#Gap Clock Tower

[banepenis]

This thing looks just ripe for a plane

[rabbitcruiser]

Doors, Gates and Windows (No. 76)

51 Astor Place, NYC

Astor Place Building, NYC

Astor Place Tower, NYC (two pics)

Cooper Union, NYC (three pics)

Gap, PA

Paoli Battlefield Site and Parade Grounds, PA (two pics)

[author-ssi]

Daddy ~KNJ

➜Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Reader

➜Genre: Smut, (Slight) Fluff (in the beginning), One-Shot

Warnings: MAJOR Daddy kink (in case, it wasn't clear already from the title), reader is basically drooling over DILF Namjoon, age gap (Namjoon in his 30s, reader in her 20s), breast play&fingering&praise (Namjoon is an absolute service dom - don't even try to change my mind!), vaginal sex (reader rides Namjoon) [18+ MDNI]

➜Word Count: 3.7k

➜Summary: Namjoon had been searching for someone to care for his son for months and months, to no avail. Until the moment he saw you crouched on the ground, helping his son tie his shoelaces with a smile so pretty on your face. That's when he knew you'd be perfect for him... and, for his son too.

"Seungmin-ah, it's time to go to bed! Come on, sweetie".

If you were keeping count -which you were- that'd be your 5th attempt to usher the cheeky three-year-old over to his room.

"But Koya doesn't want to sleep yet... Look, he is full of energy!".

Seungmin swings the plushie around, almost hitting you in the face with it. You let out a huffed chuckle glancing at the clock on the wall.

It's almost 9 o'clock and he's the one who's full of energy...

You'd expect that after running around and playing with him all afternoon long, by the time his bedtime came, he'd be sleeping like a log.

"I'll tell you and Koya a fairytale so you both can go to sleep".

You pick him up and sit on his bed, laying him down and pulling the blanket over him.

Thankfully, he settles down, cuddling his Koya, close to him.

Taking the book of fairytales from the bed table, you flip over to the page of his favourite, Kongjwi and Patjwi.

... Or as you prefer to call it Korean Cinderella with a twist.

Seungmin claps his little hands excitedly, burying himself further inside his blanket, focusing his attention solely on your words.

Reaching out to offer him an affectionate pat on the head, you begin to recite the fairytale, smiling fondly at the thought of how much your life has changed ever since you got the job of babysitting this adorable little toddler.

~Four Months Ago~

Judging from how hard it had been for you to get an apartment in NYC, you were already prepared to face the same difficulty in finding yourself a job.

Little did you know, it'd be as easy as taking a walk in the park.

Literally!

Walking in the park, that one cloudy afternoon, was all it took for you to run into little Seungmin and his dad.

And oh, his dad...

Mr. Kim Namjoon.

A Korean-American.

CEO of a public education company.

Single father to Kim Seungmin, after his wife left him a year ago and ran off to Europe with another man.

Honestly, who in their right mind would even think about leaving this man for another?!

You still remember how in awe you were upon seeing him...

His tall frame towered over you and his son as he stood above you, clad in a black turtleneck that perfectly highlighted his muscled chest and wide shoulders.

His face bore youthful features and yet his eyes brought out a sense of wisdom and maturity.

The polite smile he wore, not only betrayed the dimple that appeared on his cheek but his refined manners too, as he offered you a hand to help you stand back up.

Looking up at his entrancing eyes, you accepted his hand and slowly rose to your feet.

"Daddy, look!".

The little toddler's voice finally enabled you to tear your gaze away from his father.

Seungmin pointed at his small feet, with a bright smile on his face.

His father furrowed his eyebrows puzzled, which rushed you to explain.

"His, uh, his shoelaces were untied and he was running around...

So I thought I'd tie them for him!

You know, so he wouldn't get hurt-"

"Thank you for doing that".

The man offered your hand a small squeeze in gratitude, before finally introducing himself.

You hadn't even noticed he was still holding your hand!

Hastily returning the handshake, you forced yourself to withdraw your hand introducing yourself as well.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Kim".

It felt proper to address him like that, since he seemed to be quite older than you...

Mr Kim slightly cleared his throat and offered you a small nod before turning to his son.

"Why don't you tell the pretty lady who helped you, your name as well, hm?".

You sucked in a breath and bit your lip in a desperate attempt to hide how much that affected you; a man as handsome as him addressing you as pretty.

Thankfully, the cute toddler in front of you was the perfect way to get your mind off of it as he raised his hand towards you.

"Hi, I am Seungmin!".

You noticed he was offering his hand for you to shake, just like he had seen you do with his father.

"Hi, Seungmin!

It's nice to meet you, I'm Y/N".

You resisted the urge to swoon at the sight of his small hand enveloped in your own.

So cute!

"And what else do you need to say to Y/N?".

"Thank you".

You shook yourself insisting it was nothing and adjusted your back on your shoulder, mentally preparing yourself to bid farewell to the two of them.

"Let me buy you a drink, Y/N; as thanks for helping Seungmin".

Your eyes widened at Mr Kim's unexpected suggestion.

"Oh no, you don't need to do that-".

"I insist".

Well, how could you refuse when he looked at you like that?!

And so, you ended up playing with Seungmin at the playground, while Mr Kim went to get the both of you something to drink.

You were pushing Seungmin on the swings when Mr Kim returned with a hot latte in each hand, offering one for you to drink.

Next thing you knew, you were sitting on a bench with probably the most attractive man you'll ever get the chance to lay your eyes on, drinking your latte and watching over his son continuing to play at the playground.

"Thanks again for helping Seungmin out.

I was too busy talking on the phone...

I should have been keeping an eye on him but work is just-".

He groans in frustration, before letting out a long sigh and turning to you.

"Never mind that now, tell me about you".

You purse your lips in thought, rummaging through your brain in an attempt to find something about you that's interesting enough to share with someone like Mr Kim.

"I'm just a girl, trying to survive college while looking for a job".

You shrug before taking another sip of your latte.

Meanwhile, the moment those words left your mouth, Mr Kim turned to face you with a knowing smile.

"Well, that's a happy coincidence".

And that's when you were offered the job of babysitting Mr Kim's son. And even though, you truly loved looking after little Seungmin, you couldn't help being even more thrilled by the prospect of spending even just a little time around a man like Mr. Kim.

~Present Day~

"And so, the new Mayor married Kongjwi, the owner of the shoe.

Now, you'd think that they got to live happily ever after…

But that's not the end of this story!

Jealous of Kongjwi's happiness, her stepsister Patjwi drowns poor Kongjwi in the stream.

Patjwi then disguises herself as Kongjwi and starts living at the palace as the mayor’s wife.

However, one day Kongjwi appears in her husband's dream and tells him about her tragic fate.

The mayor is shocked to learn this and starts desperately searching for his wife's body.

After months and months of endlessly searching, he manages to discover Kongjwi's body in the stream.

He cries cradling his wife's body close to him before leaning over to offer her a kiss farewell.

Yet, with that kiss, Kongjwi is brought back to life.

Once they both return to the town, the Mayor puts Patjwi and her mother in a dark prison and that's when he and Kongjwi finally live...

Happily ever after!".

You huff merrily closing the book and putting it back to its place before turning to Seungmin.

Alas, the story didn't seem to bring the toddler the drowsiness you'd thought it would, so you decide to simply leave him to play around in his bed hoping that at some point he'll tire himself enough to sleep.

You take the baby monitor with you and walk out of the bedroom, trying hard not to laugh at the kid scolding his plushie for not going to sleep.

Heading over to the kitchen, you start making yourself a warm cup of tea.

After carefully, pouring yourself a cup, you settle on the living room's couch and check the baby monitor sighing in relief when you see that little Seungmin has finally fallen asleep.

As you take a sip of your tea, you open your phone to check your Instagram for any messages.

After replying to your bestie's "where are you?" with a simple "babysitting", you quickly engage in conversation with her since the both of you have nothing better to do right now.

Soon, her texting gives way to an incoming call, which you're more than happy to answer.

Time goes by without you taking notice until you realise that you've finished your tea.

Abandoning your snuggling on the couch, you walk back to the kitchen in order to wash the used kettle and mug, having put the phone on speaker and placed it on the table behind you so as not to get water spilt on it.

"So... Is the Daddy hot?".

You roll your eyes at her sudden, crude question with a slight scoff.

She was never the kind to hold back on those types of conversations and thirsty comments, yet this time you decide to humour her and just play along.

"Well...

Let's just say, I wouldn't mind calling him Daddy too".

You hum cheekily and your best friend gasps.

"That much huh?".

"Oh trust me... He's a Dilf ".

You bite your lip, slightly embarrassed by yourself calling him that.

Your best friend lets out a hum and you're certain she also has a teasing smirk on her face.

"Hmm, no wonder you were so thrilled over a babysitting job".

You shake your head chuckling, as you stretch your body to put the kettle back in its place on the top shelf, before starting to wash your mug next.

"No no, I really love looking after his son. Seungmin's the sweetest!

Having Mr Kim around is just..."

"A bonus".

She finishes your sentence for you, giggling.

"But really, why don't you shoot your shot?

You know, flirt with him, show off your boobies".

Her saucy tone makes you roll your eyes.

"I'm not showing off my boobs to my boss!".

"You were the one who wanted him to be your Daddy...

Anyway, what I'm saying is-".

Waiting a moment or two for her to continue, you place the clean mug in its place.

When she doesn't, you assume that the signal must have been cut off so you wipe your wet hands on a towel before turning around to grab your phone and call her back.

Oh.My.God!

Your eyes almost pop out of your skull and your body freezes on the spot at the sight of none other than Mr. Kim himself leaning against the table where your phone is placed, his hand hovering over its screen.

"M-Mr. Kim! I-I didn't realise you were back home!".

You stumble over your words, feeling your cheeks burn red from the embarrassment.

The only thing that's left for you to do now is hope that he probably hasn't been home long enough to hear the entire conversation, or else you're most definitely fired.

Mr Kim smirks, the amusement clear on his face.

"I thought you'd prefer calling me Daddy".

You gasp, wishing for the earth to open up and swallow you whole right now.

He heard everything right from the start...

Well, there goes your job!

"I-I... It's not what I meant-! I was just, uh, joking! I-!"

You know your attempts at justifying yourself are futile.

You know that there's nothing redeemable you can say for yourself.

But you don't want to lose this job!

Yes, you need the money too but spending all that time with Mr Kim and Seungmin...

You can't bear the thought of never getting to see them again!

"Y/N..."

Your staggered breath catches in your throat once you realise how close to you Mr Kim has gotten.

He has placed his hands on either side of the kitchen counter, trapping you between them.

"Mr Kim-".

You look up at him in question, only to get lost in his eyes.

His large palm comes to caress your cheek, his thumb slightly stroking the soft skin.

"Mr Kim".

A low groan rumbles in his throat as he presses his mouth against yours, more fiercely.

You utter again, before his lips suddenly connect with your own and your mind goes blank.

"Do you know how much I had to hold myself back whenever you called me that?".

You let out a small gasp when you feel his other hand start to fondle your breast.

A wanton cry slips past your lips when his fingers brush over your pebbled nipple.

"Do you know how many times I wished you showed these off to me, and me only?".

His words barely register, you mind still remaining blank from the unforeseen pleasure.

You latch your hands onto his wide shoulders as he lifts you off the ground, wrapping your legs around his waist and having you sit on the kitchen counter.

"Do you know how long I wanted to hear you call me Daddy?".

His hand pushes your hair back, revealing your neck for him to bury his face into, leaving a trail of wet kisses on your warm skin.

You slightly throw your head back, your mouth parting in pleasure, while your hands run through his dark hair.

Both of his hands slowly start kneading your breasts as he lifts his lips from your neck, drawing them close to your ear.

"Go on baby, say it...

Let me hear that pretty voice of yours call me Daddy".

Your brain short-circuits at his words.

You honestly can't fully process what's happening right now.

Yet the words leave your mouth with no hesitation.

"Daddy".

It's as if a switch flipped in Namjoon's mind.

"Oh yes, that's it, baby".

He growls, quickly discarding your blouse and bra off of your body before leaning down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth.

You mewl as he starts to suck on it and your legs press against his hips, urging him to touch you where you need him most.

"Daddy, please".

He lets your nipple out of his mouth with a 'pop' and he stands up straight, slightly towering over you.

His hand disappears inside your pants, touching you over your panties as he looks down at you, his eyes clouded with desire.

"Is that what you want Daddy to do, baby?

Rub your pussy for you".

You pant closing your eyes as you nod at him urgently.

"Words, baby... I need to hear you say it".

"Yes, Daddy please rub my pussy".

And that's exactly what he does...

And he does it so well...

"Eyes on me, baby".

His deep voice coaxes you to open your eyes and gaze upon him.

Namjoon marvels at the sight of you, panting and trembling in pleasure but it's not nearly enough to satisfy his need for you.

He needs to see you come undone now, just by his fingers.

Gingerly pushing your panties to the side, he licks his lips before he inserts two of his long fingers inside you.

"Oh, D-Daddy!".

You let out a gasp, feeling yourself already full with just two of his fingers.

The thought of what it would feel like to have his cock enter you next, sends shivers down your spine.

His other hand rests on your hip and when he begins to move his fingers slowly in and out of your wet slit, Namjoon holds your body still as you can't help but squirm from the building pleasure.

"Now baby, I want you to focus on my voice".

You don't get the chance to respond to his words.

A breathy moan rips past your lips, your nails desperately digging into his back when you feel him curling his fingers inside you.

Namjoon lets out a pleased hum before he leans over to huskily whisper in your ear.

"I'll start counting and once I reach seven, you're going to let go and cum for your Daddy, like the good little girl you are".

"One...".

His fingers start to pick up speed, while he continues to move them in and out of you.

"Two...".

His other hand starts roughly groping your breast again, making you whine softly.

"Three... Four...".

His fingers curl intensely inside you, sending jolts of pleasure throughout your whole body.

"Five... Six"

"Daddy, I'm going to-!"

"...Seven".

You let go.

A sweet, little cry resonates in the kitchen when you cum on his fingers, but Namjoon keeps moving them, steadily letting you ride out your orgasm.

Once your body relaxes, you let yourself lean towards him resting your head on his chest with a small hum.

Embarrassment threatens to creep up on you as the gravity of the situation comes down on you.

And yet, when your mind runs back to Namjoon's previous words and touches, you instantly admit to yourself that there's no going back for you now.

You want him.

Namjoon grabs your chin, forcing your eyes to look up at him.

He relishes your blissed-out expression and smirks when he detects the insatiable desire still reflected in your eyes.

"Tell me what you want, baby".

His deep voice tears up all your remaining inhibitions.

"You, I want you inside me Daddy".

You run your palm through his clothed chest before starting to unbutton his shirt.

Namjoon lets out a low chuckle, shrugging his suit jacket off of his shoulders.

"Such a good girl, using her words for me".

He swiftly lifts your body off of the kitchen counter and carries you over to the living room.

Your legs stay wrapped around his waist as you finally remove his shirt off of him.

Having his strong arms hold you like this, your sole focus remains on discarding his clothes.

Licking your lips at the sight of his well-built body, you let your hands wander all over it, mapping out his chest, his waist and his shoulders.

Namjoon sighs in satisfaction, before carefully placing you back on the ground, leaving you to stand in front of him topless.

He slowly takes a sit at the edge of the couch behind him and his hands reach out, pulling down your pants and undergarments for you.

Soft moans release from your lips, as he starts to ravish every part of your body with wet kisses and sensual touches.

"Daddy".

You whine, your knees slightly quivering from his heated affection.

"I know baby, Daddy will give you what you want...

Just wanted to take a moment and cherish that beautiful body of yours".

He mutters glancing up at you with lust-filled eyes.

He raises his hips slightly, taking off both of his pants and boxers with one swift movement before leaning back on the couch, resting his arms on the back of it.

One of his fingers points to his lap and your gaze zeroes in on his erected length.

"Go ahead baby, I'm all yours".

You gulp, hesitating for a mere moment before your neediness overcomes you, urging your body to move on top of him.

His hands immediately find their way to your hips, holding onto them firmly to help guide you, as you slowly sink yourself down to his cock.

"Don't rush, we've got all the time in the world".

Namjoon's hushed whisper is soothing and it momentarily distracts you from the slightly painful stretch of his cock.

But the moment you bottom out, a pleasurable heat spreads through your entire body.

Your hips slightly stagger as you itch to start moving them against him but Namjoon's hands keep them still.

His face draws close to yours, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss, his hot breath mingling with your own.

When he pulls away, his forehead touches yours as he looks deep in your eyes.

"Now, give Daddy a good ride".

Your back arches when his hands roll your hips setting up a steady pace for you to follow.

Once he's made sure you're able to keep up on your own, his hands wrap around your waist hugging your body close to him.

The way he holds you is so erotic; it makes you melt in his arms, hugging him back and letting him relish your unrestrained moans while you ride him.

Namjoon lets you chase your orgasm, simply enjoying the feeling of having you so intimately close to him.

His fingers run down your spine eager to watch goosebumps appear all over your skin.

Yet what takes him by surprise is your walls fluttering around his cock as well.

Namjoon groans throwing his head back, pleasure painting over his expression.

The sight of him losing his composure because of you urges you to pick up the pace, bucking your hips faster against his.

"Oh baby, you make Daddy feel so good...

Come on, won't you cum again around Daddy's cock, like the good girl you are?".

"Ah y-yes Daddy, I-I'm gonna cum!".

His half-lidded eyes are focused on you and you only.

The intensity of his gaze is enough to send you over the edge.

You bite your lip, in an attempt to muffle the shriek that leaves your mouth before your orgasm finally washes over you.

The pleasure your second orgasm brings you is even more intense than your previous one...

So much so, that when the afterglow settles in, you can't help but let your body slump on top of Namjoon's.

Snuggling against his slightly heaving chest, you gather up the courage to look up at him bashfully.

"Um... Mr. Kim-".

Your call for him gets interrupted by his mouth claiming yours in yet another passionate kiss.

Kissing you roughly and deeply, he doesn't draw back until he leaves you breathless.

His fingers brush through your hair tenderly but the look in his eyes is strict and his tone is absolute when he whispers to you.

"I thought we'd already established that from now on, you're only addressing me as Daddy".

[luvrgreyy]

LAMBS TO THE SLAUGHTER, ii

leon kennedy x religious f!reader

word count: 3k summary: realizing parents don’t always know whats best. masterlist | taglist | ko-fi

previous chapter | next chapter

18+ MDNI. DEAD DOVE. religious themes, religious trauma, neglectful/abusive parents, physical abuse(not by leon), mentions of bruises and physical injury, age gap(reader is 19, leon is 27), reader tries coffee for the first time. there will be smut in future chapters.

a/n: sorry for making you guys wait, i wasn’t really contented with the first version i made of this so i decided to redo most of it, which didn’t turn out that good either. anyway, i hope you guys enjoy, likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

you had returned from leon’s house, the familiar scent of home enveloping you. the floral aroma of your mother's cleaning products mingled with the rich scent of your father's coffee, yet neither could dispel the unease that clung to you. the house was empty, amplifying the loneliness that settled like a weight in your chest.

of course, the chores. you still needed to finish them before your parents returned. you rushed to sweep the kitchen floor, hastening to the laundry next. the clock ticked ominously, each second a reminder of how little time you had.

but leon’s image haunted you, an uninvited specter in your mind. you tried to forget, to focus on your tasks, but your hands trembled as you attempted to fold a shirt, the fabric slipping from your grasp. frustration welled up within you, a sigh escaping your lips, as you envisioned his eyes, his smile, the warmth that seemed so foreign in your own home.

you moved onto the dishes, hoping the mundanity of the task would distract you. but the clattering plates only evoked memories of leon’s chuckle, his voice echoing in your thoughts, a gentle reminder of the fleeting moments you shared.

and despite your efforts, the chores remained unfinished. the broom leaned against the wall, dishes piled high in the sink, and the laundry lay untouched on the living room floor. the weight of your failure pressed down on you, a physical ache that matched the emotional turmoil.

you couldn’t recall how it happened, your mind always foggy afterward. one moment you were rushing to complete your tasks, the next you were lying on the floor, pain throbbing in your head. vision blurred, you struggled to sit up, the room spinning around you. you reached out, steadying yourself against the coffee table, the cold surface grounding you in reality.

that's when you noticed them — bruises blooming on your arms, smaller ones on your knees, cuts shallow but jagged on your knees and elbows, and tiny splinters embedded in your fingers. each mark a testament to the chaos that reigned in your home.

your parents towered over you, a sight you'd grown used to. their faces were contorted into rage, though you weren't entirely sure what you had done to deserve it. their anger was a constant companion, an ever-present threat.

your father grabbed you by the hair, yanking your head back painfully. "ain't this all you had to do before we came home? 'ts not so hard, is it? don't get what you had to do that's so much more important than what we tell you." you opened your mouth, but only a groan emerged, the pain throbbing in your head, each word a dagger to your heart.

your mother knelt down, roughly grabbing your chin to force you to look at her. "don't you dare act like you're hurt, missy. ain't nothin' hurt. you just want an excuse not to do your chores." her grip tightened, nails digging into your skin.

"we'll give you an excuse, you spoiled brat."

your mother kicked you hard in the side, a shout of pain escaping your lips. your father dragged you to your feet, his grip iron on your upper arm. he wrenched you toward the staircase, each step a reminder of your helplessness.

"up to your room, young lady. don't wanna see you down here till morning." you stumbled up the stairs, each step sending jolts of pain through your bruised body.

you remember it vividly, collapsing onto your bed that night, tears pricking at your eyes, attempting to sob quietly in the darkness of your room.

a storm brewed closer, and you sat in your disheveled cream-colored dress, swinging your legs from the trunk of a tree that stood between your house and his. your face was streaked with dirt and wind-blown hair. you gazed into the distance, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your thigh, oblivious to the world around you.

the front door creaked open, but you remained unaware, lost in your thoughts.

"hi, neighbor," you heard. your head snapped down, eyes meeting his, a flicker of surprise crossing your features.

"hi," a small peep escaped your lips, your voice barely above a whisper.

he stood there, looking up at you, concern etched on his face.

"everything okay up there?" he gestured vaguely at the branches surrounding you. you opened your mouth, but no words came out. just gasps and wheezes. your lungs felt like they were on fire. and all you managed was a quiet hum, just enough for him to hear.

his attempts to climb the tree were futile, making it halfway before he stood on the ground. "you know, there's a perfectly good porch down here. the grass is really nice this time of year too." his voice was gentle, a stark contrast to the harshness you were accustomed to.

you awkwardly shifted on the branch, attempting to cover your legs, the bark digging into your thighs through your dress. "how'd you get those?" his eyes lingered on your bruises, concern deepening.

"i— i'm not supposed to talk to you," you try to avoid eye contact. "sorry."

his brow furrowed slightly at your whispered response. "oh, come on. don't be like that," he leaned against the trunk, looking up at you with intense blue eyes. "talk to me." his voice was low and gravelly, sending shivers down your spine, a strange comfort in his persistence.

"i can't," your voice barely reached his ears, but he caught it. "i'm not supposed to tell."

"not supposed to tell what?" he sounded genuinely curious and a little amused, like he thought you were playing a game. his gaze drifted over your face, taking in your flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. "honey, you can tell me anything. i'm your neighbor, remember? you even bought me cookies. we're friends now."

you glanced down, then back up, then down again. your eyes darted around, worried someone might be watching. when they flicked back up to him, your brows furrowed, eyes frightened. "please, you can't tell anyone, okay? i'd get in so much trouble if my parents found out i told you..." you trailed off, biting your lip. your hands curled tightly around the branches above your head. you trembled slightly, the fear palpable.

"i promise, i won't."

"you gotta tell me why you're so scared to talk. what's going on at home?" his eyes... they just kept looking at you, seeing right through you. you swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry. how could you explain? they'd hate you more if you told. and leon... he'd probably think you were weird. or broken. or worse.

but he asked. and he seemed like he wanted to know. and you really didn't want to cry in front of him. so you took a deep breath and told him the truth. "my parents... they hit me. only sometimes. when i don't do what they want." tears pricked your eyes, and you bit your lip hard, trying to hold them back.

you weren't crying. you weren't crying. you weren't... a sob escaped your throat, and soon you were hiccuping and sniffling, clinging to the branches as you cried. he just looked at you as you cried. "sorry."

he didn't say anything. didn't move. just kept looking at you as you cried. this was so embarrassing. but it also felt like a relief, finally telling someone the truth. even if that someone was a boy from next door you barely knew. after a few moments, he finally spoke.

"you know i'm here for you, right? you can talk to me, about anything." his voice was gentle now, not gravelly and teasing like before. "care to come down now?"

"can't," you timidly shook your head and turned away slightly. "it's almost dinner."

the wind whipped through the branches, the only sound echoing through the neighborhood. you looked down at him, his gaze fixed on you. the tears wouldn't stop. "please don't look at me like that," you sniffled, wiping your tear-streaked face with the back of your hands, wishing the ground would swallow you whole.

his lips parted as if to say something, but he was interrupted by the door squeaking open, your mother calling out.

"dinner's ready!” the sternness in her voice made you go rigid. your eyes widened, and your hand quickly slapped over your mouth to hold back a whimper. there wasn't much time left. you clambered down the tree, wincing with each bruise pushed to its limit.

halfway down, he reached up to help, his hand grasping your arm to steady you. your feet planted on the grass, you were met with a reassuring smile. "i'll see you later, yeah?"

"okay."

you turned back to your house, swallowing the dread building in your stomach. your mother stood at the front door, arms crossed, a stern look on her face.

"where've you been?" she snapped as you approached. "dinner's been waiting, you know."

"sorry," you swallowed your words. "i— i was outside. in the garden."

"in the garden," she repeated, a hint of suspicion in her voice, masked behind false care. she scrutinized you with her piercing gaze, taking note of your messy hair, dress covered in twigs, dirt stains. the evidence was all over you, each mark a silent accusation.

"well, c'mon then. no point in standing out here all night," she snapped. "go clean up. you're filthy."

later that night, after dinner and chores, you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. thoughts fixated on leon. the way he looked at you. the way he listened. the way he didn't judge. his presence was a balm to your wounded soul, a flicker of hope in the darkness.

hours ticked by, sleep eluding you. every time your eyes shut, images of him popped into your head. his intense gaze, the small quirks of his expression, the timbre of his voice, and that slight, warm smile. each memory a lifeline, a reminder that someone cared.

you rolled over, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself, trying to push away the strange feelings stirring within. the uncertainty gnawed at you, a constant companion.

eventually, after hours of tossing and turning, sleep came at last. but it did not bring peace. your fears came to life in your dreams, the pain and dread all too real, haunting you, a relentless reminder of your reality.

the following morning, rain pelted against your window, the sound echoing through your small room. the weather matched your mood, a reflection of the storm within. groggily, you lifted yourself off the bed, body covered in aches and bruises from the previous day.

the rain continued, drumming against the roof. you stood at your window, staring into the gloom, mind wandering back to yesterday. to leon. to the way his presence had offered a momentary respite from your suffering.

a flash of lightning illuminated the sky, followed by a clap of thunder. you flinched, heart racing. the pain in your body faded as unease washed over you, the storm outside mirroring the turmoil within, each rumble a reminder of your unrest.

your groggy mind struggled to shake off sleep's haze. you sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. the nightmare's memories lingered like a bad taste. rain lashed the window, creating a steady rhythm that filled the morning air, a symphony of sorrow.

carefully, you climbed out of bed, feeling the throb in your body, and pulled on the first outfit you found, not bothering to change into something clean. your hair was a mess, eyes heavy with unshed tears, the weight of the previous day still hanging over you.

you hesitated at the door, the rain's sound intensifying. but something pushed you forward. maybe it was the need for distraction, the curiosity of seeing leon again, or just the need for human interaction. the need to feel less alone.

you made your way to his house, shivering as cold droplets soaked through your clothes. the front door creaked open at your knock, revealing leon in all his disheveled glory. he looked as tired as you felt, but seeing him lifted a weight off your chest, a small comfort amidst the chaos.

"hey," he greeted, voice rough from sleep, his eyes warming as he took in your bedraggled appearance.

"hi," you smiled awkwardly. "i hope you don't mind, i was hoping we could kind of..."

"i don’t know, talk… i guess."

he blinked, slowly registering your smile. he stepped aside, allowing you in, his presence a silent reassurance.

"mind? are you kidding me? you're soaked. come in." he led you into the living room, closing the door behind you, the warmth of his home a stark contrast to the cold outside.

you shivered again, and he noticed, throwing you a towel. "here, dry off a bit." as you wrapped the towel around your shoulders, you noticed his eyes lingering on you, his gaze seeming to strip you bare. it made you shiver for an entirely different reason, a strange warmth spreading through you.

"i was just about to make coffee. want some?" he asked, gesturing to the kitchen, his voice a gentle invitation.

"no, thank you."

"are you sure? i just brewed a fresh pot," he stands there expectantly, hands resting on his hips. his gaze bores into you, studying you. like he's trying to figure out what's going on in that head of yours. you shift uncomfortably, feeling self-conscious under his scrutiny.

"okay," he eventually drops it. "so, what're you doing here this early?" he gestured, his curiosity evident.

why did you come here? oh right. to distract yourself. and also, because you sort of wanted... to see him. "i just... i had some free time, and i thought..." you trailed off, unable to meet his eyes. this felt so awkward, so vulnerable. he filled the silence with his understanding.

"no need to explain," he said. his voice was casual, but his eyes held concern. he studied you for a moment. "i get it."

the way your hair stuck to your face, the slight trembling in your fingers, the faint tinge of pink on your cheeks. you were vulnerable, and he sensed your deep troubles. he crossed his arms, leaning against the wall, his presence a silent support.

"you're shivering," he pointed out, voice concerned. "are you sure you don't want coffee?"

you shook your head. "i don't drink coffee," you cleared your throat. "my parents don't let me."

he quirked a brow, confusion and disbelief washing over his features. but his response held no judgment, just a matter-of-fact tone, his concern evident.

"your parents don't let you?" his voice was calm, yet his words carried a subtle bite.

you nodded. the tension was palpable. the silence that followed was filled with understanding, deeper than words. he saw through you, understood what you weren't saying, his gaze a silent promise.

"you're kidding,” he continued. "what kind of parents don't let their kid drink coffee?"

he said it half-jokingly, but not to tease. he was genuinely surprised at your strict situation, an absurdity to him, his disbelief a reflection of his concern.

"it's just coffee," he muttered. "not like its hard drugs or anything,"

"yeah," you chuckled uncomfortably, the sound a weak attempt to lighten the mood.

he stepped closer, leaning down to get a better look at you, eyes searching your face. "your parents... they don't let you do a lot of things, do they?"

"no," you mumbled, eyes shifting away. "but they say it's what's best for me."

his jaw clenched, eyes narrowing as you confirmed his hunch. your relationship with your parents wasn't healthy, a truth that weighed heavily on him.

he scoffed softly, pulling back. "right," he said, voice dripping with cynicism. "because your parents clearly know what's best for you, huh?"

"of course they do," your voice cracks. "they're my parents—“

"so what? being a parent means controlling your kid’s life?" he scoffed. "bullshit."

despite his bluntness, he didn't raise his voice. he wasn't angry, just frustrated. he wanted you to see the fallacy in your logic. it was difficult for him to witness your treatment, his concern a silent plea for you to see the truth.

he paused, gaze softening. he saw how much you held back, the tension in your shoulders, the nervous fiddling with your shirt's hem, each movement a silent cry for help.

"i—" you wanted to say something, but your voice was strained, just quiet squeaks, the words caught in your throat.

his face softened, realizing pushing further wouldn't help. his concern a gentle reminder that he was there for you.

"how about that coffee? i'll even make it decaf, so you don’t get those caffeine jitters," he smiled. "sound good?"

you nodded. "yeah, okay."

satisfied, he headed to the kitchen, returning with a steaming mug. placing it in your hands, he ensured your fingers were securely wrapped around it before letting go. his actions were gentle but firm, fearing you might crumble if too rough, his presence a silent comfort.

"careful," he cautioned. "it's hot."

the rain had stopped, replaced by a gentle patter of raindrops on the windowpane. finally, you broke the silence.

"thank you," you said softly. for the coffee, yes, but for everything else too.

tags: @lottiies @arcane5019 @crowleyco @catnipchannie

[word-wytch]

Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 15

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 15/? 10k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ The aftermath of a kiss makes thoughts come alive — both desires and fears. 

✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Series CW: forbidden romance, slow burn, true love, smut (18+ mdni), internal conflict, student-teacher relationship, 10 year age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, emotions, drama, angst, character development, happy ending :)

✏︎ Chapter CW: smut 18+ (imagined oral f!receiving, piv, creampie), cumming in pants, angst

Wednesday, December 11th 1985

The flag was whipping in the wind. Towering above the parking lot in a blur of red, white, and blue, it cracked against the pale grey sky. 

Meeting your eyes in the rearview mirror, you checked for any obvious signs of guilt. The harsh morning light made it clear what you’d missed in your haste to leave. You thought you had gotten it all, but the mascara resting in the lines beneath your eyes said otherwise. Truthfully, washing your face had been the last thing on your mind when you stumbled home after midnight, and it was clear you needed more than the five minutes you allotted this morning in front of the sink. After sleeping through your alarm, it was a miracle you were here at all. Swiping your knuckles across the bags under your eyes, you figured that would have to do.

With a final, bracing sigh, you opened the door and slumped into the freezing cold. Slamming the door, you marched across the snow-dusted pavement and hiked the heavy leather strap onto your shoulder. Students scattered around you with bright colored backpacks, rushing from their cars toward the squat, concrete building that loomed on the horizon. Eyes steeled on the glass doors ahead, you swallowed a sickness rising up from the pit of your stomach. Pebbles crunched under your boots as you dodged glances, offering little more than a timid smile and a raise of your hand at the greetings hurled your way. 

Pulling open the chilled metal handle, that school smell—indescribable yet unmistakable—gusted hotly over your numb cheeks. The office was abuzz with shrill ringing phones and gently chiding voices. Eyes glued to the long, grey weather mat below, you approached the clock-in station.

“Good morning!” the receptionist greeted cheerfully at the back of your head. 

“Morning, Judy,” you offered weakly, selecting your punch card from its wooden slot on the wall. With a shaking hand, you slotted the index card into the machine, lining it up with this week’s row of black-inked numbers. It snapped to life, stamping today’s date in a crooked line beneath the rest. 

Tucking your thumb under the strap, you trudged along your usual path, raising your eyes just enough to see where you were going. Fluorescents danced over the polished tile, over the shimmering salt-stained boot marks and stray pebbles you were suddenly so captivated by. Past the glass trophy cases, inside the cafeteria, you crossed the row of principal portraits from years prior outside the teachers lounge. It was difficult to look at them today, the judgement painted so clearly on their features from inside their thick, ornate frames. Their eyes seemed to follow you as you passed. Dodging their scorn, you ducked inside the door.

Your soles met the padding of the threadbare carpet, marching toward the one thing you truly depended on, stationed at its post on the end of the long, veneer table — the coffee machine. The room was spinning with activity, a bustle of chatter you hoped you could hide in. Most were on their way out, making small talk and gathering belongings from their seats at the round tables. Your skirt swished forward as you halted before the machine, tapping the cuff of your tall boots. Grabbing a mug from the stack, you filled it with haste.

You wondered if anyone could smell it on you — the cigarette smoke that clung to your coat. Shrinking down into your turtleneck, you sidestepped to return the pot to the warmer. 

“Good morning,” stated a voice behind you with cold professionalism. 

The plastic slipped in your hand, coffee hissing against the metal plate as you fumbled it into place. “Principal Higgins! H-hi—good morning!” 

She always terrified you, even as a student here. Even before last night. Standing all of about four foot ten, her stern, nun-like demeanor and white cloud of hair remained consistent with your memory, as if she had reached a point in her aging where she just plateaued.

“How are you?” she asked. Not as though she really cared, just as something polite to say.

Whipping around as the blood drained from your face, you addressed her. “Good! I’m good. Just getting things wrapped up for the semester. You know how it is.” 

She nodded curtly. “Glad to hear,” she answered, though nothing about her expression seemed glad.  It never did. You thought you saw her smile once in September, but it could have been a trick of the light. Smiling weakly at the floor, you dipped around her and shuffled toward the open milk carton. The air was thick and stuffy, filling your lungs in shallow draws. Peeling back the soggy cardboard, you swallowed your hammering pulse. 

“Hey stranger,” Diane greeted warmly, grabbing a mug from beside you. “You ready for winter break yet?” 

Fixed on the coffee as the milk swirled like smoke, you couldn’t find the courage to meet her eyes. “I’ve been ready since October,” you admitted through a strained chuckle.

Diane tipped her head back, laughing into the fluorescents. “Oh man I feel ya, I’ve been counting down the days myself.” Steam rose from her mug as she filled it.

There must have been a sign on your back. Something like kick me. A bump from behind had you lurching into the table, sloshing coffee over the rim. Snapping your head over your shoulder, you glared at the culprit. 

“Jeez it’s crowded in here,” muttered Ms. O’Donnell as she lumbered over to the coffee machine. “Everyone mingling like a flock of hens, you’d think we’d all have places to be by now.”

With a sharp sigh, you grabbed a handful of flimsy napkins from beside the sugar. Diane glanced in brief annoyance before reaching through your line of sight for the milk carton. “So, did you catch Cheers last night?”

You froze, heat creeping up the collar of your coat as the coffee bled through the paper. Images of sweating glasses on cocktail napkins and plush lips clouded your vision as you blotted up the mess with a trembling hand. “No I uh, turned in early I’m afraid.” Your stomach curdled with the lie.

“Aww, well you’ll have to catch it on re-run because it was a good one. I won’t spoil anything,” Diane said, bringing the mug to her lips as she leaned against the table. 

Grabbing the handful of warm, soggy napkins, you pivoted to toss them in the trash. Finally, she caught you with her eyes. Rich umber, deep with caring and kindness, captive for anyone who needed a good listener, for you on so many occasions. Diane was good like a cashmere cardigan, like a box of tissues passed across a desk. Your eyes met the floor again quickly, heat rising in your face. You shuddered to imagine what she’d think if she knew. 

The room became a blur of scooting chairs, of vending machines whirring, of crackers and candy dropping into the bins below. Metal flaps whined and slammed as hands reached in to grab them. It was closing in on you — the copy machine ink wafting warmly across the room as it spat out stacks of tests, the hole punchers clicking and binders snapping open to devour papers with their jagged maws. You stood there in the middle of it all, spinning like you’d stepped out of a carnival ride.

Diane leaned closer, eyes narrowing. “You ok?”

Blinking rapidly, you snapped back to attention. “Yeah—yeah I’m fine.” 

Folding her arms across her sweater, she knit her brows in disbelief. As the school counselor, it was her job to see through bullshit, and she was good at her job. Before she could comment, the bell had your stomach lurching. “I have to go,” you said with as much of a casual farce as you could muster. “I’ll see you later.” You grabbed your mug, shielding your face with it as you sipped off the top before vanishing into the hallway.

-

The AV cart was heavy despite its wheels. Avoiding your tired reflection in the glass of the large television, you braced the metal frame and peered around it, marching carefully down the crowded hallway. At least you had something to hide behind now. 

There were footsteps all around you, weaving to accommodate the metal mass as you trudged slowly forward. What became unignorable was the set behind you, shuffling down the hall at an increasing speed, growing louder as they neared. Eddie halted just behind your shoulder, bumping it slightly in his haste. “Hey,” he breathed in your ear, curls tickling your cheek.

Sucking in a breath, you whipped your head around to meet his crinkling eyes. If he had a tail, he would be wagging it. “Eddie,” you hissed. “Get—” you elbowed him away, heart pounding into your temples as a hundred eyes passed by around you. 

He didn’t seem phased. Hovering at an uncomfortable proximity, his focus stayed glued to you as if the rest of the world had fallen away. “Here,” he offered, reaching over to take the reins. The meat of his palms grazed your knuckles; warm and pliant like you remembered them. 

“I’ve got it,” you insisted, gaze dutifully forward, gripping the metal frame firmly.

“Come on, let me help,” he muttered, leather forearms insisting against yours as he tugged the cart in his direction.

Face fully on fire now, you released your grip, repelling with a twinge of remorse from the solid contact of his shoulder. Head darting left and right, you scouted for faculty, keeping a steady pace beside him. Not so close as to draw suspicion, but close enough to feel his magnetism prickle your awareness. His fingers pinked under his rings, knuckles white in his grip as the strong angles of his hands kept the cart from veering. “It’s um—” Eddie started, dipping his head toward your ear again, “good to see you again,” he uttered with a fervency that could have evaporated you.

“Happy Wednesday!” chimed Ms. Click as she waved you down from outside her door. 

The blood drained from your face. Raising a trembling hand, you returned a weak smile before locking your vision on the end of the hall. It was closing in again; the lockers, the voices, the squeaking of wet boots against the tile. There was the potent scent of cigarettes, fresh on his hair like the snowflakes that clung to his curls. They were melting, dripping down his wild ringlets onto his shoulders with every step. It was beautiful, the way they bounced and swayed in the wind as he walked. The way the droplets settled in the wrinkles of his leather coat. The way it tapered toward his narrow waist. As he braced the cart, you selfishly admired the angles of his shoulders — broad and capable. Selfishly, you wondered what else they could accomplish, how they would feel, bare under your palms. Crossing your arms coyly over your turtleneck, you snatched your mind from the gutter.

Eddie lolled his head toward you, peering under heavy lids. His smile was lazy and generous, brimming with boyish glee. “God you look pretty today,” he sighed. Your uterus beat your stomach to a backflip. 

Halting outside the door to your classroom, you turned to face him. “Eddie, we can’t—” your desert mouth hung open as those soft umber eyes ushered your words into the din.

“I’m allowed to talk to you,” he asserted, shifting to the fullness of his height as he dropped his hands from the cart. 

“Not like that. Not here,” you corrected, just above a whisper. 

Brow lowering, he swiped his coat aside to access his hip, resting his hand above the chain that dripped toward his thigh. It was suffocating — the heat from his gaze, from your turtleneck, from the thoughts hammering like pinballs against the inside of your skull. 

“Listen, I just…” you swallowed, “it’s just—” you glanced around, meeting the waves and bright hellos that passed through your door with a vacant smile before lowering your voice, “—hard to be back here today.”

Eddie tipped his head forward, shifting on the balls of his feet with a subtle nod. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

You huffed through your nose, eyes pleading with him as you shrank toward your door.

“I’ll see you later,” he promised, drifting in by an invisible tether with every inch you moved away. 

“Yeah.” Your exhale was heavy, lingering in his gaze for an aching second before ducking through the threshold. 

______

The static from the television prickled your forehead as you rewound the tape, fussing with the buttons on the VHS player seated on the shelf below it. The screen fizzled grey as as your fourth period class filed in, shuffling feet and relieved exclamations echoing behind you as they passed.

You could have left it alone and walked away, but you would take any excuse not to face them today. Leaning against the cart as you stared into the crackling static, that telltale scent wafted in on the air, tugging at memories of smoke rings and stage lights, filling you with equal parts dread and aching familiarity. You could see his silhouette out of the corner of your eye; tall and dark with a halo of frizz, boots heavy against the tile as he approached you. Swallowing your rising pulse, you couldn’t help but indulge for a second, shifting just enough to catch the soft pink of his smirk before his shoulder nudged yours in passing. Desks squeaked against the floor behind you, yielding to the weight of twenty students as they filled the five tidy rows. When the bell finally rang, you shut the door and mustered the courage to address them.

None of your classes were studying To Kill A Mockingbird. Irrelevant as it was to your lessons, you would excuse it to all of them by citing it as a great example of storytelling. Weak, but it was the best you could come up with on such short notice. You doubted anyone cared, they all seemed just as relieved as you were for a break from the fluorescents. 

You flicked off the lights and pressed play on the VCR. The room was bathed in white and blue as the opening credits rolled, and you took your place behind the big desk. Propping your head wearily against your hand, you stared down at the sea of white below you. Eyes unfocused, black ink and graphite chicken scratch blurred together as a different film played out behind them. 

The set was dramatically lit; a spotlight of interrogation that beamed down on your small chair facing Martha Higgins’ desk. The props were hyper-realistic; files she flipped through with her spindly, arthritic fingers containing your teaching license and contract for the year. The prominent lines on her forehead were growing increasingly severe as she considered the delivery of your inevitable punishment. 

A jungle of items framed the papers that sprawled across your real desk — the spider plant Susan had given you when the leaves were beginning to blush with oranges and reds, the stapler you’d had since college, the mug with a quill printed on it which now held your pens. You wondered what it would feel like to pack them all into a banker box in the middle of a winter afternoon. To lug it down the hallway, dodging the scorn of your former colleagues. With a heavy sigh, you buried your spinning head in your hand.

Eddie was seated as he always was, cheek pressed to his knuckles as he watched you from his corner of the room. A straight shot toward your desk in front of him, he gazed with reverence as the white light from the television bathed your one exposed cheekbone in a holy glow. Picking at the chipped veneer on the desk with his restless thumb, he recounted the feeling of it in his hands. The angle of your jaw, the notch where it met below your ear, the soft skin of your throat that hummed beneath the pads of his frozen digits, warming them to life with every swell and swallow as his mouth enveloped yours. He’d played it over and over the whole drive home, every moment since he’d opened his eyes this morning, convincing himself with every replay that it wasn’t a dream. 

He’d gotten a taste. Not enough to satisfy him — the opposite really. Like first bites often did, it only brought awareness to his hunger. The light played softly on your stiffened jaw. How he ached soothe it with his lips again, to feel the hard bone under supple skin, to hear and taste your sighs again; more moving than any music he’d ever heard. 

The darkness gave quiet permission for his mind to play a film of its own. In this one, the room would be the same. Just as dark but empty, save for you and him. He would scale the isle in five swift steps. Lifting your worried chin with his knuckle, he would draw you to the fullness of your height, capture your body in his arms and pull you into a searing kiss. He knew what it felt like now, and that only fueled his wild imagination. He knew you’d melt like putty, let him be the only thing holding you together, keeping you from falling to the floor with the strength of his arms around your soft cotton waist. 

He had memorized the shape of your lips, how slick with hunger they were as they slipped against his. Your hums would be quiet here, timid and shy as you glanced over his shoulder toward the door with worried eyes. On this set there were no real hallways, no extras making noise or slamming lockers. Nothing in the script suggesting an interruption, only the pretend risk that made a thrill rise in him like the tent in his jeans. The way you would shyly toy with the pins on his vest, insisting that “we shouldn’t,” and “it’s just not right.”

You wouldn’t protest for long, not in this script. Not when his teeth found your neck again, dipping down below the collar of your turtleneck. It was a nuisance really, nothing but a sponge for his spit as his tongue soothed over where his teeth left off. You would be needing it later because he would leave a mark this time. Several, tasting every moan you offered as he sucked bruises onto your delicate skin. He hadn’t tasted nearly enough of you, hadn’t felt nearly as much as he’d wanted. 

Closing his eyes, he surfaced a touch-memory; the shape of you beneath your coat. He imagined the slope of your waist in his hands as it looked like today; where the cotton met the wool of your skirt, heaving against his palms as he left his sloppy trail. Impatiently, he would free you from the confines of it, tug at the cotton and greet your warm, soft flesh with his aching fingers. You, of course, would give him full permission to remove it once you felt the insistence of his touch, felt his thumb drag over the small of your back, across that dip he caught a glance of last night. 

Tugging the cloying barrier up and over your head, he would shield you from the door with his body, letting the mass of the AV cart block any eyes wandering the hall from what he was about to do next. In the soft, flickering light from the television, your chest would rise and fall, spilling over from your white lace bra as it heaved in anticipation. 

The real you sank deeper into your chair. Shoulders slumped, shielding your eyes with your knuckles as you stared blankly down into the sea of papers. There was a heat emanating from the back corner of the room, one you could feel with the crown of your head. You knew exactly where it was coming from, and from whom. Hesitant as you were to address him, it was burning too hot to ignore, boring into you with a palpable insistence. With a swift, upward glance, you faced off. 

Eddie’s lids were heavy, cheeks pinking at the sudden confrontation. He licked his lips, eyes darkening as he swallowed. You could almost feel them again, cradling yours in a phantom kiss just like they did fourteen hours ago. His mouth had been so needy. So hot and plush, tongue slipping against yours like he’d been starving. 

Eddie closed his eyes in a slow blink. When he opened them again, they were so heavy with want that it rippled from across the room, shooting straight between your legs. You’d never been kissed like that before. Kissed so hard it robbed you of your senses, of your oxygen, of your goodness. It was easy to imagine; doing it again. Especially when he was looking at you like that. 

You indulged for just a moment, joined him in the scene. Alone together in the dark, empty room. It was easy to imagine what those lips would feel like going further; sucking your collar bone, grazing it with his teeth, trailing his sopping mouth to the place where your neck meets your shoulder before his calloused thumb slipped the strap of your bra to the side. 

Wringing a hand behind your neck, you glanced toward the television with a sudden feigned interest. The feeling wouldn’t leave you though; clouding your mind with wet smacking lips and the chill of the air at your nipples. 

He knew they would be perfect. He could just tell. They would heave beneath his watering mouth, puckered and primed for him to latch. Capturing one of them in his wet heat, you would melt into his waiting arms. Back arched, mewling so needy and loud it would cause the door to open if the scene was real. He was certain he’d be able to taste your hums through your skin here too. Even better perhaps.

Eddie shifted in his seat with a mild grimace, hand darting beneath his desk in time with a swift raise of his hips as chair legs scraped the tile. He glanced at his lap, then back up at you. 

Your face became a roaring furnace, paling only to the heat pooling under you. The pale television light flickered across his flushed cheeks, his lowered brow, his smoldering eyes that held you captive. He wanted you to know. Indulging, you imagined what was going on under that desk. What it would look like if he were to stand, to scale the room in a few eager strides and show you up close. 

“Need you now, Eddie,” you’d croon with a swipe of your hand up the generous bulge he was sporting, punctuating it with a pinch of his weeping head through the denim.

Eddie took his cue. In one dramatic swoop, the papers fluttered to the floor, the plant made a mess of the tile, the stapler clattered beside your shattered mug as pens rolled down the isles. Backing you into the edge of the big desk, he kissed you again. Hot and slick, body flush with yours, pressing his need against your pelvis as he probed your aching mouth. Parting only to shed himself of his outer layer, to lay it down behind you like a blanket, shielding your bare back from the cold wood.

From the confines of his small desk across the room, real Eddie took a deep breath, lids closing heavy on the inhale, fluttering open to a pained pout on the exhale.

Seating yourself on the edge of your desk on set, you would free him from the confines of his jeans. Pawing at his belt, you would tuck your fingers beneath it and tug urgently, rattling metal and leather before working his button free. Slowly, your nimble fingers would locate and lower his zipper, and a sigh would be the second thing that escaped. 

You were an A-list actress, looking down at his proud length like you’d never seen a dick before in your whole life. The coyness with which you peered from under your lashes was thoroughly convincing. Oscar-worthy. With a timid, chalk-dusted finger, you would draw a line from base to tip, admiring the way it bobbed, the way your touch encouraged it to glisten. Real Eddie swallowed, drawing a deep, impatient breath. Convincing as you were of your innocence, he was certain those fingers would know what they were doing as they traced his ridges with a teasing curiosity.

Unable to take any more of it, his hands would find your knees; bare where the stockings left off. They would roam under your thick wool skirt, up those impossibly soft thighs and draw back the curtain as you braced yourself against the desk behind you. In this scene, of course, your costume called for nothing underneath. You would be ready for him. Back flush with his coat, legs spread, glistening with need in the pale light from the television behind him. 

Impatient as he was, he would be remiss not take this opportunity to satisfy a curiosity of his own. Crouching down to level with your sex, he would take in your scent first. Breathe in your delicious, heady pheromones, let it cloud his vision further, as if there was room for anything else other than the persistent thought of you. Eddie wondered what you tasted like. Your mouth was exquisite, so what must you taste like here? With a generous swipe of his tongue, he would find the answer. 

The real you crossed your legs tightly, as if that would stave off the throbbing between them. Real Eddie caught it, the shift in your seat, the subtle raise of your knee under your plaid skirt, the way you worried your lip with your teeth as you glanced shyly toward the papers still, unfortunately, on your desk. 

What might his tongue feel like there? The question grappled for your attention despite futile attempts to shove it away. His tongue had a certain talent, you’d noticed, as it probed against yours in the dark last night. A sense of rhythm was a hard thing to teach. His tongue would be warm, you were certain of that, saliva slick as he pressed it flatly to your heat. He would take his time, savoring every groove and fold across this new terrain as if he were committing it to memory. Propping up on your elbows against the satin liner of his coat, you would catch those deep brown eyes, peering into yours with a smoldering hunger, lower lids pinching in pleasure as he drew slowly upward.

You would paw at the crown of his head, rake your fingers through his curls and tug, feeling his approving hum against your core. Halo of frizz tickling your thighs, his tongue would lathe slow and steady, closing those plush lips over your aching bud before sucking a kiss where you needed it most.

Exhaling deeply, you toyed with a pen on your desk; pressed your thumb into the cold metal nub, studied the tension a moment before releasing. Eyes unfocused, you were helpless as the film played out behind them. Click. Click. Click. Light flickered from the TV, twenty eyes distracted and oblivious. Throbbing, you shifted in your seat and caught the scent of your own arousal. Embarrassment flooded your cheeks. Never in your life had you been so grateful to be in the dark.

Try as you might to gleam a single chaste thought from the words printed below you, there was no space in your head for it. Just Eddie, crouched over you like a preying animal, looking at you with those lust-blown eyes like he’d make you his meal. Wrapping those ringed fingers around your hips, shifting his to meet them as he stood. You could almost feel it; his cockhead pressing with insistence at your entrance. Almost feel the safety of his shadow, how his curls would kiss his cheekbones as he hovered above you, how his lids would flutter as he pushed in. That deep, relieved sigh you would both breathe together as the long ache was soothed upon joining.

It was a moving picture. 

From the back of the room, Eddie watched your face burrow into your hand; fingers splayed across your forehead and eyes, shoulders slumping on your ragged exhale. How desperately he itched to ease them with his hands, his teeth, his tongue. It was painful; his cock straining against the confines of his jeans. Silently, he thanked himself for grabbing the black pair from the pile on the chair in his bedroom this morning, certain he was leaking through by now. 

Slowly, he shifted his hips upward, relishing in the drag of the fabric against his sensitive head as it moved toward his waistband. He paused before tucking it, arching forward again with sinful fulfillment. It felt good. Too good. Good enough to do it again. The way the cotton raked against the heart-ridge of his cock, the way the stiff bend in his zipper hit that sweet spot when his hips canted forward. 

Eddie glanced around the room, flushing furiously. All eyes were forward. No one seemed to notice.  Gripping the edge of the desk, he continued to rock his hips; slow and quiet micro-movements, careful not to creak the plastic chair. The shrinking, logical part of his brain couldn’t believe he was doing this. It was a new low. Perverted, even for him. But the tension was mounting, becoming unbearable, and the relief it offered was enough to drown out the shame.

He bet you would be so tight. He could almost feel those gorgeous legs wrap around his waist, your boots crossing at the ankles behind him, drawing him closer as you whined from the stretch. He could almost see you bite your lip and knit your brows, feel your fingers dig into his strong shoulders as you adjusted to his size. He would go slow, knowing it’s been a while for you. You would clench and arch but take him so well as he inched his way to the hilt. Then, bracing against the wood, he would happily give you what you needed — jack hammer hard, rutting like an animal in heat. You would be sinfully wet. He bet you were right now, sitting up there with your legs crossed and head down. Pity it would go to waste. If he had it his way it would be dripping onto the desk, slicking his balls as those pretty, perfect tits of yours bounced with every snap of his hips. 

The fabric was hitting him just right, scratching that itch with each flex of his cock against the dampened cotton. It was a slow mount, subtle and teasing, but it was enough. Anything would have been enough. A breeze. Eyes closed, forehead hung on the heel of his hand in feigned boredom, he imagined it what you would feel like under his thumb; rubbing that little button of yours that made you squirm and moan so deeply he could feel it from the inside. 

The hardest part was steadying his breath. He supposed he couldn’t fault his body, it was just doing what was natural in a place he shouldn’t be doing it. He couldn’t fault his heart for hammering, or his hips from wanting to buck, or his hands for itching to expedite the relief. What he would give to crank the volume on the television, to draw a curtain and just get it over with. God forbid you wisened up to his antics, although the thought did send a jolt to his dick. He knew he should stop before he did something utterly shameful, but the spot he was hitting was just too sweet, a feeling he was helpless but to chase.

He would give you everything you ever wanted. With gritted teeth he would ream you until you came undone, make that pretty face of yours contort over and over as you writhed against the desk, howling his name into the drop ceiling. The slap of skin on skin would echo off the tile until he’d rendered you utterly stupid, which was difficult to do.

“You want it, huh?” he’d huff into your ear, peppered with nip of your lobe. “Want me? Want my cum?”

Tugging the hair at the nape of his neck, you’d mewl your answer. “Yes. Please.”

Slumping forward in his desk, Eddie buried his head in the crook of his arm. Fuck. His boots dug into the tile, thighs straining, lip pinched in his teeth, desperate to restrain the bucking of his hips. There was an animal inside him, tugging like a rubber band waiting to snap. His aching balls begged as they drew upward, cockhead so sensitive it could feel every stitch. Eddie burrowed his nose into the desk, both chasing the feeling and running from it.

He would show you how much of a man he was, paint you with proof on the inside. Remind you as it slicked your thighs with every click of your boots down the hall.

Huffing into the dark cocoon, his free hand gripped the metal legs below him, holding on for dear life as the wave approached its crest. Hips stuttering, breath fogging the desk, he hit the wall. The one that made his mind go blank, his eyes roll back, his whole body tense and tingle like a yawn. 

It came out like a whimper. Warmer and wetter with each pathetic spurt. A small, strangled sound threatened the back of his throat. It tried to escape his gaping, downturned mouth, but he choked it back. It was a relief to get it out, like a dirty confession. Wave after hot, thick wave of frustration pooled in his boxers, clung to his balls as he emptied them completely. When the last of it crested with nothing more to give, his hips rocked to stillness, and the rest of his body went limp. 

He looked like a puddle of leather and hair. Squinting as you peered around the student in front of him, you wondered why his back was heaving like he had been running. 

Eddie peeled his face up from the desk; cheeks flushed, mouth slack, looking at you in a way you could only describe as absolutely fucked-out. A stray ringlet swayed in his ragged breath. There was that feeling again, that pulse between your legs that made you clench them. Quickly as he’d met your eyes, he blinked away as if it burned.

Eddie was a mess. Shifting in his seat with a grimace, he could feel the cotton cling to his skin as he sobered to the chalkboard, and the desks, and the twenty other people he prayed were oblivious to what he’d just done. It was like he was waking up from a wet dream, only he had never gone to sleep. He blinked down at his desk, mortified as his cock softened happily, lolling in its sticky puddle. It was seeping through the denim, cooling in his lap as the seconds ticked by. Glancing at the clock, he calculated another twenty minutes before he could clean it up. Twenty whole minutes to sit with the consequences, to stew in a puddle of his own shame. He supposed he could excuse himself to the bathroom but that would, of course, mean addressing you. It would mean getting up and walking in front of your desk, and the entire class, while you handed him a hall pass like a fucking child. He would rather sit.

Blinking back your thoughts from the gutter, you righted yourself in your chair, chastising yourself as you uncrossed your legs, your own mess trailing cooly against your inner thigh. It was uncomfortable, embarrassing, but there was nothing you could about it now. Flipping through your Rolodex of thoughts, you searched for anything. Anything at all that was chase, or sensible, or mildly interesting. 

Looking down at your naked hands, another scene fell open. This time the set came from memory. A pawn shop in early summer. It was vivid — the rain beating against the large window framing the on-ramp of the highway, Frank Sinatra mocking from the dusty speaker in the corner. The diamond sparkled magnificently as you passed the ring over the glass countertop. Brilliant rainbow fractals brought out by certain lights. They would catch you by surprise sometimes, tickle you with delight in the supermarket or the mall. It winked at you under the fluorescents then, a fleeting goodbye. In the moment, you weren’t sure which was worse — catching your own pained reflection in the glass below you or the pity in the eyes of the man who took your once-prized possession.

You left with twelve hundred dollars in an envelope, a fraction of what it cost him. The banker box rattled in the passenger’s seat as you slammed the door. Stuffed too full for a lid, your quill mug clattered against the plates your grandma gave you. You’d run out of newspaper wrapping your knick-knacks, resorted to your clothes to pad the rest.

The mug cast a shadow across your desk now, flickering in the light of the television. 

You clenched your fists, fighting the touch-memory of Eddie’s ribs under your palms. You’d felt safe for a moment; nestled in his coat, in his hair, melting into the heat of his mouth. What you would give to live it all again, right now. What you would give to have him all to yourself, every day. For the luxury to go on a date, to be seen in public together, to explore where this was going. Glancing across the sea of twenty desks, reality stared back. Where did you think this was going? 

Eddie’s pencil clattered to the floor. His curse was audible, even from the front of the room. Was this where you would place your trust? Your career, your future? In the reckless hands of a twenty year old man? He could ruin you. With a bold move, or a misplaced word, or a drunken gloat one night with his friends. Or god forbid it all went south and in a blind fury he lashed out and retaliated somehow. He wouldn’t do that, would he? You thought you knew him well enough to know that he would never, but did you really? You’d known Eddie Munson for all of four months, which felt strange to consider. It terrified you, the depth of your feelings in so short a time. Terrified you almost as much as the consequences for them. 

Your hand twitched beside the green grading pen resting on the pile of tests you’d barely touched in the last thirty minutes. There were more in your bag to be graded — the stack you’d abandoned on your coffee table last night. It would all catch up to you eventually. The homework, the papers, the secrets. After all you’d been through, had you learned nothing? No one really knows what they want at twenty years old. You certainly didn’t. A head full of fantasies is what you had. Snatching your pen with a firm click, you slashed an X through one of the questions on the test below you and buried yourself in your work.

When the bell finally rang, Eddie hung back in his seat like he always did, waiting for his moment with you. But by the time he had stripped himself of his jacket and secured his flannel around his waist, you had already made for the door.

______

The metal serving spoon smacked the plastic tray, leaving behind a glob of tomato sauce over the tangle of limp noodles. With a tight-lipped nod of thanks, Eddie took it from the lunch lady and made his way into the settled cafeteria, finding his place at the end of the Hellfire table. Steamed carrots bounced from the tray onto the sticky veneer as it fell from his hands with a clatter. Slugging off his backpack to the floor, he slumped into the empty chair that had been waiting patiently for him for the past twenty minutes. 

“There he is,” Jeff nodded to Dustin across the table.

“What’s the story this time? Got abducted by aliens?” chortled Dave.

He would think they would stop asking questions by now, but apparently he needed to teach them a lesson. “Nah, just… jerking off,” Eddie said with a deadpan shake of his head before spearing a meatball with his fork.

The half-truth earned him a rowdy chuckle from the peanut gallery, a gag from Mike. He would spare them the uglier details, like the balled up boxers shoved in the bottom of his backpack or how awkward it was to strip them off in the stall of a bustling bathroom. Glancing down at his lap, he checked that the flannel was still cloaking the drying white stain. 

Jeff’s leather jacket squeaked from the bend in his arm as he leaned against the table. “I was just filling the boys in on the show last night,” he said with a glint in his eyes.

Eddie looked up with a full mouth, eyes like saucers. 

“Yeah, told them about our special guest,” Dave added with a raise of his eyebrows.

He could only respond with a nervous huff, turning back to his tray as his stomach did kick flips. 

“Is it true?” Mike asked Eddie. “She seriously got up and danced?”

Eddie swallowed the whole mouthful at once. He couldn’t lie his way out of this one. “I mean, nothing too crazy. Just for a song.”

“Yeah a song Eddie made us play for her,” Jeff said with a wink. Dustin and Mike’s mouthes fell open simultaneously.

“Think I saw her tits at one point,” Dave reminisced. 

Eddie scoffed. “You did not see her tits, dude. You’re so full of shit.”

“I dunno man, her shirt was pretty short,” Gareth added with a playful nudge. 

“They’re both full of shit,” Eddie shakily assured to the two youngest members. 

They barely paid him a glance, chuckling amongst the rest while Dave rubbed lewd circles over his chest. 

“HEY,” Eddie barked. “Look at me, all of you. This doesn’t leave this table, do you understand me? If I catch wind that any of you went and told anyone about last night I’ll skin you alive, I swear to god.”

Gareth shot him a tired look. “Jesus, dude. Nothing even happened.”

The knot in Eddie’s stomach released slightly. “That’s right. Nothing happened.”

Dave snorted, stabbing his bendy straw into a leftover carrot. “Yeah man, chill out. Nobody’s gonna get your girlfriend in trouble.” 

The blood drained from Eddie’s face as the whole gang erupted in laughter. The uproarious, table slapping kind. It was a joke. A good one, it seemed. The word echoed like the pulse pounding in his ears. Girlfriend. Girlfriend. Girlfriend. A warm, gooey word. One that made his stomach churn with longing. Biting back venom, he wondered how their faces would change if he slapped them with the truth. Would they still be laughing? Would they even believe him? They could laugh all they want—for your sake at least—but it stung nonetheless. 

Dave caught the bitter shift in his expression. “What? You clearly have the hots for her.”

“Who doesn’t?” Jeff laughed.

“ANYWAY!” Eddie punctuated with a smack of his hands against the table. “Gareth, you’ve been awfully quiet about your date this past Sunday. Please, regale us,” he gestured grandly.

Gareth chuckled nervously, pushing a noodle around with his fork. “Oh uh, nothing really happened there either.”

Dave rolled his eyes. “Seriously dude? You’ve been on like three dates and you haven’t even made it to first base?”

“I told you, Cindy’s not like that!” Gareth defended before glancing around sheepishly. “But we did…kinda… hold hands on Sunday.” 

A long oooh emanated from the table. “Hands cupped or laced?” Dustin asked with a raise of his eyebrows, demonstrating with his own hands.

“Ok so,” Gareth began with an emerging smirk, “you know the Large Marge part of Pee-wee’s Big Adventure where her face goes all,” he demonstrated with a bug-eyed look, hands splayed on either side of his face. 

The table responded with chuckles and nods. “Gets me every time,” muttered Dustin.

“Well, Cindy’d never seen it before, so she jumped and like, grabbed my arm,” he paused for effect, “so I just went for it.”

Approval bubbled up from his captive audience. 

“Cupped at first,” he clarified, cutting through the noise, “but after like ten minutes she didn’t pull away, so,” he laced his fingers triumphantly. There was a barking applause, fists rattling the table. Jeff clapped him on the back with a blinding grin. 

Eddie was an island. Oceans away, he managed a soft smile. His night had been far from innocent — a frantic tangle of hands, and tongues, and teeth in the frigid darkness. Phantom feelings that tugged at his lips and fingers, at the forefront of his every thought. Thumbing at the rubber rim of the lunch table, he dreamt of a universe where the walls and roles fell away, one where he could speak of his firsts too. 

______

Eddie had been watching the clock all day. In eighth period trigonometry he watched second hand crawl around the clock face fifty times as his thumbnail worked the paint off a pencil, chipping at the indents his teeth left behind. The final bell was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. Slugging his backpack over his shoulder, he didn’t even bother to stop at his locker before ducking down the hall where your room resided. He almost collided with a straggling sophomore exiting your door on his way in. 

Perhaps he had arrived too early. It wasn’t the scene he was accustomed to — you, standing at your desk, shoving folders into your satchel like you were trying to make a run for it. His small wooden chair still leaned against the wall. The AV cart still towered where it was when the lights were off. Glancing down, he quickly checked to make sure the flannel was draping correctly. 

“Going somewhere?” he teased, unable to hide the concern creeping in.

Your smile was a coy, fragile thing. Chest rising with the kicking of your heart, you opened your mouth but had no words to show for it. Fumbling with an overstuffed folder, you hovered it over the opening of your bag before sliding it in with a sigh.

Eddie shut the door. 

Turning over his shoulder, he snatched your eyes with a startling hunger. Your hands went slack, leather slumping against the desk as his heavy boots met the tile. He was slow in his approach, stalking past the empty rows, parched eyes drinking in every detail of your features. Like a moth drawn to a flame, you met him at the edge of your desk.

His curls were wild, chocolate eyes fiending, a soft concern weighing his brow. Under the fluorescents you could see very clearly what you’d felt last night. The shadow of stubble, the dip of his cupid’s bow, the soft ball of his nose that was cold against your cheek. Under his jacket, the taught landscape of his chest rose and fell. You swallowed, toying with the wool of your skirt. 

“Hey,” he half-whispered, lids drooping ever so slightly. 

“Hey,” you replied, like your tongue was feeling the word for the first time. It tugged a gooey softness from the corners of his mouth, and you cursed yourself for the pang to taste it again. So plush and pink, drawing your gaze long enough for him to notice. 

Eddie dropped his backpack to the floor, tossing it hard enough to collide with the wall below the chalkboard. Shoulders unburdened, he rolled them back to assume the fullness of his height. With pupils blown, he darted out his tongue to wet his lips, looming like a wolf that sees a rabbit. 

He closed in with a step, to which you retreated. The edge of the desk bumped the back of your thighs. Heart hammering, you peered into his hungry eyes. You’d been here before. Not long ago, in your imagination. Different, darker, quieter. 

Eddie drank in the sight of you — your tight cotton shirt and your soft heaving chest. How the band of your skirt hugged the curve of your waist. You, woman.  

Like a false sense of safety, his scent enveloped you. It was dizzying, how badly your hands burned to trace the swell of his pecks, to tangle in his hair, to capture his hot, slick mouth again. Terrifying, the part of you that begged for him to press forward, to tumble you backward, to take his place on top of you. Timidly, your fingers curled over the corner of the desk. 

As he leaned closer, you could feel the tingle of heat from his chest, the ghost of his breath on your face. His arm became a cage as he steadied his palm against the wood behind you. “Been thinking about you all day,” he murmured in your ear. 

You shivered, lids fluttering closed for a selfish, greedy moment. Glancing over his shoulder at the narrow sliver of a window in the door, you peered at the lockers on the other side of the hall. There were some still slamming, slowly petering out as voices drifted further with each passing second. “Eddie,” you warned, placing a hand over his sternum. Eyes dipping slightly at your touch, the solid swell of his chest expanded under the cotton. He stepped back with a gentle push, your palm lingering before falling away. 

A deep breath fumed through his nostrils, heavy and tired. With a tight lipped nod, he backed away, pivoting toward his folded chair beside the door. It screeched as he dragged it across the tile, past the rows of desks, in front of yours, all the way to his usual place beside you. He snapped it open and paused, gripping the wood in his palms, staring down at the place where he’d sat countless times. How small it was compared to yours; padded with armrests and wheels. 

“So we just…” he flexed his fingers and shook his head, unable to suppress the sting in his voice, “go back to normal then?”

Eyes cast down at the empty seats, you sighed. “I don’t… think we can.”

“Good,” he stated, shoulders relaxing slightly. “Come on, let’s sit down.”

It was enticing, that chair with its worn leather padding. What was more enticing was the space beneath the desk; a safe haven for hands and arms, for cupped palms and laced fingers. On top of the desk lay your bag, and your keys, and the plant still alive in its unbroken pot. Your head was pounding; a dull ache that had been radiating from your temples since lunch. Lockers slammed outside the room, fluorescents hot on your skin. With a deep, lamenting sigh, you gave him all you could manage — your honesty. “It’s been… a hell of a day for me—”

“You could say that again.”

“I—” you sighed sharply, “I really think I just need to go home a-and… think things through.”

“What’s there to think about?” The words tumbled out like an avalanche he couldn’t chase. Your balking expression made him wish he could suck them all back.

“Oh gee, I don’t know,” you gestured wildly to the classroom, “we could start with my job.”

“I’m sorry that was—y-you know what I mean.”

“Do I?” The steam from the pressure could have burned him.

“We—we both clearly have feelings for each other,” he explained, lowering his voice. “I just… thought we would figure it out.”

There was a gap between you, cluttered with papers and pens. Your bag slumped in the middle of the mess, gaping and stuffed to the brim. Pulse hammering behind your eyes, you blinked them slowly with a pained sigh. “I know,” you admitted, toying with the strap. “Eddie, please, I need some time to think about all this.” 

It hurt to imagine. You, going home, sitting there in your slippers at your coffee table and deciding that he wasn’t worth the risk. Closing the flap on your satchel, you tugged the leather heap across the desk, but Eddie’s hand was quick to pounce. “No, we need to talk.” 

Frustration pinched your brow. “I know but—”

“Then let’s talk, yeah?” he gestured to the chairs.

A cluster of shadows passed by the window over your shoulder. “Not here, not right now.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Then let’s get out of here.”

“And go where? A table at Benny’s?” you snapped.

“You’ve got a place, right?”

Folding your arms, you shot him an incredulous look, though the thought was both thrilling and terrifying. You lowered your voice. “What happened last night was… impulsive.”

“I’d say it was a long time coming.”

You sighed. “Regardless, I think that’s enough for this week.”

Eddie would disagree, but his tongue had a wrangle on the words this time. In the pause, it was easy for both of you to picture; his clothes on your bedroom floor. Easy to picture the ways he could ruin you in private — fold you like the chair under his wringing palms. Still, the ways he could ruin you in public were equally vivid. 

You turned to grab your coat, brushing past him. The arm of his jacket was smooth against yours. Electrified by the contact, you lingered for a moment, unable to abstain from drinking in his form, his scent, from basking in the prickle of his aura. 

He could see it clearly in the harsh light — the shadow that clung beneath your lower lashes, the sagging exhaustion in your eyes. Gravity tugged at the corners of your natural lips, so different from how they appeared last night — dark and dusty red, framing a smile that outshined the moon. His fingers twisted against the wood. “Please stay,” he begged softly. 

Your eyes drifted shut, a split-second relish in the sweet pang of his voice, though the words rung a different bell; a different man saying them. In a flash, another scene appeared — you, at the door of your old home in Indianapolis, cradling the last of your belongings as your free hand gripped the knob. 

Opening your eyes to the radiator, and the windows, and the pale grey sky before you now, you relinquished a shaky sigh and tucked your fingers under the thick collar of your coat. It still held a subtle fragrance, clinging to the memory of last night, desperately as you were. Eddie watched with rapt attention as your brow pinched in pain, fingers twitching under the wool he’d memorized the shape of you through. When your lip began to tremble, his hand lost control. 

“Hey,” he whispered, meeting the soft cotton slope of your shoulder with his palm. 

Your head snapped toward his umber eyes; warmer than the hand that thawed your shoulder, callus catching on the cotton as his thumb soothed over it. You followed it down to his wrist, to the tendons flexing beneath the chain, dipping under the sleeve of his worn, leather coat. How desperately you longed to wrap yourself inside it again, to nestle into his beating chest and hide there forever. 

A voice crackled over the loudspeaker, and reflex had you flinching. “I’m sorry,” you mouthed, tears burning behind your eyes as you snatched your coat off the hook.

Bitterly, he dropped his hand. The contact hurt to break, almost as much as it hurt to watch you don your coat, to snatch your bag, to sling the heavy strap over your shoulder. Helplessly, he stood there, feeling like a fool until the welling of your eyes made it unbearable not to advance. “It doesn’t have to be like this,” he pleaded. “Like—like a big deal. Not if we don’t make it one.”

You froze, eyes narrowing as a pained fume left your nose. “That’s easy for you to say.” With a bitter huff, you turned on your heel and left him in the classroom with only the echo of your footsteps. 

______

A/N: Yes, in my story Principal Higgins is a woman. I know in canon Eddie says “flip him the bird,” but for some reason my brain didn’t register that until literally two months ago. I always pictured Higgins as a stern, ancient, nun-like woman and I can’t seem to shake that characterization from my brain. Perhaps I’m just scarred from Catholic grade school. I think it works well for this story, so Martha Higgins it is. 

Also sorry I never stated this in the tags but the upside down does not exist in this universe.

The smut is coming very soon. Pinky swear. Our Lady of Internal Conflict is just having a moment. 

Taglist: @mermaidsandcats29 @toxicjayhoo @ooo-protean-ooo @jadequeen88 @wroteclassicaly @kissmyacdc @mantorokk-writes @storiesbyrhi @trashmouth-richie @carolmunson @blueywrites @alottanothing @bebe07011 @latenighttalkingwithgrapejuice @idkidknemore @alizztor @godcreatoreli @ethereal27cereal @munsonsgirl71 @mrsjellymunson @emxxblog @siriusmuggle @sidthedollface2 @dollalicia @lma1986 @catherinnn @eddiemunson4life420 @readsalot73 @big-ope-vibes @barbiedragon @ladylilylost @3rriberri @princess-eddie @nightless @eddieswifu @thew0rldsastage @chaoticgood-munson @hanahkatexo @eddiemunsonsbedroom @beep-beep-sherlock @averagemisfit03 @vintagehellfire @haylaansmi @sllooney @lunaladybug734 @callingmrsbarnes @ajkamins

______

MASTERLIST ⎮ AO3 ⎮ KO-FI

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

The Scent of Missing Buttons

Astarion centred || implied Astarion x gn!Tav || ao3 || Masterlist

Rating: M ; +18Word Count: +2.9k Warnings: prostitution, sex work, sex trafficking, PTSD, suicidal thoughts, no graphic description of sex act

He thought about his old brass buttons as he let the couple have their way with him. His doublet had thirteen buttons, if he recalled correctly. Six he had found on the floor. There was no way of telling where the others were. They had probably rolled under the bed or were lost in the gaps between the splintered floorboards. He would dare another attempt at retrieving them when these brutes were finally done with him. Going back to the master without either of them was simply out of the question. 

a/n: phew, that was hard to write. Don't forget to hug your vampire boyfriend today.

Neither the loud human nor the scrawny half-elf sitting on each side of Astarion cared about how witty or charming he was. All he had to do was sit still and smile while he endured the dirt-stained fingers messing up his carefully coiffed curls. The sweaty hand resting heavily upon his knee. The stench of days-old sweat radiating from their bodies.

Astarion gave the gawking half-elf a crooked smirk for no other reason than to loosen the building tension in his jaw.    

His marks usually came to him, and that night had been no different.

Astarion had noticed the couple looking over at him from the bar ever so often, giving him toothless grins while he’d pretended to sip on the cheap ale the tavern was pouring out en masse. 

Admittedly, the unkempt couple wouldn’t have been his first choice of company, but the night had been approaching eerily fast and Astarion could seldom afford to be picky. 

And so he’d met the couple’s shamelessly lewd looks through heavy-lidded eyes, giving them an inviting smile in return. 

It had taken them embarrassingly long to stumble over to his table, greeting Astarion with the stink of alcohol on their breaths. They must’ve started their night out drinking well before sunset—Astarion rather hoped to get it over with them fast.

Maybe they were already drunk enough to skip business and just follow him back to the master, he mused as the half-elf’s uncoordinated hand tried and failed to locate his groin. 

But then the human let go of his hair; Astarion could feel her sour breath tickle his ear and knew they wouldn’t let him get off the hook that easily.

He tried to subtly lean away from the human, but she was already dragging her coated tongue along his elongated helix.

Astarion shuddered in disgust.

“So much more sensitive than his,” the human panted. Her stupid delight was evident on her face as she indicated the half-elf who was barely an inch short of crawling onto Astarion’s lap.  

“You’re the prettiest thing we’ve ever seen,” she continued, mistaking Astarion’s visible disgust for arousal. Or maybe she was just ignoring his displeasure. 

“We want you.” 

All too easily, Astarion forced his well-constructed mask back over his features. 

Grinning, his fingers curled around the human’s bony wrist as he stood, pulling her with him.

“Wonderful, because I know a place where you can indulge in me all night long,” Astarion purred. “Somewhere quiet—just for the three of us…” 

The human giggled, though her partner eyed him with a slight hint of contempt.

“Our bed will do, filliken,” the half-elf mumbled as he manoeuvred himself off the bench they’d abandoned him on.

Astarion tensed.

Whore…

Even this piss-drunk mutt had taken only one look at him and known him for what he was.

Astarion had half the mind to bare his fangs, rip out the bastard’s throat. Decorate the dingy tavern with his innards. Paint the walls red. 

The human would come next. He would tear off her little ears and shove them down her stinking maw and, maybe, if he was lucky for once, some of the patrons were emboldened enough to drive a stake through his dead heart. 

From a distance, Astarion could hear the clock tower strike thrice and the master’s voice came to his mind.

Do not disappoint me again, boy…

The vampire spawn wet his lips, swallowed down his anger and lust for blood until they mingled with the soaring hunger in the pits of his stomach.

A moment passed. 

Astarion smiled. 

“Lead the way, then, darling.” 

The couple brought him to a cramped attic room right across the street. 

Dark mould grew on scratched windowpanes and it smelled as if the chamber pot hadn’t been emptied that morning.

Somewhere inside the walls, Astarion could sense a small colony of rodents scurrying to and fro.

He tried to focus on the erratic symphony of their heartbeats as he eyed the colourful range of fluids staining the sheets of an unmade bed.

It would be over soon—at least for that night. 

Astarion would deliver these two fools to the master in no time. Maybe he would even get a little treat for a job well done—a fat rat, or even a small dog, if he was being very good. 

And then he would rest in the shadows. Close his eyes to the buzzing city above, imagine the sun caressing his skin as it tenderly reduced him to ashes. 

The attic door slammed shut behind the human.

Astarion knew he would never feel the sun on his skin again, not even for the short moments between pain and salvation, because as much as he was a whore, he was an even bigger coward.  

He stood still as greedy hands began tugging at his clothes. 

The human giggled stupidly as her cross-eyed partner tried to undo the brass buttons on Astarion’s doublet. It was a rather pathetic sight, and before Astarion could assist him, the cursed half-elf ripped the doublet open. 

A curse ready on his lips, Astarion watched as his buttons went flying across the room. 

He doubted the master would afford him new ones any time soon; worse yet, he surely would be chastised for being so careless with his clothes again! 

Fuming inside, Astarion pushed the half-elf onto the bed and sank to the dirty floor where he crawled around to collect the buttons closest to him. 

“What a cute little pup,” the human laughed right above him. 

Her hand clawed at his locks again, and Astarion could feel humiliation merge with the seething mix of anger and hunger and hatred and disgust and—

Astarion pocketed whatever buttons he could retrieve, then rose to his full height.

The human’s hand fell away and her laughter stopped as Astarion crowded her against the rickety bed frame. 

She looked up at Astarion with round eyes. Perhaps, somewhere in the back of her booze-clouded tiny little brain, she recognised the danger she’d invited into her greasy bed. 

Astarion ran his knuckles along her jaw before his fingers curled tightly around her chin. She shivered. 

“Why don’t you two cosy up and just watch for a moment?” Astarion purred. “You like a good show, don’t you?”

“We like so much more than that,” she breathed, her eyes glassy with arousal instead of fear. 

Astarion almost scoffed. Stupid bitch.

“So much more you shall have.”

The human ran her calloused fingers over Astarion’s lean forearm before she eagerly joined her partner on their bed. 

The couple took in every part of his body as he undressed himself. 

They liked that he took his time because they didn’t know that, with every article of clothing that fell away, Astarion imagined ripping them limb from limb. 

A finger here. A foot there. The eyes that had seen entirely too much… 

Oh, how he hoped the master would make them suffer later. 

Allowing himself an honest smile, Astarion tossed his smallclothes atop the rest of his clothes and crawled onto the bed.

The doomed couple groped him roughly, drew their sharp fingernails across his skin. Used him. 

But that was quite alright; their night would end so much worse than Astarion’s. 

He thought about his old brass buttons as he let the couple have their way with him. 

His doublet had thirteen buttons, if he recalled correctly. Six he had found on the floor. There was no way of telling where the others were. They had probably rolled under the bed or were lost in the gaps between the splintered floorboards. He would dare another attempt at retrieving them when these brutes were finally done with him. 

Going back to the master without either of them was simply out of the question. 

Neither the wicked human nor the crude half-elf laying on each side of him cared that his well-timed groans were purely performative, that their touch made his skin crawl. All he had to do was please them, lure them away to their death. 

All he had to do was survive another night. Another year. Another century of nothing but pure shit.

How he wished it would end. Time was running out.  

Don’t you dare disappoint me again, you useless dirty thing…

The half-elf came first, then the human. It had taken them long enough. 

Astarion was quick to pull his shirt back over his head as the human watched him intently—he was sure she wanted another round. Good. This only ever played right into Astarion’s cards. 

The half-elf was a problem, though. He’d passed out the moment the last of his spend had added another stain to the nasty bedsheets. 

Astarion barely refrained from rolling his eyes; they would have to wake him, and that soon. They had places to be and daybreak was approaching fast. 

Astarion gave the human a crooked smile as he put on his breeches. 

“You’re very skilled, handsome,” the human said, taking the bait.

“Likewise, darling.”

She returned his smile as she untangled herself from the bedsheets and sat on the corner of the bed, never letting him out of her sight. 

Astarion slipped into his doublet. So far, he hadn’t spotted another missing button.

“Why don’t we repeat that—there’s a place I’m dying to show you. If we leave now, I promise you it will be unforgettable…”

The human’s smile widened.

“No.”

No?

Astarion wet his lips.

For a moment, he thought he’d misheard. 

No.

It wasn’t like this hadn’t ever happened before. But because it had happened before, Astarion’s hands began to tremble ever so slightly. 

No meant trouble.

No meant failure.

No meant punishment.

“You see, we don’t fuck the same thing twice,” the human said, that arrogant grin still plastered across her hideous face. 

And then she tossed Astarion some coins—laughably few coins at that. They wouldn’t even buy him some cheap ale from across the street.

Astarion was too stunned to catch the coins. They rolled around his feet before they dropped to the floor with a final mocking clink.

He stared at the dirty change, even spotted one or two of his lost buttons among them.

“Pick them up.”

Astarion’s eyes met the human’s, who licked her lips. 

She wanted him to crawl again. Like a dog. Like trash. Like the rat in a cage that he was. 

Astarion turned and fled from the attic room. There was nowhere to go, though; the city’s dirty streets only lead to one end.

The clock tower struck five times. Far in the distance, the sky turned indigo. 

There was no time to find another victim, Astarion knew, as he prowled the shadows.

But he couldn’t return empty-handed, either. 

Astarion considered dragging some passed-out drunk from the next alleyway back to the master. It wasn’t too bad a plan, wasn’t it? 

But the master liked his playthings sharp. He wanted them to be aware of what he did to them. He so delighted in their screams.

And if those poor fools couldn’t scream, Astarion’s screams would have to make do instead. 

In fact, they were the master’s favourite. 

Come to me, boy.

“Shit. Shit. Shit!”

Astarion should’ve gone down on all fours and crawled at that bitch’s feet; begged her to come with him.

He was a fool. He was so fucking stupid. He deserved any punishment the master deemed fit. 

He couldn’t do anything right.

Astarion shot another look over his shoulder, fearing to see the sky having changed colours again. 

But instead of being painted with dawn, the sky… tore open?

People started to scream. They ran from the flying ship that had appeared out of nowhere. Its tentacles chased after them, picking them off the streets one after another. 

Astarion should join the fleeing drunks and alley cats, he thought. 

But, really, what could be worse than what was waiting for him at the master’s feet? 

Astarion stood still; he could be very good at that. 

And unlike the master’s punishment—unlike the nightly humiliation that was his cursed existence—it was over in one blissful moment.

Neither the annoying wizard nor the nosy cleric sitting on the opposite side of the dying campfire cared that they were interrupting Astarion in his plan of bedding you. That night, he’d already endured yet another long-winded retelling of the young warlock’s heroic feats. Listened to the prickly warrior loudly sharpening her blade. Suppressed a laugh at the fiery tiefling’s silly joke. 

He wanted to be alone with you. Look at that cute little smile that had only needed one glass of watered-down wine in order to grow this wide. Subtly close the empty space between you and him sitting side by side on a smooth wooden log.

He wanted to breathe in the herbal fragrance of your soap without anybody watching.

The first thing Astarion had ever noticed about you was that, even covered in the blood and grime of your enemies, you smelled nice.

It had taken him days to figure out that the pleasant scent surrounding you didn’t emit from your washed hair or reasonably clean clothes. Once Astarion’s raging hunger had been sated enough, he’d even understood that it wasn’t your delectable blood that made his head spin.

No, your subtle yet unique scent simply lingered as naturally on your skin as the sunlight did on Astarion’s face these days. 

It was just you that smelled good, and it slowly drove him mad.

Astarion’s plan was simple enough. All he had to do was please you, weasel himself into your bed and good graces. Only then was he as safe from the master as he could possibly be out here in the wilderness. 

But you just had to make this difficult; you didn’t fall for his charm and flirtations. Instead of swooning, you just frowned at him whenever he tried to seduce you—and gods was he trying. And failing.

If he were to lean over and bluntly propose sex to you right then, he was sure you would reject him. The very idea of both excited and terrified him at once.

The wizard and the cleric only excused themselves when the sun’s first golden fingers started to part the night sky.

Astarion watched them vanish into their respective tents, finally leaving you alone with him. 

He stole a glance at you and found you already looking at him. 

Maybe this was his chance. Astarion couldn’t afford wasting another night, not when the master was breathing down his neck at any given time.

“And what are we two pretty things going to do with the rest of the night, darling?” 

You scoffed. “Night? It’s almost morning.” 

“Ah, you’re quite right, of course. With the right company, one can lose track of time so easily, no?” 

“Indeed,” you yawned. “Now let’s get some rest, Astarion. We have a long day ahead.” 

Astarion wet his lips. 

Shit.

What was wrong with you? 

What was wrong with him? 

If he couldn’t even get his stupid little plan right, then maybe he deserved his master’s wrath. 

Astarion picked up a crooked branch and poked around the fading embers.

If you didn’t want his body, then what use did you have of him? He was just some idiot. A whore nobody wanted to fuck. He was—

“Oh!” You exclaimed, suddenly. “I forgot!” 

Astarion, trying to not let his growing desperation show on his face, watched as you excitedly produced something from your pocket. 

You scooted closer to him; your knee brushed against his thigh and your smile grew as you looked up at him. Instinctively, Astarion breathed in your scent.

Then you opened your hand, revealing thirteen buttons. 

The rising sun reflected prettily on their golden surface.

Astarion tensed.

“What’s that?”

Your cheeks reddened, looking as if you’d just scrubbed them clean down by the river. 

“Your doublet—it doesn’t close properly, doesn’t it? So I thought, well…buttons.”

When Astarion neither reached for the buttons nor said anything, you slowly let your hand sink.

“I could sew them on for you,” you offered sheepishly. “I’m sure they’ll look very nice on you.”

Throwing his now broken stick aside, Astarion rose to his full height.

“I don’t want them. Go to bed. We have a long day ahead,” he said courtly before he all but fled to his tent.

The sun burned on Astarion’s skin but didn’t reduce him to ashes. He never was afforded any luck.

He watched you walk far ahead of him, leading your companions through the woods. This far back, he could barely catch your lovely scent. 

Not for the first time that day did he wonder what those buttons you’d offered him would’ve cost him. 

Wouldn’t any price have been worth it?

Astarion had been a fool again. 

He should’ve just thanked you, watched your quick little fingers close the chasm in his chest with nothing but some thread and pretty buttons. After that, he should’ve pressed a lingering kiss to your cheek. Take you into his arms.

That’s what he wanted to do, if he was being honest.

But he hadn’t done any of this. His doublet was still shoved to the very bottom of his pack and he hadn’t looked you in the eyes all day.

Because as much as Astarion was a whore, he was an even bigger coward.

That was all to him there was.

The vampire spawn looked over his shoulder but couldn’t see much of what lay behind. 

The golden sun was too bright in his eyes.

As usual, all he could do, though, was endure.

Tag List

@spacebarbarianweird @bardic-inspo @kawaiiusagichansan 

[chiqelatasblog]

In the Middle Of the Night🌙

-> Ao3 link is here.

-> Part One is here.

Pairings : Bi-Han/ Sub-Zero x You, Kuai Liang/ Scorpion x You, Tomas Vrbada/ Smoke x You

Author’s Note: Hey there everyone! First of all, I’m beyond excited by the interest you’ve shown in my fic. Thank you so much! I poured all my love into this chapter, and I’m incredibly proud of the result. This bad boy clocks in at over 10k words, so buckle up and enjoy the ride! Happy reading!

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I summoned you, please come to me,

Don’t bury thoughts that you really want.

I fill you up, drink from my cup,

Within me lies what you really want.

CHAPTER TWO : TOMAS

Tomas had always harbored a discomfort with darkness.

One vivid childhood memory was the time he and his twin sister sneaked out of the house to fish by the creek. They had visited this place with their mother many times before, surrounded by tall grasses and dense trees lining the riverbanks. In addition to fishing, they splashed in the stream as the spring weather warmed the water, engaging in playful water fights and skipping stones. However, they had not anticipated the difficulty of finding their way home after nightfall. Time seemed to slip away unnoticed until the sun vanished, leaving behind only faint orange rays. Amidst the sounds of creatures in the dark and the dim moonlight, Tomas found himself more frightened than ever. Seeking refuge beneath the shelter of a towering oak tree, he and his twin waited anxiously for the morning light without daring to blink.

Another poignant memory was his first night after being adopted by the Lin Kuei following the tragic loss of his parents. Given a room of his own within the clan’s compound, it marked a stark contrast to the cramped quarter he shared with his sister at home—a small room with a cold-leaking window and a wooden floor that creaked with every step. Despite the spaciousness of his new accommodations, the room only served to accentuate his overwhelming sense of loneliness. Confusion, fear, and sorrow weighed heavily upon him, compounded by the haunting memories of his family’s demise. The image of his mother’s final gaze, the sound of her voice uttering his name as she drew her last breath, remained painfully fresh in Tomas’s mind. Standing alone in the darkness, he hesitated to emerge from the refuge of his hidden position, fearing the harsh reality that awaited him—a reality that felt more like a terrible nightmare than the truth.

Later that same night, Kuai Liang, the son of the grandmaster, whom Tomas had only glimpsed out of the corner of his eye and estimated to be a few years older than himself, sought him out. Tomas never expected anyone to visit his room, especially someone whose language, lifestyle, and appearance were so foreign to him. Despite being a complete stranger, Kuai Liang persisted in his efforts to communicate with him.

Over the years, Tomas had learned to leave the past behind and devote himself to the Lin Kuei with unwavering respect and loyalty. He seized every opportunity for growth, not limiting himself to combat training alone. In addition to mastering multiple languages, he immersed himself in various fields of knowledge, receiving specialized education ranging from geography to mathematics. Inspired by his brothers, Tomas aspired to become a formidable assassin, striving to emulate their strength and steadfastness. His determination to bridge the gap and prove himself led him to seek training in magic from clan elders. Before long, he mastered the art of smoke magic, earning his code name in the process.

As time passed, Tomas emerged as one of Lin Kuei’s most skilled assassins, earning the respect and admiration of his peers. Though differences still lingered between him and his brothers, they no longer served as barriers; instead, they became markers of individual experiences and growth. Tomas gained renown for his stealth and speed during missions, aided by his mastery of the smoke magic for concealment. Yet, he also understood the value of leveraging shadows for support. Through discipline and practice, he learned to embrace the darkness, transforming his fear into a potent weapon.

Until Quan Chi sealed him and his brothers inside the book…

Tomas couldn’t recall the last time he had been free. It must have been ages ago. While he had anticipated the relief of escaping, the reality proved disorienting. After spending so long confined within the book’s pages, reentering the world was akin to landing on an alien planet. Colors seemed brighter, sensations felt unfamiliar, and even the taste of things seemed strange.

It had only been a day or two since they emerged from the book’s depths. During that time, Tomas had been reluctant to close his eyes, fearing a return to the vast darkness that had engulfed him for so long. In the book, there was only emptiness—a void that left him disoriented and disconnected from time and reality. The experience had shattered his ability to cope with darkness; although it was bad to have a new master, he would prefer this situation to eternal darkness.

Inside the book, the only connection to the outside world was through sounds, which provided a vague sense of the passage of time. Now, sitting in the living room, an overwhelming surge of pent-up energy coursed through him. He longed to move, to run, to stretch his limbs freely. Yet, his heightened senses left him feeling overwhelmed by the outside world. It was as if everything had become too much to bear at once, triggering a cascade of emotions.

Such experiences were not uncommon when they remained dormant for extended periods. It took several days for them to readjust. Kuai Liang, in particular, struggled with the transition. His pyromancer abilities meant his metabolism was faster than both him and Bi-Han’s, making the initial days a nightmare as he grappled with an accumulation of pent-up energy. Bi-Han fared better in comparison, his cryomancer abilities allowing him to maintain control despite the prolonged dormancy.

“Are you all right?” Tomas inquired, glancing at his brother who sat a little distance away. Drops of sweat glistened on Kuai Liang’s forehead, his face flushed. His usually dark hair, kept in a bun, was now disheveled, with tufts of hair glued to his skin due to sweat. Despite his typically bronze skin, it appeared pale under the strain of his condition, a deep frown creased his brow, accentuating the thick veins that bulged on his neck from the tension of his clenched jaw. He spoke in a muffled voice, his fists tightly gripping the cushion beneath him.

“It’s more intense compared to the previous ones. It’s becoming increasingly difficult for me to cope.” Kuai Liang muttered, his voice strained.

“You should lie down on the sofa,” Tomas suggested, rising from his seat and closing the distance between them in an instant. “Standing like this isn’t good for you. Let me help.”

“I’m fine,” Kuai Liang insisted stubbornly, his words almost a hiss through clenched teeth. “It’ll pass soon.”

“We both know it’ll take a few days,” Tomas reasoned gently. “Come on, lie down and stop being so stubborn. You need to rest.”

“I’ve been inactive enough already from being trapped in that damn book.”

“And now you need to rest so your body can recover.”

“Is everything all right?” Your soft voice floated from the entrance of the room, drawing Tomas’s attention. You stood there in an old plush robe, your legs and feet bare beneath your long nightgown. The bandages he wrapped around your legs from the first night they emerged from the book still in place. Like him, your face was colorless, and the purple rings under your eyes betrayed the sleeplessness you shared with them.

“Kuai Liang?” Bi-Han’s sudden appearance next to you, like a dark, silent shadow, caused you to jump in place with a start. Tomas observed your startled reaction, your eyes reflecting fear at Bi-Han’s sudden presence. Since they emerged from the book, they had noticed your agitated demeanor and your constant efforts to maintain a clear distance from them. It was evident in every gesture that you had yet to adapt to the situation and were still struggling to accept what was happening.

As Bi-Han approached them with purposeful strides, he rested his hand on his brother’s forehead, from which a thin, cold smoke wafted. Upon contact, a sizzling sound filled the room as cold and heat met. Kuai Liang’s eyes closed with a slight sense of relief, his tense posture relaxing slightly. Bi-Han’s expression remained stern.

“You’re burning,” Bi-Han remarked, his dark gaze fixed on his brother. “How long has he been like this?”

“For about half an hour, he suddenly relapsed. When he insists on not resting—”

“Nonsense. We both know you’re not going to get through this without lying down somewhere, Kuai Liang. Don’t be stubborn and do as you’re told.”

“What’s going on?” You hesitantly approached them, your anxious eyes shifting between Kuai Liang, who was breathing rapidly and starting to sweat profusely, and the two brothers. “Is he ill?”

As Bi-Han gave you a piercing, stern look, you stumbled back a step. Tomas felt a surge of anger at his brother’s harsh demeanor. Bi-Han had always been somewhat rude and obstinate; as the grandmaster before being trapped in the book, he was accustomed to looking down on others, being condescending, and considering everyone except the Lin Kuei as worthless. This attitude had persisted over the years, even when they served various masters of the book.

Many masters had attempted to break his demeanor and relished in the opportunity, but when they realized Bi-Han could not be tamed, both he and Kuai Liang were held accountable for his actions. That was when Bi-Han had to learn to control his sharp tongue and condescending gaze. But when it comes to you, you seem different from the masters who came and went. You were an ordinary person, with neither unusual strength nor fighting skills to suggest you knew how to protect yourself.

Tomas had scrutinized you closely the first day he emerged from the book and quickly formed a profile. Your physique seemed too delicate to be that of a warrior, and your gaze exuded kindness and compassion. The fact that you didn’t assert any authority over them indicated you might be harmless. While he hesitated to fully embrace this belief, it often proved true when reality differed from their initial assumptions. This made Bi-Han’s treatment of you seem inappropriate and cruel.

“Kuai Liang is a pyromancer, master,” Tomas interjected, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had settled between them. “When he’s unable to release his power for an extended period, it accumulates inside him, causing sensory overload and physical strain.”

As Tomas explained in simpler terms, given your unfamiliarity with their world, another layer of concern clouded your expression.

“Oh, I see. That sounds truly awful. Does the same situation apply to you?”

Bi-Han had been on the verge of making a rude remark once again, but Tomas acted swiftly to prevent him from further upsetting you. “No, our powers and metabolic rates vary among us.”

“Then is there anything I can do for Kuai Liang? I have antipyretics and painkillers; perhaps they might help.”

“Are you daft, woman? We’re dealing with a man whose metabolism is four times faster than normal. Do you think mere drugs will affect him?”

“I-I just wanted to help.”

“You’d be of greater help by not interfering,”

The moment Bi-Han hurled the words at you with a tongue as sharp as a knife, Tomas watched you swallow silently and your eyes glistened with tears for a moment. His chest ached with a slight pain for you, whom he had never known; you stood so vulnerable and small in front of them. But you collected your composure quickly, surprising him, squaring your shoulders and lifting your head.

“He can sleep in my bed until he’s better. It’ll be more comfortable than the couch. Can you move him there?”

***

After they carried Kuai Liang to your room and Bi-Han pulled a chair next to him, settling in, Tomas returned to the living room with you.

“He hates me.” you muttered in a hoarse voice.

“He hates everyone.” Tomas replied, realizing you were referring to Bi-Han. With a pillow tucked under one arm and a not-too-thick, pink-purple patterned blanket in the other, you prepared the makeshift bed on the couch.

With a sigh, you settled onto the end of the couch, which Kuai Liang had been using as a bed for the past few days. While he and Kuai Liang shared the living room, Bi-Han had taken refuge in your study. Your house was quite small, and Tomas had initially doubted whether they could all fit in here.

“If I hadn’t been protected by the book, he would have torn me in half already, wouldn’t he?”

“It can’t be said that he gets along well with strangers,” Tomas replied politely. “He needs time, master.” As the last word slipped from his lips in the usual manner, he observed your gentle expression falter, your lips pressing together into a straight line. He knew you disliked being addressed that way, but after years of habit, it was difficult for him to remove it from his vocabulary. His body ached with a twinge of pain for disobeying your request once again—a never-ending side effect of the curse. They had to obey their masters unconditionally, and if they did not, and this situation persisted, their suffering increased exponentially.

“Tomas, please don’t call me that. I am not your master, and it makes me very uncomfortable every time you address me as such.”

“I’m sorry,” Tomas murmured in a low voice, avoiding your gaze as he stared out at the nighttime landscape of tall buildings and colorful lights beyond the window. “It’s just a habit.”

“There’s no need to apologize. I just want you to know that there are no distinct classes between us. We are equals.” You leaned back against the armrest, pulling your knees toward your stomach and wrapping your arms around yourself. “It’s very strange. I haven’t slept a wink since yesterday, and yet I still don’t feel like I can sleep.”

When Tomas turned his gaze back to you, he noticed your tired eyes staring into emptiness. He could imagine how surreal and overwhelming the unfolding events must have sounded from your perspective. Moreover, sharing your home with three unfamiliar, burly men, and constantly feeling on edge because of Bi-Han, must have added to your nerves.

“So do I.” Tomas replied after a moment, joining you. “I’ve been inside the book for so long that it’s hard to believe I’m out now.”

“If you don’t mind, may I ask how long you’ve been there?”

“What year is it?” He asked.

“Two thousand twenty-four.”

“Then it has been nearly two years since we last emerged.”

Your eyes widened in horror at his response.

“Two years? That’s terrible! What have you been doing all this time in the book? Is there any way you can pass the time?”

The question sounded so innocent to Tomas’s ears that he almost wanted to laugh. It was the first time he had encountered a master like you—a master who, despite having the power to use them as mere tools, condoned Bi-Han’s rude behavior and tried to create a small comfort zone to help Kuai Liang through the process. Even though you knew the power you held over them, you chose not to exploit it fully. If you had wanted to, you could have expelled Bi-Han, and even him and Kuai Liang, from your home. After all, they had no choice but to obey your orders if they wished to avoid excruciating pain.

They hadn’t revealed this detail to you yet, as it was too valuable and represented one of their greatest vulnerabilities. However, whether you were aware of this information or not didn’t change the truth. By opening your home to them and engaging in conversation with Tomas, you were trying to understand the situation despite the risks involved. He doubted every now and then, as you seemed so sincere. You cannot act all the time, can you? As he was a professional in reading people, he couldn’t be entirely sure about you.

“No, we can only wait until our new master reads the words in the book,” Tomas explained.

“How so?” Your eyes widened slightly. “Can’t you do anything?”

“No, except for waiting in the dark, we can only sometimes hear voices coming from outside the book. This helps us understand where we are, and sometimes even the year.”

“God, this is—this is so cruel… How have you been able to maintain your sanity until today? This is officially torture.”

He also pondered the answer to this question himself. If he had been sealed inside that book alone, Tomas doubted he would be capable of forming coherent sentences right now. It would be a miracle if he could even speak.

“My brothers… Without them, it would have been inevitable that I would have lost my mind,” he admitted through clenched teeth. “But sometimes even that is not enough. That’s why we pressured you to read the book when you found it.”

“I thought I was going to die of fear at that moment,” you confessed in a low voice, cheeks slightly flushed, as you turned away from him and focused on your clasped hands. “But I’m glad I made you get out of there after hearing what you’ve told me. I hope I can help you break this curse as well.”

Tomas remained silent, grappling with uncertainty about the sincerity of your words. They had encountered similar displays of kindness before. In the past, there was a master they believed to be compassionate and well-intentioned, who had convinced them to lower their guards and give their trust a chance. They had fallen for gentle touches, pleas instead of commands, sweet compliments, and precious gifts. Even Bi-Han, typically skeptical, had thought that previous master was different.

But they were mistaken. They soon discovered that everything she did was merely a facade to gain their trust and manipulate them, raising their hopes only to shatter them. They had sworn never to trust again after that betrayal. As long as they were trapped in the book, they would always have a master, and their relationships would remain purely transactional.

Tomas had learned the hard way not to put faith in anyone. So your words held little weight for him. Each of them represented a month, and when they returned to the book three months later, you would be out of their lives. It seemed foolish to invest in a bond for something that would soon disappear.

‘’Tomas? Are you okay? You’ve become quiet,” you asked, noticing his distant expression.

Hearing your voice, Tomas snapped out of his thoughts and looked at you. “I have a lot on my mind. My thoughts are too loud,” he confessed with a tight smile.

“I have a solution that might help. Since neither of us has had any sleep,” you suggested, rising from your seat and making your way to the kitchen, which was adjacent to the living room. Tomas felt a twinge of curiosity as he watched you move. ‘’I hope you like chocolate.’’

“What are you going to do?”

“Hot chocolate. Sweet things are always good for stress. I think we both need some relaxation and serotonin,” you explained, retrieving two mugs from the kitchen cabinet and placing them on the counter. As you continued to prepare the hot chocolate, you asked, “Do you want to watch a movie?”

Tomas repeated the question as if to confirm that he had heard you correctly. “A movie?”

“Yes,” you affirmed cheerfully, without glancing at him, as you arranged the ingredients on the counter. “I like to watch something on Netflix when I can’t sleep. It helps distract my mind.”

“Netflix?” Tomas queried, unfamiliar with the term. As you briefly explained what Netflix was, Tomas observed you moving around the kitchen with a sweet smile, pouring steaming hot chocolate into the mugs and adorning them with white toppings resembling candy. He was familiar with the concept of movies, but his upbringing with the Lin Kuei left little room for leisure activities, such as watching television or electronic devices. Thus, while he understood the concept of movies, he had never encountered anything related to them until now.

“We can watch something that won’t require too much thought,” you suggested as you placed the mugs on the coffee table in front of them. Retrieving your laptop from a nearby spot, you positioned it on your lap and adjusted the screen so that Tomas could see. “Here, you can browse the movies from here.”

Tomas curiously scanned through the films from various categories displayed on the screen. There were so many options that he found it difficult to decide which one to choose, unsure of what would be the right choice.

“How about action?” you proposed, attempting to assist him. Your understanding expression conveyed that you recognized his struggle to make a choice. “We could watch Johnny Cage’s movies. The Ninja Mime movie series is legendary! What do you think? If you don’t like it, we can explore other options, of course.”

When Tomas agreed, your smile grew, and you placed the laptop in the center of the coffee table for both of you to see. As you leaned down to switch off the nearby lamp, he impulsively reached out and grabbed your wrist, causing a small, sweet electric sensation to pass between them. You both shared a momentary pause, as if sensing something peculiar, and Tomas noticed the sound of your interrupted breathing. What the hell was that? Tomas had never felt anything like this before.

“Tomas? Is something wrong?” you asked, your concern evident in your voice.

Tomas tried to ignore the tender feeling as he quickly released your wrist, as if it had burned him. Despite facing numerous sorcerers and warriors without fear, you, with your delicate demeanor, seemed more fragile to him, easily susceptible to harm even without the protection of the book.

“Could the light stay on?” he requested hoarsely, instantly noticing the understanding in your eyes, realizing the underlying reason for his question.

“Of course. Is it alright if we share the seat until the movie ends? There’s no other way for me to see the screen.”

Tomas found it strange that you asked, considering it was your home. You didn’t need his permission to use your own belongings.

“This is already your couch.” Tomas replied, showing his confusion.

“You’re also my guest. I want you to feel comfortable, not like you’re on edge,” you explained. Surprised by your response, Tomas nodded in agreement instead of verbally responding. “Great! Then I’ll start the movie. Come on, start drinking the hot chocolate before it gets cold. Your marshmallows are about to melt.”

Following your instructions, Tomas picked up a yellowish-white ceramic mug with daisy and bee patterns and took a sip of the steaming, incredibly fragrant drink. The sweet liquid danced on his taste buds, flooding his mouth with an unparalleled delight. It had been an eternity since he had savored something so delicious and sweet, a rare treat that he hadn’t experienced in years. Closing his eyes in bliss, he relished every moment of it.

“Do you like it?”

“I love it,” Tomas replied honestly.

“Really?” Your face lit up with a huge, almost radiant smile, and Tomas once again felt that sweet ache in his chest, far from painful. “I’m glad to hear that! If you want more, don’t hesitate to tell me. I still have plenty of chocolates in the cupboard.”

After your words, when the movie started, Tomas watched you eagerly settle on the end of the seat and sip your hot chocolate out of the corner of his eye. Despite the seat not being too large, there was a noticeable distance between you; someone thinner could have squeezed in between with a little effort. Although Tomas still couldn’t quite decipher your intentions, he turned his attention to the film after stealing a few glances at you, and slowly felt his troubled thoughts quiet down, his overly active senses beginning to relax.

Settling more comfortably on the couch, he took another sip of the hot chocolate you had made. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had done something like this for him. Usually, the situation would be the opposite—he would serve someone, fulfilling their wishes and desires. Now, it felt strange and unfamiliar to him to drink the beverage you had offered without expecting anything in return, as if you would later chastise him for such naivety. However, that never happened. Instead, you were completely engrossed in the film, occasionally giggling at the jokes inaudibly. Your smile, perhaps even sweeter than the hot chocolate he was drinking, had a warmth that made one want to hear your voice again.

Despite being occasionally distracted by your voice, Tomas found himself unexpectedly enjoying the movie. The action scenes were realistic, the jokes humorous, and the flow of the film simple yet intriguing. During one of the fight scenes, Tomas mumbled, “He fights well.”

“Isn’t he? He’s also a master of martial arts. All of these scenes were shot without the use of stunts. That’s why I have a lot of respect for the work he does. He’s one of the few actors I’d like to meet.” you remarked as you popped a half-melted marshmallow into your mouth, causing Tomas to watch your soft lips open and close on your fingers. He felt a warmth again, but this time it was burning and dangerous rather than sweet. He shifted in his seat as if trying to shake off the feeling.

“Do you want to watch the second one too?” you asked after finishing chewing. Tomas responded in a muffled voice. “I can’t deny that I’m interested.”

“Wonderful! I’ll refresh our drinks then. Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

Tomas rose once more, feeling uneasy about being served by you again, as you asked nothing of him. As he approached, you were just about to open the milk lid when you looked up, meeting his gaze with inquisitive eyes.

“Did you want something?”

“Tell me what I should do, please,” Tomas said through clenched teeth. How long would you leave him in this state of uncertainty, without giving him any orders? This unfamiliarity, persisting for days, was making him nervous. It was vastly different from the structured system he was accustomed to.

“I am not your master, Tomas,” you responded calmly, looking into his eyes, your voice gentle yet firm. “You are your own person. I will not give you orders, neither now nor later.”

“This is wrong,” Tomas said akin to a snarl, his voice sounding foreign even to himself. Even before an assassin, he was a hunter, and now, he felt more trapped than ever as he still couldn’t grapple with your rules. Do you even have rules? “Something is always expected.”

“This situation doesn’t apply here. I can see that you don’t trust and believe in me, and I don’t blame you for that,” you said, your face filled with a sadness Tomas couldn’t comprehend, your gaze softening even further. “Tomas, please try to believe that I’m sincere in what I’m saying. I do not demand anything from you, and I will not. You are free to act as you want, make your own decisions and choices.”

“Why?” Tomas questioned.

Why were you being so kind?

“Because it’s the right and humane thing to do,” you said simply, without hesitation. Then, you turned your attention to the task at hand. “Now, how many marshmallows do you want? I think I can put at least six on top.”

Did you realize the power you held in your hands? A word from you could compel action. But it seemed like you didn’t even care about this power; instead, you focused on trivial details about the second movie you were going to watch.

Once you had assembled a small mountain of marshmallows on the mug and handed it to him, Tomas accepted it in silence and settled back into the seat with you to resume the movie. He felt oddly content in a way. Though part of him still awaited the unveiling of the mask he thought you wore, he found some solace in the simplicity and normalcy of the current situation. Even though he had forgotten what it felt like, experiencing it again now stirred a mix of emotions within him, difficult to define.

While watching the movie, it was your harmless chats that occasionally provided small pieces of information about the actor or the movie, though it usually remained one-sided. Tomas lost track of how many movies you watched that night, ceasing to count after the second film. As soft yellow lights appeared and the sky began to brighten, he realized that an entire night had passed watching movies. Stretching his muscles, which had stiffened from remaining in the same position for so long, he turned his neck from right to left. When he glanced back at you, he saw that you were quietly curled up in your corner, fast asleep.

You had your arms crossed over the armrest of the chair, using them as a makeshift pillow for your head. Your mouth was slightly ajar, and the gentle rise and fall of your chest indicated deep sleep. Bathed in the morning sunlight, a peaceful expression graced your face.Tomas felt relieved watching you, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, akin to lying on a calm sea.

On one hand, he was surprised that you felt comfortable enough to sleep next to him. You likely couldn’t resist the fatigue any longer and succumbed to it. Tomas couldn’t help but notice how vulnerable you looked, despite not wanting to admit it. You appeared delicate enough to be easily hurt.

Careful not to disturb you, Tomas pulled a blanket up to your shoulders, ensuring you were completely covered. As he did so, Bi-Han appeared at the entrance of the living room, his expression as cold and discontented as ever.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Bi-Han demanded.

“You’ll wake her up,” Said Tomas, in a voice that sounded like a whisper, slightly scolding. Carefully getting up from where he was sitting, he made his way to his brother’s side, his shoulders tense and his posture upright. He changed the subject directly, not allowing Bi-Han to scold him further. “How is Kuai Liang?”

“It’s bad, but he’ll pull through. He’s unconscious right now; I don’t think he’ll wake up for a while.”

“It’s the first time I’ve seen him this bad.”

“We stayed in the book for too long this time,” Bi-Han growled hoarsely, his voice tinged with wildness. Clenching his fists at his sides, his eyebrows furrowed deeply, and his gaze darkened. Tomas could feel the cold emanating from him, chilling his skin like a winter wind. “This cramped place is suffocating me. I’m going out to explore. Take care of Kuai Liang.”

As Bi-Han stormed out of the house without waiting for a reply, Tomas sighed and headed for the room where Kuai Liang was staying, ignoring his weary eyes due to insomnia. Opening the door slightly, he peered inside and saw his brother lying motionless on the bed. Stepping into the room and closing the door quitely behind him, Tomas prepared to tend to his brother.

Although he felt a twinge of guilt for intruding into your private space by entering your bedroom, Tomas didn’t dwell on it much, knowing that you had opened this place up for their use like any other part of the house. After opening the window to let in some fresh air, Tomas couldn’t resist looking around curiously. Your room, like the rest of the house, was small, with a closet and a standing mirror in one corner, and a bookcase filled to the brim with books and pictures scattered haphazardly on the shelves in another corner.

Approaching the bookcase, Tomas found some books filled with confusing information about computers and programming, which he couldn’t quite comprehend. Was this your interest? After glancing at a few of them, his attention was drawn to the photos. Some were framed, while others were hung around the shelves with wicker ropes. The photos depicted people with wide, friendly smiles, along with various landscapes. In the photos, you appeared pleasant, happy, and cheerful, almost laughing in the eyes.

Tomas frowned slightly as he picked up a frame that caught his attention. He hadn’t seen such an expression on your face since they came out of the book; instead, you seemed agitated, with traces of fear in your eyes. He wished he could see you with that same expression from the photos; laughing seemed to suit you, exuding a pure aura that inspired trust. Maybe you truly were like the person in the photos… maybe—

Shaking his head, Tomas tried to dispel the thoughts and returned the frame to its place. He then sat on the chair pulled to the right side of the bed and looked at Kuai Liang. His brother looked worse than he had ever seen him before—his bronze face even paler than the day before, sweat glistening on his skin, chest heaving with rapid breaths, and a contracted expression indicating distress.

Tomas changed the cloth on Kuai Liang’s forehead and listened to his audible breathing, occasionally wheezing softly. Though he wished he could offer his brother some relief, there was little they could do in such circumstances. Kuai Liang had to fight this battle alone and regain control. Tomas watched him for a long time, his hand resting on his chin as he became lost in thought.

It was the sounds emanating from the kitchen that snapped him out of his reverie. Thinking that Bi-Han might have returned, he left the room and found you sipping coffee while cooking something on the stove. When you noticed his presence, you turned around, raising the mug in your hand with a sincere smile as you greeted him.

“Good morning. Did you get any sleep?”

“Not really,” Tomas admitted.

The smile on your face faltered slightly. “Hmm, so the movies didn’t do the trick. Fortunately, I have more remedies up my sleeve. I bought some herbal teas and aromatherapy candles a while ago. We can give them a try tonight,” you suggested with a cheerful tone, taking another sip of your coffee. Before returning to your cooking, you asked curiously. “How is your brother?”

“He’s sleeping. He’s not well, but he’s a strong and stubborn man. I’m sure he’ll recover soon,” Tomas replied.

“I’m glad to hear that. Bi-Han didn’t want me to help, but I made some porridge for Kuai Liang. I hope he won’t be upset with me. Of course, if you think he will be, we can keep it between us. Eating can be difficult when you’re sick, so I thought some comfort food might help him,” you explained, gesturing to the pot on the stove. “I’ve also prepared something for you. Have a seat. You drink coffee, right?”

Once again surprised by your thoughtfulness, Tomas couldn’t tear his gaze away from you as you served him pancakes smothered with a generous amount of maple syrup, a plate of perfectly crisped bacon and eggs cooked to perfection, and a steaming mug of coffee, its aroma wafting through the air and tantalizing his senses.

“Is Bi-Han awake too? I saved some for him.”

“He went out to explore. I don’t think he’ll be back before noon,” Tomas replied, still eyeing the food before him, unsure of where to start. Despite knowing he could eat without waiting for your command, it was difficult to break the years-long habit of awaiting orders. You must have noticed this detail, as you called out to him in a soft voice.

“You should eat before it gets cold, Tomas. You may not enjoy it as much later,” you said gently.

Tomas, relieved, filled his fork with food and began to eat his breakfast with great pleasure, savoring each piece slowly as it settled warmly in his stomach. As he ate, he noticed you quietly watching him while sipping your coffee from the bench you leaned against.

“I hope I didn’t burn the egg,” you remarked after a while. Tomas shook his head, indicating ‘No’ since his mouth was full. After a sip of coffee, he managed to give a straight answer.

“Everything is quite delicious, maste—thank you.” he said, correcting himself at the last moment. A warm smile settled on your face, exposing your teeth, reminiscent of the photos he had seen. Despite your simple appearance in a loosely tied robe and a nightgown, you radiated natural beauty and warmth, filling Tomas with a sense of comfort he hadn’t dared to believe.

“I’m glad to hear that,” you chirped like a bird. “Because I almost burned it while I was taking care of the porridge. I kept breakfast simple since I wasn’t sure what you liked.’’ While taking another sip of coffee, you sat down a little further away, collapsing into one of the chairs placed around the kitchen island. “There is a local library very close to here. I have to stop by there for half an hour. There are some books I want to look at. Do you want to come with me? I think coming out after being in the book will make you feel better.”

Tomas’ body immediately contracted with tension, almost instinctively. He was curious about how much the outside world had changed, but on the one hand, he was not ready to encounter innovations, re-enter among people, noise, and much more. His senses were still at a hyper level, and that fidgety feeling swirling inside him had not calmed down yet.

“Perhaps some other time. Besides, I don’t want to leave Kuai Liang alone like this,” Tomas replied.

“Oh, you’re right. It was a rude question on my part,” you admitted, taking another sip of your coffee before looking at Tomas with curious yet deceptive eyes. Tomas met your gaze and asked after swallowing the food in his mouth, “You want to ask something, am I right?”

“There’s just one thing I’m curious about. But I don’t think it’s right to ask.”

One edge of Tomas’s lip curled upwards; he was starting to like the way you were approaching more and more. You were treating him like a human being rather than an object, and he’d forgotten how that made him feel.

‘’You can ask, it’s okay,’’ he encouraged.

‘’Your hair… Is this your original color?’’

An unexpected chuckle spilled from Tomas’ lips. It seemed funny and innocent enough to make his heart ache that you chose this when there were tons of questions you could ask.

‘‘No, it’s that color because of the smoke magic. Its previous color was brown.’’

‘’Smoke magic? Do you have the power like the others?’’

“Yes.’’

You took a breath with excitement; Tomas could have sworn your eyes were shining.

‘‘Will you show it to me?’’

Tomas let go of the mug he was holding with another smirk that he couldn’t stop, and thanks to the thin, gray cloud of smoke rising from his fingers, he made the mug float in the air. While your eyes opened wide, you took a sharp breath and stared at the floating mug in amazement, and Tomas took great pleasure in watching your reaction.

‘’This is incredible! What else can you do?’’

‘’I can be invisible.’’

‘’No way!’’ You said it in an incredulous voice. Tomas raised an eyebrow, gave you a sarcastic look, and then made his body invisible, watching you keep your mouth open with amazement. Your reaction was so sweet that Tomas laughed out loud this time, and when he made his body visible again, you looked at him with big eyes for a few seconds as if he had grown out a second head.

‘‘That was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. You’re incredible!’’ Against your obvious compliment, Tomas’s heart misfired once again, and he felt his cheeks getting hot. Not knowing what to say, as you kept talking excitedly, he squeezed a big mouthful morsel in his mouth before saying something ridiculous. ‘‘It must be great to have such a talent. You can even go to North Korea without anyone hearing a sound.’’

Tomas barely swallowed the morsel in his mouth and looked at you with a manner that showed he didn’t understand why you could want such a thing.

‘‘Why would you want to go there?’’

‘‘Out of curiosity, of course.’’ After giving him a little look with your flushed cheeks, you cleared your throat with an artificial cough. ‘’There’s something else I’m curious about.’’

‘’Are you going to ask why I don’t resemble my brothers in appearance?’’

‘’No, actually, I was going to ask why Kuai Liang said ‘Earthrealm’ that night. The other one is a personal question; it wouldn’t be right for me to ask you to explain.’’

Even so, when you were talking to him like that, Tomas felt the need to explain to you. He decided to sit back in his chair and calmly tell you everything from the beginning, so that he could make you understand the world you’ve fallen into a little better and make sense of it, maybe so that you could also start feeling safer around them. After all, you were going to be together for three months, and no one knew better than him how exhausting it was to be constantly on edge, both physically and mentally.

‘‘I am not their brother by blood; I am adopted,’’ Tomas said simply. ‘’Before I became a part of Lin Kuei, I had my mother and twin sister; we were hunters. We made our living by selling the meat and fur of the animals we hunted, until one day we hunted in the wrong territory. There was an accident.’’ As Tomas slowly began to tell you about his life, he was surprised at how easily the words fell from his lips. Normally, he was a closed box to someone he didn’t know; he wouldn’t open his past easily, but something in you was preventing him from doing so.

‘‘I am so sorry for your loss.’’ It was impossible not to hear the sadness and sincerity in your voice; your gaze had an expression that showed that you were really sorry for his loss. One hand was hesitantly raised, then Tomas did not pull or push his hand away when you placed your hand on his hand, quite delicately, indicating that he could easily get out of your grip if he wanted to. Your touch defined you; it was warm and reassuring, and it also made him realize how much he really needed it.

‘‘Thank you,’’ said Tomas, involuntarily. With his thumb, he gently stroked the top of your hand as a token of his gratitude. When he started to retell where he left off, you were listening to him with great attention. You didn’t interrupt for once; your facial expression was lit up with a warm expression, sometimes sad, sometimes showing that you were proud of his achievements. After briefly mentioning his past, when he came to the question you asked, he actually mentioned that there is more than one world, the details of Lin Kuei’s purpose, creature from other worlds, and gods. While listening to what you were saying with great interest, Tomas was starting to enjoy watching your expression more and more.

"It turns out that I've been sleeping under a rock all this time.’’ You said, gasping in amazement. ‘’So you're superheroes, are you?’’

Tomas chuckled at your comparison.

‘’It was an overly generous comparison. It would be more accurate to say protector than superhero; we served under the orders of Lord Liu Kang to protect Earthrealm from external dangers.’’

“Lord Liu Kang… He was the one who was the Fire God, wasn’t he?’’

‘‘Yes, that’s him.’’

‘’I can’t believe it, God, huh?” You were like a little girl sitting on the edge of a chair, warmed up with excitement, cheeks flushed as if you held a huge candy in your hand. ‘‘No wonder Bi-Han got mad at me when I accidentally branded you as blood lust murderers. After what you said, my own life suddenly seemed very… simple.’’

Tomas reached for his now cold coffee, hiding his laughter. ‘’I’d like to hear it.’’ He said, trusting in the small, fragile bond established between you through the conversation.

‘’Well, what I’m going to tell you may not sound as cool as yours. I graduated from the software engineering department last year, I was working as a programmer at a game company until a few days ago, but I lost the job.’’

‘‘I’m sorry to hear that.’’ Tomas said in a genuine voice. You shrugged your shoulders as if it were all right, but your face had fallen a little, revealing what was going through your mind.

‘‘Don’t worry, I wasn’t happy working there anyway, it was more about making money. Actually, my dream is to one day secure a partnership with one of the big companies by releasing my own game, but when you face the real world, you realize it’s not that simple. No one wants to partner with a novice; someone without a background. Plus, I haven’t found any inspiration for my so-called game yet anyway.’’

Leaning one hand on your chin, your face fell with a mix of unhappiness and a hint of pessimism. Tomas felt a strong need to console you and put a smile back on your face.

‘‘It doesn’t sound impossible.’’ He said with a smile. ‘’Besides, it’s their loss that they’ve lost a talented woman like you.’’

Watching your cheeks flush with his compliment filled Tomas with pride and an irresistible desire for more. As you shyly murmured a small ‘’Thank you’’, Tomas heard the front door open. While his body reflexively tensed, his muscles were ready and alert until he saw who was coming.

When Bi-Han’s imposing body appeared at the entrance, you stood up, moving before him.

‘’Bi-Han! Welcome, we were having breakfast. Are you hungry? I’ve saved something for you too.’’

‘’I’m none of your concern.’’ Bi-Han’s words cut yours short, and within seconds, the smile vanished from your face, shattering the warmth Tomas had worked to foster, and you retreated into your former guarded and distant demeanor. ‘’I remember I told you to take care of Kuai Liang.’’

‘‘His condition hasn’t changed since you left, brother.’’ Tomas responded in kind, his words adding to the escalating tension between them. Sensing the growing unease, you delicately cleared your throat, subtly redirecting both their attention.

‘’I’d better go to the library, as always you can use the things in the house as you like. Tomas, if you want to watch something on Netflix, please don’t hesitate to use it.’’ With your head bowed, you left the room after finishing your words quietly, leaving Tomas and Bi-Han alone.

Tomas ended up near Bi-Han, taking a hard breath. ‘’Why are you acting like this? She’s done nothing but help us so far.’’

‘’And did you believe it?’’ Bi-Han’s voice was thick and authoritative, sounding incredibly deep. “You’re still very naive, Tomas.’’

‘’If you can’t choose your words carefully, can’t you at least pay a little more attention to your intonation? You’re scaring her.’’

‘’And why should I care? As long as the book exists, there will always be a master, and that woman is no different from the others. You have to understand, Tomas, it would just be foolish to trust anyone but each other, especially when you have such tremendous power in your hands. Don’t get your hopes up.’’

Tomas wanted to oppose him, but unfortunately, although Bi-Han spoke with his usual brutality, he was right on one point; as long as the master-slave relationship existed, it carried a power that could easily deconstruct the delicate trust established despite everything. An order that would come out of one’s lips was enough to take away their consent.

After Tomas stayed silent, Bi-Han approached him, his intense gaze lingering for a moment before shifting to the food simmering on the stove.

‘’What is this?’’ Opening the lid curiously, he looked at what was inside. ‘’Did you do it?’’

‘’No, she prepared the porridge so that Kuai Liang could eat comfortably.’’

With his answer, one of the muscles in Bi-Han’s jaw twitched.

‘’I told her to not interfere.’’

‘’She may not be the person we thought, Bi-Han.’’ Said Tomas, there was an opposition in his voice that he didn’t understand where it was coming from. ‘’Tell me, which master has prepared breakfast or something similar for us before?’’

‘’Stop calling them masters!’’ Although Bi-Han turned to him angrily with furious eyes and stood in front of him as if he were a mountain of intimidation, Tomas did not allow him to intimidate him. He wanted him to hear what he was thinking.

‘’I’m not saying we should trust her, but you know as well as I do that she hasn’t done anything to deserve your cruel approach so far. She wants us to be comfortable in his house, she even gave Kuai Liang her bedroom, just to help him in the healing process. She tried to set us free the very first moment we came out of the book-‘’

‘’This is not the first time we have encountered this situation.’’ Bi-Han interjected once again. “At some point, she’ll be compelled to give us orders. I wonder if you’ll still defend her then.”

***

It’s been a few hours since you returned from the library. Throughout your time there, you remained engrossed in the books you brought back, occasionally scribbling something in your notebook and muttering to yourself. Finally, Tomas approached, more curious about your activities than the movie he was watching. When you lifted your head from among the books at his approach, you asked, ‘’The movie didn’t catch your attention?’’

‘’Frankly, I was more interested in what you were doing. You’ve been sitting there for hours, doesn’t your neck hurt?’’

As you tested his words by moving your neck, a hint of pain crossed your face, accompanied by a soft whimper. ‘’Ouch, you were right. My neck is terribly stiff.’’

Offering to help, Tomas raised his hands in the air, gesturing to massage your neck. ‘’If you want?’’

‘’If it’s all right with you, please,’’ you responded, your voice a blend of shyness and gratitude. As Tomas took his place behind you and began massaging your shoulders and neck, he felt a strange electric current once again. Your skin felt soft and tender between his calloused fingers, and he couldn’t help but notice the clean and beautiful scent emanating from you, enveloping him in a sweet warmth. Slowly, your stiffened body began to unravel and relax under his touch. Curious about your reading material, Tomas inquired, ‘‘May I ask what you are reading?’

‘‘I’m doing research. These books contain a ton of information about witchcraft, spells, and curses. I thought maybe there might be some useful information in it for your situation.’’

‘’Have you been looking at these for hours?’’ Tomas asked incredulously.

With a simple ‘’Yes,’’ you innocently confirmed. As Tomas watched you turn another page, he felt a familiar ache in his heart. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was for understanding and kindness. Every movement, every word, every soft look and smile you shared seemed to weave into Tomas’ soul, confirming his growing certainty that you were unlike anyone he had ever met before.

‘’You must be tired, thank you, Tomas, that’s enough,’’ When you spoke from the book without raising your head, Tomas reluctantly withdrew his hands, even though he didn’t want to. Touching you like this felt nice; it was a rare sensation to interact with another body of his own accord, free from orders. Moreover, it was confined to a simple touch without fulfilling desires, a sensation he had almost forgotten. It also made him feel powerful, as it was an action he took by his own decision, highlighting the profound impact of a simple gesture on him.

“May I accompany you?” Tomas asked.

“Of course, you don’t even need to ask. You can look at whatever you want, and if you want to have a drink, you know where they are,” you replied, smiling at him. Tomas opted to brew herbal tea for the both of them. He carefully poured the freshly boiled water into two mugs before selecting green tea bags to steep in each one. As he settled next to you, he glanced at what you had written.

“Have you found anything yet?”

“To be honest, not really,” you admitted, reaching for the mug he offered. With a sigh, you glanced wearily over the open books. “Salt baths, incense, and natural stones have been mentioned, but these seem more for balancing energy. I haven’t come across anything about how to deal with black magic yet.”

“Don’t push yourself for our sake.”

“What? What do you mean?” You looked at him with furrowed eyebrows, a slight hint of frustration in your expression, urging him to explain.

“The demon who cursed us, Quan Chi, is a master of black magic and is cruel as well. You’re not the first person to promise to help us; I’ve seen this scenario before. I don’t think the solution is found in these books, so you shouldn’t burden yourself too much searching for answers you may not find. Our past attempts to break the curse only led to more suffering, it only led to disappointment and despair.”

Your eyebrows furrowed further in response, and though your expression darkened, your eyes betrayed a hurt that softened your features.

“I can understand why you’re hesitant to trust given your past experiences, and it infuriates me to think that others have exploited you in this way.’’ you asserted, your tone tinged with emotion. ‘’While the solution may not be found in these books, we won’t know unless we try, Tomas. I refuse to simply stand by and watch as time slips away and you’re forced back into that book. Our paths have crossed for some reason, and I will help you as much as my means allow. I understand that trusting again is daunting, even frightening, but I’m asking you to give it a chance.”

‘Only a fool would hope,’ Bi-Han’s words from years ago echoed in Tomas’s mind. It was easier to believe that you were playing some kind of game than to trust. But, on the other hand, it was undeniable that there was a hint of truth in your words. If you had a different purpose, you wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble or greeted Bi-Han’s rude words with silence. Even though you knew the power you had over them, you were always careful about the words you used, afraid to abuse it and put them in a difficult situation. Tomas didn’t want to make the same mistake again. He had been in that book for ten years and had seen and experienced a lot. He could navigate the familiar order, knowing the rules and what to expect. But this situation was different.

Maybe after a few days, you would change your mind and want to take advantage of this opportunity that fell into your lap. You might be overwhelmed while searching for a solution, realizing it wasn’t a problem you had to solve, or you might grow tired of them invading your home. The possibilities were endless. Despite this, Tomas still didn’t know what would be left of himself if he chose to trust again, only for it to end badly.

“Tomas?” Your soft voice pulled him out of his thoughts, and he met your worried gaze. “Are you all right? If what I said made you feel uncomfortable, I’m sorry.”

Your words, whispered gently, stirred the dilemma Tomas found himself in. It was too early for him to make a decision, as he didn’t even know you properly. Yet, there was a part of him that wanted to believe in you. Despite all the challenges he had faced, you were the first master he wanted to give a chance to after all these years. But he avoided saying it, not wanting to give you the power to manipulate him. As much as he wanted to give you a chance, the part of him that longed to escape from this situation and the complex emotions you evoked in him was more dominant.

“I’m fine, it’s okay,” Tomas replied, brushing off your concern. “I want to take a look at this book.”

As Tomas changed the subject and reached for one of the books in front of him, you eyed him one more time then resumed your reading quietly, allowing him the space to process his thoughts.

A serene silence enveloped the room, punctuated only by the rain outside tapping against the window, the gentle rustling of paper, and the occasional exchange of words between you. Tomas found himself once again enveloped in the same sense of peace he had felt while watching the movie with you last night. It was a rare feeling, one that he hadn’t experienced since being sealed within the book—time spent according to his own will, without orders or prohibitions.

As you sat back after having a snack and took a deep breath, Tomas’s attention was drawn to you like a magnet. Although he had been pretending to focus on the books in front of him, he found himself increasingly intrigued by observing you. Your facial expressions were as transparent as the pages of the books, and Tomas couldn’t help but watch you intently, captivated by your every movement and expression.

“It’s getting late,” you remarked with a tired smile, stifling a yawn with the back of your hand. “Are you feeling sleepy yet?”

“Not really,” Tomas replied honestly, though the idea of closing his eyes lingered in the corner of his mind. Despite having spent close to two years inside the book and therefore doing nothing, he couldn’t shake off the effects of insomnia. Trained to be a perfect assassin, he was accustomed to enduring extreme challenges beyond those faced by ordinary human. However, beneath the facade of strength and resilience, he was still human and had basic needs like everyone else. This included the need for sleep, a fundamental requirement that even his demanding training couldn’t negate.

“We could try lighting these candles, what do you think?” you suggested gently. “I also have another idea that might help, but we need to move to the couch for it.”

“I’m fine here, thank you,” Tomas replied, his voice betraying a hint of tension. You glanced at him, as if trying to discern what was bothering him, and placed a hand over his, giving it a gentle squeeze. Tomas felt his resistance waver at the contact, the part of him that craved connection stirring to life once again.

“Let’s give it a try, and if it doesn’t work, I promise not to insist.” you said softly.

Tomas wanted to refuse your offer, but he couldn’t resist your comforting smile and reassuring words any longer. “Alright,” With a sigh, he rose from his chair and settled into a corner of the couch, while you searched for candles in the room. As you lit a candle and placed it on the coffee table, dimming the other lights, Tomas’s body tensed instinctively.

“The smell will spread soon—Tomas?” Though he felt your weight settle into the seat beside him, Tomas couldn’t bring himself to turn and look at you. His eyes scanned every dimly lit corner of the room, searching for the perfect escape route. His muscles were tense, rendering him immobile like a statue, and his breath seemed to freeze in his lungs, causing his chest to barely rise and fall. His hunter instincts stirred to life, hazy with the need to survive, to prevent shadows from drawing near him as if they harbored fatal threats. Memories of his days as a hunter flickered in his mind, images of tracking prey through dense forests and navigating treacherous terrain. It was a life defined by instinct and survival, skills honed through years of relentless pursuit. Even now, those instincts remained sharp, guiding his every move in this unfamiliar setting.

“Tomas, what’s wrong?” you asked, concern evident in your voice.

“It’s dark,” Tomas managed to utter, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t like the darkness. It reminds me of the time I spent in the book.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I completely forgot! Just wait here, I’ll take care of it right away.” you responded, moving to get up. But Tomas stopped you abruptly, his fingers closing around your wrist with an iron grip. Though his hold may have been too tight, he felt powerless to loosen it, trapped in the conflict between fight or flight. His muscles tensed like coiled springs, his focus hazy with panic, aggravated and feeling more vulnerable than ever his instincts screaming at him to do something.

“Don’t go,” Tomas said, surprised at how foreign and commanding his own voice sounded. Though he intended it as a request, it came out more like an order. His voice was hoarse and strained, and he wasn’t even sure if you could hear him clearly.

“Okay, okay, I’m not going anywhere,” you assured him calmly, radiating a confidence that suggested you knew exactly what to do. “Tomas, it’s okay. Look at me.”

Your words cut through his panicked mind like a knife, and though his body remained tense, he obeyed, attempting to slow his breathing and regain his focus.

“Tomas,” you said softly, placing a hand on his cheek. He flinched at first, his body tensed more than before, ready to strike. If the circumstances had been different and he had seen you as a threat, he would have already broken your wrist because of this move. But you were no threat; your touch brought an unexpected sense of relief, like a balm to his frayed nerves. “Come on, turn your face to me. It’s okay.”

Though your hand rested gently on his cheek, you exerted no pressure, leaving the choice entirely up to Tomas. Slowly, hesitantly, he turned his head to face you, meeting your warm smile.

“That’s it, you’re safe. They’re just shadows. There’s no one here who can hurt you,” you reassured him, stroking his cheek gently. As he gazed into your soft, comforting eyes, Tomas felt the urge to fight slowly ebb away under your touch and gaze.

Along with your soothing words, Tomas allowed himself to be guided, feeling as though he were a stuffed rag doll after the sudden surge of adrenaline. His head came to rest on your legs, though he couldn’t quite decipher how he had ended up in this position. His muscles felt heavy, as if he were underwater, and his senses dulled, making it difficult to perceive movements and even more so to choose your words. All he could do was inhale the subtle scent of chamomile emanating from the candle and focus on the sensation your fingers created on his skin.

“It’s okay… Tomas… You won’t get hurt again… I’m here, I’ll keep you safe…” you murmured softly. Tomas wanted to laugh at your words, which he could only catch in pieces. How could you shield them? You had no power or ability, yet, your expression of wanting to safeguard these men, twice your size and skilled in taking lives, stirred something within Tomas. Despite the lingering adrenaline, he felt a wave of calmness wash over him, like a gentle ray of light caressing him. He found himself leaning into your touch, seeking comfort in the gentle caress of your fingers against his hair. Truly, you were unlike anyone he had ever met before, and it would be unfair to pretend otherwise.

As you gently stroked his hair, Tomas felt his body grow heavier, his eyelids drooping halfway. Despite a wave of panic at feeling so powerless and vulnerable, your words reassured him.

“I’m here, and I’ll be here when you wake up. Don’t worry, Tomas. You’re safe. You’re not in the book. You’re here in my house, next to me. Can you feel my touch?”

As your fingers continued to run through his short hair, Tomas succumbed to the weight pressing down on him, feeling as though he were being completely submerged underwater. His body went lax, not even having the power to lift a finger. Every muscle seemed to surrender to the fatigue, and he found himself unable to muster the slightest resistance. With a gasp, his eyes closed, enveloping him in the darkness of his own exhaustion.

***

When the light hit Tomas’s face, he initially frowned and attempted to shield his eyes by turning his head to the side. However, as the light persisted, his eyebrows furrowed even more, and a displeased expression formed on his lips. In response, a sweet giggle reached his ears, prompting him to open his eyes quickly. There, he was met with your image, and for a moment, he simply stared at you like a fool. Your greeting, delivered in a calm and soft voice reminiscent of the morning sun, warmed him from within.

“Good morning,” you said with a kind smile. “Did you sleep well?”

Confusion clouded Tomas’s mind. Sleep? Did he really sleep last night? He remembered his body aching but couldn’t recall falling asleep, his mind retracing the events of the previous night. The last thing he remembered was the delicate sensation of your fingers in his hair. Still resting his head on your lap, Tomas’s cheeks warmed as he managed a small “Yes,” filled with disbelief. Your smile widened at his response.

“I’m glad to hear that,” you replied. With your hand still resting gently among his short silver hair, Tomas marveled at how natural the moment felt. Your presence brought him peace, as if you had always been there just waiting for him to find it, and there was something undeniably addictive about it. It was as though the chaos and uncertainty of his past had been momentarily suspended, replaced by a soothing tranquility he had longed for without even realizing it. In your company, the weight of his past seemed to lift, leaving behind a sense of clarity and hope that he hadn’t felt in years. For the first time in a long while, Tomas allowed himself to simply be, basking in the warmth of your touch and the serenity of the moment.

“You didn’t sleep?” he asked.

“No, I stayed awake because I was worried about you having another attack,” you confessed.

As Tomas’s cheeks flushed with shame, your unwavering concern only deepened the impact you had on him. Your words ignited within him a desire to shield and safeguard you. No one had ever approached him with such genuine kindness before. You were truly a kind-hearted and innocent person, evoking so many forgotten emotions within him. It was a feeling so unfamiliar and rare for him, he found himself instinctively wanting to protect you from any harm in that moment, unable to bear the thought of you suffering in any way. In his life, he had never felt this protective over someone in such a short amount of time. It was a fierce and raw instinct, almost primal in nature. Even he himself couldn’t fully grasp or comprehend this feeling.

“Thank you,” he said, lifting his head from your lap and reaching to touch your cheek. You smiled, leaning into his touch, and replied, “No big deal.” As Tomas gently stroked your soft, dreamy skin, he felt an alien sensation he hadn’t experienced in years. Could it be… happiness? The last time he had felt such pure joy was when he and his sister found a piece of glass they thought was a precious stone, believing it would improve their income. Looking at you now, he was transported back to that moment, reliving the feeling exactly.

His body rested and fit, and in the morning light illuminating the room, you looked more beautiful than ever in his eyes. Your presence felt like a remedy to his damaged body and mind, something he never expected but needed.

As he gently pulled you towards him, his touch so light that you could have easily slipped away, you didn’t resist. Your lips were soft, your breath warm, and as your lips met his with a sweet sigh, Tomas felt the walls he had built to resist crumbling. The sensation of your lips against his sent an electrifying jolt through him, every touch igniting a warmth in his chest that seemed to spread to every corner of his being. Each moment of it felt like an eternity, every brush of your lips against his sending waves of longing coursing through him. The kiss was delicate and soft, each movement cautious yet filled with desire. Tomas feared disrupting the moment, afraid to harm you as he savored the intoxicating sweetness of your scent mingled with the warmth of the morning light against his back.

Perhaps it was a foolish move, one that would invite reproachful glances from his brothers, especially Bi-Han, but it was worth experiencing this feeling. He wanted to trust—this moment, your words, you. It was a basic and burning need. Tomas had never fully believed in the promise that light comes after darkness, but in your presence, you made it seem believable, like there could be more. Your body nestled between his arms felt right, as if you were meant to be there, and he had finally found his way home. In that moment of kissing you, Tomas felt a sense of completeness wash over him.

He had never liked the dark, but with you by his side, it didn’t seem so daunting to face it anymore.

[your-girl-mj]

hi darling! alright i was wondering like y'know when gwen said “in every other universe gwen stacy FALLS for spiderman. and in every other universe it doesn't end well.” and then i was wondering if you could do a fanfic where the reader is in danger and literally FALLS but at the end miles saved her

i got you. [1610!miles x f!reader]

summary: gwen stacy always falls for spiderman. at this case, [name] is miles' gwen stacy.

warning: sensitive content, fluff and maybe angst. bad grammar, missed spellings (grammarly is starting a villain era)

note: takes place where spot finally attacks miles' universe. she/her for reader, he/him for miles.

created: august 17, 2023

published: august 19, 2023

[earth-1610]

gwen and miles sat on the edge of the clock tower, gazing over the city upside down. "y'know, i heard from someone that gwen stacy is spiderman's true love." she started. it made miles to steal a glance at her, wanting to know what's she's implying. "and in your universe, i bet [name] is your gwen stacy." she throws him a teasing stare.

miles chuckled, looked back to the city—eyeing a spot where her neighbourhood is located. hoping that she's doing well, smiling softly at the spot "yeah, i guess you're right."

the way miles looked talking about his significant other made gwen feel some sort of guilt in her heart. "in every other universe, gwen stacy falls for spiderman..." her eyes flattered close, many deaths of her alternate version of her selves always made her shudder, "and in every other universe, it doesn't end well."

not understanding the meaning behind her words, miles could only give her a look of sympathy, thinking she meant about her other alternative selves.

[name] read a book, as she waited for miles to come back. she told his parents to keep him company and to talk about what happened earlier at the party, which made them let her go.

the girl could only pursue her lips when she saw the room empty with the window open. seeing an orange sweater by his bed, which she had never seen before, it made her confusion even deeper. [name] figured she'll ask miles once he comes back and fold the sweater by the foot of his bed.

as the [h.color] hair girl turned her page, she heard a series of laughers from outside the window, and one of them is her boyfriend's. miles poke his head in the window, checking if his parents are around, and the white outline of his mask squint into a happy expression as he sees her. "[nickname], hey!"

she was scooped in his arms before she could even greet him back, erupting a pit of giggles from her lips. "miles!" he sat her down to his bed, letting her pull off his mask, exposing a wide grin under it as he looked at her lovingly.

"miles! you know i'm not from around here, why did you lef— oh." a familiar looking stranger is standing near his window. her arms seem to be tacked by her side. it seems like she's almost uncomfortable in the being in the room. it made [name] look at her in questioning why she looked familiar.

"uh, hi!" was all gwen can utter. it feels wrong to see her like this and not limp like what she saw, she wants to start a conversation, but don't know how; she feels a small pit of guilt and blue down to her stomach.

"[name], this is gwen, one of the other spiderpeople i told you about!" realization hits her instantly, muttering an understanding noise. a bright smile tug her lips.

"hi, i'm [name] [last name]. i knew i've seen you before. it's nice to finally meet you!" thrusting a hand, gwen shook it as she took her mask off. the gap in her teeth is seen as a timid smile plastered in her features.

"nice to meet you too! have we met before?" she asked, thinking a reason why [name] said she looked familiar.

"can i tell her about the sketchbook?" the girl whispered to miles, smiling sheepishly at her boyfriend, yet gwen heard every word. she found it adorable how sweet they interacted, the horrible feeling is coming back once again.

"sure, she already saw it, though." gwen snorted at miles' words, thinking back how he tried to take the sketchbook from her. her look soften as [name]'s beam get wider, and took gwen's sweater from the bed and gave it to her.

she hook her arms with spiderwoman as they walked to the living room, chatting away. happy to have a female friend to be with.

"i knew you look familiar, i saw you once at his drawings. he really misses you guys, y'know." [name]'s muffled voice can be heard through the walls. th

"yeah, i missed him too. speaking of his drawings, i saw a lot of your face in there," miles could only shake his head at them as he put on his jacket, a smile is present.

unknown to what gwen is truly feeling at the moment.

—

[spider-society]

"[name] is my gwen stacy." miles repeated the phrase from hours ago, as he looked at gwen. betrayal is seen in his features, that made spiderwoman turn away from his eyes. "you knew about this."

it feels like the world is crumbling as he learned his girlfriend's death. falling to her death in three days, worst of it he saw it— he saw it in a vison spot gave him. witnessing her body go limp made his body lost its soul.

and knowing that gwen knew about it and she acted like nothing is wrong when she and [name] interact, made him feel almost sick.

"miles, i tried to tell you.." gwen's voice trailed as miles turn away from her, a lump build in her throat. gwen feels disappointed to herself when she didn't have the courage to tell him let alone, her. as the two girls talk, the gloomy feeling is started to consume her more and more. "i know you wanted to want to save her, i do too! but—"

"but it's her fate." miguel interrupted, hands on his hips as he gave miles a blank stare, "you can't mess up what's the universe has set for her."

no. miles can't have that, he needs to go home. now.

—

[spot's ambush]

everything was out of control, ever since he came back to his world.

civilians panicking, scattered around to find shelter; a safe place to avoid the chaos. other spiders did their very best to keep them safe while some fought for the fate of the universe. spot is destroying earth-1610. his home.

he spent too much time in earth-42, it feels like he's running out of time.

everything was a blur, high pitch rang in his ear as he particularly searched high and low for her. for [name]. panic is starting to bubble up, it's slowly eating him up.

"miles!" faint voice in the crowd is heard, he search for it spinning in circles before his eyes caught sight of her. "miles!" her hands are stretching out reaching for him as she run towards his direction.

[name] almost lost her footing as miles dives into her, embracing her real to him, mumbling something in a relief voice she doesn't seem to catch. she hugged up just as much, kissing the side of his mask.

"are you— are you okay? y'alright? p-please tell me you're alright—!" miles blurbs out, stuttering over his sentences. his eyes was swift as he scan all over her body, she have few small scratches that he should be treating to not get infected. he's too paranoid to think straight.

"miles!" she called out again, the warmness of her palm made him realised she cup his cheeks to make him look at her. "i'm okay! I'm doing just fine. are you alright? oh, baby... " it was the same [e.color] eyes that he swore he could get loss in every single time.

[name] craddle him in worry, he have a huge gash on his shoulder, his suit is ruin, blood is spilling from his wounds. "we need to get out of here," she starting pulling his arm with her, guiding him to the a much safer area.

"no, mi vida." miles stayed in his position, making his girl spun to him in worry, "you have to get out of here. gwen is with mom and dad, if peter or hobie fin9pld you in the crowd they'll take you with th—"

"what about you?" she breaths heavily, "i can't leave you, the other spiders can handle it, you need to be patch up." [name] knew reasoning with him won't change his mind about fighting, but his next answer wasn't what she expected.

"he's here for me. for you." he blurbs out, hold her firmly by her arms. panic is still present to both of their bodies. "we're the one he's after and i can't—" he paused, white like eyes on his mask widening in alert.

"mile—" he pushed her behind him, arms out ready to fight. her hands gall to his shoulders.

"oh would look at that." a new voice called out, a black figure floats from the ground, hovering over them. white spots are all over his body, it seems to be glitching. portals opening and closing behind him. "that's real sweet." the figure commented, pointing a finger on the two.

"what is that?" [name] thought out loud, she'd seen mutants before in the news that spiderman capture, but this one. she never seen anything like it, or figure out what it is.

the figure snap its head to look at her. that one big white circle in his face is moving. it feels like her soul is being sucked in.

"what am i?" he taunts, tilting his head at them. it feels like the world as stopped, as the villian focus on the two. "well, let me tell you."

the black figure hovers forward to them, miles backing up, causing the villain to make a portal on the ground to stop them. [name] squeal as she almost lost balance.

the portal shows the top of the clock tower, the tower that is all familiar to miles. the one where he hang out with gwen upside down.

"i'm the one who spiderman thinks a joke," his head glitched, ticking into its place. drawing more and closer to the couple. "i'm gonna show you i'm no joke." the figure thrust his hand forward, attempting to grab [name], but miles was quick to move a punch. too angry to think the spot can lay a single finger on his girl.

sadly, the villain caught up to him and made a portal to in his face. miles punched himself that was hard enough to made him feel a concussion coming.

he punch too hard thinking that the fist wasn't for him. miles lose his balance, leaning into [name] a bit — big mistake.

"wait no, no, no, no!" [name] lose a footing as his weight drops on her chest a bit, she screams as she falls from the sky to the top of the building. she hugged miles tighter into her.

her scream causes miles to snap out of his pain, he was quick to shoot a web by the side of the tower. panting as he held the two of them two together.

"are you okay? you got scratched or anything, tesoro?" her arms are wrapped around his neck as her legs clang by his waist, mimicking a koala. his arm have a dense grip by her waist, their forehead rest on the other. [treasure]

"i'm alright, what about you?" she caressing the side of his neck, looking at him with scared and worried stare.

miles only sighed, peaking her forehead through his mask, he did his best to climb up till they're the top. letting her rest for a bit, calming her down.

yet, it was the calm before the storm. spot once again appeared before them. to make matters worse, the sky was getting darker and darker. "i'm the spot. and i'm your mortal enemy, spiderman." spot started, [name] can feel her heart dropping deeper as the black figure getting closer and closer to them.

"look, man. the collider did this to you, i didn't make you like this!" miles desperately tried to explain, getting infront of [name] shielding her from the villain. "and she has nothing to do with this!"

"i know." spot paused, looking almost expressionless. "but every villain has to take away one of the heroes' loved ones, and i happen to get her first."

a bus appeared in front of them, almost crashing the two. miles swift swept her off her feet, climbing to the top of the tower. the glass roof made her feel a little nauseous by how deep the bottom looked from up there. "i need to get you out of here," miles muttered to her, he was look all over the place. his senses are highten up, so much so that he can hear her loud and fast heart rate.

a mail box was dropped from the top of the two, spiderman easily dart it as it was aimed badly at them.

but to his horror, he saw the glass beneath [name] cracked and let her fall inside the tower with a bloody murdered scream. "no!" miles exclaimed.

"oh, there she goes." spot said, witnessing the scene from below him.

miles dived to the hole, his eyes fixed on her and only her. he expertly dogde the portals spot made for him in order to not save her. words of miguel and the others rang in his head as his eyes only meet hers, and nothing else.

"[name] is your gwen stacy." did the other spidermans experience this too? too late to save her. living while the guilt and burden lie heavily in their chest.

"its her fate." is there nothing he can do? he can possibly do? he wants to live his life it her. he doesn't want to end it like this. no, please. please.

glass shard was falling with them as well. her arms were stretched to reach him. it feels like everything was in slow motion. her life flashes right through her eyes; and worst of it, miles can see it as well. she doesn't know how long she's been falling. she hates how she's gonna die, just like this.

their hands touched.

even when it was only a millisecond, miles already have an iron grip on her hand hard and shot a web by one of the flatforms inside the tower. her feet only inches from the ground.

the couple feel water works burst in their eyes, too relief about their miracle. "i got you, it's okay, you're okay. you're okay, amor." miles chanted as he pulled her up to him.

her hand landed on his chest, briefly feeling his rapid heart and embracing him tightly. she was at her final point that she cried in his neck, scared about her life just a second ago.

she cried, thinking that was her final moments with life and she'll never see him again.

she cried, relieved that she's with him. alive. and being craddle in his arms.

miles gently landed at the bottom of the clock tower, he have her envelope in his arms. he took off his mask as he couldn't calm his own breath. he feels his legs give up and kneel on the ground with her still in close to him.

she's not letting go. and neither does he.

"i thought i was gonna die..." she sobbed, her shoulders shudder as a hiccup coming up her throat.

me too... he thought. miles gave her head a peak, "i got you, tesoro. i got you." [treasure]

this is my first ever request that i posted. im not usually do request but i have an idea about this one, so why not write it, yeah?

anyway, thank you for reading! comments ans reblogs are deeply appreciated <33

[claws-and-quills]

Truly, Madly, Deeply

A/N: Holy shit this is by far the longest fic I have ever typed! This is a request that became self-indulgent.

Requested by: @callsignred I hope you like it, bestie!!!!

CW: Age Gap (reader is in their early 20s), Secret Relationship, Cock Warming, Oral (Female Receiving), Multiple Orgasms, Descriptions of Male and Female Anatomy, Bodily Fluids, Unprotected Sex, Mentions of Pregnancy, Cream Pie, Slightly Jealous Reader(?), Fingering, Overstimulation

Word Count: 9,002 sheesh....this took like a week

Genre: Smut and Fluff

Pairing: Teacher!Hugh Jackman x Reader

All it took was one simple text. A simple look. The subtle quirk of his lips. You didn't know how he managed it, but from the second you had crossed paths with him, there was this insatiable need that twisted and coiled deep in the pits of your stomach. Here you are, the new world history instructor, falling head over heels for a man you barely knew. He was friendly, charming, easy on the eyes, and had a killer smile. His classroom was nestled directly across the hallway from yours, giving you ample opportunity to steal an occasional glance at him throughout your day. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you'd be this caught up on someone. Never did you ever think you'd even make this far in your teaching career.

Classes had ended around an hour ago. Teaching college had its perks, but it also had its negatives. Glancing at the clock that hung on the wall of your office, it had been well over two hours since you sat down to catch up grading assignments. The words on the computer began to bleed into each other in a messy, black, blotchy alphabet soup. The backs of your eyes stung as though being stabbed with a hot poker. With a defeated sigh, you lay your head onto your desk, lacing your hands together on the base of your skull. The weight of your eyelids was damn near impossible to fight; just as you allowed them to drift closed, a brief knock at your office door makes you nearly jump out of your skin.

“Yes? It's open. C-come in.” You smooth out the wrinkles of your sundress. It was nearly impossible to keep your heart from climbing into your throat as the door was pushed open, and in steps, Hugh. He offers you a half cocked smile, propping himself against the doorframe. The way he folded his arms across his chest made the sleeves of his dress shirt hug the curves of his biceps.

“I wanted to come check on ya. Saw you hadn't responded to my text. No real harm in that, now eh?” His smile reached his eyes as he gave you a brief once over. Parts of you felt guilty for never responding to his text. “What do you say? Are you free tonight?” The back of your throat ran dry, torn between what he could possibly have in mind and your responsibility of grading exams and essays. Before you can even utter a word, he steps deeper into your office. Leaning in front of you, he closes your laptop, making you nearly shriek. All of that hard work, now potentially lost.

“Professor! I was in the middle of trying to grade papers!” You stared at him in disbelief. It was impossible to feel mad at this man. The laugh that came from him was like sweet music to your ears. The corners of his eyes wrinkle from his grinning laugh. Why did he have to stand so close to you? The cologne he wore smelled heavenly. 

“Come on. You're stressed. You're tired. You're focusing too hard on the job, and not enough on yourself. One extra day won't hurt. Take the night off. Live a little.” He takes your hand into his, and gently pulls you from your desk chair. You felt so small compared to him; the top of your head barely made it to the bottom of his chest, allowing him to tower over you with ease. “And by all means, love, you don't have to be so formal. We're colleagues, after all.”

The heat that boiled in your body threatened to rise onto your cheeks. The subtle brush of his hand against yours brought about a light hue of pink to dust across your cheeks. There were a thousand different thoughts that raced through your mind, and not a single one focused on your unfinished work. You couldn't help the way your heart hopelessly fluttered in your chest. Even as colleagues, you felt as smitten as a freshman school girl with her first official crush. Truthfully, who could genuinely blame you though?

“Right. Right…uhm. Just, let me grab my keys and lock everything up.” You laugh nervously, snatching your keys from your desk before locking up your office. A low chuckle rumbled deep in Hugh's chest as he walked next to you down the hallway. Every weekend, the campus life seemed to dwindle down, leaving its parking lots empty. You allow your mind to wander for just a moment before looking up to him from the corner of your eyes. “Well…since I'm not busy tonight anymore, was there something you had in mind?”

“Dinner. A few drinks. Just two adults going out on the town. There's no harm in that, now is there?” The confidence that laced his voice was almost annoying. How could he always be so sure of himself? The heat in your cheeks grew hotter as he curled an arm around your shoulders, offering a half cocked and toothy grin.

“Colleagues. Just two colleagues. I mean…don't you think this could…I dunno, if someone saw us? It would be-”

“Scandalous? Cause jealousy? Love, who cares what anyone else would think.” He pauses in front of you as you reach for the door handle of your car. Stepping closer, he forces you to back up against the cool, metal, door of your car. He traps you by resting his hands on either side of you against the door. “Just two grown colleagues going out for dinner and drinks. Let's say for eight o'clock?” You could feel the heat of his breath brush against your lips due to the close proximity. His cologne floods your senses, making your head reel. At that moment, all you could do was nod. “Then it's a date then.”

He was painfully overconfident in himself, but you couldn't bring yourself to protest against him. The idea of a date made your cheeks and body burn. You watched as he smirked to himself, sauntering towards the Sports Car he drove. Once you were sure he wasn't looking, your knees damn near buckled beneath you with nerves. Eight o'clock. That gave you around three hours to get home, washed, and dressed. Your heart pounded in your chest as Hugh gave you a wave before speeding out of the parking lot. This was actually happening. The subtle buzz of your phone vibrating catches your attention. Another single text.

‘Wear something a bit fancy. Who knows. Might take a twirl or two. See you at eight.’

Your heart pounded in your chest at his text. This was actually happening. You didn't know what to do or how to feel. Taking a moment to gather yourself together, you hurriedly climb into your car to rush towards your apartment. Three hours was so close but so far. The panic began to set in. Taking a deep breath, you calm your nerves to the best of your abilities. It was now or never, and you chose the now.

~o0o~

You stared at your reflection in the mirror. Smoothing out the slim fitting dress that you wore. Its smooth fabric hugged your curves in all the right places. A low v-cut split the front of your dress, the pentacle stopped just below your breast bone. Somehow you had allowed your best friend to convince you into buying this dress quite a few months ago, but had never worn it before. A simple silver necklace hung delicately around your neck. Just as the nerves began to tumble around in your stomach, a soft knock at your door brought you back down to reality.

“Coming!” You call out, rushing towards the door. Thankfully, a black pair of heels rested next to the rug there. Nothing too big or fancy, but enough to give you around two or three inches added to your height. Opening the door, you're nearly awestruck at the sight of Hugh. A lazy smirk rested on his lips. Clad in black slacks and a button-up dress shirt, he was quite the sight to see. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the first two buttons that are undone at the top of his shirt. He drags his eyes over you, tilting his head, obviously pleased with your choice of clothing.

“Well now, aren't you the beauty tonight. I should have asked you out for dinner a long time ago,” he mused with a smile to his voice. Your heart skips a beat as he extends his hand out for you to take. Snatching your keys and tugging the door closed, you allow yourself to be led away by him.

“I…thank you…you're quite the catch yourself, Hugh.” It's damn near impossible to not blush with how small your hand was compared to his. His thumb brushes against your knuckles absentmindedly as he chuckles lowly under his breath which makes your heart want to skip a beat. The way his smile reached his eyes had you nearly weak in the knees.

“Oh yeah? I just threw something together. Nothing too fancy. But you? You're gonna be the finest sheila there,” he opens the car door for you, gesturing for you to step in. You catch him dragging his eyes across your body again, a wide, toothy grin breaks across his lips upon being caught red-handed. Another wave of heat rushes through your body. You didn't know what it was exactly about him that you found so alluring. Was it his charming good looks? The authentic and rich Aussie accent? Or how his eyes always seemed to shine with kindness and adventure? Whatever it was about him, it had you wrapped snugly in an embrace you hoped would never let go.

After getting settled in,Hugh gets into the drivers seat, speeding off. He could see from the corner of his eye the way your body visibly grew tense at the speed, but it was a rush for you. He rests a hand on your knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. Normally you would have swatted anyone away, but it somehow felt different with him. A sly smile quirked the corner of his lips seeing how you lightly bit your lower lip and hesitantly rested your hand on top of his. 

“You're in good hands, love. Relax. I don't bite, and I won't hurt you.” A soft giggle escapes from your lips at his words. Something in you knew he was being honest. It had been so long since you had ever been out with anyone that you had almost forgotten how to properly function. “Breathe love. You trust me now, don't you?”

“O-of course,” you finally breathe. A shaky smile parts your lips towards him. You couldn't keep your eyes off of him. He had you completely mesmerized with his presence alone. Bolts of electricity shoot through your body at how tenderly he caresses your knee with his thumb. “I'm not trying to be awkward. It's uhm…it's just been a while since I've been out on any dates or anything.” He squeezes your knee again, smiling smugly towards you for a brief moment. Slowly, the suburbs began to fade away, the quiet sky soon becoming replaced with a bustling skyline of the city. Confusion and shock began to take over as the neon sign of Coastal Rhythm and Steakhouse came into view.

Your mouth fell open at the sight. Coastal Rhythm and Steakhouse was well beyond your price range. Never in a million years would you have even looked into the general direction of this place. When Hugh brings the car to a stop at the valet entrance, the reality of the situation starts to set in. He's quick to exit, moving to open the passenger door for you and offers you his hand. Your lips part slightly, taking in the atmosphere and resting your hand into his. A million questions ran rampant through your mind. Somehow, he must have seen the shock that rested upon your face, prompting him to shake his head at you.

“No talk of work. Don't worry about prices. It's just you and me tonight, baby.” He tosses the keys over his shoulder to the valet driver whilst escorting you towards the large, tique doors of the restaurant. The strong aroma of expensive spices, meats, and cigars greet your senses once he opens the door for you. Your stomach was practically doing somersaults with nerves. Across the way, a stage was nestled against the wall with a live band playing smooth, rhythmic, music. There were a few couples on the spacious dance floor, which seemed to catch your attention. Hugh follows your gaze, leaning close to your ear and softly speaks, “looks like fun? I was hoping you'd be willing to give it a try.”

The heat of his breath sent chills down your spine. Before you could protest, his attention is cut away to the young hostess as she greets you both. After a brief exchange of information to confirm the dinner reservation, she leads you and Hugh to a table nestled near the window, overlooking the bay. The city lights reflected against the smooth water in a dazzling display of the night life. Hugh's eyes crinkled in the corners as he smiled warmly, pulling a chair out for you. Once you're settled in, he takes his seat across from you, his smile growing more into a roguish grin.

“I didn't expect this, Hugh. I…how even?” You begin to ask, but held up a hand to silence your growing question. A soft sigh escapes from you, your lips curving into a faint smile. “You're so full of surprises. Different too, but in a good way.” You absentmindedly trace the rim of your glass of water.

“What can I say? I like keeping you on your toes. Two can play this little game of cat and mouse, love.” His eyes meet yours, leaning forward slightly and closing the distance between each of you. Your smile was soft, shy, hesitant even, a complete contrast compared to his bold smile that showed damn near perfect teeth. A faint blush dusts across your cheeks as your heart flutters in your chest. Before you can try to form your next sentence, the waiter approaches the table, handing you and Hugh a menu while asking about what each of you would like to drink.

You could feel Hugh's eyes watching your every move. Parts of you started to feel guilty for allowing him to bring you somewhere so extravagant and elegant. Two things that did not seem to be in your everyday vocabulary. After placing the order for drinks, Hugh returns his gaze to settle onto you. He gently rests his hand on yours, caressing your knuckles. A tight but amazed smile curved his lips as he chuckled. 

“Do you always look this serious when you look at menus?” He teased warmly, arching a brow towards you. His tone was lighthearted, but his eyes were filled with amusement and curiosity. He finally links his fingers into yours, locking gazes with you. “Hey, relax. It's just a dinner date. Two adults, having dinner, and enjoying each other's company.”

Your cheeks flushed again, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear as you nod. The way his eyes sparkled melted the walls that once guarded you and your heart. “Hugh…this is just…it's just a bit overwhelming is all. Not that I'm complaining! You're way too kind and generous for doing this.”

He laughs softly, the corners of his eyes crinkling with his genuine grin. “Kind? Generous? I've been called a fairshare of things in my life, but I don't quite think I've ever been called either of those things before.” He closes his menu, having already decided on his meal. You meet his gaze again, giggling softly under your breath. 

“Well, I think you are both of those things. You're kind, generous, and charming. I don't care what anyone else has had to say before.” You smile warmly towards him. The butterflies that fluttered in your stomach had it doing somersaults when your eyes met his.

“Oh trust me, you haven't seen anything yet, baby. I'm still full of surprises.” He leans back into his chair as the waiter returns with the drinks and his booklet of tickets to take each of your orders. Hugh glances at you before placing his order. It's almost impossible for you to keep your eyes from wanting to bulge out at the prices of the entrées on the menu. After a bit of encouragement from Hugh, you do decide to splurge on yourself and indulge on a steak.

“Thank you again, Hugh. For bringing me here, and always just being…well, you.” Your lips curve into a fairly more confident smile towards him. After taking a few sips of wine, the edge was finally starting to wear off and help you relax more.

“No need to thank me, love. I was hoping you would like it. Something special for an eye catching and special woman,” he gives you a flirty wink.

As the evening progressed and the food was brought out, the conversation began to flow more easily. Hugh rambled about stories of his adventures and travels, along with his early life in Australia. You couldn't help but be hung up on every word he spoke. You loved the way he became more jovial and animated in the way he spoke and moved his hands. The smile and laughter that came from you almost had your cheeks hurting, but it felt so refreshing as you listened more intently with sparkling eyes.

“What about you, love? Surely you must have some fun adventures behind that smile of yours,” he asked and leaned in closer to you.

You hesitate for a moment. Compared to Hugh, your life seemed rather bland and boring. Tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, you  shyly began to speak again. “Well…I like to read a lot. And I try my hand at painting too. I'm not very good at it, but it's a fun distress activity for me.” Taking a bite of food, your entire demeanor changes, savoring the rich flavors. 

“I'm sure it's not that bad. Perhaps one day, I could see your work.” His words earned another blush from you.

“Maybe one day,” you murmur softly. A content and comfortable smile rested on your lips. Your eyes, however, drift back towards the dance floor at the sound of subtle applause from some of the other diners. A few couples had thanked the impromptu judges of the diners. The band on stage had started to play soft strains of a tango. Hugh follows your gaze, a spark of excitement ignites in his eyes as he looks to you.

“Do you dance?” There was something adventurous in both his voice and eyes.

Your eyes widen slightly, and you shake your head. “N-no. I mean…no really. I've never really tried it before.” There's a hint of nervousness and shyness to your voice. The breath catches in the back of your throat as Hugh stands and extends his hand to you.

“Perfect! There's a first time for everything, baby.” After hesitating a moment, you rest your hand in his. His grip is warm and assuring as he leads you towards the dance floor. The diners of the restaurant had turned their attention towards you and Hugh with a piqued curiosity. Truthfully, you couldn't blame them. Hugh exuded confidence on top of his charmingly good looks. He seemed so sure of himself; each step he took was deliberate and thoughtful to the point it made you think he had to have done this before.

“Just follow my lead, and trust me.” He whispers against your ear. The heat of his breath against your skin sent chill down your spine again. You nod meekly, unsure of yourself as your heart thundered inside of your chest. He places a hand against your waist, the other gripping your hand firmly. With the first few notes of the music starting, he guides you into the first few steps.

“Good girl. You're doing great.” He husks lowly against your ear. His voice is low, raspy, but soothing. “Relax, baby. Let yourself go. Feel the music.” His eyes were intense as he watched you and guided you. A new heat had started to burn deep inside of your body at how his gently pressed into the side of your waist, slowly tracing them up your side just below your ribcage.

Taking a deep breath, you allow yourself to relax into his touch. With every step and sway of your body, you let yourself be swept deeper into the music with Hugh. The world around you seemed to fade; the eyes of the other diners being upon you didn't even seem to exist anymore. Your eyes remained fixed on the Hazel green ones of Hugh as your bodies swayed and moved together in a synchronized harmony. His steps confident and graceful as he led you with effortless ease.

Never would you have imagined yourself in a situation like this. A swell of thrill and exhilaration took over your senses. The tango, it was passionate, intense, and sensual. With every step, you could feel the chemistry between you and Hugh grow even stronger. His intense eyes remained locked on yours, trailing down your body when he's able to. Despite his intense gaze, his smile was of pure enjoyment and delight.

He pulls you in closer, your body pressed firmly against his. “See? You're a natural at this, baby. Keep going.” His voice is soft but laced with confidence. 

You laugh quietly, melting against his rock hard body. “That's because I had such an amazing teacher.” Your eyes shine brightly as you wore a radiant smile at your lips. He chuckled quietly under his breath, spinning you just as the music began to reach its peak crescendo, and pulls you against his chest for the final, dramatic pose. His lips rested just mere centimeters from yours; you could feel his hot breath caress your lips with every breath you each took. The other diners that had been watching all applaud with approval of the display, making your cheeks heat up.

“That…that was amazing!” You beam up at him. He chuckles softly, resisting the urge to want to press his lips against yours.

“You were amazing.” He corrects you with a warm and approving tone. He glances to your lips, then back up to meet your gaze. “Couldn't have done it without you.” He lifts your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles before walking you back towards the table you had both been sitting at. “Thank you for letting me do this.”

Your eyes soften towards him, “thank you for asking me to join you.” There's a surge of pride and confidence that flows through your body. Pride for stepping out of your comfort zone, but also pride in yourself for discovering a hidden talent you never knew you had. Something inside of you began to tell you that this might just be the beginning to something even greater.

As the night grew later, the crowd began to die down inside of the restaurant until finally a hostess has to politely ask you both to leave after Hugh pays for your meal. Where had the time gone to? Looking at your phone screen, it was pushing close to midnight. Linking your arms together, he walks with you outside. The night air was cool and crisp against your bare arms, making you step closer to Hugh for warmth.

You finally look up to him, biting your lower lip deep in thought. “I don't want this to end…” Your voice is barely above a whisper. He looks down at you, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“Who ever said that it has to come to an end?” He asks you quietly, a sly smirk at his lips. Taking a moment, he glances from your eyes and then to your lips as though asking for permission before pressing a chaste kiss against to your lips. Your lips melt against his for a brief moment as your heart races in your chest. The sound of valet pulling his car up towards the entrance makes him pull away just slightly to gaze down at you.

“Come on, let's get out of here.” He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, leading back towards the car. Something in his eyes seemed to ve different. He still looked adventurous, but there was a new gleam in his eyes. Something new, dangerous, and you wanted more. Without hesitation, you allow yourself to trust him fully.

He rests his hand on your upper thigh once inside of the car, before speeding off. The grip he held on your thigh was like nothing you had ever experienced before. The gaze in his eyes was intense, clouded with love and lust. You bite the inside of your lip, resting your hand on top of his. He turns his head to look at you briefly, smirking proudly to himself. You didn't know what he had planned, but the expressions in his eyes had you intrigued.

~o0o~

The car ride back was tense, but not in a bad way. There was a swarm of emotions that rushed through your mind and body. Your heartbeat immediately quickened at the sight of unfamiliar condos. Digging out his wallet, he swipes his keycard at the entrance gate into the community. The back of your throat began to burn with anticipation. Hugh looks over to you once he pulls into the parking lot in front of his condo.

“We don't do anything you're not comfortable with. You can trust me, scouts honor.” He assures you warmly, turning to face you better. His eyes glance between your gaze and lips, leaning in closer to close the distance between each of you. Leaning in to meet him halfway, your lips melt against his. His tongue flicks against your lower lip, asking for entrance. Your lips part, granting him access. A needy moan slips from your mouth, making you blush deeply.

Hesitating at first, you curl an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in closer. Your other hand caresses his rippling chest. You could feel the way his chiseled back and chest flexed against your hands. Growing a little more bold, you nibble at his lower lip, earning a heated groan from him. His hand finds your throat, gripping it firmly and pulling you just put of reach of his lips.

“We should take this inside, yeah?” He husks, trailing his thumb down your throat. His eyes fall onto your puffy and swollen lips from such a heated kiss. You heart fluttered and pounded in your ears at a deafening rate. You swallow thickly at his question, but slowly nod. His eyes soften a little with concern towards you. Sliding his hand up your neck to cup your cheek, tenderly. “Hey…we don't have to if you're not comfortable just yet.”

You rest your hand on top of his, “no I…I want to. I-it's just been a while. I'm more than comfortable with you, Hugh…”

His eyes search yours long and hard before he finally nods and presses another needy kiss to your lips. Your heart thundered rampantly in your chest watching and following him as he moved to get out of the car and opened the passenger door for you. His eyes remain fixed on you as he helps you step out and closes the door behind you. Your fingers become interlocked with his as he leads you to the elevator to get to his condo. Once the elevator closes, his lips are on your again. The kiss is more demanding this time as he backs you up against the wall, his hands greedily roam around your body until they find your hips. His fingers dig into the thick, fleshy portion of your hips, pulling you against his chest.

Your tongue darts from your mouth to meet his. His mouth hungrily swallows your needy moans as you curl your arms around his shoulders; one of your hands cup the nape of his neck, nails softly digging into his skin near his hairline, eliciting a heated groan from him. His mouth leaves yours, leaving a trail of kisses along your jaw and down your neck. Your eyes flutter at the heat of his mouth against your pulse. A mewling squeal escapes you as he sinks his teeth into your sensitive skin at the hollow of your neck near your shoulder.

“F-fuck…Hugh…” Your neck and back arch into him while your eyes flutter. He presses against you more, eliciting a gasp from you as you feel his growing erection press against you. As the elevator bell dings and the doors slide open, you whimper softly as he pulls away. His eyes are dark and clouded with lust for you. Without a word, he takes your hand, leading you towards the door of his condo. Once inside, he's on you again like a starved animal, harshly kicking the door shut.

Your hands slide down his chest, eagerly unbuttoning his dress shirt. He inhales a sharp breath at the sensation of you dragging your nails down his chest. In a fluid motion, he scoops you up into his arms, carrying you bridal style towards his bedroom. Your hand slides down his chest, resting over his pounding heartbeat. Even through the lust, the care in his eyes towards you was beyond noticeable as though asking ‘are you sure’ one last time.

“I'm sure of this, Hugh. Please…I need this. Need you…” An unfamiliar heat had begun to pool between your thighs, coating your panties. Setting you down within the privacy of his bedroom, you gazed up towards him lovingly. It almost felt like some type of dream at this point. This was actually happening. This wasn't some weird dream or fantasy. It was real.

Snaking an arm around you, his fingers find the zipper of your dress. “Last chance…once we start this, there's no stopping or going back.” You merely nod in understanding towards him. You were beyond certain that this was what you wanted. You wanted him, needed him. He eases the zipper of your dress down your back, the black fabric pooling onto the floor around your ankles, leaving you in nothing but your shoes and panties. The cool air laps at your skin, causing goosebumps to inch their way across your body. The cool air has ykur nipples rapidly hardening into stiff little peaks on the mounds of your supple breasts. He leisurely drags his eyes across your body, admiring every curve, dip, and valley your body has to offer. “Fucking beautiful…”

His lips are crushed against yours again, nearly taking your breath away. His hands inch across your body, caressing your skin and exploring every inch of you. His thumbs draw and press tight circles over your aching nipples as he palms your perky breasts with ease. A soft whimper escapes from you at the sensations that his touch causes to surge through you. Every fiber of your being felt ablaze, and it was all due to Hugh. Your hands eagerly roam across his bare chest. His skin felt hot and tight against your palms. A thin layer of sweat coated his skin; the pale light of the lamp that hung on the wall had cast a subtle sheen across his skin.

Trailing your hands down further, you eagerly untuck his shirt from the waistband of his slacks. You needed to see and feel every inch of his body. Your slick walls had begun to dampen your panties even more. His hands meet yours, eagerly helping you with the fabrics of his shirt before finally shrugging it down and off his shoulders, tossing the fabric somewhere across the room. Bending down slightly, he slides his hands behind your body, cupping your ass roughly and lifting you up against his body. You gasp, eagerly wrapping your arms and legs around his body, making it easier for him to carry you over to the bed.

As he lays you down against the plush mattress, your heartbeat immediately escalates. He drags his hands up your thighs and down calves to your feet, tugging and tossing your heels somewhere across the room. Leaning back onto his heels, he admires your bare body before him. The way your skin tightened and twitched at his gentle caresses and the way your chest rose and fell, desperate for air. In his eyes, you were such a beauty to him. Leaning forward and resting his weight onto his palms, he begins to kiss and nip his way up your body. A frustrated whimper sounds in your throat as his lips skip over where you wanted him most. The stubble on his chin scrapes against the tender skin of your abdomen as he leaves a trail of kisses up your stomach, dipping his tongue against your navel, making your eyes flutter.

He chuckles darkly as your fingers become entwined into his dark, luscious hair. His eyes meet yours, trailing his tongue up across your abdomen, stopping between the valley of your breasts. The demanding heat of his mouth against your breast earns a needy and pornographic moan from you. His tongue swirls longingly around one of your aching nipples while one of his hands eagerly gropes and massages the other, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“Fuck…Hugh…” You mewl needly, rubbing your thighs together for friction. He hums against you, tongue vibrating against your throbbing nipple. Moving his head and hand, he gives your other neglected breast the same attentive treatment. Your mouth falls open as he pushes his knee between your thighs, grinding his knee against your sopping and aching core. “Hugh, please…I fucking need you…”

“Mmmm, I never thought you'd be so needy. Fuck, baby, you have no idea how long I've been wanting to do this.” He sits back up onto his knees, unbuckling his belt and tugging it free from the belt loops of his pants. The leather makes a loud snapping sound against his hand. “You're all mine tonight.” You sit up onto your elbows, chest still heaving as you watch him stand up from the bed to kick off his shoes and socks, followed by his slacks, leaving him only just boxers. You could see the firm, rock hard outline of his throbbing cock.

He kneels back between your legs, dragging his hands up the length of your legs. “Lay back, baby. You're in good hands.” Your heart flutters at his words as you obediently listen. Hooking his fingers under your panty line, he slowly tugs the thin fabric down your legs, carelessly tossing it to the side. Laying between your legs, he tosses your legs over his shoulders while slowly dragging his tongue through your dripping cunt. He groans appreciatively at your taste, swiping his tongue through the velvety folds of your cunt once again. His mouth stopping over your clit, tongue swirling and flicking expertly against your aching bundle of nerves.

Your hips instinctively jolt at the new sensation. Groaning hotly, you fist his hair again, desperate for more. The stubble on his chin scratches against your velvety folds, giving you the friction you had desperately been craving. Arching your back, your head falls back onto the pillows, leaving you a moaning mess beneath him. He slowly eases a finger deep into your quivering cunt, earning another desperate and needy whimper from you. After allowing you time to adjust, he then adds another finger, curling and scissoring them into every sensitive area deep inside of your cunt.

“Oh my god…fuck. Hugh, oh fuck…” An unfamiliar coil began to twist deep in your stomach. The twisting and burning sensation creeps down further, making your slick, velvety walls begin to flutter. Your clit aches and throbs from the much needed attention of his mouth and tongue. Soft, breathy, and needy pants escape from your lips as your back arches up from the bed. Hugh presses his fingers harshly against your g-spot, guiding you into your first body wracking orgasm of the night. “Hugh!!! Fuck!!!” You throw your head back, chanting his name like a desperate prayer. Your thighs tremble uncontrollably, the pressure in your stomach and pussy become too much; he pulls his fingers away, leading you into a squirting orgasm that coats his face and chest.

“Oh fuck. Look at you, baby…just full of surprises.” He groans, licking your sticky fluids from his fingers. Your chest heaved anxiously as you watched him. He eagerly tugs his boxers down his thighs, groaning as his aching erection is finally able to spring free. The head of his swollen cock glistened with precum. You can't help but to swallow thickly at how girthy his length actually is. “Relax baby. I'll be gentle with you.”

You nod, slowly wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders as he leans over you, resting his weight on his palm. Using his other hand, he swipes the head of his cock through your sticky and sopping pussy. Coating his cock in your slick arousal, he gives his cock a few slow pumps before gently easing his length into you. He groans at how tightly your walls wrap around him. Inch by inch, he pushes himself deeper, only to pull out slightly and then ease more of himself into you until finally bottoming out deeply inside of your tight, little pussy. He still his hips against yours at your pained whimper.

“Sshh, relax baby. Relax for me.” He cups your cheek, pressing a deep but tender kiss to your lips. After a few moments, you slowly nod for him to move. His thrusts are slow and sensual, gliding his girthy cock against your hot, velvety walls. He slides a hand down your side and then thigh, cupping the back of your knee and hiking your leg up onto his hip. The new angle allows him to sink in even deeper, allowing the head of his cock to gently bump against your cervix. Thrust by thrust, your walls relax more, molding to fit him perfectly inside of you.

You wrap your leg around his waist, edging him in just a little deeper. His mouth leaves yours, trailing along your jaw and neckline. His tongue traces the length of your pulse until finally finding a particularly sensitive spot to harshly bite and suck on. A near pornographic groan escapes you as you sink your nails into the backs of his shoulders. He groans heatedly, snapping his hips against yours. The room becomes filled with the sinful and pornographic sounds of skin slapping against skin. With every snap of his hips, he fucks you deeper into the mattress. You drag your nails down across his shoulders and down the curves of his triceps and biceps. Your nails leave rapidly reddening scratches on his skin.

He pulls out just enough to be able to slam into you again. The headboard whips against the wall with a harsh thud. With each of his thrusts, a breathy grunt is forced up out of his throat. Eagerly, you manage to wrap your other leg around his waist, holding him closely. Your eyes flutter, vision blurring as the head of his cock collides against your cervix, stretching and filling your walls to his liking. You grip his wrists desperately, chanting his name like a prayer as your head begins to reel and spin. A familiar painful coil starts to churn and grow hot in the pits of your stomach, inching closer to your abused pussy. He grabs your hands into his, pinning them against the mattress. The snapping of his hips grows more desperate as he chases his release.

“Fuck…you feel so fucking good on me. Fuck baby, I'm gonna cum. You have me so close.” He groans into your ear, his movements growing more desperate and erratic. You could feel how close he was. Knowing that Drew you closer to wanting to spill over.

“Oh god, Hugh…I'm close…fuck, please…!” You pant desperately, gripping his hands in yours. His lips are eagerly crushed against yours for a heated and desperate kiss. Your walls clenched tightly around him as your second orgasm hits, making your vision go white. Throwing your head back, you desperately cry out his name as he too reaches his high, spilling hot strings of cum deep inside of your pussy, coating your cervix in white. Tears threaten to prick the corners of your eyes. His hips finally slow against yours, growing still as you both pant raggedly against each other's lips. He dips his head into the hollow of your neck, tenderly kissing the bruising hickey he had left there.

Your legs slide from his waist, trembling from your orgasm. He slowly lifts his head, pressing his lips against yours for a chaste kiss. Wriggling your hands free from his, you curl your arms tightly around his shoulders and press your forehead against his. After a moment, you exhale a shaky sigh, smiling up at him. He cups your cheeks, resting his weight on his elbows while gazing down at you.

“I didn't hurt you, did I?” Concern fills his eyes while tenderly caressing your cheeks.

“No…that was…amazing…” Your fingers caress the nape of his neck comfortingly. “Even if you did…I really liked it.”

He groans softly at your words, smirking confidently with himself towards you. After pecking your lips once more,  he pulls away to be able to lay next to you. His fingers tenderly trace designs across your skin before pulling you flush against his chest. “You have no idea how long I've been wanting to do that.” He finally speaks, his gravelly voice just above a whisper. You hum softly in response, caressing his chest.

He chuckles softly, inching closer until your bodies are pressed tightly against one another. “I've seen the way you've looked at me. Have seen all those little glances from you.” You chuckle sheepishly under your breath, linking your fingers into his, “I'm gllad I finally got you out of that office.”

You bury your face into his chest, giggling at the idea that you had been caught red-handed on one too many occasions. “Oh god…I must have looked like such a creep. I am so sorry-” he cuts you off with a chaste kiss.

“You're different from everyone else. There is no need for you to be apologizing. If you hadn't done that, love, I don't think I ever would have made a move on you,” he assures you warmly. His eyes follow you as you press his shoulders, guiding him to lay on his back. A smirk rises at the corner of his lips as you lay against his chest, pressing a tender kiss on his chest above his heart.

“I'm glad that you did, Hugh. Really…I am. The moment I saw you, there was just something about you…” You nuzzle his chest affectionately. 

“Mmmm, I am too, baby. We should definitely do this again.” He looks down to you, threading his fingers through your hair. Your eyes practically sparkle.

“I'd love that.” Your heart swelled and fluttered in your chest 

“Why don't you stay the weekend then? Just you and me.” Something in his eyes seemed to flicker. An amused smirk at his lips as he presses a finger against yours, “and don't try to use work as an excuse. You can very easily ride in with me.”

You chuckle, nodding in defeat. “You've really thought this through, haven't you?” He chuckles softly, shrugging to himself as he folds his arms behind his head. “We'll just have to make a pit stop at my place. I don't think that dress I wore would mull over well in a classroom.”

He chuckles quietly, “Oh I think it'd be just fine. It looks great both on and off of you.” He laughs as you playfully smack his bicep.

~o0o~

Over the passing months, you and Hugh had grown closer together than ever before. You weren't as awkward around him. In fact, being with him gave you the confidence that you had been lacking. However, you still found yourself stealing the occasional glance at him through the window of his classroom door. Your heart fluttered every time his eyes would meet yours, and a cocky smirk would curve the corner of his lips. It became a routine for you both. Every Friday evening, you spent it out together either for dinner, dancing, or any other fun adventure Hugh would surprise you with. You'd take turns on whose place you'd stay over the weekends, though truthfully, you spent more time at his after receiving a noise complaint from your downstairs neighbor.

Today, you stood in the faculty room with Hugh and your other colleagues. The meeting was more of a surprise retirement party for one of your colleagues in the English department. Your hand gently brushes against his, capturing his attention for a brief moment. Even after all these months, the way he smiled with his eyes melted your heart straight to the core. Both of you knew that many of your colleagues had their suspicions on whether or not there was a relationship between you two. The tables of the lounge held various trays of food, snacks, and desserts for everyone.

“So, are you free tonight?” Hugh asks, leaning in close. His lips nearly brush against your ear. You could hear the smirk in his voice.

“For you? Always.” You look up to him with a sly smirk. “I have something to show you tonight too.” He chuckles softly, but is soon called away by a fellow coworker. You watch him with a soft smile before taking a seat at one of the empty tables. Over the past several months, you found yourself falling harder and harder for him. A soft smile rested at your lips as you watched him talk and laugh with several colleagues. His boisterous and contagious laughter fills the room, making your smile reach your eyes. There was no lie to it, you loved him.

You're brought out of your thoughts and admiration of Hugh as someone sits next to you. She looked to be a year or two older than you. She wore a bright and friendly smile, but somehow her eyes seemed distrusting. Every red flag in your mind was screaming. She extends a hand out to you,beginning to introduce herself to you.

“Hey! I hope I'm not bothering you. I'm the new hire replacement for Dr. Howard! Looks like we're both going to be in the same hall for teaching. Oh, I'm Sophie, by the way! I should have opened with that,” Sophie exclaims excitedly. It takes almost all of your energy to hold your tongue.

You smile politely and return the handshake after introducing yourself. “Pleasure to meet you. So, you're in the history department? I teach world history. January will make a year that I've been here. How long have you been teaching, exactly?”

“So, this will be my first year doing college level teachings. Public school system just wasn't cutting it for me anymore. But wow, a year already?” Sophie asks, her tone coming off more condescending than actual curiosity. You give her a tight smile, turning your eyes away briefly to meet the hazel green ones of Hugh from across the room. Unbeknownst to you, Sophie follows your gaze and raises her brows. “Well now, isn't he a tall drink of water.”

A small smirk rose to your lips, but your knuckles turned white at how tightly you gripped the lower hem of your skirt. You force out a soft laugh from between your lips at her words. There were a million words you wanted to say, and not a single one would have been kind. Before you can formulate a sentence, Sophie excuses herself to go try to speak with Hugh. The tension that surrounded your body was suffocating. If looks could kill, Sophie would have been as good as dead. You watched as she sauntered over to Hugh, abruptly interrupting his conversation.

Your stomach twisted into unfamiliar knots as you watched Sophie speak with Hugh. You could only imagine that she tried the same whole sweet and ditsy charade on Hugh. The back of your throat began to burn with emotions as you watched this woman step closer to Hugh in their conversation. Throughout the conversation, you watched as Sophie would occasionally bat her eyelashes at Hugh or let her hand somehow brush against his arm. The longer you watched, the more your vision began to see red, until finally Hugh had found a way to dismiss himself from the conversation. For a brief moment, you could have sworn that there was disappointment on the lips of Sophie as Hugh had somehow managed to step away from her. He locks gazes with you, moving to join you at the table.

“I don't like her too much,” you state flatly, to which he laughs quietly. “I'm serious, Hugh! She was practically undressing you with her eyes!” You hiss quietly under your breath. He gently knocks your knee with his own, giving you a knowing look.

“Well, she can try all she wants to. Come on, she's not even my type. Besides, I'm already spoken for,” he gives you an assuring wink. It was damn near impossible not to show your relationship at work. Neither of you was too worried about codes of conduct, but you were more concerned about his professional reputation due to the age gap between you both.

“Mmm, still. I wouldn't trust her too easily. I just have a bad feeling about her,” you shrug slightly, earning another soft chuckle from him. Much like all good things, the retirement party for Dr. Howard had slowly started to dwindle down once the 2 o'clock hour had rolled around. Many had to leave before then due to classes or other faculty meetings, which eventually made the last remaining hours of the work day creep by agonizingly slow.

The interaction with Sophie had left a fairly sour taste in your mouth. Parts of you couldn't blame her though, Hugh was quite the attractive man. He had it all, a killer smile, charming good looks, contagious laughter, and a warm heart. And you were lucky enough to have him all to yourself. By the end of the day, you had actually beaten Hugh out to his car. You sat with your palms on either side of your hips, resting against the hood of the car. A soft smile tugged at your lips as you recognized his footsteps growing nearer. He leans into you after stepping to be in between your legs, resting his hands on top of yours.

“Hey,” he gave you a half-cocked smile before stealing a brief kiss from you. “What did you want to show me, love?”

You take his hands into yours, linking your fingers into his. A slow, shaky breath escapes from your lips as your eyes meet his. “Not here. At your place. I promise, everything is okay.” Worry begins to fill his eyes, but he pushes it down at your assurance. The ride home, you both spoke about the events of the day. Though still bothered by the antics of Sophie, you manage to laugh softly to yourself over it.

Once settled in the comfort of his condo, you rested against his chest as you both lounged on the couch. His t-shirt completely swamped your small frame. You could feel the heat of his breath chest permeate through the fabric of the shirt you wore. His hands slide under the hem of your shirt, fingers tenderly caressing the soft, tender skin on your stomach just above your panty line. You could feel the smirk on his lips against your shoulder.

“Hugh…” you finally break the comfortable silence that had filled the living room. He hums softly against your neck in acknowledgment. You had rehearsed this in your mind a few times, but it didn't become any easier. “Hugh, there's something I need to tell you.”

He lifts his head, growing worried and serious. “What is it, love? Is everything okay? Is this about the incident with Sophie today?”

You shake your head, turning in his lap to face him. He could see the nervousness in your eyes, making his gaze soften towards you. “So…the past few weeks, I've been feeling a bit off. I went to the doctor after getting sick last week. And well…” you trail off, nerves beginning to settle in even more. Tears threaten to fall from your eyes.

“Hey, hey…look at me, love. Is everything okay? Are you okay?” He tenderly wipes your tears away from the corners of your eyes.

“Everything is…it's more than okay.” You finally say just above a whisper, sniffling softly. Taking his hand into yours, he could feel the way your nerves had you shaking anxiously. His brows furrowed together as you rested his hand over your stomach with a shaky sigh. “Hugh…I know the timing might be sudden. I don't even know if we're ready for this…we're having a baby.”

For a moment, there was a silence that fell between each of you as he processed your words. The concern in his eyes shifts to a radiant level of excitement. “You're pregnant? We're having a baby? We're having a baby!” 

You nod, tears starting to roll down your cheeks. “We're having a baby…”

He pulls you in close with his arms wrapped around you securely, burying his face in the hollow of your neck. You choke put a laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck, burying your face into his shoulder. You pull away just enough to lock gazes with him, resting your hands on his chest as more tears run down your cheeks.

“I love you, baby.” He says softly, making your heart swell.

“I love you too, Hugh.”

[buzzcutlip]

Cracks and Gaps - The Waterfall (part II) Carmen Berzatto x Fem!Reader Mature (Explicit in the following parts) 6573 words

You meet Carmen in Copenhagen through a mutual friend and bond over shared experiences. After following his rising career from afar, you reconnect in Chicago when he renovates his late brother’s restaurant. As an editor, you can’t miss an opportunity to find out more about the comeback of this chef prodigy. part I The Worst Day

A/N: The angst continues and morphs. This part is full of fashion, understanding and soft words. Thank you Amy @foreveraimingtowardsthesky and E @butchcarmy for giving me the confidence to write and to publish this :) (Also reader is reffered to as someone who blushes, in case you would like to know this ahead of deciding to read the story)

THE WATERFALL

You want so badly to forget the fight, but instead, you keep replaying it in your head over and over, until it feels like a movie you saw on TV or in a cinema. Like it wasn't really you Carmen was shouting at. You try to comfort yourself by imagining what you should have done in that moment—anything but nothing, like you actually did. But at least you stood up for yourself. That’s somehow comforting.

The way forward is to go—to leave. To remove yourself from the situation and find a new environment that has nothing to do with what happened. For the weekend, you take a long-postponed trip to Seattle. People envy you for traveling to fancy places for work, but to you, it’s just that—work. This time, though, you’re unusually eager to get on the plane to another state. Nothing in Washington is going to remind you of Carmen Berzatto, you hope. The plan is to try a luxury wellness retreat for women in tech and business at Salish Lodge by Snoqualmie Falls. You’re not in tech or business, but the place paid the magazine to review the program, so you couldn’t really say no. There’s a "pillow menu for the best night’s rest" and a "Canna-bliss CBD natural ritual" option, so you’re not complaining. To escape the busy networking event on Saturday, you sneak out and walk to the top of the falls, take a deep inhale—just as you practiced during that morning's yoga class—and shout into the void, letting the roar of the water swallow it all. 

There’s so much pent-up energy in you that you start to worry you’re scaring all the Zen businesswomen around you. During a workshop, you realize that most of them are your age, or even younger. They have careers, partners, and some even have kids. It sucks, being reminded of what society expects from you when you’re thirty.

When you get back on Tuesday, the office clerk tells you that someone was looking for you on Monday. Not thinking much of it, you sit down at your desk to start working on your piece about the trip. It’s scorching outside—concrete city in July is unforgiving—and you’re grateful for the office's functioning AC.

The next time you check the clock, it’s already noon. You stand up to stretch and grab the empty mug on your desk. It was a silly gift from your parents when you first got this job—white with a black handle and a funny picture of a green pickle with a face that says "It’s kinda a big dill." As foolish as it sounds, drinking coffee from this mug always makes you smile.

As soon as you step out of your office, Dasha, the desk clerk, waves you over. Even sitting, she’s tall, her head and upper body towering proudly over the counter. She always wears amazing glasses.

“I love your glasses,” you say, complimenting her tortoiseshell frames.

“Thanks,” Dasha smiles. “You have a visitor. I was just about to call your desk.”

The blood in your veins seems to stop. You turn your head toward the guest sofa by the elevators. There’s no doubt who the visitor is.

“He said his name was Caramel—Carmel? Sorry!” Dasha fumbles with the name, blushing and nervously fiddling with her pen. “I should’ve written it down!”

Of course, it’s Carmen.

“You’re fine,” you assure her with a quick smile. Taking a very, very deep breath, you ask sweetly, “Could you send Caramel to meeting room three?”

‘I’m so Zen,’ you tell yourself as you walk to the kitchen, giving Dasha and Carmen a few minutes. If you’re going to meet him, it’s going to be on your terms, you decide standing by the fridge. Or, hiding by the fridge?

Wearing a summery yet elegant dress, heeled clogs, and your hair up, you look nothing like you ever did at The Bear. You’re pleased to discover, just before opening the door to meeting room three, that the tight feeling in your stomach isn’t just nerves—it’s also a bit of excitement and confidence.

The frosted glass door closes behind you, and you watch as Carmen’s eyes land on you. He’s already seated in one of the uncomfortable white plastic chairs, and now he’s looking at you. His gaze drops to your legs, where the frilled hem of your dress stops just above your knees, then to the mug you’re still holding, though it’s empty.

“Hey,” he greets you, shifting as if he might stand up. You sit across from him, setting the mug on the table.

“Hi,” you reply, curious about what he’s going to say. You’re fairly sure he’s here to apologize, probably sent by Natalie and Sydney—maybe even Richie—to make things right. You had texted Natalie to say you needed to focus on your "real" job as an excuse to avoid going back to the restaurant. Now, you wish you had told her the truth.

“I brought you something,” Carmen says, awkwardly pulling out a paper bag. “Thought you might be hungry.” He hesitates, then adds, “It’s smoked mozzarella mezzelune.” When you don’t make a move to take it, he places the bag back in his lap.

Leaning back in your chair, you fight the urge to cross your arms. You probably feel as out of place as he does right now—but you’re not about to let him see that.

“We didn’t have to meet here,” he says, glancing nervously around the room. “I just wanted to bring the food.”

You blink a few times, wanting to make him even more uncomfortable. “You could’ve left it at reception,” you say calmly.

Carmen rubs a hand over his face and purses his lips. “About before—the recipe. It was all bullshit.”

You grimace. That doesn’t sound like an apology. You're starting to lose faith that Carmen is even capable of one. Disappointed and at a loss for words, you scoff, and Carmen’s eyes dart back to yours. He looks almost offended, which really pisses you off.

“Bullshit,” you repeat, your voice steady. “I’m not interested in this, Carmen,” you say, meeting his gaze without wavering. “Go to hell with your food.”

He looks down, fidgeting with the paper bag. “I’m terrible at this.”

“Terrible at what? Apologizing? Well, it’s past time you learned.”

The urge to shout at him is strong. You want him to feel as humiliated as you did. But you won’t. He spent his whole life in an environment where people yelled for different reasons—or no reason at all. That’s not your style.

Not expecting anything else from him, you push your chair back, the screeching noise cutting through the tense moment, sending a shiver down your spine.

When Carmen suddenly stands as well, his chair scraping even louder, your heart jumps. You gasp, nearly sick from the fright.

“I—I also came to tell you that I’ll do it,” he stammers. “I’ll do the interview.”

You study him for a moment. Is he serious?

“This isn’t what I want, Carmen,” you say, shaking your head and rubbing your wrist. “Why now?”

“I talked to Syd and the crew. It’s the right thing to do. Right for the restaurant.”

He’s sincere, as far as you can tell. His eyes look huge, and that tortured artist look is back. A martyr. How much does he enjoy playing that role?

“Please, don’t ruin my Zen,” you say quietly, not wanting to return to how you felt a few days ago.

“I’m not interested anymore,” you add, praying Rob won’t find out and fire you. “Dasha will see you out. Or you can take the elevator.” The condescension in your voice is clear, but you’re not sure if Carmen even notices.

—

For the next two days, you decide to work from home and mope. Calling Becky isn’t an option because she would probably go talk to Natalie and tell her everything. The feelings of anger and humiliation are mixing within you, and you don’t know which one makes you more miserable.

When you get back to work, Rob calls you over to his office. Shit, you think.

You walk in with a smile and confidence—fake it till you make it. The usual clutter of papers and magazines is still there, but Rob himself seems unusually animated, almost buzzing with excitement. He waves you in, barely able to contain a grin. “Take a seat,” he says, his tone a little too eager.

You sit down cautiously, trying to gauge what's coming. Rob leans forward, resting his elbows on his desk, and you can see he’s practically bursting to share something. “So, I got a call this morning,” he starts, and you immediately feel a sense of dread creeping in. “It was from Natalie, the manager over at The Bear.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you force yourself to stay composed. You nod, prompting him to continue. “She told me that Carmen Berzatto—yes, that Carmen—wants to do the interview and a photoshoot,” Rob says.

“A—a photoshoot?” you stammer. “Is this the same Carmen Berzatto?” God, you couldn’t imagine Carmen wanting to be a center of attention like that. He would probably die right on the spot.

Rob ignores your snarky remark—as he often does—leaning even closer, his excitement palpable. “And get this—he specifically requested that you be the one to do it.”

He pauses, waiting for your reaction, clearly expecting you to share in his enthusiasm. But all you feel is a mix of shock and apprehension. “Rob, I—” you start, but he cuts you off, too caught up in the moment.

“I mean, this is huge!” he exclaims, practically bouncing in his chair. “The Bear is blowing up, and an exclusive like this could improve all the important numbers for us. And he wants you—he’s insisting on it! Do you have any idea how big this could be for your career?”

You do, of course. An exclusive interview with Carmen could put you on the map in a major way. But all you can think about is that last encounter in the meeting room, the awkwardness, the unresolved tension, and the anger laced in bitterness you thought you had finally let go of. Rob notices your hesitation and softens his tone, though his excitement is still simmering beneath the surface. “Look, I know there’s some history here,” he says, a bit more gently. “But this is a massive opportunity. And honestly, if Carmen wants you specifically, there’s something there. He’s not the type to just pick someone randomly, right?”

You shake your head and swallow hard, your mind racing. The offer is tempting, the kind of opportunity that doesn’t come around often. But it also means facing Carmen again, reopening wounds you thought were starting to heal but ignoring the issue—the healthy way, you think bitterly. But also, you would need to contact Nat and Sydney again about your place in The Bear, which you’ve been putting on hold for a long time now, in internet terms.

Rob senses your inner turmoil and leans back, giving you some space. “I’m not going to pressure you, but I really think you should consider it. We could make this the cover story. It’s that big.”

The room is silent for a moment as Rob waits for your response, his eagerness practically vibrating off him. You’re absolutely sure that if you don’t agree to this project, Rob will ask another editor, or even hire a freelancer. As much as you want to be offended a bit longer, letting it simmer inside you, you also want to do this with The Bear staff. As Natalie must know—this is all her doing, after all, you suppose—the visibility for the restaurant is going to be huge.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. Then, you make your decision. “I’ll do it,” you say, your voice firmer than you expected.

Rob’s face lights up instantly. “That’s what I’m talking about!” he exclaims, practically beaming. “I knew you’d come through. This is going to be incredible, I can feel it.”

His enthusiasm reassures you, and for a brief moment, you let yourself feel excited, too.

Rob starts rattling off details, already planning how to make this the magazine’s biggest feature yet. “We’ll do a full spread—interview, photoshoot, the works. We can even tie it into some of the broader trends in the culinary world. This could be huge!”

You nod, letting his words wash over you, but part of your mind is still focused on the impending meeting with Carmen. You pretty much sent him to hell. How will you handle this?

“Let’s get the ball rolling,” Rob says, snapping you back to the present. “I’ll coordinate with Natalie to set up the interview. We’ll get the photographer involved, and I’ll make sure you have everything you need.”

“Thanks, Rob,” you say, managing a small smile, not mentioning that you will get in touch with Natalie too. “I’ll make sure it’s worth the hype.”

“I have no doubt,” Rob replies confidently. “This is going to be something special.”

As you walk out of his office, the reality of what you just agreed to starts to settle in. You’re going to see Carmen again, face to face, in a setting that’s as personal as it is professional. It’s also a chance to prove to yourself that you can handle it—and maybe even come out stronger on the other side.

The nerves are still there, but so is a newfound resolve. This is your story to tell, and you’re ready to own it.

---

Naturally, you had to tone down your emotions in Rob’s office, as he didn’t know anything about your work you had done for The Bear or the situation with the chef himself. The need to show off your professional skills, both to Rob and Carmen, won. Natalie nearly pisses herself—her words, not yours!—when you confirm the news over the phone. She shares with you that it actually was Carmen’s idea to do the interview, supported by Sydney and Richie and Tina and everyone. The shoot not so much, but he’s gonna do it too, she says, and you can hear the mischievous smile in her voice.

The photoshoot is set to happen in a studio your magazine usually uses for smaller productions, as it’s only Carmen you need to get. Rob informed you that he had sent a photographer to The Bear earlier, so the photos from the place, as well as photos of the team, are already done. You know this from Natalie and Sydney already, who thanked you probably more than a million times for “arranging this,” but in front of Rob, you play guileless.

It’s awfully quiet in the room when you enter, the swinging door swooshing quietly behind you. No wonder. The shoot had to be planned on Sunday—the only day Carmen’s not at work, which has been met with not very enthusiastic responses. There’s no music playing, which is very unusual.

The studio has high ceilings and large windows that let in natural light. It obviously used to be a factory, now rebuilt into a fancy, modern building with that historic edge. You’ve been here a couple of times before.

You spot the photographer, Elena, adjusting her equipment with the precision of someone who knows exactly what she’s doing. She smiles at you and you give each other a quick hug. With a shoot this small, there’s no one doing production, as you’re using the magazine’s regular talents. As much as you want to stall, you know that Carmen must be sitting on the make-up chair, very probably freaking out. It’s a bit unpleasant, but the fact that he’s more uncomfortable than you here makes you feel better, helps you calm your nerves down. The situation is similar to the one in the office a few weeks back, and you realize it’s more your confidence than maliciousness.

Your steps echo as you walk around the corner to the make-up and hair spot by one of the big windows. Carmen’s just getting up from the high chair, his posture screaming uneasiness.

“Hi Margot,” you say to the make-up artist with a piercing in her eyebrow. She’s younger than you, so you get why she thinks that the 00’s are so cool, since that’s probably when she was born.

Then the spotlight is on Carmen and you, and it takes you both to the moment when you approached him outside of The Bear months ago.

Carmen stares at you without blinking, probably relieved to see a familiar face, and also terrified, because it’s you. It’s crystal clear he doesn’t know what is appropriate for him to do in this setting.

Deciding quickly, you move towards him, giving him a similar hug as to Elena—quick, light, and impersonal. When you feel his palm press against your lower back fleetingly, the touch immediately makes you shiver, unfortunately not completely in a bad way, but you don’t have the time to ponder.

“I’ve just fixed his hair a bit and covered some bits here and there,” Margot explains, already cleaning her brushes. You notice immediately that Carmen’s curls are more defined and softer looking. He also appears less tired, but that’s surely due to Margo’s concealer magic.

“Thank you, Margo, that’s perfect,” you say as Carmen stands unmoving.

“Carmen just needs to moisturize more,” she adds cheekily, giving Carmen a wink over her shoulder.

You suppress a laugh. You’re absolutely sure Carmen has no idea what moisturizing or face cream means. He’s as lost here as you had been in the Bear's kitchen.

“Uhm—” Carmen makes an unsure noise, his hand reaching up to his hair, but Margo interrupts him:

“No touching!” she says hurriedly. “Not until the end of the shoot.”

You laugh for real now.

“How is it looking, guys?” Elena calls from the other side of the studio, checking on you.

“We’re fine. Carmen’s about to get changed, so you can get ready, El.”

You turn back to Carmen, who’s checking the studio with a mix of hesitance and curiosity. He’s dressed in light blue denim—unusual—and a gray jumper you’ve seen on him before.

“I’ll help,” you assure him. As the stylist is absent, you promised Rob that you would give a hand on the shoot. Besides, some selected garments are meant to be ready, plus you know they had asked Carmen to bring some of his stuff. “Follow me.”

Disappearing behind a screen that creates a changing space with clothes and steamers, you come properly face to face.

“Hey,” you say, unable to think of anything better. Your voice remains steady despite the slight flutter in your chest.

“Hey,” he replies, offering a small, almost uncertain smile. He glances around, taking in the unfamiliar setting. “This is… different.”

“Yeah,” you agree, gesturing to the setup around you. “But it’s all about making you look good.”

Carmen chuckles softly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. “No pressure, right?”

You smile, unable to play the Ice Queen anymore, and for a moment, the awkwardness between you dissipates. “Let’s get started.”

Carmen glances at you, seemingly reassured by your calm demeanor, even if he’s out of his element. You walk over to the clothes neatly hung on a rack. Immediately, you spot the cool embroidered Bode jackets, simple Carhartt pieces, more tailored Ami Paris clothes. There’s Maharishi and PAM too, probably included by the stylist based on your comment that Carmen likes the workwear style, though they are a bit too colorful.

You tell Carmen a little about every brand, trying to get him out of his head and focus on something else. To give him a taste of the world of magazines, media, and fashion. Similar to what he had done for you in the restaurant—when he was in a mood to talk about his dishes, ideas about combining ingredients, and crafting new flavors.

“What about this?” you suggest, handing him a soft, tan brown Carhartt WIP suede jacket. You know that Carmy knows Carhartt because you’ve seen him in their clothes, and you also know that he’s a big denim head. This garment will also help him not to feel as exposed in front of the camera at the start.

Carmen takes the jacket, his brow furrowing slightly as if he’s analyzing every stitch. He slips it on, and you can’t help but note how well it fits him. Natalie nailed the sizes of his clothes perfectly.

You go wait for him at the spot that Elena has set up, Margo already waiting there too, in case any adjustments to the hair are needed during the shoot. When Carmen finally walks over, Elena gives him a reassuring nod as he takes his place in front of the camera, hands in the jacket’s pockets. You watch from the sidelines, a little amused but mostly impressed at how the whole scene has come together. The large windows bathe the room in soft, natural light, casting shadows that play off the industrial vibe of the studio.

Carmen is nervous—anyone can see that—but he stands tall, doing his best to follow Elena’s quiet directions. You watch the laptop screen from the corner of your eye, where all photos appear after Elena presses the shutter, frame after frame. Carmen’s unease is apparent, and for a second you wonder if this really was such a good idea after all.

After another five painful minutes, it’s clear that it’s not getting better. You share a quick look with Elena and say, “Could you put some music on, girls?” Then, turning to Carmen, you add, “I think we can change the outfit now,” you say easily.

You go back to the styling corner, Carmen following you. When you’re both hidden again, you glance at Carmen whose whole body is stiff, discomfort oozing off him.

“This is really not so bad,” you start, but Carmen shakes his head, running a hand through his hair, messing it up in a way that would drive Margo mad if she saw it.

“I’m a chef, not… this,” he says, gesturing to the setting. “I’m not supposed to be in front of cameras, doing interviews, pretending like—like I fucking know what I’m doing. This is all bullshit.”

You take a deep breath, trying to figure out how to reach him. You’ve seen him under pressure before, but this is different. This isn’t about the restaurant; this is about him feeling out of place, exposed.

“Carmen, you’re right. You’re a chef, and a damn good one,” you say, keeping your tone calm and reassuring. It’s strange to be this way for a person who you’ve only ever seen confident and sure, except for what happened in the office two weeks ago.

“But this is part of it, too,” you carry on, trying to catch Carmen’s eye. “People want to know the person behind the food. They want to see the passion, the creativity. Even the struggle. That’s what makes the Bear special—it’s you.”

He looks at you, eyes filled with doubt. “But what if… what if they see through it? What if they realize I’m just faking it?”

You step closer, close enough to reach out, but you don’t. Instead, you offer him a small, genuine smile. “Then they’ll see that you’re human, just like the rest of us. And that’s okay. You don’t have to be perfect, Carmen.”

He closes his eyes, exhaling slowly, trying to steady himself. “I don’t know if I can be that guy.”

“You don’t have to be anyone but yourself,” you reply gently. “And if you’re not feeling it, we can stop. We don’t have to do this. We could just use the pictures from the Bear.”

Carmen opens his eyes and looks at you, something shifting in his expression. It’s still a mix of fear and doubt, but there’s also a flicker of determination. “You really think I can do this?”

“Absolutely,” you confirm with deadly certainty.

The next moment, “1972” by The Smashing Pumpkins starts playing from the speakers in the studio.

Carmen surprises you by taking the initiative and choosing the clothes by himself. You turn when he starts shedding the jacket. Instead, you hang it back on the rack, needing something to do. When the rustling stops, you face the chef again. He’s wearing a pair of vintage Levi’s and a striped sailor crew neck. He looks good in the dark colors.

“Yeah?” he checks, trying to gauge your reaction.

“Yeah,” you nod, hoping it’s not obvious how much you like what you’re seeing. “Yeah.”

Gathering your courage, you reach to roll the sleeves up, exposing Carmen’s forearms, then move up to straighten the seams on his shoulders. You catch his gaze and this time, there’s a flicker of something—perhaps gratitude, or just recognition that you’re both navigating unfamiliar territory. Not just here, on the set, but also between you. You’re discovering another layer of your relationship, perhaps sensing that at this moment, you have the upper hand.

Carmen's expression softens from that tight apprehension to something more open, more trusting. “Thanks,” he says quietly, then looks down at himself, as if trying to imagine how he’ll appear in front of the camera now.

You step back slightly, giving him space, but also giving yourself a moment to collect your thoughts. The tension between you feels different than before, less about awkwardness and more like a mutual acknowledgment that neither of you has the playbook for this. And yet, you’re figuring it out together.

“Here,” you point Carmen to a big mirror in the corner, and he checks the reflection.

“I think I like it,” he says after a moment, and you give him a thumbs up, the silly gesture completely honest.

Back on set, with the music playing, the atmosphere lightens. Carmen doesn’t smile, but there’s a shift in the way he carries himself. He seems more settled in his skin, the dark colors enhancing his quiet confidence. Elena notices the difference immediately; she barely needs to give direction this time. He’s still far from relaxed, but there’s an authenticity in the way he stands, his gaze steady.

The photos start to reflect that subtle transformation, and you feel a tremendous sense of relief as you watch them pop up on the screen. Watching him, you feel an odd sense of pride. This isn’t just about Carmen being in front of the camera; it’s about him facing something that makes him uncomfortable and pushing through it, allowing himself to be vulnerable in this position. If you’re completely honest, you’re surprised that he’s willing to go through with this.

Elena seems pleased, giving Carmen a reassuring nod after every few clicks of the camera. When she finally steps back and lowers her lens, you see Carmen visibly exhale, tension easing from his frame.

“That was good,” Elena praises, glancing at the screen. “We’ve got some solid shots here.”

Carmen looks over, seemingly a little surprised, like he wasn’t quite sure it had gone as well as she said. “See?” you say, nudging him gently. “You nailed it.”

Carmen gives you a small, genuine smile this time. “Maybe,” he says, scratching the back of his head, messing up his styled hair.

After the third outfit change, Rob shows up, as planned, alongside the magazine’s publisher. As this had been arranged before the shoot, you hope it doesn’t throw Carmen off balance too much.

Luckily, Carmen slips into his professional chef mode as Rob greets him, calling him “Chef,” and thanking him sincerely for the opportunity. Rob shoots you a happy grin over Carmen’s shoulder. 

The final outfit is dark gray tailored wool pants and a simple white tee, similar to what you know as Carmen’s daily uniform—probably why he chose it. You suggest adding a nice leather belt with a silver clasp to complete the look. Elena positions Carmen on a high stool this time, changing angles and perspectives.

For the first time today, Carmen looks truly at ease, despite the additional onlookers. You know Rob is looking for the perfect shot for next month’s cover.

Elena captures a few more shots before lowering her camera. “That’s it! We’re done,” she announces, a smile of satisfaction on her face. “Carmen, you did amazing.”

Carmen slides off the stool, his shoulders visibly relaxing as the weight of the shoot lifts. He looks over at you, a small, almost sheepish grin playing at his lips. “That wasn’t as bad as I thought.”

You laugh softly, walking over to him. “Told you. You nailed it.”

Rob joins you and Carmen. “Chef, you were great today,” he says, clapping Carmen on the shoulder. “Can’t wait to see the final shots.”

Carmen nods, clearly more comfortable now that the shoot is over. “Thanks, Rob. I appreciate it.”

Rob turns to you with a grin. “You too. Thanks for making this happen.”

You nod, feeling a bit of pride at how smoothly things turned out. You’re careful not to jinx it—after all, the interview is still looming in the second half of the day, after you’ve had something to eat.

For the interview, you and Carmen sit down in a corner of the studio that’s been set up to look more intimate—two chairs facing each other with a small table in between. Your notebook rests on your lap. Elena is supposed to take a few shots of the formal interview, and now it’s your turn to be nervous. Very nervous.

You did an extensive amount of research and preparation for the article, keeping in mind your personal history with Carmen. He’s not just another personality you’re interviewing. He’s a guy you once knew. A chef at whose restaurant you had worked, or volunteered. These facts leave you feeling like you’re balancing on a thin rope, and you’ve spent a lot of time thinking about how to approach the interview. In the end, you decide to let Carmen set the tone. He could keep it personal or strictly professional.

“How did you enjoy the shoot?” you ask with a mischievous smile, starting off lightly. You don’t need to check your notes for that.

Carmen smiles, rubbing his lips with his fingers. “It was a new, interesting experience. I’m afraid I wasn’t very good, but I hope you’ll be able to find a couple of decent images.”

“And one excellent for the cover,” you add, careful not to interrupt him.

Out of habit and nervousness, you adjust the recorder on the table between you, making sure it’s on. Then you glance at your notes.

“When we met in Copenhagen ten years ago, you were staging at Noma. How do you look back on those times—when you were at the beginning of your journey but already experiencing the kitchens of the world’s best restaurants?”

It takes a moment before Carmen responds. “I was very young and very lucky. I took every opportunity that came my way, worked hard—harder than most—to learn and grow, and hopefully to stand out.” Carmen’s words are measured, careful. “Noma was my first experience outside the US, and it was intimidating. But also—it’s an incredibly peaceful and inspiring place. I loved every moment there. It also helped that I knew someone familiar in Copenhagen. That definitely made me feel less alone.”

You catch yourself staring, a warm feeling spreading through your chest—liquid heat filling every corner. You imagine this is what drinking Felix Felicis must feel like. You smile, and Carmen returns it with a quick smile of his own.

Clearing your throat, you prepare for the real questions, the ones that have to live up to everyone’s expectations—Rob’s, Carmen’s, and mostly your own. As the interview progresses, you feel a shift in the atmosphere. The initial tension has faded, replaced by a sense of collaboration. You’re both here for the same reason: to tell a story that matters.

You ask Carmen about his journey in the culinary world, the chefs he’s worked with, and the chefs he looks up to. You discuss diligence, innovation, and respect. You briefly touch on the topic of Michael and Carmen’s family, letting him decide how much he wants to share.

“You can be more or less fortunate with the starting position you get in life. That’s out of your hands. But the rest is in your hands. There’s no point in thinking about how others might have it easier—it will only paralyze you, trust me. You have to focus on what you can do, what you can change. Take the little you have and turn it into everything you have. Be proud of it. Stand up for yourself. Value yourself, but also others.”

His words are thoughtful, and you can tell he’s reflecting deeply.

There’s a pause, and you realize he’s waiting for your next question. You nod, acknowledging the weight of his words. Carmen answered everything with a mix of humility and passion, offering you—and the audience—glimpses of the person behind the chef: the struggles, the doubts, the relentless drive to succeed.

You glance at your notes, then back at him.

“That’s it. Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to share a glimpse of your life and The Bear’s story with Taste readers,” you say, finishing with a cheeky smirk, hoping Carmen knows you’re sincere.

Carmen chuckles at your tone. “Thank you for having me,” he replies, smiling with that familiar mix of modesty and quiet strength. “It was a pleasure to talk. Hopefully, your readers won’t be too bored.”

You laugh lightly, shaking your head. “I doubt that. If anything, they’ll be more intrigued than ever. You’ve got a story people want to hear—and not just about the food.”

He raises an eyebrow, studying you. "Well, that’s good to hear."

You stand up and reach out to shake his hand, a gesture of thanks and closure. He takes it, his grip firm but gentle. Then Rob approaches with more handshakes and thanks, joined by Mrs. Sullivan—the publisher. You quietly slip away, not wanting to disturb their networking, and head over to thank Elena and Margot, who have already packed up their gear while you were interviewing Carmen.

“You guys are cute together,” Margot teases, winking at you. “I didn’t know you actually knew him knew him.”

You absolutely do blush, and Elena adds, “Totally,” giving you a sly grin. “He IS cute.”

“You should see him in the kitchen,” you grumble, shoving your notebook into your tote bag to hide your flushed face.

Suddenly, Carmen appears next to you, having parted ways with Rob and Mrs. Sullivan, who likely have better things to do on a Sunday. “You did good,” he says quietly, almost as an afterthought, as if offering reassurance you didn’t know you needed.

Your chest warms again with that liquid heat, a mix of pride and gratitude blooming. You offer him one last, genuine smile.

“Thanks, Carmen,” you reply softly.

“Actually,” he begins, looking nervous again, hands on his hips, “I—I wanted to talk to you. If you have time now?”

He glances back at Rob, but the man is nowhere to be seen, already gone. Carmen nods, seeming relieved.

“Lead the way.”

—

The weather’s been sweltering lately, the sun heating up the city’s concrete walls, asphalt roads, and stone pavements until it feels like being in a big kiln. Luckily, the coffee shop has air conditioning, which both Carmen and you welcome. They are offering unusual caffeine drinks—most of them including something fruity and milky. Carmen orders a Coke with ice without checking the menu, and you go for an iced blueberry matcha latte.  

“Thank you for—” Carmen says when he’s seated properly, across from you once again.  

“Really, that’s enough of the thanks,” you wave him off, but Carmen talks over you, “For respecting that I wanna keep some things private. During the interview.”  

“Ah,” you nod slowly. “You know, normally I would send all the questions for authorization first,” you tell him truthfully, stirring your drink with the thin paper straw, mixing the green matcha with the milk froth and the purple syrup. “I wanted to be a bit nasty.”  

It’s Carmen’s turn to slowly nod, once. “I see,” he says. “I’m not surprised, honestly.”  

You fiddle with the collar of your cotton blouse nervously.  

“I appreciate that you had my back today,” Carmen continues. “It means a lot to me, you know?”

Not used to hearing kind words from Carmen, you find it hard to look at him directly, so you keep staring into your drink instead. “I think I do.”

As if sensing your hesitation, Carmen gives you a second before he asks:

“So, you have a thing for clothes, huh? Fashion, I mean.”

“As you do,” you shoot back playfully but honestly.

“I guess I enjoy the aesthetic aspect of it… I really liked some of the clothes today. It was nice to try something new. I’m not very good at new things,” he muses. “I liked the dress you wore in your office the other day. You looked—different,” Carmen adds uncertainly, playing with the napkin under the sweaty glass.

“I don’t wear dresses very often,” you stammer out, trying to hide the flush creeping up your neck. “And in the restaurant, I wanted to be in something that can get dirty. So… not too fancy clothes.”

Carmen notices how caught off guard you are right now.

“I wanted to bring up the topic of what happened at your work,” he explains slowly, hesitantly. “And what happened at The Bear before that… A lot of the aggression comes from my own frustration. And I shouldn’t take it out on other people. Like I said, there’s no excuse for it.”

You squirm in your seat, nervous to talk about the topic out loud for the first time. “It’s hard, Carm. First, you pretend you don’t know me. Then you barely talk to me. Then I feel like we’re actually starting to get along well, but you accuse me of this huge nonsense. All the while, I’m only trying to help you.”

“I know.”

“Then why?”

“Because I don’t know how to respond to kindness.”

Your eyes fill up with tears, and you have to blink a couple of times to chase them away. You take a deep breath, your chest expanding with it. Carmen’s sitting still on the stool, looking like a schoolboy who had misbehaved during recess.

“Be kind to kind,” you say simply, spreading your hands, your eyebrows raising.

Carmen chuckles, sounding very self-deprecating, scratching his nose. “I’m working on it.”

He might think you’ll let it slide. You won’t. “Promise,” you press, urgent. “Promise me.”

His eyes meet yours, and he says it. “I promise.” Then once more, in a stronger voice: “I promise. And I’m sorry.” And your heart breaks for him because you know he’s never known much kindness.

“Deal.” To keep your hands occupied, you take out your chewing gum, wrapping it in an empty sugar packet. Then you raise your iced latte in a mock toast, taking a first sip of the drink.

“Just... be careful with the 'nasty' part,” Carmen says with a slight grin, breaking the tension. “I don’t think either of us needs more of that.”  

You chuckle. “Fair enough. I’ll try to keep the nastiness in check.”  

Carmen smirks, shaking his head as he relaxes back into his chair. “I appreciate that.”

[mustainegf]

Fluff with Older James with a you get reader who has a kid and he’s meeting the kid for the first time or just something with fluff along those lines

AWWWWW THIS IS SO CUTE IM GONNA EXPLODE

𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 ²⁰¹¹

The very last thing I had expected to do was meet James Hetfield. I mean, he's a legend, a rock star, way out of anyones league, it may have seemed like a dream. But life is funny I guess, somehow, we ended up crossing each other's path.

Something just clicked between us despite our age gap. We understood each other in a way that felt natural and right.

Life had taken a different turn a year ago when I became a mother. My little boy, was everything for me. His father and I had parted ways quite amicably, but that had left me very wary toward relationships.

James and I had dated for months, and things were getting very serious. He'd been so understanding and patient, never pushing too hard and always within the bounds of respect. Now the time had finally come to meet my little boy. That's one big step, and I was pretty nervous.

But I didn’t expect it to go badly, James had changed my life in ways nobody could. He was so incredibly sweet, loving me, and hopefully my son, for who we are.

I had told James about my son eventually, and he had been more than supportive.

We planned just an easy afternoon at my house. James was to come, and we would spend some time together. I wanted it lowkey, hoping this would simmer down his introduction a bit.

While I was preparing lunch, I kept checking the clock, my stomach was churning in anticipation.

When the knock came at last, I exhaled shakily, dried my hands on the towel, and came to answer it. There James was, holding a simple bouquet of flowers in one hand and a small toy truck in the other. His smile was warm, and I felt all my affection for him in that moment.

"Hey," I said, stepping aside to let him in. "Come on in."

"Hi," he said, his eyes twinkling. "I brought these for you." He handed me the flowers before leaning down to give me a kiss. I couldn't help smiling.

"They're lovely, thank you sweetheart," I said, and began to relax a little. "And what's that?" I nodded toward the toy truck, James’ arm still around me.

James smiled. "This is for the little guy. I thought he might like it."

My heart just about melted a right there. "Aww, James, that's so sweet. He’s in the living room. Come on, I'll introduce you."

We walked into the living room where my son was playing with his blocks on the floor. He looked up as we entered, his big blue eyes curious and alert.

"Honey, this is mamas friend James," I mentioned, kneeling beside him on the floor. "Can you say hi?"

He looked from James to me, his little face serious. "Hi," he said low.

"Hi, Little guy," James said, and bent down on his heels to his tiny height. "I brought something for you. Do you like trucks?"

The boys eyes went wide when he saw the toy. "Truck!" he exclaimed, tilling forward with a reach.

James handed it to him with a smile. "It's all yours, buddy."

He dove right into playing with the truck, all shyness suddenly forgotten. I just stood there watching them, my heart was full.

I admired as max drove the little truck up James large arm, creating deep laughs from the man whom. I’d fallen in love with.

In the afternoon we played, built towers out of blocks, and did some truck racing on the living room floor. James was amazing, very patient and observant, not forcing anything, just going at my little boys pace.

I could tell in his eyes that he had affection toward my son, and I was rather touched by that.

After lunch, we put him down for his nap. As I closed the door to his room, I turned to James. I was relieved and happy.

"Thank you," I said, trembling with emotion. "You were so great with him."

James pulled me into his arms and held me in a tight, warm hug. "He's a great kid. You've done an amazing job with him.���

He gently brushed the now steaming tears away with his thumb. "I love you, and I want to be a part of your life. That little guy is a part of you, so he's important to me, too."

Within weeks it would become such a regular feature that James would turn up after band practice, sometimes just to help me cook dinner or to play with my son.

It was on one of the Saturdays that we decided to take him to the park. The day was perfect; clean and full of sunshine, with my son in high spirits as we saddled him up in his stroller to head out.

James pushed the stroller while I walked beside him, our hands brushing together occasionally.

At the park, he was running about, all full of energy and giggles. James chased him around, making monster faces and noises at him, he squealing in delight.

"Do you want to go on the swings?" James asked, met with enthusiastic nods.

We went to the swings first, and James picked him up, slipping him into the baby seat, and gently pushing him while he giggled and shouted, "Higher, higher!"

I stood there, watching them, James turned toward me. "Come on, join us," he said and patted the swing next to my son.

When we came home from the park, my little boy had fell asleep in his stroller. James carried him upstairs and put him into his crib. He gently brushed a kiss on his forehead. It really was so tender and such a loving gesture, it brought tears to my eyes once again.

Back in the living room, James pulled me into his arms as we tumbled onto the couch. "I love spending time with you and him," he whispered. "You both mean so much to me."

I looked up at him then, my heart full. "We love having you here. You make everything better."

He leaned down and kissed me. It was a slow, sweet kiss that said it all.

James wasn't just my partner; he was becoming a father figure to my boy, real stability in our lives. The age gap between us didn't mattering.

Our little family was unorthodox, but love and laughter reigned in every inch of it. And most importantly, my son had a real father now.

[shuttershocky]

What do you think of Nasu basically spoiling Mahoyo 2 in FGO, even though Mahoyo 2 doesn't exist (yet)?

lol

lmao even

I will make an even better call.

He did not stop at spoiling Mahoyo 2, a VN that doesn't exist in any way, shape, or form yet. No. In fact, Nasu has gone above and beyond, also spoiling a critical new story element for the Tsukihime Remake's Red Garden, hidden inside the Mahoyo event.

Why do I say this? There's a scene in the collab event where the gang discusses the matter of reviving the dead. Aoko's little incident at the end of Mahoyo inevitably gets brought up, but Alice shuts down the notion that Aoko can revive the dead, because what Aoko does is time fraud, essentially running a scam, and therefore does not count.

If you are killed, but Aoko makes it so you don't die, she does so by taking the time you were killed and propelling it into the far future, way after you would die of old age anyway. In Mahoyo, Touko is aghast at the methodology because messing with time would absolutely incur some kind of terrible debt to the fabric of reality that will have to be paid eventually, while in FGO, Alice believes it doesn't count as reviving the dead, probably because you never died (because the time that you died is far, far sway).

What does this have to do with Tsukihime?

Now, in the original Tsukihime, Shiki was basically a dead man walking; his body was animated by Akiha's life-force / soul after saving her from an inverting SHIKI, and while it's never explained beyond "Akiha has powers no one else in her oni family has", no mage has been able to revive the dead, or keep a body that can no longer live on its own moving by making it a parasite on their own life. Others that cheat death such as Touko or Roa (or Meltryllis in FGO) move bodies instead, they cannot save a body that has been damaged beyond saving.

Only Aoko and Akiha have done that.

Now, we know due to some bad ends in the Tsukihime Remake that Shiki is still unknowingly dependent on Akiha, because she's able to control his life and even make him pass out by cutting him off (at least until he gets possessed by Roa), BUT we don't know if the accident with SHIKI was the only thing that happened in the past.

The Tsukihime Remake no longer takes place in Misaki town like the original did. This means that Shiki no longer encounters Aoko walking around her home town. She would have had to go to a hospital in Souya town, and coincidentally run into 9 year old Shiki terrified of seeing death everywhere.

I don't buy that their meeting was a coincidence anymore. I think Aoko knew he would be there.

There is now an unexplained gap between when Roa was Elesia, and when he was SHIKI. In the original timeline, Elesia would have been born around 1975 and fully overwritten by Roa when she was 16, or at 1991. If Arcueid killed her quickly, Roa would have had to find a new host fast, and the incident with SHIKI happened in 1992, 8 years before the events of Tsukihime. No gap.

But now, Arcueid defeats the possessed Elesia in 2001, and the incident with SHIKI doesn't happen until 2006 (8 years before the events of the Tsukihime Remake in 2014). There's now a 5 year gap.

Now, Nasu might just be really bad at mathing out his timeline, but based on entirely no evidence whatsoever, I'm gonna say the 5 year gap between Roa's victims is intentional.

Roa had one more victim in between Elesia and SHIKI, which would be Shiki himself, way before Shiki would gain the Mystic Eyes of Death Perception.

Roa got confused. He meant to target Tohno SHIKI, heir to the powerful Tohno family, and instead got Tohno Shiki, their child slave whose family name got replaced. Roa goes wild inside a Nanaya's body, but ends up running into Aoko (who we know due to Melty Blood Type-Lumina that she has orders from the Clock Tower to defeat and interrogate Roa), who gives him the fuck you laser and incinerates Roa in an instant. Roa gets told by Dr Arach (who is obviously a fucking vampire) that he had the wrong Shiki all this time, while Aoko uses her bullshit to restore Shiki himself.

Unlike with Ciel, whose soul is now "Roa" and thus became immortal because she cannot die while Roa is still recognized by the World as alive, Aoko's method of reviving the dead doesn't heal them of death, she just magics all that shit away.

This makes Shiki avoid the magic loophole that Ciel gets trapped in, becoming an ordinary boy again with no vampiric connection (because Aoko made the whole incident never happen).

That distinction is important, because not dying when being killed is why Shiki has the Mystic Eyes of Death Perception in the first place. He experienced death and his mind now comprehends its true nature. Aoko reviving him doesn't trigger it because like Alice says, Aoko doesn't revive the dead.

Akiha on the other hand, triggers it because Shiki was mortally wounded and his life can no longer move his body, instead relying on Akiha's life force to survive. This makes Shiki dead but functionally alive, manifesting the mystic eyes of death perception.

When Aoko heard that the little boy she unkilled somehow managed to die again just a little later only to reawaken at the hospital, she had to come and see him for herself, leading to that fateful meeting outside the hospital.

TL;DR - Mahoyo event spoils that Roa in the Remake timeline switches it up, possessing Shiki first before ever touching SHIKI, which Aoko deals with.

_____

I have zero proof about any of this by the way which is why it sounds like complete bullshit, because it is. I just saw an opportunity to post Tsukihime Remake speculation on a barely related topic and ran away with it.

BUT, consider this: I correctly predicted that in the Remake Arcueid route, Roa would see a skull staring at him when he finally realizes Shiki is "Death". I know what Nasu plans for Tsukihime, it is all revealed to me in my dreams.

[rabbitcruiser]

The Metropolitan Life Insurance Co was formed on March 24, 1868.

[didi-writes]

♡ 𝆬   teacher! William Afton x reader

characters : 2497

warnings : big age gap (reader is around 20 and William is in his 40s) , teacher x student relationship, mentions of rough home situations, use of darling nickname, non-consensual kiss

notes : not proofread, sorry for any grammar mistakes! hope you enjoy anyways ♡

fluff + gender neutral reader

He sighs, putting down the papers he was grading and turning around in the chair. He faces the classroom, everyone busy chatting or doing whatever. William coughs and stands up, the classroom falls silent and he smiles slightly "I'll be handing out everyone's test from last week now. Let's all overlook it together, hmm?" He says and starts to hand out the papers. Giving each student their test back, William walks over to Y/N, placing the paper down onto their desk. "Meet me after class, please?" He asks, in a low but calm tone. They nod at him and pick up the paper, Y/N's eyes scanning across the letter filled paper, a big red F marked at the top of it.

They sigh and look back up at William again, who has now returned to the front of the classroom. "If any of you have any questions while I explain all the questions that were given on the test save them until I'm done, yeah?". William Afton, was Y/N's history teacher, he was fairly older than themselves. Y/N wasn't necessarily bad at history but since things at home had been rough they didn't get the chance to revise all the topics that were discussed in class at home, and so failed the test this time.

As William stood there explaining the questions, Y/N stared at him. Noticing how his tone of voice was calm and low, the way he stood there awkwardly in his brown pants and light vest, the dark purple tie tied around his neck. Y/N started to blush slightly as she stared at the man. William put his hands into his pockets and let out a long sigh "Well then, any questions?" He all of a sudden says, causing Y/N to flinch a bit and return back from their daydreaming. Nobody in class says anything nor raises their hands. William nods and turns around to walk back to his desk, sitting down on the chair that stood by it. "Well then..." He says, looking up at the clock hanging on the wall behind him. "School's almost out, why don't u all do some studying until the bell rings" he says, the class all nod and do the exact opposite. Y/N sat there fidgeting with their fingers, turning to look outside of the window.

A few minutes pass until suddenly the bell rang, everyone quickly got up and left the classroom, leaving just Y/N and William behind. "Well then Y/N, care to explain this grade to me?" He speaks, getting up from the chair and closing the door to the classroom. He walks back and sits down, Y/N gets up from their desk and walks up to William's desk.

"Uhm...i guess I just didn't study, sorry" they awkwardly reply. William nods slowly and let's out a low hum "All of your other grades were rather good, what made u not study?" He asks, his facial expression serious as he stares into Y/N's eyes. "It's....really none of your business to be honest Mr.Afton" they blurt out, a bit louder than a whisper. William's eyes widen a bit and he chuckles "If you tell me I may be able to help. You don't want to redo the year now, do you darling?" He says, the 'darling' catching Y/N off guard. They look at him, cheeks blushing slightly as they shake their head no. "No....its just been rough at home, I haven't been able to study" Y/N replies rather quiet and looks away, letting out a soft sigh.

William understandingly nods and stands up, he places a hand onto their shoulder, his height towering over Y/N's. "I'm here for you, do u want to talk about it?" He says, calmly. They look up at him, tears prickling at their eyes. Y/N starts sobbing, William gets caught off guard but quickly wraps his arms around Y/N as reaction. They continue to sob, William gently strokes their back with his big hand "shh..its okay" he says and continues to comfort them. Y/N pulls away and wipes their tears away with the palm of their hand. William smiles softly at them and reaches his hand up to their cheek, helping Y/N wipe their tears away.

He looks down at them, not thinking and leaning in, kissing Y/N on the lips. They freeze, in shock of the sudden kiss until William pulls back. "....sorry, I didn't think straight, this is..this is wrong" he blurts out, backing up a bit. Y/N slowly shakes their head "..it's alright with me" they softly whisper. William looks at them, a soft blush coating his cheeks after having kissed them. He grins and nods "then, meet me here again tomorrow after your last period. You should be going now, darling" he says. Y/N nods and quickly makes their way out of William's classroom, looking back once more and smiling slightly at the man. They close the door and let out a soft sigh, releasing it was wrong to want him but not caring anyways.

thanks for reading,, have a good day or night ᰔᩚ

[sweetsweetjellybean]

If Tomorrow Never Comes | Part 1 | Empty Streets

Summary: Trapped in the Upside Down, Steve is prepared to die alone until he finds you hurt and in need of help. Doing your best to survive while the world catches fire, is there time for one more chapter in your story?

Inspired by As The World Burns

Special thanks to @myeuphoricmindset for her permission and encouragement. Please go check out her amazing fic.

TW: FemReader, Eventual Smut, Mentions of self-harm & death. No Minors 18+ Series Masterlist WC: 5807

Steve watches the tears run down the flushed swell of Nancy’s cheeks, her delicate fingers pressed to her lips. A sorrowful smile stretches his mouth, his soft hazel eyes meeting her sky blue. The last blue. The gaping maw of the rift stitching closed for good. Forever. With Steve on one side and the rest of them safe on the other. 

It was finally over and they had won. He decided long ago he couldn’t live if he lost one of them. So, in a split second decision, he gave his life to save them all. It had to be him. No complaints. 

The last glimpse of blue shrinks into a sliver of bright light resembling the waning moon, disappearing until darkness and the red glow of death are all that’s left. He places his hand on the seam of the solid black rock, bowing his head, whispering his last goodbye. 

He walks alone through the familiar decaying streets. The buildings crack and groan, pieces breaking off, turning to sand before they hit the ground. With Vecna dead, the Hawkins he created will be swallowed by the desert and the electrical storms until the world collapses in on itself and explodes in something akin to a supernova. 

He knew all this when he called for El to close the gate. When he pushed a resisting Dustin through into Robin’s arms. In the end, Nancy, the kids, they were all that mattered. He had to die to become the man they deserved. 

The man he always wanted to be. 

The ending of his story has been written–there's no more guessing before turning the page. Loneliness wraps its icy fingers around his shoulder, bringing the comfort of an old friend. He feels lighter now that he's shed the ties and obligations to those he loves. He's free to choose his own death and not without options. Armed and still carrying the backpack stuffed with preparations to survive the last battle, he can walk to Forest Hill, put a bullet in his brain, and fall next to his friend, forever sharing his grave, but he's not there yet. He'd rather go out fighting, and the monsters filling this place will be eager to accommodate.

The wind picks up, blowing the golden-brown strands away from his face as he watches red bolts of lighting scorch through the thick omnipresent fog blanketing the sky to strike the clock tower of the public library. The building stands tall and imposing, still intact in this realm, rotting and covered with ropey vines. A storm is coming. He’ll need shelter soon. Maybe the white and brick house on Maple street. He could crawl into her bed and close his eyes, pretending as he drifts off the sleep that it was a night he snuck through her window. With any luck, he’d never wake up. The ground trembles with the deafening booms of thunder, but as he walks away, it’s a quieter sound that catches his ears.

“Help me, please.”

“Careful,” Steve warns, steadying you with an arm around your waist before taking the binoculars out of your hands, letting them hang by the strap around your neck, “Stop walking if you’re going to use those or you’re going to end up catching your boot in a crack.” He motions to the gaps in the dry limestone bed of lovers lake.

“Where were you two weeks ago?” You ask with a wry smile, yanking down the handkerchief that covers your nose and mouth. “Maybe I’m too clumsy to be a geologist?”

“It’s okay to laugh, Steve,” you tell him when his tight-lipped expression doesn’t waver.

Fourteen days ago, he pulled you from a pile of debris through the raging winds into the windowless back room of a flower shop, where he helped you clear the sand from your eyes and stitched the gash in your leg. He sat on the floor across from you, back pressed against the mildewing floral wallpaper, the sweet putrid perfume of decaying carnations filling your nose with the scent reminiscent of a funeral while he explained where you were and why you wouldn’t be leaving. 

As an undergrad from Perdue sent to study the rift, you had been harnessed, hanging just inside the opening of the gate, taking samples when the earth quaked and your tether snapped. If it weren’t for Steve, you wouldn’t have survived the night and he’s protected you since. Taking out stray dogs and a few bats while scavenging for food and supplies. He assures you there are other things out there. Worse things. You’ve heard their screeches and howls between the thunder claps late into the frigid nights while you lay pressed against his warm back—safe. 

He’s the hero from the storybooks that you read as a little girl, trading the armor for a leather jacket and flak vest, but still just as tragic. A ghost moving through a fog. His sorrow blends him into the landscape, keeping you at arm’s length. If you had met before all of this. Bumped into him on the street or at a coffee shop, you still would have known that he was someone you could trust. 

He casts a skeptical eye your way but you don’t miss how the corner of his mouth rises just a little.  “I don’t like being out in the open like this.” His nose scrunches as his eyes roam the rolling gray clouds that keep the Upside Down in perpetual gloaming. 

“We need to find water. I can’t keep brushing my teeth with flat Sprite.” 

Gallons of sour milk and fermented juice fill the coolers at Bradley’s Big Buy, but the plastic containers of water all sit empty just like every river, well, and stream in this version of Hawkins. 

“How many more days are we going to waste on this?” He stands just behind you while you scan the lake bed, so close you feel the warmth of his breath in your hair. 

“You have somewhere else to be?” 

Entire sections of town have disappeared. Neighborhoods and buildings are falling into unstable fissures and there are fires burning in the east. It won’t be long now but you need this and so does he. Something to focus on.

“Everything in this place is damp. There are constant storms–”

“But no rain,” he counters.

“That we’ve seen. There are plants. There are animals. There’s water. Does it look like the land slopes downward over there?”You point to a spot where the trees are denser and closer to the lake bed. 

“I guess.” He squints in the direction of your finger until you hand him the binoculars that are still around your neck. He stoops and leans in close, pressing the glass to his eyes. “Yeah, it looks that way.”

“Then that’s where we need to go.” Taking back the glasses, you set out navigating the dry, cracked terrain. Picking your way through the vines and rocks.

As you walk along, Steve’s eyes stay fixed on a rowboat draped in the coiled, spiked tendrils. He swallows hard, face paling. The pained, haunted look marring his features has the dull ache of sympathy sitting in your stomach like a heavy stone. 

“Steve,” your voice stays gentle as your fingers slide against the rough skin of his palm, wrapping around his fingers. He flinches and jerks his hand away. 

“Sorry,” he says, like he’s suddenly realized you’re there. 

“Are you okay?”

“Fi-“ he clears his throat, “Fine.” He continues ahead of you, walking toward the woods.

"No. No way."

The short, wide, yawning mouth of the cave was tucked at the bend of a steep hill covered by browned moss and woody stalks of dead brush.

"Steve–"

"We're not going in. No shot. It could be full of bats. Without another exit we could get pinned down."

“Then you can wait here,” you say, ducking under the cave's entrance.

After a click, the beam of your flashlight cuts through the darkness and bounces off the glittering limestone that drips down the walls of the narrow passage like candle wax. The darkness presses in, your panting breaths echo as your courage starts to flee until you hear an annoyed “Goddammit” and the heavy fall of Steve’s boots as he comes in behind you. 

His eyes follow the beam of his light scanning the cave's high ceiling that’s crowded with sharp tipped stalactites before he wretches them to you, his expression turning wary. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“I’m not worried.” Your hand wraps around his forearm sliding down the worn leather sleeve, stopping short of taking his hand, you give his wrist a light squeeze before releasing him.

“Are you always this tenacious?” 

“Always.” You cautiously start down the tunnel, watching for loose rocks and small formations, “It’s a character flaw. I’m an eternal optimist. Everything happens the way it’s supposed to.”

“Hmmm,” he murmurs, looking away to study the walls.

After a curve, the passage widens and the rushing of water amplifies, up ahead a faint azure glow highlights a keyhole opening. Steve hands you his flashlight and reaches back grabbing the axe attached to the back of his pack. His hands adjust his grip on the handle as he holds it at the ready. With a silent tilt of his head, he motions you behind him as he pauses at the mouth of the chamber. Keeping the flashlights pointed low, you light his path.

“It’s a ledge. A big step down.” He calculates his movement before hopping down. He moves the axe to one hand reaching out for you with the other. Clicking off one of the flashlights you shove it in your jacket pocket before taking his hand, you try to gauge the distance like he had but your foot slips at the last moment. The clang of the axe hitting the stone floor reverberates through the cave when he drops it to catch you. 

“Maybe you are too clumsy,” he comments, both hands gripping your hips. Your hands slide from around his neck to his shoulders, staying pressed against him longer than necessary, your eyes locked with his - the gold flecks a contrast in the soft blue light. The spell breaks and he steps back, bending to retrieve his weapon.

“It’s…beautiful.”

You’ve stepped into a glittering cavern. Luminescent turquoise orbs with trailing silky threads cling to the jagged domed ceiling high above a steaming basin of crystal clear water. The underground world's best impression of the starry night sky. This might be as close as you get to seeing it again.

“I’m impressed,” his axe hangs at his side with one hand on his hip, “You were right.”

His praise has you beaming as you move to the craggy edge of the basin and shrug off your pack.

“Make it fast,” he peers through the steam into the water, “I don’t wanna be around when whatever lives here comes home.”

“I don’t think anything does.” Dropping to your knees, you unzip your pack pulling out the supplies you’ll need and lining them up, “There are no tracks or vines or anything. There aren’t even any spores floating in the air. Didn’t you say they don’t like the heat?”

A fine layer of steam swirls just above the surface of the water, dampening your skin and curling the fine hair at your temples when you reach over the rim to collect a water sample. Carefully, you pour a little into the four test tubes and place them in a rack adding a test strip to each one. 

“What about those things?” His finger extends to the neon lights above.

“If we were at home, I’d say glow worms.” You grip the hem of your sweatshirt, pulling it over your head and placing it on your pack. 

“Whatever they are, they don’t seem too bothered by us,” he muses, “What are you doing now?” He steps closer, peering over your shoulder as you lower the rope with your geological thermometer attached at the end into the water. 

“Measuring the depth and taking the temperature.” The water reflects the lights making it seem lit from below. It’s so clear you can see the metal tube of the thermometer hit the sandy bottom. Handing him the end of the rope you move back to your test tubes. Pulling out the strips, using your flashlight to compare them to the control printed in the kit. 

"It's safe to drink." A wave of relief washes over you. Clean water greatly increases your chances of survival. 

"Really? You're sure?" The surprise in his voice is clear. He didn't expect to get this far. 

"I mean..yeah," you sit back on your feet, rubbing your palms over the denim covering your thighs, "We can add some iodine to be sure, but tonight we'll have drinkable water."

Hand over hand, he pulls the line out from the water. He lets the shiny metal tube dangle for a moment. The water runs down edges dripping back into the basin before he gives it to you to interpret. 

"About four feet deep with a temp of 100 degrees. Perfect." Winding the wet string around the thermometer, you place it back in your kit and repack the rest of your supplies, leaving out your empty canteen.

"Perfect for what?" His brows draw in at the middle as he watches you loosen the laces of your boots.

"What do you think?" You pull off one boot and then the other, removing your stripey socks and then stuffing them inside. 

"You're not getting in there," he scoffs, hands moving to his hips.

"Steve," you sigh, standing and unbuttoning your pants and lowering the zipper, "I'm absolutely going in there." The denim material is heavy and damp from the humidity, sticking to your skin as you peel the jeans down your legs trying your best to not let them drag on the dirt covering the cavern's floor. "It’s been two weeks since I've showered. I stink and so do you."

"This is stupid." His head shakes and he looks upwards, eyes roaming the jagged rock walls as you slip your shirt over your head. 

"It's a necessity. Besides, hot springs are supposed to be really good for you." Your fingers work the clasp of your bra and it slips down your arms. His gaze returns as you drop the lacey garment onto the growing pile of your clothing. Now you have his full attention. Even in the dim light, it's clear his eyes darken.

Ignoring the way your heart beats wildly, your thumbs hook under the silk of your panties and they slide down your hips, "There's not much point in being shy." 

With false bravado you face him naked and vulnerable, letting his eyes drink you in, "We have to take care of each other, right?"

The torrent of water is louder in the absence of his answer as it cascades through an opening in the wall feeding the basin. Holding his stare, you walk along the water's edge until you find a spot where the limestone dips and becomes smoother creating a natural point of entry. 

"Be careful." He moves closer watching you step in. 

A moan slips from your lips as you sink down letting the heat loosen the tension in your muscles, enjoying the slight sting while your skin acclimates to the temperature. Pinching your nose with your thumb and forefinger, you dip your head below the surface into the quiet depths.

He's crouching at the basin's rim letting his fingers trail through the water when you emerge, slicking back your hair, wiping away the drips clinging to your eyelashes. His lips part and you know what he's seeing, the astral light reflecting in the rivulets running down your throat, over your breasts joining the sheen covering your skin.

"Are you coming in?" 

He pulls his hand from the water, fingers flicking away the wetness and you can practically see the gears turning in his head while deciding if it’s okay to allow himself this simple pleasure.

“It’s safe, Steve. You can live a little,” you say with your sweetest smile, bending your knees so you're submerged up to your neck, watching the cracks in his resolve widen.

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” He asks with a heavy sigh, unsheathing the knife that he carries on his belt and placing it on a smooth rock at the edge of the pool. 

“I’m the one who has to smell you.” Taking a few steps backward to where the basin deepens enough that you can tread water without being over your head. 

His Baretta joins his knife before his fingers loosen the laces of his boots. He stands shrugging off his heavy jacket and vest letting them hit the ground with a thwack that echoes through the cave before pulling his dark gray thermal over his head adding it to the pile. Your arms glide beneath the water while your eyes travel the path from the dips in his collar bone over the expanse of his broad chest that tapers into narrow hips. 

“Ahem,” he clears his throat as he works his belt loose and you don’t feel the slightest bit of shame that he's caught you ogling. The way the corner of his mouth lifts tells you he doesn’t mind either. 

“You wanna turn around?” He asks, thumbs popping the button on his cargo pants before he moves on to the zipper.

“Nope. I’m good.”

His eyes roll before he lowers his pants and boxers, holding them in front of himself until he catches your gaze and tosses them aside. Your lips part as you suck in a much needed breath. His half aroused cock stands out from his body. Long and thick, the pink veiny shaft and perfectly shaped head bobs, swelling further under your scrutiny. He walks toward the shallow end, and you catch the full smirk twisting his lips.

“Now you can smile.” You splash him as he steps into the water shrugging, his grin continuing to broaden.

His eyes flutter closed as more of his body disappears into the steaming pool, gentle waves lapping at his torso, then shoulders, then neck. A low grown rumbles from his throat just before his head slips under completely. He resurfaces in front of you, muscles of his arms tightening as he pushes the hair from his face.

"Fuuck," his mouth remains parted as he draws out the vowel, a water drop clinging to his plush bottom lip, "This feels good."

It's hard to take your eyes off him in this light. Heat floods your belly, but it’s not the water, you want to be what’s making him feel good. He’s already given away his heart, you're certain, but she’s not here and you are.

"It's nice to be warm. It's so cold here." You drift closer, breathing in the heated air. 

"You're cold?" He asks, brows knitting together.

"Sometimes…mostly at night." A pang of guilt has you wishing you hadn’t mentioned it. The last thing you want is to cause him any more worry. "Are these new?" You reach out, fingers ghosting over purple black bruises on his shoulder and chest. 

His head bows looking at the spot you just caressed, "Maybe. I can't keep track." He straightens to his full height, chest rising above the surface, water running through the thick patch of chest hair revealing several more bruises in various stages of healing. 

"I'm sorry," you swallow hard before continuing, fingers dancing over the freckles on his skin, "I know you're doing this–"

He coughs and sinks back into the water, patting his chest, "I think the steam is loosening up some of that shit we've been breathing in."

His head tips back and you follow suit watching the tiny glowing creatures attached to the rocky dome, their silvery tails gently swaying like they’re blowing in a breeze. There's beauty in their simple existence. Head dropping back down, you catch his stare, he’s closer now, and the way he looks at you sends all your thoughts fleeing. 

"It's nice here. Quiet," his arms sweep in arcs just below the surface, hands brushing against yours when they meet in the narrow space between you, "I can almost pretend I’m somewhere else."

"Yeah?" Floating closer, you look up at him from under wet lashes. There’s something in his eyes, a fire, making the gold flecks look molten. The gap between you narrows, his chest brushes your nipples. But it’s gone as quickly as it came. He moves away, scrubbing at his face with his hands.

“Do you do a lot of skinny dipping?” You ask, trying to draw him back in, craving the connection. He peers at you unsure if he should answer.

“Come on, Steve. Tell me your secrets.” Biting your lip to hide the mischief in your smile, you draw a cross over your heart, "I promise not to tell."

He raises an eyebrow, shaking his head. “I guess I’ve done my fair share. There was a girl-“

“There always is.”

“Are you going to let me tell you?” With a swift move of his hand, he sends a splash of water in your direction.

“Please, continue,” you giggle with a wave of your hand, licking the water off your lips.

“She and I would sneak out late at night. Meet at the lake to be together." He looks away as he tells you, lost in the memory.

"Midnight Love. Sounds romantic." 

“I don’t think she would agree,” his eyes roam the stoney walls where glowing lights fade in and out, “She wanted more and I couldn’t give it to her. There was someone else.” He meets your eyes, wanting you to understand his contrition, “I should have been honest with her. Let her move on. I know better now. I’m all done breaking hearts.”

“Will you be honest with me?” It doesn’t matter what he's done. He’s shown you who he is, and that man is one that you believe in.

“Yes.” The word is heavy on his lips, the look in his eyes confirming his promise. “I can give that to you.”

Nodding your head in acceptance, you feel the shift, bared to each other, the wall between you falls to pieces like the replica of the town that surrounds you. It gives you the courage to ask what you really want to know, “What about the girl you’re in love with, the one that’s up there waiting for you with tears in her eyes? Don’t you think her heart is broken?”

“How did–"

Shrugging, you wait for him to continue.

“We weren’t together,” he confesses, “Turns out I couldn’t give her what she needed either.”

“That’s why you're here? Because you weren't enough for her? Your friends, don’t you think they need you?”

“It's not about her. It's about all of them,” he explains, his voice thick with pain. “Before all this, all the things I thought were important were just bullshit. They held up a mirror in front of me. It made me change directions, made me try to be better. But I moved too slowly and when they really needed me, I couldn't protect them. You know how you said everything happens for a reason?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, this is it. This is my reason. I had to make sure they’re safe. They can all grow up and do whatever it is that they are supposed to do, be whoever they are supposed to be. Staying behind. Letting them go,” he lays a hand over his heart, “That’s how I became who I was supposed to be and I could finally give that to them.”

“Steve…” You want to scream at him that he’s wrong. He had to be enough for them because he was already everything to you. But it would rob him of the meaning in his death, so you stay silent and let the unspoken words sink beneath the water.

“Okay, it’s your turn. You owe me a secret,” his tone turns light, and he claps his hands together, rubbing them back and forth, “Make it a good one.”

“Let’s see,” you squint up at the ceiling, “I started sneaking my mom’s cigarettes junior year and blamed it on my sister.”

“Come on, you can do better than that. I bet a pretty girl like you has left behind a trail of broken hearts. I want the good stuff.”

“You think I’m pretty?” You ask, tipping your head onto your shoulder with a grin.

“You know you are,” his eyes roll, “Don’t try to get out of it.”

“Fine,” you pout, flicking water in his direction, “I don’t think I broke any hearts. Maybe bent a few. My friends are always losing their heads over some guy. Acting crazy. All in the name of love. I always wanted that, you know? To get swept away in some sort of fairytale romance. It just never happened for me. I thought there would be more time. I thought…"

You’ve been looking at life through a wall of rose-colored glass, sweetening your view just enough to avoid reality. Saying the words out loud, admitting it yourself–to him, you’ve crashed straight into it, the broken shards cutting you with the truth.

“We’re not going to make it home, are we?”

“Do you still want the truth?” He asks, knowing you already know the answer.

"I had a list," you swallow hard, ignoring the sting behind your eyes. "I thought if we could find water, we could check that off and solve the next problem and the next. Then we'd somehow figure out a way back. You told me from the beginning but I was too stupid–"

"Hey, you're not stupid." He moves a hand to your cheek, brushing away a tear you hadn't realized had fallen. "It's not stupid to have hope."

"But it doesn't matter." Your hand covers his, indulging in his touch a moment longer before pushing it away. 

“That’s where you're wrong. It doesn’t change anything, but it matters.”

“I’m starting to feel tired. Would you mind if we leave?” Brushing past, you climb out onto the ledge. The water cascading off your body darkens the limestone floor. Your back stays turned away from him while you yank your underwear on over damp legs. The splashing sounds let you know that he is following suit. Your jeans are difficult to shimmy over your hips without drying off and you skip the bra entirely, leaving your shirt to absorb the water. Once you leave the warmth of the cave, you'll be freezing–you should have listened to Steve.

Another bad decision made with good intentions. The list of I’ll Nevers unfurls in front of you covering the path where your future should be. He had figured it out much sooner than you did. Everything you worked for and planned for was all just bullshit. Maybe if you had someone to hold up a mirror, your list would be shorter. 

The cave seems smaller, the walls press in as you finish getting dressed and gathering your gear. Space will give you perspective, although you still dread seeing that terrible red sky.

"Are you‐"

Your breath leaves through your parted lips when his hand tugs your hip, turning you, pulling you flush against his chest. He looks down at you, eyes burning, wet hair plastered to the nape of neck drips water down the column of his throat soaking his thermal. The plush curve of his lips so close to your own. 

"You're not supposed to be here," he growls as his grip tightens. "I wish you weren't. I wish you had never met me. I wish..."

The tears spill over your lash line and streak down your cheeks, you can taste their saltiness on your lips. His head dips toward you and your eyes flutter closed, holding your breath while you wait to feel the pressure of his lips. Longing and despair give way to a fear that he'll give you what you want because he grieves with you, and that will never be enough to stop the ache. But his kiss never comes. His touch lingers on your skin once he's let you go and you stand there with your eyes still shut as you listen to him walk away. 

By the time you make it out of the cave, the scarlet sky has dimmed to a deep crimson, and Steve decides it’s best to stick to the cover of the trees and spend the night in one of the cabins nestled on the shore among the forest of dead wood, instead of crossing back over the dry lake bed. Mercifully, the rolling storm clouds are gathering west of here, across town, leaving the woods quiet beside the dry leaves crunching underfoot. Your silence is an itch under his skin. He wants to apologize, but he’s not exactly sure what for. He meant the things he said, but he hadn’t intended it to sound so harsh. The light in your eyes has been the only thing pulling him back from the darkness of his own thoughts, but he can’t keep pretending. He’s accepted that this was how his story ends, but the way you look at him tempts him into believing there could be another chapter. 

A war rages inside him, confusion over when protecting you became something more. Something that feels like he’s betraying her, even though she’s a world away. The truth is, he wants you. Your endless hope, the smiles you dole out like they cost you nothing, like you don’t realize that they have become as necessary to him as the air he’s breathing. Every day, the feeling of you belonging to him grows, but it’s all mixed up with pain and resentment. He was to meet death with a calm embrace, but fate decided that peace was more than he deserved. Now he’ll fight with his last ounce of strength to give you one more breath, and part of him blames you for that. He wants inside you, to claim you as his, but he can’t accept your comfort without making the pain at the end worse for both of you.

These thoughts and questions, you, Nancy, are different currents clashing in a riptide, and he’s trying his best to keep his head above water. As the mist thins, a tiny cottage comes into view, partially hidden by the brush and the gloom. The flaking white paint and curling black shingles are tinged green with mold. With a lone vine, dry and dead, snaking down from the roof across the weathered door. He reaches out, wrapping a hand around your wrist, conveying with a look that you should wait here for him to clear the inside. Walking up the three stone steps, he unsheathes his knife to cut away the vine. It takes a few firm pushes from his shoulder to get the warped door to budge from its frame. The musty air hits his nose as soon as it swings open. This place has been closed up tight. Steve moves quickly through the small space, checking for any signs of creatures, but it’s untouched aside from a few dead vines wrapped around the exposed beams of the ceiling.

When he returns, you’re standing with your arms crossed over your chest, but the look written across your delicate features has changed to anger. His brows pull together, and his lips part to speak, but you beat him to it.

“I don’t wish that.”

“What?” He asks, confused.

“That I never met you. I don’t wish that,” you move closer until your toe to toe with him. “I’m here for a reason. My life has a purpose too,” you say, laying a hand over your heart, anger and sadness making your voice crack. “If you think you’re supposed to die for them. Then I’m here to make sure you aren’t alone.”

The way his mouth gapes in surprise only fuels your resolve.

“You’re not supposed to be alone.” You turn away and walk inside. He follows, shutting the door behind you.

A chill seeps through the damp mattress and the thick stack of crochet blankets piled on top. Despite being fully clothed, the cold works its way through the layers of material straight through to his skin. He’s lying on his side, staring at the closed door of the bedroom, replaying the words you said over and over. He can feel you behind him. Tiny pockets of heat wherever you connect, your forehead pressed to his back, hands tucked between you, the material of his sweatshirt balled in your fist. He’s still not sure what he should have said. The rest of the evening was spent without discussion. In his head, every sentence he forms is chased away with the image of you standing in the cave with your eyes closed, ready to be kissed. His instinct is to act first and think later, but this time the consequence is your heart, and he’s never been more unsure.

“Did you hear about the drunk geologist?” 

“What?” It takes a second for your words to break through his thoughts.

“He finally hit rock bottom,” you deadpan, your breath warming his back. “Do you know what kind of fruit geologists eat?”

His mouth quirks. Somehow you know just what he needs. 

“Pome-granite.”

He rolls over to face you. Your eyes gleam in the darkness, lashes fluttering, your lips stretched into a smile, you’re so beautiful, and it makes him feel lightheaded.

“You know you have to be patient with us geologists…we all have our faults.”

“God, these are so bad,” he says, his hand landing on your hip, his thumb finding its way under the edge of your sweatshirt to draw circles on your skin. 

“I have more.” Your hands smooth up the front of his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt, eyes locking with his, and he can see it again, the hope. It’s a beacon in a fog guiding him home. 

“Of quartz, you do.”

Your giggles make his smile bigger until he can feel it in the apples of his cheeks. It feels like it’s been forever since he’s felt like this–you make him happy.

“Let me warm you up,” he says when your laughter subsides. His hands smooth over your shoulders until they’re wrapped around your back, pulling you closer, not stopping until your forehead is against his lips and there is no space left between you. Sighing softly, you push a leg between his, until you fit together like puzzle pieces. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, but as your warmth fills all the cold places inside him, he knows he should be thanking you.

AN: Thank you for reading. I'd love to hear what you think? Are these two going to make it? Did you spot the easter egg from our friend @loveshotzz? I'll give you hint this ties in to one of her fics. Do me a soild and reblog if you liked it. 💋 -Jelly

Part 2 Here

[bigtreefest]

Chapter 5: From the Ground Up

From: You Catch More Bees With Honey Series

Pairing: Mob! Bucky x Farmer! Reader

Summary: It’s time for Bucky to take charge in your absence.

Word count: 4,065

Content/warnings: Interrogation, restraints (not in the sexy way), allusions to violence, swears, name calling, pet name usage, female reader, kissing, horseback riding?

Author’s Note: I REALLY loved writing this chapter. This is where we start to see the other storylines of the Outta Nowhere AU emerge, so keep an eye out as those get released.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

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Bucky was mad-no, he was seething as he paced back and forth in your home office. It was in the wee hours of the morning when his private jet had landed on the local airstrip. Within that same hour, Sam had personally escorted in the little nerd responsible for a good third of the turmoil going on in Bucky’s head: Jake.

Sam had taken the liberty of pre-binding his hands and duct taping his mouth shut. Bucky was going to enjoy ripping the goatee straight off his mousy little face.

Five hours ago

As soon as Steve had gotten off the phone with Bucky, he called the construction crew. They kept them on call for things like this, but the two of them never thought the stakes would be this high. It wasn’t often that someone important and non-expendable was put in this type of danger, let alone someone Bucky cared about. As he was finishing up the call and directing them towards your house, Sam reached out to him with a sticky note.

On it was a name and the address to an apartment in the city, along with Sam’s scrawled ‘pick her up on your way over.’ Steve nodded as he hung up his call and placed another, grabbing the duffel bag he kept packed by the door and heading out.

Three Hours Later

Bucky hadn’t left your side since the rocks collapsed. Luckily, the two of you had been able to find a small gap in the rocks where you both sat. It wasn’t large enough to keep air circulating, but it was big enough to at least allow the two of you to talk with each other. You and Bucky had shared so much, from him sharing his first business operation with Steve, to you detailing crazy college stories of when you, your roommate, and Curtis would hang out.

Bucky laughed along. There was a whole side of you he never knew. He had studied intently what showed up on paper, and he knew the hardships you’d faced from your deep conversation last week, but this? This was a whole new, more playful side. He was surprised to see your spirits so high despite the situation.

“I do not believe that one bit. No way you were climbing up clock towers at school just to steal the clock hands, or a random brick or whatever. You’re too straight-laced.”

You laughed and rolled your eyes as you leaned your head back against the stone wall. “Oh please, people already pay so much to go there, if anything, I had more than the right to do it. Our money pays for that stuff. Technically we owned it. Not the school.”

Bucky snorted. “You didn’t even pay tuition. Didn’t they pay you to go there?”

“That’s besides the point, Bucket. Fight the man. And anyway, if you think I’m straight laced, you should meet my roommate.”

Bucky grimaced. “Yeah, about that. She’s on her way here right now.”

Your ears perked up. “Decks is on the way? Oh, that’s good. She’ll be super helpful. She’s so organized, although, I can’t imagine she took well to whoever had to interrupt her beauty sleep. Who’s the poor guy?”

Bucky sharply inhaled. “Steve.”

“Oooo hooo hoo.” You laughed. “That’ll be a fun one for both of them. They’re either gonna love or hate each other. What are all the rest of the ETAs?”

Bucky looked at his watch. Well, really, he had been checking his watch this whole time to monitor his pulse, which was over 100 consistently since the tunnel buckled. He was shaking with concern for you, but kept his voice level to keep you calm, a trick he and Steve had worked tirelessly to master. “Ummm… looks like the construction crew should be here within the hour. And I’ll bet Decks and Steve will be pulling up any minute.”

You hummed in acknowledgment. “Anyone else coming that I should know about? So I can figure out where they’ll best fit around the farm? Decks is great with the animals.”

You hadn’t heard all of Bucky’s or Curtis’s phone calls earlier since they stepped out of the cave to make them with better reception. Bucky didn’t want you to know Jake was on the way, mostly because he knew you’d make him promise not to hurt the rat, and he didn’t want to have to make that promise with the high likelihood it would be broken. He decided a better move would be to change the subject.

“So where did the nickname ‘Decks’ come from anyway?”

“Oh! Well it’s actually-“

Bucky heard footsteps near the mouth of the mine. He did his best to politely cut you off. “Wait, Honey, I’m so sorry, quiet for one second.”

He sat there and silently listened, the rustling becoming closer and clearer until he identified it as hooves clopping gently against the soft ground. He heard Curtis’s voice say something vaguely before he moved to get his feet underneath him and brush off his pants.

“I think Curtis is here with Steve and Decks. I don’t want anyone else to come in, just in case it’s still too unstable. Can you tell me exactly what you need them to do?”

You nodded, even though you knew Bucky couldn’t see it and began to lay out the instructions. Decks and Steve weren’t here to clean out the tunnels, they were here to help keep the farm running until you were freed, and no one knew how long that would take. It was best to keep only those who could be closely trusted around until this was all figured out. God forbid the authorities come knocking, or worse yet, Cole. Bucky held onto your every word before briefly leaving the tunnel to relay the information.

Bucky returned to you shortly after instructing Curtis to take Steve and Decks back to the house so they could rest before their long day tomorrow. Everything needed to run as smoothly as possible to not raise suspicion from your absence, which they were going to claim was due to a corn crop farmer’s conference out in Iowa if anyone asked.

After another hour with you, Bucky let you know the construction company arrived and was starting to stabilize the ceiling so they could dig you out. “I’ve gotta go deal with some business, so I’ll be back soon. Plus, I can’t get in the way of these vehicles. But say the word to one of the crew and I’ll be back here in a minute flat. I promise.”

Bucky’s promises meant a lot. That was something you had learned in your conversations. He never said something unless he had a plan to deliver. A man’s word was everything in his line of work.

“Okay, I’m going to hold you to that!” You yelled back.

Bucky chuckled. “I’m going to send Sam back here as soon as he arrives. He’ll keep you company.” And with that, Bucky made his way back to the house.

So this is where Bucky found himself, walking back and forth menacingly behind Jake, who had been tied down to the guest chair in your office. Jake’s eyes shifted back and forth with nervousness as he tried and failed to hold back whimpers and near-hyperventilating breaths.

Bucky had been silent for only ten minutes. He liked the way it made them squirm. He could sit and stare all day, completely unbothered, as anyone he interrogated slowly lost their mind. Of course, there were other, more fun ways, to get information, but he wouldn’t dare mark up your home. He’d never let the one they called ‘The Winter Soldier’ be unleashed in your sanctuary. This is the closest he would ever get, though, and it would never be seen by you.

Bucky stalked around Jake and crouched in front of him. “A milk maid came in here and told me that you’d given him information about this farm. Care to share?”

Jake shook his head vigorously and whined through the duct tape over his mouth. Bucky leaned in closer. What was more terrifying than being yelled at by him? Bucky with an alarmingly level voice.

“Sorry, I couldn’t quite catch that. I can help you talk a little better, but you’ve gotta be quiet. There are people upstairs sleeping, and I can’t guarantee they’ll be as nice as me if you wake them. Promise to be good?”

Jake nodded carefully and slowly. Bucky reached for the tape at the corner of Jake’s mouth and ripped it off quickly. Jake’s head lurched forward, his mouth open with a silent scream between gasping breaths. Bucky examined the sticky side of the tape. There was no hair on it. The steam from Jake’s mouth must’ve reduced the stickiness just enough that it didn’t cause damage. Shame.

Bucky slammed his hands over Jake’s on the armrests of the chair. “Tell me everything.” He gritted out between clenched teeth.

Jake giggled uncomfortably. “Uh….there’s not really much to know, mister…sir….does this have to do with Peach? I thought she owned this farm now. Where is she?”

Bucky growled. “That’s not important right now, but yes, this is about this farm. Tell me everything you told the guy with the soft hands and the jackets that were too crisp to indicate a day of work in his whole life.”

Bucky had no intention to associate that with his own designer crisp suits that he wore everyday back in the city. That was different, it was a totally separate line of work, plus, he wasn’t trying to pose as something that he’s not when he wore them. Anyway, he’s not the one on trial here.

“Oh! You mean Cole? Fucking prick.” Jake mumbled looking down and to the side. “I can promise whatever he said to you was a lie. That guy’s always been awful. He hides a demon face behind his handsomeness.”

Bucky didn’t want to be on Jake’s side, but he couldn’t argue with that. But to keep him talking, Bucky leaned in closer, moving his hand towards the knife on his belt loop. Jake flinched and raised his hands in surrender as much as he could with his wrists tied down.

“Okay, okay, I promise I didn’t say much. At least not on purpose. I was at an investors party up in San Francisco when Cole bumped into me. He was bragging about how he had just inherited his parents’ company and it was way bigger than when we were in high school. Frankly, I didn’t care, I make an effort to forget about a lot from back then, mostly him, so I tried to disprove him by saying that there are still nice little farms around despite his family’s efforts. I told him I still had my mom buy me honey that Peach makes, herself.” He hung his head in shame.

Bucky huffed as he leaned back against your desk and crossed his arms. “Well, way to go. You know, they painted you to be some genius, but you’re an absolute idiot.”

Jake looked up and scrunched his nose. “Well I actually prefer the term loser, bu-“

Bucky raised his hand to stop Jake from talking. “I really don’t care. What matters is that you’ve made a mess for Honeybee that inconveniences all of us. I’ve gotta be the one to work on cleaning this up while she’s otherwise occupied.”

Jake cocked his head to the side and furrowed his brow in confusion. “Who the fuck is ‘Honeybee?’ Are we talking about the same person?”

Bucky sighed and wiped a hand over his face, stopping with it covering his mouth. He looked at the helpless man in front of him. How had you ever dated this guy? If he used to be great, what on Earth happened to him? “God, you’re slow to catch on. Yes, it’s the same person, but I don’t think the sweet peach you used to know and love is in there anymore. Not after you abandoned her. And especially not after you gave up her operation on a silver platter to Cole.”

Jake swallowed as he caught on. He had seen the devious glint in Cole’s eye when they had run into each other, but just thought it was a product of Cole’s braggadocious success. Not his complete hunger for domination. Despite the way Jake left, he still cared for you. He didn’t want to see the thing you loved taken away, especially by the guy who caused him so much grief. The guy your family defended him from on so many occasions. He felt awful. You’d taken care of Jake when he was around, but when the opportunity came for him to do the same for you, he failed.

Tears began to well up in his eyes. “I’m so sorry. Whatever I can do to help, I will, please, misterrrr…….”

Bucky’s shoulders pushed back in arrogance. Jake squealed all the information he had and didn’t even know the name of the man interrogating him. That wouldn’t do, especially if Bucky wanted to eventually release Jake back out into the wild once this was all over. He made a mental note to have someone coach Jake on how to not give up sensitive intel so easily. But for now, Bucky would take advantage of the ease of informational access.

“Barnes. You get to call me Barnes.”

“Ooh! So like a cool nickname only I get to use? I feel so special.”

Bucky chuckled dryly at that. Jake really was clueless. “No. Not at all like that.” Bucky leaned forward, elbows on his knees as his face inched closer to Jake’s.

“Now tell me everything you know about the mines.”

Jake’s eyebrows raised. “Oh? Those old things? Yeah, Peach and I used to make out in the-“

Bucky waved his hand again as he closed his eyes, unable to look at Jake for another second. “No. Skip that part. What else?” He quickly said, dismissively.

“I know they’re old? Like crazy old and probably prone to collapse at this point. But Pe- I mean, your Honeybee does some occasional civil engineering contracting work. She could probably easily whip up a plan to reinforce them.”

Bucky looked at Jake more intently. He liked the way Jake said his Honeybee, but he couldn’t let that distract him right now. And anyway, you were very much your own person. Far from his. If anything, he was yours. He knew about all your business endeavors, but not those kinds of specifics. “Keep talking.”

“Yeah, I kept up with her after school-well, more like I asked my mom to keep up with her. Apparently she’s like, designed bridges for town and stuff. Why? What’s going on with the mines?”

“That’s not technically your business.” Bucky stood there, debating on his next move.

Jake’s eyes lit up as he gasped loudly. “Oh my gosh. Is she in trouble!? Did she get hurt in a mine!?”

Bucky slapped his hand over Jake’s mouth and whisper yelled at him. “What did I say about keeping it down?”

Jake winced and whispered back. “Sorry. Does Curtis know?”

Bucky nodded. “Yes. And he’s upstairs sleeping. Don’t. Poke. The Bear.”

Jake nodded again. He was being so compliant, Bucky figured he could let a few more details slip. Maybe Jake was a little smarter than Bucky gave him credit for. “She’s trapped in one of the smaller caves. I’ve already got a construction crew digging her out.”

“Wait wait wait. You guys have a proper plan for this, right? You’ve gotta put supports in first and then calculate the load-bearing rocks. You can’t just go willy-nilly digging or it could get worse.” Man, based off that language, Bucky had no doubt Jake truly did grow up around you.

“Good observation, Jakey. That’s where you come in. I know I could’ve just called you if I wanted to know what you told Cole, but I needed you in person to know how serious I am. Grab your little computer and we’ll get going so you can run the calculations while Honeybee talks you through them. You can still ride a horse, right?”

Jake moved to get up, only to be stopped by the restraints. Bucky turned around from the door, voice dripping with fake sympathy. “Oh, that’s right, my bad. I’ll get you untied and then we can go.”

Sam was talking with you about where to put which construction vehicles when he heard hooves make their way to the entrance. Bucky dismounted the back of a horse holding a laptop, followed by Jake who was riding ahead of him on that same horse.

“Not a word of this, Samuel.” Bucky growled lowly into Sam’s ear with clenched teeth. “I’ve already threatened the kid with the same.”

Bucky still had no idea how to ride a horse on his own, but would never admit that, so he was actually extremely grateful that Jake could take the reins. Sam had taken the other horse to get to you, leaving only one back at the house for him and Jake to use.

Bucky handed Jake the laptop and patted him on the back harshly, making it more of a shove. This led him to the small hole where you and Sam had just been talking.

Bucky followed at a quicker pace, reaching the area just before Jake could and held his arm out in front of the blond to bar him from going any farther. “Hi Honey, it’s me. I brought you a little present to help out, I hope you’re not mad. It’s your old friend Jacob from high school. Say hi.”

“Jake? Like… Jensen?” You responded, trying to look through the small hole unsuccessfully.

“Yeah, Peach, it’s me. I’m here to get you out. A-and Mr. Barnes wants you to know he’s been nothing but kind to me.” Jake clutched his laptop firmly to his chest, leaning over to be heard better through the small opening.

Bucky gave a stern nod to Jake for already responding well to his coaching on the way over here. Jake sat down by the hole where Bucky had sat before and got to work.

“Okay, Bee. Like I told you before, you say the word and I’ll be here in a minute. You can time me.”

“Where are you going?” He could hear the slight worry in your voice.

“To run a farm. And by that, I mean listen to Curtis.”

You giggled. “Okay, Bucket. See you soon.”

He looked back and smiled before turning towards Sam and pointing into his chest. “You tell me the second she’s close to getting out. I’ll be there.”

Sam nodded. “Sure thing, boss. Need help getting back up on your horse?”

Bucky was already turned away and heading back to your house. He waved a hand dismissively. “No. I’m walking.”

Sam chuckled as he watched the mob boss trudge away. He knew something had shifted in Bucky’s feelings. And he definitely had his suspicions that Bucky couldn’t ride a horse.

When Bucky returned to your house, he didn’t go upstairs. He feared the creaking of the steps would wake Decks, Curtis, and Steve. Plus, he knew he wasn’t going to sleep. Why would he when there was so much to do to help you? He would just get in the way at the mines, so he went into your office. He pulled out the files and article you had planned to show him the previous night regarding Cole from the kitchen, and as he sat down in your chair, he saw a contract with a familiar watermark. Shit.

Fuck. Shit. Bitch.

The letterhead was from ‘Turners Farm Corporation,’ which he had expected, but the associated law firm was ‘Hansen & Co.’ Bucky had his fair share of law firms in his back pocket, but this was not one of them. In fact, it was quite the opposite.

Lloyd Hansen was something of Bucky’s rival in the city. He was an unhinged lunatic. Where Bucky ran things with honor, poise, and calculated movements, Lloyd was messy, unpredictable, and reckless. He’d been trying to make multiple steps into Bucky’s territory, geographically and business-wise, but Bucky had done a decent job at shutting it down thus far.

And now Cole was in cahoots with Lloyd, well, not him directly on paper, just his bitch-ass sister who ran the firm. Bucky couldn’t believe-well, actually he could. He could believe that Cole would have teamed up with Hansen to build enough power for a takeover, especially considering it didn’t add up if Cole was making these moves on his own.

Fired by frustration that more than supplemented the sleep Bucky lacked from not just tonight, but this whole week, he snapped a picture of the contract and sent it to Sam. Sam would make sure it made its way through the right channels and contacts still back in the city. For now, Bucky had a more important priority than personally dealing with business: You. He had never been so grateful for Sam.

As he skimmed through the final page of the contract Cole had proposed to you, the first rooster crowed. Bucky got up to gather the eggs and make breakfast like any other day in the routine he’d grown so familiar with over just the past two weeks. But instead of cooking for you, he was cooking for the small army that came to your aid.

Curtis came barreling down the steps first, followed by Decks, and then eventually, Steve, who slumped and slinked down the stairs, reminiscent of Bucky’s first day doing the same. At least they were able to get themselves up.

Bucky plated their food, Curtis eyeing him with a small smile that Bucky failed to notice, and he sat down in his normal spot to start eating. He honestly didn’t have the appetite to do so, but he knew he’d crash without food since he already wasn’t sleeping, so he forced it down, preparing to go over the assignments with everyone once again.

Steve would be doing what Bucky had last week to set up the farmer’s market since it was scheduled to go again. Decks would be taking over the tasks you had, feeding the animals, and then doing sales with Bucky since people already knew his face. No need to raise more suspicion by introducing two new people to an event you were usually at.

Once everyone cleared their plates, they got to work, doing everything they could to be of assistance for the mob boss who was very evidently on edge.

It was early afternoon when Bucky got a call from Sam. He immediately picked it up.

“We’re close, boss. Only a couple more large boulders to go before there’s a big enough gap to pull her through.”

Bucky dropped the empty crates he was carrying onto the floor of the storage shed where he was returning them from the farmers market. Lucky for him, the storage shed was much closer to the mines than the barn.

Bucky was full-on sprinting in a way no one had ever seen. He never had to once he rose to power. All he did was walk, his long strides alone commanded enough respect. But this wasn’t about pride. It was about you.

He arrived at the mine entrance, breathing heavily, just as Sam was holding your hand, helping you step over a pile of sand and pebbles. Jake stood awkwardly to the side as you looked up from your feet to see Bucky quickly moving toward you. A smile took over your face and you sighed in relief. He scooped you up and spun you around before setting you down again and using his large hands to frame your face. Bucky didn’t care about the dirt and grime that had built up on the two of you. All he cared about was your safe return to his arms.

You watched as his eyes darted between yours and down to your lips. You wouldn’t hold back anymore. He had put all his resources into saving you, helping you. Without wasting another second, you leaned up on your toes and smashed your lips into his. When you pulled back, Bucky lost consciousness, collapsing in your arms.

Next >

Bonus A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Tbh I thought some moments in here were so funny, but I’d love to hear your thoughts!! Likes, comments, reblogs, and asks are sooooo appreciated!!! If I could, I’d make a secret handshake with you through the phone for following this plot line with me. 😉🤠

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