands behind him, quiet and nervous.

“What, why?”

“Eddie Munson wants to meet us.” Dustin says the boy’s name as if you should know him. But you don’t, and now you’re really confused. What does he have to do with any of this?

“Eddie…?”

Mike rolls his eyes at you. “Eddie Munson, Hellfire club, DnD?” When he sees that nothing he’s saying makes any sense to you, he huffs. “Seriously, do you not know anything?”

You throw a chip at him, hurt. “I was in choir, not some stupid DnD club.”

“Hellfire club isn’t stupid–”

“Anyways!” Dustin cuts the fight short. There isn’t time for you and Mike to argue right now. “Eddie is the dungeon master, and he’s recruiting us to join his party! We–we gotta go and meet him, Y/N. He doesn’t just let plebe freshmen like us join.”

“He’s legendary.” Mike says, and sadly you know he means it. It’s not often someone has the boy’s full admiration. Mike is hard to impress, and this Eddie guy seems to have him wrapped around his finger already.

Dustin stares up at you, eyes pleading to understand, and you know you can’t ruin this for him. Only hours ago he had been terrified of his first day, and now he’s almost vibrating with excitement over the possibility of joining some club. There will be people there like him, others interested in what he loves, and you can’t let your own loneliness ruin that. 

“Well,” you clear your throat, try to appear excited for the boys. “Go see Eddie, then.”

“You sure?” Dustin doesn’t want to just leave, he knows you were looking forward to lunch today. He’ll stay if you need him to, he’s sure Mike can talk his way in with Eddie. 

You smile at him, force your voice to be light. They’re growing up. You all are. “I’m sure, it’s your first day. You’re supposed to be joining a bunch of clubs, it’s a good way to make friends. I’m proud of you. Seriously.”

Dustin isn’t entirely convinced, but Mike has already grabbed his arm to go and find Eddie. He turns to Lucas, beckons him to follow. “C’mon, dude.”

“I’ll-uh. Follow in a sec.” Mike gives him an odd look, but Lucas is already sitting down next to you. Seeing this, Mike gives up and leaves with Dustin. As soon as they’re gone, Lucas lowers his voice and leans in close to you. “Hey, do you, uh. Know Jason Carver?”

The scent of chocolate ice cream infiltrates your nose, the sound of it colliding into the teen’s pants rings in your ears. The memory of it is tangible, and you have to hold back a laugh. Yeah, you know Jason Carver. “I mean, we aren’t friends, but we know each other. Why?”

“Do you…” Lucas looks around, making sure Mike and Dustin really are gone, before he continues. “Do you think he’d let me join the basketball team?”

You’re surprised. Sure, Lucas has always shown an interest in the sport. He plays with Steve sometimes, they trade cards, but you didn’t think he’d be interested in the school’s team. “Oh.” Then, you realize why he’s stayed behind. “You don’t want to join Hellfire, do you?”

“I know I’m just a freshman, and–and Mike would probably call me dumb for wanting to even try out, but. I don’t know. I think… I think I could be really good on the team. Might make high school easier.”

“Then you should go for it,” you reassure Lucas. He’s always been so careful to not upset others. He’s loyal, down to his very core, you understand the fear that doing something for yourself brings. “Jason isn’t so bad. A bit much, but kind. He’s a team player, and I think they'd be lucky to have someone like you.”

Lucas smiles shyly at you. “Really?”

“Really. Now, go and find the guy. Ask him when try-outs are, and I’ll talk to Steve about practicing more with you. How’s that sound?”

“You’re the best!” Lucas gives you a quick hug, already getting out of his seat, and runs right into Max. They collide, he manages to save her from falling, and he laughs sheepishly. “Sorry, you okay?”

Max nods, silent, and immediately you and Lucas know that today is one of her bad days. Her eyes are sunken in, it doesn’t look like she got any sleep last night. She sits down next to you, and you nod at Lucas, signaling to him that it’s okay if he leaves. You’ll take care of her. 

Lucas hesitates, unsure, but reluctantly leaves when you nod at him once more, urging. If it was anyone else, he would stay, but it’s you. Besides Lucas, you’re the only other person Max talks to. You’ll stay with her, Lucas deserves to go and branch out like Mike and Dustin are.

“So, did you know about Lucas wanting to join the basketball team?” You turn to Max once the boy has left. She shrugs, picks at the food in front of her. It’s the most response you’ll get from her, and you sigh. “You don’t want to be here either, do you?”

She looks up at you, alarmed that you caught on so fast, and you just shake your head at her. You dig into your backpack, take out some cookies you baked the night before. They were supposed to be for all the kids today, but they’ve all left and Max needs them more right now. “Here, take these. Go to the left stairwell, next to the choir room. No one goes there during lunch, it’s quiet.”

“Thank you,” Max exhales with relief, taking the baked goods from you. Tears lump in her throat, she doesn’t know how you always manage to do this. To see through her, always say the right thing. 

“Of course, my dear.” You risk touching her face, she’s cold, but she closes her eyes and breathes in at the comfort. “I expect to see you at Bookstrordinary after school today, though.”

Somehow Max laughs, and the action hurts her to do so. It’s becoming harder and harder to bear the sound of her own happiness. But she nods at you, understanding that it’s an order she can’t disobey, and leaves. 

Then it’s just you at the lunch table. Alone. 

Nancy is at yearbook, she’s told you all about her grand plan of reforming the club into something more than just homecoming polls and gossip panels. Robin is at yet another band practice, preparing for the annual back to school pep rally later this week. Steve is at Family Video, bored out of his mind, both of you wishing he were here instead. 

And Jonathan is across the country, at an entirely different school, aching to be near you again. 

The thought of him in California only intensifies the loneliness that you feel. The feeling overwhelms you, and before it can swallow you whole, you dig through your backpack once more. Your fingers shake as you rustle through the notebooks and textbooks, and they clutch desperately at your walkman when you finally find it. The mixtape Jonathan made for you before he left sits within it. 

You quickly place the headphones over your head, muffling the sounds of the cafeteria around you. Your fingers find the play button with practiced ease, and soon the beginning notes of the Beatles play through the wire and into your headphones.

The song soothes you, it quiets what you don’t want to hear; it makes you smile. The mixtape is all you’ve been listening to ever since Jonathan left. Though it can never replace his presence, it’s enough for now. 

You stare at the empty seats around you. John Lennon’s voice floats through your ears. 

Welcome to senior year.

– 

Miraculously, it’s Nancy you lean on the most as the autumn leaves turn orange and the summer’s heat dies down. She finds you later during your first week, grabbing lunch from your locker, and she stops you. 

“Don’t tell me you’re going to spend another lunch alone.” Nancy has never been one to greet someone. She always gets straight to the point, a quality that you normally admire.

However, you feel embarrassment rise within you, slightly off put by the cruel words. Sure, you’re not necessarily thrilled that you’ve spent your first few days of senior year alone, but you didn’t need Nancy reminding you of that. “Hello to you too, Nance.”

“Shit, I didn’t mean to offend you.” She holds her notebook close to her chest and looks down in shame. It’s weird, there’s a distance between you that has only seemed to widen despite how hard the two of you try to bridge it. For a while things were good, great, even. She was genuinely your friend, but sometimes insecurities can hurt the ones people love the most. 

“Not really sure how I was meant to take that.” You close your locker and try to excuse yourself. You’re exhausted, you hardly slept the night before. “Look, I should go. I stayed up all night working on stupid college applications and I just… I’m tired.”

Nancy’s posture straightens, eager to grab onto any opportunity to amend things with you. “I can read over whatever you have.” When you raise your eyebrows at her, she quickly backtracks, worried she’s overstepped. “I–I mean, that is, if you want. Not that you need the help! It’s just–”

She forces herself to stop. She’s rushing her words, messing it all up. Her shoulders drop, Nancy takes a deep breath and looks you in the eye. She never apologized for her words earlier this summer. The way she sneered venom at you, but she’s carried the guilt of it ever since. “I’m… trying. I promise I am.”

Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers have never handled vulnerability well. It’s what made you stand out against them, set you apart, and you can’t help but find this quality in them endearing. You know that Nancy is trying to go back to how things were, before one phone call between the two of you revealed the unspoken resentment she held. 

You never blamed her for any of it. But you know she blames herself, and Jonathan’s absence doesn’t help; both of you miss him, neither of you can afford to lose anyone else. 

So you try as well.

“I’ll let you read over what I have only if you let me read what you’ve written as well.” You nudge her shoulder with yours, getting her to finally smile. “I’m curious to see what that brain of yours has thought of already.”

Nancy laughs, relieved. “Definitely nothing as creative as whatever you’ve written.”

“We’ll see about that, Wheeler.”

Soon you find yourself in the yearbook room. Nancy introduces you to some kid named Fred, who moons over her the entire time you’re there, though she doesn’t seem to notice. She’s too busy reading through your ideas, and you find yourself admiring her side profile. The way her eyelashes kiss her brows, the soft cherry on her lips.

Nancy is beautiful. You understand how Jonathan and Fred and Steve and countless other guys in Hawkins have lost their minds over her. 

You read through portions of Nancy’s writing, and the two of you sit quietly side by side editing the essays. She marks some things down, crosses out some lines, and you do the same. It’s lovely, being by her side again. You hadn’t realized just how much you missed her following the events of this summer. 

“So, New York University, huh?” Nancy eventually breaks the silence.

You nod, humming as you skim over a line that you particularly like. Circling it, you respond. “Yeah, it’s been my dream school ever since I was young.”

Though you’re applying to other schools as well. A few state schools, some in Virginia, close to your father. But New York is truly where you hope you’ll be next fall.

“Jonathan mentioned that you like psychology, right?”

“Yup,” you cross out an extra word. “Particularly child psychology. Figured that after everything we’ve been through, especially the kids, it’d be useful if at least one of us has any idea what’s going on inside our minds.”

Nancy chuckles. “Fair.”

It falls quiet again, but you don’t want the peace to end. “I heard from Jonathan that you’re looking into Emerson.”

“He tells you everything, doesn’t he?” Though this time Nancy’s question is asked with fondness, slight exasperation and humor mixed in.

“Mhm, we’re a package deal. You tell one of us something, then the other is bound to know eventually.” You look up at Nancy and lightly touch her arm. “Though he still keeps some things from me when it comes to you, don’t worry.”

She laughs again, and finally you allow the silence to settle upon you. It’s a comfortable one. There isn’t a tension underlying it. For the first time in a long time, you’re able to simply sit next to Nancy and feel that she wants you there with her. 

After that day, you and Nancy spend almost every lunch period helping each other with your applications. 

Steve helps you, too. In his own ways. 

While he can’t help you write the essays, he lets you call him at two in the morning to rattle off application ideas so you won’t forget them. He doesn’t complain when you wake him up and he has an early shift the next day. Instead, he listens. Steve offers you his own tired input and indulges in whatever you need to feel that you’ll succeed; he’s the most doting, patient boyfriend you could ever ask for. 

And, secretly, Steve adores it. Especially when you call him some nights just to have him come over and hold you. 

Those are his favorite nights. Tonight is one of them.

“Why does college exist?” Your cheek is pressed against Steve’s chest as you lay in your bed together. The steady rise and fall of his breathing is melodic. 

He plays with a strand of your hair, you feel him shrug. “‘Dunno, but you’re almost done.”

“Yeah, just have one more application to send before I get to spend four agonizing months waiting to find out if I even get in. How fun.” Sarcasm drips from your lips. You’ve spent the last two months obsessing over it all, which words to write in your essays, which clubs to join, which teachers to beg for recommendation letters. 

And now you have one application left. Then you’ll be forced to wait, without any control of the inevitable outcome. 

You’ve never been someone comfortable with letting go of control. 

“Everything will be fine, angel. NYU would be stupid not to let you in.” Steve reassures you with a kiss to your temple, then to your cheek, the tip of your nose, the dip of your brows. As he kisses you, he envisions doing this a year from now, in a small, rundown apartment with sirens wailing outside and a fire escape that creaks in the wind. The song of New York City. 

Eventually Steve’s lips will find yours, and the conversation will be long forgotten. It’s how most of your nights end now, lost in the kisses as his breath mixes with yours. Hands will wander. Sighs will leave parted mouths. Quiet, soft, aware of the precariously thin walls. 

You haven't slept with Steve, at least not yet. Though you’ve been together a few months now, it still feels too soon. He’s your first boyfriend, your first kiss, your first real love, and Steve doesn’t want to rush you. If all you ever do together is lazily kiss and breathe each other in, then Steve will happily part your lips with his and draw soft sighs out from you.

In the morning you’ll awake with Steve’s lips on your neck, his eyes shining up at you, and in the morning sunlight, before you’ve fully woken up, the air between you is sacred. 

–

“I sent in my final application,” you’re whispering, not wanting to wake up your mom who has fallen asleep on the couch. It’s nearly midnight in Indiana, but in California it’s only nine and Jonathan has just finished his school work for the night. “NYU, it’s done.”

On the other end you hear shuffling as Jonathan leans against his kitchen wall. Will sits at the table with El, he sketches the early stages of a painting and she studies grammar. Jonathan watches them, his mom is in bed, and he forgets for a moment that he’s on the phone with you.

“Bee?” You say the childhood name so softly, so tenderly with concern, and it brings Jonathan back to himself. 

“I’m here, sorry.” He clears his throat, his head is still slightly muffled. Jonathan met a guy in woodshop this week, his name is Argyle, and somehow during lunch he found himself in the back of the guy’s van with a blunt hanging loosely from his lips. The smoke dulled the ache of missing Nancy, of missing you. Jonathan can’t tell you this, though. You’d kill him, and he hates disappointing you. “What were you saying?”

You frown slightly, he sounds different. There’s something in his voice, it’s raspy and he sounds distant. The sound is lonely, he sounds lonely. Jonathan isn’t really here, despite the fact that he’s talking to you. The last few phone calls have been like this. You don’t know what to do.  

When Jonathan left, the two of you promised to call each other every Friday, a compromise. A way to create distance, yet tether you to each other. Jonathan calls you every Friday, Nancy gets him every day the rest of the week, and it works. This is how it’s always been ever since early September.

At first you guys would talk about how your weeks had gone. Jonathan would complain about the California heat and you would tell him about how Mike and Lucas had crashed your date with Steve one night. Laughter would float over the telephone lines. Teasing, whispered “I miss you’s” and spoken goodbyes with the promise of talking again next week. 

But last week when you called, the teasing was gone. The laughter was minimal. You had complained about an exam that day and Jonathan had given one word responses that had worried you. It had been odd, but you thought that maybe he’d been tired that day. Everyone has a bad day, you know this.

Yet it’s Friday again and Jonathan couldn’t feel farther away from you.

“I mailed my NYU application in, bee. You send in yours yet?” Voice light, cheery. You do what you can to try and keep him afloat. You try to grasp at the good that’s left between you. Remind Jonathan that you’re right here, still with him, without scaring him away. “You remember our plan, right? Me and you in New York, together.”

Since you were kids the plan has always been to go to college together. Back then, neither of you could fathom a reason to ever be apart. You were invincible, the same way all kids think they are before the world tells them otherwise. 

But you and Jonathan aren’t invincible, you never were. 

You can hear the way your question suffocates him. The breath that he holds, stilted and torn, suffocates you as well. 

Nausea punches Jonathan, the smoke from earlier suddenly fogs his throat. He doesn’t know what to do. Nancy wants him to go to Emerson with her, he promised you NYU when he was twelve, and California has his mother and Will.

“Yeah, yeah. I–I mean, I sent mine in. Last week.”

Jonathan is lying. You’ve known him for almost six years; he always stumbles over his words when he lies.  

Part of you wants to ask him why he’s doing this, lying to you and pulling away. Another part of you, the larger, more naive part, doesn’t want to believe it. You clear your throat, swallow down the hurt, and choose naivety. “Oh,” your tone is too pinched, too put together. You clear your throat again. “That’s–that’s great! I, um. Surprised you didn’t read the essays to me. Have me edit them, like we’ve always done.”

Jonathan leans his head against the wall and squeezes his eyes shut. He’s never been able to lie to you, he knows you’re desperately trying to overcompensate, as you always do. He hates it. He hates himself. “Yeah, well. Got excited, I guess.”

You hum, words failing you, and the line goes silent.

Dread replaces the laughter that night.

– 

Before you know it, it’s Halloween and the party has infiltrated Steve’s house. 

The holiday falls on a Saturday, and the party deems itself too old to trick or treat. When they find out that Steve’s parents won’t be home that weekend, they demand to spend the night at his house and watch horror movies.

Steve fights back, complains that he doesn’t want them taking over his living room, but his complaints fall on deaf ears. That, and Dustin ropes Robin into their plans. 

“Oh, God. Don’t open the door!” Dustin shrieks, throwing popcorn at Steve’s TV as he covers his eyes with a blanket. He cowers against Lucas, who shoves him off, and Mike snickers. Max sits on the couch, outside of their fort, and watches the boys. None of them try to get her to sit with them. They know they’re lucky that she even showed in the first place. 

“I can’t look.” Robin’s voice carries over, you can almost picture her cringing as she holds a pillow to her chest. Mike chose a particularly gory movie, and the kid’s mind frightens her.

A loud crash sounds, then a woman screams. You figure the protagonist did open the door and has now died, though you can’t be sure. You’re in the kitchen with Steve, taking out the final batch of oatmeal raisin cookies from the oven. The smell wafts through the home, bringing warmth to a house that Steve has always found cold, and he places his hands on your hips. 

“You spoil the kids too much,” he presses his nose against your cheek and kisses you. “They invade my home and you bake them delicious goods.”

You set the tray of cookies down onto the counter. “As if the cookies aren’t for you, too.”

“That isn’t important. We’re focusing on my hostage house, Y/N.”

“‘Hostage house’, quite the alliteration there.”

Steve now kisses your neck, distracting you as you plate the cookies. “I love it when you talk dirty to me.” 

“Don’t make me come in there!” Dustin screams, and Robin echoes him with her own disgusted yelling. 

You laugh at their theatrics while Steve rolls his eyes. He really hates that his house has become the party’s source of entertainment. He just wants to compliment his beautiful girlfriend in peace. Who would punish a guy for that?

In his moping Steve almost misses you walking back into the living room. He follows, stumbles over his feet, never wanting to be more than a few inches away from you. You’re magnetic, always pulling him in. 

Mike is the first to grab a handful of cookies. Lucas and Dustin follow quickly after. They shove the food into their mouths and you scoff at their lack of manners. They’re such boys, growing taller every day, and they’re just as disgusting as they were when they were kids. 

“Want one, Max?” You hold the plate up to her, noticing that she hasn’t moved from her seat. She shakes her head at you, eyes never leaving the screen. Lucas and you share a look, the same concerned expression on your faces. 

The moment is broken by Robin, who grabs a cookie and practically melts. “Holy shit, Y/N. You bake these regularly?”

“Usually once a week,” you shrug at her. “Though I once baked six batches during finals week.”

“God, that was a good week.” Dustin hums, lost in the blissful memory.

Robin grabs your arm, eyes wide with enthusiasm. “I will give you my firstborn child in exchange for my own batch of cookies.”

Steve pokes her shoulder. “You already promised your firstborn to me after I agreed to cover your weekend shift.”

“I can have twins.”

You laugh at her. “That’s a terrifying thought.”

Robin sticks her tongue out at you, causing you to laugh even more, and Mike puts the next movie on. Everyone settles back down, you lay with Steve in the lovechair with Robin in front of you. Max has the couch to herself, the boys are sprawled on the floor in a mess of pillows and blankets, and for the first time in months you feel a certain warmth having your family together. 

Sometime during the night the clock strikes twelve. 

It’s November 1st, 1985. 

Steve’s nineteenth birthday. 

Robin snores softly on the ground, arm underneath her head as a makeshift pillow. Mike, Dustin, and Lucas are all curled up against one another, their faces young again. Max sleeps softly on the couch, her hand dangles over the edge, grazing Lucas’ outstretched arm and open palm. 

Steve lays beneath you, he isn’t quite asleep yet. You’ve come to learn the rhythm of his breaths as he sleeps. The way they slow, the pattern steady. You lift your head up, wanting to admire him, and find that he’s already looking at you. 

“Hi, angel.” He whispers, smiling sweetly. 

You smile back, you always smile back at him. “Hi, honey.” Doing your best to remain quiet, you crawl up the length of Steve and nuzzle your way into his neck. You kiss the dip just above his collarbone, causing him to shiver. “Happy birthday.”

Arms encase you, pull you deeper into the body you lay on. Steve’s body heat warms your face, warms your bones, and you wish you could stay like this forever. In Steve’s arms, the scent of him overwhelming your mind, his touch calming you. 

“Thank you,” he kisses the top of your head. He lingers, his lips soft. The two of you stay like this, his head against yours, your chin tucked into the alcove of his neck. Your breathing syncs with his, his fingers trail up and down your spine. Your fingers splay over his chest, warming his ribs. 

In the morning, Max wakes everyone up. 

“My mom will be worried,” she kicks Mike, nudges Lucas’ shoulder. “Wake up, idiots.” 

Steve groans, squinting his eyes against the morning light. He tries to roll over and block it out and nearly shoves you off the seat in the process. “Steve!” He manages to catch you in his sleepy state, but his movements are slow. 

“Sorry!”

You clutch your chest, heart pounding. “You’ve done that way too many times now. I’m starting to think you want to throw me onto the ground.”

“Lucas once promised he could catch me if I jumped into his arms.” Max says, then she points to a scar on her knee. “Turned out he couldn’t.” 

“Hey!” Lucas sits up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “I really thought I could do it.”

Mike stretches. “Your fault for trusting him, Max.”

Lucas shoves him and the two start to wrestle on the floor. They’re a tangle of lanky limbs, knocking into Dustin who still hasn’t woken up yet. They roll on top of the boy, and he wakes up to Lucas’ knee in his face. “What the hell?”

Dustin joins the fighting now, and Robin throws a pillow at them. “Guys! It’s too early for this!”

They don’t listen. 

It takes a lot of pleading, negotiating, and bribes in order to break the fight up. It takes even longer to wrangle the kids out of Steve’s home, much to his dismay. They leave a mess of strewn popcorn all over the carpet and pillows missing feathers. You stay behind, offering to help clean the mess, and Robin rushes out an apology and happy birthday to Steve as she runs out the door to get to work. 

Soon it’s just you and Steve. You work around one another, anticipating each other’s next move, never getting in the way. Soft music plays from the record player that sits in the den. Steve puts on one of his father’s old records, gentle rock and delicate jazz. You hum to yourself, he hums with you, and it’s a peaceful morning.

Until Richard and May Harrington walk in.

Neither of you notice them at first. Steve is too busy spinning you around, playfully dipping you as the music comes to a grand crescendo. You’re laughing breathlessly, but soon your laughter turns into a yelp when Steve sees his parents standing in the doorway and drops you.

“Dad!” Steve immediately bends down to pick you up, endlessly apologetic. He ducks his head, eyes on you, though his body doesn’t turn from his father. “I’m sorry, angel. You alright?”

You reassure your boyfriend that you’re fine, more worried about the fact that you’re dressed in clothes from yesterday with horrendous bedhead meeting his parents for the first time. Richard eyes you in Steve’s arms. He has a look of disinterest on his face. “Son.”

“What, uh.” Steve clears his throat, curls a protective arm around your waist. He didn’t mean for this to happen. His parents were supposed to be gone until Tuesday. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here.” 

“Right.”

Father and son stand in front of one another. Neither speaks. Steve feels like a little boy again, scrutinized underneath his father’s intense gaze. Never good enough. Never worthy of anything other than berating and lectures. 

You wring your hands nervously, unsure what to do. The air is thick. Steve looks so much like his father, it’s almost uncanny. They have the same build, the same moles that dot along their handsome faces. Only his father is dressed in a suit, the lines in his face are hard, weathered. He’s who you picture Steve would’ve been, in a different universe where you were never his friend. 

May Harrington gave her son all of her delicate features. The soft turn of his nose. The plush, pink lips. His doe eyes, his smile. The only feature that separates her from her son is her honey blonde hair. She’s beautiful, elegant and poised, and when she steps towards you, you can smell lavender perfume. “You must be Y/N. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Hi, Mrs. Harrington.” You’re quick to meet her where she stands. You’re nervous, you have to discreetly wipe your hand on your pants before shaking hers. “It’s so wonderful to finally meet you. Your banana bread is lovely.”

The woman smiles, it’s so much like Steve’s that you want to cry. “Thank you, dear.”

“Of course, and I apologize for meeting like this. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Richard makes a mean, gruff sound. He shakes his head, steps next to his wife. He doesn’t like you, you can feel it by the way he blocks his wife’s view of you. “Oh, no. I’m sure you didn’t.”

“Dad–” Steve steps forward as well, blocking his father’s view of you. He’s angry, his shoulder blades close together. He doesn’t like how the man is treating you; you’re too good for such cruelty.

“What did I tell you about bringing your hookups to the house, son?” Richard sneers, turning his nose up at you. That’s all he sees you as. Just another one of Steve’s flings, one of the girls from his past. 

“Y/N is not just some hookup,” Steve clenches his jaw, tries to steady his breathing. He doesn’t want to fight with his dad in front of you. Not when he was having such a good morning, spending his birthday with your hands wrapped around his neck and your giggles singing in his ears. “She’s my girlfriend, and I love her.”

Richard chuckles, he doesn’t believe his son. “Okay, you love her. I’m sure your mother and I will walk in on you with some new girl next week.”

“Dear,” May places a hand on her husband’s shoulder. She sees the way you shrink into yourself at the man’s words. The insecurity that he brings. She sees how her son’s eyes ignite with fury, she watches as he does whatever he can to put the flame out for her sake and your’s. “It’s Steve’s birthday today.”

“Is that why you insisted on coming home today?” Richard turns to her, she has his full attention now. His eyebrows are drawn together, annoyance paints his body. “You told me you had a board meeting tonight.” 

“Why don’t we talk about this upstairs?” May suggests, relieved that she’s turned her husband’s anger onto herself rather than her son. Richard sighs, but he doesn’t argue as he marches up the stairs without so much as a second glance towards you. When he’s gone, May smiles at you sympathetically. “I apologize for my husband’s behavior. We had a long flight, I’m sure he’s simply jetlagged.” 

“Yeah, that’s why he’s such an asshole.” Steve scoffs, tired of his mother’s excuses for her husband. He can be cruel to Steve, he doesn’t care. He’s been cruel to him his entire life. But if his father so much as breathes near you again, Steve will hurt him. 

Your hand reaches for Steve’s, sensing what he’s thinking. You return May’s smile, you’re not at all angry with her. “It’s okay, really. I was an unexpected guest, and I should go.”

Steve pulls you into his chest. “What, no–”

“You may leave, if you’d like.” His mother gently interrupts him. “Though I must admit, I really do wish to know you better. If you’d allow me to, that is.”

“I’d love that more than anything.”

“Then I will plan a dinner for the next time my husband and I are in town.” May tells you, admiring your honesty. She can see why Steve has become so infatuated with you. There’s nothing hidden within you; you wear your heart on your sleeve, your sincerity a welcomed rarity. She turns to her son, rests her palm delicately against his face. “Happy birthday, my beautiful boy.”

Steve leans into her touch, weak for his mother as any son is. You turn away, it doesn’t feel right to watch this moment between them. 

In the car Steve profusely apologizes for his father’s behavior. Over and over again, he laments how sorry he is and that you’re more than just some fling to him. “You’re everything to me, angel. I love you so, so much.”

“I know, honey.” You grab his hand that rests against the stick shift. His father’s words had hurt, but you knew that they weren’t true. Steve is your’s, he has been for longer than either of you realize. Nothing will ever undo the love he has for you, the foundation of trust it was built upon. “You’re everything to me, too.”

When Steve pulls into your driveway, you tell him to park and come inside. His birthday gift is in your room. You had planned to give it to him later tonight, but his parents’ unexpected arrival had soured things. “I know you have to go home, but…”

“I’ll never say no to you.” Steve’s already unbuckling his seatbelt to follow you inside. He greets your mother with a kiss to her cheek, ruffles Dustin’s hair as he sits at the dining table doing homework. His movements are easy, leisurely. You notice now how at home he is in yours, far from the boy who cowered before his father only twenty minutes ago. The realization is bittersweet. He deserves to feel at home in his own house, not just yours. 

Inside your room Steve sits on your bed and holds his hand out, eager. “Okay, wow me, Henderson.”

“You really know how to talk to a woman.” You tease him, rustling through your drawer to find the gift you’ve hidden. Steve is nosy, he’s been trying to find his gift for at least two weeks now. When you’ve found it, you clutch the gift in your hand and hold it behind your back. “Alright, you know the drill by now. Close your eyes.”

Steve complies with a smirk, biting back suggestive comments. He loves this tradition with you, making the other close their eyes before their gift. Something light is placed in Steve’s hand. It’s circular, sturdy. He thinks he can smell leather.

“Okay, open.”

In his hand is a bracelet. It’s a simple strip of leather, nothing embellishes it besides a button to secure it. Though it’s plain, Steve can tell that it’s expensive. The leather is supple, its color is dark and polished. The silver button that clasps the two ends together is heavy.

He loves it, he does, but he can’t help feeling like that there must be something more to it.

As if reading his mind, you gently prompt Steve to turn it over in his hands. “Look what’s on the inside, honey.”

He does, and his heart stops.

The leather has been stamped. The word constants is spelled out across the length of the band. It’s a hidden message, only for Steve to know, and while he’s sure you have your own explanation for why you chose the word constants, he loves it already. “Oh.”

You sit next to him and laugh softly. “You’re my constant, Steve. Everything in my life has changed, or will change, but you… You’ve always been there, I know you’ll always be there. With me. My love, my lucky charm, my constant.”

Tears well in Steve’s eyes. He doesn’t bother wiping them away, too busy admiring the bracelet in his hand. He can’t believe you’re real, that you’ve thought of this for him. That you see a future with him… It’s everything he could’ve asked for. A security he’s always longed to have. His entire life he’s been told he’s too much, too overwhelming, and yet you want him to stay anyways. 

“And you’re my constant?” He asks you, fingers grazing over the letters again.

You nudge his shoulder with yours. “Well, I’d like to think that I am.”

He laughs, wet and full of love, and he can’t take it anymore. Steve throws his arms over you and you collapse into your bed, laughing together as he presses his lips wherever they can reach. 

“You are,” he says in between kisses. Your laughter lights him. “You��re my constant, too.”

–

The autumn leaves fall and the trees are barren as winter arrives. 

You spend winter break trying to maintain your promise to Joyce. After finishing the hell that was applying to college, you have so much unexpected free time that at first you don't know what to do. But then her words echo in your mind, the promise to live the life that you deserve, so you start doing things for yourself.

Slowly you read through all the books in your room that you hadn't had time for before. You start running again in the mornings, the winter air crisp in your lungs. You and Dustin do homework together at the kitchen table, making sure neither of you get left behind. You try new recipes to bake, delivering the treats to the ones you love. It’s nice, rediscovering the pleasures you once had long before the Upside Down came into your life. 

Christmas comes and you do your annual rounds, delivering everyone’s favorite treats on Christmas Eve. It’s during your run to the Sinclair home that Lucas asks you to come inside to talk. 

“What’s up?” You ask him, unwrapping your scarf and warming your hands in your sleeves. Lucas gestures to his kitchen table, silently asking you to sit. When you do, he takes a deep breath and joins you. 

Something’s bothering him. You can see it in the way he carries a weight on his shoulders. How they droop as he sits, exhausted. You reach across the table and grab his hand, offering whatever comfort you can give him. “Whatever it is, you can talk to me.”

“It’s…” Lucas purses his lips, his breath shakes. “It’s Max. I’m–I’m worried about her.”

He tells you everything. He tells you how distant she’s been, more than she’s ever been before. He tells you how she’s missed dates he’s planned for her, how she refuses to talk to him anymore. She hasn’t been to any of the party’s hangouts, Mike and Dustin haven’t seen her ever since winter break started.

Max has had bad days, weeks, even months since losing Billy. But she’s never had the bad days without at least one good day following. To break the monotonous cycle of self-loathing and grief and guilt. She would always come back, even if for a moment, alive and bright and reminiscent of the girl had been. 

“I can feel her slipping away,” Lucas looks down at the table. He’s afraid that if he looks at you then he’ll start crying. He doesn’t want you to worry, he knows how much you already deal with and do for them, but he’s terrified. “I know… I know that you helped Will, after he was flayed. Do you think you could maybe talk to Max? Just… Remind her that we’re here for her? I can’t–I can’t lose her.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” you squeeze his hand in yours, trying to stem the stream of tears he fought so hard to force down. Lucas loves Max with everything within him. Anyone can see that. You’d do anything to bring the girl back to him, to bring her back to all of you. “I’ll talk to her.”

I’ll keep an eye on her. Watch her when you can’t. 

Lucas hears it. He exhales, nods his head.

You leave. Max was the next one on your list of deliveries anyways. 

It’s nearing dusk by the time you get to the trailer park. You haven’t seen Max’s new home, she’s only recently moved. She had been too embarrassed to tell anyone that her mother lost their old house. The only reason you even know she moved in the first place is because Lucas and Dustin stalked her walking home. 

A dog barks as you bike past. Snow has started to fall, tomorrow will be a white Christmas.

“Oh, hello, Y/N.” Susan Hargrove’s skin is pale, her eyes sunken in when she answers the door. Her voice is thin, her frame is strained. The death has been hard on her, too. Billy’s father leaving only made everything worse. 

“Hi, Mrs. Hargrove.”

The woman winces. “Please, Mayfield will be fine.”

You immediately correct yourself, apologetic and ashamed, when Max’s voice calls from within the home. “Just let Y/N in, mom.”

Susan sighs, and you wish you could do more. Instead, all you can offer her is the container of coconut bites you’ve made for them. Max told you they remind her and her mother of California, and you always make sure to have some ready every week for them. Offer some semblance of joy in the gray of their lives.

Max sits at the kitchen table. Her head is down as she works on something. She has her walkman next to her. Susan leaves the two of you alone, excusing herself to go lay down after a long shift. 

You sit next to the girl and take a deep breath. This won’t be easy. Max is prideful, stubbornly independent, and has never accepted sympathy from anyone. You’ve always admired her fiery personality, but the fire has dimmed and the smoke is beginning to choke her. Talking to her will be like pulling teeth out. 

“Brought you your favorites.” You shake the container in your hands. It serves as a peace offering, almost a bribe to start the conversation. 

“Thanks.” Max doesn’t look up. 

You swallow, tuck your hair behind your ears. “Of course. I was doing my usual delivery rounds. I, uh. Stopped at the Sinclair’s.”

The pencil in Max’s hand freezes. Her knuckles tighten, though the shift is subtle. She’s always been too smart for her own good. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Erica likes my brownies. Mrs. Sinclair, too.”

“And Lucas?” She knows why you’re here.

“I made him chocolate chip cookies. You know how much he loves them.” Max doesn’t respond. Of course she knows how much Lucas enjoys chocolate chip cookies. She knows everything about him, but she doesn’t say anything and goes back to writing. Faintly you hear music coming from the walkman. You point at the device. “New song?”

“Kate Bush.”

“Oh.” This is going worse than you imagined. “Look, Max–”

She doesn’t waste any time. “I know Lucas sent you. I don’t care.”

“He’s just worried about you, we all are–”

“I’m fine.” The tip of the pencil snaps. “Shit.”

“Max.” You’re pleading with her to listen. Her skin is fluorescent now, paler than you’ve ever seen. The bags underneath her eyes are swollen, dark and ghostly. She’s lost weight. You can’t remember the last time you saw her eat. “Please.”

“What do you want me to do?” Though there’s anger in her voice, Max’s eyes plead with you, too. Her mask slips for just a moment, but you see it. Underneath her indifferent exterior, she’s just as terrified as everyone else is. She can feel herself fading, the guilt of Billy’s death slowly eats her alive. She doesn’t know what to do, though. How do you continue to live after death has infiltrated your home?

The chair beneath you scraps against the hardwood floor. You stand up, walk over to Max and kneel in front of her. You keep your movements slow, worried you’ll scare her away if you get too close too suddenly. “I think you should talk to someone, honey.”

Max turns away. She can’t. If she told anyone what goes on inside her head, they would never forgive her. You would never forgive her, and it would break her. 

Your hand falls to Max’s knee. The warmth from your palm combats the ice in her veins. You’re looking at her as if she’s worth something. As if she didn’t wish for her brother’s death. As if she hadn’t sent a grieving father into a spiral, a desperate mother into a trailer park. But Max allows your touch, so you try to get through to her again.

“You know, I was actually talking to Ms. Kelly a few weeks ago. The school’s guidance counselor.” She had met with you to discuss your grades and college options. When she had seen how you picked your nails until they bled, she suggested seeing her every few weeks. Alleviate some of your never ending stress. You had denied, uncomfortable with the idea. But maybe she could help Max. “She seemed nice enough. I’m sure she would be open to talking with you.”

“I don’t want to see some shrink.”

“Hey, I want to work with kids your age someday. Don’t call future me a shrink.” You poke Max’s leg playfully, and the corners of her mouth twitch. She doesn’t want you to see that it’s working. “C’mon. Have at least one meeting with her. When winter break ends, all I ask is that you try. For me and Lucas. We’re your favorites, after all.”

“If I agree, will it get you to shut up?”

You’re fine with this. It isn’t ideal, you aren’t sure Max will even actually try to open up to Ms. Kelly, but it’s a start. For too long now you’ve stayed silent, allowing Max to grieve on her own. Grief is hard, it takes and it takes and it takes. Yet it’s been almost six months and you’re not sure how much left grief can take from Max. “I think I can be okay with that.”

You’ll take whatever you can get. You’re worried. You got too caught up in your own life, you had gotten lost in your own haze of grief and anxiety. Missing Jonathan, grappling with change and growing up as you applied to college. You weren’t there for Max like you should’ve been.

But you’ll fix this. You always fix things. It’s what you do. It’s what you have to do. It’s how you love; you take care of those around you.

And who are you if you can’t?

–

Jonathan calls you high for the first time in late January. 

Though he doesn’t tell you that he’s high, you know. His words are slurred, slowed, incomprehensible. It’s late in California, even later in Indiana, and the stark feeling of guilt slices into your ribcage the same way the Demodog’s claw did. The feeling cuts deep into your skin, nicks your bone. 

“Jonathan?” You hope your voice brings him back to you. You try to cut through the smoke that fills his mind, that leaves him stumbling over his words. “Bee, can you hear me?”

“‘M here.” Jonathan sniffs, smacks his lips, yawns. “Where’re you? Can’t find you, bug.”

You close your eyes. He’s looking for you, and you aren’t with him. “I’m in Hawkins.”

“Thas’ far.”

“Yeah,” you choke out a laugh. It constricts in your vocal chords, but you can’t let Jonathan know how much it hurts to hear him so disoriented. “I’m sorry.”

“S’okay. California sucks.” He hiccups, you’re surprised he’s managed to call you tonight. Even in his drugged up state, he still somehow remembered to call. “Don’t think Nance will like it.”

He’s referring to the spring break trip. Nancy told you about it earlier today, how she and Mike will spend the week in California to see Jonathan and El. She had been a bit hesitant to tell you, afraid you’d be upset for not being invited, but you reassured her that it was okay. 

You’ve had a road trip planned with Jonathan ever since you were fifteen. The moment the two of you graduate, you’ll drive all across the country for one final adventure before college. 

Nancy can have spring. Summer will be yours. 

“She’ll love California because you’re there.” She talked about the trip nonstop today. Her glow had come back, momentarily, her eyes alight. She truly loves Jonathan, she misses him even more than you do. 

“Only disappoint her.”

“What do you mean?” You’re not sure where this is coming from. You know Jonathan is high, that his thoughts may not be coherent, but he sounds distressed about Nancy. You thought things had been good between them. They were planning a future together. 

“Is’ hard, with her.” Jonathan manages to get out, but his speech is becoming harder and harder to understand.

You frown. “What’s hard, bee?”

The line disconnects. Jonathan doesn’t bring the conversation up again, the next time you call. You don’t ask him what he meant. You don’t think you want to know. There had been something deeper behind his words.

Will calls you a few days later in tears. The kids are meaner in California than they are in Hawkins. They tease El, make her life hell, and he’s upset that he can’t do anything to stop it. He cries to you, his tears soak your face through the landline, and the guilt creeps back in. 

It will never truly leave.

You do your best to console him, offer him advice, but that’s all you can do. All you have are your words. Will and El are hours away, hundreds of miles separate them from you. It's nauseating, feeling so useless. For as long as you’ve known Will, you’ve always been able to protect him. To help him, dry his eyes.

You’ve always been there for your boys, for Jonathan and Will. For El. But you can’t get to them, they’re too far away, and it kills you. You’re sixteen again, trapped in Jonathan’s car and frantically trying to keep yourself together as everything around you falls apart. 

Steve becomes your lifeline. 

He always answers when you call. Every time Jonathan, high and lonely, hangs up your conversations, you call Steve. He answers, he hears the exhaustion in your voice, and he always sneaks in through your window later that night. He knows it’s the only way you’re able to sleep these days.

He sings to you when you wake up from a nightmare. They’ve become about Max, losing her. She’s only met with Ms. Kelly a few times, but you can tell that she already wants to stop. That you’re pushing her too far, pushing her away from you and everyone else. 

Steve takes you for drives when you get blisters from pacing your room, anxiously waiting for your college decision letters to come in. Soon your entire life will be decided for you by one single piece of paper. 

Two weeks before spring break, Jonathan calls you. He’s sober.

You can’t remember the last time you’ve spoken to him sober. The thought alone depresses you, makes you yearn for childhood again.

“I think Nancy wants me to come to Hawkins,” he tells you. “Would you… would you like that?”

More than anything.

You press the phone against your ear and imagine that it’s Jonathan’s hand instead. Your skin hasn’t forgotten how his felt against it. “Of course I want you to come to Hawkins, bee.” But it can’t be that easy, you know nothing ever comes easily. “Can you afford it, though? I–I mean, God. I miss you, you know that, but I know it’s been hard for your family these last few years.”

Jonathan’s head falls back against the wall behind him. You always understand. He hates it, sometimes. “It’s worth looking into if it means I get to see you and Nance.”

There’s an air of authority in Jonathan’s voice, as if he truly believes what he’s saying, and it surprises you. He’s taking initiative after months of floating away. Hope sparks within you, the cold hand of dread lessens its grip around your neck. 

“Well, I can’t argue with that logic.” You say. Jonathan laughs, you’ve missed the sound. It’s been so long since you last heard it. 

Conversation drifts after that. You tell him about the latest Spider-Man arc you’re reading, he inserts his own opinions, and it’s lovely. You haven’t had Jonathan like this in months, all to yourself, his smile aligned with yours. Sober, steady. 

The phone call with Jonathan reminds you of all the good that is still yet to come. 

College decision letters arrive next week. Your best friend might be visiting for spring break. Your boyfriend has planned a picnic for your anniversary tomorrow. You have your first meeting with Ms. Kelly the following day. It was your idea, figuring it was only fair that you see her since Max has agreed to keep going. 

And Joyce made you promise that you’d live your own life. You’re trying to get better, you really are. 

It just takes time. 

-

⌑ series masterlist

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[tacticaldiary]

I love your fics so much 😍😍😍 could you please write a ghost x wife reader where he has a nightmare about losing them

Solace For The Rough Nights

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

"I killed you." It's a harsh whisper, almost involuntary, as if his body couldn't bear to keep the poisonous thought in a second longer. "Shot you straight through the head. I didn't-"

"I'm alive. Here. With you. It was just a nightmare, love."

Masterlist

Ghost was running.

Footsteps crunching on dried leaves, he weaves through the trees, shaking off the sounds of harshly barked orders, as crisp and as hold as the cold air around him.

The trees around him are densely packed together, a mixing pot of leaves, roots, and coarsely misplaced footsteps.

He can't remember how he got here, or what op he was on and it sends his normally razor-focused mind into a slight frenzy.

Ghost is a man of action. A plan and a way to execute it was all he needed to bring back a victory in tow, but right now he has neither of those things, hasn't even a bare recollection of ever having those things in the first place.

What was a Ghost without a purpose to haunt?

He stumbles.

It's already an odd situation. Ghost doesn't stumble or hesitate. He's a well-oiled machine, self-sufficient and cut-throat. Missteps are simply not viable with him, especially not something as simple as tripping.

Catching himself on his arm, he swings around, gun already aimed towards the ground, sees a vest-clad figure sprawled over the ground under him.

He fires without thinking. A bullet straight to the head, brain matter splattering the trees and forest, the expanse of his arms. The impact of the bullet jolts the body onto its back and-

Every part of him freezes in pure, undiluted horror.

Because his wife stares up at the sky, eyes unseeing, eerily still. Her hair bloodstained, splayed out onto the ground caught in twigs and branches, face filthy with dirt and crimson that he drew from her.

He's not sure when the trembling starts, only that it begins with his hands and travels up his spine, singeing his soul with a terror that would marr him forever. Circumstances completely forgotten, he drops to his knees in front of her, hands shaking as he calls out her name, pressing his fingers to her neck to find a pulse as if he hadn't just blown her brain out and-and fuck it was still on his arms, his hands, the blood was everywhere and there was no way Ghost had just taken the one thing he wanted to keep in his life-

A strangled sound leaves his lips, not a laugh and not quite a cry. He wants to laugh at the irony.

He's always been so afraid that someone would hurt her at his expense, that someone would take her away, tear her apart from him.

He never thought it'd be him who carried out the deed.

Nothing comes out of his mouth, because nothing can fix this. He gathers her into his arms, shaking silently. He deserves this, deserves to suffer in silence with what he's done.

The release of crying was not one he deserved.

"Fuck, I-...you're okay." His voice breaks, rough and gritty, and desperate. "I didn't-I swear I-..."

Someone's voice sounds behind him but he refuses to look back, letting the screaming in his head, the crescendo of grief consume him. His hands never let up from touching her, pressing her against himself as if his own heartbeat may bring her to life.

How could someone like her face the end when someone as disgustingly tainted and bloodstained as him continued on living?

It wasn't right, but then again, the world never was fair.

He registers he's panicking, knows that he can't quite get a full breath in and that the noise of talking is getting louder but death itself would be the only thing to take him away from her.

"..i..on."

He squeezes his eye shut, rasping out suffocating breaths.

"Simon...Simon!"

His eyes snap open, a strangled gasp tearing out of his throat. It's blindingly dark, and he's...there's hands on him. Steeling himself he sits up hazy and confused, lingering panic making his throat close up.

A click and the room fills with light.

Room. He's in...he's in his room. He's in their room.

"You okay?"

Her voice makes him shiver violently, ignites his frayed nerves. He's almost afraid to look over lest he find her bloody and mangled, because she was, wasn't she? He'd seen it, held her, felt guilt choke him and...

But there weren't any leaves here. No trees, and no blood on his hand (that was the first thing his eyes had snapped down to confirm.)

With a shaky breath, he finally turns his head towards her voice.

Some of the hastily built scaffolding inside him collapses at the sight of her. Alive. Well. Clean.

Worried.

Patient as always, she's waiting for him to get his bearing, not wanting to swarm and overwhelm him.

"Simon?" Her voice is a crack of softness a man like him doesn't deserve. The sheets rustle as she shifts closer. "You were tossing around, mumbling something." She furrows her brows, coming to sit in front of him. "You're all sweaty. Do you feel ill?" The back of her hand presses against his forehead, and the touch snaps something in him.

Breaks apart the harrowing gates of relief, but also smashes the wave of diluted panic he'd been too disorientated to feel.

His hand snaps to her wrist, a gentle and firm hold. Her eyes widen but she doesn't interrupt, lets him press his lips against her pulse point with trembling fingers. "You're all right." He breathes out, half to himself.

"I'm right here." She reassures him immediately. It loosens up his shoulders a little, but he still reaches out to her, pulls her close into a hug so crushingly tight it knocks the breath out of her.

She hugs him tighter, still.

Simon wasn't a hugger, so something must really have shaken him up.

"Hey..." She mumbles against his shoulder.

Simon pulls back, hands travelling up her arms, her shoulders, her neck, to press against her temples. His gaze flickers down to his own arms, then back to her head.

"Talk to me, baby." She says quietly, letting him ground himself. His hands tangle in her loose hair, weaving the strands between his fingers as if he might pick out phantom leaves and twigs. "Why so worked up?"

"I killed you." It's a harsh whisper, almost involuntary, as if his body couldn't bear to keep the poisonous thought in a second longer. "Shot you straight through the head. I didn't-"

"You didn't."

The sharp interrupting startles him enough to still his hands from where they've been mapping out her skin to ensure it was still unmarred.

"You didn't." She repeats. Gently untangling his hand from her hair, she brings it to press against her chest, right over where her heart is. "I'm alive. Here. With you. It was just a nightmare, love." She smiles and Simon feels his heart twist. The way she leans forward to press her lips to his is a kind of gentle he's still getting used to. "You're not getting rid of me any time soon." She whispers against his lips, a warmth that's a welcome reprieve from the shivers that wracked his body moments prior.

They sit there taking in each other's presence until Simon's thoughts slow from a sprint to a run to a walk, until the taste of copper, and the tang of iron fade from his senses.

Until it's just her, just them. In their bed, in their home. Off duty and safe.

When she slides her hands up to his shoulders, pushing him down he goes willingly, lets her straddle him. Never once do his hands leave her, they wrap around her hips to keep her steady.

"Tell me about it?" She asks, hands on his chest. After a moment of thought, Simon shakes his heavy with a long, heavy exhale.

"I'd rather not think about it." He rasps.

"It might help." The gentle shapes she traces on his chest give him something to latch onto. "I don't want you to deal with these nightmares alone." She snakes a hand up to his head, gently tapping his temple. "Don't want you to get stuck here without me. We're a team, right?"

"I suppose we are." He hums. Simon considers changing the subject, letting it go and falling back to sleep, but the need to get these vile thoughts out of him...

So he talks.

For once, he talks.

Simon tells her in halting phrases and clenched fists about what he remembers, how he held the gun, how there was no hesitation pulling the trigger.

His tension is met with hums and soothing circles rubbed onto his skin, keeping him with her even when he unravels the threads of his worst nightmare.

"I remember thinking how I was the one who took your life." He swallows harshly. "How I lost someone else...how it'd have been my fault." She doesn't comment on the fact that his grip on her hips has tightened considerably as he spoke.

"Well you haven't shot me yet, so I think we're safe for now."

Her attempt at a joke is met with a blank glare, but she snickers anyway. "Look Simon, if it'd be anybody I'd have liked it to be you-"

"No."

Her smile falters at the way he pushes up onto his elbows. "No?"

"I wouldn't..." He gathers his thoughts, clenches his jaw briefly. "I'd rather cut my own hands off, love."

"That's a bold claim, but-"

"It's a promise."

The conviction he says it with renders her speechless. His eyes so firm and determined and honest in the meagre light of their nightlamp sparks a warm heat through her, a reminder of how much she loves the man under her, of why she adores him.

He means what he says. It should scare her, someone so willing to go that far, but instead it's a fierce reassurance that her passion is returned. Maybe not in hugs or dopey smiles, but instead in moments like these, with promises that carve their way into their very bones, etching the proof of devotion into permanence.

She tips her head forward until their foreheads are pressed together. "I love you, Simon." She whispers. "So fucking much. I'm not going anywhere, alright. Not without you."

A hand wraps around the back of her neck, tugs her down to crash their lips together, the only affirmation she needs. He pulls her down until they're a tangle of limbs and breaths.

He doesn't need to say it back. Not when his hands burn sparks into her skin, when his arms around her guarantee safety and protection like nobody else can provide.

"You're here." He breathes, like he needs to.

"I'm here." A kiss pressed to the underside of his jaw. "I'm here."

And he finally believes it.

Requests Are Open! Reblog, Like and Comment!

(16/08/2023)

[thehollowwriter]

Summary: Jade is drunk. That's it that's the story. Nah, there's some fluff and dancing with gn reader too.

(Pls reblog and leave a comment ❤)

Mostro Madness

In the midst of bright neon lights, blaring music, and a crescendo of of excited voices, you wondered if your eyes were deceiving you.

They had to be. It was the only explanation. Because the man in front of you right now could not possibly be Jade Leech

Surely, this was Floyd Leech. It couldn't be anyone else, given his current state.

Suit jacket and hat discarded, bowtie undone, shirt unbuttoned all the way down to just above his belly button, his hair an absolute mess and sticking to a face flushed red and stretched with a wide fanged smile.

Alas, Floyd was currently on the dimly lit stage to your left, singing remarkably well into the mic while swinging back and forth with a half empty glass of whiskey in hand

Therefore, unless someone had duplicated Floyd, the eel smiling at you right now was none other than Jade Leech.

Completely and utterly hammered.

"Puffball." Jade was swaying on his feet, his special pet name for you lilted and floaty on his tongue. "You look..." He giggled softly. "You look beautiful tonight."

You briefly wondered if he was pulling your leg, laughing like that, but you decided to humour him anyways.

"Thanks, Jade." You said, sickly sweet. "You look absolutely enchanting yourself, hon."

Jade's eyes widened in surprise and he covered his face with his hands, his golden eye peeking out from between his gloved fingers.

"Oh my." He slurred, giggling again. "My love is kind to me tonight."

You rolled your eyes at his sudden bashfulness. He was going to be quite embarrassed about this tomorrow (unless he decided to be happy about all that transpired) and he had nobody to blame but himself.

A friendly- if you could really call anything involving Jade friendly- drinking competition with Azul and Floyd had gone laughably awry, leaving all three of them a mess.

Azul lay spawled across one of the couches, glasses askew, with eyes as wide as saucers. He mumbled feverently to himself, ignorant of Floyd drunkenly singing on stage and Jade turning into a giggly puddle at your words.

How the twins managed to get Azul to agree to such a competition in the first place was a mystery.

Truly, the Mostro Lounge 10th Anniversary party (staff exclusively) had devolved into chaos, given the utter state of everybody else there too.

"Jade, I think you should sit down." You say, raising an eyebrow at his horribly wobbly legs.

"Hmm... nooo..?" Jade's voice slurred. "I think... I would like to dance."

"Jade, you're in no condition to walk, nevermind dance!"

Jade's smile was lopsided. "But my love, it'd the perfect time to dance. Alcohol on the tongue, a beautiful setting, romantic music in the air~"

You would hardly call Floyd snarling crude lyrics into the microphone romantic, as good as his voice was, but you hardly had the heart to say no to Jade when he looked so excited.

"Darling~" Jade gripped your hands with own. "Dance with me. Please?"

He looked at you with wide bright eyes, crocodile tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.

You sigh.

"Okay. But don't whine when you topple onto your ass and bring me down with you.'

Jade didn't reply, instead opting to let out another airy giggle and pull you to his chest.

Right hand on your back and left hand intertwined with yours, Jade led you into a messy attempt at a dance that had you swinging around with erratic janky movements.

You nearly fell over a number of times from stepping on each other's feet and knocking into people and furniture.

Jade didn't seem to mind. In fact, he looked utterly delighted. His sharp teeth were on full display, mouth stretched in a genuine happy smile as laughter bubbled from his chest.

It was a Jade that was on cloud nine, happy and free of care. He wasn't blackout drunk, oh no, but he was close. Enough to let go of his carefully crafted facade for a short while, surrounded by friends and loved ones.

Suddenly Jade picked you up and spun you in a circle, grinning at your shriek of surprise.

He came to a sudden stop and pulled you close once more, stroking your cheek cheek his thumb.

"I love you so much, my little puffball.' He whispered. "More than any mushroom in the world."

-End

......................................

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little fic! I like the idea of Jade calling his s/o mushroom pet names so you're his Puffball hehe

Tagging: @krenenbaker @jadeleechisagoodboy @jaylleoo14 @hoboyherewego @officialdaydreamer00 @dadofdisappointment and @azulashengrottospiano @honey-milk-depresso for the Azul cameo ;)

[goldengalore]

Thunderstorm

Summary: Y/N is terrified of thunderstorms and Harry comforts her.

Word count: 1.2k

A/N: Based on this ask. I haven’t posted a fic in a long time and I thought this could help me get back in the groove of writing. Thanks to the person who sent it :)

***

The weather channel lied.

They said nothing about a storm. In fact, they reported no rain at all. And yet, here it is, pouring at three in the morning.

Y/N’s eyes flew open half an hour ago, as the first roaring clap of thunder rattled her eardrums. It was silent for several minutes after that. She couldn’t help but wonder if the sound was in her dream. It wouldn’t be the first time the sound of thunder in a dream woke her up.

But then she heard it again, louder this time and accompanied by a bright white flash that illuminated the room for a split second. Raindrops began pelting the window and the roof.

Y/N looked beside her to find Harry fast asleep on his back, snoring softly. She almost envied how peaceful he looked while her own heart pounded against her ribcage. Her first instinct was to wake him, but when she remembered how late he got home last night, she decided against it. He seemed exhausted when he crawled into bed and barely got the words “goodnight, lovie” out of his mouth before he dozed off.

Not to mention, he doesn’t even know about her fear of thunderstorms yet. They haven’t been dating for long—just under four months—and Y/N only started staying the night regularly a couple weeks ago. They discussed their fears on one of their first few dates when he took her to a haunted house. She only told him about the more common ones, like spiders and heights, but purposely omitted thunderstorms because that one always tends to receive odd looks. How can someone at her age still be terrified of thunderstorms? People wonder. She even had an ex tease her relentlessly for it, which didn’t help.

So, rather than waking Harry, she tried to snuggle closer to him instead, seeking comfort through proximity, but he rolled over in his sleep, turning away from her. She carefully inched across the bed and rested her forehead against his warm, bare back, soothed by the way it shifted ever-so-slightly from his breathing.

Half an hour later, she’s still in that same position, while the storm persists outside. As the sound of rain hitting the rooftop reaches a crescendo, Harry stirs awake. He rolls back onto his back and rubs his eyes before glancing over to find Y/N wide awake.

“Rain wake you up too?”

She gives a small nod.

He stretches his long limbs and relaxes them with a heavy sigh, then sits up and swings his legs off the bed.

“Where are you going?” Y/N blurts out in a panic.

He looks over his shoulder at her. “The bathroom?”

“Oh… Um, okay.”

He smiles a bit and tilts his head to the side, puzzled by her reaction, but doesn’t say anything.

Y/N’s panic increases tenfold as soon as he disappears into the bathroom, leaving her alone in bed. Suddenly, the thunder seems louder, the rain more violent, and the lightning more menacing. Curling up into a ball, she pulls the covers over her head. A clap of thunder makes her squeak. She gathers the covers around herself even tighter.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” she mutters under her breath, covering her ears and talking herself down. “It’s just a storm, Y/N. It’s just a storm, just a storm, it’s—”

“Y/N?”

She squeaks again, Harry’s voice catching her by surprise.

“Y—yeah?” she responds.

“What are you doing?”

“Uh… nothing.”

“Were you talking to yourself under the covers?”

“Maybe…”

The mattress dips behind her as he climbs onto it. When he tries to pull the covers off her body, she grasps at them desperately.

“Wait, no, don’t—” she starts.

“Shhh,” he stops her gently. He lifts the covers enough to slide under them and gathers her body in his arms, pulling her against him, then draping the covers over both of them.

“Is the storm bothering you, lovie?” he asks.

She nods, nestling her head into his chest. The feeling of his arms around her always makes her feel safe, protected, and it’s no different this time.

“We haven’t had one like this in ages,” he says.

Another roar of thunder makes her jump. Deep breaths. In… Out… In… Out.

“Do you want me to get my noise-cancelling headphones for you?” he asks.

“Where are they?”

“Think I left them on the coffee table downstairs.”

“Oh. Never mind, I don’t need them.”

“Are you sure? I can go and quickly grab—”

“I’m sure.” She tightens her arms around him, whispering, “Don’t go.”

“As you wish. I will stay right where I am.” He kisses the top of her head multiple times in a row and squeezes her. She smiles for the first time since she woke up.

They listen to the storm rage on for a few minutes until she finally says what’s on her mind.

“I know it’s weird. Being afraid of thunderstorms at my age.”

He shrugs. “I don’t find it weird. Were you always afraid of them or did it start later on in life?”

“Well, when I was little, my mom used to make me and my siblings hide in the basement whenever there was a storm outside. She was terrified of them. She wouldn’t let us come out for at least an hour after the storm subsided. I think that’s where it started.”

“That makes sense… Must’ve been scary for you and your siblings.”

“We thought it was normal. We thought that was how everyone’s family reacted during a thunderstorm. It was only when we got older that we realized it’s not.”

He runs his fingers through the lengths of her hair as she explains. She inhales deeply, flooding her senses with his intoxicating scent.

“How long were you awake before I got up?” he asks.

“Half an hour. Since the storm started.”

He tuts. “You could’ve woken me up, lovie. I would’ve kept you company.”

She pulls away from his chest to look at him. “You were so tired when you got home last night. I didn’t want to disrupt your sleep.”

He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear as he gazes down at her. “Well, I was dreaming about you anyway, so it wouldn’t have made a difference, staring at those pretty eyes in my dreams and staring at them in real life... Still, I prefer real life, so you should wake me up sooner next time.”

A grin spreads across her face. “You are quite the sweet-talker.”

He smirks. “I’m not just sweet talking. I’m telling the truth.”

“Well, then you’re just the sweetest person ever.”

“Hmm, no, that’s you.”

“No, you.”

“No, y—” The thunder roars again and this time, Harry jumps. “Jesus Christ!”

Y/N giggles.

It takes another twenty minutes for the storm to settle, but Harry keeps her so well-distracted with his playful teasing and corny dad jokes that she hardly notices. She starts to doze off in the middle of their conversation. He kisses her on the forehead as her eyes flutter closed.

“Sweet dreams, my love.”

***

Thank you for reading! MASTERLIST

[pennyellee]

CHAPTER VI - súton

LACRIMOSA | MYG MAFIA YANDERE AU

pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au

summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.

Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.

chapter warnings: minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, yandere, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behaviour, angst, mentions of God, mentions of alcohol, manhandling, mentions of murder, gun use, abduction, attempted non-con, gaslighting, vomiting, anxiety, choking, decapitation, strong language, smut, loss of virginity

beta read by @chaoticpuff17

word count: 11,1K

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

m.list CHAPTER I CHAPTER II CHAPTER III CHAPTER IV CHAPTER V CHAPTER VII

súton (n.) twilight; the approach of death or the end of something

Images flashed through her mind like fragments of a dream, mixing reality with a disorienting haze. Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest as she braced herself for what was to come. She was still in her temporary private quarters. Was it all just a dream? Confusion ran through Y/N like the hot blood inside her veins.

The engine of the roaring car pierced her ears and her vision was still blurry. “Where am I?” she whispered, her voice slowly progressing to realise the situation. She grabbed the letter seat, trying to pull herself up.

“Chan-yeol?” she asked, pressured.

“Little bird, are you ready to fly away?” he laughed. Y/N looked at him with terror in her pupils.

“Are you out of your mind? You just signed your own death certificate Chan-yeol!” This is bad. Her thoughts spoke to her in distress, each and one of them telling her to do something.

“What, a sudden change of heart? Did you not want me to ship you off to the new land?” said the man, accelerating the car.

“He’s going to slaughter everyone!” she screamed.

“You did not think of that when you ran the last time or the time before, why now Y/N?” He spitted his words out, looking at her through the mirror. Y/N took a deep breath, trying to collect herself before she would lose her mind for good.

“He has the whole family on a silver platter there Chan-yeol! Turn the car right now!”

“We’re almost there.” He declared. 

“Yoongi?!” was the first name that came to her mind. Voice full of fear. The sound of urgent footsteps echoed around her, crescendoing with the abrupt swing of the door. However, the one she sought, the man whose name she called, was not in her sight.

“Namjoon?” she called out, the surprise evident in her voice, interwoven with a thread of relief.

“How do you feel?” He asked, slowly approaching her petite form.

“What— I don’t understand,” she struggled to articulate her bewildered thoughts.

“You’ll thank me later.”

Chan-yeol’s words cut through the frosty air. He steered the car to the side of the road. Snow was everywhere she could see, each surface draped in ethereal white. Without waiting for the vehicle to come to a complete halt, Y/N flung the car door open, her steps bold as she ventured out into the wilderness.

The direction from which they arrived became a backdrop as she briskly distanced herself from Chan-yeol’s presence.

“This might be your last chance to flee this wicked world, girl.” His voice, heightened in intensity, reached her ears. Y/N stopped in tracks — the ultimatum clear.

Her family on one side, her newfound reality on the other – a choice lay before her.

“You have no idea what you just did!” she screamed defiantly, she refused to spare him a glance. “You’ve ruined everything!”

“Y/N?” a different voice echoed and her eyes widened at the unexpected interruption.

“I did not, Namjoon. I did not try to run away. You have to believe me!” Her words tumbled out in a frantic attempt to convey her innocence. Namjoon, his touch gentle, enveloped her small hands in his.

“Shhh… I know, it’s alright.” Namjoon cooed at the bride. And that’s when every single picture came back to her mind.

“How—how did you get here, for the love of God?” Y/N pivoted towards the speaking man, memories of their shared past flooding back as if the study hall of Shenyang’s University was just yesterday.

“I came for you,” he declared.

“For me?” She asked, disbelief in her voice.

“For me?!” she repeated, a frustrated laugh bubbling up. “Now you’re coming for me.” Y/N recalled the day he declared that she was in this battle alone, a stark contrast to their current proximity. They were never that close, he was too afraid to even hold her hand or maintain prolonged eye contact. But she considered him to be a friend, nonetheless.

“I love you,” he confessed, staring directly into her eyes.

“You love me?” She asked, mocking him, a bitter edge to her tone.

“Where was this love when I needed to run the hell out of the continent, huh?” She closed the distance between them, pushing him with aggressive force.

“You're a coward, Han Chen,” she spat, the venom in her voice cutting through the tension.

“I have a plan, Y/N,” he replied, brushing off her words even as they stung.

“Hmm… you have a plan. And what is this plan exactly?”

“He won’t want you if you’re ruined, Y/N.”

His words hit her like a cold gust of wind, and she gasped at the implications.

The haunting melody of that familiar song resonated in her mind once again.

“He—he attempted to rape me.” Y/N looked through her teary eyes directly at Namjoon's, whose mimics told her, she is right.

“He paid for that with his life.”

“You’re going to kill us all!” Her words became the truth once the first bullet was fired, finding its mark in Chen’s head. Y/N witnessed his eyes blackening, a vacancy replacing the spark of life. 

He was gone. Blood dripped down his neck, staining her chest, her breath hitching as her vision blurred. Chan-yeol swore and fumbled with his gun, leaving Y/N to crumple to the ground, as he was tightly holding her down for the devil’s messenger to do the unforgivable.

Her eyes narrowed at the white sky. Chen’s lifeless body collapsing onto her smaller frame. Y/N’s hands trembled as she mustered the strength to slowly push his corpse away.

“Are you alright?” she heard him before she saw him above her.

“What about the wedding?” she asked, curiosity mingling with the shock that gripped her.

“We’ll proceed—” he answered, addressing yet another of her fears.

Speech and vision eluded her. “Y/N?” he asked again, gently throwing Chen’s lifeless body off her. “Darling, please say something.” His concern was palpable.

“Let me go, you fuckers!” Chan-yeol’s enraged screams echoed nearby. He hadn’t made a clean escape after all.

Hoseok helped her sit. Y/N’s eyes mirrored the emptiness that had claimed Chen’s.

“Darling?” Hoseok urged, attempting to coax her back to the present.

“—and hold a trial tomorrow.”

“Trail?” she asked, her voice fragile.

“Chan-yeol was a part of our clan. He is a traitor, and we’ll treat him as such.”

“And what about—”

She cast one more glance at Chen’s lifeless form before shifting her attention to Chan-yeol, struggling on the ground, surrounded by Min soldiers from whom she only recognised Jungkook.

“I want to go back, Hoseok-ssi. Please take me back.” Her voice wavered. Hoseok breathed out, relieved, helping her stand. As she turned to look at Chan-yeol, his screams pierced the air.

“Don’t look that way, sweetie,” Hoseok intervened, guiding her away from the chaotic scene. Only when they reached the parked cars, a good half a mile away from the unfolding drama, did she exhale and allow herself to close her eyes.

“Yoongi is beyond pissed. We could have avoided this if you would tell him about that foolish boy.”

“I swear, Namjoon, we were not... we did not—” she stammered.

“—I did not know he would come look for me nor do that….”

“Do not tell that to me, princess,” he sighed.

“I need you to get dressed. We have already postponed it, and we cannot do it any longer.”

“Sure,” were her only words to him.

“She called for you, brother,” the right-hand man spoke as he entered the boss’s office, where Yoongi was finally getting ready for the wedding.

“Explain,” the young groom responded while fixing his tux in front of the mirror.

“She called your name when she woke up.”

“Did she?” Yoongi felt a spark of hope that he would indeed become her person, her lover, her everything, just as she was to him.

The right-hand man chuckled at his questioning response, knowing it warmed Yoongi’s heart.

“Damn this one tradition; you should go and see her.”

“I would, but that would ruin the thrill, wouldn’t it, hmm,” he hummed.

“You’re getting married, brother.”

“Yes, today I’m getting married, and tomorrow I have to deal with a man who kidnapped my woman and let the other fucker almost rape her,” Yoongi spat, hitting the wall next to the mirror. He never felt greater anxiety than when Xiaoli said she was taken away from him. How ironic that he is to be the one who feels anxious.

Her mother crying, father screaming at everyone, younger sister praying. Yoongi had a feeling that she would not be that stupid to run away when he had her family inside the hotel.

“Nothing else will go wrong.”

“Did you greet the Yamamotos?” The Yakuza clan was invited to the wedding, a bold move, and what was even bolder—they accepted and arrived.

“I surely did, brother,” said Namjoon.

“Good,” Yoongi smirked, not expecting what is yet to come.

“Everything is as it should be.”

“I don’t want Y/N’s father near her until the wedding, Jungkook-ah,” requested Yoongi from the passive listener, seated just a few meters away on the sofa, sipping on his glass of white liquor.

“As you wish, Hyung,” he put the glass down and stood up, fixing his tux and putting on his white hat.

“And for fuck’s sake, patch those knuckles, aight?” Yoongi screamed playfully after him.

The temple, a sanctuary of weary souls, stood solemnly bearing witness to the union unfolding within its hallowed walls.

The bride, adorned in a crimson hanfu dress, with beautiful shining golden details on her long sleeves, walked the creaking wooden path towards the temple’s entrance, her steps heavy with the knowledge of what is awaiting her. The rich fabric of her dress billowed like a blood-red sea, a stark contrast to the pallor of her face that concealed emotions that dared not surface.

The courtyard was adorned with bright red and white paper lanterns when she passed it. She did not dare to look around at all the noble underground hats who had gathered to witness the union of two syndicates.

The flickering candles cast eerie, dancing shadows upon the ancient murals depicting forgotten legends. The distant sounds of the city, with its bustling streets and restless souls, provided a haunting contrast to the stillness of this timeless ceremony. The soft strains of the gayageum and the rhythmic beats of the janggu filled the air.

At the temple’s altar, the groom, equally somber in attire, awaited the bride. His eyes, like deep pools, hinted at the secrets he carried, secrets buried beneath, he wished to share with her.

The chants of the officiating monk resonated through the temple; a haunting reminder of the spiritual solace sought amidst the chaos of the outside world. Their union was a flicker of defiance against the oppressive forces that sought to extinguish the spirit of a nation. She was not initially meant to be his, fate seemed to have favoured him, and Yoongi thanked the almighty for bringing her to him.

Y/N dared not look at him, her breath unsteady, visible puffs in the cold air. The gal held her head high nonetheless, she was desperately trying not to give in to her intrusive thoughts and turn around, flee for her life, try one last time.

The gun pressed to Daiyu’s back served as a grim reminder, preventing her from succumbing to intrusive thoughts. She could see the tears that were in her eyes as she held tightly her little son. Chan-yeol, held captive and beaten for sins he performed.

The eyes of the guests felt heavy, especially her father’s, still unamused by the young leader’s audacity, keeping his hand tightly on his neck. Forbidden from seeing his own daughter before the ceremony, he seethed with anger, his frustration directed at the young Kkangpae.

Y/N’s heartbeat echoed loudly as she climbed the stairs to stand face-to-face with Yoongi, trying to find the courage to look at him. His eyes were full of expectations, he was waiting for this moment.

The exchange of bows signified respect and commitment. If this would be a traditional wedding, not minding their social status in the syndicates, they would continue with drinking rice wine sikhye, symbolizing the blending of their lives.

But this was not a common wedding. This ceremony was different. Altered by the traditions of the Min Clan. The moment arrived when Y/N extended her palm to take the knife from Yoongi’s hands. A cup of rice wine awaited underneath, capturing every drop of her blood. Their union, a pledge of loyalty through soul, blood, and mind.

Y/N met Yoongi’s eyes as she applied pressure to the hand holding the knife, slicing through his skin. A sadistic flicker seemed to pass through his eyes, as if he was enjoying the pain she was inflicting on him.

The rice wine now mixed with their blood and the heavy silence was driving Y/N mad.

The young Kkangpae lifted the cup to her lips, her eyes locked with Yoongi’s. Observing his actions closely, she followed suit, and he took a far bigger sip than her, almost devouring it all.

Setting the cup down they both extended their wounded hands. The golden wedding band that Yoongi slipped onto her finger, seemed to match her engagement ring that sat before it, closer to her knuckle. Y/N couldn’t stop looking at her hand. This was an explicit symbol of her being a taken woman now. No one else to touch, to have, and in their world — to own.

“Darling,” Yoongi whispered quietly, but still managed to keep the demand in his tone visible. Y/N shook her head to get herself to think straight again, realising she had lingered too long on the rings, delaying the public ceremony’s final step.

Huffing out collected air, she slipped the wedding band onto Yoongi’s finger, uniting them.

The monk placed a thick crimson ribbon over their hands, proclaiming them man and wife. No vows echoed like in the far west, no intimate encounters within the public ceremony, despite Yoongi’s yearning to press his lips against hers.

Y/N knew very well that her father scoffed and cursed at the young leader yet again for choosing to follow his wedding traditions and not theirs. And ultimately, there was no paying respect to the elders.

Kkangpae does not bow down to anyone. Nor will his new bride.

Y/N was especially glad she does not have to do that nor the tea ceremony she always found dull. Not that she particularly enjoyed being controlled and swept by the demands of Yoongi’s clan.

The monk’s chants grew louder again, filling the temple with an eerie resonance. Y/N and Yoongi turned to face the gathered members of their syndicates, their families, and the underworld elite who had come to witness this union.

The banquet that followed was a lavish affair as is fit for the Min clan. The tables groaned under the weight of sumptuous dishes, and the air filled with the tantalizing aroma of delicacies prepared by the finest chefs. Nonetheless, Y/N could sense the atmosphere that was charged with tension. As if everyone was prepared to cast guns and kill each other.

Y/N felt the weight of her father’s glare before she could see him eye to eye. Her mimicry has shown nothing more but pure disgust when Wang Zemo shook the scarred leader’s hand congratulating them on their marriage. Y/N did not trust her father. His judgment was always clouded by power.

“You do not seem pleased, father,” Y/N remarked, exposing him. Her mother nervously laughed, hoping to prevent a disturbance between the two clans. She eyed him, expecting an answer from him.

“I’m not pleased that your husband allowed you to be kidnapped,” he retorted, making Yoongi squeeze Y/N’s hip, a possessive gesture.

“But he aided a rescue team in no time, daddy. Meanwhile, you could not even keep me at home,” Y/N fired back, laughing in her father’s face, not believing her own words defended the young Kkangpae that was now amusingly smirking next to her. She could see how her father’s brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, fuming at his daughter. Y/N can do that now, she does not owe her father loyalty anymore.

Her mother stopped him before he could raise his hand causing commotion within the two clans, instead he lifted his free arm pointing a warning finger at her. Y/N smiled sweetly and watched her mother pull his arm until he walked with her. Only when he was far away did she ask her new husband.

“Did he give you trouble when you asked for Xiaoli’s hand in marriage on behalf of Taehyung?” The young leader only hummed in response, his eyes were focused on something different from her now, and Y/N could not help but turn her head in the same direction as he was looking.

What unsettled her the most was the presence of Yamamotos. Yoongi nor anyone did not mention single tweet about these poisonous guests. Therefore, she felt her stomach rotate when they were approaching and for the first time in forever, Y/N pressed herself closer to Yoongi, intertwining their fingers together.

Of course, she feared them. She always viewed her father’s tactics and measures quite cruel. But if Wang Zemo was cruel than Yamamoto was brutal. And it was only natural to fear such a brutal syndicate as Yakuza.

“Congratulations, Min,” said the older male in Japanese. He did not bother to speak the tongue of his enemy’s territory, but he knew they would understand perfectly. The man had such a strong and intense aura around him. He ruled with fear, that thing was obvious.

He held his hand to Yoongi who accepted it for both your and his behalf, shaking it with firm grip, piercing his eyes alongside.

“You got yourself a fine woman, Min, —” he leered at Y/N, his gaze filled with hunger. A wave of disgust washed over her.

“She has caused you quite a bit of trouble, has she not?” he continued, finishing his remark. Y/N understood that their marriage was a calculated move that would redefine the power dynamics within the criminal underworld. Whether Yamamoto perceived the Mins as a threat remained an assumption on her part.

“Not as much trouble as you sending that foolish boy to his death,” Yoongi added, causing Y/N’s breath to hitch. Slowly, her eyes lifted to Yoongi, whose gaze now held an intensity that made the scar glow with anger. Y/N did not understand any bit of it. Had he not come willingly? No, that simply cannot be, there had to be an ulterior motive to commit such a sin.

“Certainly, we knew you would handle him and your bride just as you saw fit.”

“Surely, —” Yoongi replied with a dark undertone and a sinister smile. A wave of nausea rolled through Y/N. If they lingered in the presence of the Japanese Yakuza any longer, she might empty her stomach right there. Thankfully, they bid a seemingly cordial farewell, leaving to take their seats behind the tables and Y/N could at least breathe out.

“Yoongi—” she began once they were out of earshot. He cast her a brief glance before pivoting to examine her, noting her even paler face.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” she stumbled the words out of her system fast. Y/N released Yoongi’s hand to cover her mouth.

“Oh God,” her sister’s whisper reached her ears, a reminder of their public setting, alerting her that she is still in public, and the eyes will pry.

Y/N swiftly walked — not ran, to avoid drawing attention — towards the nearest door leading outside to the cold. Once in the cold air again, she emptied her stomach.

“It’s okay,” Y/N heard her sister’s voice yet again, just before her hands were soothingly rubbing her back. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe the cold air in. She was grateful it was her sister offering comfort, not the groom. At least Xiaoli realized that Y/N wouldn’t want Yoongi to see her now. Nor any other prying eyes.

“It’s not okay, Xiaoli,” said Y/N through tears, feeling a profound, heart-wrenching anxiety and fear settling in her core.

“They fucking sent him to rape me, and God knows what else.”

“And he did not manage to do that. Hoseok took care of that. Jungkook took care of that, —”

Y/N recalled, her mind flashing to Jungkook storming into her room, his concern evident as he bombarded her with questions about her well-being. Guilt weighed on him for getting entangled with Chan-yeol instead of going straight to her. As her new brother, he felt an obligation to protect her, just like Hoseok, who would go to any lengths for her.

And that leaves Y/N to wonder. She pondered the sincerity behind their sympathy. Was it because of her supposed relationship with their brother, or was there a genuine connection forming? For a fleeting moment, she wondered if her aunt sensed the potential for them to become family, to be her home.

“—Leader Min will see to it that he is brought to justice,” Xiaoli continued, always sure to express her love for Yoongi.

Y/N looked down at her stained dress with a sense of pity, both for herself and the situation. A deep sense of sadness remained.

“I just wish it did not have to be this way,” she confessed, her voice filled with sorrow. “I wish I could have chosen this path for myself, rather than having it forced upon me.”

“But this is not the world or lifetime where you could do that,” her sister replied, and for a brief moment, Y/N felt a glimmer of understanding.

“I know,” she whispered quietly. “He used to be my friend; you know. Despite what he did, I never thought he would die in front of my eyes, —” her words held honesty, tinged with something else.

“And I never thought that I would be relieved they came in time and shot him dead, Xiaoli,” Y/N admitted, finally getting it off her chest.

“Taehyung-oppa said they paid him to do it.” Xiaoli disclosed. Y/N dreaded this scenario; she suspected that Chen did not act out of love for her. No one who loved someone would commit such a horrendous act.

Y/N scoffed, a desperate laugh escaping her. “Do you know what will happen to Chan-yeol?” She hadn’t had the chance to discuss this with Yoongi, leaving her in the dark and feeling consumed by it.

“He is held captive. That is all I know,” Xiaoli replied while helping Y/N stand. She needed to change her dress; there was no way she could return in this state.

“Y/N?” Xiaoli asked. Her older sister only hummed in response.

“If you attempt to run ever again, Daiyu is going to die—” Y/N paused for a moment.

“—He won’t hurt me, I’ll be betrothed to Taehyung-oppa. But Daiyu is still in the open.”

“Did you talk to her?” She asked.

“No,” Xiaoli replied, “but I talked to Kkangpae Min. He confirmed his intentions.”

“And it did not move you one bit?” Said Y/N surprised with what degree of calmness her sister is speaking of this.

Yoongi wanted to make it abundantly clear that he would take drastic measures if she attempted to escape again. He wanted her to fear the consequences, to be consumed by the dread of what might happen if she defied him; deliberately informing Xiaoli, knowing the bond between the sisters was a weak point for Y/N.

“I would not dare to go against his word.” Y/N only smiled sadly at her sister’s words. She does not understand. How could she?

The way to her chamber felt endless. Y/N was acutely aware of her disheveled state and the need for privacy. Another set of footsteps behind her and Xiaoli quickened her heart with anxiety.

“Y/N?” The soothing voice of the doctor, Seokjin, reached her ears, and she could not have been more relieved. Without turning around, she responded.

“I just need to change. I’m fine, Seokjin.”

Y/N wasted no time in stepping inside her room once they finally reached it. Seokjin followed, his demeanour calm and professional, yet she sensed a hint of concern in his eyes.

As she began changing out of the crimson robe from the wedding ceremony, Y/N couldn’t deny the unease that lingered within her.

“You can tell him I will be back in a little while, Seokjin.” Y/N turned to Seokjin, offering a weak smile.

“Are you sure you are feeling well?” Seokjin nodded; his expression was gentle.

“It’s just the anxiety.” Said Y/N. Her face still bore the traces of tears and turmoil, but she resolved to face the celebration with as much grace as she could muster. She knew that in the world she inhabited, appearances were everything.

Seokjin stood by the door, waiting patiently. “I’ll change and come right away,” she promised to the older male.

“Very well,” he answered simply and closed the door behind him leaving her and Xiaoli alone.

The intricate layers of fabric and silk were carefully removed, revealing a simpler, yet equally elegant, hanfu beneath — this one was a shade of soft lavender.

“Do you want to wear the hanbok instead?” Xiaoli asked. Does she? Just this morning, she insisted that her wedding dress will be a representation of the culture she is coming from. Looking over at the beautiful crimson and royal blue hanbok that she was supposed to wear as her wedding dress, Y/N hesitated.

“I don’t feel like wearing a wedding dress anymore, Xiaoli.” Her sister nodded in understanding, but beneath her supportive gaze, there lingered a hint of disappointment. Xiaoli had hoped that Y/N would fully embrace the culture of the Min clan, a desire likely shared by the clan’s leader. However, Y/N’s desire was to stay true to her Chinese roots for a little bit longer. If this is the only way she can remain herself, she is willing to rebel against him as long as she can.

She heard her sister sigh as she handed her the crimson flowery qipao. “You could at least meet him in the middle.” Xiaoli muttered, her disappointment evident.

“Xiaoli, if you did not notice I’m having a really bad day today.” Y/N’s patience was wearing thin. She had endured enough turmoil for one day, and the idea of appeasing Yoongi’s wishes no longer held much appeal.

“I understand—” Xiaoli wanted to say before Y/N interrupted her with the welling tears in her eyes and raised voice.

“No, you do not understand, Xiaoli!” Said Y/N, sliding down to a lower cushion chair, hugging her head with her small hands.

“But you are not even trying, Y/N,” Xiaoli retorted.

“Because I’m gasping for air every single time! I’m drowning, and yet I cannot learn to swim—” she cried out, clutching the fabric of her hanfu to the point she feared it would tear.

“All of you are blindly trying to convince me that this is the best that could ever happen to me—” she continued.

“—like you’re some kind of Gods that shall decide one’s fate.”

Xiaoli sighed, her frustration and discomfort evident. “All we do is care for you, truly, madly, deeply.”

Y/N looked up, her eyes filled with a mixture of despair and defiance.

“Are you listening to yourself, sister?!” Y/N did not even give her a chance to answer.

“—We are family, by blood, Xiaoli, I thought you cared about me to be more than just a pawn—” this time Xiaoli interrupted her older sister.

“And because we are family, I am trying to protect what matters to all of us.” Xiaoli knelt beside her, trying to console Y/N.

“What about what matters to me?” Y/N retorted; her voice shaky. “What about my dreams, my choices? He took that from me.”

Xiaoli hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “We all have to make sacrifices. And I know that you will make the best out of this.”

Y/N looked at her sister, a mix of disbelief and sadness in her eyes. “Is this the price of my freedom?”

“If this was another life, you could have what you truly desire.” Said Xiaoli. Y/N wiped away her tears before she spoke.

“I won’t let—” Y/N inquired.

“The consequences will be severe.” Said Xiaoli before Y/N could utter her thought as if she knew what she wanted to say.

“Remember that before you will do anything.”

The distant strains of music and laughter reached their ears when Xiaoli opened the door, walking through it in the direction of the celebration. Y/N put on a mask of composure, her posture regal, and her expression neutral. She couldn’t let anyone see the turmoil within her. Tonight, she would play the role expected of her, all while strategizing her next moves in this complex and dangerous game.

“Min Buin?!” a voice called out, unfamiliar and tinged with a strange mixture of reverence and unease — it sent a shiver down her spine.

A man stood right in the middle of the hall behind her. He was dressed in a dark, tailored suit that exuded authority, a stark departure from the opulence of the occasion.

Y/N couldn’t help but wonder who this enigmatic figure was and why he had singled her out with that title,

“Min Buin?!” He repeated again. Y/N turned her head slightly to Xiaoli, now a few steps closer to the banquet, her expression wary.

“Who’s asking?” she demanded, a hint of protectiveness in her voice. The man did not seem to be perturbed by Y/N’s defensive stance. Instead, he offered a faint, cryptic smile.

“Do you not know?” His tone took a different direction. He stepped closer to them.

“Y/N,” Xiaoli gulped down, her voice trembling. “That is Yamamoto Itsuki.” By how her sister spoke Y/N understood that this is the very man she was supposed to marry.

“Go.” She whispered to her sister who did not hesitate to run down the corridor and alert anyone. Only once Y/N was sure that her sister was far away did she speak.

“What is your business with me?” Y/N asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil within her. The man’s smile widened slightly, revealing teeth that seemed unnaturally sharp in the dim light.

“Business?” He laughed. Y/N’s mind raced as she absorbed his words. She had been thrust into this world, initially a pawn in a dangerous game, but now it seemed that her role was evolving.

“I have unfinished business with you, yes.” He said after a few silent moments. Only her heavy breathing could be heard.

“I’m very much sure that a business between us never started in the first place; therefore, it seems to me we have nothing to talk about,” said Y/N, swiftly turning her body back to its original position, ready to flee to the banquet and seek help.

As she predicted, this day could only get worse as she found herself pinned to the nearest wall. Y/N could feel his breath on her face, a strong large hand enveloped her throat, pressing her to the wall harder and making it hard to breathe. Y/N’s breathing skipped intervals.

“You are one greedy ungrateful little bitch, are you not?” He spat the words into her face, squeezing her neck even tighter. Her hands automatically rose to his arm, trying to push him away. Her head started to spin, and she could feel the redness that rushed to her cheeks as she gasped for air that would fill her lungs.

“You were supposed to be mine!” His scream echoed in the empty corridor. Out of all the endings of her life, she truly did not foresee this one. There was a strike of a quick moment where she thought that death would be her redemption and eternal freedom she wished for. However, Y/N still had the will to fight for her life. She dug her nails into his arm, trying to push his hand away one more time, but he was too strong.

A click of a reloading gun seemed too muffled for her ears to notice, but when the sudden absence of pressure on her throat disappeared, and she could finally welcome the air in, she thanked God for being still in his favour.

Her knees have denounced their service, and she found herself on the ground. She went to touch her sore throat when a familiar hand did it before her. Y/N’s breath was still rocky, and she heard an annoying ringing in her ears. She barely could hear what Yoongi was screaming at the man who was recently near killing her.

“Y/N?” She heard Jimin’s voice, but she could not figure out where it was coming from. Her head was spinning like a carousel, and her vision was still a bit blurry. She wanted to speak up but she found it hard to do so.

“Can you breathe for me, darling?” She tried to stabilize her breathing but couldn’t stop panting for air.

“You have to try and calm down.” Seokjin was speaking to her, and by her blurry vision she saw another four figures around her. Two holding the younger Yamamoto for Yoongi, the other two attending to her.

Y/N went to try to speak again, even though she was fully aware that only high-pitched tones would come out that would make her words unrecognisable.

“I—” she tried, “I want—” she finally gulped down the little amount of saliva she had in her mouth.

“Bring her water right now.” Seokjin understood quickly. Her hearing was coming back to life and same for her vision. She could now see Jungkook and Hoseok dragging the man away from them, and Yoongi swiftly turning to examine the damage the man had done to his beloved.

By the time he fell down to his knees, cupping her cheeks, trying to read from her eyes, Jimin had returned with the water she needed. Yoongi helped her to hold the glass in both of her hands and drink it whole in one go.

“I do not want to stay here tonight,” she said with a raspy voice, feeling every muscle in her throat. Yoongi looked at her with worry in his eyes. He promised she would be safe with him, and within less than twelve hours, she was abducted, almost raped, and nearly choked to death.

“I am so sorry, baby,” said the young leader with remorse. “I am going to make it better, I promise.” Y/N’s ‘better’ however, contained something else than his ‘better’.

“We cannot leave right away—” tears escaped her eyes, falling heavy and hot on her dress. Yoongi was the Kkangpae and the enemy’s clan member just assaulted his wife. This cannot slip out without consequences.

“How dare you disrespect me and my wife this way,” said Yoongi to the older male from Yamamoto’s clan who had barely sat down in Yoongi’s office.

The younger offender, who had laid his hand on Y/N, was still firmly held by Hoseok and Jungkook. She sat in Yoongi’s office chair, a blanket draped over her shoulders, the purple bruises on her neck stark against her skin, certainly not flattering jewelry.

“How dare you disrespect our clan, Kkangpae Min.” The older male retorted, testing the younger leader’s patience. Yoongi clenched his hand into a fist, struggling to maintain control.

“This is far too unforgivable against what you assume I did,” he spat out quickly. Y/N wished she could just hide away and never come back, but as the Kkangpae’s wife, a Buin, she had to be present.

Yamamoto scoffed. “You are playing the game dirty, so are we—”

“Take this as a payback for meddling in our affairs, Kkangpae Min—” the older male started.

“And as far as traditions goes, she is yet to be your woman by our law and God’s will,” alluding to the inevitable — they had to consummate the marriage. Y/N knew this and had been making peace with the fact throughout the day.

“You won’t have to worry about that, Mr. Yamamoto,” Yoongi was always known for his cockiness whilst dealing with enemies, but he was also the most cautious man alive, however today was a misstep he did not wish to ever make. All this only proved he could not leave her alone — not because she might flee, but because someone could take her away from him. And he would never let her go.

“Watch me fucking continue meddling—” Yoongi retorted. “I see that you know the goddamn rules; I shall have his hand.” Y/N’s eyes widened in shock. She did not expect him to go unpunished for what he did to her, which would make Yoongi look unfit to rule. Itsuki started to squirm in their hold, attempting to break free.

“You want a war?” Yamamoto asked with venom in his voice.

“You apparently desire to have it when you assaulted my wife twice in one day.” Yoongi spat and signaled to Hoseok to bring Itsuki forward. Jungkook grabbed the hand that had been on Y/N’s neck less than an hour ago.

“Father!” Itsuki screamed with madness in his voice.

“Here you have it, you impatient imbecile!” his father screamed back at him, frustrated with both himself and his son. The plan had been to warn the Mins, not infuriate them.

Y/N watched Yoongi wordlessly as he took a short katana from Namjoon who appeared out of nowhere. The blade was sharp as a viper’s fang, and it gleamed in the dim light sourcing from the fireplace. The hilt, wrapped in silk, the colour of dried blood, felt cool and ominous in Yoongi’s hand.

She knew he’d have to swing it more than once to actually cut off Itsuki’s hand. Y/N gulped down her fear, pressing both hands to her mouth to stifle the scream that escaped when he first wielded the blade, piercing through Itsuki’s skin and colliding with bone, breaking it open. Burgundy blood streamed down to the wooden floor. Y/N clenched her eyes shut at the painful scream that followed and bounced slightly on the chair at the loud thump of the hand hitting the ground.

“You have one hour to leave our land,” Yoongi declared, aiming the katana at the leading Yamamoto. The son dropped to the ground, cradling his arm, staring at the severed hand and screaming in pain, muttering threats to the Min clan.

“You chose.” The older male looked over to Y/N who was still very much speechless and in utter shock from what occurred before her eyes. Yoongi’s gaze, momentarily lingering on his wife with furrowed brows, but quickly returned to Yamamoto. Their eyes locked, and the older man extended his hand to retrieve his injured son from the floor, leading him out of the room.

Yoongi dropped the katana onto the ground, tilting his head backwards in a brief prayer to the Lord. The room remained cloaked in heavy silence — not a peaceful silence, but one pregnant with the weight of a grim decision. A choice had been made, and its consequences were bound to unfold in darkness. This was a proclamation of war.

Y/N’s eyes remained fixed on the spot where Yamamoto’s hand was laying limp in a pool of fresh blood. As Yoongi straightened and turned his gaze toward her, his eyes were a tempest of conflicting emotions.

“You chose.”

Yoongi echoed Yamamoto’s words more as a question, his voice carrying a low, sombre resignation. He did not demand an answer; he knew what Yamamoto was talking about. Glancing down at his black shoes, now soaked with the blood of his enemy, Yoongi let out a soft laugh at the irony of her choosing him.

He understood the possibility that her choice might stem from self-preservation, realizing he could annihilate her entire family the moment she disappeared. Yet, his own selfishness shielded him from that harsh reality. Yoongi desperately wanted to believe that she returned to him and him alone.

Her eyes grew too heavy to stay open during the car ride back to the sanctuary. She allowed them a brief respite, letting the weight of exhaustion pull her into a momentary rest. The events of this day had been like a tempest, tearing through the delicate fabric of her reality and leaving chaos in its wake.

Y/N’s strength was something Yoongi admired, yet even he recognized the toll this day had taken on her. The hypocrite in him thinking that kind of evil will lead her to seek solace in him, perhaps finding that this was where she truly belonged — by his side.

She could have turned and run when the chance presented itself, disappearing into the wild. But she did not, and that is what mattered to Yoongi. For the first time, Y/N found herself yearning to return to the sanctuary, back to her golden cage.

Y/N knew that this night would be a reflection of the complexities of their relationship, a dance between desire and the darkness that surrounded them. Y/N understood that despite the arduous day, this had to be done. Bracing herself, she stepped out of the car and into the dark.

She walked slightly behind her now husband, letting him lead the way to the house she did not quite recognise. Before she mustered the courage to ask questions, he spoke first.

“I grew up in this house—” he whispered into the cold air, “a hot spring is right behind it.”

Y/N observed the house built into the massive stone walls of the valley, surrounded by tall pine trees. It was too dark for her to see just how tall they actually are, but the little flickering lights visible through the windows granted her a little peak.

“I want to spend tonight with you here,” he turned to face her. Yoongi could not tear his gaze away from her, adoring every detail—her eyes, cheeks, nose, hair, mouth. But if you would ask him, how did he come to be so obsessed with her, he would not give a cohesive answer. The inexplicable obsession he felt seemed right, like two puzzle pieces fitting together. He believed that even if she did not feel it now, she would eventually.

“Just the two of us.”

He took a little step to be closer to her. If Y/N understood correctly, this is the only place where they can be truly alone without prying eyes and ears. Yoongi wanted to talk and what’s more, he intended to do more than just talk tonight.

“Aight,” she replied slowly with her still sore throat. He had never seen her this calm, and he wanted to enjoy every minute she is not fighting against him — despite the disturbing circumstances that led to her current state of mind.

“Can we have some tea first?” she asked with little hope that he would agree to slow down a little bit. He chuckled at her sudden innocence and extended his arm to caress her cheek.

“Course we can, my love,” he smiled softly.

And so, they found themselves once again by the comforting embrace of a fireplace, patiently waiting for the tea to brew in the teapot’s gentle whistle.

There was something about this scenery that Yoongi could not help but love. Y/N, seated on the fur rug next to the warmth of the crackling flames, found solace in these quiet moments. After the tumultuous events of the day, it was a sanctuary they both needed. At least, she felt at peace in moments like these.

“I am sorry.” he suddenly confessed, his eyes revealing the genuine sorrow within. Today had left Yoongi conflicted, riding the highs of marrying the woman he desired while being weighed down by guilt for the day’s events.

Y/N met his gaze, her voice devoid of emotion as she calmly asked, “About what exact part?”

“All of it,” he shook his head. Y/N chuckled, and confusion flickered in Yoongi’s eyes.

“Are you not going to punish me, Kkangpae?” Here she goes.

“I do desire to know your relation to the boy, I won’t lie, but no.”

“There is no relation.”

“Are you sure? We talked about this already — no lies.”

“I’m not lying, he did fancy me, yes—” Yoongi’s grip on his hands tightened.

“—I thought we were friends, but he was not keen to flee away with me when I needed to,” she admitted.

“Do you mourn him?” Yoongi’s voice held a serious tone.

“I mourn the boy he was, not what he apparently became after we parted—” she began, carefully, collecting her thoughts.

“—they paid him to go and attempt rape me, Yoongi. I pray for his soul to find its peace after what sins he committed,” a tear escaped her eye, a sob followed. Yoongi leaned in, holding her small hands in an attempt to provide comfort.

“It was horrible,” she cried out and finally, she opened up to him.

“Amidst all the bad today, I’m so proud of you—” Y/N raised her blurry eyesight to meet him, awaiting an explanation.

“—You could have run, and you did not. You chose to come back to me.”

“I promise, I swear to you — I will never ever let that happen again—” he assured, moving closer to her.

She took a deep breath, summoning the courage to address the yet unspoken. “Can I get the letter, please?” Y/N whispered.

“In the morning.” He answered, intending to prolong it to ensure her continued good behaviour and obedience.

“Do we?-” She interrupted, praying for a change of his mind, though fully aware of the inevitability. He needed to ensure no loopholes in their marriage for others to exploit or for her to negotiate over. She knows this is mandatory.

“Yes, we do,” he acknowledged after some thought. Knowing what she had been through that day, he recognised the potential impact, but he also saw it as a way to fully claim her. It was a selfish desire, perhaps, but one he had long awaited. 

Yoongi longed to feel her skin to skin. It was indeed selfish, he knew that much. Some would say it is careless of him to demand such an intimate act to happen after all she has been through. But he wanted to show her that this is a part of their marriage she can truly enjoy. Yoongi wanted to give a final full stop to their relationship by solidifying the union rightfully, as the tradition goes.

The flickering flames of the fireplace danced in the dimly lit room, casting a warm glow upon Y/N and Yoongi. Consummating the marriage was a private but necessary measure.

His selfishness had not gone unnoticed by the syndicate elders, who questioned his insistence on not just any hotel room but the house where generations of memories had been created. He deliberately wanted to spend the night in the house he grew up in, where his father started a family, and his grandfather, and his grandfather and so on down the history line.

Yoongi, having lost his parents at a young age, yearned to start his own family. He wanted to witness the growth of his children, their marriages, and their own families.

Y/N knew this day would come, sooner or later, and as a young woman, she had learnt to protect herself from unplanned consequences. She understood his desire for a child, though he never explicitly discussed it with her. But she was far from being ready to surrender to the life fate had planned for her, not just yet.

Heaven had given her a sign, a slight hope when she found a particular herb in the garden before the first snow fell. Y/N had kept it discreet, asking the maid to dry the flowers and serve them as tea in the morning. Tonight, she was calm, knowing it could not happen, even if he wished otherwise.

Yoongi observed her hesitance, her eyes reflecting a mixture of fear and resilience. The room, with its walls that held generations of memories, seemed to echo with the weight of tradition and expectation. But as he reached out to touch her cheek gently, his eyes softened.

The sharp sound of a loud whistle from the tea kettle startled them both, tearing them out of the cocoon of their thoughts. The iron kettle hung gracefully over the open flame, steam rising in wisps as if trying to escape the weight of the night. Yoongi carefully prepared the tea, his movements deliberate and unhurried. The aroma of freshly brewed leaves filled the air. The porcelain teapot, an heirloom passed down through generations, sat patiently on the wooden small table that was next to them. As he poured the tea into delicate cups, he eyed her small physique yet again, searching for any signs.

She accepted the cup he offered her, the warmth seeping through the delicate porcelain. Her mind briefly paused when she recognised the familiar scent. She chuckled and Yoongi raised his eyebrows in surprise, awaiting her words. Y/N took a few careful sips from the cup, accepting what it offered.

“Are you afraid, Kkangpae?” She asked, taking another sip. Yoongi put his cup on the wooden table and looked directly in her eyes.

“Me? No,” he pointed at himself, hiding a smile.

“So why did you choose to make tea from Valerian root?” Her studies that surely included herbalism had escaped Yoongi’s mind.

“I knew this night would be difficult for you, and I — I wanted to ensure it went as smoothly as possible,” he confessed.

“Considerate,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. Yoongi’s gaze faltered, and he looked away momentarily.

“I want you to enjoy it—”

“Then make me enjoy it,” she interrupted him yet again, gulping down the contents of her cup, setting it down with a gentle clink next to his almost full one.

“I intend to,” he said. The complexities of tradition, the weight of the syndicate expectations, seemed to press down on them like the heavy beams of the hanok. Yet, he was thrilled at the prospect of laying her down and making love to her, while she tried to make peace with the path ahead.

A mixture of emotions played across Y/N’s face, the tension in the air made her anxious. The tea flowed in her system, calming her. The steps were set, and she cannot back down now.

His hands cradled her face, a gesture that held both tenderness and an unspoken understanding. But Y/N knows he will never understand. And thus, the night unfolded.

The hanok, with its wooden beams and paper windows, seemed to breathe with the rhythm of their footsteps. The aroma of tea still lingered within the walls, all the way back in the house.

“Pray with me?” a soft plea that resonated with the hallowed surroundings. They settled on top of the low cushion bed; he held both her hands in his. The subtle sounds of the valley outside, muffled by the hanji-covered windows, crackling fire nearby — the low hum of their shared prayer filled the room, blending with the whispers of the winter wind outside.

As they concluded their prayers, the world outside the hanok continued its silent ballet with nature. Yoongi slowly let her hands fall into her lap. Y/N kept looking at her hands, biting her lower lip.

He extended his hands pulling out the golden pins from her hair, releasing them.

“You are magnificent,” he whispered into her lips that were anticipating his. She looked into his eyes one last time before she slowly closed them, awaiting him to take the first step. Y/N could feel both his hands on the swell of her bottom, slightly squeezing it and thus making her pant into his mouth. He pulled her into his lap, not distancing their close proximity. Not now. Not ever.

A deep groan released from his throat when she fully sat down in his lap. Y/N was straddling him, feeling his stiff manhood tightly pressed against her core making her breath hitch. He moved his hand from its place on her butt cheek to the swell of her clothed breast.

“Let me make love to you.” He kissed her lips very gently, waiting for her response. She knew he would do so even if she would not give him her consent. And once she shyly nodded her head, he dove right in and kissed her very deeply, slipping his tongue into her mouth. He was hungry and only she could sate him.

He continued to press himself against her core, creating at least some friction in between, aiming to hit the right spot and make her sing for him.

Yoongi was trying to trace down the opening of her qipao, feeling the delicately made buttons on her chest. Not for a moment he stopped kissing her, unbuttoning her dress and hiking it up from its hem on her thighs, showing her undergarments and pulling it all the way up her head —throwing the peace of clothing that provided her warmth, perhaps even a security blanket, away.

Her neck was his next target. He bent his head making hers to lean back to allow him access. Yoongi layered down butterfly kisses all over her, now, naked, bruised neckline. “You are such a good girl.” He muttered into her skin, caressing her bottom while he placed his hand back to her right breast.

Y/N could feel her nipples stiffen under the change of temperature, or perhaps the excitement her body was going through, which she did not want to admit. He took one of her hands who were inactive till now and placed it on his chest near the small buttons of his shirt. Trying to send a mental message for her to touch him too — undress him too.

Y/N took a shaky breath, trying to come to her senses. Out of this ectasis. But she could not. His work on her neck was becoming troublesome, not mentioning his roaming hands. She was never touched by man lovingly, but she could not deny that he is making her heart skip just by teasing her.

Her small shaky fingers finally reached to the buttons whilst he was abusing her chest with hot kisses. She unbuttoned the first one, then the second until she reached the last. “That’s it baby.” He encouraged her to continue slipping his shirt down from his body.

He straightened himself and looked deeply into her eyes, his voice filled with desire and longing. “I love you.” Said Yoongi when he slowly slid his hand in between them cupping her clothed heat. Millions of little butterflies erupted in her lower belly, her breath hitched, silent moan coming out of her swollen lips when he started to rub circles, moving her clitoris through the fabric. She could feel herself leaning into him, her body responding to his touch.

The room was filled with an intoxicating blend of desire and anticipation. He caressed her back until he reached the opening of her western style cone bra that she wore under the dress. Popping it open her eyes snapped open too. But the pleasure was overshadowing her sound judgment, and he knew she would at some point try to resent him a little, that’s why he did not hesitate to throw it the same direction as her qipao, not wasting time and taking her already hard nipple into his mouth. Her eyes widened; pupils dilated.

He was taking his sweet time loving her every inch before he laid her down on the bed, hovering above her. Dominating her. Yoongi’s hands moved with a gentle urgency, his kisses becoming more fervent as their passion ignited. He hooked his fingers into her undergarments, not giving her a chance to protest when he quickly pulled them down her legs, tepid air hitting her centre.

It’s when he went to spread her legs touching her knees she took his wrist into her small hand, looking deep down into his eyes, tears swelling in, realisation hitting her. Yoongi did not seem to be angry or displeased. He understood why this action triggered her and therefore he led her hands to his belt, giving her a chance to yet again give him her consent to proceed. He wanted her to fall in love with him, not to fear him. He dreaded the day when he will have to use different measures to convince, she is his woman and no one else can touch her.

The little rat was a big mistake. Yoongi did not expect him to go as far as to attempt to rape her. But he knew that the boy was coming. He knew it’s Yakuza’s move, and he knew when they would strike,and he was ready. What he wasn’t ready for was Chan-yeol’s betrayal. Nobody is betraying Kkangpae Min, nor no one will dare to touch his wife after what he will do to the traitor.

“You’re alright, baby.” He attempted to assure her, putting her small hands on his belt. Y/N’s fingers were yet again shaking when she was undoing his belt. She was now fully aware of her laying naked body. She could feel the goosebumps forming on her skin.

As Yoongi’s belt came undone, he couldn’t help but marvel at the strength and resilience that radiated from her. She had endured so much in such a short span of time, yet here she was, willingly surrendering herself to him.

He pulled down the pants, together with his undergarments. A loud thud followed once they fell down to the floor. He bent down to her belly and placed a small kiss just below her belly button and one slightly lower to her yet uninhabited womb.

“I need to help you relax your muscles a little.” Said he. She felt his hot breath on her inner thighs, shaking in his hold. He slid his hand down to her core yet again, touching her without any barrier for the first time. Y/N took a deep breath and another one when he slid his finger down her folds and up, making her pussy produce wet juices. His lips were on her collarbone when he unexpectedly slid his index finger inside her making her moan loudly, yelp even.

“Shhh…” He cooked at her, kissing her lips passionately, while thrusting his finger slowly in and out of her heat. She could feel a prick of pain in the area Yoongi’s finger occupied. Y/N’s moans became a mix of moderate pain and pleasure altogether.

She could feel his other hand move away from caressing her hip to his member which he started to slowly stroke. Y/N could see that he was more than ready — his cock big, stiff and red, pre-cum leaking from its tip. He wanted to dive into her heat badly. But he needed to stretch her out a little more, so she won’t suffer that much pain. Yoongi smiled when he spotted her eyeing his body through half-lidded eyes, panting, yet being focused specifically on his manhood.

He towered above her, pulling his finger out of her heat. Sudden emptiness surrounded her walls that were finally adjusting to the intruder. She gasped when she felt his hands pulling her closer to him. Her legs were on each side of his hips. Y/N observed his body, his toned skin, slight muscles, his well-built torso — all the way down his V line, adorned with soft hair.

She snapped out of her thought train once he climbed on top of her and pressed his manhood in between her folds, sliding it up and down, covering it in her juices. Moan escaped her mouth once he put a little bit of pressure, stimulating her clitoris. He moved his hips slowly, trying to hold himself to not to thrust it in just yet.

He raised his left hand and intertwined his fingers with hers pinning it above her head while attacking her lips again. Y/N’s hand instinctively slapped his chest trying to push him away just a little, but his little smirk into her lips assured her that he wanted that kind of reaction from her.

And when she awaited it the least, he thrust himself into her, making her bite down his lower lip. He groaned at the sensation. His lip was bleeding, but he could not care less. “No—” She let go of his lip and an incoherent sound came out of her throat, eyes welling up with tears.

“Yoongi, it hurts too much.” She stated the obvious, crying whilst trying to breath. Enormous heat wave just hit her, and she was desperately wanting to make her head stop spinning.

“I know, baby. I know.” He whispered into her lips, trying to take his own breathing under control. She feels like heaven to him. His everlasting home. His love. This is where he was supposed to be all his life.

He tried to move very slowly, making her cry even more, but he couldn't stop. “It will stop I promise.” He kissed her tears away, stretching her walls to the fullest with his manhood. Silently moaning into her lips.

It took quite a while for her to adjust to the stretch and tension, fullness inside of her. Yoongi explored every inch of her naked body, his hands caressing her with a gentleness that belied his previous actions. In this moment, she was not defined by the traumas of her past or the expectations of their marriage. Their bodies moved in perfect sync once the pain yielded a little.

The room was filled with the sounds of their mingled loud moans and the crackling of the fire. The warmth of the fireplace mirrored the growing heat between them, intensifying the pleasure that coursed through their veins.

Yoongi’s movements became a little faster, more deliberate to draw as much pleasure from her as he could. He wanted to show her that their union was not solely physical but a one of love. With each whisper of reassurance and each gentle caress, he aimed to erase any lingering fears and insecurities that she held.

His thrusts were becoming sloppy after a while, he could feel her shaking against him. But not from fear but from pleasure. He mustered what he could to take her over the edge for the very first time in her life. Y/N could feel the butterflies in her stomach tying somewhat knot that she wanted them to release badly. Her hand slipped into his hair, tucking it tightly whilst he was thrusting into her heat, making her moan loudly into his mouth. He was very close, but he wanted her to come with her. And as they were reaching the peak of passion, their bodies trembling with pleasure, Yoongi held Y/N close, their hearts beating in sync.

Their moans became louder and louder every second they were nearing the summit. “Yoongi—!” she screamed his name out when she was sure the knot was about to burst. “Baby—” he could not even finish a sentence he meant to say once she came undone under him, trembling from the pleasure, her mouth agape, eyes tightly closed — her walls still vibrating around him. Not even a second later his loud cry followed as he spilled thick ropes of cum inside of her. His eyes closed, and he was breathing heavily. When he opened his eyes, she was already looking at him, her mouth still slightly open as she was panting. Her eyes seemed glossy but so were his. He caressed the side of her thigh whilst gently kissing her swollen lips, whispering how much he loves her.

Slowly pulling out of her heat, substituting with his fingers plunging his cum mixed with hints for crimson blood, back into her heat he lowered his body yet again to her belly. Kissing where he assumed her womb was, he whispered a prayer.

“May the Lord bless us with a miracle.”

I N T E R L O G U E

The father’s rage reverberated in the confined space of the car. “You could not have just fucking waited, you little prick!” his frustration boiling over.

Still grappling with the pain of his missing arm, the one-handed son shot back defiantly, blood seeping through the bandages “You said everything would work out in our favour!”

The car they were sitting in was slowing down until it stopped altogether. The older male looked around in confusion. They were nowhere near the docks for their escape to Fukuoka.

“It would if you’d just shut your damn cock instincts, you stupid boy!” the Yakuza leader hissed, attempting to keep his anger in check.

Blinded by fury, he failed to notice the car taking a series of wrong turns, leading them into a desolate no man’s land. When the driver turned to face them, blood reached his ears.

“Kkangpae Min sends you good wishes on your journey to hell.”

to be continued

©pennyellee. please do not repost

author's note: f finally yall!!!!! as I already said this chapter was a lot, ain't gonna lie about that, but everything is going according to the plan so don't worry. This was my first smut in english and I'm so scared of yall's reaction... Nonetheless, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, it was an emotional roller-coaster to write, especially the implied non-con and smut after all the reader had to endure, poor gal. I love to see your comments that basically express that you understand the story's essence and for that I love you all so much ♥ We'll see what will happen in next chapter :))

shout-out to Bex, the queen @chaoticpuff17, for beta another chapter! Love you bae!!!!

Love you all!! ♥

Don't be a silent reader, comment, re-blog, heart, asks are more than welcome ♥

keep in mind - I'm not an expert on chinese, korean and japanese culture, but I tried to research everything realistic I wanted to add to the story. Nonetheless, take it as a fiction.

let's be friends chummers ♥

lots of love, 𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖞𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖊

tag list: @beautifulcloudfestival - @chaoticpuff17 - @honsoolgloss - @jingerbreadoutofstock - @moscow778 - @januara26 - @dinosolecito - @yoongislatinagff - @xyahrinx - @hi12345567 - @nochuel - @deltamoon666 - @bbkissme99 - @darkuni63 - @nansasa - @sazsazsaz - @missmin - @strxwbloody - @royallyjjk - @jaiuneamesolitaiire - @shadowyjellyfishfest - @bbgniecyy - @elayne321 - @seojunandsoju - @bun-27 - @whipwhoops - @wobblewobble822 - @whofan88 - @haneyyyyyy - @lostgirlinthewoodss - @secfir - @btspurplesky - @elleflying07 - @pamzn - @megseungmin - @selenophileforlife - @idkjustlovingbts

[ackermansundercut]

Swing Dancin'

Summary: She was lucky enough to have a regular gig as a singer at a club in Brooklyn, and he was simply the beautiful soldier she had stolen a drink from. 

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: 1940’s James Buchanan Barnes is a warning, fluff, no angst, implications of smut but not explicit, my first fic in like 5 years please be gentle with me (If you remember this fic from my bucky account I had in 2018 ily and this is the much better, edited version)

Amber lighting illuminated swirling dresses and sparkling crystal glass, the smell of cigar smoke floating through breezes of laughter spilling from the dance floor and the bar. This was her environment, the comfort she thrived in. Women in dresses and skirts that tickled their legs as they were twirled by men in uniform, enjoying normalcy for as long as possible before loading up and shipping off to fight in the war. Y/N got to observe this environment every Friday night. Sometimes, if she let out a saccharine giggle and held back her vomit when the club manager Louis touched her ass and made sleazy remarks, Saturdays too.

Minutes before her set, Y/N was reapplying her cherry red lipstick to her lips, half listening to the soldier holding her compact for her as he chattered on about something or the other. Maybe complimenting the deep blue of her dress, or the way it plunged just a little more than all of the other girls’ in the room, or her beautiful hair done up in curls. Nothing significant enough for Y/N to pay attention to, and certainly nothing that she hadn’t heard before. The man was less than charming and bordering on leery, and it looked as if he didn’t brush his teeth. Y/N  got to her feet gracefully, the click of her heels muted in the noise. She shot the soldier a small smirk of a smile, lightly plucking her compact from his fingers and snapping it shut, slipping it into her clutch. 

“Thanks darlin’,” y/n hummed ever so sweetly. She left the soldier slack jawed with an absentminded pat on his cheek and turned her gaze towards the stage, shooting a smile at the band who were finishing up with a fun bit of a jazz jive.

 Sammy, the bassist, got the attention of the rest of the band and nodded at them, giving them the cue to wrap up the last few riffs so he could announce the woman just as he had every week for the past two months, since she had moved back to Brooklyn and secured this gig. With a final crescendo of the brass, the band was done, and Sammy was at the mic with a charismatic smile. 

“Now, now, now, listen up y’all. I’m glad we’re all havin’ a good time, and it’s about to get a whole lot better! ‘Cause we got one of the best singin’ dames in Brooklyn back tonight!” Sammy shouted the last few words enthusiastically, and there was a chorus of drunken and sober shouts of approval alike accompanied by raucous applause. Y/N rolled her eyes, her smile still adorning her lips and a light flush visible high on her cheekbones. She absentmindedly patted her hair, smoothing her dress once more. In the split second before she was meant to take the stage, movement beside her shoulder caught her attention. With a quick glance to her right, Y/N  snatched a glass of amber alcohol out of the oblivious soldier's hand and downed it in one go, the burn welcome in her throat. The man, once he had worked through a moment of shock at what exactly just happened, protested, but when she turned her gaze to him and his greyish blue eyes met her beautiful, enthralling ones, his voice caught in his throat. She dropped her mascara coated eyelashes into a demure wink at the admittedly handsome man, a smile on her cherry lips. 

“Thanks for the drink, soldier,” she said sweetly, sparing him one last glance before swanning up the steps to the stage. Her lips curled back in place as she flashed a brilliant smile to Sammy, who handed her the microphone and tipped his hat before moving back to stand beside his bass. She glanced out at the audience, smatterings of applause meeting her in any direction she shifted her gaze. 

She recognized a few faces, regulars of this particular club. Others were new. She noticed the soldier she had used as a mirror holder, and the soldier she had stolen the drink from. She had seen him a few times before, and who could forget those eyes? She also recognized a few other faces, a man with whom she had slept with once or twice because he said he drove fast, and she liked feeling alive. A girl who she had saved from a creep, and a few simply damn good swing dancers who made their impression on the singer. The new ones were always the most interesting, though, because she tried to guess who she would see next week, and who, on the off chance, would tip her for her singing. 

“Well, aren’t you all just a sweet crowd,” she hummed into the microphone, shooting a dazzling  smile at the audience as she adjusted it to her height, garnering her some whistles and shouts of the positive sort, making her smile internally to match the one playing on her lips. Good crowd tonight. “I believe our lovely Sammy over there did a mighty fine job of introducing me, so I might as well go ahead and start singing,” she let out a peal of laughter that was as enthralling as the notes that slid past her cherry lips as she sang. She had one hand on the mic stand, the other delicately placed on the mic itself as she started her first song of the night, a fast jazzy crowd-pleaser about a little bit of love on a hot summer night in Hollywood. She moved her hips as she sang, a smirk or a grin adorning her lips throughout the entirety of her set. She loved watching the crowd dance as she sang, though she couldn’t help the way her eyes strayed to where a specific soldier was dancing with a beautiful girl, though his eyes weren’t on his date. Every single time Y/N unwittingly allowed her gaze to drift to that section of the floor, his eyes were on hers as she moved her hips and sang her pretty little heart out in that sultry, swing voice of hers. Through every song, the slow and the fast, she met his eyes at least once. At one point, during her third or fourth song, he went to the bar and perched himself next to a skinny blonde boy, but never took his eyes off of the woman commanding the attention of the room from the small stage.

Y/N finished her set after her second extra song, pushing the time limit that Louis had set for her, laughter bubbling past her lips as she caught a rose thrown from somewhere in the crowd. She quirked an eyebrow and grinned, facetiously placing it between her teeth and turning to Sammy with an exaggerated curtsy, who without hesitation swung the woman around in just enough dance to give the audience a good laugh. 

“I thank you all kindly, you’ve been more than darling. Now, back to the band!” Y/N called out into the microphone before winking at the crowd and descending the few steps to the floor level. As per usual, there were a few people at the base of the stairs telling her she did well, and a few bold men doing their best to take her home with them tonight. She graciously accepted the praise, kissing a few cheeks and reminding everyone she’d be here next week as well. And as soon as she could, she slipped back to the bar, weaving between dancing couples until she was leaning against the hardwood. 

“Hey baby, give me something strong,” she called to the bartender, who flashed her a smile and nodded, reaching for the bourbon as he responded. 

“Amazing as always, y/n!” 

He was just handing her the glass, the cool surface barely skimming her fingertips before it was stolen out of her hand and downed by none other than the soldier she had stolen a drink from at the beginning of the night. She couldn’t help the abrupt laugh that escaped her throat, an eyebrow raised as she raised a hand at the bartender for another drink . 

“I suppose we’re even now, aren’t we soldier?” 

“I suppose we are, doll,” he said sweetly and leaned against the bar beside her, a crooked smile on his lips. She took a moment to study his face. He was handsome, sure, but it was the easy nature of his smile and the light of life in his stormy ocean eyes that drew her in. He had his hat sitting cocked on his head, and the way his uniform fit perfectly across his broad shoulders made something flutter in her lower stomach. She grabbed her drink from the bartender with a grin of thanks and took a small sip as she examined the man in front of her.

“What did you think of the show…?” She trailed off, opening the door for him to offer his name. 

“Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, ma’am,” he shot her another smirk, tipping his hat, “at your service. I think I truly did see one of the most beautiful, best singin’ dames in this country,” James said. There was a light blush threatening to creep up Y/N’s cheeks, but she tilted her chin down for a moment to attempt to keep it at bay. She fluttered her eyelashes a bit, pulling her painted lower lip between her teeth. She hummed thoughtfully for only a few moments before her fingertips were seizing the rim of her glass, and she was downing her entire drink, setting the glass back on the table. James was looking at her with an open expression of amusement and curiosity, and she felt the corners of her lips curling into a genuine smile subconsciously. 

“I think you want to ask me to dance, Sergeant,” Y/N stated, her eyebrow raised and mirth dancing in her eyes. James Buchanan Barnes mirrored her expression, nodding after a millisecond of thought with a chuckle and offering his hand. 

“Well then, doll, it would be my pleasure if you accompanied me in a dance,” James said. Y/N didn’t respond with words, only settling her hand in the larger, rougher one of James Barnes, allowing him to pull her into the center of the dance floor. He swung her around for more than just one dance, spinning her from left to right and lifting her off the floor into his arms, and then back to the ground to twirl some more. He left her breathless, both from the dancing and his charm. It was as if the expression of joy was glued to y/n’s face, laughter spilling past her lips with each dip and turn. James Buchanan Barnes knew how to dance. Y/N was no stranger to dancing with, well, strangers, but she had never felt so at ease with anyone else. James had an aura to him, a warmth that radiated and filled her chest with more than a few butterflies.

Soon enough, the boys on stage slowed the pace to a smoother, crooning song, and Y/N found herself pressed close to James’ chest. His cologne clouded any sort of thought in her mind, and she couldn’t help but reach up with a delicate hand to rest on his clean shaven jaw. His hand that wasn’t preoccupied on her waist mirrored her touch, sliding up her shoulder to cup the back of her neck. Y/N felt her breath catch between her parted lips as James’ smirk melted into something sweeter, and an irresistible magnetic pull drew their lips together. The moment their lips met, what began as a sweet, soft, first kiss dissolved into one with more heat, more want, more everything and it felt as if every nerve that ran through Y/N’s body had gained a static charge. The noise of the band and the din of the people surrounding the pair dimmed in comparison to the blood rushing through Y/N’s ears, and she went as long as her singer lungs would allow before the burning need for oxygen forced her to pull away from the sergeant's lips. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, and he had a boyish grin on his lips when he caught her gaze.

“You wanna get out of here, sweetheart?” James murmured, his voice only audible to her. She nodded, a clever smirk back on her red lips as she looked up at the soldier through her eyelashes. 

“C’mon, let’s go to my place,” she said. And they went, James waving to his friend that Y/N had seen him sitting with earlier, and Y/N stopping for a moment to collect her tips from the night. Once outside of the club, James had Y/N pressed against the wall outside of the club for another kiss, his lips cascading down the column of her throat and causing a whine or two to escape Y/N. She interrupted him when a cab finally paid attention to her halfhearted hailing, and she lightly shoved at James’ chest to get his attention and get him into the car before the impatient driver left without them. Y/N managed to give the cabbie her address, a small apartment above a family owned grocery store, before James’ insatiable lips were back on hers. 

The pair shared countless kisses in the back of the car, their hands becoming more daring with each minute of the short ride. It wasn’t long before the car stopped and the annoyed cabbie grumbled something or another at the couple, so she tossed a bit of cash over the seat to the driver and grabbed James’ hand, pulling him up the stairs and fumbling with the lock, giggling when James kissed her neck impatiently from behind her. When she finally got the old door open and had taken only a step inside her apartment, James closed the door with his foot and had his hands on her waist as if they belonged nowhere else. He had her spun around and pressed to the door before she even got a chance to catch her breath, and he took a moment to appreciate the dazed look in her eyes. Y/N was less than patient, however, and reached up to tug his face down to hers. She swallowed his chuckles with open mouthed kisses, and his hands roamed the expanse of her back and waist. Her hands fingertips tugged at the ends of the short hair at the nape of his next, and he let out a low, deep groan and moved his lips to the beautiful woman’s neck, then her collarbone, and she responded eagerly, a needy whimper sounding as pretty as her singing graced James’ ears. The soldier groaned lowly at the beautiful noise, and before she knew it, his hands moved again. They were beneath the plush of her thighs, lifting her up. She quickly wrapped her legs around his waist with a quiet giggle, a sweet little noise that had James grinning. He turned and with only a few strides, her apartment was quite small, she was on the bed as he hovered over top of her, running his fingers through her beautiful hair. His dog tags slipped from where they were tucked into his collar, and Y/N had to fight the urge to grab them with her teeth and tug his face right back down to hers. Everything about her was beautiful, and he hungrily took in every detail of her features with ravenous eyes. Her lips were swollen and her lipstick was a bit smeared, her hair slightly tousled. He had left a couple hickies on her neck, and he failed to suppress a grin at the sight. She didn’t fail to notice his beauty, either, and she sent him an alluring smile fit for a vixen. 

“I suggest,” Y/N began, one of her hands ghosting up the sergeant's front, “you start taking my clothes off now, Sarge,” she murmured in her breathy, nothing short of sexy voice that had James’s blood flow change direction. He groaned and seized forward to steal another kiss from her before pulling back and tugging lightly at the strap of her dress. 

“Yes, ma’am,” his deep voice rattled her to her core, and she grinned. There was a flurry of clothing hitting the floor in a haphazard pile, and Y/N had a fleeting thought that she had never been happier that she didn’t have neighbors. 

Y/N woke to golden sunlight dancing across her eyelids and warming the bare skin of her back, a heavy arm draped across her waist tickled her side as fingertips traced invisible shapes onto her skin. She forced her eyelids apart despite the lull of peace in the quiet morning drawing her back to sleep, the corners of her lips tilting into a blissful, surprised smile when she met the gaze of the man sharing her bed. 

“Well, Sergeant, didn’t quite expect you to stay the night,” she murmured sleepily, leaning up slightly to press a kiss to James’s lips. It wasn’t something she did often, allowing men to stay the night, let alone greeting them in the morning. He was just different. He sent the dame a grin, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, the gentle motion sending a shiver up her spine. This wasn’t very common for him either, staying the night and into the morning. She was just different.

“What, and leave the most beautiful dame in Brooklyn to wake up alone?” James hummed, shaking his head with a soft smile. 

“What a gentleman,” Y/N teased with a laugh, propping her head up with her hand, meeting James’s captivating gaze. She tugged the sheet up slightly, allowing her a bit more modesty under his thoughtful eyes. He was staring at her as if he was a man with a million questions, and she held the secrets to the universe. It was a good few beats of silence before he spoke, his fingers never ceasing their sweeping motions on her waist as he contemplated his words. 

“You know, doll, I’ve still got a week before I ship out, and I want to get to know you better, if that’s alright with you,” he stated, and Y/N could’ve sworn she saw the tips of his ears turn a Typically, on the off chance she allowed a man to stay overnight in her bed, the second they began to imply that they wanted to see her again, she cut them off with a sweet kiss and a push out the door. Instead, she silenced the little voice in her head, and she found herself pulling her lower lip between her teeth, barely concealing an elated smile. 

“It’s more than alright with me. If we only have a week, I do believe we better make the most of our time together, then. Why don’t we start by going for breakfast, Sergeant Barnes?” She suggested, cursing the girlish butterflies in her stomach. He let out a laugh, almost sounding relieved, and James Buchanan Barnes found himself nodding his head and cupping her cheek with one of his hands, tracing the outline of her lips with his thumb. 

“I think that’s a fine idea, sweetheart. And you can call me Bucky.”

A/N I'm so happy to be writing again, even this is just an updated, edited version of one of my favorite fics from my old blog!!

[spyderlondon]

Could you write a showtime fic based off the non-canon kiss image from the time capsule au?

A/N: Anon, I could kiss you for this request! /lh I was just telling Mango that I was gonna sneak that kiss into the 1957.

This is non-canon so I'm gonna do stuff that Mango has told me doesn't happen lol

Ko-fi

Time Capsule AU and art by @the-amazing-digital-time-capsule @mangotangerinepastry

Song in Harmony

Music swirled around the air as a young jester played her violin for a crowd while dancing around the stage before going down off the stage and continued her dance on the circus floor. As she performed, as another girl approached her to take over the dancing as the violinist let herself stand still as the welcomed red silken dancer went to the center of the circus' grounds to perform their dance- having the audience's eyes move from the violinist to the dancer which allowed Pomni to breathe a sigh of relief at the way all the eyes left her.

Well, that was except for two eyes that she could feel watching only her from the shadows. While still letting her bow glide and her fingers dance on the instrument, she looked over her shoulder to see The Ringmaster staring right at her, watching her every move. The shadows blocked his expression but she believed she could almost see his fingers moving as if playing along with her on his piano. She smiled warmly at the movements before she flinched as she saw his fingers suddenly contort in a painful fashion making him forcefully halt what he was doing. She didn't miss the painful, saddened look that caused him to have.

The violinist's head turned back to her violin as she went back to focusing on her performance, hiding a grimace behind her smile. She didn't want the guests to complain to an already hurt and depressed Ringmaster. She took a breath before increasing the tempo as she did a crescendo to a fortissimo as above of her a couple acrobats began to swing on the trapezes on beat with her music and a couple silk dancers joined Gangle in her performance.

Pomni's bow began to have some of its hair snap in half with the intensity and speed that she was playing at. Her eyes closed as she just listened purely to the music, imagining Caine's gorgeous piano playing right along with her which increased her passion even further.

The crowd was entirely silent for once as the song got closer to its finale, the trapeze artists both flipped high in the air to prepare for end of the song. Gangle began to dance closer to Pomni as she joined in on the dance once more, her eyes opening while smiling at the masked girl.

The bow slammed on the strings just hard enough to do a subito fortissimo a few times while one of the trapeze artists' expertly grabbed onto the ankles of the second one right before the latter of the two grabbed the incoming trapeze bar, all before the violinist ended on a decrescendo that ended at a mezzo forte whole note that she made sure to punctuate with a nice vibrato. By then, the trapeze artists both landed on their separate platforms.

There was silence all through the circus as the audience just stared with their expressionless masks and the performers who had ended on their final poses were breathing heavily after a long and successful performance.

It wasn't until about thirty seconds later that the crowd erupted into boisterous cheering and excitement over such a thrilling act that was put on by everyone.

While the rest of the performers were waving and grinning at the audience, the violinist's attention was towards the shadows where she was able to see that The Ringmaster, Caine, actually had his eyes wide open with an actual sparkle of life inside of them as he clapped just as, maybe even harder, than the audience members while staring straight into her eyes with such pride and adoration that her heart couldn't help but swell in her own pride.

Gangle paused as she saw her friend staring off at the shadows and followed her gaze before chuckling to herself. She gently pried away the violin and bow from her, "Go on. We both know what you are so desperate to do." She whispered to her with a knowing smile.

Pomni blushed a bit at that statement but simply muttered a quiet thank you before racing off towards the man standing in the shadows with a large, bright smile on her face. She ran as fast as she could that her jester hat blew right off of her head but she couldn't care less as she leapt straight into The Ringmaster's arms where he caught her in surprise but held her high to his face as her knees touched in a way that wrapped around his torso, both knowing exactly what they craved.

Caine closed his teeth as she placed her hands underneath his jaw before she leaned in and kissed him with her eyes fluttering shut in her passion. They both felt nothing but complete adoration for each other that The Ringmaster even fought off the AI that tried to force him away from her since the guests were still in the audience.

In that one moment, both of them just felt nothing but their warm, loving hearts beating to the song of their love.

[regalrain]

Powers!Au Ivyplier (Ivy)

Name: Scarlet Jessamine

Outfit:

It is all plants,,, and mostly reds and greens. He has jessamine flowers bunched in his hair, and a mask like this

[dreamingofep]

Sinned Awakening pt. 31🩸

An AU Elvis fic

(Vampire!Elvis/ Vampire Austin! Elvis x reader)

Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Prompt: Getting promoted to be Elvis full time housekeeper, you realize the man holds secrets beyond belief and your undeniable attraction makes you tear the unknown. [Fem!Reader]

TW: Cussing, tension, SMUT!!! , some fluff if you squint, teasing, Dom/sub stuff

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 9.8k

A/N: Well, here we are. We’ve arrived at the end of their journey. 🥺 This was such a wild ride and the most fun I have ever had writing. Thank you to everyone that loved this fic from the very beginning or picked it up one night out of pure curiosity and couldn’t get enough of Vampire Elvis.😏 It means so much to me that you all loved this story as much as I do. It makes my heart so happy when I get tagged in post with him looking damn good in his vampire outfits. The man just couldn’t hide his true nature hehe.

This isn’t the last you’ll hear from these two. I already know I’ll come back to write little blurbs for them because I love them so much 🤭 I hope you enjoy this last part though! I know it took me a while but that was because I had a spicy scene idea and just had to add it in here. This bedroom scene was not supposed to be this long but here we are. Hope you enjoy!

If you'd like to start from the beginning, start here or Ao3! hope you enjoy and message and comment what you think.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you walk, through a storm

Hold your head up high

And don’t 

Be afraid

Of the dark…

Oh that heavenly voice, you could recognize it from anywhere. Where was it coming from? Was it your imagination? Was it beckoning you to come to the other side? 

Your eyes flutter open slowly, taking in a sharp breath. You feel soft silk sheets underneath your hands and instantly sit up. You didn’t know where you were at first. You rub your eyes a bit, getting them to focus on the environment around you. You look at your arms and feel a soft satin pajama top hang loosely on your frame. It smelled like someone had worn this already. Or someone was lying next to you while you were lying here, waiting for you to get up. 

The black curtains on the walls blocked the sunlight from getting into the room. The scent in here was divine, so intoxicatingly good you didn’t want to leave it. 

At the end of a storm

There's a golden sky

And the sweet silver song of a lark

It then hits you; you’re back in the penthouse in Vegas. How did you get here? So much was unclear about how much time had passed. You remember fighting with Raphael, then looking into Elvis’ beautiful eyes. 

The song continues to crescendo;

Walk on through the wind

Walk on through the rain

For your dreams be tossed and blown

You were so drawn to that voice that rang out so flawlessly and pure. Getting up from the bed, you tread carefully to the door. The sound of the piano rings louder as you swing the door open.

Walk on, walk on

With hope in your heart

And you'll never walk alone-

Oh, there he is. Elvis. The one that makes your heart flutter a million miles an hour. He was wearing black slacks and a blazer, his chest bare other than a blue scarf that hung around his neck. He was just stunning in every way, it was like seeing him for the very first time. The most simple of outfits had him sparkling with a light from within. He stops the song abruptly to look at you. You can hear him take a sharp breath in and his eyes light up when they see you. 

“Baby,” he breathes. 

You can’t help but smile when you hear him call you that. You never thought you’d hear him say that to you ever again. You were so happy he was here and didn’t leave you on your own. 

You walk over to him, looking at his beautiful eyes glazed over with tears. He doesn’t seem real. How can one man be this beautiful on the inside and out? You reach your hand out to touch his face. It was soft and warm, each detail on his face was something the Greek gods probably sculpted. His eyes flutter closed when he feels your skin on his. A low rumble forms in his chest and he puts his hand on yours, bringing it to his lips. 

Heat consumes your body. Those lips are pure perfection when you feel them on you. He stares up at you with wonder, “How do you feel?” He asks softly. 

“Great,” you whisper. The events in the garden flood your head and you don’t remember how you got here... Something about being here was so comforting though. Everything about this place was warm and inviting to you, just how you felt when you first walked in here. 

He doesn’t know what to say right away and takes your hand in his, squeezing it gently. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” he says softly, looking at you with adoration. You weren’t exactly sure where he was coming from. The last time you remember, he didn’t care about you anymore. But your brain screamed for him to love you. It wouldn’t shut up.

Let him love you! You love him so much!

Deep down you knew he still loved you in some way. You don’t say anything back to him. His face washes over with sadness and gets up from the piano bench. 

“Hold on baby,” he says quietly. He walks over to the front door. He’s only gone a few seconds and comes back to bring another man into the room. 

He was the one that was at the airport with you a few days ago. Jerry, how could you forget his name. 

Jerry sees you and courtly smiles. He looked almost relieved to see you here.

“Hey y/n,” he says softly. 

Elvis looks at him apprehensively, taking a deep breath before speaking. 

“Okay, go ahead,” Elvis tells him. 

You look at both of them confused, not understanding what he’s talking about. Jerry walks into the room a bit more, nervously looking at you. He takes a deep breath before speaking, “I’m keeping my promise y/n. I'm sorry you got hurt,” he says, pausing briefly, “remember everything. Remember everything you told me to make you forget.” He says matter of factly.

In a blink, all your memories come flooding in. It was like looking at a magic mirror, each memory passing by and getting re-embedded in your mind. You remember the plan to distract Raphael, how you coerced Jerry to help you forget everything so your cover wouldn’t be blown. Most importantly, you remembered the love you and Elvis had. It was blinding and intense, just like him. It makes your heart beat wildly and you try to keep it together. You stumble back a bit, the back of your knees hitting the piano bench making you sit down.

You remember every single moment you had together so crystal clear. Every single longing stare, every kiss, every embrace. 

Everything. 

You felt your heart soar, so full of love and joy. It was exactly what was missing inside you. That hollowness you had been walking around with before was the worst thing you had ever felt. Now, all of that ceased to exist. 

You looked back up at Jerry and laughed a little bit, more out of nervousness. 

“Thank you,” you tell him relieved. 

He sighs a breath of relief too, thankful you were okay and back to normal. 

“Thank God, this was the scariest seventy-two hours of my life,” he says panicked, looking back at Elvis. 

“I know I’m sorry. But thank you for helping me. Thank you for sneaking in that dagger. That saved my life,” you say gratefully.

Elvis looks like he’s overcome with emotion, looking at you with awe and amazement. He walks further into the room to get closer to you, not paying any attention to Jerry. 

“Thanks, Jerry. Please get out now,” he says nonchalantly pushing past him, still staring at you with amazement. You nod at him and smile, silently thanking him. He understands the gesture and Jerry gives you another smile, shutting the door quietly behind him. 

Elvis sinks to his knees in front of you, getting in between your legs and wrapping his arms around your waist. He stifles his tears, rubbing circles on your back, gently caressing you. You are overcome with emotion too and wrap your arms around Elvis, relieved to have him here. He hugs you tight, pressing his forehead against your chest, sighing as he feels your body against him.

“Oh God,” he says low. 

His fingers tangle in your hair and you look down at him, lifting his chin up for a kiss. You melt in his arms and that kiss is sending you straight to heaven. You thought you were never going to feel those beautiful plush lips again. Oh, how you missed them. How perfect they felt on you. They were warm and soft, just as you remembered. You squeeze him tighter, trying to get closer and devour him. Both of you were needy, wanting to touch and kiss every inch of each other. 

You were left breathless with the way he was kissing you. He let out these soft little whimpers as he kissed you deeper and deeper. He clung onto your body like he was fearful you were going to fly away. You can feel his heartbeat rattle against your chest, overcome with love for you. 

He gently breaks away from you, looking into your eyes and smiling. 

“You’re okay,” he say relieved, “oh my God you’re okay!” He says going in for another kiss. You chuckle when he kisses you, “Yes, I’m great. Never better.”

“You’re absolutely insane oh God-, I was worried sick baby. Please-, don’t ever leave me again. I was an absolute wreck without you,” he whimpers into your chest. 

You hold him, trying to soothe him in any way you can. 

“I know, I’m so so sorry.” You say regretfully. “But I had to leave when I did, you see? He was going to come here and attack you that day I left. He had this whole plan devised,” you tell him scared, reliving those terrifying thoughts. “If I left a second later it would have been for nothing and I would have been too late.”

“I know, I know. It’s okay honey. I’m not upset. I was at first of course, you knew how I’d get, but I knew you could do it. You are stronger than I could have ever imagined,” he tells you, pausing to smile at you. “You saved me, baby. Thank you, I can never repay you for that.”

He reaches up to give you another tender kiss. His words make your heart soar, filling up with love and butterflies for him. 

“If it meant saving you, I would never hesitate to do it again.” You whimper. “I knew you still loved me, even though I was compelled to forget that, that’s what kept me going. I knew you loved me still.” You explain.

“Of course baby, of course I do. I could feel your sorrow the longer you were there. It was so much different than last time. I knew you still could feel our connection but tried to ignore it,” he explains.

“Yeah, I couldn’t figure out what it was, but I now know I could never forget our love,” you say teary-eyed. He nods his head and kisses you once again, his needy eyes making you weak in his arms.

“Wait, is it done? Is it over with Raphael?” You asked concerned, squeezing his arms tightly. 

“Yes, honey. We never have to worry about him again. You did the most brave and courageous thing. You remember what you did right? You stabbed him in the heart with the dagger and ended him for good. I helped with the rest but you did it. I knew you were strong enough,” he tells you, smiling sweetly. 

You remember everything so clearly and shiver. The way the dagger felt when it pierced his back and the sound he made when it went through his heart. You are just thankful it’s done and you never have to worry about a crazed vampire trying to kill you or Elvis. 

Fear paralyzes you when you think of one other person who hated you enough to cause you harm. 

“And what about Daniel?” You ask him nervously. 

“He’s gone for good too, don’t you worry. I’ll never let anything bad happen to you again baby,” he coos, squeezing you tight against him. You savor how he feels, never wanting to let go of him. 

“I won’t either,” you promise. 

“You feel perfectly fine?” He asks. You can sense he’s a bit uncomfortable, not able to get out what is on his mind. “Raphael… he didn’t do anything else to you? He didn’t touch you in any way…” he says uncomfortably. 

You see what he’s getting at and squeeze his bicep, “No, he didn’t do anything like that. I’m fine now, I swear. I don’t feel any pain.” You reassure him. He nods his head and squeezes you tightly. “Are you okay? Your ankle… I heard that awful sound,” you tremble. 

“Completely healed honey,” he smiles. You are thankful that you both are in perfect health, no ailments hurting you anymore. No, wait…

You get up quickly to push past him and go to the bedroom. You had to see if the scars were still on your body. It was going to be terrifying to get a glimpse of those horrendous scars but you had to look. You move the collar of the pajamas and hold your breath. You finally peek at your reflection and stare wide-eyed at yourself. Your skin was flawless again. Not a glimmer of scarring stained your skin. It was perfect and glowing again. And you knew this time, it was forever true. Raphael didn’t have a claim on you and couldn’t try to take you away from Elvis again. 

Elvis walks up behind you and leans your body against his. You unbutton the first few buttons of the top to inspect the rest of your body. Not a single nick or scratch on you. Elvis wraps his hands around your waist, gently squeezing your soft flesh. He places a kiss on the crook of your neck. 

“So beautiful as always,” he coos quietly. His gruff voice gives you chills up and down your body as you smile at him in the reflection. 

You watch as his hands crinkle up the silk top up. 

“There’s just one spot I couldn’t heal…” he says as he lifts the top higher revealing your ribs. “The dagger is too damaging to our skin.” A thin pale scar running vertically lay there. It was on the lower part of your ribs and you look at it inquisitively. Your fingertips gently graze it, feeling how smooth your skin is over it. It doesn’t hurt and you look over the rest of your naked body in the mirror and are thankful that all your scars were gone. 

“It’s okay baby. I’m alive. That’s all that matters,” you say turning around to face him. “This is nothing compared to what I had before.”

His face looked worried as he squeezed your hands gently in his. “I loved you no matter how you looked, baby. I didn’t find you any less attractive with those scars. No one could tear me away from you, I swear.”

“I know, I believe you, thank you for loving me so wholly,” you whisper. 

He leans down for another kiss, fire consuming your thoughts. Finally, for the first time, you felt completely his. You couldn’t tear yourself away even if you tried. There wasn’t a worry in your mind anymore. All you cared about was you and him. 

You whimper into his mouth, his lips and his body feeling too good against yours. You can feel the smirk forming on his face, enjoying all of this too. 

He pulls away, letting your forehead touch his. 

“I’m never letting you out of my sight ever again, you know that right?” He teases. You hum amused, “Yes, I figured that was going to happen once I devised this plan,” you giggle, “I’m more than okay with that. I missed you so much.”

“Me too honey.” His voice trembles a bit when he says this. 

He picks you up and you instinctively wrap your legs around his hips. He carries you to the bed, gently setting you down on the end of it. He peppers soft kisses on your cheeks and neck, melting into him. You wanted him to take you, right here, right now. You could feel how much he wanted you, there was no denying that. You wanted to beg him for things you’re too embarrassed to admit. Your hands sneak into his jacket, feeling those lovely soft chest hairs that reside there. 

He pauses briefly, a hint of mischief glimmering in his eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask him, squeezing his hand that’s on your thigh, wanting him to move it higher. 

“I wanted to show you something,” he murmurs. You look expectantly at him, wondering what he’s talking about. 

“Okay, what is it?” You ask. 

“There’s one thing I haven’t exactly been honest about,” he chuckles. Your eyebrows furrow, not understanding what he’s insinuating. 

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve never shown you what I really look like. Under all this facade, you’ve never seen the real me,” he quips. 

You can’t help but giggle, “I’d love to see you like that. You’re handsome no matter what.” He smiles at you and takes off his jacket. 

“Hold on,” he murmurs. 

You watch as he walks to the closet to hang it up, showing his beautiful toned back. You swear this man did not have a bad side to him. 

A few moments pass, anxiously waiting for him to come back. You walk to the window, opening the curtains to let the sun in. The light comes pouring in and you gaze up on the city below. It was so quiet from up here, but if you focused, it was livelier than ever. This city never failed to amaze you. The warmth of the sun simmered on your skin and you didn’t mind it. It made you feel real. 

“Baby?” Elvis’ voice says gently behind you. 

You turn around and smile at what you find. 

The most stunning man was in front of you. His eyes were ocean blue, pulling you in and making you swim in them. His hair and sideburns were shorter, showcasing his beautiful clean face. His pouty lips were the same and looked as good as ever. He looked so young, so bright, and the way he was looking at you was soft and full of innocence. He nervously twisted his rings back and forth, waiting for you to say something to him.

But you were too distracted to say what you were thinking. Could you fall anymore in love with him? You could have sworn the answer was no but it seems like he found another way to make you fall for him. The sunlight shining in made him glow like a beautiful angel. You’re almost certain he fell straight out of heaven and was made just for you. You didn’t deserve such a perfect man. The world didn’t deserve him. 

He put on a black silk button-up and it was a bit baggy on him. He was so slender yet exuded strength. He didn’t falter his intense gaze. Lord, those eyes were so beautiful and made you want to do anything he asked of you. 

You walk up to him, taking in his entire presence. 

“You’re so handsome,” you whisper, taking his face in your hands. He felt the same, the same beautifully sculpted face with not a flaw on it. 

He hums delighted, “thank you, mama,” he says low, placing a kiss on your forehead. 

“Do you feel any different?” You ask him. He chuckles softly as he places his hands on your hips. 

“No I don’t baby, the only thing I notice different is how I look in the mirror,” he smirks. “Do you like me this way?”

“Of course I do. I love you no matter what,” you say reaching up for a kiss.

He pulls you in, needing you closer. You can feel his heart hammer away, nerves and love rattling in his chest. His lips kiss you like he’s been dying for you. You squeeze at his biceps, not wanting to let him go, and desperately need his lips on your body. 

He pauses briefly, struggling for breath, “God, I missed you. I missed you so much,” he tells you. 

“Mhmm, I missed you too baby,” you hum. He goes back for another kiss, groaning softly as he feels your body. 

You tear off his shirt, needing to feel his skin. You unbutton the rest of your top too and your hands roam his soft, sculpted back. 

“I missed you. Fuck, please don’t leave me ever again,” he pleads. He deepens the kiss, slipping his tongue in your mouth and groaning when he does so. You can’t help but moan too, needing him more than you realize. 

“Never. Never again, I promise,” you groan into his mouth. 

His touches become more intense and your body starts to feel on fire. His fingers find your clit, groaning when he discovers how dripping wet you are for him. You gasp at the friction, needing him to satisfy your every last desire. 

“Mama,” he whimpers. 

“What baby,” you whisper, your thumb grazing his bottom lip. 

“I need you. I need you so much,” he tells you. 

“What do you need hmm?” You say breathless. 

“I-I-I just need y-you baby,” he groans. 

“Show me. Show me on your knees.” You tell him. His eyes grow soft and he starts leaving kisses down your neck, nipping softly there. You sigh at the feeling of his lips on you, making you more ravenous for him. He starts to kneel down in front of you, continuing to kiss every square inch of your body. 

He pauses when he gets to your core, looking up at you with pleading eyes. 

“I need to take care of you,” he whimpers, his thumb grazing the top of your mound. Your body tingles from his touch and those electric blue eyes have you in dire need of his attention. 

“Please take care of me,” you plead. 

He smiles and nods his head at you, placing your leg on his shoulder and rubbing his thumb through your folds. Your slick seeps out of you, wanting him to fulfill his promise of taking care of you. He teases, creating the most delicious friction on your clit and your entrance. You sigh at the sensations, tangling your fingers in his soft hair. 

You can feel his breath on your body, making you tremble with need. 

“Fuck,” he groans, “so wet for me.”

��Yes, all for you baby,” you gasp out as he rubs your sensitive bundle of nerves in more concentrated circles. He groans deeply before swiping his tongue through your folds. You gasp, loving how he feels on you. You rock your hips onto his mouth and he moans pleased by your actions.

“Fuck baby,” you sigh.

He suckles on your clit as a low moan came from the back of his throat, making your eyes roll back in your head. He knew exactly what to do to make you fall apart instantly. His hands squeeze tighter on your thighs, his heat consuming you. You cling onto his soft tresses and look down at how focused his face is buried between your legs. He flashes his beautiful eyes at you, making you moan.

“Elvis,” you cry. He stops briefly, biting his lip softly as he looks up at you innocently.

“Yes baby,” he says hushed, rubbing his fingers through your folds again. You curse his name, unable to think clearly with his hands on you like this. You then feel his finger slowly enter your weeping core. He pumps it in and out of you slowly, watching his finger get covered in your slick then looking back up at you innocently.

“What baby? What is it?” He asks sweetly, twisting his finger deeper inside of you.

“I need you-, please keep using your mouth too,” you whimper.

He listens and puts his mouth back on you, lapping and suckling at your clit again. You could feel yourself fall apart the longer he used his mouth on you. Your core ached with need and he could sense it. He looks up at you as he slips in another long, slender finger inside you, watching your reaction. Your mouth falls open and you squeeze around his digits.

“Oh God yes,” you groan.

He hums delighted with his mouth on you and groans too. God, he felt so good, he was making you lose all control and you wanted him to keep doing just that. You weren’t going to last very long with the way he kept looking up at you with those luring, dangerous eyes. Even with his younger appearance, he was dangerous and knew he wouldn’t stop until he got what he wanted. He thrusts his finger into you faster, curling them deep inside you making you want to cry to the heavens. They hit that sensitive spot inside you that could make you cum on his command. 

He takes his mouth off of you, too enthralled watching you reach peak pleasure.

“You like that baby? You like my fingers stuffed inside you?” He asks softly.

“Yes, please don’t stop baby,” you whimper.

He doesn’t move right away, instead, he gives a devilish little look at you. That’s when you feel another finger get stuffed inside you, stretching you to the brink. You gasp and feel your legs almost give out. He has a tight enough grip on your waist to still you. He moves slowly and doesn’t leave your gaze.

“Is that okay honey? Does that feel good?” He asks.

You nod your head, “yes honey- oh please-, you’re going to make me come,” you beg. He pumps his fingers deeper inside you, smirking as he watches your hips move with him. Each movement got you closer and closer to the sun.

“Fuck yes, baby. Look at me when you come though. Let me see you,” he begs. 

You stare helplessly at him and rock your hips onto his hand.

“That’s it, baby, let me feel you,” he encourages.

You look into his eyes and crumble instantly, feeling your walls squeeze around him and pleasure skyrockets through you. Your body trembles with need and feels dizzy in the haze of ecstasy. You hold onto his shoulder, crying for him to keep going. 

“Yes mama, so good.” He praises. 

The sound of his low, gravely voice has you reeling and weaker than ever before. Your climax kept building and he wasn’t stopping until you had your fill. You slowly took your leg off of his shoulder and couldn’t stand any longer. You gently sink to your knees too and you’re at eye level with him. 

His chest heaves and looks at you with innocence. 

“Did I do good mama?” He asks softly. 

“God-, yes. Yes, you did very good,” you say pretty breathlessly. 

He gently takes his fingers out of you, making you gasp from the loss of him. You go to kiss him with intense passion and feel how wet his face is from devouring you. Your hands snake down to his upper thigh and feel his hard cock laying down his leg. He groans and stops kissing you, looking up at you needy. You look down at his length, rubbing your fingers up and down it. 

“Do you need somethin’, baby?” You ask innocently, looking up into this oceanic blues. 

He looks down at what your hand is doing and looks back up at you to speak. 

“Oh mama please,” he groans. 

“Please what?” You say. 

“Please keep touching me,” he begs. 

You take your hand off of him and nod your head. 

“Take your pants off for me then,” you tell him. 

You don’t know what it is, but he’s total putty in your hands right now. You’re pretty sure he’d do anything you ask him to. 

He stands up slowly, his fingers working his button and sliding down the zipper. He pulls his pants down until they fall around his ankles. You stare up at him and feel the pulse in your core begin to grow again. He was so beautiful, so sexy, not a thing was unattractive about this man. Your eyes get drawn to his length, precum dribbling out of his head. He was dying for your touch, you could feel it and you could hear his short shallow breaths waiting for your next instruction. 

“Touch yourself, show me how bad you want me,” you tease. He stares at you dumbfounded, not expecting such a demand. He looks down at his length, “mama. Please, please touch me,” he begs. 

You shake your head at him, “Not until you show me how bad you want me,” you tempt. 

He finally listens and nods his head. You watch as he lowers his hand to his shaft, rubbing the leaking precum on his tip. He bites his lip as he does this, reveling in the much-needed friction. He pulls his foreskin back, revealing his red tip. He pumps his hand along his length slowly, taking in the sight of you on your knees. You were weak looking up at him, biting your lip softly as you watched him. He was too luring, too attractive to think clearly but he waited on baited breath for your next instruction.

“That’s right baby, just like that. Does that feel good?” You beckon.

He nods his head at you, looking drunkenly at you.

“Yes, mama. But I want you to help me,” he quivers.

“I will baby, keep going,” you tell him standing up, wrapping your hand too close around his, helping him move more. His eyes grow wide as he looks down on you. His eyes were pleading for more, anything to help him feel good. 

You push him backward and he sits down when the back of his knees hit the bed. You sink to your knees again and get in between his spread legs. You gently pull his hand off of his length and put yours on it, pumping it slowly, and watch as his jaw falls open. Your other hand cups his balls and gently squeeze them before starting to suck on his cock. He lets out a guttural groan that makes your toes curl.

“Oh God baby,” he gasps.

You swirl your tongue around his head, making his hips buck up into your mouth more. You quickly take him out of your mouth and give him an accusatory look.

“You better hold still,” you command. He squirms a bit at your tone, his eyes still soft and needy.

“Baby I’m sorry. I-I’m just so sensitive. You feel too good to sit still,” he whimpers, lowering his eye contact like a scolded child.

“If you won’t sit still, then I won’t help you come. You don’t want that now do you?” You say with a smirk.

He quickly shakes his head no and adjusts himself on the bed, putting his hands on the sides of him. You smile at him and take his cock in your hand again, leading it to your mouth. You continue to suck only on the tip of him and he lets out a pent-up groan. He doesn’t move like he was told but you can tell he is dying for more. You move slowly, taking your time as you lick and suck more of his length into your mouth.

“Fuck you look so good with my cock in your mouth,” he groans. 

You look up at him and he looks blissfully fucked out of his mind. He was taking short, shallow breaths the more you sucked on him and the way his eyebrows were furrowed made him look so damn attractive. You couldn’t get enough of the sight before you. His naked body was absolute perfection and he was all yours. 

He was so focused on you and only you. The way he was cussing your name after you took another inch of him in your mouth had you clenching your thighs together. You weren’t the one who was supposed to be teased, it was him who needed to be played with. You pumped the rest of his length in your hand, getting him closer and closer to finishing. You try to take most of his length inside you until he hits the back of your throat, making you gag a bit. He loves it, making his hips buck up.

“Goddamn mama, ahh- you feel so good,” he slurs. You keep sucking on him like this, moving slowly and then taking more of his cock deep inside your throat.

All the while, your hand slithers down to your sensitive bud and gently rubs it. You’re ultra-sensitive and moan when you feel the slight friction you give yourself. He groans when he feels you moan with him in your mouth. Your fingers spread the wetness he’s created and want him all over again. He made you such a needy mess and you were sure he was so proud of himself for it. Elvis groans louder as you keep playing with yourself. 

“Baby, are you touching with yourself?” he whimpers. You don’t respond to him right away, you just keep rubbing your clit and moan slightly as you work yourself to climax too. The sound of your arousal being spread by your fingers answered his question and he squeezes your arm. He was dying having no control, you could sense it. He wanted to fuck you so bad but he knew he wasn’t going to get his way. The fact he couldn’t see you tease yourself was torture alone for him. But he doesn’t move and keeps letting you take his cock the way you wanted to.

“I-I need-, fuck honey please you’re killing me. I can’t hold on much longer,” he moans to you. 

You look up at him through wet eyelashes and your eyes plead for him. You want him to come apart in your mouth. Your tongue licks on the underside of his shaft and relax your mouth, letting his cock hit the back of your throat. His hips stutter into you and he grips onto your hair tightly, letting his warm, thick seed coat your mouth. You groan with him, loving the sounds he’s making. 

“Oh yes mama, yes. Takin’ my cock so damn good,” he whimpers. His voice makes your core clench around nothing and your arousal only spills out of you more. Nothing gets you more turned on than the sound of him praising you. You move your head up and down his cock and let him move his hips a bit to help you take more of him.

His cock pulses a few more times and he slowly loosens the grip he has on your hair. You start to take his length out of your mouth, being careful to not spill any of him. You sit back on your heels to look up at him. He looks drunk on you and his chest still heaves a bit. You make sure you have his full attention when you’re about to swallow his load. You watch his pleading blue eyes look into yours and he nods his head. You swallow a few times, taking in all of him. You’re left a bit breathless as the ache in your core only throbs worse.

He reaches his hand out for you and quickly pulls you up on his lap. The wetness in between your legs spreads onto his thigh and you squeal because of it. He doesn’t do anything about it right away though. He was still too much of a haze after what you just did to him. He was still so needy and needed your lips on his. He grabs your face and pulls you in for a kiss. It was intense and passionate, his tongue tangling with yours making you heave. It felt like he couldn’t get enough of you. You knew that to be a fact and felt smug about it.

He gently pulls away from you, brushing back the hair that has fallen on your face.

He smiles at you, “God you are too damn much,” he quips.

“I’m sorry that I caused you such suffering,” you tease.

“Oh, by all means, please make me feel like that more often,” he chuckles going in for another kiss. You try to calm and soothe each other but it’s too hard to do. He felt how needy you still were and you knew he wanted to take care of you.

But there wasn’t any rush, he wanted to take his time. He looks deeply into your eyes, staring like he just made a new discovery.

“What is it, baby?” You say softly, tracing his lips with your finger.

“I just love you, I love you so damn much. It just hit me I finally feel whole. There’s nothing I’m missing. I have everything I could ever want,” he coos.

His words hit you straight in the heart, love pounding away in your chest.

“I know me too. I’ve never felt like this.” You tremble. He smiles softly, kissing your forehead and laying you down on the bed. He lays on top of you, smothering you with kisses and gentle caresses as you both tremble with emotion.

“I’m here, I’m going to take care of you forever,” he says gently, placing a kiss on your cheek.

“Yes please,” you sigh.

“I’m going to love you forever,” he says into your neck, gently nipping there. You gasp at the sensation, your body pushing into his more.

“Yes please, Elvis.”

He covers your body in wet kisses all the way down to your toes. He makes his way back up to your face, admiring the woman before him.

“Always,” he coos, wrapping you in his arms. Taking you through the stars, just you and him, in this slice of heaven you’ve found yourself in.

*

August 1973

The hum of excited conversation and laughter fills the suite. You too were giddy with excitement for this party. Elvis just had his opening night at The Hilton for his summer engagement here. He was absolutely electric with his new set. He had those familiar nerves when he got up on stage. That left leg of his shaking to the beat of the song and looking damn good in a black jumpsuit. 

No matter how many times you see him perform, you will never be able to hide the huge smile you have and how red your cheeks turn when you watch him. He knows it too. He moves his hips a certain way and you can’t help but squirm in your seat. It was insinuating too much. 

You were brave enough to walk up to the stage and wait for a kiss from him. It stopped him dead in his tracks, staring at you with the most cheeky grin on his face. 

“Well hello honey. What can I do for you?” He teased, making the whole audience bust out laughing. 

You beckon him to come closer with just the motion of your finger. He slyly grins and laughs into the microphone. 

“You want a kiss baby is that whatcha want? My wife wants a kiss, ladies and gentlemen.” He announces boisterously. The entire place bursts out into applause and he kneels in front of you at the edge of the stage. He drops the microphone at his feet and you reach on your tippy toes to kiss him. 

You kiss him with passion flowing through your veins. He grabs onto your face with both of his hands, a big smile forming on his face. You hold his face too, sighing as you kiss those lips. You pull away from him and he kisses your cheek, pausing by your ear. 

“Naughty, naughty girl,” he whispers, sending a tingle straight to your core. You just smile sweetly at him and wink, but he knows what effect he’s left on you. 

He picks up the microphone again, shaking his head, “lord have mercy,” he mumbles breathlessly, “Sorry everyone I’m losin’ control up here.” He jokes, making the crowd roar in more laughter. 

You check your outfit one more time in the mirror before joining the party. You went out shopping to buy something extra nice for his opening night party. You went for a sparkly black fringed tank top that had a little v-cut that showed the top of your breasts. It was cropped and showed your midriff a little with the matching fringe skirt that came to your mid-thighs. You wore your black boots that came to your mid-thighs. You felt pretty with your hair curled and your cheeks rosy with blush. You sparkled every time you moved. The finishing touch was the TLC necklace that Elvis gave you. It sparkled so easily with all the diamonds encrusted on it. It rested between your breasts, drawing attention to that area. You didn’t care about possible eyes staring at you. This was Elvis’ party and you only wanted to look nice for him. 

You mingle with the guests, everyone being sweet and cordial to you. Anna spots you in the crowd and is so happy to see you. It had been a few weeks since you saw each other and always had so much to catch up on. She visited you often at Graceland this summer. It was so nice to have a friend like her. She got used to your new life being a vampire. It didn’t freak her out as much as it used to and wasn’t afraid of anything you told her. 

Things had never been better with you and Elvis. You didn’t know you could be so happy and fulfilled with someone. He took off most of the summer months to be with you. You were spoiled beyond belief and he couldn’t stay away from you. He wasn’t lying when he said he was never going to let you out of his sight. After everything was done here in Vegas with Raphael, you both returned to Graceland. It was so beautiful and peaceful. He taught you how to ride a horse and you both would ride around the property for hours just talking. When you weren’t doing that, you were locked in his bedroom doing unspeakable things to each other. You were going to miss having his attention on you twenty-four hours a day. But he takes any performance seriously and was very focused on this new engagement. He has this newfound confidence about him and it showed on stage. He was just getting better with ‘age.’

You both find a seat by the window and catch up on everything you can. Your mind does wander to where Elvis might be but you’re sure he’s being a good host and mingling with his guests. 

As you continue to talk to Anna, a shiver runs down your spine. You snap your attention to the crowd of people standing around you both. On the other side of the room, Elvis’ luring eyes find yours. Oh lord, the way he was looking at you… it made you feel on fire. You knew what that look meant. You had gotten this look many, many times before. His eyes burned into your body, need and lust flowing through him. You couldn’t look much longer at him or the heat in between your legs would consume you. He was standing against the wall so casually but you knew he was dying for your attention. His appearance wasn’t that of a twenty-four-year-old, no, he looked like he was more in his thirties, looking as good as ever to anyone who laid eyes on him. His sideburns were longer and his hair looked fluffy and quaffed. 

He makes a come hither motion with his index finger and that’s all it takes for you to break away from your conversation with Anna. You walk through the sea of people, getting wide-eyed looks and whispers of how nice you look. You don’t pay attention to what they’re saying, you cannot tear your eyes away from his heated gaze. You get close enough to see what he’s wearing. He wore black leather pants and a leather jacket with nothing on underneath.

Jesus. You were weak. 

He was living, breathing, sex looking like this. You weren’t going to last a second being so close to him. He eyes you up and down, staring at you like prey. He pulls you into his arms quickly and holds you close. 

“Goddamn baby look at you,” he mumbles drunkenly. You just smirk at him and look at him closer. 

“And look at you. Looking quite nice in that leather,” you quip, running your fingers in his thick hair. He keeps staring at you, not caring how lewd those looks were. 

“I need you to know… you are making every single man in here, human or vampire, absolutely ravenous for you,” he growls in your ear, nipping softly on your ear lobe. He pushes your body firmly against his, feeling his hardening length push into your tummy. You take in a sharp breath, not giving in to him just yet.

“Oh, how terrible. I’m so sorry I’m so distracting for you,” you tease. 

“Is this the new outfit you bought yourself?” He asks. 

“Yes, it is. I don’t have to ask if you like it,” you quip cheekily. 

He smirks at you and nods his head, “Mhmm. I hate it. I hate how much it makes me want to flip up that short skirt and fuck you senseless right now.” He says hotly as he grabs a handful of your ass. You stare at him wide-eyed and feel the blood rush to your core. God, you couldn’t help but want him. It just became such an easy thing with him. One look from him and you’d find yourself shredding the clothes off his body and begging for his attention. 

“Elvis, there’s people watching,” you hiss. 

“I don’t care, let them watch,” he grumbles, squeezing you tighter and going in for a kiss. 

You melt into him, kissing him fervently. He pauses and pulls you around the corner. The little half bath is right there by the front door and he quickly pulls you in it, locking the door behind him. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” You say, trying not to giggle. He walks forward, pinning you to the wall, his hand above your head and his other on your waist. His gaze was intense and the mood in here was the same. You couldn’t breathe the way he was looking at you.

“What am I doing? Giving you exactly what you want,” he groans, nipping at your neck.

Damn him. You couldn’t hide anything from him and it was true. You wanted him to fuck you senseless right here right now.

Your heart gallops wildly and sigh into all of his touches. He doesn’t tease you for long, he doesn’t have the patience for that tonight. He turns you around quickly and bends you over at the waist, bringing your hips back to line up with his. You brace yourself on the sink and look back at him. He lifts up your skirt, exposing your lace panties to him. He lets out a pleased hum when he admires what you’re wearing.

“So pretty,” he smirks. You feel him tear at the thin delicate fabric with his fingers and your core becomes exposed to him. You knew you were embarrassingly wet already, the pulse in between your legs kept growing the longer you stood here. Elvis starts to unbutton the rest of his jacket, opening it up completely to expose his torso. 

“Here’s what I want you to do baby,” he hums. You hear the sound of his zipper clicking down and the heavy thud of his pants when they hit the floor. “I need you to watch yourself in the mirror. Look how pretty you are when you take my entire cock,” he coos, moving your head forward to the mirror. You stare at him wide-eyed in the reflection, in complete shock of his request. You wouldn’t be able to take this. It was torture. The last time he made you watch yourself in the mirror, you had never been more of a mess.

“Oh God, baby,” you whimper. You feel his tip tease at your entrance, gathering the slick that’s seeping out of you. “I can’t.”

“Yes you can honey, you’ll love it,” he teases. 

You can’t make any more excuses because he plunges his entire cock inside of you, making you cry out for him. Your jaw falls slack and your eyebrows furrow together as you feel him fill you completely.

“Ohmygod,” you whimper looking at yourself. You try to adjust to his size, you were tight around him and he groans when he feels this

“Mmm, sucha good girl,” he praises as he starts to thrust in and out of you. Your breathing becomes uneven and you hold on tightly to the sink. Each thrust made you wetter and easier to take all of him but it was still so intense. He wasn’t going to make love to you slow and tenderly, no, not tonight. He was going to fuck you just like he said he would.

“Look how pretty you are baby,” he praises, smoothing your hair off your face. You nod your head and press your lips together, not wanting to let out the loud groans you normally would.

His hips drive into you, and the sound of his skin slapping against yours fills the small bathroom. You continue to watch yourself, unable to handle much more of this. He makes these pleased, groans when he takes you hard and fast. You let your head fall down as he fucks you harder. He doesn’t like that though. All he asked you to do was watch yourself and you can’t even do that. You feel his hand gather your hair and he pulls your head up swiftly. He pulls out of you and leaves you moaning for him to be back inside of you. 

You look up at him in the reflection, groaning in agony.

“What did I say, baby? What did Daddy say,” He says low, his tone stern and powerful. 

You hesitantly make eye contact with him in the mirror, his presence too overwhelming. 

“Daddy said to watch myself get fucked,” you whimper. His tip teases your over-sensitive entrance making you squirm. He swiftly spanks your ass briefly, making you freeze.

“Mhmm, hold still mama,” he instructs.

“Yes, Daddy."

He thrusts his hips into you slowly, nodding his head at you.

“That’s right baby, just like that. Sucha good girl, keep watching yourself. Look at how much you like my cock inside of you.” He says as he thrusts his cock deeper, making your jaw drop. He was right of course, he felt so damn good and couldn’t get enough. Each movement he made has you rolling your eyes back. He had you right where he wanted you and the sounds of his grunts had your core flutter. You can’t help but glance at how he looks right now.

Dear god, he looks so good. You feel physically weak with the way he’s looking at you. The way his eyes have that heavy droop to them makes him somehow more attractive. The way the leather jacket hung off his body so effortlessly and how he bit his lip as he fucked you harder. He was loving every second of this by the sounds of it. It was as if he deprived of you. You had to tear your eyes away from the distractingly gorgeous man behind you or you were afraid he was going to stop.

Your eyes move back to your own reflection and you press your lips together, moaning softly as he fills you to the hilt. He gently grabs your hand and pulls it to the front of your body. Your fingertips find your swollen folds and how dripping wet you are. You gasp at the sensation and stare at him helplessly. 

“Touch yourself, baby girl. You feel how wet you are around me? You feel so damn good,” he growls in your ear as he thrusts slowly into you. The sound of how wet you are grows louder each time he moves and makes you want to die right here and now. You nod your head in the mirror and touch yourself, gathering the slick that’s there and rubbing your clit. Your breathing hitches the more you touch yourself, making you want to come apart quicker. 

The coil in your belly tightens the longer you do this and the way Elvis is moving inside you only makes it worse. You look at your current state in the mirror and looking a complete mess. Your eyes were pleading silently for him to make you come and your legs began to feel weak. 

“Daddy?” You whimper. 

“What is it, baby?” He grunts through his teeth. 

“I need to come. Please make me come,” you beg. 

His lips firm into a sly grin as he pounds into you, bringing you closer to the edge. 

“No, not yet baby. You can come when I am close,” he teases. 

You cry out in frustration, not sure you can hold on any longer. He watches how you were silently obeying him whether you like it or not. He looks at you with a luring gaze, watching his favorite meal squirm away under him. 

“Or…” he says low, “you can beg for it,” he says low, grinding his hips into you. 

Your brain feels scrambled and you don’t have it in you to fight him or anything he says. You nod your head at him in the reflection and gasp for breath. 

“Please Daddy, oh please,” you cry. 

He cocks his head a bit when he looks at you, taking his length out of you swiftly. You cry for him, not expecting him to do that. 

“You’re going to have to do a lot better than that sweetheart,” he says devilishly. You push your hips back and just need him to touch you again. You look at him in the mirror helplessly, aching for any kind of help. 

“Daddy, please. Please I need you!” You cry loudly. 

“What do you need baby?” He asks. 

“I need your cock baby. Please fuck me like you said you would,” you beg. 

He quickly makes you stand up and turn around. His eyes look like they’re on fire, so turned on and full of power. He lifts you up and has you wrap your legs around his waist as he pushes you up against the wall. You grunt when you feel the wall hit your back and he swiftly plunges his cock inside you again. You wrap your arms around his neck and hold onto him. You cry out for him once more and stare directly into his heated eyes. 

“Oh Daddy,” you gasp. 

He has a pleased smirk on his face as he fucks you harder and makes it impossible to think clearly. His hands squeeze onto your thighs tightly and moans your name as he gets closer to finishing. 

“All mine baby, mine,” he growls. 

“Yes, yes I’m yours, baby,” you gasp as he snaps his hips into you. 

“Good girl. Come with me. I want to see you come,” he demands. 

You nod your head at him fervently, silently thanking him because you wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer. A few more thrusts inside of you and your pleasure skyrockets, holding onto him for dear life. Your core squeezes around him and look at him as he’s about to finish too. His eyes squeeze together and he groans loudly when he finishes inside of you. It was all too much and you absolutely loved it. You both are breathless and clutching onto one another. 

He covers your neck in kisses and starts to nip ravenously. You could feel how much he needed you, how he squeezed you tighter to keep you up against the wall. Your skin gets pricked with goosebumps the longer he nips and sucks on your neck. You lift his head up and want to look into his eyes. His fangs were descended and he bit the inside of his cheek as he looked at you. He was so hungry and needy. 

“Bite me,” you whimper.

He makes a low groan and goes straight for your neck, biting into it carefully. He takes his time drinking your blood, softly whimpering as he swallows. Your eyes can’t help but look at the sight in the mirror. Your bodies are still intertwined and your face has pleasure written all over it. His large hands consume your flesh as he feeds from you. His hair is now messy and has fallen on his forehead. The sight was quite erotic and you couldn’t help but like it. 

Mine, your brain screams. 

He gently takes his fangs out of you and looks at you softly. It wasn’t the same man a few minutes ago that was dominating and possessive. He wanted comfort and love now. He gently pulls himself out of you and sets you on the ground, holding you to his chest. He runs his hands through your hair and kisses your head tenderly. 

“Did you like that Daddy?” You ask innocently. He smirks at you, chuckling softly, “yes. I liked it a lot,” he says as he places a kiss on your lips. “Do you remember the first time we were in here together? When you first started?” He asks with a laugh. 

How could you forget! It was the next day after you two first started fucking each other and you were doing everything in your power to not succumb to his seductive nature. It clearly did not work. 

“Yes, how could I forget,” you say cheekily. 

“Well, I uhh… what we just did… that’s exactly what I wanted to do to you that day. I just wasn’t sure if you wanted it like that,” he says smugly. 

You can’t help but look at him dumbfounded, not believing that he was thinking such things so early on. 

You playfully hit him on the arm, “Elvis! My God you’re too much! You would have put me in a coma! My poor human heart couldn’t have handled that,” you tease. 

He can’t help but laugh and bring you to his chest again. 

“You’re the one that’s too much. But I wouldn’t want it any other way,” he teases, pulling your skirt back down. 

“You look so damn good tonight baby. I don’t know how I’m gonna stop myself from touchin’ ya,” he teases. 

“I’m sure you’ll manage,” you quip, “But… if you need me, you know where to find me…” you say, giving him a little wink as you reach for the door handle.

He stops you abruptly, pulling you back in close. He gives you this look, a similar one he gave you when he first saw you walk in those suite doors. 

Pure love and awe.

“I love you, more than you’ll ever know,” he coos, his lips inches away from yours.

“I love you too, baby. Remind me how much you do as often as you want,” you say sweetly, kissing his perfect lips.

“Always… it’s what I was made to do.”

*

*

*

Tagging:

@burninlovebutler

@neptuneismysister @velvetelvis @ccab @presleyenterprise @theresalwaysep

@prompted-wordsmith @sillybookmarks @dkayfixates @ellie-24 @rktismylife-blog

@myradiaz @tacozebra051

@thatbanditqueen

@18|kpeters @flwrs4aust @emma181873

@austinswhitewolf @eliseinmemphis

@everythingelvispresley @chasingwildflowers @idontwanttoputanything. @ohjustpeachy_

@elvisalltheway101 @austinsmutler @kingdomforapony.

@generoustreemystic @claire-elvisgirl

@ashtag6887 @burnthheparaphilia @richardslady121

@jaqueline19997

@returntopresley. @iloveelvis @rimartin11@that-hotdog.

@louisejoy86 @misspresley @cattcb @annapresley8

@arrolyn1114 @raginginkedslut @epthedream69

@mh777ep1938

@50sexyshadesfashionista

@oldhOllywOod @hooked-on-elvis @livelovedilfs @sloppiest-of-jos

[leclsrc]

Hello!! May I request a charles leclerc fluff drable where he's like always staring at y/n (in a non-creepy way hehe) and like just has a big crush on her even when they're dating already type of thing? or something? tysm!

something – cl16

Looking can be so similar to loving—just ask Charles.

auds here... title from this. also i feel it is the one of the best ‘so enamored ur moving in slow mo’ songs...

A blue dress. Deep blue, satin, wrapped around your figure like you’re a dream that’s his.

There are moments where Charles’ world slows when he sees you, and this is one of them, a year into dating. Suddenly he feels like he’s a teen seeing his first racing car, or a kid seeing Star Wars all over again. Nothing else matters but this—but you, in this deep blue dress, your arms swinging around as you dance to the upbeat music that plays at this dinner party.

Someone’s clutched your hand and twirled you around, so quick your hair falls over your face. He wants to pick you up, let his hands wring around your waist and hug you close, close, closer. He wants to wipe the hair from your face, press a kiss to your cheek, then your nose, then your lips, taste the martini there, smell the sea and the two spritzes of perfume on your jaw.

You move in slow motion, every ripple of your dress, every tendril of hair over your eyelashes. You’re laughing, tipsy, when your friend hugs you close, moving the both of you into a shitty waltz. Jesus, you’re so pretty. 

“Charles!” You’re saying. He blinks, and your eyes are meeting his, smiling with the rest of your face. The French summer has tinged your cheeks with the heat, your left shoulder peeling with a sunburn. Even now in the evening, when it hides, it’s managed to follow you still, blinding and beautiful. An arm stretches out, a hand, then a finger. Come on, you’re saying, dance with me!

It’s your favorite song that’s playing, some disco tune that has you hopping excitedly, hips swaying in the kind of way he can’t ever get his eyes off of. He knows this because it’s one of the ones at the top of his Spotify statistics, what with how often you’re using his phone to launch impromptu dance parties while cooking or cleaning or driving. 

So he does, gets up from where he’s been sitting while everyone else dances. He’d been undoing his tie, then two buttons on his polo, nursing Scotch (between you both, you like to say, he’s the boring drinker and you’re the fun one.) You shimmy your shoulders when his hand locks with yours, a smile stretching onto your face when he pulls you close and wraps the same arm around your waist. The song hasn’t yet reached its crescendo, so you sway softly, smiling like idiots.

“Hi, beautiful,” he says, eyes lidded from the alcohol and the feeling of being this near you.

“Hey there, handsome. Here often?”

“Just passing by, actually.” He pauses. “I saw a beautiful girl from the entrance and couldn’t help myself.”

You laugh, letting him twirl you as the chorus begins, both of you moving to the ever-familiar beat of this song and using the same moves you use at home, when it’s just the two of you. That’s exactly how it feels, though: like it’s just you both, dancing and laughing. When he finally moves your hair aside and presses a kiss to your lips, the world slows all over again. 

—

His world whirs into slow motion when Pascale is laughing at one of your jokes.

“I’m funnier than your son,” you say when she’s wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. Across the brunch table, finger tapping against the white linen tablecloth, Charles’ eyes are stuck on you. Nobody notices his stare of adoration, because it’s so usual, so ordinary, for him to be looking at you so intently, and with so much love.

You’re wearing a white dress that you’d been wiping your palms over nervously in the car, asking him to repeat a crash course of his family over and over until it was the only thing your mind was capable of retaining. Yet for all your nerves, you’d blended in exceptionally well with everyone at the table, over salmon and pasta and tea and biscuits.

Pascale had ushered you in with the urgency of every mother, a hand around your shoulder, pointing out members of the family, fixtures on the wall. There’s a story behind everything. Behind stains, scratches, pictures, peeled-off labels. You’d let her tell you everything. 

A smile makes its way onto your face when you see Pascale fail to stop laughing over your joke, her hand clenching yours. Your eyes meet his, and he can see the excitement in them—the joy of having this happen. He hopes you can read him equally well, hopes you can see how excited he is, too, for this to be happening, for you to be so loved by the people that matter most to him.

A hand comes up to tuck hair behind your ear, lips pursing to prevent your smile from widening. No, he wants to say, I want to see you smile. Everything. Show me everything. You’re beautiful.

“You really are,” says Pascale, and the two of you turn to smile softly at him. This is love, he thinks, and he wishes time never quickens ever again.

—

The book this week is Love in the time of Cholera. You try to read one book every two weeks, but lately you’ve been forgetting—last night you’d firmly resolved to start again, and you’re hooked on the words already.

The thin blanket of your bed is the only thing shielding you from the cold, your bare back turned to him as you continue to read the chapter. Charles sees you and wishes he was half as good as you. You’re stupid, you’d said with genuine concern when he told you this once. Have you even seen yourself? And you praised him, listed every last amazing thing about him.

Still, he wasn’t convinced. There may have been awards and videos and celebrations for him, but he wishes he was good enough for you sometimes. Your intelligence, your wit, your beauty. Your ability to get up and read a book in the morning. Your capacity to love. He can’t believe you’re his, all his, this beautiful girl is truly all his.

His world slows again, time ticking into slow motion as he watches you passively. Every few moments there’s the sound of the page turning, and your slow breathing makes up the rest. He wants to paint a picture on your back, make you his canvas, so he can think of another way to convey his immense, all-encompassing love for you.

Genuinely, he thinks he’d be incomplete without you. He conveys this in the way he stares, the way he admires, like you’re a sculpture in the Louvre and he’s at the front of the line. But he’s the only one in line, and he’ll be damned if somebody shows up behind him. 

You pause; the noise of the blanket rustling and your book shutting snaps Charles back to reality. Without turning, your voice penetrates the silence. “What are you doing?” With sleep and unuse, your voice is raspy.

“Looking at you.” He answers slowly.

Your eyes meet his, eyebrow raising as you turn slightly. “Why?”

“Just…” he pauses. It’s impossible to articulate why. So he says instead, “Just looking.”

—

When a race is won, reaches its climax and its end all at once, it’s a noisy affair.

Tonight, there are fireworks, music, the pulse of excitement in the crowd that celebrates Leclerc’s P1. Everything moves fast, fast, fast—interviews, cheers, arms wrapped around him, worshipping him, fans screaming. Then it’s the media pen, questions over and over, then he’s packing up, tallying points, having debriefs.

He tugs off his helmet. Everything is fast, even in his moment of winning. Fast and quick and heavy. But he seeks something, something to make time slow—

And finds her, wearing a too-big Ferrari shirt (courtesy of Joris getting the sizing all wrong) in the crowd by the pit lane, beautiful as ever. You’re waving, your enthusiasm in your whoops of encouragement. You blow a kiss, and time is slow again. He watches you grip the front of the shirt and present it proudly, the big 1-6 embedded on it. He’s yours, yes, he is.

I love you, you mouth slowly. He nods back—it’s more than enough. Then you’re making a shoo motion with your hand, decorated with bracelets that match his. Go, you’re saying, go and be the winner, be the best driver. Later, you’ll be mine, just mine, just Charles.

He’s whisked away to do an interview, but his eyes are stuck on yours, excited and proud. You never usually like watching races, out of fear, but Charles insists you do, presses a kiss to your forehead and promises everything will be okay. You end up digressing almost every time.

“I’d imagine this win is the highlight of the week,” says the journalist smugly, then extends the mic to Charles’ lips.

He shakes his head a little. “Just one of them,” he responds, smiling. 

—

A necklace with an initial on it, a thin silver ring across your middle finger, a matching bracelet on your wrist.

“Who is that?” Charles asks dazedly, shoulder bumping Carlos’. An explanation is fed into his ear, someone who knows someone knows her and invited her to attend this dinner. It’s getting late in London, and he’d been prepared to get to his car and go to his hotel, but suddenly he’s distracted, stopped in his tracks.

It almost feels weird to have time slow so much like this.

Even when he’s in a racing car, or winning, or when a car careens off track and time seems to hang in the balance—nothing has made him feel this way before. He watches you laugh, play with the neckline of your black top and listens to your ring clink against your glass of champagne.

Your hair is tied into a loose bun, framing your face, your lips making animated conversation with someobody else. He wants to hear your voice, make you smile, see how you react to his own jokes. Time crawls when he thinks of you, moves like a turtle walking through honey.

So later, when he’s almost abandoned the idea of introducing himself, he finds you clicking your car keys on the sidewalk. He clicks his, watches the lights of his Ferrari blink open, and you turn to him, smiling coyly.

You open your mouth, and say: “So you’re the cute dickhead who can’t park?”

Again, time moves in slow motion, your bun coming undone as you turn, hair falling over your back, arms crossing over your torso. Your high heels click softly against the pavement as you listen to him stutter out an introduction, an apology for the shit parking. This is it, he thinks, the start of something absolutely beautiful.

If he’s looked at you now, he thinks, he can’t ever look away. He hopes he doesn’t ever have to.

[heavenlyakin]

Illicit Affairs

Vampire!Atsumu Miya x Fem!Reader - MINORS DNI

cw: 18+, minors DNI, reader is a british socialite, monster-fucking, religious imagery and language (reader isn’t necessarily religious but mentions god and the devil in the Christian sense), vore (bloodsucking), atsumu picks reader up, she falls a lot so if that annoys you don’t read this, “whore” is used in a derogatory way, Atsumu has electricity bc obvs (vampire science is better), violence (beheading on page and murder mention), age gap (like obvs he’s a vampire), virginity loss, oral (f. and m. receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, general smut, and violence on page. 

wc: ~15k 

a/n: This is long. I’m sorry. However, I had the best time writing it, so maybe I’m not sorry. I would like to thank Kashi, Mimi, and Rue for all your time listening to me rant about this fic, reading it, giving me suggestions, and just being great friends to me. I hope you enjoy this short story! Happy Halloween! 

–

Outside London, October 1845. 

Right foot first. 

As the music blasts through the chapel from the band to your right, you realize you can’t breathe. You try to inhale, but it does nothing. Seeing Graham standing at the end of the aisle makes you wish you’d skipped tea. 

Left foot. 

Your eyes scan the room, looking for the blonde head of hair of the woman your future husband has been fucking on the side. She’s from a London brothel, but Graham has given her an apartment outside of town and an allowance to live on. 

Right foot. 

Graham smiles at you. 

Left foot. 

All the smiling faces make you want to scream. Your father's hold on your arm, the bouquet, and the dress all feel suffocating—the dress’s pretty sleeves lined with baby blue lace and thread might as well be handcuffs. 

Right foot. 

He’s only a few steps away now. You spot the blonde face you don’t immediately recognize, two rows from the front. He would allow her to sit that close? It’s embarrassing enough to have the bridesmaids gossiping about it while you were dressing, but to sit her so close… it hurts. 

Left foot. 

The music comes to its crescendo. You have to get out of here. 

Right foot. 

You have to get out of here. 

One last step. 

Graham smiles at you again, his teeth pearly white and perfect. His green eyes sparkle. His brown hair combed back with product making him look older. As the music dies down, your father whispers something to you, but you can’t hear it. 

The Priest steps forward, his lips moving, the cross dangling from the long chain on your neck swings from left to right. It gets hushed, everyone on the altar looking at you and your father too. 

Did they say something to you? 

“Apologies, can you repeat that?” You smile the best you can, and the Priest smiles back. 

“We just need you to step forward,” the Priest answers and you realize your father agreed to give you away to Graham. 

Your father had released his arm from yours, and you realize nothing is holding onto you anymore. You look to your father, his sweet supportive smile greeting you. Turning back to face Graham, you try to take a step forward, up onto the altar but your legs shake. 

You can’t do this. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, dropping the beautiful bouquet to the ground. 

Turning, you feel your father's fingers on your dress sleeve, but you don’t give him time to grip on. You’re darting back down the aisle and out of the chapel. Your feet move faster than your mind, only able to think one thing. 

Please don’t fall or break a heel. Please don’t fall or break a heel. 

The chapel is on the outskirts of town, and running north of it takes you into the woods. You trip as you begin to climb the hill, your shoes catching on roots and debris. You push yourself off the ground, seeing your dress's hem is already caked in mud. Shaking your head, you ignore it and take off as fast as you can. The incline stops soon, and you’re fighting through the underbrush. 

The sun is setting, lighting everything in an orange glow as the fog begins to set in the forest. You’re still running, well, running would be a stretch. Your breathing is heavy and your lungs burn with each inhale. How long has it been since you took off from the chapel? The wedding began at 6, and with the sun setting you believe it’s nearing 7. 

How much distance can you put between you and them in an hour? 

You turn, looking back, and see only trees and brush. Even when you try to focus your eyes, you can’t see the lights from town. You must be at least a few miles into the forest now. You take off again, more at a speed walk than a run. Your legs are sore and your heels feel blistered in the heels you chose for this day. 

As you climb up another hill, you wonder what the fuck you’re doing. You could be off to your honeymoon now, two months traveling Europe and visiting castles and ruins. It would be warm in your rooms and only partly miserable, having to listen to Graham and suffering the consummation of the marriage. Not that you worried he’d be bad, but that you wouldn’t live up to what he's used to with that mistress of his. 

Graham isn’t friendly to be around alone, either. The few times you were left unsupervised he reminded you of the position you were in. Your mother ran off years ago, apparently with a sailor; ruining your family’s reputation, despite the wealth your father holds. Marrying him would restore your name, and he’d be the one to inherit your fortune since you are the only child of your father. 

He insulted you, a few times, but then smiled like he was saying something friendly. His kisses on your hand always lingered too long for your comfort. Something about him just made your skin crawl, honestly. The idea of spending the rest of your life with that man led you here to the woods. 

As you reach the top of the hill, it plateaus and the trees become more sparse, well if you can call it sparse. Looking around, the fog has entirely settled at the base of the trees and brush, making it hard to see. You slow down to a walk, letting yourself catch your breath as you go. You stumble on your dress and the fallen branches, making you fall on your face. Luckily, you caught yourself before your face took the brunt of it, but your right cheek does hit the ground. 

When you push yourself back up, you see a faint yellow glow across the way, through a few trees and bushes. You gather the skirts of your dress in your hands and make your way towards it, the chill in your body desperate for the hope of a fire. As you get close, you see the shadowy figure of a body, large and brooding. 

The light seems to be coming from a lantern, so you give up hope of getting warm anytime soon. You take a few more steps until you see what’s happening. The figure is digging a hole in the ground, a body lying beside the mound of dirt. As you step back, a twig snaps, and the figure turns towards you. 

You run again, getting a few feet away before you fall, your body hitting the ground with a thud. Unlike last time, you didn’t catch yourself. Your right ankle throbs and you worry you’ve broken it. As you turn to face away from the ground, the figure that was once yards away is now hovering over you. How did they get here so fast? It’s only been a few seconds. 

It’s a man, an extremely handsome man. His eyes glow gold, and it confuses you but something about it calms your nerves, even though you know you should be running. Yet, you’re frozen in place. 

He extends out his hand, and you see his nails are long, and sharpened to a point on the tips. “Are you in need of assistance, miss?” 

You nod your head, unable to make a sound. However, you still can’t move. Even if you took his hand, with your ankle throbbing the way it is, you’re certain you can’t walk. 

“Here, let me help you,” He leans down, and you notice something on his face. Is that blood or mud? In the light, you can’t tell. 

He picks you up, holding you bridal-style against his chest. His scent enthralls you, rose with a hint of mahogany. You inhale, the scent putting you at ease and your eyes flutter shut for a moment. 

This…, you think, this is what you’re supposed to feel on your wedding day. 

You shake the thought from your mind, opening your eyes and observing the man carrying you. His blonde hair falls over his forehead, his skin creamy smooth and almost glowing in the faint moonlight. 

“Who are you?” You find your voice. 

“Atsumu,” he answers. “Atsumu Miya.” 

You nod, looking forward and letting him carry you through the woods. You’re still well aware of the throbbing in your right ankle. “Where are you taking me?” 

“I live close by. You can rest there and clean up.” He says, still not looking at you. 

His eyes are focused on the forest ahead of him, and you wonder what close by means to him. It could be an hour if he considers that close. The sun has set now, and the only glow is from his eyes and the moon. He left the lantern back with the body… 

The body! He was burring a body! 

“Let me go!” You thrash against him and he holds you tighter, looking down at you with his eyebrows furrowed. “I said, let me go!” You yell this time. 

When your eyes meet his, something washes over you again and you begin to relax, no longer feeling the urge to fight. But… but… he was burying someone. A body! What was he doing back there? Why are you not fighting anymore? 

“Who was that back there? The body!” Even if you feel relaxed, you can still question him. 

Atsumu looks down at you, his face unreadable but his eyes giving that same intense look that he’s had on his face the whole time. 

“Nothing you should be concerned with.” He looks back ahead of you as he walks. 

The forest begins to open up, a clearing forming ahead. As you get closer, the frame of a large house… well, if you can call it a house. It looks more like a castle. The gates around the home open as Atsumu approaches, creaking as they go. The fog seems to have vanished, hiding out at the edge of the forest. 

Warm lights glow from inside the castle, and you wonder if running water is inside. In the last five years, running water has even been installed in the lower class homes, and with the amount of wealth, this castle shows… it must. A warm bath sounds so delightful now, you could almost beg for one. 

As if he’s read your mind he speaks, “I’ll have a bath drawn for you once we're inside.” 

You nod, looking up at him. He continues to look forward, but you see a vein bulging from his neck. Like something in him is straining. He seems to carry you just fine, so it can’t be you causing the strain. 

As the castle doors open, your eyes dart around to look everywhere. The entrance is grand, decorated in the latest fashion with dark wood, red rugs, and warm light glowing from every corner of the room. The staircase has a gothic feel, leading forward and then splitting to go left and right to the opposite wings of the castle. 

He carries you up the stairs that lead to the right wing of the castle, taking you down a long hall that curves as you go. A set of double doors open, as if he willed them to, and he sets you down on a forest green sofa. Your body relaxes into it, the soft cushions welcoming your sore bones. 

Atsumu brings the room to life with light, the chandelier lighting overhead. You admire the crystal work before looking around the bedroom. It’s larger than your father’s master bedroom in your estate back home. You watch as Atsumu sheds his cloak, lying it across a chaise near the four-poster bed. 

“Your bath should be ready, do you need assistance?” He asks, walking towards you and you shake your head. 

“I believe I can take it from here. Thank you,” you dismiss him. 

He doesn’t leave. He puts his hands behind him, stepping aside, so you can go through to what you assume is the bathing room. You stand, putting your weight on your left foot so you can try and make it to the bath. As you step on your right, you cry out in pain. You begin to fall, but strong arms catch you. 

“Stop being difficult, just let me assist you.” He growls, clearly frustrated with you now. 

He hooks his arms behind your body and lifts you again, taking you to the bathing room. There’s steam coming from the bathtub and your body aches for it. He sets you on a chair, his fingers moving to undo the buttons of your dress. You’re embarrassed, face heating more and more as his fingers lower on your back, exposing the corset beneath the bodice of the dress. 

“If you just get the corset undone, I think I can take it from here,” your voice feels small and weak. 

“I can help you to the tub,” he insists and you don’t feel like fighting. 

After the day you’ve had, there isn’t much fight left in you. 

You work on untangling the veil and pins from your hair as Atsumu unlaces the corset. His cold fingers brush your skin, and you begin to worry he’s freezing as well. Maybe you should let him bathe first… it is his home after all. 

“You should bathe and warm up first,” you turn your head over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of him as he pulls the last bit of the corset sting out. Your hands go up to catch the dress so you’re not exposed to him. 

“Don’t be foolish,” he shakes his head. “I’m fine.” 

“If you insist,” you give in, the warmth of the water sounding too good to fight him on. “Will you turn away?” 

He turns away, not looking as you slip out of the wedding dress, shoes, and undergarments. You’re able to wobble to the tub, holding onto its side as you step in and settle down into the hot water. The sigh you let out is necessary, and you sink into the water to your collarbones. 

“I think I can handle bathing myself for now,” you tell him and he nods. 

You watch as he leaves, taking in his looming figure. Letting yourself sink under the water, covering your entire body in warmth, you take in today's events. The town must be gossiping about how you’re just like your mother. Running off and ruining your reputation even further. 

Your father, your poor father. He must be a wreck missing you. Will he send people to search for you? 

The part of the woods you ran into is rarely foraged or hunted. The more you think about it, the more you begin to remember the old fairytales your friends would tell you about this forest. Stories of missing children, vampires, werewolves, and even fairies floating around the woods. Maybe you’ve stumbled into one of those legends that the town’s kids will tell others. The runaway bride and the handsome spooky suitor. 

You come up for air, laughing as you think about it all. 

“Oh dear,” you sigh to yourself, and then you feel the presence of someone else in the room. You sit up, pulling your knees to your chest, too fast. Your ankle shoots like pins and needles, making you cry out. 

Atsumu is kneeling by the tub instantly, and you try to conserve some modesty as he examines you in the tub. Your hands cover your cleavage, hoping your knees suffice for the remainder of your breasts, even with your ankle threatening to give out. 

“What is it? Is it your ankle?” He asks, eyes soft and focused on your face. 

You nod. “I think it’s broken.” You tell him, letting yourself stretch it out as you cover your breast with your hand. 

“May I?” He asks, his hand gesturing to your ankle. 

You nod. 

“Let’s see,” he dips his hand into the water, and you lay back, making it easier for him to lift your leg out of the water. 

His hands are cold on your skin, and you wonder how he deals with being this cool all the time. He feels around your ankle, and you notice it's slightly swollen. Your heels look torn up from the heels you wore, and you notice some of the water dripping from your heel is red. 

“Please be gentle,” you squeak, worried you’ll pester him. 

“I assure you,” he tells you smiling at you before his fingers begin to lightly feel out around your ankle. “I believe it’s just a sprain. No signs of a break.” He sets your foot gently back down into the tub. “Just some rest, ice, and a wrap will take care of it. I’ll see to your care while you’re here.” 

“What makes you think I’m staying here?” You shoot back, suddenly irritated. 

His eyes lock on yours, and that strange calmness settles over you again. Finally, you realize what that look in his eye is, it’s a hunger you’ve never seen. His whole body is tense, really, and you swear he swallows every time his eyes go to your throat. You swallow now, keeping your eyes on him and sitting back up in the tub, struggling to keep yourself covered. 

“C-can I have some of that soap?” You ask, looking at the rack behind him, loaded with different soaps and salts. “And a washrag?” 

He nods, turning his torso to grab a bar of lavender-colored soap and a rag from the shelf behind him. You realize as he holds it out, you have to uncover your breasts. Your heart pounds against your chest, your cheeks heat up, and your breath quickens. Some part of you wants him to look, wondering what he will say or do; but the years of your Governess teaching you that your body is only for your husband. 

But what does that matter now? You ran away from your fiance. You can’t go back nor do you want to. You move your hands from your breasts, taking the soap and rag from him, lathering it after dipping it in the water. 

“You have some cuts on your face, probably from the briars in the forest.” He says, not looking below your collarbone. “Would you allow me to treat them?” 

You nod and scrub the mud from your ankles and the dirt on your hands. Once you get to your heels, you realize the blisters have busted and could easily become infected. 

“You might need to treat my heels when you treat my ankle,” you say sheepishly. 

“Anything you need,” he tells you, gathering supplies at the medicine cabinet across the bathroom. 

You’re able to scrub yourself clean, even reaching out of the tub to grab a bottle of shampoo to scrub through your hair. You’re embarrassed by the amount of leaves you found. By the time Atsumu has returned to your side, you feel refreshed. 

“This may sting,” he tells you, before taking the white cloth and patting it gently to your forehead. 

He’s right it does sting. There must be half a dozen cuts on your face, you realize as he continues to clean the wounds. You didn’t notice it as you were running but with all the falling you did, it shouldn’t come as a surprise. 

“So, will you tell me what you were running from?” He asks finally, a few moments after cleaning the cut. He drops the cloth into the small bowl where he had the cleaning solution and puts it on the shelf behind him. 

He rests his elbows on the edge of the tub, cupping his face in his hands. When you look at him you can’t help but think how pretty he looks like this. 

“It’s a long story,” you say, sounding exasperated. 

“Trust me, I have all the time in the world.” He laughs like it’s an inside joke with himself. 

“I want to dry off before I give you the gossip of my tragic life.” You laugh, smiling at him. “Can I have a robe?” 

“Of course,” he leaves the bathroom, coming back with a red robe, holding it out for you. 

You stand, holding your weight on your left side and trying to balance and step out of the tub. As you step out, your foot catches on the tub and you begin to fall. Atsumu catches you, your wet naked body pressed against his. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, looking up at him through your lashes. It’'s embarrassing how many times you’ve fallen today, let alone the times he’s had to catch you. 

He swallows slowly, and you watch as his features change, his eyes darkening and jaw tensing. His arms tighten around you, pressing your breasts against him tighter. His face moves towards you, and your eyes go wide. 

His lips taste like iron but with a hint of sweetness. Your eyes flutter shut, and your lips move against his. You’ve never kissed anyone before, and now you see what all the girls giggle about behind their fans. His tongue swipes against your bottom lip and you part yours, letting him in. His fingertips dig into your skin. You grip his shoulders, steadying yourself on him. You break away first, gasping for air, unable to sustain yourself just on him. 

His eyes look even darker than before. He looks at you with that same hunger as earlier, and you feel something stir inside you that you’ve never felt before. What is this feeling? It’s like hunger but stronger and in your chest. Your heart is pounding so fast you worry it may explode. 

Is this desire? 

Atsumu clears his throat, “Let’s get those feet of yours treated.” He lifts you once more, carrying your wet body to the bedroom and laying you gently on the bed. “Stay here.” 

Like you’re equipped to run away from him after all this… 

He disappears down the hall for a few minutes, so you take your time examining the room around you. You had time before, but your mind was so foggy you wondered if there was anything you missed. Looking around, you see there are no mirrors in this room. That’s odd. 

“I found some bandages. They should help keep infection away,” Atsumu tells you as he walks into the bedroom. “Also, the cleansing solution will help. I’ll clean and change your wounds daily until they’re healed.” 

He sits on the bottom of the bed, taking your legs in his lap. 

“It may help if you lay on your stomach.” He smiles, looking at you. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” you roll around, laying on your stomach and propping yourself up with your elbows. 

You try to look over your shoulder, but the angle Atsumu sits at while cleaning and bandaging your heels and wrapping your right ankle so it doesn’t strain anymore. Once he’s done, you sit up, dangling your feet off the bed. 

“Can I get that robe now?” You ask, a laugh passing your lips. 

“Oh,” Atsumu blushes, and you smile. “Let me get that,” he goes to the bathroom, likely where he dropped it on the floor before catching you. “However, if I give you this robe…” he dangles it in front of you, just out of reach, “you have to tell me what happened to you.” 

You nod and he hands you the robe. You manage to stand just fine, slipping it on and tying it around you. With the wrap on your ankle, you find the throbbing has stopped and it’s fine to put some weight on it. Sitting back down, you let out a sigh. 

“So, I was supposed to get married today.” You tell him and he laughs. “What’s so funny?” 

“I find you in a wedding dress, clearly distraught, and that’s not obvious?” He sits down on the bed with you, crossing his legs and resting his arms on them. His hands fold into each other and his focus seems entirely on you. 

“Well,” you laugh, “you’re right.” Then, you get into the nitty-gritty. 

The engagement and how it came about due to your family reputation. Then the ex whore who sat front row at your wedding. Then the decision to run because of Graham and his terrible personality. All of it comes flooding out, and you don’t know when but at one point you start crying. 

“And my poor father,” you sob, “he must be so confused and worried and cross with me.” 

Atsumu flexes his hand like he wants to reach out to you, but something makes him stop. You look down at your own hands, in your lap, nails biting into the skin. Sometime during the retelling of your miserable day and engagement, you began squeezing them into fists. 

“I’m sure he would understand if you told him all this,” Atsumu says, his voice soft. “I can arrange for someone to take you back in the morning if you’re worried about him.” 

That’s the last thing you want. 

“Or not, it’s up to you.” He relents, probably reading the look on your face. “You can stay with me as long as you want.” He laughs, gesturing with his hand around the room. “I clearly have more than enough room.” 

“I don’t know how to thank you, truly.” You wrap your arms around your body, a chill running through you. “I’m in your debt.” 

Atsumu leans forward, and you wonder if he’s going to kiss you again. “You don’t have to thank me,” he touches your face softly, his skin still cold against yours. 

You yawn and realize you need to rest, seriously rest… perhaps for a week. “Where am I sleeping tonight?” 

His hand drops from your face and you swear you see a flash of disappointment on his face. “I have a room down the hall for you. I started a fire in there when you were bathing, so it should be warm by now.” 

“Th-” 

“You don’t need to thank me.” He interrupts, standing and holding his arm out for you to take. “Let's see if you can handle walking that far.” 

You hook your arm with his, knowing you’ll need him to support your right side. He walks slowly, staying at your pace as you limp down the hall to the room he points out. It’s only a few yards away from his bedroom. The fire is roaring in the fireplace, illuminating and warming the room. He helps you onto the four-poster bed, covering you in the thick blankets. 

“If you need anything, just call for me. I’ll leave the door open so I can hear you.” Atsumu smiles, his face warm and full of something you’re unsure of. 

Quite frankly, you’re unsure of a lot today. 

You thank him several more times, and he accepts them all with grace. He leaves the room after some time and you’re left staring up at the ceiling, wondering what tomorrow will bring. After the chaos of today, you’re sure it can’t be any worse. 

–

You awake and it’s not quite dawn out. Your ankle no longer feels like it’s throbbing, so you swing your legs off the bed and stand, unbalanced at first but after a few steps you’re fine to walk on your own. You grab a chamberstick and light it with the matches you find in a drawer near the fireplace. 

The hallway is dark, as you expected, but not too chilly. You walk down the long hallway until you come to the top of the stairs where Atsumu carried you in. You go past them to the other wing of the castle, which is much darker. No rooms have any glow coming from them and you wonder why. At the end of the hall, two grand doors are open and a faint fire is illuminating it. 

You hold out your candle, lighting the entrance, and realize it’s a library. Fumbling around you find the switch to turn on the lights, illuminating the room. The walls are lined with hundreds, no… thousands of books. The western part of the room goes back deeper than you could have imagined, with lines and lines of shelves holding books of all shapes and colors. 

The room is daunting, to say the least. 

There are several tables spread out, mostly clean with a book or two, but a desk catches your eye. Against the far wall in front of a row of windows, a long mahogany desk sits with stacks of books and several opened and tabbed in multiple places from what you can see. You approach the desk, interested to find out what Atsumu has deemed so interesting himself. 

The largest book is about 800 pages thick you’d guess, if not longer. It looks old, the ends of the pages frayed and yellowing. Looking at its contents you see there’s a language you can’t quite read, old English or German you presume by the looks of it. After carefully marking the page with a blank sheet of paper, you flip to another bookmark. 

This page is in English, listing names and dates of birth and death. You scan the names, none you recognize of course. The name Lestar is similar to your mother’s family name, Lesair.  However, something is strange about the dates… they’re too far apart. Many of them say they’re well into their third century of life before they die, some more than that. This can’t be right. Is this a fictional novel with a family tree given for context? 

You turn the page, showing a family tree with portraits of each of the names. They’re all eerily beautiful, the men and women. This family was surely blessed. The family tree continues into the next few pages until it abruptly stops in the late 1790s. A small asterisk with a note reading: 

Lost to history is the remainder of the bloodline that carried the sun's blessing. 

What could that mean? 

You shake your head, too tired to try and play games with a book. You flip back to the page it was left open on, placing the blank sheet of paper back in its stack. Turning your attention to the book to its right you see it has a family name on its spine, the same family name as the characters in the book you were flipping through. 

Opening the page, it looks to be biographies of each character. What dedication must an author have to write that out for each character in their stories? It’s something you can’t imagine plotting out, but you admire it. Placing it back down, you look to the left. Another stack of books, the one on top opened to the middle of the book. 

You sit on the chair, take the book, and mark the page with that same blank paper, turning to the first page. 

It is not known when we first awoke, but what is known is that we are not some fairytale come to life. The reign of Vampires ended in the early 1300s, but we still persist and exist in the far corners of the world. Tucked away we may be, the bloodlines of those still around are strong. 

You laugh. Atsumu is into Vampire lore? 

The page continues to give a brief history of vampire beginnings and how their bloodlines decreased as centuries passed. None of this was allowed in your schools or at home with your family. Anything that mentioned the unholy was strictly burned or taken by the church. 

After a few chapters, you place the book back, making a mental note to remember you’re at chapter 4 if you decide to come back to it. After you’re certain you’ve left everything exactly how you found it, you leave the library, turning the lights off as you go. 

The candle lights your way back down the hall and down the steps, following the trail of light to the right wing of the castle once again, this time just on the lower level. You pass what looks to be a kitchen, and then you enter a dark room that gives you chills as you step inside. With no light switch, you struggle down a few stone steps further into what reminds you of a dungeon or jail. 

“Water, please,” a hoarse voice chokes out and you jump back, managing to not scream. 

You shakily turn your candle towards the voice, finding a frail man in a jail cell, his arm reaching out towards you. The scene is horrific. He looks to be your age, but something about him seems older. Perhaps being jailed will do that to a person. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t have water.” You tell him, kneeling down in front of him. 

His jail cell is disgusting; it takes everything in you not to gag as the smell lingers. 

“The key, it’s back on the wall by the door. Please let me out.” 

A chill washes over your body. Suddenly, you remember that Atsumu was burying a body when you ran into him. Now, you're finding he has someone captured in this cell. Who is he and why is he doing these things? 

“Why are you here? Why did Atsumu do this?” You ask, a flood of different emotions racing through you. 

“He’s psychotic,” the man hisses, rage seeping through his tone. “Please, madam, I’m begging you to set me free. Hurry before he finds out you’re here.” 

You stand up, going to search for the key. Maybe this man will help lead you back to town to your father. Then perhaps your father will take you back in and help you fix the life you’ve screwed up. After finding the key, you unlock the jail cell. 

“Can you help me find-” before you finish your sentence, the man has pushed you to the ground. 

The candle you were holding falls to the side, illuminating only his face. His eyes are glowing red and wild. You scream, but the man covers your mouth with his hand. 

“Stupid girl, I’m surprised Atsumu hasn’t already taken a bite out of you.” As he talks you notice his canines are strangely long and pointed. 

Your eyes widen and you realize that this isn’t a normal man. His strength, despite looking frail, is abnormal. His eyes, his teeth, his strength… he can’t be. 

Vampires aren’t real. 

They’re not real. 

They’re not. 

“Get. Off. Her.” The sound of Atsumu’s voice burns your ears. 

The man looks up from you and his eyes narrow as he hisses Atsumu’s name. He jumps off of you and towards the sound of Atsumu’s voice. You scurry to the corner towards the candle, grabbing it and holding it towards the sound of fighting. 

As the light illuminates the two male figures, you see Atsumu snap the man’s neck. The body falls to the ground while the head remains in Atsumu’s hands. He drops the head when he sees you looking at him, horror clear on your face. 

“-----,” your name rings off his lips. 

“No!” You scoot back further into the corner, your back hitting the wall. “Don’t come near me!” 

He doesn’t listen. 

“Please, let me explain.” Atsumu is in front of you, kneeling in front of you and holding his hand out to you. “I’m begging you to hear me out.” 

You don’t feel inclined to grab his hand this time, the feeling of urgency still racing through your body. When Atsumu had scared you, you almost felt compelled to relax and not think about what you’d witnessed. Now, everything feels clear. 

“I want to know what is going on now!” You yell at him and smack his hand away from you. “How did you rip that man's head off? Why did you have him in that jail cell?” 

Atsumu stands, turning away from you and walking a few steps away. “If you come with me, I’ll answer any questions you have.” 

You watch as he goes, stepping over the body by the door and down the hall. After a few shaky breaths, you stand up and walk to the door leading to the hallway. You have to step over the body of the man and around the severed head. When you get in the hallway, you see Atsumu going further down into the foyer of the house. 

Following him, he takes you down the only hall you haven’t explored. The room he walks into appears to be a large kitchen from the hall. You take a few moments to collect your thoughts before walking in. When you enter the room, a wave of warmth hits you from the brick oven on the wall. It seems to have been firing all night. 

“Do you like tea?” He asks and you nod. 

“With honey.” You sit at the counter where a long bench is under the overhang. 

After a few minutes, he sets a white teacup with dark tea steeping in the cup. You let it sit for a few more, Atsumu pacing to your left by shelves full of different herbs and teas from what you can tell.

“Are you going to answer my questions?” You finally ask after taking a sip of your tea. 

“That man you saw me kill, was a despicable being. He’d killed at least a dozen girls in London in ways you could not begin to fathom.” Atsumu turns to you, his eyes dark. “I was planning on letting him starve to death down there and you ruined it.” 

“What was he? His eyes were glowing red and his strength was… inhuman.” You tell him. “His teeth were sharp like a…” you don’t finish the sentence. 

“Say it.”  

“No.” 

“Say it, —--.” 

“A vampire.” 

He nods and your world feels like it’s been turned upside down. 

“It’s okay, you’re safe.” He assures you but you smack his hand away again. 

“Don’t touch me.” You tell him, reeling away from his touch. 

“I’m sorry.” He steps back, his face falling. 

“So those books in your library… they’re not fiction.” He nods. “What are you?” 

“You know.” He says, turning away and looking out the window into the dark sky towards the moon. 

“Fuck,” for the first time in your life, you feel like you’re never going to come back from this. 

Even after running away from your wedding. That could have been solved, fixed even. This? Will Atsumu even allow you to leave now that you know what he is? It’s terrifying to think you grew up not far from this immortal being, lurking in the woods you played in as a child with friends. 

However, when you think about it, no one ever went missing in the village. No one was ever found suspiciously dead. 

“I know what you’re thinking.” He says and you narrow your eyes. 

“Can you read my mind too?” 

“What?” His face contours in confusion. “I can’t read minds and what do you mean by too?” 

You sigh in relief and lean forward, elbows on the counter. “You have some sort of relaxation power, don’t you? It’s the only reason I didn't freak out after I saw you burying that body… I wanted to run away and scream but I felt compelled to trust you and calm down. That’s not natural. I shouldn’t have conveniently forgotten about the body until now either.” 

Atsumu sits across from you, his eyes watching you. Those golden brown eyes are mesmerizing in every way and something about the golden hue is also unnatural. Everything about him is, you suppose. After all, he isn’t a creature of God’s making but perhaps the devil. 

“I do have the power to compel people to my will, that is what you’ve felt.” He admits, his posture stiffening. “I’m sorry for using it on you, but I couldn’t have you running off in that panicked state blabbering about what you saw in the woods. The best case scenario is the town comes looking for me, the worst case is you end up in an asylum. I was burying the body of another vampire who I’d imprisoned for similar crimes to the man who attacked you earlier. I don’t harm humans when I can help it.” 

“When you can help it?” 

“I do have to feed,” he tells you, “but I try not to kill or turn them when I do it.” 

You nod, taking another sip of your tea. “Are you planning on doing that to me?” 

He grins, actually grins, then says, “Only if you want me to.” 

Something in your stomach flutters and you’re scared of this side of yourself. Why do you have the inclination to let him? 

“Something wrong?” He asks, that same grin on his stupid face. “Did that intrigue you?” 

You shake your head no. 

“Liar.” He stands up, taking your empty tea cup and placing it in the sink. “It can be pleasurable,” he says, running water over the cup. “Some people volunteer for the satisfaction of it all.” 

Your face burns now, looking down at the counter and your hands turning into fists. Why would he be flirting with you after all of this? You move your hands to your lap, relaxing them and rubbing your thighs through your nightgown. Atsumu turns the water off and you look up as he dries the teacup with a towel, placing it back on the shelf it came from. 

“I have a proposal.” He says, turning back to face you. You tilt your head in curiosity. “We no longer lie to one another. Even if it’s hard, we tell the truth. I suppose you don’t want to go back home after running away and I clearly would rather you stay here and keep my secret.” 

You nod. “I agree to the terms, but I still have questions.” 

“I would assume you have many. It would be strange if you didn’t.” 

“What were you studying in the library? I read some pages from a few of the books, thinking they were fictional and now I’m more confused than ever.” 

“Come with me. I’ll show you.” He offers his hand, and you hesitate. “Honesty, we promised.” 

“I didn’t promise, I agreed to the terms.” You correct him, placing your hand in his. 

He leads you out of the kitchen and down the hall further. “There are steps on either end of the halls as well, just so you know. That way you’re not running back and forth to get to the main staircase.” He leads you up a less ornate staircase, leading right into the dark library. Atsumu releases your hand and steps away, the lights illuminating the room a few moments later. 

You walk over to his desk by the windows, noticing the drapes are not shut. Why did they close? Ah, it will be morning soon. Opening the largest book on the center of the desk you flip to the page with the asterisk you remember. 

Lost to history is the remainder of the bloodline that carried the sun's blessing. 

You read the line aloud, looking at Atsumu. “What does this mean? Who are these people?” 

Atsumu lounges in his desk chair before answering. “The sun’s blessing means that these vampires were able to be out in the sun, living more normal lives than most of us. It’s unknown why they had the ability to withstand the star’s light, but they could.” 

“They live among us?” 

“They did before they went missing. One morning they were in their familial homes, and the next vanished as if into thin air.” He sighs. “I want to know what happened to them. It doesn’t make sense for them to uproot their lives without reason. They were a secretive clan amongst us, but there are theories.” 

He gets up, as if excited, walking quickly to a shelf across the room. He takes a few moments, scanning the spines of books before grabbing an emerald green book and bringing it to the desk. When you see it, it also has several tabs on it. 

“You see, there are stories of other vampires inheriting this ability as if the family gifted it to them. There’s no record of how it happens, but there has to be a way.” He turns to a page about a third of the way into the book, full of notes in the margins. “Here this author theorizes it was from something they ingested, but we can’t stomach the food humans eat, so it could have been an herb of some sort in a tea.” 

“You can drink tea?” You ask, taken aback.

“Of course,” he laughs. “It’s why I keep so many.” He opens to another page. He smiles as he reads some of the lines and you lean on his desk. “Here the author suggests that they blood let and shared it with the vampires who inherited the gift.” 

“Did they ingest it?” You ask and Atsumu shrugs. 

“It’s against our laws to feed from another vampire, so I wouldn’t think so. But, that is a possibility. They could have injected it into themselves, but even that seems too close to feeding.” Atsumu closes the book and takes it back to the shelf it came from. 

“Why are you so obsessed with them?” You ask, looking at the portraits and names once more. 

Charlotta Lestar died in 1767, 343 years after her birth by your calculations. Her child, a son named James, seems to still be living. There’s no death date for him and a few others, but that could just be unknown since they all disappeared. You flip to the next page and it begins to give the family history, starting with the first recorded Lestar family member. 

“Did you know any of them?” You ask when he doesn’t answer your last question. 

He nods and sits back in his chair. “Our families were friends. I knew Charlotta’s children well.” 

“How old are you?” You ask, partly scared to hear the answer. 

“213, respectfully. You?” 

“24,” you answer, feeling ashamed. All of your friends had married by 20 and you were here, still unwed and slowly turning into an old maid. 

“A drop in time to me,” he smiles, taking your hand and squeezing it. 

“You never told me why you were looking into the family,” you remind him. 

He sighs, then rolls up the long sleeves of his shirt. Starting at his wrists and all the way up to his elbows, you notice small white patches, almost like scars. “I’ve been testing my methods with the sun. When I was a child I tried to follow James out one morning and nearly died. I have these marks all over my body.” He looks up to you and there’s something like desperation in his eyes. 

“My work would be so much easier if I could go out during the day. Having to hunt and feed at night makes things harder. I can research during the day just fine, but being confined to this home drives me mad.” He continues. 

“Being trapped at home is something of a nightmare,” you agree. “Can I help? I love reading and maybe some fresh eyes on the material would help you.” 

“You’d want to do that?” He asks and you nod. He smiles and jumps up from his chair again. “You need to start with the histories, first. I know it’s here somewhere,” he scans a shelf by his desk. “Ah, yes, here it is.” The book he hands you looks to be recently rebounded. The pages are much older than the bindings. 

“I’ll read it today.” You open the cover and look at the author, noting the name Osamu Miya, relation of Atsumu’s perhaps. “Do you rest during the day?” 

“I don’t need sleep like humans.” He tells you. “I do rest, but it’s mostly to keep from having to feed too often I usually spend my days in here. The human staff I have take care of the house during the day and believe me to be one of you. I beg of you not to make them think otherwise.” 

“My lips are sealed.” 

Atsumu nods quickly with a smile, “Thank you. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a friend.” 

– 

The next few weeks are full of studying, time passing quickly. Atsumu has his staff fill the kitchen with food and your dressing room with clothing. All your needs are met, but something else is pulling at you. The days you spend reading in the library with Atsumu become your reason for waking up. 

You rarely think about Graham or your father. Whatever they have been doing seems to not concern you, since no one has come knocking at the castle doors. Perhaps they’ve forgotten about you, something that stings but isn’t all that bad. You hope they’ve found happiness in the way you have. 

Atsumu even begins to let you in on what he does during the nights when he disappears from the castle. He’s been charged with capturing vampires who are gluttonous or vile in their killings. There are no laws about killing within their society, but they don’t like to draw attention to themselves. Atsumu handles the situations where some are. However, he stops keeping prisoners in his home. 

He educates you on the histories of vampires, the different covens, clans, and even families within them. After a month you are pretty sure you’re a walking history book, but you’ve learned nothing about the Lestar family. One afternoon, you decide to ask about them. 

“When will I begin helping you with the Lestar family?” You ask, putting the last book you finished on the shelf. 

Atsumu looks up from his writing, his hair disheveled. “Do you feel like you know enough about my kind to begin?” 

You sit across from him at the table he’s been at since last night. “I believe I am. Quiz me!” 

“Question one, what do we eat?” he grins as he asks. 

“Shut up, ask me something serious.” You laugh, your foot rubbing against his leg as you swing your feet under the table. 

He grins at you and you pull away, mouthing a sorry to him. It’s not like you haven’t touched Atsumu before, after all, the kiss you shared was the most intimate thing you’ve experienced in your short life. 

“Where should I start now?” You ask, eager to read about the family of vampires who lived among humans and walked in the sun. 

“Any of the books I have on them are just fine places to start. However, if you want theories, you can read this one here,” he slides the same emerald green book from that first night in the library. “My brother wrote this, actually.” 

You open the cover and see a familiar name, “Osamu Miya?” Atsumu nods. “I guess it seems you’re not the only one obsessed.” 

“We all grew up together, it’s not that surprising, is it?” He laughs, resting his head on his hand. “Osamu is just better at writing than me. I send him everything I come up with and he does the same.” 

“I’d like to meet him one day,” you decide. 

“We’ll see about that.” He goes back to reading his book and you begin yours. 

The theories his brother presents on the family are numerous, but nothing is conclusive. Everything about the family was kept so secretive that even family friends had no idea how they were able to be in the sun without being killed. The trait was passed down to family members by birth, no matter which parent had the trait. 

The only vampires granted the power were those who married into the family, and most of them seemed to be random. The reasoning behind the partnerships isn’t love, power, or money. Whatever their deciding factor was, is still as unclear as the transformation itself. 

By the time you’re through the book, it’s evening. You yawn and your stomach growls. Despite the snacks the staff brought you throughout the day, you’re starving. 

“Would it be weird if you joined me for dinner? I know you can’t eat, but it gets lonely in the dining room.” It feels awkward asking, but after a month of silent dinners, you’re not sure you can stand another. 

“I’d love to join you. I’ll have tea while you eat.” He smiles, standing from his chair. His clothes are as disheveled as his hair. “If you’ve been lonely, why didn’t you ask me sooner?” 

You shrug, “I didn’t want to bother you more than I already have.” 

Atsumu halts walking, stopping atop the stairs. “You’ve never been a bother to me,” he takes your hand. “I’ve been delighted to have you in my home.” 

Your face heats up and you bite your bottom lip to keep the smile from growing too wide. “I’ve had a better time with you than I’ve had in the last ten years of my life.” 

Atsumu steps closer to you, his hand caressing your cheek. You look up at him, lips slightly parted, but you’re unable to speak. 

“I hope you know what you mean to me.” He presses a kiss to your forehead and your stomach flutters. 

You grab his waist, pulling his body closer to yours. “Atsumu,” you whine. 

“What is it?” He asks, his lips grazing your forehead. You whine again. “You have to tell me what you want.” 

“Kiss me,” you say after a few moments. 

“I thought you’d never ask,” he kisses you quickly, his lips moving against yours with a hunger you’ve never experienced. 

His lips taste sweet now, but the tinge of iron is still there. You wonder when the last time he fed was, a pang of jealousy washing through you. Your fingers grip him tightly, your body flush with his. His tongue teases your lips and you part your mouth, letting him in. 

He pulls away, resting his forehead on yours, eyes on your lips. “I want to show you so many things,” he whispers. “Will you let me?” 

You nod. 

“I want you to say it.” 

“Please, show me everything.” 

Atsumu grins, picking you up in his arms, your gown riding up around your thighs as you hook your legs around him. You kiss him again, biting his bottom lip and making him growl. Before you know it, he’s slamming his bedroom door shut and dropping you down on his bed. 

“What do you want me to do?” He asks, crawling on the bed on top of you. 

“Touch me,” you breathe out. 

“Have you ever?” 

You shake your head no and something flashes in his eyes. 

He leans down, kissing you and sliding your dress up your thighs. “You can tell me to stop whenever you want,” he whispers, kissing down your throat. 

Your heart races, knowing how easily he could drain you of your blood now is something you never expected to worry about. Each nip of his teeth at your skin reminds you of it. You begin to feel too hot, desperate for him to rip this godforsaken gown off of you. 

“Get this dress off of me,” you beg, writhing under Atsumu. 

He sits up, his eyes wild. He pulls you up into a sitting position before flipping you onto your stomach to undo the many buttons down your back. You feel the cooler air hit your skin and whimper as Atsumu’s fingers drag down your skin. Undressing in this gown isn’t easy but his hands on you is worth it. 

By the time you’re left in the slip you wore under the dress, you’re desperate to feel his kisses again. He smiles at you, standing by the bed and looking you up and down. Your cheeks heat and you want to cover yourself, but remember the first night you met him he saw every part of you anyway. 

His hands grip your thighs, pulling you down to the edge of the bed. He kneels in front of the bed, licking his lips once before kissing your inner thigh. You gasp at the sensation, chills running up your spine and curling your toes. You sit up on your elbows, watching him kiss up your right thigh, pushing the slip up over your waist. 

He looks at you as if he’s looking for permission and you nod. 

The first touch of his tongue on your cunt is overwhelming. His tongue continues to move on you, his hands gripping your thighs while he laps at you. You moan, unable to keep any form of composure. Your fingers dig into the sheets as his tongue teases your clit. You fall back, unable to watch any longer, wanting to focus solely on the feeling. 

He stops for a moment and your eyes flutter open, seeing him suck on his own middle finger. He grins as he sees you watching him. He slowly teases your entrance with the finger, leaning back down to suck on your clit. You close your eyes again, whimpering and bucking your hips. As his finger presses into you, you still, take in the sensation. Your mouth falls open and you breathe out. 

“Shh,” Atsumu hushes you as you begin to whimper. “It’ll start feeling good and not foreign, I swear.” 

He slowly pumps his finger out of you and back in, curling it inside you as he goes. He was so right, oh so right. You moan, the feeling sending shockwaves through you. When you open your eyes, Atsumu is hovering over you, his finger still pumping inside you. 

“See,” he grins, “feels good, right?” 

You nod between moans and reach for Atsumu above you. He leans down, kissing your lips and teasing you with his tongue. He tastes like you, his lips coated with your arousal. 

“Do you want more?” He asks and you nod. “When will you learn to use your words?” 

“More, please,” you whine, looking up expecting to see his brown eyes but they’ve been replaced with the glowing gold you’ve only seen when he’s been hungry. 

Your stomach flips and the fear you feel is nothing compared to the pleasure of his second finger pumping into you with the first. He stretches you, his fingers working in tandem to bring you feelings you can’t explain, leaving you breathless. Something in your stomach snaps and you feel yourself coming to an end, ready to let go. 

“Cum for me,” he whispers against your ear, his breath tickling you. 

As you climax, you grip onto Atsumu, holding his hand on your right and his arm on your left. It’s unlike any pleasure release you’ve ever had. What you used to do desperately at night at home with your fingers is nothing compared to this. He chuckles as you come down, looking at him with glossy eyes. He kisses your forehead, praising you with quiet words and pulling his fingers out of you. 

“Lay back,” you demand, sitting up and pushing against his pillows. 

He looks pleasantly surprised, your abruptness is not something he was expecting. He lays down against the pillows, spreading his arms and parting his legs enough for you to crawl between them. You smile at him before pushing them back together and sitting on his lap, your cunt sensitive against his trousers. 

His arms wrap around you and you kiss him, holding his face between your hands. “I want to learn to please you too,” you tell him. 

He smiles, biting his bottom lip before speaking. “What do you think you should do?” 

You take in a shaky breath, remembering some erotic scenes from some books stashed in the back of his library that you snuck into your room. “I think I know,” you admit, “but I want you to tell me what you need.” 

“You. You’re all I need.” 

The feeling pangs at your heart but you refuse to give in to it and name it. 

You kiss him feverishly before unbuttoning his shirt, kissing his neck, and working your way down his body. He was right, he’s covered in these white splotches. They scar most of his skin, all the way down to his waist. Settling between his legs, you unbutton the three buttons on his pants, noticing the tenting as you go. 

He holds his bottom lip between his teeth as he watches you, his chest noticeably moving as he breathes. He lifts his hips and you shimmy the pants down over his waist and off his legs, tossing them on the floor to your right. His underwear is tight, the bulge prominent now. 

“Why do you look so nervous?” He teases, so you stick your tongue out at him. “I bet that would feel nice on my cock,” he tells you, leaning forward and grabbing your face. “Don’t you want a taste?” 

You nod, kissing him again before pushing his chest back so he lays back against the pillows once more. He tenses as you feel his cock through his underwear. He closes his eyes and titls his head back, enjoying your touch. 

Reaching up with your other hand, pulling at the waistband and pulling them down over his hips. Reading about something for the first time is nothing like seeing it for the first time. Everything about Atsumu is infuriatingly beautiful, and his cock is no exception. You take it in your hand and timidly stroke it once. 

“Fuck,” Atsumu moans, his eyes still closed and head tilted back. 

You smile at his response and lean down, taking the head of his cock in your mouth. He moans louder as your tongue swirls around the tip. 

“Just like that,” he whimpers. “Use your hand like this,” he opens his eyes and places his hand over yours; showing you what to do. 

Your hand gets wet from your spit dribbling down from where your lips meet his cock, making it easier to stroke him. He lets go of your hand and you’re able to learn on your own now. Every sound Atsumu makes encourages you further. Soon enough you’re able to take more than half his length in your mouth without worrying you’re going to hurt him by doing something wrong. 

He thrusts up into your mouth, forcing you to take him all in and you choke, pulling away and coughing. 

“I’m so sorry, I just lost control,” he sits up cupping your cheeks. 

He kisses your lips, pulling away and a trail of drool follows, still connecting your lips. You grin and break it with your finger. 

“You don’t have to be sorry, I’m okay. You can’t break me.” 

He chuckles, “If only that were true, darling.” 

You giggle, kissing him again and climbing on top of him, straddling his thighs. He grabs your hips, pulling you further up his body, pushing your hips down so your cunt grinds against his cock. You whimper against his lips, feeling his length against you. The tip of his cock prods at your entrance and you break away from the kiss. 

“Do you want to stop?” He asks looking up at you. 

“No, God no.” You shake your head. “I-” you stutter, stopping yourself. 

He sits up closer to you, your bodies flush with each other. “You can tell me,” he says. 

“I want you.” 

His eyes flash with something you can’t read, disappointment maybe? No, it couldn’t be that, could it? You’re saying exactly what he wants to hear even if it's not what you thought originally. He couldn’t know that, though. 

“It’s going to hurt at first,” he warns you and you nod. “Go at your own pace,” he kisses your cheek, laying back and letting you take control. 

You sink down on him about an inch, letting yourself get used to the stretch. His cock feels so much bigger in your cunt than when it was in your mouth. You bite down hard on your lip, holding in the sounds of discomfort as you sink further down on him. 

“Don’t do that you’ll bleed,” Atsumu’s thumb pulls your lip from your teeth. 

“I’m sorry,” you whimper and sink as far down as you can, sitting in Atsumu’s lap and taking him in entirely. 

“Don’t ever,” he rasps, “apologize while taking my cock in you like that.” 

His hands move to your hips, his fingers digging into your ass. You use your knees to rise up again, feeling his cock drag against the walls inside of you. It doesn’t feel as good as his fingers, the pain overwhelming you. 

“It’s okay,” he hushes your cries. “Go at your pace.” 

You try again, sinking down, rising up, and sinking down again. You’re used to the feeling now and even begin to feel good as his cock reaches further inside of you than his fingers. You let out a moan the fifth time you came down on him, finally feeling what you felt before. 

“There you go,” he encourages you, using his hands to help you ride him. 

He pulls you down by your face, kissing you and beginning to thrust up into you slowly. Your thighs shake but you hold onto Atsumu’s shoulders, your nails digging into his skin.  That familiar feeling from before creeps up on you, and you whimper, clenching around him. 

He flips you onto your back, pulling out of you and smiling at you wildly. “You can’t cum yet.” 

You nod, sitting up and kissing him and pulling him down with you, desperate to have him in you again. He pulls away and grins. 

“Are you greedy already? I told you I wanted to show you many things.” He teases, his fingers playing with your clit. 

You gasp, “We have other nights for that. I need you now.” 

He laughs, moving closer to you and spreading your legs wider. He pushes into you, sending a wave of pleasure through your body. The sounds that leave your mouth ring in your ears, but you try focusing on Atsumu’s cues. His eyes focus on you when you open yours, and that feeling in your stomach builds back up. 

“Tsumu,” you whine, slurring his name. 

“That’s music to my ears,” he moans. “Need to cum darling?” 

You nod. “Wanna cum.” 

“Cum with me,” he whispers against your lips and you do. 

It feels like waves across your body, the first strong and fierce. The second ringing through your body and lingering as Atsumu cums inside of you. You hold onto Atsumu as if he’s your lifeline, both of you breathing hard and heavy. 

He kisses your forehead before rolling to the side of the bed and pulling you close to him. You cuddle up to him, taking in the last hour. He stares up at the ceiling, his breath evening out sooner than yours. You tilt your head up looking closer at his expression. 

“What are you thinking about?” You ask. 

“Honestly?” 

“We promised to be truthful.” 

He smiles. “I’m thinking about how many more rounds I could take you before you’re too sore for more.” 

You smack his chest and sit up. “I think we’ve reached that limit.” 

He grins, sitting up on his elbows. “I guarantee you’ll be begging me for more before you even finish your dinner tonight.” 

“You’re awfully full of yourself,” you giggle, pulling your knees to your chest. 

“You’re also full of me,” he grins, kissing your temple and getting off the bed. “Come, bathe with me. Then I’ll make you dinner.” 

“You’ll make me dinner?” 

“I can read a recipe book and figure it out. Besides, there’s probably something edible in case I ruin everything.” 

You laugh, taking his hand and following him to the bathroom. 

The bath is always relaxing, but a bath with Atsumu is anything but. He’s constantly dumping water on you and splashing you like a child. The few moments when he relaxes and lets you lay against his chest, you relish. 

At some point, you fall asleep in the tub against Atsumu. You awake in his bed, under the cover of his thick duvet. Atsumu is nowhere to be found, so you find a shirt of his from a drawer and slip it on. Walking down the hall, you see a faint light coming from the wing where the kitchen is.

“-----,” your name on his lips sends chills down your spine. “I think I’ve made you a sandwich.” 

He presents in front of you something that does resemble a sandwich, but the ingredients are questionable. You still take a bite and swallow it. It isn’t the worst thing you’ve ever had. Your father hired a terrible cook for a few weeks before you insisted on getting a new one after a bout of food poisoning. 

“How is it?” 

“Honestly?” 

He nods. 

“It’s not the worst thing I’ve ever had,” you laugh, putting the half down on the plate. “We should stick to what your staff prepares.” 

He looks defeated but grins anyway. “You should go back to bed. I’ll have a big breakfast sent to our room in the morning.” 

“Our room?” You smile, biting your bottom lip. 

He nods. “I’ll join you after I clean up. I’ll take tonight off.” 

You smile at him before heading back towards his room. Most nights he spends them hunting down other vampires who’ve committed crimes. His determination and commitment to his task are unlike most of the men you’ve known. 

Atsumu’s room is warm from the fire, but the flames are starting to die down. You throw a log on the fire and crawl back into bed. Atsumu keeps his promise, coming to lay in bed with you soon after. You talk about your life with him, telling him everything you’ve been holding onto. He offers nothing but a listening ear, just what you like. 

–

The weeks that follow are much the same as the ones before, except your nights are full of more and more learning. Atsumu pleases you in ways you’ve never imagined possible with his fingers, tongue, and cock. However, you begin to become concerned with how often his eyes seem to turn golden with hunger. 

“Tsumu?” You chime one night after a long session with him between your legs. 

“Hmm?” He hums. 

“When was the last time you fed?” You ask, sitting up on the bed and playing with his hair from where he lays in your lap. 

“It’s been a while.” He answers, looking up at you, his eyes now golden once again. “I probably should tonight.” 

“Who do you feed from?” The jealousy is in your voice. 

“There are some people who volunteer for the pleasure of it. I think I told you this before. In London, there’s a home where my kind likes to go when we’re hungry.” Atsumu’s honesty doesn’t do anything to curb your feelings. 

“I don’t want you to go there,” you tell him, keeping up with the honesty you swore to keep. “Use me,” you offer. 

“-----, are you sure?” He asks, and you nod. 

You pull your hair from your neck, revealing the supple skin. 

Atsumu laughs, “I could kill you feeding from there.” 

Your face heats in embarrassment. “Where do you feed from?” 

He sits up, taking your arm and pointing to your wrist. “Lay back, it will hurt at first.” 

You lay back, looking up at the ceiling and then at Atsumu. He smiles at you as he hovers over your body. His lips press against yours and he mumbles some reassuring words. He slowly brings your wrist up to his mouth, and you see the flash of his fangs before they seep into your skin. 

Crying out, you instinctively pull away but Atsumu keeps your arm still. The pain turns to an unimaginable wave of pleasure, not unlike the way he makes you cum every night. You moan, actually moan after a minute of it. The burning is intense, but not unmanageable. After another minute, he pulls away from your wrist, blood dripping from his lips. 

When you look in his eyes, something has changed, and not just the color of them. He moves off of you, walking quickly to the bathroom. You sit up, checking your wrist and admiring the two small red puncture wounds. He tosses you a bandage from the bathroom entryway. 

Something is wrong. 

“Atsumu?” You lay the bandage down and get off the bed, your head spinning as you do. 

“Please, lay back down.” He moves to catch you, but you fall back onto the bed. 

“What’s wrong?” He shakes his head at your voice. 

“I have something I have to do.” He rushes out of the room and you don’t see him for the rest of the night. 

Sleep doesn’t come. You stay up all night, worried that you did something to change his feelings for you. Did you taste bad? 

Can blood taste bad? 

You pace for a while in front of his windows, waiting for dawn to come. As the first spots of daylight begin to show you see Atsumu enter the castle. You rush down the hall and down the steps. 

When he sees you, there’s not a glimpse of joy on his face. 

“Ats-” 

“I think you should go back to your father.” He interrupts you and you feel like the castle is crumbling in on you. 

“But… Atsumu… why?” 

“I think it's for the best. I’ve called for a carriage. You leave in an hour.” He rushes up the stairs and towards the library.

The sound of the doors slamming shut echoes through the castle as you fall to your knees. You’re not sure how long you lie there, perhaps for the full hour. You can’t even cry it hurts so bad. He’s betrayed the honesty you promised to one another. 

“Madam, the carriage is waiting for you,” Arthur, Atsumu’s butler, taps on your shoulder. “I’m sorry, but I must ask that you go.” 

You nod, pulling yourself together and walking to the carriage. You’re numb the whole ride home. It takes about an hour for you to arrive at the doorstep of your father’s estate. When you step off the carriage, your father isn’t there to greet you, but instead it’s Graham. 

You step back, nearly tripping over the carriage steps. 

“Where on earth have you been?” The sound of his voice makes you want to vomit. 

“Where is my father?” You ask, stepping towards him, but keeping more than enough distance between him. 

“He’s in London, searching for you. I’ve been maintaining the family home while you’ve been what? Whoring yourself to stay afloat?” Graham laughs, watching as the carriage leaves before he insults you. 

“Graham, I swear to God if that whore of yours is in my home, I will have you castrated.” You remember the mistress he keeps in London. If he’s been here, she probably has too. 

“I’m not stupid enough to bring her here with all the attention you’ve brought us. Do you know what you’ve done? What you’ve caused?” His words ring with hatred. “We told half the town you had a breakdown just to keep your name from being ruined! We tried to defend you!” 

“Why are you even here? I thought it would be clear I didn’t want to marry you by running away!” You yell, frustrated with the way your life has gone in the last four months. 

“You trifling whore, how dare you raise your voice with me,” he steps closer to you, his anger reaching its peak. “After all the trouble you’ve caused, you’re not going to treat me this way. You’re lucky I decided to stay engaged to you and that you still have a future.” 

“I’m never going to marry you, Graham. Never.” You walk past him and into your father’s home, slamming and locking the door behind you. 

The staff in the house scurry around, looking at you as if they’ve seen a ghost. Perhaps some of them thought you had run off and died. None of them stop you from going to your old room, and none of them stop you from tearing everything off the walls. You scream, throw things, and even toss old dresses out the window. 

If they want a madwoman, you’ll give it to them. 

Several hours later, your father's carriage pulls up. You watch him run into the house and hear his clumsy footsteps leading to your room. He bursts in the door, calling your name in a sob. You let him hug you and cry on your shoulder. You let him beg you to never go away again. 

Everything feels numb now that you’ve been shown the life you want and can’t have it. 

After half an hour, he leaves you to your destroyed room, mentioning he needs to discuss things with Graham. If he even tries to plan another marriage, you’ll run away and never look back; and in the opposite direction of Atsumu’s castle. 

When you’re called for dinner, you don’t bother dressing. You go in your worn dress from the night before, your wrist still bandaged from Atsumu’s fangs. The dining room is too warm from the fire and the warm spring day. Your father sits at the head of the table and Graham beside him, both of them engaged in the conversation they’re having. 

As you sit, your father comments on your appearance and you glare at him. 

“Sweetie, he’s just concerned,” Graham’s facade makes you want to rip his hair out. 

“We think it would be good to spend the spring and summer in London. A change of scenery for you, and perhaps you can make time to plan a new ceremony for the fall. They have great doctors in London, as well.” Your father’s optimism is something you’ve always loved, but in your mental state now, you just want him to shut up and give up on you. 

“I’m not planning another wedding.” You tell him. “I would like to go to London though.” 

“Then we will go in a week! I’ll have new dresses sent to our house there, you won’t need to bring anything but yourself.” Graham tells you and your father as the staff sets your food in front of you. 

The thought of putting anything in your stomach makes you want to vomit. You sit there through dinner, listening but not adding to the conversation. Graham seems to have your father wrapped tighter around his finger than before, and you don’t blame him. You left, after all. Once dessert is served, you dismiss yourself and head to your room. 

Sinking into the covers, you finally allow yourself to cry. 

– 

London in the spring is something you used to love. Your mother always dragged you and your father from your country home to the city for the peak season, going to shops, cafes, and all the music halls she could find. After she left, you quit going altogether. 

Stepping into Graham’s house feels surreal. All week, you argued with him whenever your father was gone, listening to his empty threats. You threatened to have his food poisoned at one point, but he just laughed. At some point, you stopped talking to him altogether. 

“Your room is on the third floor, the second on the right,” Graham tells you, dropping bags down in the foyer. 

“Thanks,” you mutter, walking up the steps and not looking back to him or your father. 

You hear mutters of worry about your sanity, concerns about where you’ve been all winter, and more things you can’t care to remember. The staircase is steep, but you take your time. By the time you’re in your room, you feel like he picked this room just to exhaust you. He must have noticed you haven’t been eating most nights. 

There is a nice view of the city from your room, at least. 

It’s past noon now, and there’s discussion about going out to dinner tonight to change things up, but you know you’ll fight tooth and nail before having to be reintroduced into society. Your father begs you to dress, telling you he’ll do anything to make you happy. 

To get him to shut up, you agree. 

Dressing with the assistance of one of Graham’s maids, you find yourself in a pale blue dress, the color awfully similar to the trim of your wedding dress. Perhaps he likes this color. Perhaps you’ll ruin it for him. When you make it to the foyer, your father is still not there, leaving you uncomfortably silent with Graham standing by the door. 

“You look decent for once,” he comments and you turn your head. “This could be easy, you know. A business transaction for us both.” 

“I’d rather die than marry you.” You finally look at him, really look at him for who he is. 

“That it seems.” He sighs. He steps towards you, his hand reaching out and moving a loose strand of hair away from your face. 

His hand is warm on your skin and it makes you cringe. He steps back, looking at you from the head down. He almost looks like he’s working on a puzzle, trying to figure out what piece of you to place next. 

“I can be kind. We could have a satisfying life, you and I both. I swear to be faithful to you until we have a few children if you do the same. You can spend money as you please. We can even live separately if you wish.” Graham really wants your father's money if he’s offering this. 

Before you can answer him, your father joins you in the foyer. “I hope this restaurant you’ve chosen is a good one, boy.” He claps Graham on the back of the shoulder and laughs. 

“Oh, you know I always pick good ones. Why else would I want to be with your daughter.” 

You scoff and roll your eyes. 

They both ignore you. 

The walk to the restaurant is not unpleasant, the umbrella you carry covers your face from strangers who may be looking at you. Once you arrive, they seat you outside. You fold up the umbrella, leaning it against your chair, and sitting down. Graham and your father continue talking about the horse race they’ve seemed to bet on for the upcoming weekend, but you watch the people walking by. 

Your mind begins to wander to Atsumu and your heart hurts. You never were able to be completely honest with him either. You kept what you felt to yourself. 

However, he completely shut you out without giving any explanation. He broke the trust first. He never asked you how you felt and if he had, you may have told him. 

“Would you like that, sweetie?” Graham asks and you furrow your brows. 

“What?” You ask. “I wasn’t listening.” 

“Your father suggested I show you the block after dinner. He’s planning on joining the gentlemen at the next table at the club tonight after dinner.” Graham tells you. 

“I suppose I’ll walk with you,” as if you have a choice now. 

Dinner is served not long after, and you manage to down a few vegetables and a bite of your chicken. Graham and your father have both given up on commenting on your eating habits, which you’re grateful for. It’s made it easier to manage. Once it’s over, you regret taking the few bites that you did. You have to stomach Graham for the next hour before you make it home.

At least the days are longer now, so if he tries anything, there will most likely be a witness. 

He takes your hand and places it on his arm, portraying the scene most Londoners expect. A couple in the spring, out for a stroll. He talks about the town, telling you about his favorite restaurants and music halls. He tells you he wants to take you to a play when you notice a name that you recall. 

“What is this place?” You stop in front of Lestar Manor. The sign is large and imposing with the name of the vampires who were blessed by the sun. 

“It’s almost like a joke,” he says. “The manor was abandoned and people swear it’s haunted now. I’ve never learned much more about it.” 

“I want to go look inside.” 

“Are you serious?” He frowns. “You refuse to do activities for a week, but want to explore a haunted mansion.” 

“So what? Let me explore it!” 

“We’re going home!” He says sternly, grabbing your arm. 

“Let go of me,” you hiss, pulling away. 

“For the love of all that is holy, stop acting this way and just do what’s good for you for once in your stupid life.” Graham raises his voice and you push him away from you. 

“If you touch me again, I’m going to scream.” You warn him. 

As you look around there is no one around, but you’re sure someone will hear you. Graham’s eyes go dark, his grin gone and his face contoured in anger. He steps towards you and you step back, but he’s faster than you. 

His grip on your arm hurts, so you begin to yell out. His hand clamps around your mouth and your eyes go wide. 

“Shut the fuck up, you stupid whore,” he hisses. 

“Let go of her,” a figure yells from the Lestar Manor. 

The voice makes your stomach drop and you try to pull away from Graham. As you turn your face, you see Atsumu standing in the shade of the Manor, his fists clenched at his sides. 

“Who are you to tell me what to do with my woman?” Graham spits back, letting go of your face. 

“Atsumu, go away.” You breathe out, your eyes welling up. 

He has no business butting into your life after sending you away to this fate. 

“Graham,” Atsumu hisses, stepping too close to the edge of the shade for your liking. 

“Graham, let’s go. Please,” you beg him, tugging him away from Atsumu. 

He smacks your hand away, missing your hand and hitting your cheek. You fall down on the sidewalk, catching yourself with your hands and scraping them. 

“Bastard!” Atsumu yells and before you know it, he’s launched himself at Graham, his skin vulnerable to the sun. 

“Atsumu! No!” You scream, watching as he punches Graham in the jaw. 

You expect his skin to start burning, or for him to catch on fire, or turn to dust. All your reading on vampires, none of it gave a solid answer to what happens when they go in the sun. Almost as if it was taboo to mention it anywhere. 

Nothing happens, in fact, Atsumu stands up over Graham’s body and looks at you with a smile. For whatever reason, he’s not dying in the sun. Did he discover something in the week that you were gone? Is that why he was in the Lestar Manor? Or is that the feeding house he mentioned before? 

Either way, you don’t want to hear from him. 

He broke your heart. 

You turn to run away from him and from Graham. As you take your first step, Atsumu catches your arm, and you turn to push him away. He pulls you into his arms instead, holding you against your body. 

“Atsumu, let go of me,” you sob, not pulling away but instead going limp in his arms. 

He picks you up, carrying you into the Manor and holding you against his chest as you sob. You hate him. You love him. You want him dead. You want him to give you the life you’ve always wanted. 

He doesn’t compel you to calm down, he just holds you as you cry. It takes a good ten minutes for you to gather yourself in his arms before you’re able to look up at him. His eyes aren’t glowing, instead, they’re the warm brown you love so much. 

“I hate you,” you whisper. 

“We told each other we would be honest with one another.” He shakes his head. 

“Atsumu,” you whine, “I love you more than life itself.” 

“I love you, —--,” he tells you. “You saved my life.” 

“What?” You frown. “You just saved me from that horrid Graham.” 

“Your blood…” he replies and you begin connecting the dots. 

“Lesair, Lestar… You don’t think that my family is?” 

He shrugs, “We need to find out the history of your family line before I can draw any conclusions... But since the night I drank from you, I’ve been able to walk in the sun. I was going to come find you and beg you to forgive me, but I needed to stop here first to collect some more books. That’s when I heard your voice and I saw him-” 

“You don’t have to explain. I’m just happy to be with you again.” You interrupt him. 

“I promise, I’m never letting you go now.” He tells you before kissing your lips. 

[zevred]

I've Got You Under My Skin

john brady x gn!reader

john brady the man that you are... also this turned out a little more angsty than i thought it would be

wc: 1.5k

John Brady’s already annoyed before the band goes on for their set. He snapped a reed during practice, cut his chin while shaving, and now you’ve shown up for drinks with an irksome smile on your face. Dougie’s chatting you up and Hambone’s already bought your drink, and you’re laughing at something Blakely’s just said.

It’s always like this when you come to the bar and Brady can’t help but roll his eyes. When you come for drinks, you take the time to press your hair into curls and scrub the grime out from under your nails. You look sort of pretty, but Brady knows it’s a guise to cover up how venomous you really are.

The guys usually see you on the hardstand working on the forts with Kenny in your coveralls with grease smudged across your face. Sometimes you wear a white ribbon in your hair and it’s the most ridiculous thing John Brady’s ever seen. Even as his plane is in taxi, he sees that stupid silk tied into your hair. You’re the first and last thing he sees before and after each mission. When he lands and is forced to give his fort into your care, you always have some snide comment waiting and a forced smile on your face.

He gives you a sarcastic smile, and when his crew isn’t looking and Kenny’s inspecting the plane both of you drop the façade and glare openly at each other. You looked exhausted this morning, dark shadows stamped under your eyes, and you didn’t give him nearly as much energy as he’d expected.

“I hope your face gets stuck like that, Brady.”

That’s all you have to say and he’s still frowning at you, dark brows pinched close together. “You think about my face often?”

“I try not to think of you at all.” You look more deflated than usual, and Brady’s throat closes up. He’s still standing there like an idiot when you sigh. “Go away, Captain. There’s a lot of work to be done.”  

He thinks about it all day. The tiredness in your eyes. The way your shoulders slumped as you walked away. Usually, you’re annoyingly springy. He hates the way your hips move as you walk away from him, the way his eyes can’t look away, but this—your sullen retreat—it makes him sick to his stomach. You don’t call him Captain and you’ve never told him to go away. You’re on his mind during rehearsal when his jaw clenches, cracking the reed between his teeth. He’s remembering the purple of your eyebags when his razor slips. And now Brady’s watching you laugh with his friends like nothing’s wrong.

So, he’s already pissed when the band starts up and you peel away to dance with Hambone. He knows you’re just friends. Hambone laughed in his face when Brady tried to lecture him about the irresponsibility of relationships on base. Still, the way he’s swinging you around makes something nasty coil in the pit of his stomach. He hears your laugh over his sax and struggles to keep playing.

You dance like that for the first several songs of the set, twisting between Blakely and Hambone. Brady can see the flush on your skin and, just for a moment, he wonders what the feel of you would be like under his hands. He’s dreamt about it—and they’re terrible dreams—but they leave him with a nervous twitch in his hands and a bounce in his leg. He’s taping his foot now, to keep in time with the beat of the song, and he tells himself the tremor in his arms is from holding his instrument.

As the song reaches its crescendo, the music loud and consuming and overpowering, your eyes flick to his and they don’t move. Your eyes, big and searching, bore into him and Brady thinks you must be crazy to be looking at him like that while dancing with another man.

Maybe you’ve learned to read his signs of irritation—the tops of his ears have turned a fiery red, his nostrils flaring of their own accord—because you certainly know how to push him over the edge. Hambone spins you, and from your place tangled in his arms, you grin at Brady.

That does it for him.

Your smile is a taunt, a trap, and he knows it. But when the band finishes their last song and the vinyl takes over, he’s rushing for you, searching for you in the crowd. Brady finds you, crowded against the wall as Colonel Harding laughs at some terrible joke you must have made. It makes his eye twitch, seeing his CO lean close to whisper in your ear.

Brady reaches you as you give the Colonel an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Sir. I promised Captain Brady that I’d save him a dance.”

And then you’re looping your arm through his, smiling up at Brady’s flushed face, tugging him onto the dancefloor.

Brady nearly stumbles, his mind going blank at the feeling of your skin on his. He has no idea where your jacket has gone, and your sleeves are rolled up. Your bare forearm brushes against his wrist as you guide him through the crowd. His senses have narrowed to that point of contact and Brady wonders if you have freckles or birthmarks under the rest of your clothes. For just a moment, he imagines mapping all the lines and marks of your body—imagines knowing you beyond a brush of skin.

You stop, twisting to stand in front of him with that petulant, expecting look on your pretty face. “Are we going to dance, or are you going to keep staring at me?”

“I’m not staring,” he says, and his traitorous body clenches up as you inch closer to him.

You hum under your breath. “Could feel you watching me all night, Brady.”

His body feels like it’s on fire as you wrap his arm around your waist, clasping his other hand in yours. He shudders under your hands and says, “It’s cause you’re a horrible dancer.”

“Look who’s talking,” you scoff. “You’re stiff as a board. If you weren’t in the band, I’d think you didn’t know a thing about music.”

He pulls you closer by the waist, your chest brushing against his. Your cheeks are turning a lovely shade of pink and when he hears your breathing hitch, Brady knows—with no small amount of quilt—that little noise will linger with him far longer than it should.

He’s looking at you through that heavy-lidded gaze you detest so dearly and it’s not enough to be swaying in his arms “I’m sorry for being sore with you this morning.”

Your whisper hits the shell of his ear, your nose dragging up the line of his neck. It’s instinct, the way his hand flexes on your hip and Brady prays to God for patience, because he’s not sure how much longer he can dance with you like this.

“Cold is what you were this morning. Worried all day about you, and then you show up— flouncing around—,”

“I don’t flounce.”

He pulls back to glare at you. “I saw no shortage of flouncing between Blakely and Hambone.”

“You jealous, Brady?” Your hand slides up his shoulder to the back of his neck, dragging your nails over his nape.

It’s too easy to fall back into your arms, to curl his body against yours. His heart is pounding in his chest and he’s certain you can feel it where he’s pressed against you. He wants to scoff, to make fun of you for insinuating something so ridiculous, but the words catch in his throat.

You don’t give him the mercy of silence. “Can’t dance with you while the band’s playing, can I? Would if I could, Captain.”

You look up at him with a nervous smile—small and timid—so at odds with your usual daring grin, Brady’s desperate to reassure you. “I know,” he says, pulling you impossibly closer. “I know.”

With your face pressed into his chest, it’s hard to hear your next words. Brady strains to hear you over the slow music, the way his body muffles your voice. He catches the sentence, and it breaks his heart.

“I’m tired of cleaning blood out of B-17s.”

The music is quiet and the vinyl creaks as the needle skips.

“I’m worried one day it’ll be yours.”

Brady doesn’t know what to say. He’s a pragmatist and a Catholic; there’s no comfort he can offer you, no promise he can make. For now, the only thing he can do is hold you close and let the music wash over your bodies as the dancefloor empties. At the end of the night, when the record has stopped spinning and the stars have climbed into the sky, the only audible sound is the disquiet of your shared breath and the rhythmic pounding of your hearts.